Carolina Moon

solid citizens, pillars of responsibility. Family men with mortgages and paperwork. The few hours a week they spent drowning worms was a statement that each of them was still as much his own man as he’d always been.
    Sometimes they argued politics, and as J.R. was a staunch Republican and Carl D. an equally hidebound Democrat, these debates tended toward the explosive and effusive. Both of them enjoyed the conflict enormously. On other Sundays, and depending on the season, it was sports. A high school football game could keep them both entertained and passionate for two hours.
    But more often than not as their lives intersected, it was family, friends, and the town itself that dominated their meandering discussions as the water lapped the bank and the sun filtered through the trees.
    What each knew was that he could depend on the other for a sounding board, and that what was said between them by the river stayed by the river. Still there were times when loyalties had to blur. Knowing this, Carl D. chose his words and approach carefully.
    “Ida-Mae’s birthday’s coming up here shortly.” Carl D. spoke of his wife while he popped the top on his second beer and studied the calm surface of the water. “That electric fry pan I bought her last year’s still somewhat of a sore point between us.”
    “Told ya.” J.R. took a fistful of the barbecue potato chips from the bag ripped open between them.
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “You buy a woman something that plugs in, you’re asking for grief.”
    “She wanted a new one. Complained every time I turned around about how the old one had hot spots.”
    “Don’t matter. A woman doesn’t want a kitchen appliance all wrapped up in a bow. What she wants is something useless.”
    “I’m having a hell of a time thinking what’s useless enough to suit her. Thought I might go by your niece’s place, have her figure it for me.”
    “Can’t go wrong there. Tory’s got a good sense of things.”
    “Done her shop up nice. Lot of work there.”
    “She’s always been a good worker. Serious girl with a good head on her shoulders. Hard to believe she came out of what she did.”
    It was the opening Carl D. had wanted, and still he maneuvered carefully. He got out a fresh stick of gum, went through his little ritual of unwrapping and folding. “She had it hard growing up. I remember her hardly having a word to say for herself. Just looking, just watching things with those big eyes. Your brother-in-law had a heavy hand.”
    “I know it.” J.R.’s mouth tightened. “I wish I’d known more back then. Don’t know as it would’ve made much difference, but I wish I’d known how it was.”
    “You know now. We’re looking for him, J.R., on that business back in Hartsville.”
    “Like to see you find him, too, give him some of what he’s got coming. My sister, well, her life’s gone to hell either way. But putting him behind bars might give Tory a better night’s sleep.”
    “I’m some relieved to hear you say so, J.R. And the fact is, I got worse than that going on here. The kind of worse that might spill over on you some.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “What happened to Sherry Bellows.”
    “Christ, that was bad business. Bad business,” J.R. repeated with a solemn shake of his head. “City business, not what we get here in town. Pretty young woman like that …” He trailed off, his shoulders straightening, stiffening as he turned his head to stare into Carl D.’s face. “God almighty, you don’t think Hannibal had part in that?”
    “I shouldn’t be talking to you about it. Fact is I spent most of the night worrying it over in my head. Officially I should keep this to myself, but I’m not going to. Can’t. Right now, J.R., your brother-in-law isn’t just top of the list of suspects on this. He’s the only suspect.”
    J.R. pushed to his feet. He paced along the edge of the river, looked across its narrow curve. It was quiet, with just the absent chattering of a few busy birds. He had to listen hard to catch even the murmur of traffic from town. He had to want to hear it to make the connection between this solitary spot with its tall, wet grass and lazy water and the lives and business of Progress.
    “I can’t get my mind around that, Carl D. Hannibal, he’s a bully and a bastard. I can’t think of one good thing to say about him, but killing that girl … For God’s sake, killing her … No, I can’t get my mind around