McMurtrie and Drake: Between Black and White Part 30

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 . . .

"Tell me about Andy's murder. I'm a.s.suming your brother and Wheeler were a part it."

Maggie nodded, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "Once I hired Wheeler, I had him tail you for several days. He said you went to Kathy's Tavern every night after work and had several drinks, so I asked Andy to take me there for my birthday. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist confronting Andy if you saw him, and I have to say that you went above and beyond with your 'eye for an eye' bit." She licked her lips. "Of course, I also knew that you would eventually come here to the clearing on the anniversary. Every August 18 you come out here to talk with your father." She chuckled. "That's what you do, right? You talk to Roosevelt out here."

"How do you know that?" Bo asked.

"I know everything that ever happens on this farm. And I know everything about you, Bo."

"Why?"

"Because you've been a constant thorn in my side your whole life. Like a G.o.dd.a.m.n zit that won't go away. An itch you can't ever seem to scratch enough."

Bo could hear the hate in her voice. "George took my car after I pa.s.sed out at the office, right?"

"Correct."

"Then he caught Andy coming out of the Sundowners and shot him when he was in his truck, same as how you just shot Larry. Wheeler's role was to make the anonymous phone call."

Maggie had started shaking her head before Bo had finished. "Wrong. George, G.o.d love him, has always been a bit of a wimp when it comes to doing the dirty work that is sometimes required. I was never able to make a man out of him." She paused, smiling. "But he sure knew how to touch a woman. I taught my brother how to do that very well. Unfortunately . . . after being with me so much as a boy, he . . . wasn't able to move on to other women." She sighed. "A pity."

Bo flinched. Incest?

"But you got the anonymous call part right," Maggie continued. "That was Mr. Wheeler. He was driving up and down Highway 64, hanging tight until we sent word that the deed had been done." She paused. "I called him right after I shot Andy. Told him to wait fifteen minutes and then make the call. That would give me and George enough time to hang the body . . . and set it on fire."

"You shot Andy?" Bo asked, astonished, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised anymore. Hadn't Maggie blown Larry Tucker's face off in just the same way?

"Of course," Maggie said. "I shot him with George's shotgun. Then I fired your gun up in the air twice and left one of the sh.e.l.l casings in the gra.s.s under Andy's truck.

"George moved the body in your car so Andy's blood and hair would get spread all over the back cargo area. We knew that the back of the Lexus would show up on the club's surveillance tape, and the tinted windows would make it impossible to see who was inside. So George left the Sundowners in your car and drove the quarter mile here, while I followed behind on foot, making sure I avoided the camera lens. Then"-she pointed at the tree where Bo watched his father hang forty-five years before-"we made the decorations." She paused. "Spick and span. In and out. Andy's dead, and for all the world it looks like you did it."

Bo thought it through for several seconds, still not understanding one part of the scheme. "You really hired a killer like JimBone Wheeler just to tail me for a few days and make an anonymous phone call?"

Maggie slowly shook her head. "No. Though that was a necessary part of the plan to kill Andy and frame you." She paused. "The main reason I hired Wheeler was as an insurance policy in case General Lewis wasn't able to convict you." She sighed. "But I guess I'm going to have to do that myself too. You just can't get good help today, Bo."

Bo couldn't bring himself to say anything as Maggie raised her shotgun and pointed it at Bo.

"I don't think so, Mrs. Walton."

The voice came from behind Bo, but he made no move to look. Instead, he focused on the barrel of the shotgun pointed at his chest. If Maggie lowered the gun in any fas.h.i.+on, he would lunge for it.

"Well, now," Maggie said, continuing to point the shotgun at Bo. "General Lewis . . ."

Helen Lewis moved into the clearing, her pistol pointed at Maggie. As she inched closer, Bo could see her out of his peripheral vision. "Drop the gun, Mrs. Walton," Helen said, continuing to approach forward. "Game's up."

"No one tells me what to do," Maggie said, shooting a glare at Helen while still pointing her gun at Bo.

"Put the gun down now, Mrs. Walton, or I'll have no choice but to-"

"You'll have no choice but to what?" Maggie asked. "Watch me kill this n.i.g.g.e.r while you try to shoot me. I have the high ground here, and we both know it."

"Even if you shoot Bo, Mrs. Walton, I'm going to kill you. The endgame is a loss for you."

