Part 30 (1/2)
It took less than ten minutes for Bo to get to the clearing. Though the distance was just over a mile, Bo found himself running most of it, a couple of times stumbling on uneven ground and falling on the dirt road. I have to know, he kept telling himself. I have to know.
By the time he reached the familiar trail that led to the pond, it was almost dark. Two vehicles were parked side by side at the edge of the trail, and Bo squinted his eyes, trying to focus. One of the vehicles was a Chevy Tahoe, probably silver, though the lack of light made it tough to tell. The other one was a two-cab Chevy Silverado truck. Darker. Probably green. As Bo approached, he saw the shadow of a man in the front cab of the pickup truck. He froze, reaching for his pocket and realizing that he had brought no weapon. Usually, he brought his twelve-gauge or his pistol to the clearing, but the state had seized all of his guns.
Slowly, trying to make as little sound as possible, Bo approached the truck. The driver's-side window was down, and the man behind the wheel was slumped against the center console, his head turned away from Bo. Asleep? Bo wondered. The adrenaline that had carried Bo this far had now cranked into overdrive.
Something wasn't right about this scene.
”Hey,” Bo said, clearing his throat. Nothing. The man, wearing jeans and a plaid flannel s.h.i.+rt with a ball cap on his head, still leaned away, making no movement at all. Though Bo had yet to see his face, there was something familiar about the man's profile. ”Hey,” Bo repeated, reaching into the truck and shaking the man's arm. When he did, the man slumped toward him, and Bo saw the face framed below the orange UT ball cap.
Larry Tucker, Bo knew, though the gunshot hole just above the man's right temple made it harder to tell. Dried blood caked the right side of what was left of Larry's face, and he gazed at Bo with dead eyes. ”Jesus Christ,” Bo whispered, dropping Larry's arm and stumbling backward away from the truck.
”Larry was always such an idiot.” The harsh voice came from directly behind Bo, and he fell to the ground as he tried to turn toward it. ”I think it was a humanitarian gesture to put him out of his misery.”
”Ms. Maggie?” Bo asked, rising to his feet as the voice came closer. It was now pitch dark, and Bo could see nothing but the faint outline of the pine trees above him. Even the stars, it seemed, had stayed away on this dreary night. Bo blinked and took a cautious step forward, squinting in the direction of the voice.
The roaring of a shotgun blast sent him to his knees. Heart pounding and ear drums ringing, he ran his hands along his body, searching for a wound and then looking at his palms for blood.
”You're not hit,” the harsh voice said. ”Not yet. Now get up and open the back door to Larry's truck, or the next shot goes in your ear.”
Bo, still unable to see her, stood on shaky legs and did as he was told. The interior light inside the truck came on, and Bo turned back toward the voice.
Maggie Walton was standing three feet in front of him, pointing the barrel of a twelve-gauge shotgun at Bo's head. ”Got your bearings?” she asked him, and Bo, unable to speak, nodded.
”Good. Now walk along the path toward the pond.”
When Bo's feet hadn't budged, Ms. Maggie spoke again, her voice devoid of emotion. ”Go on now, Bocephus. You came out here to talk, didn't you?”
Again, Bo nodded his head.
”Well, we're going to have our talk by the pond.”
Bo tried to move his feet, but they seemed to be stuck in the ground. The adrenaline rush that had carried him to this point was gone. He was so tired.
”Go, Bocephus,” Maggie said, her voice softer.
”You're going to kill me too, aren't you?” Bo asked, a rhetorical question given the circ.u.mstances.
”Yes, Bo. I am,” Maggie said. ”But not before I tell you.”
”Tell me what?” Bo asked.
In the glow from the interior light in Larry Tucker's pickup, Bo saw Maggie Walton's lips curve into a smile. ”Everything.”
The walk to the pond took less than two minutes, but for Bo it seemed to last two lifetimes. Pictures from his past danced across his mind like reels in an old projector-style movie. Was it possible that he had been wrong about so much for so long? He had seen with his own eyes what had happened at this clearing forty-five years ago. He had recognized Andy Walton's voice. Andy had kicked the horse, and Bo's father's neck had snapped. The Ku Klux Klan, led by Andy Walton, had killed Bo's father, and Bo's mother had left because she did not want to suffer a similar fate. Right?
