Part 31 (1/2)

”I'm sixteen,” I admitted.

”And you said you work for who?” who?”

It wasn't a good idea to keep lying; as Dad said: ”Sweet, your every thought walks through your voice holding a giant billboard advertis.e.m.e.nt.”

”Myself. I'm a student at St. Gallway, where Hannah taught. I-I'm sorry I lied before but I was afraid you'd hang up again and I”-frantically, I stared down at my CASE NOTES-”you're my only lead. I happened to meet your father, the night he died. He seemed to be a fascinating person. I'm sorry about what happened.”

It was a detestable thing to do, to drag people's deceased family members into it, in order to get what one wants-any mention of Dad dead, I'd doubtlessly sing like a magpie-but it was my only hope; it was obvious Ada was on the fence between hearing me out and hanging up and leaving the phone off the hook.

”Because,” I went on shakily, ”your father and the rest of your family were, at one time, friends with Hannah, I was hoping-” ”Friends?” ”Friends?” She spit out the word like it was rancid avocado. ”We were not She spit out the word like it was rancid avocado. ”We were not friends friends with that woman.” ”Oh, I'm sorry. I thought-” ”You thought with that woman.” ”Oh, I'm sorry. I thought-” ”You thought wrong.” wrong.” If before her voice had been miniatured and poodled, now it was rottweilered. She didn't go on. She was what was commonly called in the gumshoe world, ”one h.e.l.luva cemented dame.” I swallowed. ”So, then, uh, Ms. Harvey-” ”My name is Ada Rose Harvey Lowell.” ”Ms. If before her voice had been miniatured and poodled, now it was rottweilered. She didn't go on. She was what was commonly called in the gumshoe world, ”one h.e.l.luva cemented dame.” I swallowed. ”So, then, uh, Ms. Harvey-” ”My name is Ada Rose Harvey Lowell.” ”Ms. Lowell. Lowell. You weren't acquainted with Hannah Schneider at all?” Again, she didn't say anything. A car commercial was a.s.saulting her living room. Hurriedly, I scribbled ”None?” in my CASE NOTES under question #4, ”What is the nature of your relations.h.i.+p with Hannah Schneider?” I was just about to move on to #5, ”Were you aware of her scheduled camping trip?” when she sighed and spoke, her voice stark. You weren't acquainted with Hannah Schneider at all?” Again, she didn't say anything. A car commercial was a.s.saulting her living room. Hurriedly, I scribbled ”None?” in my CASE NOTES under question #4, ”What is the nature of your relations.h.i.+p with Hannah Schneider?” I was just about to move on to #5, ”Were you aware of her scheduled camping trip?” when she sighed and spoke, her voice stark.

”You don't know what she was,” Ada said.

Now it was my turn to stay silent, because it was one of those dramatic comments that come up halfway into a sci-fi action movie, when one character is about to inform the other character what they're dealing with is not ”of this earth.” Still, my heart began to clang in my chest like a voodoo funeral march in N'awlins.

”What do do you know?” she asked with a note of impatience. ”Anything?” ”I know she was a teacher,” I tried quietly. This elicited an acerbic, ”Heh.” ”I know your father, Smoke, was a retired financier and-” ”My father was an investigative you know?” she asked with a note of impatience. ”Anything?” ”I know she was a teacher,” I tried quietly. This elicited an acerbic, ”Heh.” ”I know your father, Smoke, was a retired financier and-” ”My father was an investigative journalist” journalist” she corrected (see ”Southern she corrected (see ”Southern Pride,” Moon Pies and Tarnation, Moon Pies and Tarnation, Wyatt, 2001). ”He was a banker for thirty-eight years before he was able to retire and pursue his first loves. Writin'. And true crime.” Wyatt, 2001). ”He was a banker for thirty-eight years before he was able to retire and pursue his first loves. Writin'. And true crime.”

”He wrote a book, didn't he? A-a mystery?” ”The Doloroso Treason ”The Doloroso Treason was was not not a mystery. It was 'bout the illegal aliens and the Texas border and the corruption and drug smugglin' that goes on.” a mystery. It was 'bout the illegal aliens and the Texas border and the corruption and drug smugglin' that goes on.”

