Crescent City Connection

came back by himself. And then way, way after that, she came back and brought him a baby.”
    Skip wrote, “A little late for that, wasn’t it?”
    “It wasn’t a baby exactly, it was a seven-year-old.”
    The Christian Community records had indicated only one son—Skip wondered if there were two children instead. “What was its name?”
    “You know, I can’t really recall.” Aunt Alice nodded again. “Haven’t heard of Rosie since. Can’t imagine how shocked I was when I picked up this magazine and there she was staring up at me.”
    “You’re sure that’s her?”
    “Course I’m sure. Mary Rose Markey always did look like some little animal likely as not to bite you. Look at her picture—you ever seen a nose like that one? It’s not the kind of thing you forget. Besides, her age is right, her name’s right, and the article flat out says she’s from Savannah. Now I may not be a detective, but I can add two and two as well as you can.” She chuckled. “Besides, after this ran, the local papers picked it up. No mention of Earl, though. That probably goes back too far for ’em.”
    “What happened to the boy?”
    “Oh, Earl raised him, I reckon. Or—I guess—got him another wife who did. He moved out of town shortly after Rosie came back. Begged her to stay with him, I heard.” Alice shook her head. “Guess she was already off to catch her a Texas millionaire.”
    “He begged her? You mean he didn’t dump her when he came back without her?”
    “Oh, I b’lieve she had quite enough of Mr. Earl Jackson right quick. But Earl now—he was crazy about that girl. Always made me suspicious of her. They say like attracts like—you know?”
    Skip wrote, “I thought opposites did.”
    “I’ll tell you somethin’, precious. Earl Jackson acted like he was the spawn of the devil himself—I never in my life seen a mean child but that one. Bad, yes; up to no good; mischievous. All that stuff. But mean? Only once. And I just got a feelin’ Miss Rosie ain’t no angel, either.”
    Skip left feeling elated—it was her first lead in six months.
    She just had time to catch her plane—or so she thought. In fact, it was half an hour late, so that she was late making her connection in Atlanta. As she trotted through the airport, she saw a tangled knot of people crowded into a bar—apparently staring at a television. For a moment, she was confused—was it football season? Definitely not. It was getting longer every year, but didn’t yet extend into spring.
    Her seatmate on the plane seemed nervous—finger-drumming, knee-swinging nervous, the way Skip had been at Aunt Alice’s. Finally, he turned to her. “Hear any more about Billy Hutchison?” The football player who’d just been acquitted of killing his wife.
    “Billy Hutchison? I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Somebody shot the son of a bitch. What goes around comes around, don’t it?” He had a red face and a country accent. He probably opposed abortion and kept an arsenal handy in case any blacks wandered into his neighborhood. She didn’t need a psychic to tell her he’d revel in something like this—something with the potential to set off race riots. (That is, assuming a white man had shot Hutchison.)
    But there was something about what he said—“what goes around comes around”—that had a certain fearful symmetry.

Three
    LOVELACE JACOMINE WAS about to hit her snooze alarm for the fourth time when the clock was wrenched from her.
    “Hey, L. Not okay.” Her roommate, Michelle, was standing over her, in T-shirt and Calvin Klein briefs, hair sticking straight up, bossy as always.
    “I’m not going to class.”
    “Fine. Dandy. Just quit hitting the alarm, okay? I can sleep another hour.”
    “Oh, hell.” Lovelace got up and grabbed the shirt she’d worn the day before, pulling it over her head on the way to the bathroom. She splashed water, ran a comb through, pulled on jeans. She’d be late to class, but not that late.
    Philosophy. It didn’t make sense. How could you think deep thoughts before nine A.M. ? She didn’t like doing anything before ten, but she’d wanted to take the damn class, God knew why.
    She shrugged into her jacket—these early spring days were still cool, especially this time of day—and grabbed her backpack. As she walked out of the building, she noticed the coffee stain on the front of her Henley shirt.
    Damn.
    But there was no time to change. She glanced at her watch and started to run.