Covenant

by Ann McMan

  Dr. Heller didn’t want to go with any of the knockoff brands they sold at Lowe’s in Galax, even though they could ’a had this part of the job finished weeks ago.

  After they got all the new boards hammered into place, they’d have to paint ’em, too.

  They wouldn’t a had to do that with vinyl . . .

  Sonny kept tryin’ to get Dr. Heller to change her mind—especially after the distributor told them the HardiePlank was back-ordered and wouldn’t be available for four to six weeks.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I’d rather wait and do this right.”

  So that meant him and Sonny had to pick up some rolls of 6 mil. plastic sheeting to staple up over the Tyvek layer. If it had been the other side of the house, they probably could ’a got away without doing it—but this was the storm side. And it had been rainin’ like cats and dogs off and on for the last month. Today was one of the first sunny days they’d had in more’n a week, so they were determined to get this HardiePlank all into place as quick as they could.

  It was lookin’ real nice, too—just like everything Dr. Heller insisted on.

  Bert couldn’t get over how good the simple house was lookin’. It was too bad most folks in town would never get to see all the work they done out here. Sonny’s boy, Harold, said the place was good enough to be featured in one of them home design magazines.

  Bert stepped back to take in the new siding. He supposed Harold was right.

  Him and Sonny were real proud of the job they were doin’ for Dr. Heller. She trusted them, too. Which most folks in town didn’t ever do. Even when they had a simple job, like replacing the floorboards on somebody’s sagging old porch, the people—usually the women—would all but stand over them while they screwed down each length of board.

  Everybody was afraid of being cheated. Well. Except for them folks at the cemetery where him and Sonny went every couple weeks to mow and weed. Dead people didn’t tend to kick up a fuss about much. He liked jobs like that one.

  But Bert supposed he understood why some folks were suspicious. When you didn’t have nothin’, you were extra greedy about protectin’ it. But Sonny tended to get all fractious when folks didn’t trust them, or thought they might skimp and do a shoddy job so they could pocket more money. He tried to explain to Sonny that that’s just how folks were and it wadn’t really personal. But Sonny didn’t agree with him. He thought people should have better sense and more charity.

  Bert thought Sonny was spending too much time goin’ to those services out at Bone Gap . . .

  Buddy was in the garden again today, planting more late-season vegetables. Bert didn’t know what Dr. Heller thought she was gonna do with all that produce Buddy was puttin’ in.

  Buddy didn’t tend to do things on a small scale.

  Right now, he was diggin’ mounds for the beet plants. They didn’t really have to be planted that way, but Buddy allowed as how they made the garden look better and made a good contrast to alternate with the plants in rows. He said it put things in balance.

  Balance was always important to Buddy.

  Dr. Heller seemed to like it, too. She was in the garden right now, talkin’ to Buddy about . . . well. Just about everything.

  Even things that didn’t have nothin’ to do with plants.

  Bert always liked that about her. She was a nice lady and she was always real respectful toward Buddy. Sometimes, she even sat with him at her piano and they’d take turns playing pieces of music. Or she’d play something, and Buddy would play it back, exactly right.

  Today, she was talking about music and her plan to take a trip to listen to some in New York.

  Buddy didn’t say much, but he never did say much around Dr. Heller. Bert knew that was because he looked up to her and admired her knowledge about music.

  Buddy tended to be quiet around people he liked a lot.

  “Mitsuko Uchida is one of the best interpreters of Beethoven right now,” Dr. Heller was saying. “Taking Dorothy to New York to hear her could be a seminal experience in her music education.”

  “Minor to major. Transitions don’t happen right. Goldenrod’s ratio is broken.”

  Buddy wasn’t making much sense, but then, Bert often didn’t understand what Buddy meant when he talked about music.

  “Do you mean the sonata we’re been studying? I think Dorothy’s tonal harmonies are working very well.”

  “Her ratios are broken. The transitions don’t work.”

  “That’s why I think going to this recital could be a good thing for her.” Dr. Heller was kneeling down, running her fingers along the tiny leaves of the new plants. They were all bright green and stood up proud beneath her touch. Their young leaves sprang right back up to face the sun. “Dorothy needs to experience performances that are better than mine. I can only go so far with what I can teach her.”

