Lainie lowered her head and pressed her hand to her eyes. Her back began to tremble. She gave a low, moaning sob. My nose was starting to feel like it was on fire.

But through it I could still smell a hint of English Leather.

Lainie looked up, startled. She touched her tear-stained cheek. "Stevie?" she said, her voice alive with hope.

As I've said, it was the season of ghosts. They had gathered themselves, building up their strength to wander the fields-and roads-of October and speak to those who would listen.

Maybe Lainie never saw him. Maybe she wouldn't have believed her own mind if she had, and she would've gone running for a rubber room the same as Donny.

But I believe she heard him, loud and clear. Maybe just in the scent of his skin, or the memory of a touch.

I believe it was enough.

XXIII High Noon in Zephyr

MY NOSE WASN'T BROKEN, THOUGH IT SWELLED UP LIKE A MELON and turned a ghastly purplish-green and my eyes puffed up into black-and-blue slits. To say Mom was horrified about the whole experience is like saying the Gulf of Mexico has some water in it. But I survived, and I was all right after my nose shrank to its regular size.

Sheriff Amory, who'd been called by Miss Grace, found Lainie and me walking back to Zephyr on Route Sixteen. I didn't have much to say to him, because I remembered Donny yelling that the Blaylocks owned him. I told Dad about this when he and Mom came to pick me up at Dr. Parrish's office. Dad didn't say anything, but I could see the thundercloud settling over his head and I knew he wouldn't let it lie.

Miss Grace was okay. She had to be taken to the hospital in Union Town, but the bullet hadn't hit anything that couldn't be fixed. I had the feeling that it would take an awful lot to put Miss Grace down for the count.

This was the story about Lainie and Little Stevie Cauley, as I learned later from Dad, who found it out from the sheriff: Lainie, who'd run away from home when she was seventeen, had met Donny Blaylock while she was a stripper at the Port Said in Birmingham. He had convinced her to come work for his family's "business," promising her all sorts of big money and stuff, saying the Air Force boys really knew how to part with a paycheck. She came, but soon after she arrived at Miss Grace's, she'd met Little Stevie when she'd gone to the Woolworth's in Zephyr to buy her summer wardrobe. Maybe it hadn't been love at first sight, but something close to it. Anyhow, Little Stevie had been encouraging Lainie to leave Miss Grace's and straighten up her act. They'd started talking about getting married. Miss Grace had been in favor of it, because she didn't want any girl working for her who couldn't put her all into the job. But Donny Blaylock fancied himself to be Lainie's boyfriend. He hated Little Stevie anyway because as much as Donny wanted to deny it, Midnight Mona could leave Big d.i.c.k dragging. He'd decided the only way to keep Lainie working was to get Stevie out of the picture. The crash and burning of Midnight Mona had been the wreck of Lainie's dreams as well, and from that point on she didn't care about what she did, with who, or where. As Miss Grace had said, Lainie had gotten as rough as a cob.

The last I heard of Lainie, she was going home, older and wiser.

Sadder, too.

But who ever said everybody gets a happy ending?

Some of this information came right from the jacka.s.s's mouth. Donny was behind bars in the Zephyr jail, which stood next to the courthouse. He'd been found, dancing with a scarecrow, by a farmer with a very large shotgun. The sight of iron bars in front of his face had squared up some of Donny's raggedy edges, and he had come out of his madness long enough to admit running Little Stevie off the road. It was clear that this time a Blaylock was not going to escape the long arm of the law, even if the hand on that arm was dirty with Blaylock cash.

November had touched the yards of Zephyr with frosty fingers. The hills had gone brown, the leaves falling. They crackled like little fireworks when somebody came up the walk. We heard them on a Tuesday evening, when a fire burned in our hearth, Dad was reading the newspaper, and Mom was poring over her cookbooks for new pie and cake recipes.

Dad answered the door when the knock sounded. Sheriff Junior Talmadge Amory stood under the porch light, his long-jawed face sullen and his hat in his hand. He had the collar of his jacket turned up; it was cold out there.

