The trees, p.5
The Trees, page 5
“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said. “Mrs. Milam, did you know the other man, the Black man they found in your house?”
“How would I know?” she said. “His face was all fucked up. He just barely looked like a person.”
“Did your husband have any close Black men as friends or associates or enemies? Did he ever mention having problems or conflicts with anyone?” Ed looked at the rickety steps and the rickety screen door. “You ever have anybody doing work for you around here? A yardman or a handyman?”
Daisy shook her head no. “No, we let the gardener go when we hired the butler.” She smirked.
“So nobody saw or heard the Black man or anyone else come into the house?” Jim asked.
“We wasn’t here. We was at the swap meet in the Sam’s Club parking lot. I keep tellin’ everybody that, but no-fuckin’-body listens. I wanted me a lime-green halter top, but I got this blue one instead.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why did that Negro man kill my husband?” she asked, sincerely.
“I don’t know,” Ed said. “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was somebody else. It seems unlikely they killed each other.”
“Did something happen over at Wheat Bryant’s today?” Daisy asked. “Somebody called all hysterical, but I couldn’t pay no attention because of the baby. Every time I go into the house I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind.”
“Mind if we go in and take a look?” Jim asked. “We’ll be careful not to disturb anything.”
Daisy laughed. “Disturb anything? Disturb away. Won’t make no difference. Funny, though,” she said.
“What’s that?” Ed asked.
“I ain’t never had no colored people in my house, except for the man from the satellite TV, and in two days three of y’all come in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said.
The screen door was every bit as loud as Ed imagined it would be. The house was clean, cluttered with bright plastic toys. Against the far wall of the front room were stacks of T-shirts, bright white.
“The report says it happened in a room way back off the kitchen,” Jim said. He led the way.
There was no police tape, but an empty, yellow, five-gallon bucket sat in front of the closed door, as if put there as a barrier. Jim moved the bucket, opened the door, and they stepped inside.
“I hate murder scenes,” Ed said.
Jim looked at the room, scanning slowly front to back. It appeared to be a spare bedroom that had become a catchall storage area, not a strange thing. The only thing truly out of place was what appeared to be a high-end racing bicycle turned upside down onto its seat, the wheels removed.
“Milam was right here,” Jim said. “Our unidentified colored man was there. No weapons were found.”
“There is another way in and out.” Ed pointed to a sliding glass door. There were boxes stacked in front of it. Ed looked closely. “Except this door hasn’t moved in a long time. Crud is all built up and undisturbed in the track.”
“This is some weird shit,” Jim said.
“We’re not going to figure out anything here,” Ed said.
“We’re not going to figure out any of this,” Jim said. “We’re just going through the motions, partner. Crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s.”
“What time is it?” Ed asked.
“After four.”
“I guess I should call home and tell Joyce I won’t be home tonight. My kid has a recital too.”
“Oops.” Jim pointed. “Just out of curiosity, what’s in those boxes?”
Ed peeled back a lid. “T-shirts.” He opened the one beside it. “Same here. All white.”
“Do you believe any of these folks are lying to us?” Jim asked.
“That’s the weird thing. I don’t think so. I think they’re all telling the truth. Even Jethro with his ghost theory.”
Jim rubbed the back of his neck. “It always helps when somebody lies.”
21
Braden Brady and Delroy Digby fell into the vinyl booth seats opposite the sheriff. The Dinah was busy because everyone was trying to beat the dinner rush. This happened every day. The restaurant was packed from five to six-thirty and then virtually empty until closing at nine, staying open that late only for the occasional trucker and a few regulars and those too late to beat the dinner rush.
“So, where are they?” Brady asked.
“Who?” Jetty asked.
“You know, Shaquille O’Neal and Samuel L. Jackson?” Brady said. “I don’t know their fuckin’ names.”
Delroy laughed.
“Investigating, I guess,” Jetty said.
“Are we just gonna let them two colored boys roam all over town like that?” Brady asked.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jetty asked. “Did your mama drop you on your head or something?”
Brady gave Delroy a puzzled look.
“You mean you want them here?” Delroy asked.
“Have you found the body?” the sheriff asked. “That was rhetorical. Maybe they will. Then they can go back to Hattiesburg and feel all superior and laugh about them stupid peckerwoods up in Money. All I can say is that this is crazy. Scary. Dead bodies disappearing. What’s next?”
The deputies stared stupidly at Jetty. The sheriff studied their blank faces and shook his head.
“What?” Delroy asked.
“Nothing,” Jetty said.
Gertrude came to their table and stood there, pencil and pad ready.
“Chili for me,” Delroy said.
“Me too,” Brady said. “And sprinkle some of that crumbly cheese on it. I like that cheese.”
“I’m good with coffee,” the sheriff said.
“You got it,” Gertrude said and walked away.
“You know, I don’t like her much,” Brady said. “I don’t even think Dixie is her real name. She’s kinda uppity.”
“Delroy”—Jetty pointed his coffee mug at the man—“I want you to get in your private car and see if you can’t keep an eye on them special detectives.”
“You think they up to somethin’?” Brady asked.