Bo's arms hung limp at his sides as he walked. He made no move to escape. Truth be known, he didn't want to escape. He wanted to know. I have to know . . .
Bo walked to within a few feet of where the water met the rocky sand, and stopped.
”Turn around,” Maggie said, and Bo did as he was told.
In the darkness, though she was only three feet away, Maggie looked like a shadow.
”Why did you kill Tucker?” Bo finally asked, unable to shake the image of the dead man with the orange cap and flannel s.h.i.+rt from his mind. He had seen two corpses in the past three hours. Ray Ray Pickalew and now Larry Tucker. And I'll be the third one, Bo thought.
”Officially,” Maggie began, ”Larry Tucker dropped by the farm, saying he wanted to talk about what happened at trial today.” Though he couldn't see her face, Bo could tell by Maggie's tone that she was smiling. ”I buzzed him to come up and meet me at the clearing, as today is my day to inspect the north half of the farm. When he arrived, he was drunk and belligerent. He said, 'George ruined everything,' and that he needed to find him. When I said I didn't know where George was, he said he was going to kill me. He climbed into his truck to grab his weapon, and I shot him through the open window before he could shoot me.”
”That sounds pretty good,” Bo said, figuring Maggie could probably sell that story. ”What's the unofficial version?”
”George called Larry and asked him to meet him at the clearing. When Larry arrived, he saw me and rolled his window down to talk. Once the window was down, I pointed the barrel of this twelve-gauge at him and blew his brains out.”
Bo felt a cold chill on the back of his neck that had nothing to do with the temperature. The matter-of-factness with which Maggie spoke was startling.
”Why?” Bo asked. ”Why Tucker?”
She shrugged. ”Loose ends. Larry knew too much for his own good, and after Pickalew's testimony today he was going to finish his life in jail. I didn't want him cutting any deals for information with the prosecutors.”
”What information would he have?”
”I really don't know,” Maggie said. ”Andy's lips had loosened some in the past few years. Since I didn't know what Larry knew, the safer play was to get rid of him.”
”Getting rid of people is one of your specialties, isn't it, Ms. Maggie?”
She stepped closer to him, and now he could see her. Her eyes squinted from behind the barrel of the gun. ”Don't get sa.s.sy with me, Bocephus. Or I'll put an end to this right now.”
”What about Sheriff Petrie?” Bo asked, knowing he had to keep her talking. ”He's still around.”
”Ennis doesn't know anything. He had just joined the Klan when Roosevelt was lynched.”
”What about Ray Ray?” Bo asked. ”Why did he testify today? Why did he bring it all down?”
Another pause, and faint moonlight began to emerge through the clouds above. For the first time since reaching the pond, Bo could see Maggie's eyes. She was gazing past Bo as if in thought, holding the gun against her hip. He could probably rush her and get the gun if he was quick enough.
”You know how many rabbits and squirrels I've shot in my life with this gun right on my hip like this here?” It was as if she could read his mind. ”Don't even think about it, Bo. Or I'll fill you full of lead before you find out what you've waited your whole life to know.”
”Why did Ray Ray spill the beans today?”
”You'd have to ask him,” Maggie said. ”I suspect it was because he didn't care anymore. Maybe Doris died or was already about dead. I guess we'll never know now, will we?” She smiled, and Bo again felt the chill on the back of his neck.
”That was you?” Bo asked.
She nodded. ”I hired a man to kill you, but Ray Ray got in the way.”
”JimBone Wheeler,” Bo said, feeling weak in the knees.
Maggie again nodded. ”Mr. Wheeler was fairly easy to recruit for this job. Apparently, you had a bit of a history with him.”
Several seconds went by, and the clouds continued to move out. Light from the crescent-shaped moon shone down on the pond, and Orion became visible above. Bo gazed upward at the constellation, blinking his eyes. Maggie Walton was behind everything. Maggie was the monster my momma was talking about. Not Andy. Maggie . . .