by Mary Saums
“Nothing, really.” A small circle of deep blue, about three inches across, pulsed slightly beneath the aura that stretched over the pit. “I thought I might explore opposite you.”
He continued brushing, hardly taking notice of me as he went about his delicate work.
On the other side, nearer the feet of the skeleton where the engraving was found, the roots had torn out most of the dirt around the bones. Farther along where the circle of blue lay, the top half of the pit had become exposed in the storm, so the circle itself sat on a ledge of sorts, halfway between ground level and the bottom of the pit. I reached for my leather tool belt and extracted a pick. Little by little, using various implements, I shaved the layers of soil away. With each inch, the circle glowed a darker, brighter blue.
“Ah!” A startled cry escaped when the first edge appeared in the dirt.
“Are you all right?” Michael saw I was struck momentarily speechless and motionless. He smiled, stood for a long stretch, and walked around to have a look.
“Oh, lovely,” he said.
A circular ridge had risen from the dirt. Another hour or so revealed the object as a short tumbler made of light blue glass.
Michael positively beamed. “Yes. Very nice.” It wasn’t a new piece of glass. Age and the soil caused some warping, almost the look of melting, but still quite lovely, sparkling there, half in the earth, half in the light. “More corroboration for a kitchen.”
“A kitchen with a body on the floor?”
“Why not? An old man living in a cabin dies a natural death.”
“We’ve seen no evidence of an actual cabin.”
“In such a remote place, it may have been little more than a lean-to, one that didn’t survive the years and the weather. It would explain the odd size of the burial area indicated by the corners. The soil makeup has preserved the bones fairly well. This lower layer, too. All above has rotted or perhaps was taken away for further use by another settler or huntsman.”
I couldn’t argue. Yet, the explanation didn’t ring true to me. I can’t say why. I stared at the glass, trying to take in its meaning. Other than what its place here might mean, as far as the excavation, it was another aspect that mesmerized me, caught me completely by surprise and stalled all logical brain function momentarily.
“You disagree?” he said. “Jane?”
“Sorry. No. It makes perfect sense.”
Michael looked at his watch. “Did you want to call it a day? To get ready for your party?”
We agreed to stop. We finished jotting down our notes and tidied up. He assisted me in a final security measure but not without a good bit of ribbing for possibly going overboard.
“It’s quite elaborate, my dear,” he said with a laugh.
“No harm done if it isn’t needed,” I said
He could scoff if he liked, but I could think of nothing else to keep our dig site from being destroyed, should the conversation I overheard in the trailer concern my land. Michael laughed at me because I’d dug a hole to look something like that of the burial site, only I situated it several yards away from the real thing. My plan was to throw a blue tarp over it, so the new hole would look like the dig site, and to cover the real dig site with black plastic and an overlayer of dirt and rock.
“Right,” he said. “You worry too much. I’m sure we’ll find everything just as it is now. Perhaps we’ll find the missing flower tomorrow a bit farther down, eh?”
I said nothing. No, it would not be there.
Michael was referring to a decorative ring around the glass tumbler we found, a raised line resembling greenery with crude glass flowers spaced just so, where all save one flower remained.
I knew it wasn’t anywhere in the dig site. I knew precisely where it was. It was sitting in a row with the other mysterious artifacts, on the lip of a bookcase shelf in my den. Whether Boo had found it elsewhere, or dug it up, somehow, days before I dug out the rest of the glass tumbler, I had no idea.
Twenty-Eight
Phoebe Works the Halloween Party
I loaded my car to the gills. I stuffed that thing top to bottom and front to back. Had to. With all the food and decorations and whatnot that needed to go to the Halloween party, I barely fit inside myself. There was no room for any of it in the trunk, either, because I filled it up with fighting paraphernalia, in case Jane’s murdering thief decided to pay a visit that night.
I figured he would. He wouldn’t wait around when he had a map showing how to get there. Besides that, it was going to be a full moon. Where those bones were, way up on that bluff where there aren’t any trees overhead, it would be like a searchlight shining down. A good night for stealing.
