Dennis relinquished the smokes to Pedro, who crushed them.
“I guess we’re gonna rumble,” Dennis said. “With some hairy-ass dirtbags, that is. And get our drummer back.”
Pedro smiled. “Damn right.”
Dennis did the same, and embraced his friend like they had just finished a brutal set in front of a rowdy sold-out crowd.
“All right,” Hudson said, visibly relaxing. “Pillow talk later. Let’s all go in and figure this thing out.”
Chapter 22
Don’t Go in the Woods
Leticia had set out a card table and a couple of folding chairs aligned with the dinner table, at which Hudson took his seat and laced his fingers.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “shit just got real.”
Deputy Yoshida gave a grim chuckle.
Dennis paced behind him, Hudson’s big orange coffee mug in one trembling hand, a filterless cigarette in the other.
Pedro placed right foot on left thigh and tugged at his bootlace.
DeShaun and Stuart sat determined and attentive.
Bravo scratched at the door.
“Yoshida and I could lose our jobs,” Hudson began. “But we all have a lot more at stake.”
DeShaun, beyond concern for his father and Jill, felt a deep sense of pride. He was the son of a man so determined to save lives he would sacrifice his job and, God forbid, his very life.
“The Fireheads have two of our people. We have to get them back. I can’t go to the chief or anybody else with some nutbag story about…” There was no need to finish.
Yoshida rubbed his temples, still in disbelief that he had agreed to go along with all this.
“We have nowhere to start. No decent leads,” Hudson continued.
DeShaun raised his hands like he was in class, then remembered he wasn’t. “We do though, Dad.”
“Talk, boy,” said Hudson.
“Bravo will take you right to Candace.” He pointed at the big mastiff, who took a second from his unending vigil at the door to acknowledge his name. “All you have to do is pay attention. He’ll point right toward them.” DeShaun went to Bravo and vigorously rubbed the big dog’s neck. “Like he is now.”
Hudson watched Bravo acknowledge DeShaun with a tail wag before returning to his urgent vigil.
“You guys should try walking him sometime,” added Stuart.
“I’d say it’s worth a shot,” Hudson said.
“So we really do this off the books?” Yoshida asked.
“I’m not ordering or even asking,” Hudson said. “I’ll go alone if I have to.”
Yoshida allowed his head to thump on the table.
“Even with this guy,” Pedro quipped, tilting his head at Dennis, “we’re a little outnumbered.”
“You forget Jill,” Dennis said. “When shit hits the fan, she hits back.”
“You gonna stay dry?” Hudson asked, not without recrimination.
Tension rose among the men and boys.
Dennis raised his head and met Hudson’s stare. “I’m done drinking.” He looked at Stuart. “If it kills me.”
This was typical alcoholic’s bravado. No one thought Dennis was through with drinking. Likewise, no one doubted he would stay sober long enough to rescue Jill.
“Will you be all right with a gun?” Yoshida asked.
Dennis drank several hearty gulps of the steaming coffee. “I don’t want one.”
“Not sure they’ll do much good anyway,” said Pedro. “To that thing at the group home, Hud’s .44 was like a pellet gun.”
“All the same,” Yoshida said. “I’ll be packing.”
Stuart cleared his throat, realizing he’d better say what he’d been withholding. “You guys better get some silver.”
Yes, there was a timid tremble in his voice. But there were no gales of laughter in response, only mild incredulity from everybody but DeShaun.
“Bullets?” Yoshida asked. Stuart searched for ridicule in his eyes, but it wasn’t there. “You boys know more about this stuff than we do.”
“Can you get some?” asked Pedro.
The grownups were taking it seriously. For the first time in a while, Stuart didn’t feel like a little kid pretending to be mature.
“They’re not exactly standard equip,” said Hudson. “Does it have to be bullets?”
“Oh…” Now Stuart felt in over his head. “Well…you can’t just flash it at ’em like a cross, I don’t think.”
