Carnal Innocence

grappling for the gun was brief while Lou, down in the grave, fought to free himself of a flailing, hysterical woman.
    Austin rapped the side of the gun across the deputy’s head, knocking him unconscious, then snatched a wide-eyed Birdie Shays around the throat.
    “I’ll kill her,” Austin shouted, full of the wrath of God. “I’ll kill her dead as my girl, you hear me? You throw out your gun and the keys, or I’ll blow a hole in her head fit to drive a truck through.”
    Birdie made piping sounds and pawed ineffectually at his arm. A few feet away, Ruthanne began to cry, certain she would never live down this newest humiliation.
    “Where you gonna go?” Lou demanded, hating the fact that he was crouched on a coffin with a sobbing woman clawing up his back. The guys back in the station were going to ride him about this like a conventioneer rides a twenty-dollar whore. “Think it through, Hatinger. Where you gonna go?”
    “Where the Lord leads me.” And yes, he could feel the strength and heat of that fierce God pumping through him. His eyes shone with it. “‘Master, I will follow Thee!’” he shouted, cutting off Birdie’s air. “Ten seconds, then I do her. After that, I’ll just fill that hole you’re in with lead, and that’ll be that.”
    Swearing and furious, Lou tossed out the keys.
    “Your sidearm, too.”
    “Goddammit—”
    “Five
seconds.” With a jerk of his head, Austin signaled Vernon to unchain him.
    “You oughta just kill them, Daddy,” Vernon said between his teeth as he turned the key. The idea had blood surging to his face. “Just shoot the Christless bastards and we’ll go to Mexico.”
    “I ain’t going nowhere till this is finished.”
    Lou popped up, hoping to get off one shot, then ducked down again as a piece of sod two inches away was sheared off by a .38 slug.
    “Fucking crazy if he thinks I’m going to end up with a hole in my head.” Lou tossed the gun out.
    Austin shoved the babbling Birdie toward the grave, where she teetered on the edge for a moment, her eyes wide with dreadful concentration, her arms stretched like a diver preparing for a double gainer. She landed spread-eagle on Lou.
    By the time everyone had sorted themselves out, Austin Hatinger was gone, driving off in Birdie Shays’s Buick. He was carrying two Police Specials and a gutful of hate.
    Jim March stood patiently in the hallway, whistling tunelessly through his teeth and waiting for Caroline to come back down so he could ask her if she wanted the braces on her back porch fixed when the painting was done.
    His daddy had run into town for a few supplies, and Jim had opted to stay behind. He was supposed to be painting, but he’d noticed the sag and give in the old porch, and thought his daddy would be pleased if the inquiry led to more work.
    Caroline had called down to him to come on in when he’d knocked. He’d been careful to wipe his feet. His mama was a fiend about foot wiping and hand washing. Every few whistles he’d edge his paint-splattered Keds a little farther down the hall. He knew the violin was in the parlor, because he’d seen it through the window. Jim wanted a closer look, the same way hemight have wanted one if he’d spotted a brand new Wilson ball glove through Larsson’s display window.
    He reached the parlor doorway, casual like, he thought. And there it was. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder toward the stairs, then made his dash. He was just going to take one little look, was all, he told himself. One peek, then he’d be back in the hallway lickity-split.
    He’d been thinking about that violin ever since Caroline had played it the day before. Jim had never heard music like it, not in all his born days. It made him wonder if there was something special about this violin, something different from the old fiddle Rupert Johnson would sometimes saw on summer nights.
    Jim fumbled with the catches on the side, then lifted the top. When he saw it, nestled there against coal-black velvet, it
was
different. Oh, it seemed to be the same shape and size as old Rupert’s, but it was shiny as a new penny. And when Jim worked up the nerve to touch it, its glossy surface was smooth as silk. Or what he imagined silk would be.
    Forgetting his vow to take one quick peek, he gently brushed a thumb over the strings.
    Caroline heard the telltale open chord when she reached the bottom of the steps. Her first reaction was of irritation. No one touched her instrument. No