Jane knew it as well as I did. As much as I despise traipsing around in the woods, I wasn’t about to let her stay all night out there by herself. I tried to think of it as playing Rambo in the jungle.
At the haunted house, high school kids volunteered every year to set things up. They already had the props up that made a hallway from the library’s front lobby, around to the right, along the wall, and all the way back to the kitchen and hospitality area. They hammered two-by-fours into big frames to make the hall that the little ones would walk through. Black plastic sheets hung over the frames to make the hallway dark. Then Grace’s son, Billy, who is an electrician, set different-colored lights all through it in strategic places to make it look spooky. The kids strung fake cobwebs everywhere and we had a record in the library of spooky Halloween sounds to play.
This Halloween, Grace made me dress up like a lunchroom lady. I don’t do any of the acting on the Trail of Terror anymore. I have too much to do with getting the food together, and then I work in the back serving refreshments that are included in the price of the ticket. Several restaurants donate food, and a few other businesses furnish things like soft drinks, but I always make the special dishes for the kids.
I grabbed three volunteers to help unload my car. One took the stack of tablecloths in, the other two helped carry covered Tupperware containers. I carried my lunchroom lady outfit and a tote bag. We got everything put in the refrigerator, but not before Grace had a peek. She lifted the lid of a casserole dish and yelled at the sight.
“Spaghetti and eyeballs,” I said. One of those women’s magazines at the Pig’s checkout lane had them on the cover. I couldn’t resist. All you do is stick olives in the meatballs. The kids would love them. “I’m later than I meant to be. By the time I get changed, kids will be lining up out there.”
“No problem. Everything’s done. All that’s left is for you to make the punch. And then it’s showtime.”
Grace looked scarier than ever in her voodoo getup. Thank goodness the little boys and girls already knew how sweet she really is, or one look and they would be running and screaming out the door. She stooped and cackled like a witch and off she went to get the Trail of Terror started.
Every now and then, we heard high-pitched screeching followed by high-pitched giggling as the children made their ways toward the hospitality room. One look at Jason and Mark, the little boys who stay with me sometimes, made me grin from ear to ear. It does me good to see them happy. Their daddy looked like he was having a good time, too, the poor thing. I hoped he could find a nice lady to settle down with before long. The boys came straight to me for a hug, talking and laughing up a storm, telling me all about the scary parts they liked. My brain Jell-O got high marks for looking real.
When it was all over, Jane came in, still wearing her nutty professor costume—a lab coat, some nerd glasses, and some crazy buck teeth stuck in her mouth. I laughed so hard I had to hold my side. Jane’s outfit was also Grace’s idea. She thought Jane’s accent would make her the perfect mad scientist. Jane did it to the hilt, too, from all the reports I heard, pointing at a chalkboard full of equations and holding up jars with fake organs in them.
We don’t do the Trail of Terror late. The last group comes through at seven o’clock. Kids want to start their trick-or-treating by that
time. My sister-in-law, Amanda Jean, who lives in Pensacola, says nobody down there goes trick-or-treating anymore. Says it’s too dangerous. Tullulah’s not like that, thank goodness.
Jane took her buck teeth out so she could have a snack. I went into cafeteria lady mode. “Could I interest you in some bug juice, ma’am?”
Jane looked at it. “Is that a hand in the punch bowl?”
“Yeah. Looks good, doesn’t it? You put water and food coloring in a rubber glove and freeze it.” I ladled some of the green punch in a paper cup for her to try.
“All right then. But without the gummy worms and bugs, if you don’t mind.”
“Raisins.”
“Yes. Straight up, if you please,” she said. I fished out the bugs and handed her the cup.
“Mmm. Delicious.”
I introduced Jane to everyone she hadn’t already met. She helped me with the cleanup, and Grace came over to pitch in, too. We laughed and had the best time. While I washed the last dishes in the sink, I looked over at Grace and said, “Your old decrepit white boyfriend didn’t show up, after all.”