“Shotgun shells, maybe,” suggested DeShaun. “Replace the pellets with pieces of…forks and spoons, or whatever.”
Both Hudson and Dennis winced at the idea of trying to commandeer the good silver from their respective matriarchs. “All right,” Hudson said. “Whatever we have to do.”
“And something on Bravo’s collar too,” Stuart insisted.
“Yeah, good thinking,” said Yoshida.
“DeShaun. Stuart,” Hudson began. “Stay on this town founder thing.”
The boys nodded enthusiastically; very much a part of the team that was saving the town.
* * * *
“Miss Stella’s car is gone,” DeShaun noted as the boys hopped off their bikes and approached the front door of the Riesling house.
“Mr. Riesling’s here, though.”
“Maybe we can just leave this stuff and come back later to tell her about…” Stuart trailed off.
“We’re supposed to keep it on the D.L.”
“He’s always wrapped up in chemistry stuff,” Stuart countered. “Probably won’t even care.”
Stuart rang the real, year-round doorbell first, then the coffin-shaped Halloween novelty beside it. It emitted a maniacal laugh that sounded like a bad Lugosi impersonation. DeShaun imitated the imitation. “You loook like a good veen-teege, young man!”
Stuart placed his middle fingers against his lips like they were fangs. “And you look like you can go f—”
Bernard opened the door. “Boys?” The way he regarded them, one might have thought they were Men in Black. “What’s…? Is everything all right?”
“Well sure,” DeShaun said. “We just came by to talk to your lovely wife. Is she…?”
Before he could finish, Bernard’s face did a dramatic and alarming contortion, going from bewildered to damn near suicidal, his lips quivering.
“Hey, uh…you okay?” Stuart asked.
Bernard slowly moved his head side to the side, like a toddler refusing to go on a merry-go-round.
Both boys cleared their throats. “Um. Should we…?”
“Come in, boys.”
“Well we don’t really have time for any chemistry experiments…”
“Me neither.” Bernard shuffled into the living room, compelling Stuart and DeShaun to follow. He plopped onto the couch, covered his face with both hands and muttered something incoherent that seemed like a question.
“You sure we shouldn’t maybe check back later?” asked Deshaun.
Bernard let his hands fall. “Stella left, boys.”
“Any idea what time she might—”
“For good,” Bernard said, his lips quivering again.
“What, uh…why…would you say that?”
Bernard squeezed his eyes shut tight as fists. “It’s a long story. But I guess it was bound to happen.” He stood and went to the bay windows, standing where the vertical blinds were open just enough for him to see out. He rubbed the top of his head. “I tell ya. That Reverend McGlazer is one smooth, handsome bastard.”
“You think Reverend McGlazer and Mrs.—your wife—are…having an affair?”
“I’m sure of it.” His shoulders rose and fell with suppressed sobs.
Stuart regarded the coffee table, the science and engineering journals that lay strewn there the way a cooler guy might toss his fitn
ess and motorcycle and naked girl magazines around at his bachelor pad.
He and DeShaun could only blink at one another helplessly.
Bernard came to the couch to sit between them, taking his eyeglasses from his pocket with a sniffle. “What do you boys have there? Might be a worthwhile distraction.”
“Well…” DeShaun gave Stuart a look that meant it was too late.
The boys laid the materials out on the coffee table.
“It’s town history stuff,” DeShaun explained. “Random notes, sketches. Weirdness.”
Bernard raised the polaroid of the mushroom sketch to just inches from his face. “This resembles Mykespatmosia.”
“You recognize that?”
“Hard to say for sure based on this. Cherokee history talks about a fungus that was brought here by white settlers.” He turned the polaroid about thirty degrees, as if its secrets would settle in the corner. “The Indians wanted nothing to do with it. They’re believed to have eradicated it.”
“What’s the big deal?” Stuart asked.
“It’s said to have hallucinogenic properties,” Bernard answered. “Is this Latin?”
