The day Billie's life changed, she was already knee deep in
touble.
She'd been playing with Lucy after her mama had said not to.
Lucy's little brother brother, Peanut, had something that
was catching, but Billie wasn't the kind of scaredy cat who
would stop seeing her best friend just because grown-ups
said so.
To make sure her mama didn't know, Billie told Peanut if he
opened his trap about her being over there, she'd make him
sorry he was ever born. He believed her, too. Around
Shakerag, the other kids knew that if they messed with
Billie she'd beat thie snot out of them.
Calling out, ""Bye, Lucy,"" she set out for home. But the
only way there was past dead Alice's tree.
Billie hadn't even been born when they found the body of
eleven-year-old Alice Watkins up in the woods behind Gum
Pond cut into six pieces. Still, she knew the stories.
Everybody in Shakerag did. Somebody with a heart black as
sin had snatched Alice from Tiny Jim's juke joint right out
from under her daddy's nose. Then he'd done his dirty deeds
and got clean away.
Alice was still hanging around like some avenging angel,
She'd warn you if something bad was about to happen. You'd
hear the harmonica in Tiny Jim's Blues and Barbecue all over
town, the sound so mournful you'd feed defeated. The smell
coming from his barbecue pits got so strong you'd close your
curtains and stuff towerls under the door to keep the scent
from driving you crazy. And if you were caught out in the
street like Billie, at the mercy of winds that suddenly
shook the trees and rattled the trash cans in the alley,
you'd feel as if you were made of glass. One look from a
stranger could crack you in two.
Billie started running. Everybody knew the boogie man got
bad little girls first.