Carnal Innocence

now.”
    Josie shifted position subtly, turning her body slightly, lifting her shoulders. The sassy smile she offered Burke faded when she saw his eyes. Still, her voice was bright. “Why, Burke, I’m jealous. You hardly ever come to pay calls on us at Sweetwater, and here you are.”
    “Official business, Josie.”
    “Well, well.”
    “Miss Waverly, I need to speak to you. Could we go inside?”
    “Of course.”
    As he started by, Josie took his arm. The teasing had gone out of her face. “Burke?”
    “I can’t talk to you now.” He knew he should tell her to leave, but he thought Caroline might want another female around when he’d finished with her. “Can you wait? Maybe stay with her awhile?”
    The hand on his arm trembled. “How bad is it?”
    “As bad as it gets. Why don’t you go in the kitchen, fix us something cold? I’d be obliged if you’d stay in there until I call you.”
    Caroline settled him in the front parlor, on the striped divan. The little cuckoo clock that she had wound faithfully since her arrival tick-tocked cheerfully. She could smell the polish she’d used on the coffee table just that morning, and her own sweat.
    “Miss Waverly, I’m awfully sorry to have to ask you questions now, when you must be upset. But it’s best to get to all this quickly.”
    “I understand.” How could she understand, she thought frantically. She’d never found a body before. “Do you know … do you know who she is?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “The deputy—Johnson?” Her hand was up at herthroat, rubbing up and down as if she could stroke the words free. “He said she didn’t drown.”
    “No, ma’am.” Burke took a notebook and pencil from his pocket. “I’m sorry. I have to tell you she was murdered.”
    She only nodded. She wasn’t shocked. A part of her had known it from the moment she had looked into the wide, sightless eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
    “I want you to tell me anything you saw, anything you heard in the last forty-eight hours.”
    “But there’s nothing, really. I’ve only just arrived, and I’ve been trying to—to settle, to put things in order.”
    “I understand that.” He tipped his hat back on his head, used his forearm to dab at sweat on his brow. “Maybe you could think back. You didn’t maybe hear a car pull into your lane at night, or anything that didn’t sound quite right to you?”
    “No … that is, I’m used to city noises, so nothing really sounds right to me.” She dragged an unsteady hand through her hair. It was going to be all right, she told herself, now that they were down to the questions and answers, the mechanics of law and order.
    “The quiet seems so loud, if you know what I mean. And the birds, and insects. The owls.” She stopped, and what was left of her color drained away. “The other night, the first night I was here … oh, God.”
    “You just take your time, ma’am.”
    “I thought I heard a woman scream. I’d been asleep, and it woke me. Frightened me. Then I remembered where I was, and about the owls. Those screech owls.” She closed her eyes on a flood of guilt. “I went back to sleep. It could have been her, calling for help. I just went back to sleep.”
    “Or it could have been an owl. Even if it was her, Miss Waverly, you couldn’t have helped. Could you tell me what time it woke you up?”
    “No, I’m sorry. I have no idea. I didn’t look.”
    “Do you walk back there much?”
    “I have a couple of times. My grandfather took me fishing back there once when I visited.”
    “I’ve gotten some good cats back there myself,” he said conversationally. “Do you smoke?”
    “No.” Manners rising again, she glanced around for an ashtray. “Please, go ahead.”
    He pulled one out, but he was thinking about the single cigarette butt he’d found near the log. Edda Lou didn’t smoke either. “You haven’t noticed anyone poking around here? No one’s come by to see you?”
    “As I said, I haven’t been here long. I did run into someone the first day. He said my grandmother let him come down to watch the water.”
    Burke kept his face impassive, but his heart began to sink. “Do you know who that was?”
    “His name was Longstreet. Tucker Longstreet.”
    Tucker was back in the hammock holding a cold beer against his swollen eye and sulking. His body no longer felt like it had been trampled by horses. It felt like it had been dragged a few miles first. He was regretting, bitterly,