She sat at the table, blew an angel-wing out of her eye. “Do you have a plan? Or is that too presumptuous at this point?”
“Lady Harp, I—”
“Beatrice, please,” she said quickly. “We’re a little too involved for such formalities.”
“Sure. And no, Beatrice, I don’t have a plan. I feel like a general who’s fighting a war on two fronts, and I’m making myself plenty dizzy just trying to keep them straight.”
She picked up a spoon, tapped the bowl against her palm. “I should think one at a time would be best, don’t you?”
“Pick one, then.”
“Your problems on the island, I should think,” she answered without hesitation. “The other will... today’s Wednesday, New Year’s Eve isn’t until Friday.”
“And what do you propose I do?”
She smiled. “Ah, there’s where the general is supposed to make the decisions.” She watched the spoon as though it were moving on its own. “But have you considered the possibility that the two are connected?”
He pushed away from the sink, dropped into the chair opposite her. From the living room he heard Cora laughing and one of the Levin girls protesting, and laughing.
“Beatrice, I’m not a general. And it’s only been a few hours since I decided I was going to do something at all. I haven’t had time to think, hardly time to take a breath.”
“So you don’t know why these people are after you.”
He shook his head.
“Perhaps it’s because someone else doesn’t want you around.”
He opened his mouth to tell her that was awfully farfetched, closed it when he realized it wasn’t that farfetched at all. Two of the three people who had faced the first three Riders were here on Camoret Island. And he had a strong feeling Lady Harp had more to do with matters in Las Vegas than she’d admitted.
Impulsively he reached over and covered her hands, trapping the spoon into silence. “Beatrice, the Riders, they can’t be killed, you know. They—” He closed his eyes for a second, then looked helplessly at her. “I don’t know what’s expected of me. Of us. I’m not Joan of Arc, I don’t hear voices.” A glance toward the living room, and he lowered his voice. “They forget that I lost, Beatrice. She’s still out there, riding.”
He watched her eyes move as she studied his face, and he could almost feel their touch. Wanted, for some reason, to feel their touch. Started but didn’t retreat when she pulled her hands gently from under his, put them in her lap.
“By that definition,” she said tightly, “we all did, didn’t we? Are you telling me, then, it was all for nothing?”
He could almost feel the cold anger he saw in her eyes, in the set of her lips, and he pushed away from the table, walked over to the back door, and looked out at the yard. No demons lurking there, no gouts of hellfire, no monsters—pale fading sunlight, and grass settling in for the winter, and a hedge with a ragged gap where he’d crashed through last night; fragments of blue sky, subtle movement to suggest a breeze.
He almost said it again: I don’t hear voices, I’m not told what to do.
Instead, without apology: “They’re riding together this time, and they have help.”
“They’ve had help before.”
“They’ve never ridden together before.”
“Well, I’m not a tactician, Casey, but I’m fairly sure that a good principle in this case then would be to even the odds.”
He turned with a rueful smile. “And what—”
He stopped when Lisse came to the door, held his breath when he saw the look on her face.
“What?” he said grimly.
“There’s someone here, Casey. He says—”
He saw Hector Nazario over her shoulder, waiting by the front door, and he knew.
As Beatrice rose from her chair, he strode from the kitchen, eyes narrowed, a sudden hollow feeling in his chest. Lisse backed away hastily, pressed against the wall as he passed. Hector’s eyes widened when he saw the black, and the collar, and the size of the man who marched toward him down the hall.
“Hector,” Casey said, so quietly that Hector took a step back.
He stammered, staring at the people gathered in the living room, staring at Casey.
“Who?” Casey asked.
Hector shook his head. “It... Senior. Gloria, she thought you should know.”
Casey put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around, led him onto the porch and down the walk. Junior’s motor scooter was parked at the curb. An angry sorrow kept him silent until Hector said, “Casey, you’re—” A gesture at the clothes.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know.”
“No matter. How is Junior?”
“Not good. They don’t know yet. Gloria is there, no one else would go.” He rubbed his hands nervously, against his coat, against each other. “Father, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you—”
Casey stopped him with a raised hand. “Are you working today?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“No, Father, Miss Hull, she helps me out.”
With a nod Casey urged him onto the scooter. “Have you seen the mayor or Cutler today?”
Hector frowned. “Yes.” He nodded quickly. “Yes, just before I came here. He, Mayor Cribbs, I saw him going into the town hall.” He looked up; a revelation. “With two men, Father. He was with two men, the ones I told you about.”
Casey stared down Midway Road, seeing nothing but a dance of dark motes over the blacktop, motes that coalesced and vanished, became a centered heat in his chest.
“Go on back, Hector. See if you can get hold of Rick, and anyone else who gives a damn. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“What are you going to do, Father?”
