When he was alone, Ray sat in the wicker chair across from the empty sofa, and tried to convince himself that life without his father would not be greatly different than life apart from him. This day was long in coming, and he would simply take it in stride and go on with a small measure of mourning. Just go through the motions, he told himself, wrap things up in Mississippi and race back to Virginia.
The study was lit by one weak bulb under the shade of a dust-covered lamp on the rolltop, and the shadows were long and dark. Tomorrow he would sit at the desk and plunge1 into the paperwork, but not tonight.
Tonight he needed to think.
Forrest was gone, hauled away by Harry2 Rex, both of them drunk. Forrest, typically, became sullen3 and wanted to drive to Memphis. Ray suggested he simply stay there. "Sleep on the porch if you don't want to sleep in the house," he said, without pushing.
Pushing would only cause a fight. Harry Rex said he would, under normal circumstances, invite Forrest to stay with him, but the new wife was a hard-ass and two drunks were probably too much.
"Just stay here," Harry Rex said, but Forrest wouldn't budge4. Bullheaded enough when he was cold sober, he was intractable after a few drinks. Ray had seen it more times than he cared to remember and sat quietly as Harry Rex argued with his brother.
The issue was settled when Forrest decided5 he would rent a room at the Deep Rock Motel north of town. "I used to go there when I was seeing the mayor's wife, fifteen years ago," he said.
"It's full of fleas," Harry Rex said.
"I miss it already."
"The mayor's wife?" Ray asked.
"You don't want to know," Harry Rex said.
They left a few minutes after eleven, and the house had been growing quieter by the minute.
The front door had a latch6 and the patio7 door had a deadbolt. The kitchen door, the only one at the rear of the house, had a flimsy knob with a lock that was not working. The Judge could not operate a screwdriver8 and Ray had inherited this lack of mechanical skill. Every window had been closed and latched9, and he was certain that the Atlee mansion10 had not been this secure in decades. If necessary, he would sleep in the kitchen where he could guard the broom closet.
He tried not to think about the money. Sitting in his father's sanctuary11, he mentally worked on an unofficial obituary12.
Judge Atlee was elected to the bench of the 25th Chancery District in 1959 and was reelected by a landslide13 every four years until 1991. Thirty-two years of diligent14 service. As a jurist, his record was impeccable. Rarely did the Appellate Court reverse one of his decisions. Often he was asked by his colleagues to hear untouchable cases in their districts. He was a guest lecturer at the Ole Miss Law School. He wrote hundreds of articles on practice, procedure, and trends. Twice he turned down appointments to the Mississippi Supreme15 Court; he simply didn't want to leave the trial bench.
When he wasn't wearing a robe, Judge Atlee kept his finger in all local matters - politics, civic16 work, schools, and churches. Few things in Ford17 County were approved without his endorsement18, and few things he opposed were ever attempted. At various times he served on every local board, council, conference, and ad hoc committee. He quietly selected candidates for local offices and he quietly helped defeat the ones who didn't get his blessing19.
In his spare time, what little of it there had been, he studied history and the Bible and wrote articles on the law. Never once had he thrown a baseball with his sons, never once had he taken them fishing.
He was preceded in death by his wife, Margaret, who died suddenly of an aneurysm in 1969. He was survived by two sons.
And somewhere along the way he managed to siphon off a fortune in cash.
Maybe the mystery of the money would be solved over there on the desk, somewhere in the stacks of papers or perhaps hidden in the drawers. Surely his father had left a clue, if not an outright20 explanation. There had to be a trail. Ray couldn't think of a single person in Ford County with a net worth of two million dollars, and to hold that much in cash was unthinkable.
He needed to count it. He'd checked on it twice during the evening. Just counting the twenty-seven Blake & Son's boxes had made him anxious. He would wait until early morning, when there was plenty of light and before the town began moving. He'd cover the kitchen windows and take one box at a time.
Just before midnight, Ray found a small mattress21 in a downstairs bedroom and dragged it into the dining room, to a spot twenty feet from the broom closet, where he could see the front drive and the house next door. Upstairs he found the Judge's .38-caliber Smith & Wesson in the drawer of his night table. With a pillow that smelled of mildew22 and a wool blanket that smelled of mold, he tried in vain to sleep.
THE RATTLING23 noise came from the other side of the house. It was a window, though it took Ray minutes to wake up, clear his head, realize where he was and what he was hearing. A pecking sound, then a more violent shaking, then silence. A long pause as he poised24 himself on the mattress and gripped the .38. The house was much darker than he wanted because almost all the lightbulbs had burned out and the Judge had been too cheap to replace them.
Too cheap. Twenty-seven boxes of cash.
Put lightbulbs on the list, first thing in the morning.
There was the noise again, too firm and too rapid to be leaves or limbs brushing in the wind. Tap, tap, tap, then a hard push or shove as someone tried again to pry25 it open.
There were two cars in the drive - Ray's and Forrest's. Any fool could see the house had people in it, so whoever this fool was he didn't care. He probably had a gun, too, and he certainly knew how to handle it better than Ray.
Ray slid across the foyer on his stomach, wiggling like a crab26 and breathing like a sprinter27. He stopped in the dark hallway and listened to the silence. Lovely silence. Just go away, he kept saying to himself. Please go away.