(She callously squashed the word aliens; aliens; it became it became Aileens.) Aileens.) ”It was a huge success. They gave him a key to the city.” She sniffed. ”What else?” ”It was a huge success. They gave him a key to the city.” She sniffed. ”What else?”

”I-I know your father drowned at Hannah's house.”

She gasped again; this time it sounded like I'd slapped her across the face in front of a hundred guests at a toffee pull. ”My father did not”- not”-her voice was trembly and shrill, the sc.r.a.pe of Lee Press-On Nails down pantyhose -”I- Do you have any idea who my father was?” Do you have any idea who my father was?”

”I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

”He was. .h.i.t by a tractor-trailer when he was four four riding his tricycle. Broke his back serving in Korea. Got trapped in a car that went over Feather Bridge and riding his tricycle. Broke his back serving in Korea. Got trapped in a car that went over Feather Bridge and then then went out the window like they do in the movies. He'd been bit went out the window like they do in the movies. He'd been bit twice- twice-once by a Doberman, another time a Tennessee rattler, and almost had a shark attack off the coast of Way Paw We, Indonesia, only he'd watched a special on the Nature Channel and remembered to punch it straight in the nose, which is what they tell you to do when one's comin' at you only most people don't have the guts to do it. Smoke did. did. And now you're tryin' to tell And now you're tryin' to tell me me his medication mixed with a little Jack was going to finish him off? Makes me sick. He'd been takin' it for six months and it had no effect, his medication mixed with a little Jack was going to finish him off? Makes me sick. He'd been takin' it for six months and it had no effect, period. period. That man could be shot in the head six times and he'd go right on-you mark my words.” That man could be shot in the head six times and he'd go right on-you mark my words.”

To my horror, her voice tore a hole on ”words”-a sizable hole by the sound of things. I wasn't positive, but I think she was crying too, an awful held-back hiccuping sound that faded into the mumbles and elevator music of the soap opera, so you couldn't tell the difference between her drama and the one on television. It was very possible she'd just said, ”Travis, I'm not gonna lie and say I don't have feelings for you”-not the woman on the TV, and it was also possible the woman on the TV, not Ada, was crying over her dead father.

”I'm sorry,” I said. ”I'm just kind of, confused-”

”I didn't put it all together 'til later,” she sniffled.

I waited-enough time for her to st.i.tch together, however crudely, the hole in her voice. ”You didn't put what. . . together?” She cleared her throat. ”Do you know who The Night.w.a.tchmen are?” she asked. ” 'Course you don't. . . don't even know your own name, probably-”

”I do, actually. My father's a political science professor.”

She was surprised-or maybe relieved. ”Oh?”

”They were radicals,” I said. ”But apart from an incident or two in the early seventies, no one's sure if they actually existed. They're more a-a beautiful idea, fighting against greed-than something real.” I was paraphrasing bits of ”A Quick History of the American Revolutionary” (see Van Meer,Federal Forum, Vol. 23, Issue 9,1990). Vol. 23, Issue 9,1990).

”An incident or two,” Ada repeated. ”Exactly. So then you know about Gracey.”

”He was the founder. But he's dead, isn't he?”

”Other than one other person,” Ada said slowly, ”George Gracey is the only known member. And he's still wanted by the FBI. In '70 ... no, '71, he killed a West Virginia Senator, put a pipe bomb in his car. A year later, he blew up a building in Texas. Four people died. He was caught on tape so they made a sketch of him, but then he dropped off the face of the earth. In the eighties there was an explosion in a townhouse in England. Homemade bombs. People had heard he was livin' there, so they a.s.sumed he was dead. There was too much damage to recover the teeth on the bodies found. That's how they identify, you know. Teeth records.”

She paused, swallowing.

”The Senator killed was Senator Michael McCullough, Dubs's uncle on his mother's side, my great uncle. And it happened over in Meade, twenty minutes from Findley. Dubs said it all the time when we were growin' up: Til fly to the ends of the earth to bring that sonuvab.i.t.c.h to trial.' When Dubs drowned, everyone believed the police. They said he'd had too much to drink and it was an accident. I I refused to believe it. I stayed up all night goin' through his notes even though Archie cussed me out, said I was crazy. But then I saw how it all went together. I showed Archie and Cal too. And refused to believe it. I stayed up all night goin' through his notes even though Archie cussed me out, said I was crazy. But then I saw how it all went together. I showed Archie and Cal too. And she she knew of course. She knew we were on to her. We'd called the FBI. That's why she hanged herself. It was death or prison.” knew of course. She knew we were on to her. We'd called the FBI. That's why she hanged herself. It was death or prison.”

