"I CAN'T BELIEVE you accused Dad of being part of Mr. Sams' death." Mark sipped his wine. The city lights sparkled through the window of his penthouse; soft, smooth jazz played low in the background. His tone implied he wasn't offended but knew his father couldn't have been part of the appalling act. Vernon had cemented his innocence in Mark's mind, at least that's the way I read Mark's reaction.
"I'm still not sure who really killed him." I pushed my body away from leaning against him on the couch, so I could see his eyes as we talked. "Walterene's diary said she believed Papa Ernest and Vernon were involved; the newspaper report said the Klan did it; Vernon says they were never part of the Klan and never had any association with them, but what if they did it, and let the Klan take the blame?"
Mark sighed hard. "Derek, I believe," he paused, "I know Dad would never do that. Do you honestly think any member of this family would be involved in murder?"
"Someone tried to kill me in the Observer building; someone hurt Ruby; someone made threatening phone calls to me at Ruby's house. Who else, besides family, knows I'm staying there?"
Mark thought for a second. "Your boyfriend Daniel."
"Why? Why would he? What does he have to gain?" I had tossed those questions around before and never come up with a logical answer.
"Maybe," Mark drew out the word as he thought. "Maybe he would do it to make it look like someone in the family so you would blame us, maybe cause problems for Dad's campaign."
"Damn it," I said, "I'm sick of hearing about that stupid campaign. The world doesn't revolve around Vernon 's Senate race."
"Hey, you asked." Mark massaged the back of my neck. "Let's go back to the bedroom."
"Is that it? No foreplay?" I kidded him. "I bet Kathleen gets at least some cuddling, some romanticwords."
"She needs to be warmed up," he admitted. "But, you," his hand rubbed the crotch ofmy jeans, "you are always ready."
MARK LEFT ME sleeping the next morning. I woke and called Ruby.
"You boys stay up all night drinking, then sleep half the day away," Ruby scolded.
"Mark's at work, and I've been up for hours." I fluffed the pillow and scratched my bad case of bed-head. "Did Valerie stay with you last night?"
"No, I sent her home."
"What?" I sat up. "I wouldn't have stayed here if I thought you were going to be alone."
"I have to learn to be alone sometime," she said. "Besides, I feel safe. I keep the doors locked and my Peter Beater within reach."
"That may be, but you shouldn't have sent Valerie home."
"Hogwash. I'm a grown woman; I can take care of myself."
I didn't believe her for a minute. "I'll be home in a little while- and don't use that Peter Beater on me when I come through the door."
I hung up the phone and headed for the shower. The water steamed as my mind drifted toward what Mark had said the night before. Was it possible that Papa Ernest and Vernon hadn't had anything to do with Mr. Sams' lynching? Could a young Walterene have made up the connection because she didn't like Ernest and Vernon?
I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair and soaped up my tired body. I hated to admit it, but Mark's sexual appetite wore me out. After a few more minutes of the hot water running over me, I turned off the shower and dried with a large soft towel. Clean and wide-awake, I draped the towel on the rack and walked into the bedroom. Where did I leave my clothes?
I glanced around the room, then a movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Kathleen stood in the doorway, my boxers hanging from the tip of her index finger. "You looking for these?"
Panic struck me immobile. The secret revealed-Mark's worst fear, now mine. Naked before her, I didn't know what to say or do. She tossed the boxers to me, and I snatched them in mid-flight, quickly pulling them on.
"I was just leaving," I stammered.
"How long?" she asked.
How long? What a question to ask a man you've just seen naked. "What? What do you mean?"
It seemed ice cloaked her stance; her pale emerald eyes bore into me. "How long have you and Mark been sleeping together?"
By reflex, I glanced at the rumpled bed. Screw her; I had him first. "Since I was fourteen."
She recoiled from the fact. "Fourteen? That son of a bitch." She turned and stormed out of the room, returned with the rest of my clothes and slung them at me. "Get out." Tears flooded her frantic eyes as she left me there at the scene of the crime.
HAS SHE CALLED Mark yet? I waited for the traffic light to change, wondering if I should go to his office to warn him, or just get back to Ruby's. The gleaming buildings of downtown Charlotte seemed to mock me and the mess I had made for Mark; neat and tidy, the sidewalks hosted bankers, lawyers, professionals moving in their uncomplicated, clean, respectable lives. I steered the car toward South Tryon, driving past Harris Tower, bank headquarters, and finally the Observer building. Within a few minutes, I pulled onto Sedgefield Road, then Ruby and Walterene's driveway.
"Ruby, I'm home," I yelled as I walked in the door.
