Cypress Grove by James Sallis Read Free Book Online Page B

shoes, but urine had gone its own way, she’d had no control over that. A plate near the front held frankfurters and slices of American cheese.
    In the bathroom a younger child with severe diarrhea, maybe two or three, was lashed by brown twine to the bathtub faucets. A Boy Scout manual on the back of the toilet bore a folded square of toilet paper at a section on knots. Jars of applesauce and peanut butter and plastic spoons sat within reach.
    In a rear bedroom with bunk beds stacked north, south and east, children of various ages, six of them, sat straight-backed as army recruits. Their eyes swiveled to us as we came in. Plates of cold cuts and Oreo cookies sat on windowsills.
    “I had no idea,” Sally Gene told me.
    “You must have.”
    “Oh, I knew something was wrong. But this . . .”
    “Foster home?”
    “One of the few we’ve never had complaints about. No trouble at all.”
    “I found a credit card in the desk drawer.” William stood in the doorway behind us. “We haven’t had real food for a long time.”
    “A Visa,” Sally Gene told me, “and well past its limit. Two days ago someone tried to use its mate down in Vicksburg to settle a hotel bill that included an impressive bar tab. The card got confiscated.”
    “Foster parents?”
    “Their card, anyway.”
    “I’m sorry,” William said. “I know it was wrong.”
    “You did okay, son.”
    “You did great,” Sally Gene said.
    “Daddy put me in charge. I was just trying—”
    “Who the fuck are you people?”
    We both turned. He held a 12-gauge shotgun.
    “Daddy!” The boy had moved on into the room beside us.
    “And what are you doing in my house?”
    I looked at Sally Gene, who fed me the name: “Sammy Lee Davis.”
    “Just stay cool, Mr. Davis, okay? I’m Detective Turner, Miss Lawson here’s from city social services. We need to talk to you, that’s all, just talk. Why don’t you start by putting the gun down. There’s a lot of kids in here, man. No one wants to see the kids get hurt. William: show your father my badge?”
    The boy held it out.
    “You’re trespassing.”
    Thinking this wasn’t the best time to discuss probable cause and his being at any time open to public inspection as a foster parent, I said, “Well, yes sir, truth is, we are. I can appreciate that’s how it must look to you.”
    “You’re the son of a bitch ran off with my wife, aren’t you?”
    The 12-gauge went to his shoulder. I have to give it to Sally Gene. She never once blinked, flinched or cut her eyes. He saw it in the boy’s face, though, and turned just in time to take Bill’s riot stick square on the forehead.
    “You guys through with your business yet?” Bill said. “It’s getting hot out there and I’m getting hungry. And that goddamn magnolia smells to high heaven.”

Chapter Eleven
    SETH MCEVOY played quarterback, was a top band member, and had a four-point average. He also, judging from the photo on his computer desk, went with the prettiest girl in town. Kind of kid you hated when you were back in school, couldn’t do anything wrong.
    Don Lee came with me. We’d spoken with the boy’s mother downstairs. Seth was busy filling out college applications. All the pictures on his walls hung perfectly straight. The spines of the books in the bookcase behind the door were all flush.
    “How come you’re so much older than the sheriff and Don Lee?”
    “Mr. Turner’s retired, Seth. He’s agreed to help us out, more or less as a consultant.”
    You could see the intelligence in his eyes, the interest. He’d rather ask questions than answer them. He knew about his world. Knew it too well, perhaps. Now he wanted to know about other people’s.
    “So what can I do for you?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me again what happened.”
    “I don’t think there’s anything I can add to what I told the sheriff.” But he went along, forever the good kid, reciting all but verbatim what was in the official report. With time and