Who Killed the Queen of Clubs?: A Thoroughly Southern Mystery by Patricia Sprinkle

asked everybody she knew—even asked her bitch of a mother, and I’m not saying that lightly, Miss Mac. That woman raised Janeen, and I heard she gave Latoya back to Janeen as soon as the court stopped watching. But nobody would tell me anything. I’ve spent two years looking for my child. By now she’s twelve. She’s probably forgotten me. And I don’t have any earthly idea where she is.” The last sentence was wrung out from the whole cloth of grief.
    He picked up the machete again and sliced the air, but it was a halfhearted effort. When it was over, he hung the blade back on its hook with a precision the act didn’t warrant. The set of his shoulders warded off sympathy.
    “So that’s why you came home.” I made my voice as matter-of-fact as I could.
    “No. I came home because Daddy called, all upset. He said there was something I needed to know and he wanted to tell me in person. I arranged with my boss to come the next weekend and stay a week, but before I got here Daddy died. Now Mama doesn’t want to be alone, the damn crop needs harvesting, and at the rate it’s raining I’ll be here until kingdom come.”
    He picked up his hammer again, struck the anvil so hard that sparks fell in a shower around his feet. Hitting anvils was better than pounding people, I supposed, if you were that full of barbed wire and hate.
    I wanted so desperately to say something that might help. “I’m sure Latoya will never forget you. No good we do to a child is ever forgotten.”
    He gave a grunt of pure derision. “You want me to make a magic wand for you? Think that can make fairy tales come true?”
    “I don’t believe in magic,” I told him tartly. “Just miracles.”
    “Start working one on that librarian, then,” he told me. “It would take a powerful miracle to make something human out of her.” He bent to extinguish the fire.
    Dismissed, I turned to go, then remembered two things. “What were you arguing with Edie about this morning?”
    He frowned, as if trying to remember. “Oh, she wanted us to see if we could do some work in the grove, and I told her it’s too wet. After tonight it’s gonna be wetter.”
    “You haven’t been playing practical jokes on her, have you? Putting her car seat back, or letting her cat out?”
    “No.” He tossed the word over his shoulder without looking around.
    “Somebody has, and I wondered if it was you, teasing or something.” It sounded pretty lame. I opened the door and let in the dusk, then I turned. “It was good to talk with you, Henry. Don’t be a stranger. Stop by the store one day soon and I’ll give you a green sucker.”
    He blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re looking at an orange one.”

6
    High above the drive, Josiah had installed a halogen security light that had come on while I was with Henry. With rain falling around it, it seemed a giant shower spraying my car. I hurried toward it, pocketbook over my head, pants legs soaked, and shoes squishing with every step.
    Because I was watching the ground for rocks and puddles, I didn’t notice the approaching car until headlights blinded me. I dashed off the track into slick knee-high grass as a small white two-door swung around my Nissan and parked close to the back steps.
    A black umbrella emerged, then a tall, pale somebody unfolded from the driver’s door and bent to retrieve something from behind the seat. Long bright hair gleamed in the light.
    “Hey,” I called, still trembling from the scare she’d given me. “You must be Valerie.”
    She jerked erect. “Oh! I didn’t know anybody was here.”
    I headed for the shelter of the carport. “That’s my car.” I pointed.
    “Oh.” She looked at the Nissan doubtfully, as if it had materialized. “I didn’t see it.” I didn’t bother to remind her she had just driven around it.
    She was tall, mostly legs encased in tight jeans. She wore a bulky white sweater over them and white running shoes. I couldn’t determine the color of