When Kate complimented her on this added dimension, Steve interjected, explaining, “Part of this is my doing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but Eleanor senses things about people. It’s quite extraordinary. She’s told me things about myself that really surprised me. Isn’t that right, Eleanor?”
She replied, “I only know that I can sense goodness in each of you. I don’t know how I would have survived the past few weeks without the kindness you’ve shown me. I feel as though I’ve been awakened after being asleep for a very long time. Does that seen strange to you, Kate?”
Kate tried to avoid turning the evening into a therapy session by saying, “Not at all, Eleanor. Remarkable gifts of insight have been reported in the aftermath of suffering. We’ll test yours tonight when you look into your crystal ball.” She gave Eleanor a playful wink.
Dev took her by the hand and said to the others, “Before I’m to be given a glimpse into my future, I’m going to take this gypsy wench onto the dance floor and make the most of the here and now.”
Steve laughed and said, “How about it, Eleanor? It’s time we take those senses up a notch.”
Joyce hated dressing up but it was necessary this Halloween. She came as a circus lion tamer and made an inconspicuous late arrival to the party. After being shown to her table, she noticed two couples dressed as gypsies approaching the dance floor. She recognized Steven and was amazed he had come with friends, which she assumed they were because of the costume theme. She hadn’t seen him, other than on the set, since he’d moved from the lodge.
She sat at her table, sipping a beer, intrigued that Steven was dancing with someone, appeared to be sober, and having a good time. She remembered when the odds were against him finishing the film. Her gaze shifted to his partner and lingered, and then to the couple with them. She assumed they were the people he’d been staying with. The woman was lovely, but the man held her attention. He had the dark good looks of an old-time movie star, like John Garfield. He looked good as a gypsy, and so masculine.
Funny how she could spot the special ones, the ones with charisma and an indescribable quality. She could tell this man had experienced a life marked by tragedy, that he possessed strength of character, intelligence, and humor. It was all there. She could see these traits in every nuance of his expression, bearing, and manner. The woman with him was fortunate, the way he held her and looked at her, like she was his reason for living. For a brief moment, she enjoyed the fantasy of having the love of such a man. Then her eyes moved back to the woman dancing with Steven, as if pulled there by an afterthought. There was something about her, something familiar. She took another sip of beer and observed them for a while.
Megan emerged from her alter-ego cocoon out of concern for Buddy. She’d made her way around the dance floor to the crowded bar, but he was not there. She walked out to the foyer where the restrooms were located, waited a few minutes, and then went outside, after telling the attendant she needed some fresh air. Fifteen minutes later she came back in, stopped at the bar, and spoke pleasantly to a few people there. She was about to return to her table when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
A genial gruff voice inquired, “Would the most beautiful girl in the room care to dance with a man old enough to be her father?”
She faced him with welcome relief and took his hand. They slow-danced in comfortable silence, while Megan thought, If Evangeline had had Buddy Larson for a father instead of Purvis McCabe, she might still be alive.
During that thought, she felt Evangeline’s spirit begin to disperse. The imagined spirit of Evangeline she embodied was leaving her, but also leaving something behind. Megan looked up at the big burly man who held her in his strong protective arms and tears welled in her eyes. She knew that come what may, she’d forever feel grateful for having been shown the value of life, and true meaning of love.
Eleanor looked into her fake crystal ball. According to her pretend trance, there would be health and happiness in Steve’s future. She saw a new presence in Kate’s home, possibly another visitor or guest.
Steve laughed and said, “It seems I’m about to be replaced.”
Dev replied, “I hope not. I want this woman all to myself for a while, selfish beast that I am.”
When Dev’s turn came, Eleanor grew somber. Kate, Dev, and Steve were held in suspense until Eleanor blurted out, “Dev, you will be called upon to help a friend.”
Kate responded, “Why so serious, Eleanor. Why did you hesitate?”
Eleanor replied sheepishly, “I think there might be another death involved.”
