Rose & Poe Page 12

  Miranda reaches for a glass of water, but the water is stale and warm and she makes a face. “I really wish I could help more, Sheriff. I don’t remember a thing. Daddy told me where you found me, but I have no idea how I got there. I can’t remember a thing since the day I took some brownies out to Poe. Daddy says there was a big storm after that, and then another one, but I don’t remember any of it. Just Poe and the brownies. It’s so awful not to remember. Like I’ve lost a part of myself, like I didn’t exist and that time is gone forever.”

  “Memory is a funny thing,” Dunn says. “I’ve run across this maybe a dozen times. Short-term memory loss. Sometimes it comes back in a few hours or a day, sometimes it takes a few weeks.”

  “And sometimes it never comes back at all, right? That’s what the doctors tell me.”

  “Correct. Sometimes it never comes back at all. But I believe that’s rare, certainly in my experience. It might come back to you in a rush, or sort of trickle back over time. You might remember some of what you’re missing, or you might recover it all.”

  “God, I wish I could just concentrate and get it back. It’s like I’ve got a math test, and I can’t even remember taking the class.”

  Dunn toys with the hat on his knee. “You can’t force it, I know that much. It will come when it comes. I surely hope it does, it would be very useful to us. You’re the only witness we’ve got, other than myself — and I didn’t see what happened. I just stumbled on the aftermath.”

  “You’d think Daddy would be more grateful. You probably saved my life.”

  “I expect it’s hard for him to admit that. Listen, has Poe ever tried anything with you? Touched you the wrong way, anything like that?”

  “Heavens, no. Poe doesn’t even put a hand on my shoulder. Now and then I give him a peck on his cheek, that’s about it. I catch him looking at me sometimes, so I suppose I have an effect on him, but he’s so gentle, the gentlest man alive. I’ve seen Poe cry because he hurt a butterfly. It’s not possible that he did this to me. I wish I could prove it.”

  The sheriff is silent for a time, gazing out the window. “Is there anyone else, Miranda? Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? Anyone like that?”

  “Why do you ask, Sheriff?”

  “Well, there’s a pattern with these things. More often than not, when there’s been a sexual assault, the culprit is known to the victim. Now you knew Poe, obviously. Is there anyone else?”

  “Well, I have a boyfriend at school. Sort of.”

  “How do you mean that?”

  “When I left school in the spring, I told him I needed the summer to think. I’m only nineteen, too young to be in a permanent relationship. He’s eight years older than me, so he’s looking for a wife, and he’s a bit clingy. More than a bit, actually. And there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “It’s complicated. I’d better warn you, Sheriff, I’ll have to stop talking about this when Daddy comes back. He would have a stroke. My boyfriend’s name is Sebastian Coyle. His father’s name is Anthony Coyle, maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  Dunn shakes his head.

  “He’s a big criminal lawyer in Boston. He took over the firm that was founded by my father when my father left. But the way Daddy sees it, he was forced out. My mother was dying of cancer and Daddy was really torn up by it and terribly distracted while he was nursing her for a whole year before she died, and Anthony Coyle took advantage of the situation to force him out of the firm. That’s how Daddy sees it. The way Sebastian tells it, his father had to take over, because Daddy wasn’t doing his job and the firm would have fallen apart if he hadn’t stepped in.”

  “And how do you see it?”

  “I have to support Daddy. I’m pretty sure he’s right about the way he was pushed out. I’d like to be able to talk to him about it, but it’s a subject I don’t dare bring up. If you say the name Anthony Coyle, he just becomes completely irrational. It’s a shame. When I was young, before Mama died, our families were the best of friends. We lived two doors apart in Boston, we saw each other all the time, and I had a big crush on Sebastian. Then everything happened and I didn’t see him for years. When I ran into him in the quad, I knew almost no one. He’s a graduate student, and he took me under his wing and showed me around. I started getting this notion that we could be like Romeo and Juliet, only instead of a tragic ending, we would bring our families together. Now I think that was pretty silly. There’s nothing I could do that would persuade my father to forgive Anthony Coyle — or his son, for that matter.”