"Can I come in, Tom?" he asked.

"I don't know," Dad said.

"I'd understand if you didn't care to talk to me anymore. I'd take it like a man. But... I sure would like to have my say about some things."

Mom stepped up beside my father. "Let him in, Tom. All right?"

Dad opened the door, and the sheriff came in from the night.

"Hi, Cory," he said to me. I was on the floor next to the fireplace, doing my Alabama history homework. A certain area where Rebel used to lounge in the hearth's glow seemed awfully empty. But life went on.

"Hi," I said.

"Cory, go to your room," Dad instructed, but Sheriff Amory said, "Tom, I'd like for him to hear me out, too, seein' as he was the one found out and all."

I stayed where I was. Sheriff Amory sank his slim Ichabod Crane body onto the couch and put his hat on the coffee table. He sat staring at the silver star that adorned it. Dad sat down again, and Mom-ever the hospitable one-asked the sheriff if he'd like some apple pie or spice cake but he shook his head. She sat down, too, her chair and Dad's bracketing the fireplace.

"I won't be sheriff very much longer," Sheriff Amory began. "Mayor Swope's gonna appoint a new man as soon as he can decide on one. I figure I'll be done with it by the middle of the month." He sighed heavily. "I expect we'll be leavin' town before December."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Dad told him. "But I was sorrier to hear what Cory had to tell me. I guess I can't kick you around too much, though. You could've lied when I came to you about it."

"I wanted to. Real bad. But if you can't believe your own son, who in the world can you believe?"

Dad scowled. He looked as if he wanted to spit a foul taste from his mouth. "For G.o.d's sake, why'd you do it, J.T.? Takin' money from the Blaylocks to shield 'em? Lookin' the other way when they sold their 'shine and suckered people into that crooked gamblin' den? Not to mention Miss Grace's house, and I like and respect Miss Grace but G.o.d knows she oughta be in some other line of work. What else did you do for Biggun Blaylock? Polish his boots?"

"Yes," the sheriff said.

"Yes what?"

"I did. Polish his boots." Sheriff Amory gave a wan, tired smile. His eyes were black holes of sadness and regret. His smile slipped off, leaving his mouth twisted with pain. "I always went to Biggun's house to get my money. He had it for me, first day of the month. Two hundred dollars in a white envelope with my name on it. 'Sheriff Junior.' That's what he calls me." He winced a little at the thought. "When I went in that day, all the boys were there: Donny, Bodean, and Wade. Biggun was oilin' a rifle. Even sittin' in a chair, he can fill up a room. He can look at you and knock you down. I picked up my envelope, and all of a sudden he reaches to the floor and puts his muddy boots on the table, and he says, 'Sheriff Junior, I've got me a mess here to clean up and I don't rightly feel up to doin' it. You think you could clean 'em for me?' And I started to say no, but he takes a fifty-dollar bill out of his shirt pocket and he puts it down inside one of them big boots, and he says, 'Make it worth your while, of course.'"

"Don't tell me this, J.T.," Dad said.

"I want to. I have to." The sheriff peered into the fire, and I could see the flames make light and shadows ripple across his face. "I told Biggun I had to go, that I couldn't be cleanin' anybody's boots. And he grins and says, 'Aw, Sheriff Junior, why didn't you name your price right off?' and he takes another fifty-dollar bill out of his pocket and he slides it down into the other boot." Sheriff Amory looked at the fingers of his traitorous right hand. "My girls needed new clothes," he said. "Needed some Sunday shoes, with bows on 'em. Needed somethin' that wasn't already worn out by somebody else. So I earned myself an extra hundred dollars. But Biggun knew I'd be comin' that day, and he... he'd been stompin' around in filth. When his boots were clean, I went outside and threw up, and I heard the boys laughin' in the house." His eyes squeezed shut for a few seconds, and then they opened again. "I took my girls to the finest shoestore in Union Town, and I bought Lucinda a bouquet of flowers. It wasn't just for her; I wanted to smell somethin' sweet."

"Did Lucinda know about this?" Dad asked.