Then she looked up and laughed nervously. “I don’t know where that came from. Let’s forget this. I’m tired of play-acting.”
The music resumed and they returned to the dance floor, trying to dismiss Eleanor’s realistic acting.
Joyce Crenshaw had been watching Eleanor’s dramatic performance with curiosity until, suddenly, a spark of recognition was ignited. She got up from her table and went outside to use her cell phone. She didn’t know if it had any significance to Chief Farley’s case, but would give her an excuse to tell him she had lost track of Zack. She was about to place the call when she saw his police cruiser enter the parking lot.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DARK DENSE CLOUDS FLOATED BENEATH the bluish moon as if they had nowhere to go. Trent crept through the hillside underbrush with the stealth of a burglar wearing cumbersome footwear. The straw trimmed burlap tied over his shoes had its drawbacks. When he reached the street that presented the most risk for being seen, he leaned forward cautiously, peering both ways for signs of oncoming traffic. He waited for several minutes until he was sure he had time to cross over to the community garden. He hadn’t done a practice run for fear of being seen, relying instead on his split-timing calculations.
He leaned out to check once more, and then quickly sprinted to the other side of the street, down the low embankment of the sidewalk, and entered the multi-plotted expansive garden. He moved swiftly through patches of tomatoes, peppers, and peas to the safety of bean poles and corn stalks in high-drying rows. He moved through the rows with a growing sense of confidence, shielded by the towering stalks and hanging crumpled vines. He could not see beyond his position, but knew he was almost to the center of the garden, where he would get his bearings before running toward the bank of the forested ridge where Thelma Lucas lived.
Looking up at the sky, he thanked the torpid clouds for cloaking the field in darkness, although it hampered his ability to see. Yet there was no hindrance to his feet because the broken stalks he stepped on had been crushed. He began to have the peculiar feeling that someone had been there before him. There was also an unfamiliar putrid scent filling his nostrils and it almost sickened him. He blamed it on the rotting vegetables and shrugged off a sudden surge of apprehension.
He tried to concentrate on his landmark at the center of the garden. The community gardeners’ idea of a scarecrow was ridiculous at best and couldn’t scare a fly. They put it up every year and it always looked the same, a stupid cocked head, a happy grin on its face, a checkered shirt and overhauls and a battered straw hat. He’d seen it from the road since childhood, looking fresh as a daisy in the spring, surrounded by eager planters, looking weatherworn and faded in the fall, as the harvesters picked the rows clean. But it was only recently that he got the idea to set it on fire on his way back from scaring Miss Lucas. It would be a sign of victory and a way to pay homage to his hero. He would be safely in bed before the flames engulfed it, and with luck, set the whole garden ablaze.
His concentration was broken by a shift in the weather. Winds coming in from the west sent the clouds moving across the sky and soft rays of moonlight brightened the view before him. The end of the row was in front of him, but the sight beyond it, more than he could comprehend. He stopped in his tracks with mouth agape transfixed by the face staring down at him. The silent screaming mouth of the scarecrow with its empty gouged-out eyes seemed to mock his reaction. Th
e wind gave movement to its tattered clothing and torn hat, bringing the monster to life, or so it appeared.
The ghastly victim at its feet gave evidence of its power. His distorted mouth was cruelly misshapen, covered in blood, and attached to a broken heap of body. Trent felt like he was going to vomit but could not because he was paralyzed with fear. He felt himself crumble and fell to his knees. In doing so, he came face to face with the battered corpse and his insides erupted. He dared not look up but it no longer mattered. The benign scarecrow he had planned to burn to glorify his hero, had been transformed into a creature forever burned into his brain.
Trent started to cry. Helpless and terrified, he tried to move, to get to his feet. He slid in something wet and fell forward on the body. He screamed and slid and screamed again and felt the hand of the victim beneath his own.