  “When was the last time you saw Sebastian Coyle?”

  “Oh, I haven’t seen him since spring. We had an agreement. I told him I needed the summer to think, and anyway, he wouldn’t dare come up here. Daddy has an old shotgun. I don’t think he would actually shoot Sebastian, but I don’t want to find out.”

  “Is there any chance at all that Sebastian could have attacked you?”

  “No. None. Really. Anyway, I’m stronger than he is. He’s a bit of a wimp, which is another thing I don’t like about him. He’s very soft, not in the least athletic.”

  “You’re a real tiger. I’ve seen you play softball and hockey.”

  Miranda smiles. “I’m not much of a tiger now, I’m afraid. It’s the first time in my life I’ve felt weak.”

  Dunn hears the heavy tread of Thorne’s footsteps in the corridor. “I think we’re going to have to stop now,” he says. “Is there anyone else you can think of? Anyone at all? Any threats, anyone following you, anything like that?”

  “No. I sort of wish there had been. It’s makes me sick to think of Poe in jail.”

  Dunn rises from his chair just as Thorne enters the room. He has slopped coffee all over the tray he’s carrying, and bought orange juice instead of apple juice for Miranda, but he is still truculent.

  “Good,” he barks. “You were just leaving, Sheriff. I trust you got all you want.”

  Back in his office, Dunn phones Brendan Savage, the state’s attorney, to tell him that unless Miranda Thorne recovers her memory, she is going to be no help at all as a witness — but she is apparently out of danger, so a charge of manslaughter or second-degree murder is off the table.

  The attorney isn’t concerned about the gap in Miranda’s memory. “We have enough without the girl testifying. The state lab called. There are semen stains on her dress and Poe’s coveralls, and bloodstains on both as well. It’s circumstantial, but with you catching him red-handed, circumstantial evidence can be pretty powerful in a courtroom, sometimes better than an eyewitness. I think we’ll go ahead and try him. I’m under a lot of pressure here, Jim. Folks are calling me around the clock, wanting Poe to hang. Did you know the Carney brothers cut down a big oak tree to build a gallows?”

  “I did.”

  “They say they’re all ready for the hanging. I wanted it taken down, but it’s on their property and they went and got a permit for it saying it’s some kind of deck, but it’s a deck with a beam overhead to hold a noose and a trapdoor underneath.”

  Dunn shakes his head. “Jesus. The things people get up to.”

  “Yes, they do. Anyhow, that’s the kind of pressure I’m under. So if you don’t object, I’m going to go ahead and bring Poe to trial. Maybe his lawyer will agree to plead it out.”

  “His lawyer is Lambert Cain.”

  “Lambert? Jesus, he hasn’t tried a criminal case in decades. Why would he take this on?”

  “Damned if I know. Maybe he thinks Poe is innocent.”

  “Innocent, hell. Well, I’m not going to lose sleep over Lambert Cain. He’s an old man who likely doesn’t remember all that much about criminal law. Main thing is to get Poe off the street, so he can’t hurt anyone else. That’s if you don’t object.”

  “It isn’t my decision to make, Brendan. You want to put the man on trial, that’s your call. My instinct tells me we have th
e wrong guy, but I don’t have a shred of evidence to prove it, other than what Poe himself is telling me.”

  “He’s got every reason to lie to save his neck.”

  “That’s assuming he’s clever enough to lie.”

  “Well, Rose could’ve told him what to say.”

  Dunn mutters something, hoping it sounds vaguely like assent.

  ~

  “Freeks not welcum”

  Joey Ballew is on his way up to milk the goats when he glances at the little yellow house and slams on the brakes. The word RAPEST! is painted in letters three feet high on the wall of Rose’s home. Next to it, right under the bedroom window, is another scrawl: “Freeks not welcum here!”