"You don't have the b.a.l.l.s, General. You may be a New Age, do-everything-a-man-can-do b.i.t.c.h, but you don't have it in you to take me on. I am this town. Me. Maggie Curtis Walton. I've survived the past forty-five years and have gotten through dicier situations than this. I'm going to kill Bo. You're going to miss or just wound me with that flare gun you're holding. And then I'm going to kill you." She nodded. "I can see it now. Bo came out here and tried to kill me. General Lewis came out to try to help, but he killed her, and then in self-defense I killed Bo."

"You always have an angle, don't you, Ms. Maggie?" Bo interjected.

"Always," she said, turning her eyes back to him.

"Why do you hate me so bad?" Bo asked. He knew he had to get her talking again if Helen was to have any chance of disarming her. He had to distract her. "The one thing I still don't understand is your stake in all of this. So Andy confesses, and he goes to jail. Yeah, that's bad and all, but is that enough for you to kill everyone? You wouldn't have gone to jail. And you wouldn't have lost your precious farm." Bo paused, seeing that Maggie was gazing directly at him now.

"Why do you hate me so bad?" Bo repeated the question, his voice beginning to tremble. "Why? Andy killed my father. I had a reason to hate him. You got no reason to hate me. Why, Ms. Maggie?"

Bo had forgotten about Helen Lewis. He had forgotten about the gun Maggie Walton was pointing at him. I have to know . . .

"Roosevelt threatened my family. That is something that you do not do."

"How? How could my daddy threaten you? Sitting in your big house on the hill. How could a d.a.m.n field hand threaten you?"

"He threatened me with you, Bocephus," Maggie hissed. Then without hesitation she lowered the barrel of the gun and fired it.

Bo's left kneecap exploded with pain, and he crumpled to the ground. As he did, he saw Helen Lewis fire her pistol. Helen's shot hit Maggie in the shoulder, and she staggered backwards. The next bullet hit Maggie in the stomach, and she lowered the shotgun to her hip, her legs wobbling. She looked like she was about to fall, and Helen lowered her weapon slightly, glancing at Bo. "Are you all-?"

"No, General!" Bo screamed, but he was too late.

Maggie Walton fired the shotgun from her hip, and the district attorney general went down. Helen landed on her back and rolled over on her stomach. Then she stopped moving.

Dead, Bo thought, cradling his destroyed knee in his arms. Another casualty.

"I hate to say I told you so," Maggie said, chuckling. "That b.i.t.c.h didn't have it in her to take me out."

Bo stared at her. Maggie's white blouse was now stained red on both collarbones, but she was still alive. And she still had the gun.

Gritting his teeth against the pain and placing all of his weight on his right leg, Bo managed to stand. "How could my daddy threaten you with me?" he spat.

Maggie Walton took two steps toward Bo and put the barrel of the gun against Bo's forehead. Hate shone in her eyes as she spat the words out. "Because he wasn't your daddy."

Bo blinked, and his right leg buckled. He fell to his knees and looked down at the brown sand, then back up at Maggie Walton. "What?"

"Roosevelt wasn't your father. He married Pearl a few months after she got pregnant with you." Maggie paused, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "Truth is, Bo, you've hated your real daddy all your life."

Bo raised his eyes from the sand, the truth finally dawning on him. "No," he whispered.

"Yes," Maggie spat. "Your daddy was my husband. Andrew Davis Walton. Imperial Wizard of the Tennessee Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. Andy had an affair with your momma, and you were the result. You ask me why I hate you. I've wanted you dead from the moment you breathed air."

Despite the unbearable pain in his kneecap, Bo felt numb all over. His arms hung limp from his sides as he stared up at Maggie Walton. "Why didn't you have me killed as a baby then?"

"Because your daddy wouldn't let me," Maggie said, her teeth clinched together in anger. "Andy owned up to what he had done, but he would not kill his own son." Maggie laughed, but the bitterness in the sound was palpable. "How's that for irony? You have hated Andy Walton your whole life, and he is the only reason you have lived as long as you have. The minute I put Andy out of his misery, I began to plan your death. At first I wanted the state to do it. I would have gotten so much satisfaction out of watching you put to death for the murder of your own father. But Helen couldn't get it done, and Ray Ray stopped my hired gun from doing it, so now I guess I'm just going to have to do it myself."