For an answer Casey slapped him on the back to send him on his way. He watched the scooter move faster than Junior ever drove it, for a second saw the bright red hat, and shook his head quickly to clear it. A glance to the sky, and he hurried back inside.
“Jude,” he said, “I’d like to see you and your girls in the kitchen, please.” He started down the hall without waiting for an answer, called over his shoulder, “John, get the car warmed up, and fetch those peashooters of yours.”
He heard them scrambling, heard Cora wanting to know what she should do, and stopped at the table. When Jude came in, the girls close behind her, he nodded at the chairs. Jude sat; the girls ignored him and stood behind her.
Remembering what Reed had told him, and seeing the looks on Starshine’s and Moonbow’s faces, he took a chair himself, and a moment to calm himself down. While he wondered how bad it really was behind that veil.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk,” he began, smiling regretfully. “And I’m afraid there’s not going to be much chance now.”
“That’s all right,” she said with a slight bow of her head. Her voice was soft, and rough. The veil shifted. Her long hair caught the sunlight and returned it. He wondered if her chin had the same dimples as her daughters’, wondered if they were as strong as she. “I dreamed about you, you know.”
“So I heard.” He scratched his forehead slowly. “I’m sorry about Mr. Falkirk. I—”
“He was gonna buy us a castle,” Moonbow blurted.
“Shhh,” her sister scolded, and jabbed her with an elbow.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Casey said. “He was a special man.”
Jude’s eyes closed; Starshine put a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you gonna fight Eula?” Moonbow asked.
He blew out a quick breath, rubbed one hand over the back of the other.
“It’s the end of the world, you know,” she said, nodding. “That’s what Trey said. Eula made people sick. She sang all over the world, and she made people sick.” She glared then. “So are you gonna fight her?”
“Are you really a priest?” Starshine asked.
He blinked rapidly several times.
“They gang up on you if you’re
not careful,” Jude said, clear pride in her voice. She lifted her hands, patted Star’s with one, took one of Moonbow’s with the other and pressed it to her arm. “They take care of me.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Reverend Chisholm,” Reed called from the front door, “John’s ready.”
He lifted a hand—in a minute—and sat up, and lost his smile.
“I want you to go over to where Cora and Reed are staying. While I’m gone, it’s not safe for you here. Don’t be fooled by them. They can take care of you.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Starshine said defiantly.
“Yes, and now you’ll have help,” he told her. “Jude, I’m being honest when I tell you I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I don’t know what part you’ll be playing in any of this.” He reached out a hand, and after a slight hesitation, she took it, and he curled his fingers over hers. “But I’m glad you’re here. And I’ll repay you somehow, you have my word on it.”
He saw her eyes move as Beatrice’s had, studying him intently. “I’d offer to go,” she said at last, “but I’m afraid the sheriff... he might know who ...” She lifted her head, indicating the veil, and what lay beneath it. “I’m not exactly hard to spot.”
‘That will be our problem now,” he answered. And winked.
Another call from the front put him on his feet. He grabbed the black jacket from the back of the chair and, as he put it on, he said, “Who is Lady Harp, anyway?”
Jude said nothing.
Then Moonbow said, “She’s an angel.”
* * * *
2
Trees and tall shrubs sent sharp-edged fencepost shadows across the road. The onshore breeze had turned into a wind that lifted dust devils in the gutters, that pushed at the traffic light hanging over the Midway-Landward intersection. Shop signs were lit. Cars began to arrive with those who worked on the mainland. The temperature began a slow slide. A wave of children walked and pedaled home from the playground, their voices filling the air briefly like the cries of small birds.
* * * *
In the Edward Teach, Ben checked the barometer that hung on the wall near the telephone, tapping it with one finger. Scowling. Turning to tell Senior that the damn storm was on its way, and grabbing onto the lip of the bar when he remembered.
In the Tower on Hook Ridge, Rick Jordan packed up and jammed his arms into his coat, ready to leave, cutting his tour short by half an hour. He wasn’t sure he’d make it to Betsy’s in time, but he was damn sure going to try. One more day of this crap and his volunteer tour was over for the year, the best present he’d gotten this season. Staying up here, watching clouds smear the horizon, shivering in the wind ... it gave him too much time to think about the Deuce, to think about what options he had for the coming season. Options which pretty much amounted to zero.
In the Camoret Weekly office, Whittaker sat at his computer and wrote the last story for next week’s edition. He had no notes; he took it all from his head. It contained everything he knew, everything he thought he knew, and enough speculation to put him in jail for the rest of his life when the mayor and Cutler came after him for libel. He didn’t care. The front page story was shared with Senior Raybourn’s obituary, and Whittaker just didn’t care what happened to him now.