  When the milking is done, Joey drives to the hardware store and buys two gallons of yellow paint to cover the writing. Rose blames herself for keeping the geese penned up at night. If she had left them to range free, they would have made more noise than a pack of dogs. Before bed that night, she opens the gate to their pen. The geese will let her know if anyone is creeping around in the dark, but it won’t change how people feel. She asks Joey to stay the night. Somewhere around three o’clock in the morning, he hears her sobbing and tries to comfort her, but she shrugs him off.

  “It’s just kids,” he says. “They don’t know what they’re doin. They get it from their parents.”

  “That’s exactly what bothers me. If it was kids that did this, they got the idea from their folks. That means people are telling their kids awful things about Poe. Spreading poison, right here in this town where we’ve lived all our lives. We’ve never done no harm to nobody. There’s no reason for any of this, except that Poe is different, with his addlements and particularities and all. Gentlest man alive, but he ain’t like the rest, so they want to believe the worst.”

  Joey is stumped. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. When Rose is upset, that’s usually the best way.

  Rose is on her way to her usual pew at church on Sunday when Melody Crowder, a squarely built woman in a brown dress who is married to one of the deacons, blocks her way. “I can’t believe you’d show your face here,” the woman says. “You who spawned that six-fingered devil!” Before Rose can react, Melody spits in her face. The new preacher, Reverend Hank Tattersall, gets between them before Rose can retaliate and leads her by the hand to his office.

  “I’ve been thinking, Rose,” he says. “It might be better if you stayed away from the service until this blows over. I know a man is innocent until proven guilty and all that, but people are awfully wrought up, to think that a girl could be attacked that way.”

  “Poe didn’t hurt that girl.”

  “That’s what you say, and I hope you’re right. But a lot of folks believe it’s an open-and-shut case, so I’ll let the law decide. I just don’t want any trouble in my church. You understand that, right?”

  Rose looks him up and down, taking the measure of the man and finding him wanting. “I pity you, Reverend. I do. You have come a long way from the teachings of Jesus Christ, but I’ll not sully your church again.”

  She takes Joey’s arm and leads him out of the church. At the door, Eleanor Biggs catches up with her. Eleanor is old and sickly, but she was Rose’s third-grade teacher and Rose has never forgotten her. “Rose, honey, I just want you to know I think that was awful. That should never happen to a person in the House of God, least of all you. I’m going to speak to the reverend.”

  Rose shakes her head. “Thank you, Eleanor, but that won’t do. I don’t want you sticking your neck out for me. Poe is innocent and once we’ve proved that in a court of law, I don’t expect there will be any more trouble.”

  Eleanor smiles doubtfully. “I surely hope not. I do. This is just so wrong.”

  Rose wraps her brawny arms around Eleanor’s frail body and hugs her tight. “Thank you, Eleanor. It’s good to know there is still a kind person in this world.”

  Eleanor Biggs is the exception. Rose feels the loathing everywhere she goes. At the Grand Union, at the drugstore where she gets her blood-pressure prescription filled, at the filling station when Joey stops to pump gas in the pickup. People she has known for decades back away or breeze right on by as though they had never met. She understands it, up to a point. If she thought someone had done that to a girl, she’d be pretty riled up, too. But someone did attack Miranda, and folks are so convinced it was Poe, they aren’t giving much thought to the possibility that a violent man is on the loose.

  Rose’s friends don’t abandon her. Joey is always loyal. Matt Harrow isn’t around as often as he used to be, but he had pretty much stopped coming after he had the prostate thing and couldn’t get it up anymore. He makes it a point to look in a time or two every week, though, just to see how she’s doing. Dan Gillespie never wavers, and even though Rose doesn’t have the heart to sing on Saturday nights anymore, he buys more cheese for his pub than ever after word gets around that Rose has lost most of her customers. There are dozens of others, good people who put old friendships first, but the folks who want to see Poe hang are the ones making all the noise. Rose has no idea how far they might go if they were able to get at Poe, and she doesn’t want to find out.

  ~

  The fall

  The days slip away. The leaves begin their red-and-gold dance, gliding down in search of a likely place to rot. Drunken hunters come in their pickup trucks. Deer scream and die. The world goes brown and bare. Poe is still in jail, awaiting trial the next time the circuit judge is in Belle Coeur County, which will be in December or January.