I was bewildered. ”I don't understand-”

”The Nocturnal Conspiracy” Ada said softly. Ada said softly.

Trying to follow this woman's logic was like trying to watch an electron orbit a nucleus with the naked eye. ”What's The Nocturnal Conspiracy?” The Nocturnal Conspiracy?” ”His next ”His next book. book. The one he was writing on George Gracey. That's what he was going to call it and it was going to be a bestseller. Smoke tracked him down, see. Last May. He found him on a fantasy island called Paxos, livin' high off the hog.” The one he was writing on George Gracey. That's what he was going to call it and it was going to be a bestseller. Smoke tracked him down, see. Last May. He found him on a fantasy island called Paxos, livin' high off the hog.”

She drew a shaky breath. ”You don't know what it felt like, when the police called and told us our father, the one we'd just seen two days before at Chrysanthemum's baptism, was gone. s.n.a.t.c.hed from us. We hadn't heard the name Hannah Schneider Hannah Schneider in all our lives. At first, we thought she was the loud divorcee the Rider's Club had trouble nominatin' for treasurer, but that was Hannah in all our lives. At first, we thought she was the loud divorcee the Rider's Club had trouble nominatin' for treasurer, but that was Hannah Smithers. Smithers. Then we think, maybe she was Gretchen Peterson's cousin who Dubs took to the Marquis Polo Fundraiser, but that's Lizzie Sheldon. So”-by this point, Ada had ripped out most of her punctuation, some of her pauses, too; her words stampeded into the receiver-”after Then we think, maybe she was Gretchen Peterson's cousin who Dubs took to the Marquis Polo Fundraiser, but that's Lizzie Sheldon. So”-by this point, Ada had ripped out most of her punctuation, some of her pauses, too; her words stampeded into the receiver-”after two two days of this, Cal takes a look at the picture I asked the police to get for us and what do you know? He says he remembers her talkin' to Dubs at the Handy Pantry way back in June, when they were coming back from Auto Show 4000-this is a days of this, Cal takes a look at the picture I asked the police to get for us and what do you know? He says he remembers her talkin' to Dubs at the Handy Pantry way back in June, when they were coming back from Auto Show 4000-this is a month month after Dubs got back from Paxos. So Cal says, yeah, Dubs went inside the Handy Pantry to get gum and this same woman s.h.i.+mmied up to him. Cal has a photographic memory. 'It was her,' he said. Tall. Dark hair. A face shaped like one of those Valentine chocolate boxes and Valentine's was Dubs' favorite holiday. She asked for directions to Charleston and I guess they stayed talkin' for so long, Cal had to get out of the car to go get him. And that was after Dubs got back from Paxos. So Cal says, yeah, Dubs went inside the Handy Pantry to get gum and this same woman s.h.i.+mmied up to him. Cal has a photographic memory. 'It was her,' he said. Tall. Dark hair. A face shaped like one of those Valentine chocolate boxes and Valentine's was Dubs' favorite holiday. She asked for directions to Charleston and I guess they stayed talkin' for so long, Cal had to get out of the car to go get him. And that was it. it. When we went through Dubs' things, we found her number in his address book. Phone records showed he called her at least once or twice a week. She knew how to play it, see. After my mother, there's never been anyone special-I-I still talk about him in the present. Archie says I have to stop that.” When we went through Dubs' things, we found her number in his address book. Phone records showed he called her at least once or twice a week. She knew how to play it, see. After my mother, there's never been anyone special-I-I still talk about him in the present. Archie says I have to stop that.”

She paused, took another labored breath, started to speak again. And as she talked, I was struck by the image of one of those itsy-bitsy garden spiders that decide to make their web not in some sensible corner, but in a gigantic s.p.a.ce, a s.p.a.ce so huge and far-fetched, in it one could fit two African Elephants end to end. Dad and I watched such a determined spider on our porch in Howard, Louisiana, and no matter how many times the wind unrigged the mooring, how many times the web buckled and sagged, unable to hold itself up between the fake columns, the spider went on with its work, climbing to the top, free-falling, silk thread trembling behind it, dental floss in the wind. ”She's making sense of the world,” Dad said. ”She's sewing it together as best she can.”