In the sheriffs department’s main room, Deputy Freck sat at his desk, bouncing a little, wondering if maybe he’d finally gone too far. If maybe he ought to cut out while the cutting was good. When Verna spun around and told him to for God’s sake sit still, he gave her the finger—with both hands.
In Vale Oakman’s private office, the sheriff looked at the report he’d just finished, sniffing, blowing his nose, pulling at an earlobe, his right hand hovering over the signature line, not yet ready to sign. He had gone to the cottage Dub Neely had identified, had gone in, and had found nothing. Not at first. Freck had been so mad, he’d lashed out with his gun, accidentally catching Dub across the temple, and was so instantly contrite he had taken the unconscious drunk to the clinic himself. Shortly afterward, Vale discovered a small wad of cotton wedged behind the unplugged refrigerator. He sniffed it, and the smell was enough to tell him someone had been cleaning a weapon in here. Dub had been right. And was it worth it? Chisholm had asked him. He looked at the report for the hundredth time, didn’t sign, didn’t put the pen down; was it worth it?
In the third floor outer office, Millicent Grummond did her level best not to listen to the voices in the mayor’s office. They weren’t yelling exactly, but they weren’t engaged in polite conversation, either. When she couldn’t take it any longer, when she grew afraid of the intensity she could hear beyond the door, she started gathering her things together, ready to go home. She wouldn’t ask Mayor Cribbs’s permission; she somehow knew it would be all right.
* * * *
Cora stormed through the house. “Why can’t we go?” she demanded of no one in particular.
“Because we’re just women,” Starshine answered bitterly, standing at the front door, looking out at the empty darkening street.
Jude and Beatrice laughed.
“That’s not funny,” Cora said. “It’s true. He doesn’t trust us because we’re women.”
“Of course he trusts you,” said Lady Harp sharply. “He doesn’t want us with him because he doesn’t need an army. And Lisse isn’t exactly a man, you know. I expect she’s a better shot than any of us.” She looked at them one by one. “We’ll have plenty to do on Friday.”
* * * *
Lyman Baylor hurried out of his office when he saw the car stop in front of the house. When the giant in black stepped out, he froze, knowing he looked stupid with his mouth open, his hands twitching, but he couldn’t help it.
When Casey beckoned with a friendly smile, he couldn’t move, not at first. It was one thing to know, it was another to know. And this wasn’t anything like he expected.
“Is it open, Ly?” Casey asked, tilting his head at the church.
Lyman nodded mutely.
“May I?”
Lyman nodded again, and again couldn’t speak.
Casey thanked him with a gesture and started up the walk, pausing only to wave toward the house. Lyman turned and saw Kitra on the steps, staring, then looking at him for an explanation, and he could only shrug. When she frowned and jerked her head, he realized she wanted him to follow. And why not? he thought as he did; it’s my church, I have a right to know.
He walked as fast as he could without running, reached the doors just in time to hear Casey say, “Afternoon, Lord, looks like I’m in some trouble here. You have any ideas?”
* * * *
Hector turned the open sign around to closed, and took off his apron. Rick wasn’t here yet, but as far as he could tell, neither was Father Chisholm.
He blinked.
Father Chisholm. All this time, and not even a hint.
“Done, Hector,” Ronnie called from the kitchen. She came out wiping her hands on a towel, moving toward the rifle lying on the counter. “Now what do we do?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Wait, I guess. Nothing else to do, he just said he was coming.”
She joined him at the door, looked right, and said, “Come on, Rick, move it. You’re gonna miss all the fun.”
* * * *
The telephone call had been short and blunt: “Get your ass to town, there’s gonna be trouble and I don’t trust those guys to stick around when it starts.”
“Count on me,” Stump said, grinning at his brothers, giving them a thumbs-up.
“Oh, I am, Teague, I am.”
“Who are the bad guys?”
“Anyone but us,” said Norville Cutler. “And I mean, anyone.”
* * * *
3
Casey told John to drive past the Landward intersection, make a U-turn, and park on the wrong side in front of the tobacco shop, facing north. When Bannock looked a question at him, he said, “The mayor can’t see us from his office this way.”
&
nbsp; Once parked, he put his hand on the door handle and watched the street, both ahead and in the side mirror. Reed shifted impatiently in back; Lisse whispered, and the shifting stopped. A van swung around the corner and headed south, an angry touch to the horn for the car being on the wrong side of the road. John backed up a few feet, turned the engine off.
Casey nodded, opened the door, and slid out, making his way around the trunk to the sidewalk. He had little specific idea what he was going to do, but he didn’t dare stop to think things through. Not now. His anger propelled him, and fed him, and the cross bouncing against his chest reminded him of the boundaries.
Riders in the Sky - [Millennium Quartet 04] Page 37