  One afternoon in early November, Rose is surprised to see Maeva Miller walking up the path to her house. Rose has known Maeva since she was a little bitty slip of a thing. She was a fine girl until she turned sixteen and hooked up with Alf Miller. Alf was twenty-six at the time and rotten clear through, but Maeva had a father in jail and a drunk for a mother. She was adrift on a rough sea, looking for a spar to cling to, and she picked the wrong spar.

  Rose boils water for tea, and the two women sit and chat awhile before Maeva explains what’s on her mind. Alf has been arrested for dealing crystal meth. He’s two cells down from Poe at the jail. State inspectors have closed down the Kids Kamp because Alf is no longer around to bribe them. Everything is falling apart in her world, and Maeva wants to know if it’s possible that Rose could use a little help with her cheese business.

  Rose doesn’t need help, but she tells Maeva she could use her two days a week to help put her paperwork in order, if Maeva is good at that sort of thing. Rose hates bookkeeping and she is always falling behind. Maeva says she always kept track of the money for Alf, and she’d love to do the same for Rose. She’s about to leave when she remembers another reason she came to see Rose. There are two boys from New York City, Skeeter and Moe, who might be useful to Poe. They stayed at the Kids Kamp three summers in a row, and the day Poe was arrested, they were out by the gravel pit. When the boys came back that day, they looked as though they’d seen a ghost. They claimed they were out on a Sasquatch hunt and they didn’t mention seeing Poe, and it wasn’t until after they went back to the city that Maeva put two and two together. She doesn’t know if the addresses she has for them are still good, but she has a hunch they might have seen something that could help put things right for Poe.

  ~

  The missing Ninja

  On the bad days, Thorne sits in his study, staring out at the wall he thinks of as “Poe’s wall,” grasping the walking stick with both hands, refusing to let go. He relives the storm over and over, flinching at each bolt of lightning and each rumble of thunder, willing his fabula animi to tell him what happened, receiving no answer but that low thrum, thrum, thrum and the vibration in his palms. If he does happen to put the stick down now, he has only to reach toward it and it leaps into his hand as though magnetized. He wants to tell Miranda about this phenomenon, but he fears she will not believe him.

  He i
s obsessed with the walking stick, and he is obsessed with Poe, and with the sprite, Airmail, who has somehow vanished.

  “Airmail told me something very important last summer,” he says to Miranda.

  “Oh, yes? And what was that?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Then how do you know it was important?”

  “Because I have it in my mind that it was important. I know it was. But I can’t think what it was.”

  “So why don’t you call him? You always say that you only have to leave a message and he comes buzzing around, and sometimes he comes even when you don’t call him.”

  “I know. I’ve called him. Four or five times. That answering gadget he has never picks up. I’ve willed him to come, if you believe in telepathy, but that hasn’t worked, either.”

  “Maybe he’s on vacation. Even couriers take vacations, right?”

  “Not Airmail. He’s not like any human alive. Sometimes I wonder if he is human.”

  “Well, if you can’t summon him, you’re just going to have to remember. I’m sure it will come to you.”

  Thorne bites his lip. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t remember whatever it was that Airmail told him. He stares at Miranda, his watery gaze unfocused and drifting.

  “Perhaps I wrote something down? Wrote a note to myself? Put it somewhere as a reminder?”

  Miranda searches Thorne’s desk and all his file cabinets for a note, but she finds nothing. He drops the subject for a few days, but he keeps circling back to it.

  Miranda herself has been living in a kind of limbo. She has called the university and been granted a year’s leave of absence to recover, but she knows somehow that she will never return. She doesn’t want to be among all those cut-throat sophisticates. She doesn’t want to study law. She doesn’t want to be that far away from Thorne when he needs her. She wants to find a place where she can study geology closer to home. Close enough to look after her father, near enough to support Poe in any way she can, even though she is the agent of his misfortune.