“And he missed seeing you in that sexy hairnet.” She elbowed me. I splashed soapy water on her. “You know,” Grace said, “I’ve been thinking about him. You remember how you got confused over which state he was from? You said he was from Ohio, and I said Indiana? Well, this morning I needed to check something on the list of new cardholders and saw his name. Next to it, he gave his previous address as Ohio. I would swear he told me he was from Indiana because we talked about my brother who lives near there. Oh, goodness. That reminds me. Wasn’t that terrible about Brody Reed?”
“Lord, yes,” I said. “Poor guy. Always helping folks out. And he raised a fine family. He put on some fun shows for the kids at the library over the years, didn’t he?”
Grace nodded. “Yes, he sure did. Everybody in this town loved him and is going to miss him.”
“Excuse me,” Jane said, “but what reminded you?”
“What about?” Grace said.
“You were saying Phoebe’s boyfriend was from Ohio, then said, ‘that reminds me.’”
I held up a finger and said, “Please. Let’s get this straight. He is not my boyfriend. He’s too old for me.”
“Oh,” Grace said, tilting her head as if trying to remember. “It made me think of Brody because the last time I saw him, he came in to meet the old guy from Ohio or wherever he’s from. Back in the county history room.”
“What day was this, do you remember?” Jane said.
“A few days ago. Monday, I think.”
Grace’s voice trailed off as she realized what her words might imply. I was concerned, too. “That wouldn’t have been the day he disappeared. Would it?”
Twenty-Nine
Jane Meets her Medicine Woman
I heard soft footsteps coming up behind me. Both Grace and Phoebe stared beyond me, having lost their train of thought.
“For goodness sake,” Phoebe said with surprise in her voice. “Aunt Woo-Woo, what are you doing out tonight? We’ve done finished our party, hon. You’ve missed it.”
I expected to see the diminutive Ruby Alice in a simple cotton dress and a sweater again. Yet when I turned, I was surprised to see her wearing tight-fitting black leggings, a black turtleneck, and a black beret set on her head at a jaunty angle. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She stood in an altered ballet pose, her shoulders and head thrown back, her arms clasped behind her. She pointed one black sneaker’s toe forward and the other sneaker she moved behind, flat and squared off at the other’s heel.
The most striking part of her clothing, however, was a black sash across one shoulder that draped to tie at the opposite side’s waist. Small external pouches were sewn on the sash, reminiscent of a runway fashion designer’s idea of a bandolier.
Phoebe moved her head up and down as she inspected her aunt. “You look like one of those Frenchie artistes. Are you fixing to go trick-or-treating?”
Ruby Alice’s perpetually happy expression became even happier. After a few befuddled mutterings, she said, “Treats, ha ha, yes. But first, a few tricks.”
Grace, Phoebe, and I chuckled along with the old girl. I tried to think of an acceptable response but she saved me the trouble.
“Now, I think.” Her head bobbed in quick nods. “Yes. I think we should be going now. Shall we?”
“Where, Aunt Woo-Woo?”
“To the tree, of course. Grant said you asked.” She looked at me. “He said you called.”
Realization came at last. “You’re the medicine woman? I wasn’t expecting you. That is, he didn’t give me a name.”
“Yes, oh yes. Ha ha. I suppose I am. ‘Healer’ is what they call me most of the time.” Her head bobbed quickly again. “Time, you see, yes, it’s the time that is so very important.” As she turned, she motioned that we should follow.
“Ruby Alice,” I said, “wouldn’t you rather wait until tomorrow? The tree is a bit of a distance into the woods. I didn’t mean for you to think there was an emergency. We can go there anytime you like, sometime during daylight hours, if you prefer.”
The laugh wrinkles around her high cheeks and eyes moved into their accustomed positions as she uttered bemused sounds that weren’t quite words and ended in chuckling. “With this moon, we’ll see about as well as in the day.”
She rode with Phoebe to my house, where Phoebe parked beside my car in the driveway. Homer bounded off the porch to greet us. He soon found a new friend in Ruby Alice. Neither she nor Phoebe came inside. I told them I’d only be a minute.
