I hired Jakey Toms and his hound dogs and they found the body—or what was left of it—buried in a muck pit. Out at about the end of your swamp.”
“Is that so? Well, it’s a big swamp, LeRoy; if you’re stupid and you don’t know what you’re doing, a swamp will eat you right up.”
“That may be true, but the interesting thing about that body is the bullet hole in that man’s head.”
“You don’t say. And just what’s the point of tellin’ me about this, LeRoy?”
“Just doin’ my job is all. I’ll be doin’ a little more po-lease work. Might be stoppin’ by your place to ask a few questions.”
“You do that, LeRoy, you just do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day. I need to get my family home.”
Sheriff LeRoy turned toward me and Mama; he tipped his oversized Stetson and said, “Evenin’, Miss Lori.” He turned slowly and squeaked, clinked, and jingled off into the gloom of dusk.
As Nolay slid into the driver’s seat, Mama asked him, “What was that all about?”
“Lori, Honey Girl, it was just LeRoy being LeRoy. Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.”
We
weren’t
worried about it then, but maybe we should have been. It would be all too soon that Sheriff LeRoy would come jingling back into our lives.
After we returned from our trip, Mama went on one of her cleaning rampages. She cleaned out our closets and dug through the big cedar chest she kept at the end of her bed. That cedar chest was where we stored clothes and anything else of value to keep them from being devoured by bugs.
When I came in for noon dinner, Mama announced, “Bones, I have some boxes of clothes and other stuff you’ve outgrown, and we need to take them out to the Reems family.”
“The Reemses! Mama, do I have to go out there?”
“Well, if you don’t come along, it won’t look like a friendly visit, and they might take this as charity.”
“Mama, I know you been gathering clothes and stuff up from all our neighbors for a week now. Can’t you just drop those boxes off by yourself?”
Mama’s eyes were soft and mirrored as she quietly said, “Because you are too busy, those poor, innocent little children will have to do without?”
Without thinking, I opened my mouth and blurted out,“Mama, those Reems boys are meaner than a cornered polecat. I nearly hate being around them. I don’t want to go out to that white-trash place. Everybody knows—” Before I could finish my act of stupidity, Mama reached over and pulled so hard on my ear I thought my face would be permanently lopsided.
“Bones,” she said, “I better never hear that come out of your mouth again. Just because someone doesn’t have as much as another person doesn’t make them trash. And don’t you ever forget that.”
“Yes, ma’am. But Mama, it was you yourself told me anyone that didn’t have at least one copy of the
Saturday Evening Post
just wasn’t civilized and could be considered white trash.”
“Bones, I do not recall ever having said such a thing, although it could be true. Now, let’s just move on. After you finish your dinner, you help me put those boxes in the truck and we are going to the Reemses’. And you are going to act civil.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After we loaded the back of the truck with boxes of clothes and canned vegetables, we started the butt-bruising ride out to the Reems compound.
The Reems family had a hundred-acre track of land that bordered ours. Most of their land consisted of scrub palmetto and pine trees. As we pulled into the bare dirt yard, a couple of half-starved hound dogs and two dirty-faced little boys came out to meet us. Mama looked in my direction and whispered, “Bones, you will be kind.”
With my ear still red and burning, I answered, “Yes, ma’am.”
The main house, where Peckerhead Willy and his young wife, Miss Alvie, lived was a dilapidated two-story clapboard structure. A board was nailed across one broken window and another
“Is that so? Well, it’s a big swamp, LeRoy; if you’re stupid and you don’t know what you’re doing, a swamp will eat you right up.”
“That may be true, but the interesting thing about that body is the bullet hole in that man’s head.”
“You don’t say. And just what’s the point of tellin’ me about this, LeRoy?”
“Just doin’ my job is all. I’ll be doin’ a little more po-lease work. Might be stoppin’ by your place to ask a few questions.”
“You do that, LeRoy, you just do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day. I need to get my family home.”
Sheriff LeRoy turned toward me and Mama; he tipped his oversized Stetson and said, “Evenin’, Miss Lori.” He turned slowly and squeaked, clinked, and jingled off into the gloom of dusk.
As Nolay slid into the driver’s seat, Mama asked him, “What was that all about?”
“Lori, Honey Girl, it was just LeRoy being LeRoy. Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing.”
We
weren’t
worried about it then, but maybe we should have been. It would be all too soon that Sheriff LeRoy would come jingling back into our lives.
After we returned from our trip, Mama went on one of her cleaning rampages. She cleaned out our closets and dug through the big cedar chest she kept at the end of her bed. That cedar chest was where we stored clothes and anything else of value to keep them from being devoured by bugs.
When I came in for noon dinner, Mama announced, “Bones, I have some boxes of clothes and other stuff you’ve outgrown, and we need to take them out to the Reems family.”
“The Reemses! Mama, do I have to go out there?”
“Well, if you don’t come along, it won’t look like a friendly visit, and they might take this as charity.”
“Mama, I know you been gathering clothes and stuff up from all our neighbors for a week now. Can’t you just drop those boxes off by yourself?”
Mama’s eyes were soft and mirrored as she quietly said, “Because you are too busy, those poor, innocent little children will have to do without?”
Without thinking, I opened my mouth and blurted out,“Mama, those Reems boys are meaner than a cornered polecat. I nearly hate being around them. I don’t want to go out to that white-trash place. Everybody knows—” Before I could finish my act of stupidity, Mama reached over and pulled so hard on my ear I thought my face would be permanently lopsided.
“Bones,” she said, “I better never hear that come out of your mouth again. Just because someone doesn’t have as much as another person doesn’t make them trash. And don’t you ever forget that.”
“Yes, ma’am. But Mama, it was you yourself told me anyone that didn’t have at least one copy of the
Saturday Evening Post
just wasn’t civilized and could be considered white trash.”
“Bones, I do not recall ever having said such a thing, although it could be true. Now, let’s just move on. After you finish your dinner, you help me put those boxes in the truck and we are going to the Reemses’. And you are going to act civil.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After we loaded the back of the truck with boxes of clothes and canned vegetables, we started the butt-bruising ride out to the Reems compound.
The Reems family had a hundred-acre track of land that bordered ours. Most of their land consisted of scrub palmetto and pine trees. As we pulled into the bare dirt yard, a couple of half-starved hound dogs and two dirty-faced little boys came out to meet us. Mama looked in my direction and whispered, “Bones, you will be kind.”
With my ear still red and burning, I answered, “Yes, ma’am.”
The main house, where Peckerhead Willy and his young wife, Miss Alvie, lived was a dilapidated two-story clapboard structure. A board was nailed across one broken window and another
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