She came into the den wiping her eyes; she had been crying, so I hugged her hard. The emotions of the morning plagued me: hurting Kathleen, the one innocent in the whole tangle I had brought Mark into; outing Mark, by accident, but still as I considered it, maybe I had wanted to expose our relationship. I was the one who said I wouldn't hide, but he was the one hurt. My arms wrapped around Ruby's soft, plump body, and my mind came back to her feelings. "What's wrong?"
"Just thinking about Walterene. I get so wrapped up in thoughts, I don't know what to do without her." She sniffed back more tears.
Rubbing her arms, I looked into her eyes. "It's okay to think about her. Remember how she loved working in the garden?"
"Yeah," she sniffed, "the tulips she planted last fall are gone; other flowers have taken their place. She loved planning what to add to the yard."
"She kept a beautiful garden," I agreed.
"Once," Ruby managed a small smile, "we planted daisies next to the birdbath; she said I put them too close together, and I said they were just right. We got into an argument right there in the backyard. She starting pulling them up, and I tried to stop her." Ruby chuckled between sobs. "I pushed her while she kneeled pulling up my daisies. I didn't expect her to fall over, so I lost my balance and fell on top of her." She looked at me and smiled. "Imagine what the neighbors thought. Two old women wrestling in the backyard, crushing daisies as we fought."
"Who won?" I asked.
"I did. I grabbed a daisy and hit her on the head with the root end of it. Dirt flew everywhere. She had just had her hair set. She stormed back into the house, yelling that I'd just cost her ten dollars."
I had never thought of them fighting, but all couples do. I said, "Lucky for her, it wasn't a rock garden."
"That's right," she smiled. "Let me fix you something to eat." She pulled away from me and headed for the refrigerator.
"No thanks, I have no appetite."
"Good Lord, are you feeling okay?"
The encounter with Kathleen left my stomach in knots; I wondered how Mark was reacting. "I'm okay," I lied. "I need to call Mark." Leaving Ruby in the kitchen, I went to her bedroom to use the phone in private.
Becky, Mark's assistant, said that Mark had left the office, but she would be glad to put me through to his voice mail.
"Mark, it's Derek. I guess you've heard from Kathleen." The scene replayed in my head of Kathleen standing in the doorway of her and Mark's bedroom; I couldn't express the terror I still held from that moment. "Mark, if you need anything, or if I can help, I know I can't do much at this point, but please call and let me know how you're doing." I hung up the phone and rubbed my aching forehead.
Confusion, guilt, and grief banged my thoughts like Ruby thumping Walterene with pulled-up daisies. I needed to get out. I needed to leave town, leave the mess behind. I wanted to go back to San Francisco, to never think of Mark, Daniel, Vernon, Mr. Sams, Gladys, or any of them again. I wanted my old life back. Grabbing my running shorts from the dirty clothes pile, I yelled to Ruby, "I'm going for a run."
Without another word to her, I left the house and started running as hard and fast as I could, keeping my mind on each step. Sweat formed and dripped down my face as the heavy blanket of humidity kept the sweat from evaporating and cooling me. A car came up behind me, and as I glanced back, it signaled to turn on the street I was about to cross; I jogged in place at the corner waiting for the driver to turn, but he didn't drive by. I looked back and the car was gone. "Bitch," I muttered and crossed the road.
I kept running faster and faster. As I approached Park Road, the light changed, so I ran across the four lanes and toward Freedom Park. The sun's rays filtered through the thick leaves of the overhead oak and elm limbs leaving me running in cool shadows. Freedom Park was the place we'd gone for summer concerts by the duck pond, to festivals and on field trips when we were kids in school. It was a popular, beloved gathering place, away from the concrete and cars of downtown; Freedom Park was the outdoor heart of Charlotte, nestled in the old neighborhoods, protected from mindless development, and open to everyone like a plump, happy mother opening her arms and offering a cookie and hug to a hurt child. I needed that hug. Rounding a corner to a new baseball field built on the edge of the park, I spied a water fountain, and headed straight for it. Energy drained by my sweat, I drank and drank, then splashed the water on my sweltering head, face, and chest. For a Friday lunchtime, the place was almost deserted. A sidewalk wound through the park, so I walked it to cool down and catch my breath, focusing on what I would say to Mark. He would be upset, of course, about Kathleen knowing, but would he convince her nothing happened? Would he try to deny it? How could he? Kathleen acted like she suspected; it hadn't been like "Oh my God," it was more "How long has it been going on?" I added another name to the list of people wanting me out of Charlotte.
The sun beamed hot on my back. Cranking back up to a jog on the concrete walkway bordering the pond, I discovered slick piles of goose shit posed slippery hazards to my run. I veered to the right on a dirt trail that headed into the woods. The cooler, shaded trail let me concentrate on Mark, not on goose droppings or the scorching sun. What is he thinking right at this moment? He had left the office, probably after Kathleen had called. Maybe he was trying to call me. Two young women jogged past me, they said "Hello" as they ran, but all I could do was nod an out-of-breath "Hey."