He cried out for God to help him, although he had renounced God at age thirteen. Recalling this, he cried out in despair. The wind shifted suddenly, and he felt a cool breeze. He somehow got to his feet and began to back away. The terror he felt generated adrenaline. He turned from the horror and started to run.
He ran through the rows as if chased by a demon. He had the horrible thought that the scarecrow was behind him. He’d seen it move and what it had done. The slime on the burlap covering his shoes caused him to slip and slide in an awkward panicked dance. The twine wrapped around his ankles began to loosen, allowing his pant-legs to drop to his feet. He tore at his trappings and yanked at his bindings. The straw fell around him and stuck to his clothes. The wind changed direction, his mind gave the reason; the vacuuming silence was sucking him back. The screaming abyss in the mouth of the scarecrow would swallow him whole if he couldn’t escape.
He ran for his life through the vines and the peppers. He ran to the bank, and then into street. Blinded with panic and caught in the headlights, he fell to his knees, still crying. He begged and he pleaded to not let it get him as he reached up so Farley could take him away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
IN THE MINUTES FOLLOWING TRENT’S capture, Farley couldn’t make sense out of what he was saying. He’d apparently been scared witless by someone, but kept blabbering about a monster. He had to restrain Trent with handcuffs to keep him from harming himself while tearing at his clothing and pulling out straw from his ragged sleeves and pants cuffs, which appeared to be bloodstained. He called the Serena Rescue Squad, and then he called Dev.
Before they got there, Trent kept pointing to the community garden and begging to be taken away. The local gardeners who tended their plots with loving care did not take kindly to trespassers. Trent had probably been frightened by an enraged gardener who’d caught him cutting through the field. He was not about to go traipsing through the garden to look for an imagined creature until he had Trent in the capable hands of the paramedics. Trent’s parents would have to once again be roused from their bed. Hopefully, they would also be awakened to the truth about their son.
Farley contacted Deputy Purdy, who was on his way to pick up Margaret Bowling. He updated Purdy about Trent and ordered him to take the missing person report from Margaret Bowling in her home, instead of bringing her to the station. He told Purdy to question her in relation to their suspicions about Zack, explaining that he was tied up with Trent Williams and was relying on him to make a thorough report.
The thorough report went without saying, but Farley wanted to acknowledge it beforehand to show his trust in Purdy’s abilities. He could almost see Purdy beam with pride at being asked to take over this aspect of the Tanner investigation.
Dev and Kate had been on their way home from the party when Farley called. Dev wasted no time getting to the scene, arriving immediately after the rescue squad. He assisted the paramedics until Trent was sedated and taken to the hospital. Trent had been crying uncontrollably and screaming about being chased by a bloody scarecrow. Farley had had enough scarecrow reports to last him a lifetime and found it hard to take this one seriously.
Was it possible Trent had run across another scarecrow in the community garden waiting to scare him? Not likely. The kid needed help from a psychiatrist, not a policeman. His parents had been contacted and were on their way to Mission Hospital, where Trent would be admitted for treatment and diagnostic evaluation.
After the ambulatory vehicle pulled away, Dev shook Farley’s hand and said, “Good work, Jeff. You were right on the mark all along.”
“I don’t know about that, Dev. The kid’s crazy, that’s for sure. But something in that garden scared him and, if you’re willing, I’d like find out who or what did it.”
“Let’s go, Jeff. I’ve got a gypsy woman at home that I need to attend to as soon as we’re done. With a bit of luck, the troublesome lad has interrupted our best laid plans for the last time.”
Farley turned off the light of the cruiser, and they set off down the sloping bank to the edge of the garden. The open plotted sections of field with low-lying vegetable plants and flowers were lit by a brightened misty blue moon. They felt the wind pick up as slow moving clouds crossed the sky again, darkening their view. Then it died down and an eerie stillness followed, while the wind seemed to be holding its breath. Farley and Dev looked at one another without speaking, both wondering if the spooky atmosphere had triggered Trent’s imagination. Farley turned on his flashlight, and Dev turned on his.