“No, I don’t think they up to somethin’. I just want to know what’s goin’ on. Try not to be seen.”
“So, I’m like, goin’ undercover,” Delroy said.
“Yes, undercover, Delroy.”
“Should I put on my regular street clothes?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Want I should go with him?” Brady asked.
“No.” Jetty finished his coffee.
22
The smell of skunk wafted over the property. Charlene Bryant was swearing a blue streak and telling her children to stay indoors. Three skunks were on the side deck scratching at the glass door.
“What are they doin’ here, Hot Mama Yeller?” Lulabelle asked. She was frightened of the animals.
“Granny C didn’t feed them like she always does, and now they lookin’ for food,” Charlene said.
“What’s wrong with Granny C?” the child asked.
“Well, honey, your daddy was just brutally murdered. That kinda messed her up. You know your daddy was her son. Me? I’m upset too, but ain’t nobody worrying over me. It’s fucked up.”
“Daddy was dead when they took him out?” Lulabelle said.
“Yes, baby.”
“Is Granny C gonna die?” the child asked.
“No, baby.”
Outside on the front porch, Jim Davis squeezed his nose shut. “Is that decomp?” he asked.
“I think it’s skunk,” Ed said.
“It’s awful.”
“I sort of like the smell.”
“Just knock,” Jim said.
Ed rapped on the screen door.
“Who you? What y’all want?” Charlene stood behind the screen. “I’m gonna call the police if you don’t get off my property.”
Ed flashed his badge. “Ma’am, we are the police.”
“I ain’t never seen you before,” she said.
“I’m Special Detective Morgan and this is Special Detective Davis. We’re Mississippi State cops.”
“Well, what y’all want? Let me see that badge again. Anybody can get theyselves a badge.”
Ed showed her his badge and his ID. Jim held his up also.
“Okay,” she said, hardly looking at them. “What you want?”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Ed said.
“You know it was a nigger who killed him. I got every right to be scared of you. I could shoot you if I wanted. Could say you scared me real bad and I had to shoot you. You hear what I’m sayin’?”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Jim said.
“Don’t you think there’s been enough killing around here?” Ed asked.
“Enough killin’? What kinda crazy talk is that?” Charlene looked past them into the yard to see if anyone else was there. “How come the sheriff ain’t with you?”
“This is a state investigation now, Mrs. Bryant,” Ed said, though it was not technically true.
“Ma’am, can we come in and ask you a few questions? The skunk smell is pretty bad out here.”
Charlene gave him a hard look. She unlatched the door and let them in. “We can sit in here.”
The men sat side by side on a love seat. Lulabelle came running into the room and stopped at the sight of them.
“Who they, Hot Mama Yeller?”
Jim looked at Ed and, while Charlene was tending to the child, mouthed the words hot mama yellow?
Ed shrugged.
“These men come to ask some questions about your daddy,” Charlene said. “Now you go on and play.”
“My daddy dead.”
“We’re very sorry about that,” Ed said. “You know, I have a daughter about your age. She pays attention to almost everything. How about you?”
“Mama say I’m nosy.”
“Did you see anyone you didn’t know this morning?” Jim asked.
“No.”
“Did you hear any voices other than your family’s?”
“No.” The girl looked to her mother. “I think them skunks is givin’ up.”
“Good,” Charlene said.
Jim said to Charlene, “Ma’am, did you see the stranger enter your house. Or hear him?”
“Nobody seen or heard nothing. I needed to pee, actually more than pee, Granny C too, and Wheat had been in the bathroom for a real long time. That’s when I tried to get in. We only got one bathroom. Wheat kept saying he was gonna put another toilet on the back porch.” She started to tear up. “He was on the floor blockin’ the door. I feel bad for yelling at him. I thought he was in there with a magazine or somethin’.”
“It’s okay, Hot Mama Yeller,” Lulabelle said.
“May I ask why she calls you that?” Jim asked.
“That’s my CB handle,” she said. “All the children call me that now. Hot Mama Yeller, ten-four.”
Jim nodded.
“The other man in the room, had you ever seen him before?”
“Not lookin’ the way he did. I didn’t recognize him. I know he ain’t never been around here, not looking like that.”
“Could your husband have known him?” Ed asked. “Worked with him or had some other business with him away from here?”
“Wheat never left the house. And he sure as hell never went to work. So no. I don’t see how Wheat coulda knowed him.”
“Has anything seemed strange or different lately?” Jim asked. “Anybody been hanging around?”
Charlene shook her head. She seemed much more relaxed now, though, showing more grief. She inhaled deeply and sighed. “Do you want to see where we found him? I already done cleaned up the mess.”
Ed looked at Jim. Jim said, “I don’t think that will be necessary. Who else lives here in the house?”
“My other babies. They’s younger than Lulabelle here. And Wheat’s mama. We call her Granny C.”
“You think we could talk to her?” Ed asked.
“You can talk at her, but you ain’t gonna learn nothing. She got all froze up when she seen them takin’ Wheat and that nigger out. Sorry, no offense.”
“None taken,” Jim said.
“Granny C was here all morning?” Ed asked.