A thought broke through: Mark might be calling right now. I decided to turn back. As I followed the trail to what I believed would take me back to the pond, a dark-haired man stepped out from behind a tree and grabbed my arm. Luckily, sweat made me slippery, and he lost his grip.
I sprinted away, but heard his footsteps fast behind me. Not having the breath to keep running at a getaway speed, I knew I would have to fight. No branch or rock was within reach; his hand grabbed my shoulder and jerked me back.
I fell, rolling across the damp dirt and soggy leaves.
Struggling to get out from under his weight, I saw his face. He wasn't familiar; he could have been the man who followed me the day before in town, but I wasn't sure. His identity didn't mean much to me at the moment; I just wanted to get away.
A hit to the stomach knocked what little breath I had out of my body. I couldn't breathe in. I gasped for air, but continued to struggle with the stranger. He didn't seem to have a weapon, no knife, no gun, no blunt object. I hadn't felt anything but the strike of his fists to my stomach, jaw, and side of my head. I got a good hit to his nose, and he rolled off for a second. Pulling in a lungful of air, I felt I was breathing again for the first time in hours. By my second breath, he was back, pounding on my body.
Is this it? Death? In the woods?
Blood smeared my hand. I wasn't sure if it was his or mine. A hard left hook to the chin caught himby surprise, and I saw the bewildered look in his eyes and his bloody nose.
"Didn't think a fag could fight, did you?" I pushed him off me. I was on my feet first, and when he started to get up, I kicked his knee out from under him. He fell with a thud. "Remember the Observer building?" I yelled.
He pulled himself up to his good knee. "Fuck you, faggot." His scratchy voice froze me for a moment, a moment I didn't have. With my next kick, intended for his balls, he grabbed my foot and tripped me to the ground. "You bastard," he hissed. His hands tried to pin me to the damp decaying leaves. The dank smell of his body, or maybe it came from the forest floor, sickened me. I struggled to keep my hands free and fighting.
With a swift tug on my arm, he flipped me over, and twisted my hands behind my back. The fiend jerked down my running shorts. "Now," he growled, "you get what all faggots want."
Tremors shook my body. Rape. The word couldn't convey the brutality, hate, and viciousness of the act. He forced my face into the raw dirt with his shoulder as he held my wrists tight. I felt him struggling to unzip his pants with his free hand. This was my last chance to get away. With all the strength I could gather, I bucked my hips up to knock him off my back. He fell to the side and lost his grip on my wrists. Kicks to his head forced him back further.
My shorts around my knees tripped me as I scrambled to get up. I pulled them back up, and on hands and knees, struggled to get away from his snatching hands.
"There! There!" a woman screamed.
I turned to see the two female joggers with a man from the park patrol. The scratchy-voiced man, stunned by the presence of others, stopped to look, too.
"Hey, asshole," I yelled to get his attention. He turned his blood-and-sweat-smeared face toward me, and I did my best Emma-style kickboxing strike to his nose.
He yelped in pain as blood gushed from his flattened nostrils.
AGAIN, THE POLICE recorded a statement from me, and when I refused to be taken to the hospital, drove me back to Ruby's. The asshole, identified as Bert Carter, was taken to Presbyterian Hospital with a broken nose.
Ruby fussed over me. I tried to calm her down, so I could talk to the police more: Who is Bert Carter? What does he have to do with me? Why? Why? Mainly, what I wanted to know was why.
The police told me nothing.
After a hot shower and a few too many cigarettes, the phone rang. Ruby said, "It's Daniel. He heard about the…" She didn't have words for it, neither did I. "Do you want to talk to him?"
"Yeah." I took the phone from her. "Hey, guess good news travels fast."
"Are you okay?" His low, soft voice soothed my frayed nerves.
"I think so. A little shaken, but I'll be all right."
"I saw the police report," he began.
"How'd you do that?"
"I have my sources," he said. "Can I come over? I want to see that you're okay."
His presence would comfort me. No one else knew, except Ruby, and she still fluttered around me like an edgy mother hen. "Yeah, come on. I have some things to talk to you about."
Daniel rang the doorbell less than five minutes later. Ruby let him in. He introduced himself, and she busied herself with making coffee and baking a lemon cake. "I just handle things better when I'm doing something with my hands," she explained. Her activity in the kitchen left privacy for Daniel and me.
"What do you know about this Carter asshole?" I asked.
"He has a police record." Daniel sat on the couch across from me. I did feel calmer with him around. "A couple of drug possession arrests. Employed at a family steakhouse as a cook. He didn't do this for political reasons; not his, anyway. I think he's just a hired gun."
