Carnal Innocence

of Elvis. “ThatTucker’s down there right now, cozying up to the Waverly woman. Why, Edda Lou ain’t even buried yet.”
    “Tucker’s a shithead. Always was.”
    “Well, Edda Lou loved him to distraction. He brought her perfume.” She sent a hopeful look toward Billy T., but he was too busy blowing smoke rings. Darleen turned back to frown out the window. “I just hate them. Hate them all. Why, if Burke Truesdale wasn’t Tucker’s best friend, that boy would be locked up, same as Austin Hatinger.”
    “Hell.” Billy T. rubbed his damp belly and wondered if they could get in one more poke. “Tucker’s a shithead, but he ain’t no killer. Everybody knows it was a black that done it. Them blacks the one’s who like to carve up white women.”
    “He broke her heart just the same. It just seems he ought to pay somehow.” She looked back at Billy T., one tear slipping out of one eye. “I sure wish someone would get back at him for making her so unhappy before she died.” As the laughter rose up from the next yard, infuriating her, Darleen blinked her wet lashes. “Why, I guess I’d do just about anything for somebody who had the guts to pay him back.”
    Billy T. crushed out his cigarette in the little ashtray that had a picture of the Washington Monument on it. “Well now, honey, if you were to come on over here and show me how much you want it, it might be I could do something to even things out.”
    “Oh, honey.” Darleen tugged Elvis away from her breasts as she rose to kneel between Billy T.’s legs. “You’re so good to me.”
    While Darleen was busy bringing a smile to Billy T.’s face, ribs were sizzling on the grill in the yard next door. Burke presided over them, wearing a big apron that sported a cartoon chef and the caption KISS THE COOK OR ELSE! He tipped back a Budweiser with one hand and sauced the ribs with the other. Susie hauled bowls and platters from the kitchen to the picnic table, shooting offorders to her children to grab the potato salad, fetch more ice, to stop sneaking the deviled eggs.
    Caroline had to admire the orchestration. One would swing into the kitchen, another would swing out. Although two of the boys—Tommy and Parker, she remembered—would occasionally pause for a few elbow pokes and jostling, the choreography went smoothly. The younger boy, Sam—named after Uncle Sam, as he’d be nine on the Fourth of July—was engrossed in showing his baseball card selection to Tucker.
    Tucker was sprawled on the grass, and despite the heat, held Sam in his lap as they perused the album. “I’ll trade you my eighty-six Rickey Henderson for that Cal Ripkin.”
    “Nuh-uh.” Sam’s mop of sandy hair flopped in his eyes as he shook his head. “This’s Cal’s rookie year.”
    “But you’ve gone and bent the corner, son, and my Henderson’s in prime condition. Might even throw in my brand-new Wade Boggs.”
    “Shoot, that’s nothin’.” Sam turned his head, and Caroline caught the gleam in his dark eyes. “I want the sixty-three Pete Rose.”
    “That’s robbery, boy. I’m going to have your daddy throw you in jail for even suggesting it. Burke, this boy’s a born criminal. Better send him off to reform school now and save yourself the heartache.”
    “He knows a scam when he hears one,” Burke said mildly.
    “He’s still pissed that I got his Mickey Mantle back in sixty-eight,” Tucker murmured to Sam. “The man doesn’t understand creative trading. Now, about that Cal Ripkin.”
    “I’ll take twenty-five dollars for it.”
    “Shit. That does it.” He caught Sam in a headlock and hissed in his ear. “You see that guy sitting there working on boring Miss Waverly to death?”
    “The one in the suit?”
    “Yes, sir, the one in the suit. He’s an FBI agent, and asking twenty-five dollars for Cal Ripkin’s rookie year is a federal offense.”
    “Nuh-uh,” Sam said, grinning.
    “It sure as God is. And your daddy’d be the first to tell you ignorance of the law is no excuse. I’m going to have to turn you in.”
    Sam studied Matthew Burns, then shrugged. “He looks like a pansy.”
    Tucker hooted with laughter. “Where do you learn these things?” He decided to try another tack and see if he could torture the card from Sam. He flipped the boy over, hung him upside down, then began to tickle him.
    As Caroline watched them wrestle, she lost track of Burns’s conversation. Something about the Symphony Ball at the Kennedy Center. She let