“She was.”
“We’ll try not to upset her,” Ed said.
Charlene led the men down the hall and into Granny C’s bedroom. She was lying on her back, a heavy crazy quilt pulled to just under her chin. “She ain’t said a single word since she seen that Black man.”
Granny C’s eyes found Jim or Ed or both. Her mouth opened as if she was about to say “egg” and let out a wild scream. Her body shook, and spittle spilled from the corner of her crooked lips. Charlene tried to settle her down. The old woman’s arms flailed, and her screaming became the word sorry. She repeated it, holding the last sound for several seconds.
“We’d better leave her alone,” Jim said.
As soon as they were out of the room, the old woman became quiet. Charlene came out to them. “That was just weird,” she said. “Didn’t you think that was weird? She always been crazy, but not like this.”
“I think we’ve taken up enough of your time,” Jim said.
Ed knelt to address Lulabelle. “You keep on being nosy, okay?”
“Okay.”
23
Delroy Digby’s ’97 sky-blue Nissan Sentra was the only car parked on the curbless Dime Drive. He was parked in front of the unoccupied shotgun house across and just down the road from the Bryant house. The house was slated to be razed, but it also had possibilities as a meth-making lab, so it remained. Delroy held a newspaper in front of his face, peered around the edge of it at the two Black men climbing into the dark-green Toyota Sienna. He called Sheriff Jetty.
“Sheriff, it’s me, Delroy Digby. I’m calling from undercover.”
“Yes, Delroy? I know your last name.”
“I’m parked outside Wheat Bryant’s place. Or what used to be his place. Is it still his place? I mean, given that he’s all dead and stuff? I guess I should call it Charlene Bryant’s place. You know?”
“Why are you calling me?” Jetty asked.
“I just seen the subjects exitin’ the house. They just got into their van. They ain’t seen me. I’m parked across the road.”
“Are there any other cars parked around you?”
“No, but don’t worry,” Delroy said.
“Pray tell why not?”
“They couldn’t see me cause I was makin’ like I was readin’ the news paper.”
Jetty sighed. “Delroy, when’s the last time you actually saw somebody readin’ a newspaper?”
“I dunno.”
“Just stay with them,” the sheriff said. “Don’t call back.”
24
Jim and Ed decided to stop at the diner called the Dinah for an early dinner. Gertrude waved to them and gestured for them to sit in a window booth. The vinyl seats were that avocado green from the sixties, cracked and repaired with tape that almost matched the color. A couple of names were carved into the table.
Ed took out his phone. “First things first, I’ll call and get us a room at the Motel 6 we saw coming into town.”
“Eight,” Jim said.
“What?”
“It’s a Motel 8.”
“You’re crazy,” Ed said. “There’s no such thing.”
“It’s a Motel 8.”
Gertrude came to their table with coffee. “You men want coffee?”
“I do, he doesn’t,” Jim said.
Ed looked at her. “Motel 6 or Motel 8?”
“It’s a Motel 8,” she said.
“What the hell does that even mean?” Ed muttered. “What’s the eight for?”
“What’s the six for?” Jim asked.
Ed froze. “Well, okay, you’ve a got a point. I’ll call and make a reservation at the Motel fucking 8.”
“How has your day been?” Jim asked Gertrude.
“The same as yesterday, the day before, and the same as tomorrow will be. What about you? I heard about those murders. Is that why you’re here?”
Jim nodded. “Not that we’re doing much.”
“Somebody said there was a Black wizard or ghost running loose around town,” she said.
“It appears so.”
“What?” His lack of irony confused her.
“You don’t mind if I say this a fucked-up town.”
“It would be weird if you didn’t say it,” she said.
“What are you doing here?” Jim looked at her eyes. They were brown, like his. She had a few freckles around the bridge of her nose.
“Excuse me for asking, but are you Black?” Jim asked.
“Why yes.”
“I knew it,” he said. “I didn’t know that you’re Black. I didn’t know that, but I knew there was something. Does Whitey know?”
“They know,” Gertrude said. “They forget.” She had to go check on another patron who was calling to her from the back. “Be back.”
Ed got off the phone.
“She’s Black,” Jim said.
“You didn’t see that?” Ed said.
“You knew?” Jim asked, incredulous.
“I’m telling you I knew. I knew she was Black just like I knew it was a Motel 8.”
Jim laughed.
“That doesn’t change anything, does it?” Ed asked.
“Of course not.”
Ed pushed his phone to the side. “We got the last room. Why anybody is staying in Money, Mississippi, I don’t know. Truckers, I guess. I called Joyce and told her we’re stuck in Money. She said she wished that was true.”
Gertrude returned. “What will it be?”
“I think I’ll pass,” Ed said.
“Very funny,” Gertrude said.
“I will have the chicken-fried steak,” Ed said.
Jim looked at him.
“Baby steps, little brother,” Ed said. “And a salad.”
“I’ll have the club sandwich,” Jim said.
“Am I to understand that you’re staying overnight here in Money?”
“Afraid so,” said Ed.
Jim pointed to the man seated at a two-person table in the far corner. “There’s our friend,” he said.