”We still still don't know how she managed it,” Ada went on. ”My father was two hundred and forty pounds. It don't know how she managed it,” Ada went on. ”My father was two hundred and forty pounds. It had had to be poison. She injected him with something, between his toes... cyanide maybe. 'Course the police swore they checked all that and there was no sign. I just don't see how it was possible. He liked his whiskey . . . won't lie about that. And there was his medication - ” ”What kind of medication was it?” I asked. to be poison. She injected him with something, between his toes... cyanide maybe. 'Course the police swore they checked all that and there was no sign. I just don't see how it was possible. He liked his whiskey . . . won't lie about that. And there was his medication - ” ”What kind of medication was it?” I asked.

”Minipress. For blood pressure. Dr. Nixley told him you're not supposed to drink with it but he had before and it never messed with him. He drove home all by himself from the King of Hearts Fundraiser right when he first went on it and I was there when he got home. He was fine. fine. Believe me, if I thought he Believe me, if I thought he wasn't wasn't fine I'd have caused a stink. Not that he would've listened.” fine I'd have caused a stink. Not that he would've listened.”

”But Ada”- I kept my voice subdued, as if we were in a library-”I really don't think Hannah could've possibly-” ”Gracey was in contact with her. He told her to kill Smoke. Like she'd done with all the others. She was the temptation, see.” But- ”She's the other one,” other one,” she interrupted flatly. ” 'Other than she interrupted flatly. ” 'Other than one one other person.' The other member-weren't you listening?” other person.' The other member-weren't you listening?”

”But I know know she's not a criminal. I talked to a detective here-” she's not a criminal. I talked to a detective here-”

”Hannah Schneider's not her real name. She ripped it off a poor missing woman who grew up in an orphanage in New Jersey. She's been livin' as that girl for years. Her real name's Catherine Baker and she's wanted by the FBI for shootin' a police officer right between the eyes. Twice. Somewhere in Texas.” She cleared her throat. ”Smoke didn't recognize her because no one's sure what Baker actually looks like. 'Specially now. now. They have old testimony, a composite that's twenty years old-in the eighties everyone had weird hair, freaky looks- They have old testimony, a composite that's twenty years old-in the eighties everyone had weird hair, freaky looks-you know those awful leftover hippies. And she's blond in the sketch. Says she has blue eyes. Smoke know those awful leftover hippies. And she's blond in the sketch. Says she has blue eyes. Smoke had had the picture, along with the stuff on George Gracey. But it's one of those things-it could be a drawin' of me, you know. Could be a drawin' of anyone.” the picture, along with the stuff on George Gracey. But it's one of those things-it could be a drawin' of me, you know. Could be a drawin' of anyone.”

”Could you send me copies of his notes? For research purposes?”

Ada sniffed and though she didn't exactly agree to send them I gave her my mailing address. Neither of us spoke for a minute or two. I could hear the end credits of the soap opera, the outburst of another commercial.

”I just wish I'd been there,” she said faintly. ”I have a sixth sense, see. If I'd gone to the Auto Show, I could've gone in with him when he went to get the gum. I would've seen what she was doin'-prancin' by in tight jeans, sungla.s.ses, pretendin' it was a coincidence. Cal swore he saw her a couple days before, too, when he and Smoke were in Winn-Dixie pickin' up ribs. He said she walked right by with her empty shoppin' cart, all gussied up like she was goin' somewhere, and she looked straight at Cal, grinned like the Devil himself. 'Course, there's no way of knowin' for sure. It gets busy on Sundays-” ”What did you say?” I asked quietly. She stopped talking. The abrupt change in my tone of voice must have startled her. ”I said there's no way of knowing” she said apprehensively. Without thinking, I hung up the phone.

31.

