Redemption Mountain by Gerry FitzGerald Page A

to Eve’s for breakfast. You lookin’ good these days, Nat, real good. Lookin’ like a real woman now.”
    Maybe it was always a mistake to be civil to a slug like Lester . Natty smiled. “Thanks for noticing, Wayne.”
    Lester turned and walked toward the bed. “So what have we got here, then? Bye Bye Birdie, like the movie, right?” He chuckled as he leaned over for a closer look. “What do you think happened here, Nat?”
    What happened here? God, what do you think happened here, Lester? Natty just wanted to go home. She didn’t want to talk about Birdie, but she knew she’d be able to leave quicker if she helped him do his job.
    â€œWhat happened here, Lester,” Natty snapped a little too brusquely before catching herself, “is that Birdie got tired of always feeling the pain from her arthritis, tired of limping and hurting on her bad hip and using a walker.” Natty’s voice became softer as she looked at her friend on the bed. “And she got tired of being alone, having nobody to do things for, nobody to share things with, no one to love. And no one to love her.” Natty paused for a moment. “So she went out and got her hair done, came home and gave her house a good cleaning, made herself up pretty as she could, put on her best dress, turned on her favorite music, lay down on the bed with her nice soft quilt, and had a glass of wine and a bottle of Darvocet pills.”
    Lester bent over to look at the label on the pill bottle. “She don’t smell too bad, though. Not like that big nigger we found last summer, dead in his shed a couple weeks. Stunk so bad they had to burn that shed—”
    â€œLester, don’t use that kind of talk around me. I mean it. Now, can I go? I need to get home.”
    â€œWell, not so fast there, Nat. Why don’t you sit on the sofa for a bit, while I do my investigation? Then I’ll come out and you can give me your statement.” Lester put his fleshy palm to Natty’s back and gently pushed her toward the doorway, taking his hand away with a subtle sideways rub.
    After a few minutes, Lester came out of the bedroom and wandered into the kitchen. Natty saw him take off his equipment belt and lay it over the back of a chair. “Looks like the old bird left some groceries here on the table before she kicked off,” Lester called out to Natty.
    â€œI bought that stuff, Lester, for Birdie, and she owes me fifteen dollars. You think if we found her purse, I could see if she had some money and—”
    Coming back into the parlor, Lester cut her off. “No can do, Nat. Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “Cannot remove any property, especially monetary funds, from the scene.”
    â€œAw, cut the shit, Lester, I need the money for gas. I spent my last dollar on them groceries, and I ain’t got even a quarter on me.”
    â€œThat’s okay, Nat, maybe I’ll give you some money for gas later on.” Lester took off his beaked cap and dropped it on one of the rocking chairs. He put a spiral notepad and his pocket tape recorder on the table as he sat down on the couch right next to Natty.
    She started to stand up, but Lester shot his right arm around her and pulled her back down. “Now, hold on there, Nat. Don’t be getting jumpy. I’m just going to take your statement.” He edged a little closer and turned so that his left leg now blocked her escape.
    Natty realized the predicament she was in, alone in an isolated cabin with a man like Wayne Lester. “Lester, you can get my statement at the kitchen table. Why’re you doing this?” she pleaded, once again trying to get off the couch.
    The policeman tightened his grip with his right arm and slid his left hand up Natty’s thigh. Her white poplin pants were still damp from the rain. “You ought to take off these wet clothes, Nat, and let ’em dry. We got more than an hour