"A thug," I mumbled.
"Right. The police are still talking to him. As soon as I find out more-"
"I want to go down there," I insisted.
"To the jail?"
"Yes, I want to know what else they've found out. They have to tell me, don't they?"
Daniel considered it for a moment. "No, not necessarily."
"But you can make them."
"I'm a reporter; they'll talk to you before me."
I thought of Mark, using his influence to get some answers, but then the mess he had with Kathleen came back to mind. "I don't care, I can't sit here waiting. Go with me?"
"Let's go." Daniel got up and headed for the door. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Harris," he said to Ruby as I kissed her good-bye.
At the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department, we waited in a small, bland room, only big enough for a table. I glanced up at the fluorescent light in the ceiling. "How do they shine that in a suspect's eyes to make him talk?"
Daniel looked up and smiled. "They wheel in the big lamp with the electric shock equipment."
Officer Gloria Blevins, the young black cop who had been at the house the night Ruby was missing, came in. "Guys, he's confessed to the attack on Ruby Harris and to the one on you," she nodded toward me, "and Harold Grouse at the Observer offices."
I asked the obvious next question, "Why?"
"Says," she looked at some papers in front of her, "he was hired to scare you. Doesn't know, or won't tell us, who hired him."
"Scare me?" I jumped up from the metal chair making it scratch across the concrete floor. "Scare me? He put Ruby in the hospital." I stared at Daniel, then back at Officer Blevins.
Sitting on the corner of the table, she leaned in as if she intended on sharing a secret with us. "Carter said that Ms. Harris saw him outside; he went to the door, and she came at him with a baseball bat."
"How'd she end up with a concussion in the attic?" I asked.
She scanned her notes. "Carter says he left her there, tied to a chair so he could get away before she called the police. He swears he never hurt her."
When I found Ruby, she was tied in an overturned chair. Could she have knocked it over and hit her head in the fall? "Did he say who helped him?"
"Helped him?" Officer Blevins asked.
"Yeah, he couldn't have carried Ruby up those attic steps."
"I assumed she climbed them herself." Blevins looked over Carter's confession again. "He said he was there alone, and she was conscious when he left her."
Daniel rubbed his chin. "Did he say what he did after he left Ruby's house?"
"No," Blevins answered. "Why do you ask?"
I looked at Daniel, wondering where he was going with the question.
"If you're hired to scare someone, and that person isn't where you thought he was," he constructed the scenario, "and you tied up an old woman in an attic, I would say you botched your job. Wouldn't he have told whoever hired him?"
"Why?" I asked. "Why would he bother?"
"If something had happened to Ruby… say no one came to check on her for several days, she could have died. He would have committed murder. He's not a murderer."
"You weren't the one he attacked this afternoon. I think he's capable of murder."
"Maybe," Daniel said, "but he didn't come at you with a weapon. He didn't have a weapon that night with Ruby. He left her hidden, and I think he told whoever hired him where she was."
Officer Blevins jotted down something. "We'll get his phone records to see what numbers he called that night. Is there anything else you can give me?"
"Won't his lawyer stop him from answering questions?" I knew the police were getting too much information for any attorney to be involved.
"Read him his Miranda, and he declined counsel." Blevins grinned. "I'll be right back." She left the room, closing the door behind her.
"Damn," I looked at Daniel, "I forgot to ask about the noose."
"What noose?"
I hadn't told him about the noose hanging from the oak. "When I got home that night, there was a noose hanging from the oak; the police tried to say it was just a hanging basket, but I think he strung a noose from the oak to frighten me. The same oak Mr. Sams was hanged from."
"Mr. Sams?"
"Sorry, Caleb Sampson. Walterene and Ruby called him Mr. Sams. That was part of the scare, because I knew about Mr. Sams."
Daniel stood and opened the door; he looked down the hall for Officer Blevins. "Let's go find her."
Just as we started out the door, she stepped around a corner. I ran up to her. "Did he say anything about using a noose to scare me? Can I talk to him?"
"No and no. We found no sign of a noose Saturday night, just a macramé flowerpot holder," she said while steering me back to the little room. "You need to stay here. We're still getting information from him."
"But…" I started as she closed the door. Daniel sighed and leaned against the cinderblock wall. "If he put the noose there…" I trailed off as thoughts took over. The phone calls, the attacks, never mentioned Mr. Sams. I had linked them together. Could I have interwoven what I read from the diaries with what happened to me? Clearing my mind of Mr. Sams' death, I tried to piece together what the capture of Bert Carter and his mission to scare me out of town meant.
"You okay?" Daniel asked as he walked over and touched my shoulder.
"Yeah, I think I am." I smiled, glad that he was with me. "In fact, I have a few questions for some family members."