Che Guevara talks to young People The Night.w.a.tchmen have always gone by a variety of names- Nachlicht, Nachlicht, or ”Nocturnal,” in German, also or ”Nocturnal,” in German, also Nie Schlafend, Nie Schlafend, or ”Never Sleeping.” In French, they are or ”Never Sleeping.” In French, they are Les Veilleurs de Nuit. Les Veilleurs de Nuit. Members.h.i.+p, in its supposed heyday, 1971 to 1980, is wholly unknown; some say it was twenty-five men and women across America; others claim over a thousand around the globe. Whatever the truth-and, alas, we may never know it-the movement is whispered about with greater enthusiasm today than at its zenith (an Internet search yields over 100,000 pages). Its present-day popularity as part history lesson, part fairy tale, is a testament to The Freedom Ideal, a dream to liberate all people, regardless of their race or creed, a dream that, no matter how fractured and cynical modern society becomes, will not die. Van Meer, Members.h.i.+p, in its supposed heyday, 1971 to 1980, is wholly unknown; some say it was twenty-five men and women across America; others claim over a thousand around the globe. Whatever the truth-and, alas, we may never know it-the movement is whispered about with greater enthusiasm today than at its zenith (an Internet search yields over 100,000 pages). Its present-day popularity as part history lesson, part fairy tale, is a testament to The Freedom Ideal, a dream to liberate all people, regardless of their race or creed, a dream that, no matter how fractured and cynical modern society becomes, will not die. Van Meer, ”Nachlicht: ”Nachlicht: Popular Myths of Freedom Fighting,” Popular Myths of Freedom Fighting,” Federal Forum, Federal Forum, Vol. 10, Issue 5,1998 Vol. 10, Issue 5,1998 Dad had raised me to be a skeptical person, a person unconvinced until ”the facts line up like chorus girls,” and so I had not believed Ada Harvey- not until she'd described the Winn-Dixie incident (or perhaps a little before, with ”tight jeans” and ”sungla.s.ses”); then, it'd sounded as if she were describing not Smoke and Cal in Winn-Dixie, but Dad and me at Fat Kat in September, when I'd first seen Hannah in Frozen Foods.

If that weren't enough to knock the wind out of me, she had to go entirely Southern Gothic, dragging the Devil and his grin into it, and whenever someone with a fudgethical Southern accent said devil, devil, one inevitably felt they knew something one didn't-as Yam Chestley wrote in one inevitably felt they knew something one didn't-as Yam Chestley wrote in Dixiecrats Dixiecrats (1979), ”The South knows two things through and through: cornbread and Satan” (p. 166). After I hung up, my bedroom stalagmited with shadows, I stared at my CASE NOTES on which I'd written in famished handwriting Officer c.o.xley-style haiku (NIGHt.w.a.tCHMEN CATHERINE BAKER GRACEY). (1979), ”The South knows two things through and through: cornbread and Satan” (p. 166). After I hung up, my bedroom stalagmited with shadows, I stared at my CASE NOTES on which I'd written in famished handwriting Officer c.o.xley-style haiku (NIGHt.w.a.tCHMEN CATHERINE BAKER GRACEY).

My first thought was that Dad was dead.

He, too, had been Catherine Baker's target, because he, too, had been working on a book about Gracey (it was the logical explanation for Hannah stalking us the same way she'd stalked Smoke Harvey), or, if he wasn't at work on a book (”I'm not certain I have the stamina for another book,” Dad admitted in a Bourbon Mood, a sad acknowledgment he never made in daylight), then an article, essay or lecture of some kind, his own Nocturnal Conspiracy. Nocturnal Conspiracy.

Of course-I ran across the room to switch on the overhead light and thankfully, the shadows were instantly whisked away like out-of-fas.h.i.+on black dresses in a department store -I reminded myself, Hannah Schneider was dead (the pet.i.t four of truth I knew for certain) and Dad was safe with Professor Arnie Sanderson at Piazza Pitti, an Italian restaurant in downtown Stock-ton. Still, I felt the need to hear his sandpaper voice, his ”Sweet, don't be preposterous.” I ran downstairs, tore through the Yellow Pages and dialed the restaurant. (Dad didn't have a cell phone; ”So I may be available to others twenty-four hours, seven days a week like some minimum-waged dunderhead working in Customer Service? Much obliged, but no thank you.”) It took only a minute for the hostess to identify him; few sported Irish tweed in spring.