The Silver Star(50)

“But Uncle Tinsley said—”

“I don’t care what Uncle Tinsley said,” Liz went on. “What does he know? He lives shut up in this old house, eating his venison stew. He doesn’t know what it’s like to need a job. He never has.” She sat up and looked out the window. “That money’s mine. I need it. I earned it. I’m going to get it.”


After school on Tuesday, Liz got on the blue Schwinn and rode into town to see Mr. Maddox. I expected her back in an hour or two. By dinnertime, she still hadn’t returned. I went into the kitchen, where Uncle Tinsley was opening a can of tomatoes to stretch out the stew. He dumped it into the big copper pot and gave the stew a taste. “Needs a little zing,” he said. “Where’s Liz?”

“She had some stuff to do. She should be back soon.”

“I see,” Uncle Tinsley said. He poured some vinegar into the pot and then ladled out the stew.

I carried the bowls to the table. After he’d said his usual blessing and eaten a few bites, Uncle Tinsley put down his spoon. “What stuff?” he asked.

“What stuff?”

“You said Liz had some stuff to do. What stuff?” He was eyeing me intently.

I looked at my spoon, trying to figure out what to say. “You know, stuff.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Errands and things.”

“Bean, you’re a terrible liar. Absolutely terrible. Your eyes are darting around all over the place. Now look at me square and tell me where Liz is.”

I raised my eyes and felt my lower lip quivering.

“I guess you don’t need to tell me. There are only two things I’ve asked both of you not to do since you got here. One was not to get jobs, and you went out and got them. The other was to forget the money, and the very next day, Liz goes to get it.”

“Please don’t be mad at us, Uncle Tinsley. Liz just wanted to get her money. It was hers. And please don’t kick us out.”

“I’m not going to kick you out, Bean,” Uncle Tinsley said. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and hear what she has to say.”

Through the rest of dinner, Uncle Tinsley kept glancing at his watch. “It’s late,” he said at one point. “She really shouldn’t be out this late.” A couple of minutes later, he said, “I’m going to ground that girl until her hair turns white.” He added, “What she really needs is a good old-fashioned whipping.”


We were rinsing out the bowls at the kitchen sink when we heard a knock at the door. I ran to see who it was, turning on the porch light. When I opened the door, a strange man stood there with his arm around Liz. She was crying. Her eyes were puffy and red, she had bruises on her cheek and chin, and her shirt was torn. She was looking down, holding a soft drink cup with both hands and sucking on the straw, but the drink was all gone and the ice cubes were rattling around.

“Liz?” I said. She didn’t look up, and when I tried to hug her, she turned away.

Uncle Tinsley had come up behind me. “What happened here?” he asked.

“Mr. Holladay, I didn’t know she was your niece,” the man said. He was skinny, with black hair and a mustache, and he wore a blue mechanic’s jacket with the name Wayne stitched on the pocket. “What happened wasn’t right, Mr. Holladay. Wayne Clemmons, by the way.” He extended his hand and Uncle Tinsley shook it.

“What did happen?”

Wayne explained that he worked at a garage but also ran a one-man car service part-time, Byler not needing a lot of taxis. Jerry Maddox occasionally hired him because, although Mr. Maddox had that fancy Le Mans, he got a charge out of being driven to business meetings, like he was a big shot with a chauffeur. “Mr. Maddox said it enhances the aura.”

“Get to the point, Wayne.”

Wayne had been at the garage late that afternoon when Mr. Maddox drove up with this young woman. He said the carburetor on the Le Mans was acting up, but he had some meetings he needed to attend, and he wanted Wayne to drive him and the girl around. As they were getting in the car, Wayne said, Mr. Maddox pulled him aside and said the girl was a hooker and he might be getting a little backseat action between meetings.

“Sweet Jesus,” Uncle Tinsley said.

They started driving around town, Wayne continued, stopping at various places with him and the girl waiting in the car while Mr. Maddox went inside. As evening came on, the girl started complaining to Mr. Maddox about not getting her money, saying things like “It’s my money, I earned it.” Mr. Maddox kept telling her she’d get the money, but first she needed to do what he wanted. Wayne figured it was just a hooker and a john haggling over the fee. The argument grew more heated, with the girl getting louder and angrier. Then, in the rearview mirror, Wayne saw Mr. Maddox backhand her, and she started crying. Mr. Maddox caught Wayne’s glance. “Keep your eyes on the road,” he said. “I don’t pay you to watch, I pay you to drive.”