“You read Latin?” DeShaun asked.
“I can ascertain the gist.” Bernard stroked his mustache; one side, then the other. “Stella asked you boys to get this stuff? Why?”
“She said she was…worried about…”
Bernard’s face crunched up in sadness and regret. “McGlazer. Right?”
The boys didn’t answer. Bernard clapped his hands over his face again. “Boys,” he sobbed through his fingers. “When you get a good girl, you keep her! No matter what!”
Stuart and DeShaun patted his shoulders. “Okay, Mr. Riesling.”
“I mean it!” There was manic intensity in his face. “Don’t take her for granted! Don’t brush her off ’cause you’re too focused on something else!”
“We really gotta go,” explained DeShaun, quickly joined by Stuart. “Yeah! Dinner, homework…” He glanced at his wrist like a watch was ticking furiously at him there.
As they rose and collected materials, Bernard scrutinized the polaroid again. “Are you going to find Stella?”
“Um…Yes sir.”
“Well…Will you please tell her I’m sorry? And also, that I miss her, and I need her, and—”
“Sure will, Mr. Riesling.” DeShaun popped up a quick wave as he and Stuart backed toward the door. “Gotta go.”
* * * *
Wearing her worry like a Dick Smith makeup appliance, Leticia Lott unlocked the china cabinet. She delicately grasped each utensil with a crisp white cloth napkin and set them on yet another pristine white cloth unfolded on the dining room table. It made Hudson think of some ancient samurai pre-combat ritual.
Bravo had left the front door to come to Leticia’s side. He sniffed up at the implements, a new sense of optimism in his pricked ears. He knew he was going to his little girl.
“You’re determined to worry me to death, Hudson,” Leticia said. “But if you don’t, I am going to personally kill you when you get back, for what you did to our Blazer and what you’re doing to my silver.”
Seated at the end of the table, Yoshida kept his gaze well clear of any contact with Leticia’s as he pried open the end of a shotgun shell with his pocketknife. He was a good cop and a brave man, but he knew his limits.
That wasn’t enough. “You can take your little project out to the garage and away from my tablecloth, deputy.”
Yoshida quickly complied, leaving Hudson the sole focus of her ire.
“You’re gonna run for sheriff next election,” Leticia began. “You’re doing the job cut-rate already.”
Hudson didn’t say anything as he went to follow Yoshida. She grabbed his big arm in her little hand and made him face her until he said “Okay.”
Hudson actually liked the confidence and optimism she expressed in not only his capability but his chances of survival. It was never about browbeating or cynical nagging with her. She loved, respected and believed in him. It was only natural she would be, at the very least, perturbed by the hardships his job imposed on their family. She knew what she had signed up for. But Leticia Lott was no shrinking violet. She was exactly what Hudson had wanted in a woman since he’d been DeShaun’s age.
He pulled her in for a tight embrace, smiling when she grunted a little in his powerful squeeze, loving that she squeezed him back equally, despite the eighty pounds he had on her.
* * * *
“So glad we survived back at the library,” DeShaun said. “Cause I’d hate to miss out on coming here to croak instead.”
“Will you please knock that off?” Stuart said.
The boys read the paperboard sign affixed to the closed gate, authoritatively scripted to read:
“Attention Parishioners: St. Saturn will be
indefinitely closed for all activities due to renovations.
Thanks.”
“I’ll boost you and you help me down on the other side.” They used to alternate when it came to physical teamwork. Neither boy acknowledged that DeShaun did the bulk of the heavy stuff these days.
Once across the fence, the boys faced the church from behind a wide grave marker, as if to shield themselves from the gloomy eldritch feeling it gave off.
They tried the front sanctuary door first, hoping to find Stella inside and avoid McGlazer. It was locked. They decided not to knock, opting to go around and try the rear entrance.
Rounding the corner, both boys stopped upon seeing the old wooden slabs leaned against the wall. They approached the mower shed with caution, like the detectives they’d once pretended they were, exchanging frowns on seeing the rectangular abyss inside.