  “Transitions from major to minor are pathways. The pathways need to be right. Goldenrod needs to find a new pathway.”

  “I know, Buddy. I want to help her with that journey.”

  Buddy looked at Dr. Heller with his clear eyes. It was unusual for him to make direct eye contact with anyone. But Bert knew he trusted Dr. Heller.

  “Her ratio is broken. The orange dog comes at night.”

  “What do you mean?” Dr. Heller sounded confused. “Do you mean something is scaring her? Is the music too much for her right now?”

  “The orange dog comes at night,” Buddy repeated. “Goldenrod’s ratios are broken.”

  Bert could tell Dr. Heller was just getting more confused.

  “With all due respect, Doc,” he addressed her. “Buddy is talkin’ about them garden pests. That’s what orange dogs are. They eat the leaves on the little plants, just like them aphids and stink bugs. Sonny said they’re really bad this year on account of how hot it still is. But Sonny can spray for ’em, so don’t worry too much about orange dogs.”

  “The orange dog comes at night.” Buddy repeated. “Goldenrod is little phi.”

  Dr. Heller was looking at Buddy intently. Bert could tell she was trying to decipher what Buddy’s rambling meant. He thought about interrupting again to tell her she’d never be able to make it out, and it was best just to go on with her day—but he stayed quiet. He knew Dr. Heller wouldn’t listen to him.

  She was like her daughter in that way.

  So he just went back to hammering up the HardiePlank boards.

  Buddy was stuck in a loop, and he’d keep right on repeating the same thing for as long as she stayed there and listened.

  He was right . . .

  “The orange dog comes at night,” Buddy said.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Maddie had tried several times to get David on the phone—all to no avail. She’d left messages on his voicemail, and with his secretary at town hall. But if David got her messages, he chose to ignore them or put them aside. Either way, he didn’t return her calls.

  Even if Michael hadn’t stopped by the farm on Sunday morning to tell her how worried he was, she’d have had her own reasons for concern about David’s uncharacteristic behavior. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him since the 4th of July, and all of those encounters had occurred when they all met up for taco night at the farm. And those meals were always rollicking affairs with at least two or three additional drop-in guests.

  Perfect settings to keep attempts at serious conversation at bay.

  Syd still had semi-regular contact with him—but that was only because they shared a mutual obsession with wedding planning. When Michael asked her how David had seemed to her, she’d said “normal.”

  But “normal” for David had always been a moving target. And even though she understood that his new job as mayor was taking up a ton of his time, she doubted that the demands it imposed on him were sufficient to explain the entirety of his strange behavior.

  Michael said he’d never seen David as angry as he’d been the other night. He said the rage David had flown into
after Michael pressed him about his reluctance to sit for his inquest interview had scared him.

  “He behaved irrationally,” Michael told her. “Like someone I didn’t know. He didn’t even finish his can of Pringles.”

  “Pringles?” Maddie asked.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You’re right.” Maddie held up a hand. “I don’t need to know.”

  Michael asked if Maddie would reach out to him . . . try to get him to explain why he became so hostile whenever the subject of the inquest came up.

  “Is he at the inn this morning?” she asked.

  Michael said no, and explained that David had gone into town for a planning board meeting. Apparently, Sunday was the only day everyone could get together.

  Maddie told him she’d take a ride into town and try to catch up with him, but she was as mystified as he was about the reason for David’s evasive behavior.

  “Why do you think he’s reacting to everything the way he is?” Maddie asked him.

  Maddie could tell by Michael’s reaction to her question that he had a theory, but he seemed unwilling to express it.

  “Michael?”

  He looked up at her. “I think it’s possible he knows more about Watson’s death than he’s telling me.”

  “What do you mean?” His statement alarmed Maddie.

  “I mean . . . I wasn’t with him after he ran off.”

  “But, I thought you followed him.”

  “I did. But I never found him. Maddie, I have no idea where he went. He didn’t show up until more than an hour later, and he wouldn’t tell me anything about where he’d disappeared to.”

