— You might want to wait outside, he said. -This won’t be pretty.
She stood there like an idiot, apparently unable to move.
— Suit yourself, then, he said.
He got out the scalpel and the saw and the spreader from the chest where they were stored, where his father had stored them since Parnell was a child, and went to work. When he’d opened him up, he took the separator, set it in place, then cranked it open. Adjusted his lamp. Then the second chill of the evening hit him, this one worse than the first, for the man’s heart was as black as if it’d been skewered and turned on a spit over a fire. Parnell wondered for a moment if a bolt of lightning could have shot down and pierced straight to this man’s heart, entering and leaving it clean as a blade of light and blasting nothing else. Hardly thinking, he quickly sliced a small section from one wall and concealed it on the other side of the corpse, between the arm and the ribcage. He paused and looked up at the woman. She was staring into the dead man’s chest.
— Look like some kind of buirnt root in there, she said.
— Open the jar, he said to her, all cool and formality again now. He felt possessed of a strange calm, as if resolving this weird issue for this woman would resolve more than he could understand. -You might want to look away, here. Plenty of time, I suppose, for you to see what is in here when you are on the way back home.
She stared at him with her baleful, frightened eyes and without looking slowly unscrewed the lid to the mason jar and held it tentatively out in front of her, and then she turned her head to look away at the stairwell leading out.
— You’ll be going out the back door, Parnell said as he leaned in with the scalpel and a pair of tongs.
THE WHOLE ORDEAL had taken only a half hour and now he was washed up and trudging in a horrified daze back up the stairs to their living quarters. He was muttering a prayer to himself, my God forgive me and mine own for all our sins and our wretched natures. When he reached the top of the stairs he just did catch a glimpse of a pair of bare feet and legs sprawled invitingly from the door of the guest room and for the third time in less than an hour, he felt a shock and a chill — then he calmed, almost smiled to himself, and began unbuttoning his shirt as he approached the supine form of his sweet bride there, just her nightie top on and her arms flung over her head. Again, a cool sweat broke on his broad forehead.
— I’m coming, my darling, he whispered, don’t go.
THE FORENSIC PATHOLOGIST from Jackson called him two days later, just after Earl’s funeral, having examined the sample of Earl’s heart Parnell had sent him via one of his helpers on the day following Creasie’s visit. After the usual civilities, the pathologist asked in a somewhat incredulous manner just what in the world that man had been up to in his days. Parnell took a long pause, then informed the doctor that his family had taken care of Mr. Urquhart’s father and his grandfather, as well, and that among the Grimes family, in a professional sense, the Urquharts were known as the Blackhearts, for the propensity toward this condition, for which Parnell had no explanation.
He said to the pathologist, — So you reached no conclusion, yourself, based on lab tests?
— Afraid not, the pathologist said. -It could be a damned interesting study, though. I’m tempted to come over and take a look at this situation myself.
He had a voice like a big man speaking with his cheeks full of cornpone, rich and congested and mealy. Strong and suspicious.
— It may involve negro occult matters, I’m afraid, Parnell said. -I’m not sure it would be something we could understand.
— Well if you are inclined to write up what all you know about it, I’d be interested to read such a document, the pathologist said.
— Personally I would like to put it to rest, Parnell said. -This family and their indecent ways and their dangerous and self-destructive habits have been a blight on this community. I would not relish the publication of any sort of record which might also blemish the reputation of the community by association.
— Well, the pathologist said after a moment. -Thank you for the enlightenment, Mr. Grimes. I’m afraid there’s nothing concrete this office can truly contribute to your understanding of what led to this man’s death. He paused. -Should you see any lateral evidence of this sort of thing, however, I’d be obliged if you would let me know so that I could take a peek, so to speak, at — ah — such goings-on.
— I will do that, Parnell said. -Good day to you, sir, he said, and they hung up.
Finus Inquisitus
LATER ON THE afternoon he’d seen Birdie outside Schoenhof’s, Finus got into his pickup and drove out into the country, taking little back roads in a meandering way around the circumference of Mercury, until at dusk he was rolling slowly past Birdie and Earl’s house on the highway. The lights were on in the kitchen and den, dark everywhere else. He slowed and turned down the road that ran between their house and the junkyard Earl’s son-in-law ran with his father and peered into the darkened three-car garage to see if Earl’s car was there. He’d be somewhat outside of propriety to drop in and say hello if Earl wasn’t home. He could see at least one car there. And then he saw the grainy shadowed figure standing in the driveway. He had to turn in, then, for to pass on by in that manner would be too odd. He pulled up beside the figure, Earl, who was just standing there smoking in the last light. Finus shut the engine.
— Finus, Earl said, offering him a cigarette. Finus took it, lit up. Earl looked up as if to check for an early moon, and the men didn’t say anything for a minute, smoking in silence.
Earl looked at him, took a last drag, and flicked the cigarette butt into the yard.
— Been a while. How’d you like Tuscaloosa?
— Never did feel quite like home, Finus said.
Earl nodded. -I never did get to tell you how sorry I was about your son.
— Well, Finus said. -That’s all right.
— I’m sorry about Merry, too, Earl said, all the trouble that caused. But you know as well as I do there’s no controlling that bitch.
— Ancient history, Finus said.
— Well, Earl said, and nodded. He gave Finus a faint smile. -You lost your boy. Can’t get a divorce, so I hear. You’ve nothing left to lose but your business, now that it’s all in your hands. May as well just work hard and play the field.
Finus laughed. No doubt about it, Earl looked like a movie star, handsome and confident in his manner. No wonder he had his reputation with the women. But even now he couldn’t help thinking what an odd match he was for Birdie Wells.
— I reckon I could get a divorce, if I wanted to pay the price, Finus said. He put on his best rueful smile. -I was just driving around, thinking, thought I’d say hello.
Earl nodded, looking at him, then turned away toward his house, where Finus could see Birdie’s stockinged legs through the den screen door as she sat in a chair, maybe reading from the lamp glow that bathed them.
— We’ll see you around, Earl said over his shoulder.
— Right, Finus said. -I’ll see you.
TWO WEEKS LATER, word came from a friend of Birdie’s that Earl had dropped dead of a heart attack while out splitting firewood at his lake. When Earl didn’t come home two hours after leaving, Birdie had driven out to check on him and found him on the ground next to a pile of cordwood he’d split, one hand still on the ax, his eyes open. She’d pulled him into her car by herself and driven him to the hospital, way too late. Parnell Grimes judged it cardiac arrest, and there was no inquiry.