Do Unto Others

“Is this how you conduct all your negotiations?” I asked a moment later. “Yes,” she smiled. “Even with our friend Matt. Of course he had certain limitations, but I do admire initiative and enthusiasm.” “I can tell.” I pulled away from her. “We’ll seal our deal later-when we’ve agreed on my percentage. Shall I call you tomorrow?” “I don’t like being turned down twice, Jordy,” she snapped. An unpleasant gleam showed in her eyes. “Not turned down-just delayed. I have to get back home, or they’ll think something’s wrong. You don’t want me attracting undue attention, do you?” Sense made her relent. “All right. I’m working the day shift, but I’ll be off at three.” I told her I’d call her then. I stumbled out into the night to my car. I felt dirtier than after I’d run through the brambles. I took a long, hard drink of air and started the engine. I was about halfway down the long street she lived on when a Mirabeau police car shot past me. I saw it slow in front of her house. I had the strongest feeling that Junebug’d paid a visit to Matt Blalock and he’d turned in his boss. I wondered if Ruth would look as good in Bonaparte County Jail orange as she did in hospital white.

15

Beta Harcher’s house stood dark and foreboding in the faint moonlight. I tried not to think of it as the scene of bitter blackmail, attempted murder, or even as the lair of the woman who should have been voted Most Likely to Cause Suffering. I just tried to think of it as a house I needed to break into. I’d thought that if Junebug had indeed descended on Matt Blalock’s farm (and not to do so immediately wouldn’t be politically advantageous-most citizenry didn’t view drug crimes favorably), he’d gone in with force. Quite possibly there was no longer a guard at Beta’s home. There wasn’t. I parked several houses down and checked the flash-light Candace had left in my car. I tried to walk nonchalantly down the street at this late hour, but no one really ambles in Mirabeau past eleven at night if they’re not staggering home drunk. I gave it up and jogged over to the back of Beta’s house. Like I said before, most yards in town don’t have fences, and Beta’s backyard tumbled down to the shores of the Colorado. I snuck around to the back, keeping an eye on the neighboring homes. They stayed dark in slumber. The back door was still locked, and so were all the windows I tried. The window that Shannon’s attacker broke in through was efficiently boarded shut. I weighed the choices in my mind. I needed those letters Mama had written Bob Don. After an evening of having a near stranger claim paternity of me, getting shot at, and being offered gainful employment by our local drug czarina, a little breaking and entering seemed mild.

If I got in trouble, I got in trouble, and I’d explain it to Junebug later. I wrapped my dark windbreaker around my hand. Popping out a pane of glass in Beta’s back door sounded deafening, but there was no neighborhood call to arms. Maybe the constant murmur of the river inured the folks to sound. I slipped inside. I kept the flashlight off and eased to the front windows. The drapes had been closed. Good. I didn’t want anyone to see my light. I made a quick pass upstairs, just in case there was a room labeled HERE’S WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING FOR. No such luck. There was a small bedroom, a dusty guest bedroom that smelled stalely of disuse, and another smaller bedroom with Shannon’s luggage still sitting in it. The poor girl hadn’t even had a chance to unpack. I went back downstairs to the den. The police hadn’t tidied up after Shannon’s attacker. Books and broken bric-a-brac covered the floor. My light played along the carpet and found a stain of gore.

Shannon’s blood. I reminded myself I was dealing with someone who had few compunctions about killing. I played the light along the room and it caught the Bible that Junebug had pulled Patty Quiff’s yellowing letter from. I remembered he’d opened the Bible to the letter, then set the Good Book on the side table. I examined the Bible; it was open at the Book of Job, who could have only suffered more if he’d lived in Mirabeau and gotten on Beta’s bad side. Eula Mae’s quote, about your enemy writing a book, came from Job. I straightened up and cast the beam across the other shelves and the floor. Lots and lots of Bibles, some still on the uppermost shelf. I dragged a chair over to the big built-in bookshelf and climbed on it. I opened one, and let the pages flip past my thumb until I got to a piece of paper that wasn’t covered with holy scripture. The book of Isaiah, where my quote had come from.