Phoebe walked a little way with me and spoke in a hushed voice. “Hey, look here. I’ve brought a few choice items for when we go out there by ourselves later tonight. After I take Aunt Woo-Woo home.”
She amazed me. I began to protest but she stopped me by putting her hand up.
“Don’t argue with me, Jane. Forget it. I’m going. I’ve already planned on it. Now, give me your keys so I can pop the trunk and put those things in there. While you go talk to Mr. Honey Buns.” She winked.
I handed the keys over while doing my best to give her a dirty look. It had no effect. I hurried inside while Phoebe made smacking kissing sounds behind my back.
“Michael,” I called as I walked through. He stepped out of the den where he’d been working on his laptop. I explained that Ruby Alice had come to see the tree scar.
“Did you want me to come as well?”
“Only if you like. We shouldn’t be long.”
He hesitated and rubbed his chin. “I’m expecting a call, but if you would rather I come…”
“It’s quite all right. We won’t be long. I only wanted to let you know what we were about.”
He leaned down and gave me a peck on the cheek before returning to his work at the desk.
When I reached the car, Ruby Alice already was sitting in the backseat. Homer looked quite happy and comfortable in the seat next to her. Phoebe, standing at the open trunk, jerked her head backward, indicating she wanted a private word.
“Humor her,” Phoebe said quietly. “She’s old and dotty but she’s all right.”
“Of course she is. She’s perfectly delightful.”
Phoebe grinned. Suddenly, she hugged me and said, “You’re all right, too. Come on, let’s get going.” She helped me remove the trash cans and tape at the entrance across the road, then we made our way into the woods slowly over the bumps.
Ruby Alice was right. Much of the woods was pitch black at first. The higher we climbed, however, the brighter the patches of moonlight shone around us, even brighter than when Homer and I had made our late-night trek. At the summit, we parked in the layby and though we had our flashlights, we didn’t need them once we walked up and over the little crest.
There, on the flat overlook, the moon filled the sky, huge and directly above us so that it resembled a spotlight. Its rich yellow-gold face cast a warm honeyed light across the mountaintop as if over a stage, awaiting a
maestro’s cue to begin the overture.
Ruby Alice admired the view, smiling and talking quietly to herself. She looked left over the blue tarp and over the clearing, gave as hearty a laugh as was possible with her tiny raspy voice, and moved across the plateau and to the right, directly for the fallen tree.
“She’s going to fall and break her neck in the dark,” Phoebe said as she passed me, keeping her flashlight beam just in front of her.
Ruby Alice showed no sign of doing either thing. Her high-tech sneakers made easy work of walking uphill and over uneven terrain. However weak her odd eye movements made her appear, she showed fewer signs of night blindness than Phoebe. She stood before the great tree’s large scar, threw out her arms, then drew her hands over her heart.
I set my backpack and flashlight down. Homer lay beside her. Ruby Alice took two short candle stubs out of one of her pouches and centered them on a rock nearby.
Ruby Alice sang a short chant. Her eerie soprano moanings stretched across the open space. I recognized no words and was glad of it. Words would have ruined the timeless quality that sent me back in time, as if flying low over oceans and countries, kingdoms and ancient days.
When her song ended, she stepped to the tree to put her hands over the center of the blackened scar. She mumbled a prayer there as she reached into the hole made by the lightning. She seemed to be making a choice and finally broke off a long splinter about the size of a pencil.
“Good. Good,” she said. “Very good.” She opened a pocket on her sash and withdrew a small pot that she sat next to the candles. “Come,” she said to me with a wave of her hand. I obeyed.
Another pocket produced a short makeup brush. She instructed me to sit on the rock while she stirred the burned splinter of bark in the pot. When satisfied, she dipped the makeup brush inside and showed me the tip. A gooey black mixture covered it. She touched it to my cheek and began to draw.
“You know,” Phoebe said, “you never struck me as the face-painting type, Jane.”
