The two men who brought the backhoe came up on the deck and asked the sheriff where to dig. Deputy Bogan escorted them around the side of the house.
Sheriff Fisk looked back at Michelle. “Hell of a thing, all this new technology. They run a cable fixed with a camera and light no bigger than a dang pencil down the pipe. Even has a sensor on it that ol’ Andy there can follow with that contraption he’s holding, lead him right to the tank. They’ll pull out them bones and check ’em with all their fancy equipment, find out exactly who that is in there. Hell of a thing, isn’t it?”
The backhoe fired up and sputtered under a large plume of blue smoke. It rattled loudly across the yard.
Michelle said nothing, unconvinced the sheriff could really believe she had anything to do with the skeleton, with any of what was happening. But he could subpoena her back to Ardenwood for Pink’s trial, force her to perjure herself before judge and jury. She could tell the truth and test the limits of incredulity, risk insulting the judge and judicial system with her preposterous story. And what about Pink? He would have no idea about the murder. In the version of his life he was living, he had not killed anyone. He could probably pass a lie detector test without a problem, a lot easier than Michelle could.
“Can I go?” Michelle asked. “We’re going to head back to Atlanta today.”
“Sure thing,” Sheriff Fisk said. “I gave the state boys all your contact information. Someone from the prosecutor’s office’ll probably be getting in touch with you.”
“You can’t possibly believe I had anything to do with this?” Michelle said.
“Not directly, but you and Pink have one heck of a vexing story. It just doesn’t jibe, ma’am. And that puts an itch in my sheriff’s brain I just can’t scratch.” The sheriff tweaked the brim of his hat and headed in the direction of the men with the backhoe, down the back stairs off the deck. She heard the crisp slice of metal into dirt, followed by the sound of clumped mud and rock tumbling through the weeds as the backhoe dumped its take from the fresh hole.
*****
Cassie asked questions from the back seat. Michelle didn’t want to talk, her mind a whorl of intangibles, roads going nowhere, travelers without destinations, night without end. She wanted it to be over.
They drove back to Atlanta in silence, Michelle incapable of unplugging from the lies she’d told Sheriff Fisk, how embarrassing they were, how stupid they’d sounded. She’d seen that Pink’s office was an ice cream shop—why did she stay with that lie? It seemed impossible to construct a believable truth from what she knew, all the facets of reality she’d seen, how the pieces should all fit.
Cassie slept on the trip back. Cliff turned on the radio. “The real estate agent didn’t say anything about skeletons in the septic system,” Cliff said.
Michelle looked at him, unable to grasp his meaning.
“It was a joke. You know, real estate agents are supposed to—never mind. It was a bad joke. Why don’t you close your eyes and rest?”
Michelle curled against the seat, the woman in the lavender gown coming in her dream.
Chapter 44
When Lulu opened the door, she was surprised Pink wasn’t sitting on the couch watching television. That’s where he’d spent nearly every waking hour since she’d picked him up from the hospital, there or in the fridge looking for something to eat. Most nights he didn’t even sleep in the spare bedroom she’d set up for him, just dozed off in his boxers on the couch, the television playing all night.
Burrito ran over to her, jumping up and down, propping himself up with one paw on her shin. She leaned over and rubbed his head, then got some dog food and poured it in his dish. “You’re supposed to make sure Pink doesn’t sleep all day,” she said to the dog.
Lulu set the sacks of groceries on the kitchen table. Pink had hardly spoken to her the last couple of days, ever since she’d told him the story of Mattie and Ida and what they had done. Maybe it was a mistake telling him, she thought, but he needed to know if Fisk came for him. She knew Fisk had questioned him in town and hadn’t arrested him. Lulu wanted to ask Pink what he had done with Isabelle’s body but she didn’t have the courage.
She put the lettuce and cucumber in the vegetable crisper and closed the refrigerator door, remembering how Pink had first reacted when she came to the hospital after his breakdown. She’d come in the evening, after visiting hours, hoping to avoid making a scene. Evelyn, the night nurse, had let her in.
“Lulu?” he’d said, seemingly still trying to pull himself from sleep. “What the hell! Lulu, you’re dead—”
Lulu had clamped her palm over his mouth. “Quiet, Pink.”
He had tried to wrestle free of her grip. When he settled down, she drew back her hand.
“There must be hell to pay if I’m seeing you, Lulu!” Pink had said, wiping his mouth. “Damn, I helped Mama spread your ashes!”
A few days later, Lulu picked Pink up at the hospital and brought him to her house. He was groggy from medication, so she waited a few days to tell him about Mattie and Ida—and Isabelle.
He’d been napping in front of the television.
“Pink” she’d said, shaking his arm.
“Uh, oh, Lulu,” Pink had said, rubbing his eyes. “What is it? Supper?”
“Pink.” Lulu had switched the television off. “I have something unsettling to tell you and I need you to listen.”
Lulu had tried to frame the story in terms Pink could deal with, but she could tell he’d been flummoxed by the account. “That’s just batshit crazy!” he’d shouted, pushing himself off her couch. “How could Isabelle be my sister?” he said. “And how could I have killed her?” he said. “That’s one whopper of a yarn, Lulu.”
“I’m so sorry, Pink,” she’d said. “But you need to know.”
“Why would I need to know something like that?” he’d shouted. “Hell’s bells, Lulu, I’ll never get that damn story out of my head. Why would you concoct a tale like that? Hell, you should’ve been in the damn hospital, not me.”
Pink had gone to his bedroom, and Lulu had heard the television in his room come on. The next few days had been tense. Pink was impossible to talk to. He took his plate to his room, and she’d see it in the sink in the morning when she got up to make coffee. Every time she spoke to him, he’d fly into a tirade. “Everybody in this whole damn town’s crazier than a hornet on a bug strip.” Then he’d slam his bedroom door.
Lulu filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. She turned the burner on and remembered the railing on the porch needed some attention, feeling it would be good for Pink to busy himself with something other than police shows and horror movies.