"No. She thought I'd gotten a raise. You know how many times I've asked Mayor Swope and that d.a.m.n town council for a raise, Tom? You know how many times they've said, 'We'll put it in the budget next year, J.T.'?" He gave a bitter laugh. "Good ol' J.T.! Ol' J.T. can make do, or do without! He can stretch a dime until Roosevelt hollers, and he don't need no raise because what does he do all day? Ol' J.T. drives around in his sheriff's car and he sits behind his desk readin' True Detective and he maybe breaks up a fight now and then or chases down a lost dog or keeps two neighbors from squabblin' over a busted fence. Every blue moon there's a robbery, or a shootin', or somethin' like that car goin' down into Saxon's Lake. But it's not like good ol' harmless J.T.'s a real sheriff, don't you see? He's just kind of a long, slumpy thing with a star on his hat, and nothin' much ever happens in Zephyr that he should be gettin' a raise, or a half-decent gasoline allowance, or a bonus every once in a while. Or maybe a pat on the back." His eyes glittered with feverish anger. I realized, as my parents did, that we had not known Sheriff Amory's hidden anguish. "d.a.m.n," he said. "I didn't mean to come in here and spill all my belly juice like this. I'm sorry."

"If you felt this way so long," Mom said, "why didn't you just quit?"

"Because... I liked bein' the sheriff, Rebecca. I liked knowin' who was doin' what to who, and why. I liked havin' people depend on me. It was... like bein' a father and big brother and best friend all rolled up into one. Maybe Mayor Swope and the town council don't respect me, but the people of Zephyr do. Did, I mean. That's why I kept at it, even though I should've walked away from it a long time ago. Before Biggun Blaylock called me in the middle of the night and said he had a proposition for me. Said his businesses don't hurt anybody. Said they make people feel better. Said he wouldn't be in business to begin with if people didn't come lookin' for what he was sellin'."

"And you believed him. My G.o.d, J.T.!" Dad shook his head in disgust.

"There was more. Biggun said if he and his boys weren't in business, the Ryker gang would move in from the next county, and I've heard those fellas are stone-cold killers. Biggun said that by acceptin' his money I might be shakin' hands with the devil, but the devil I knew was better than the devil I didn't know. Yeah, I believed him, Tom. I still believe him."

"So you knew where his hideout was all along. And there you were makin' everybody believe you couldn't find hide nor hair of him."

"That's right. It's near where Cory and the boys saw that box change hands. I honestly don't know what was inside it, but I do know Gerald Hargison and d.i.c.k Moultry are Klansmen from way back. But now I'm a sinner and slime of the earth and I'm not fit to walk the streets with decent people." Sheriff Amory directed his hard gaze at my dad. "I don't need to be told I've messed things up, Tom. I know I was wrong. I know I've shamed the office of sheriff. And shamed my family, which is killin' me when people I thought were our good friends look at Lucinda and the girls like they crawled out of a spittoon. Like I say, we'll be leavin' town before long. But I've got one last duty to perform as the elected sheriff of Zephyr."

"What might that be? Openin' the bank vault for Biggun?"

"No," the sheriff said quietly. "Makin' sure Donny goes to prison for murder. Manslaughter, at the very least."

"Oh," Dad said, and I know he must've felt an inch tall. But he grew back quickly enough. "What's Biggun gonna think about that? After he's been payin' you to lay off?"

"Biggun didn't pay me to protect a killer. And that's what Donny is. I just thank G.o.d he didn't kill Miss Grace, too. I knew Stevie Cauley. He might've been a tough guy, and he had his share of sc.r.a.pes with me, but he was decent. His folks are good people, too. So I'm not gonna let Donny slither out of this, Tom. No matter what Biggun threatens me with."

"Has he threatened you?" Mom asked as Dad stood up to shift a fireplace log with the poker.

"Yes. Warned me, is more like it." Sheriff Amory's brows merged, the lines between his eyes deepening. "Day after tomorrow, two marshals from the county seat are comin' on the Trailways bus. It's bus number thirty-three, and it comes in at noon. I'm to have all the transfer papers ready, and they're gonna take custody of Donny."

