"So, there we were," said Sumter. "A body. A son. And me, a willing spirit.
I told Erling to get a carpet. We wrapped Thayard up in it. Threw him and his tools into a skiff. Covered everything with a piece of canvas.
No one saw us. No one that will ever say a word, anyway.
I own them. The servants. They know how to keep their mouths shut.
Anyway, Erling and I set out on the river.
I grew up on this river, just like you. Know it like the back of my hand.
You know, as well as I, that there are thousands of eddies, a hundred swamps, plenty of places to dispose of unwanted garbage that you wish never to be found. And plenty of places to dump some chum for alligator bait.
Plenty of places. Too numerous to count. Too many to begin searching.
Somehow, Early found out about Thayard.
About what Erling had done, I mean.
That Thayard had been, well, disposed of and would never be coming back.
I was already in the process of setting up things to have Erling shipped away.
Early came to me. She was livid. Absolutely furious. But not for the reasons you might think.
She wasn't upset that her son had killed a man, a man she perhaps loved. What had infuriated Early was that Erling had done it without her blessing.
Erling had killed a man without her consent.
Hell, maybe she was mad at me for helping Erling out a jam. It was all so gall-derned mixed up. It was really hard to know what set her off so.
But I really believe deep down in my gut, she was furious at Erling.
At least that's the best I have been able to make out. She wasn't that coherent. And she was screaming like a mad banshee. She talks fast anyway, but when she gets mad, Early can fling her words faster than a woodpecker nails a tree.
She flew into a blinding rage. Cussed me out. Damn, she could cuss better than a sailor.
Cussed me out, and jumped into her car. Went speeding off like a bat outta hell."
I never should have let her go off like that. But, what was I to do?
When Early was having a fit, she was unmanageable.
I just stood there, and let her drive off.
Nuthin' much else I could do."
YOU ARE READING
Five Miles to Paradise
Historical FictionEvil lives in the back woods and swamps of the Deep South. From the dark corner of a decadent plantation mansion to the soggy decay of a one-room swamp shack, it breeds and festers, grows and blooms. It lies in the recesses of small town ignorance a...