They split up when they reached the bean and corn stalks, each taking a row and proceeding cautiously. Dev came upon the row Trent had taken and directing his flashlight beam to the ground, could see the crushed dried cornstalk leaves. He called Farley over to look and they both agreed that something had been dragged along this pathway. They were midway through the cornfield and decided to follow the row back towards the road to look for indications of where the dragging had begun, and then follow it back to the end of the field. Focusing their beams on the ground along the way, they began to find evidence of Trent’s panic. Pieces of straw and burlap were strewn about and there were indications he had slipped several times and fallen.
Dev reached down and picked up a large piece of burlap. It was sticky and soaked with blood. He showed it to Farley, and then they headed back in the other direction, both feeling the dread. A little past the midway point back, the scent of death hit their nostrils. They mentally prepared for what was ahead until making the discovery. It was far worse than either imagined. Farley found it hard to recognize the man Margaret had reported missing. He found it even more difficult to grasp what Zack had to do with the murder of Willis Gaither.
Dev in the meantime was staring at the straw man hanging above the corpse. He was trying to remain objective and find meaning in its hideous form. Whoever had shaped and twisted the face of the scarecrow must have had a message in mind. The hollowed eyes were deeply gouged holes of emptiness, the mouth, a distorted black primal scream. Was it a silent scream of outrage, hatred, rage, a rail against humanity? Or was it purely theatrical, an operatic scheme for staging the murder?
While Dev applied his psychological reasoning to the figure looming over them, Farley inspected the body with the practiced eyes of a detective. They did this in silence, totally absorbed, until Farley took out his phone and called the medical examiner. It was going to be another long night.
“You don’t have to stay, Dev. Go home to Kate. There’s nothing more you can do here tonight. I’ll stop by tomorrow when I have more information. Let’s head back to the road. I’ll wait for the coroner and you go on.”
Kate had not undressed and was still under the spell of the evening. She felt glad about Farley catching the boy responsible for the sightings, but was hoping Dev would return soon, feeling the familiar longing for his touch. She tried to distract herself by folding up the parts of his costume Dev had taken off before leaving in his black pants and buttoned up shirt. She made a neat stack of scarves and vest with his hat on top while thinking about Eleanor’s confession to her at the party.
Eleanor had recognized Joyce Crenshaw
and been aware of being watched. It had made her feel uncomfortable enough to ask Kate to go with her to the restroom. There, she’d confessed about the audition, and that she hadn’t told Chief Farley about it because she’d been ashamed. She’d described seeing the ad in the paper and how it had brought back memories of high school days and school plays. She’d gone to the audition in a final attempt to rebel against the iron rule of her husband without a shred of hope of being chosen.
She’d been amazed when a big woman who had been observing her from the sidelines, picked her from the group. The entire process had taken longer than she’d realized, there were questions to answer and papers to sign. She’d described the terrible scene after her husband barged in, embarrassing her in front of everyone and physically forcing her to leave. The punishment inflicted that night had broken her spirit completely and caused the decline into depression that lasted until her husband’s death.
She hadn’t revealed the incident, considering it the last in a long series of abuse she had lumped into one explanation. She’d said Steve had known about it because he’d witnessed her humiliation that day. He’d asked her to attend the masquerade ball in an attempt to replace the awful memory of what had happened at the Events Center with a good one. Neither thought she’d be recognized.
Upon reflection, Kate began to realize the importance of what she had heard, and that Eleanor and Steve had been so caught up with helping one another, they’d been keeping a secret without realizing they were hiding a motive for murder.
She’d tell Dev and Jeff in the morning. Thank heavens he had only one murder to solve now that the Halloween scare was over. She went over to her dressing table and looked in the mirror. It was quite a change. She dabbed perfume behind each earlobe and added mascara to her eyelashes. She heard Dev’s key in the front door and smiled.
The Silent Scream of the Straw Man Page 19