The Trailways bus came through Zephyr every other day, on its way to Union Town. On rare occasions it stopped, under the little Trailways sign at the Sh.e.l.l gas station on Ridgeton Street, to pick up or disgorge a pa.s.senger or two. But most days it sped on, going somewhere else.

"I found a little black book in a pocket under the driver's seat of Donny's car," the sheriff explained. Dad fed another log into the fire, but he was listening. "It's got names and numbers in it that I think have to do with gamblin' on high school football games. Some names are in there that might surprise you. Not Zephyr people, but names you might know from the newspapers if you keep up with politics. I think the Blaylocks might have been payin' a coach or two to throw games."

"My Lord!" Mom breathed.

"Those two marshals are comin' to pick up Donny, and I've gotta make sure he's there to meet 'em." Sheriff Amory ran a finger along the edge of his star. "Biggun says he'll kill me before he lets me put his son on that bus. I figure he means to, Tom."

"He's bluffin'!" Dad said. "Tryin' to scare you into lettin' Donny go!"

"This mornin' there was somethin' dead on our front porch. I think... it might've been a cat. But it was all chopped to pieces and the blood was smeared everywhere and on our front door was written Donny won't go in cat's blood. You should've seen the girls' faces when they saw that mess." Sheriff Amory lowered his head for a moment, and stared at the floor. "I'm scared. Awful scared. I think Biggun's gonna try to kill me and spring Donny out of jail before that bus comes in."

"I'd be more afraid those d.a.m.ned snakes would go after Lucinda and the girls," Mom said, and I knew she was heated up about it because she hardly ever cursed.

"I sent 'em to Lucinda's mother this mornin', after what happened. She called me around two o'clock, said they'd gotten there fine." He lifted his face and looked at my father with a tortured expression. "I need help, Tom."

Sheriff Amory went on to explain that he needed three or four men to deputize, and that they'd all spend tonight, tomorrow, and tomorrow night at the jail guarding Donny.

He said he'd deputized Jack Marchette, who was at the jail pulling guard duty right this minute, but that he was having trouble finding anybody else. He'd asked ten men, he said, and been turned down ten times. It would be dangerous work, he said. The deputies would each get fifty dollars out of his own pocket, and that was all he could afford to pay. But there were pistols and ammunition at the jailhouse, and the jailhouse itself was as firm as a fortress. The tricky part, he said, would be taking Donny from his cell to the bus stop.

"That's the story." Sheriff Amory gripped his bony knees. "Can I deputize you, Tom?"

"No!" Mom's voice almost shook the windows. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm sorry to have to ask this of Tom, Rebecca. I swear I am. But it's got to be done."

"Ask somebody else, then! Not Tom!"

"Can I get your answer?" the sheriff urged.

Dad stood next to the fireplace, the logs crackling. His eyes went from Sheriff Amory to Mom and back again, with a quick dart toward me. He slid his hands into his pockets, his face downcast. "I... don't know what to say."

"You know what's right, don't you?"

"I do. But I know I don't believe in violence. I can't stand the thought of it. Especially... not the way I've been feelin' for the last few months. Like I'm walkin' on eggsh.e.l.ls with an anvil strapped to my back. I know I couldn't pull a trigger and shoot anybody. I know that for a fact."

"You wouldn't have to carry a gun, then. I wouldn't expect you to. Just be there to show Biggun he can't get away with murder."

"Unless the Blaylocks murder all of you!" Mom fairly leaped from her chair. "No! Tom's been under a lot of stress lately, and he's not in any physical or mental shape to-"

"Rebecca!" Dad snapped. She hushed. "I can speak for myself, thank you," he said.

"Just tell me yes, Tom." Sheriff Amory was pleading now. "That's all I want to hear."

Dad was in pain. I could see its grim mark on his face. He did know what was right, but he was all twisted up and hurting inside, and the chilly hand of the man at the bottom of Saxon's Lake clutched the back of his neck. "No," he said, his voice raspy. "I can't, J.T."