“There it is,” DeShaun said. “The basement.”
“Somebody else discovered it before us.”
The boys drew closer and peered down.
“Weird,” DeShaun crinkled his nose. “I don’t like it.”
Stuart started down. “You coming?”
DeShaun followed, grumbling about impending demise. At the bottom of the steps, they found themselves eight or so feet below ground level. Stuart examined the doorknob as if it could be booby-trapped. “Let’s not make it a big spooky thing.” DeShaun grabbed the ancient crusty latch handle, finding it locked.
“I think we should knock,” Stuart said. “The sign said renovations, so maybe that’s what they’re doing. Opening up this basement.”
“I hope no termites or, like, millipedes come skittering out.” DeShaun gave two quick knocks.
Before he had time to withdraw his hand, robust knocks came in response; shaking dust loose from the edges and casing. They were up the steps before the fourth and final knock.
Backing away from the pit, they grabbed each other’s arms. “That was just like at the library!”
“No way we’re going in there now,” Stuart shook his head violently.
DeShaun cupped his hands around his mouth, even as he continued backing away. “Miss Stella!?”
The sequence of four knocks again, louder than before, echoed like thunder, and vibrated up into their feet, which the boys promptly got moving.
They ran for the fence, until remembering their purpose. They stopped to hold each other again, by the arms, at least, and dare a peek at the shed.
“We gotta find Miss Stella,” Stuart said with a wavering voice.
“Yeah.” DeShaun’s tone sounded more like his old little kid self.
“Back door,” Stuart said, and they started walking, staying close to one another, going the long way around rather than having to pass near the basement and its booming door.
Just before rounding that corner, they heard the click of the door and a jangle of keys.
DeShaun yanked Stuart down to the ground in a crouch against the wall—too ea
sily, really—and scrunched against him. The boys peeked around and watched McGlazer, whistling some weird-sounding tune, walk right past his own car and get into Stella’s.
The boys furrowed their brows at one another. Realizing McGlazer would see them when he pulled out, they ducked behind the air conditioning unit and crushed together, Stuart having to shrink tightly to accommodate his ever growing friend. “Jeez!” he whispered in annoyance.
“Should we stop him?”
“I don’t think so.”
McGlazer drove away, and the boys unfolded.
“Let’s see if we can get a clue where he’s going,” DeShaun said.
They stayed close to the wall and watched McGlazer take the big family sedan down to the gates, unlock them, drive past, re-lock and leave.
“What if he spots our bikes?” Stuart fretted.
They waited, tense. McGlazer did not appear to have seen the bikes hidden behind shrubs. Wheeling out onto Main Street, the reverend took the first back road he reached.
“He’s trying to be inconspicuous,” Stuart noted.
“Now what?”
Stuart put his hands on his hips and huffed at the windows.
“Don’t tell me you’re gonna do the ninja window gag again,” DeShaun said.
“Should we?”
“Did you say ‘we?’” DeShaun asked. “This is a good time for me to inform you of your new nickname,” DeShaun deadpanned.
“I’ll bite,” Stuart smirked.
“Yoyo,” DeShaun began. “You’re on Your Own.”
“Sure buddy. Let’s go, before he comes back.”
Chapter 23
Don’t Look in the Basement
A keening whine rising from his throat, Bravo stepped across Pedro and scratched furiously at the rear passenger window.
“Bravo says take the next left, dude,” said Pedro as he rubbed the dog’s haunches.
Hudson swung the department’s Dodge Durango, snuck out for this bit of unofficial business, off the highway and onto Crabtree Road, an artery into the heart of isolation, where moonshine, marijuana and mountain magic had flourished for decades.
The radio, tuned to a just-audible volume, was on WICH. Hudson hoped the station’s playlist of spookabilly and horror rock tunes would serve as both a mild distraction and a battle anthem for the quintet.
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