that he didn’t want told, who would he be?”
Sabrina drew a shuddering breath. She didn’t answer.
Even softer, Mama said, “The monster who killed Cricket is loose in Otis, Sabrina. And he might not be done yet.”
“I don’t like calling people’s name,” Sabrina insisted stubbornly. “Some people are willing to pay a lot of money for their name not coming up at the wrong time.”
“Sabrina, please,” Mama continued, “there’s a killer walking around Otis. If he was a friend of Cricket’s, he might be your friend, too. And if he did what he did to Cricket, you might be the next one on his list to hurt.”
Sabrina cleared her throat. Still, she didn’t answer.
“I won’t mention you gave me the name if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mama pressed. “I know how valuable keeping a secret can be.”
“Miss Candi, I ain’t one for accusing anybody falsely. But if you promise to keep this between me and you, the names of Joe Blake, Sonny Clay, and Les Demps come to mind.”
“Joe Blake, Sonny Clay, and Les Demps,” Mama repeated.
“Like I said, I ain’t fingering nobody. All I’m admitting to telling you about them is that when they die, they ain’t going to heaven.”
“One more thing—” Mama added, as Sabrina opened the car door to step outside. “Would any of these men do any harm to Cricket’s baby?”
Sabrina looked back toward Mama. Coldly, she said, “I don’t know nothing about that baby—except Cricket told me once she thought Timber might steal Morgan from her and give her to his other woman.”
It was ten o’clock the next morning. Billowing white clouds did nothing to protect from the sweltering June heat.
Midnight stretched out on our front porch in luxurious sleep, breathing rhythmically, his shiny black coat gleaming.
I remembered the day that my father had allowed this full-grown jet black dog to become a part of our lives. Six months ago, the dog had showed up on our doorstep, hungry and sick. He’d been so thin you could see his bones through his fur. Daddy fed the stray, then he took him to Dr. Claims, the town’s only veterinarian.
Mama insisted that notices be posted all over the neighborhood, in case the dog’s owner wanted him back. Three weeks later, when no one had responded,my father was convinced that he and this dog were destined for each other.
Daddy christened him Midnight. Then he built him a house and put it in the farthermost corner of the backyard. Midnight got chained to it so that he wouldn’t damage Mama’s carefully manicured yard of trees, shrubs, and flowers. While the dog was recuperating, tilings worked fine.
Once Midnight was healthy again, however, he began to bark. Continuously. It took my father only a few days and noisy nights to realize that his new dog was a rambler, an explorer, unaccustomed to and very unhappy about being in lock-down.
Reluctantly, Daddy let him run free, fretting silently that the dog wouldn’t return. The first night Midnight came home dragging our neighbor Mr. Banks’s smelly work boots, boots that Mrs. Banks wouldn’t let inside of their house. Mr. Banks took his boots off on his back porch every evening, then, the next morning, he’d put them on again. Midnight changed all that. I think that Daddy was so glad that the dog came back home that he didn’t realize Midnight felt his retrieving efforts had been rewarded when my father patted him on the head. When, the next day, Midnight brought Daddy Mr. Banks’s boots again, Daddy just bought Mr. Banks another pair of boots. After that, Mr. Banks took off his new boots inside his garage, not on his back porch.
Midnight brought home sheets, towels, underwear. Each time my father cheerfully compensated the owners for their losses. Once, when I suggestedto Daddy that he was training Midnight to steal, he laughed and told me, “Simone, a Labrador retriever is
supposed to retrieve
!”
But now, the tables had turned. Midnight had brought
Sabrina drew a shuddering breath. She didn’t answer.
Even softer, Mama said, “The monster who killed Cricket is loose in Otis, Sabrina. And he might not be done yet.”
“I don’t like calling people’s name,” Sabrina insisted stubbornly. “Some people are willing to pay a lot of money for their name not coming up at the wrong time.”
“Sabrina, please,” Mama continued, “there’s a killer walking around Otis. If he was a friend of Cricket’s, he might be your friend, too. And if he did what he did to Cricket, you might be the next one on his list to hurt.”
Sabrina cleared her throat. Still, she didn’t answer.
“I won’t mention you gave me the name if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mama pressed. “I know how valuable keeping a secret can be.”
“Miss Candi, I ain’t one for accusing anybody falsely. But if you promise to keep this between me and you, the names of Joe Blake, Sonny Clay, and Les Demps come to mind.”
“Joe Blake, Sonny Clay, and Les Demps,” Mama repeated.
“Like I said, I ain’t fingering nobody. All I’m admitting to telling you about them is that when they die, they ain’t going to heaven.”
“One more thing—” Mama added, as Sabrina opened the car door to step outside. “Would any of these men do any harm to Cricket’s baby?”
Sabrina looked back toward Mama. Coldly, she said, “I don’t know nothing about that baby—except Cricket told me once she thought Timber might steal Morgan from her and give her to his other woman.”
It was ten o’clock the next morning. Billowing white clouds did nothing to protect from the sweltering June heat.
Midnight stretched out on our front porch in luxurious sleep, breathing rhythmically, his shiny black coat gleaming.
I remembered the day that my father had allowed this full-grown jet black dog to become a part of our lives. Six months ago, the dog had showed up on our doorstep, hungry and sick. He’d been so thin you could see his bones through his fur. Daddy fed the stray, then he took him to Dr. Claims, the town’s only veterinarian.
Mama insisted that notices be posted all over the neighborhood, in case the dog’s owner wanted him back. Three weeks later, when no one had responded,my father was convinced that he and this dog were destined for each other.
Daddy christened him Midnight. Then he built him a house and put it in the farthermost corner of the backyard. Midnight got chained to it so that he wouldn’t damage Mama’s carefully manicured yard of trees, shrubs, and flowers. While the dog was recuperating, tilings worked fine.
Once Midnight was healthy again, however, he began to bark. Continuously. It took my father only a few days and noisy nights to realize that his new dog was a rambler, an explorer, unaccustomed to and very unhappy about being in lock-down.
Reluctantly, Daddy let him run free, fretting silently that the dog wouldn’t return. The first night Midnight came home dragging our neighbor Mr. Banks’s smelly work boots, boots that Mrs. Banks wouldn’t let inside of their house. Mr. Banks took his boots off on his back porch every evening, then, the next morning, he’d put them on again. Midnight changed all that. I think that Daddy was so glad that the dog came back home that he didn’t realize Midnight felt his retrieving efforts had been rewarded when my father patted him on the head. When, the next day, Midnight brought Daddy Mr. Banks’s boots again, Daddy just bought Mr. Banks another pair of boots. After that, Mr. Banks took off his new boots inside his garage, not on his back porch.
Midnight brought home sheets, towels, underwear. Each time my father cheerfully compensated the owners for their losses. Once, when I suggestedto Daddy that he was training Midnight to steal, he laughed and told me, “Simone, a Labrador retriever is
supposed to retrieve
!”
But now, the tables had turned. Midnight had brought
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