May I be forgiven. I thought one word, and that word was Yellowstreak. Immediately I was overcome with shame, and my face was burning as I got up and ran to my room.

"Cory!" Dad called. "Wait a minute!"

"Well, that's just fine!" Sheriff Amory stood up, and he plucked his hat from the coffee table and jammed it on his head. The crown was crushed, the silver star awry. "Just d.a.m.n fine! Everybody wants the Blaylocks put behind bars and they kick my a.s.s for takin' his dirty money, but when it comes a chance to actually do somethin' about 'em, everybody and their brother, sister, and uncle runs for the hills! Just d.a.m.ned fine!"

Dad said, "I wish I could-"

"Forget it. Stay home. Stay safe. Good night." Sheriff Amory walked out the door into the cold. The leaves crunched under his shoes, the sound fading. Dad stood at the window and watched him drive away.

"Don't worry about him," Mom said. "He'll find enough deputies."

"What if he doesn't? What if everybody does run for the hills?"

"Then if this town doesn't care enough about law and order to help their sheriff, Zephyr deserves to dry up and blow away."

Dad turned toward her, his mouth a tight line. "We're Zephyr, Rebecca. You and me. Cory. J.T. The ten men he asked who turned him down, they're Zephyr, too. It's people's souls and caring for each other that dries up and blows away before buildin's and houses do."

"You can't help him, Tom. You just can't. If somethin' happened to you..." She didn't finish, because that train of thought led to a desolate destination.

"Maybe he did wrong, but he deserves help. I should've said I would."

"No, you shouldn't have. You're not a fighter, Tom. Those Blaylocks would kill you before you could blink."

"Then maybe I shouldn't blink," Dad said, his face stony.

"Just do what J.T. said, Tom. Stay home and stay safe. Okay?"

"Fine example I'm settin' for Cory. Did you see the way he looked at me?"

"He'll get over it," Mom said. She made an effort to summon a smile. "How about a nice piece of spice cake and a cup of coffee?"

"I don't want any spice cake. I don't want any apple pie, or coconut m.u.f.fins, or blueberry fritters. All I want is some-" He had to stop speaking, but the rush of emotion choked him. Peace might have been the next word he was going to say. "I'm gonna go talk to Cory," he told her, and he came to my room and knocked on the door.

I let him in. I had to. He was my dad. He sat down on my bed, while I held a Blackhawk comic book close to my face. Before he'd come in, I'd been remembering something Vernon had said: Sheriff Amory's a good man, just not a good sheriff. He lets the birds fly when he's got his paws on them. I guess it could never be said that Sheriff Amory wasn't trying to do well by his family. Dad cleared his throat. "Well, I reckon I'm lower than a snake's p.e.c.k.e.r, is that right?"

I would've laughed at that any other time. I just stared at my comic book, attempting to climb inside the world of sleek ebony airplanes and square-jawed heroes who used their wits and fists for justice.

Maybe I betrayed myself somehow. Maybe Dad had an instant of reading my mind. He said, "The world's not a comic book, son." Then he touched my shoulder, and he stood up and closed the door on his way out.

I had a bad sleep that night. If it wasn't the four girls calling my name, it was the car going over the red rock cliff into black water, and then Midnight Mona raced through me and Biggun Blaylock's demonic, bearded face said I threw in an extra for good luck and Lucifer's shotgun-ripped head screamed from his grave and Mrs. Lezander offered me a gla.s.s of Tang and said Sometimes he stays up until dawn listening to the foreign countries.

I lay staring into darkness.

I hadn't told Dad or Mom about Dr. Lezander's distaste for milk or his liking to be a night owl. Surely that had nothing to do with the car in Saxon's Lake. What earthly reason would Dr. Lezander have to kill a stranger? And Dr. Lezander was a kind man who loved animals, not a savage beast who had beaten a man half to death and then strangled the other half with a piano wire. It was unthinkable!

Yet I was thinking it.

Vernon had been right about Sheriff Amory. Could he be right about the milk-hating night owl, too?