Tap, tap, tap, and he was sliding again toward the rear bedroom with the pistol aimed in front of him. Was it loaded? he asked himself, much too late. Surely the Judge kept his bedside gun loaded. The noise was louder and coming from a small bedroom they had once used for guests, but for decades now it had been collecting boxes of junk. He slowly nudged the door open with his head and saw nothing but cardboard boxes. The door swung wider and hit a floor lamp, which pitched forward and crashed near the first of three dark windows.
Ray almost began firing, but he held his ammo, and his breath. He lay still on the sagging28 wooden floor for what seemed like an hour, sweating, listening, swatting spiders, hearing nothing. The shadows rose and fell. A light wind was hitting every branch out there, and somewhere up near the roof a limb was gently rubbing the house.
It was the wind after all. The wind and the old ghosts of Maple29 Run, a place of many spirits, according to his mother, because it was an old house where dozens had died. They had buried slaves in the basement, she said, and their ghosts grew restless and roamed about.
The Judge hated ghost stories and refuted them all.
When Ray finally sat up, his elbows and knees were numb30. With time he stood and leaned on the door frame, watching the three windows with his gun ready. If there had actually been an intruder, the noise evidently spooked him. But the longer Ray stood there the more he convinced himself that the racket had been nothing but the wind.
Forrest had the better idea. As grungy as the Deep Rock was, it had to be more restful than this place.
Tap, tap, tap, and he hit the floor again, stricken with fear once more, except this was worse because the noise came from the kitchen. He made the tactical decision to crawl instead of slide, and by the time he got back to the foyer his knees were screaming. He stopped at the French doors that led to the dining room and waited. The floor was dark but a faint porch light slanted31 feebly through the blinds and shone along the upper walls and ceiling.
Not for the first time, he asked himself what, exactly, was he, a professor of law at a prestigious32 university, doing hiding in the darkness of his childhood home, armed, frightened out of his mind, ready to jump out of his skin, and all because he wanted desperately33 to protect a mysterious horde34 of cash he had stumbled upon. "Answer that one," he mumbled35 to himself.
The kitchen door opened onto a small wooden deck. Someone was shuffling36 around out there, just beyond the door, footsteps on boards. Then the doorknob rattled37, the flimsy one with the malfunctioning38 lock. Whoever he was, he had made the bold decision to walk straight through the door instead of sneaking39 through a window.
Ray was an Atlee, and this was his soil. This was also Mississippi, where guns were expected to be used for protection. No court in the state would frown on drastic action in this situation. He crouched40 beside the kitchen table, took aim at a spot high in the window above the sink, and began squeezing the trigger. One loud gunshot, cracking through the darkness, coming from inside and shattering a window, would no doubt terrify any burglar.
Just as the door rattled again, he squeezed harder, the hammer clicked, and nothing happened. The gun had no bullets. The chamber41 spun42, he squeezed again, and there was no discharge. In a panic, Ray grabbed the empty pitcher43 of tea on the counter and hurled44 it at the door. To his great relief, it made more noise than any bullet could possibly have done. Scared out of his wits, he hit a light switch and went charging to the door, brandishing45 the gun and yelling, "Get the hell outta here!" When he yanked it open and saw no one, he exhaled46 mightily47 and began breathing again.
For half an hour he swept glass, making as much noise as possible.
THE COP'S name was Andy, nephew of a guy Ray finished high school with. That relationship was established within the first thirty seconds of his arrival, and once they were linked they talked about football while the exterior48 of Maple Run was inspected. No sign of entry at any of the downstairs windows. Nothing at the kitchen door but broken glass. Upstairs, Ray looked for bullets while Andy went from room to room. Both searches produced nothing. Ray brewed49 coffee and they drank it on the porch, chatting quietly in the early morning hours. Andy was the only cop protecting Clanton at that time, and he confessed he wasn't really needed. "Nothin' ever happens this early Monday morning," he said. "Folks are asleep, gettin' ready for work." With a little prodding51, he reviewed the crime scene in Ford County - stolen pickups, fights at the honky-tonks, drug activity in Lowtown, the colored section. Hadn't had a murder in four years, he said proudly. A branch bank got robbed two years ago. He prattled52 on and took a second cup. Ray would keep pouring it, and brewing53 it if necessary, until sunrise. He was comforted by the presence of a well-marked patrol car sitting out front. Andy left at three-thirty. For an hour Ray lay on the mattress, staring holes in the ceiling, holding a gun that was useless. He fought sleep by plotting strategies to protect the money. Not investment schemes, those could wait. More pressing was a plan to get the money out of the broom closet, out of the house, and into a safe place somewhere. Would he be forced to haul it to Virginia? He certainly couldn't leave it in Clan50 ton, could he? And when could he count it?
At some point, fatigue54 and the emotional drain of the day overcame him, and he drifted away. The tapping came back, but he did not hear it. The kitchen door, now secured by a jammed chair and a piece of rope, was rattled and pushed, but Ray slept through it all.
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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screwdriver
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| n.螺丝起子；伏特加橙汁鸡尾酒 | |
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latched
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| v.理解( latch的过去式和过去分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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obituary
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| n.讣告，死亡公告；adj.死亡的 | |
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landslide
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| n.(竞选中)压倒多数的选票；一面倒的胜利 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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endorsement
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| n.背书；赞成，认可，担保；签(注)，批注 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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mildew
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| n.发霉；v.（使）发霉 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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sprinter
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| n.短跑运动员，短距离全速奔跑者 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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prestigious
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| adj.有威望的，有声望的，受尊敬的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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malfunctioning
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| 出故障 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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45
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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46
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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49
brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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50
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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51
prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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52
prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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53
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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