Loudon moved precisely, apparently intent on retrieving the gun clutched in the dead man’s hand. “Stand over there by Mrs. Stage, Pink.”
Pink walked slowly toward Michelle, his eyes shifting between Loudon, Michelle, and the body. Pink was surprised the man was still holding the gun and couldn’t figure out how that could have happened. Wouldn’t a dead man have dropped it? Loudon knelt by the body and tried working the firearm from his fingers, having little success. “Take her inside, will you, Pink. And don’t let her change clothes just yet.”
Pink wasn’t sure why Loudon was so concerned. It was obvious Michelle had no weapon since she was naked under her nightgown, and she didn’t seem to possess the strength or inclination to use one. Michelle fell easily into Pink’s step as he guided her by the shoulders toward the house. Once inside, he led her to the bedroom and sat her on the mattress, the blankets and sheets still balled and twisted from a restless sleep. He went to the bathroom for a hot washcloth then remembered what Loudon had said about not letting her change.
Loudon came in and used the phone.
“Can I get Mrs. Stage out of this wet gown?” Pink asked. “It’s frozen hard as a damn ice cube.”
Loudon nodded toward Pink then turned away and talked low to someone on the phone.
Pink pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped Michelle in it. “I’m going to pull your gown off; then we can clean you up, okay? Hold the blanket over you.”
He stepped closer and could smell the nicotine in her hair from the Hilltop the night before, along with a dying trace of perfume. He liked the smell, unlike the strong odor that strippers wore. Michelle raised her arms as Pink slipped the gown over her head. The blanket Pink had wrapped her in for privacy fell to her lap and Pink turned away, but not before glimpsing the roundness of her breasts. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. But she hadn’t seen him look, didn’t seem to care anyway, her gaze somewhere off in another county.
With his head turned, he groped for the blanket and eased it back up over her shoulders. Her fingers gently fastened the blanket across her chest.
“Slider’s on his way,” Loudon said, hanging up the phone. “Everything okay in there, Pink?”
“I’m going to help her into the shower so she can clean up.”
“We don’t have time for that, Pink. Get something on her. They’ll clean her up down at the hospital.”
Now that Loudon had the gun, he didn’t seem all that concerned about Michelle anymore. Pink heard the sliding glass door open and shut and figured Loudon would wait on the deck for Slider.
“I’m sorry about what I said to you last night, Pink,” Michelle said, looking up at him. “It was very wrong.”
“It was wrong of me to run out on you the way I did,” Pink said. “Hope Lyman treated you right. He’s a good man, churchgoing, sings in the choir and all. I knew you’d be all right.”
“It’s my fault Cliff is dead,” she said, looking out at the snow on the side deck. “I blamed him for everything. That’s why he shot himself.”
Pink remembered what Loudon had said on the drive up the mountain. “Ain’t nothing bad enough for a man to kill himself,” Pink told her, “and it sure ain’t your fault.”
“Some things are bad enough, Pink. Some things are. Cliff believed he killed our daughter on his way over to see his girlfriend. Hard to pull yourself up from that.”
“Some folks are survivors, ma’am. Some folks aren’t,” Pink said, searching for something he could easily dress her in. When he would help Isabelle into something, it was usually her robe. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her in regular clothes—a dress, jeans, a pretty blouse. Pink slipped Michelle’s robe off the hook on the door and guided her right arm into the sleeve, then the left. She stood and let the blanket fall away. He reached over to cinch the belt at her waist, but she eased his hands away and did it herself. “I don’t know where my tennis shoes are, and I lost my slippers in the snow,” Michelle said, her eyes brimming with tears.
“I saw your shoes under the coffee table in the living room,” Pink said, and went to retrieve them. When he returned, Michelle was slumped on the floor at the foot of the bed, sobbing silently into her knees, her shoulders jerking. Pink heard the siren coming up the hill as he knelt next to Michelle and placed his arm around her shoulder. He’d never been much of a nurturer, felt awkward even pretending, so he tried to remember how he’d seen men do it in movies. They always did it without words. But it was hard not saying anything.
*****
Death grip. That’s what Loudon called it. Told Pink he had to break the husband’s fingers. “Had to snap ’em like twigs,” Loudon explained to Pink. “That’s why I had you take her inside. Couldn’t have her seeing that.”
Michelle had not struggled when Slider escorted her to the cruiser. She sat in the back seat staring out the window, like a damn puppy headed to the pound, Pink thought. There wasn’t anything he could do for her. Even so, something purled in his chest at the sorry sight of her.
Loudon went back in the house and called Emerson to come fetch the body.
“Oh, shit, Loudon,” Pink said, following behind. “Tell Emerson to bring Lulu’s ashes with him. I plumb forgot ’em this morning.”
After Loudon relayed the message, he grimaced and handed the phone to Pink. “What is it, Emerson?” Pink said, jerking the phone to his mouth. He didn’t want to talk to Emerson or listen to whining about proper procedures.
“Well, Mattie didn’t pick out an urn or anything. What should I bring them in?”
“Bring ’em in a dang baggie for all I care. They’re ashes, for Christ’s sake.”
Loudon shook his head. “They’re the remains of your mama’s beloved friend, Pink.”
“Shit, now I’m getting it from Loudon too,” Pink said, turning his back to Loudon. “What do you put ashes in when folks ain’t got much money?”
“A plastic container with their name on the outside,” Emerson said. “Containers come in brown, tan, and green, although not many folks choose the green ’cause it kind of looks like mold and I guess folks don’t want their loved ones remembered that way. Then I put a nice label on the end with the name of the loved one and the name of my funeral home in case—”
“Brown box’ll be fine. Thanks. And hurry. This body up here is thawing and it doesn’t look good.” Pink hung up the phone without waiting for Emerson to answer.
“You have a hard way about you, Pink,” Loudon said, gathering up Michelle’s purse and personal items. “See if she has a trash bag in the pantry there, one of those white kitchen deals to put these clothes in.”