  Maddie was struggling to take in what Michael was telling her. “Was his car missing?”

  “I have no idea. I never thought to look for it. When I finally did find him, he was back at our booth, packing up the food that hadn’t been ruined after Watson pushed him into the table. By that time, everybody else was down by the river, getting ready for the fireworks. I tried to get him to talk about what happened, but he refused. He barely spoke two words to me the rest of the night.”

  “Dear god . . .”

  “I’m scared, Maddie. I don’t know what to do. If they ask me to come in and answer questions, what will I tell them? If I say I don’t know where David was, what will happen to him?”

  “Hey, hey . . . let’s try not to get ahead of ourselves. We both know David. He couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s not possible that he had anything to do with Watson’s death.”

  “Then why won’t he tell me where he was? And why does he keep ignoring their requests for him to come in and answer questions about what he knows?”

  Maddie slowly shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “I want to believe him, Maddie. I want that more than anything. But he has to trust me enough to tell me the truth about where he was—and he refuses to do it.”

  “He must be afraid of something, Michael.”

  “I know,” Michael agreed. “But what? And whatever it is, is it worth what he’s risking by hiding it from everyone?”

  “No. It certainly isn’t.”

  “That’s why I need you to try to reach him. You’re his best friend . . . the only real family he has here. He trusts you. Maybe he’ll tell you what he can’t tell me?”

  Maddie wasn’t sure about that, but she promised Michael she’d try.

  After they’d finished breakfast, Maddie tried to reach David again. No dice. And his voicemail box was full, and couldn’t record a message. She resolved to drive into town and engineer an encounter.

  When she reached the square, she saw David’s car in the lot beside the courthouse. She parked and went inside. Since it was Sunday, David’s secretary wasn’t at her desk, and the door to David’s office was ajar. She could hear him talking on the phone with someone, so she waited until he’d hung up. When he did, she tapped on his door and pushed it open.

  “Knock, knock? Can you spare a minute for an old pal in need of a friendly face?”

  He didn’t seem to mind her intrusion. At least that was good news.

  “What are you doing in this part of town? Drumming up business?”

  She stepped inside. “You never know. Things are slow at the clinic.”

  “Well, I did hear a rumor that the resident bean counter in the tax assessor’s office is about to open up a vein over complaints about the rate increases. Maybe you’re just in time to clean up . . . so to speak.”

  “One can only hope. Got any coffee in this joint?”

  “Yeah,” David waved her into a chair, “if you’re into drinking Pennzoil.”

  “Then I’ll pass.”

  “Wise decision.” David sat down behind his desk. “So why are you out and about on a Sunday morning—for real?”

  “In fact, I came to see you.”

  “Me? That cannot be good. And before you say anything else, I had nothing to do with Syd’s idea to launch a hundred doves after you take your vows.”

  “Doves?” The reason for Maddie’s visit took a momentary back seat. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Yeah. Not so much, Cinderella. Your bride-to-be has outpaced me handily in the race to plan the most Vegas-worthy wedding on the planet.”

  “I reiterate: tell me you’re joking.”

  “Hardly. She makes me look like such an untutored novice that I fear my gay card will be revoked.”

  Maddie ran a hand over her face.

  “Buck up, Bonzo.” David continued. “Has Professor Boyd ever let you down?”

  “I’m not sure how confident I should feel if my best hope for a modest and reasonable wedding rests in your hands.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who wants you to wear that insane Alexander McQueen creation that costs, like, five times my salary.”

  “That what creation?”

  David had moved on.

  “Although, for you, those shoes would be a non-starter. Especially with your bunions.”

  “I don’t have bunions . . .”

  “But, maybe she’s right? Where would we be without our fantasies? It would take all the joy out of planning your nuptials.”

  “David?”

  “Never mind . . . it’s all above your pay grade, anyway. But as long as you’re here,” David opened a desk drawer and withdrew an envelope, “give these applications to Syd.” He passed the envelope across the desk to her.

  Maddie took it from him. “Applications for what?”

  “Duh. Marriage licenses, nimrod. Fill those out and I’ll pick them up from Syd.”

  “Do we really need to do these right now?”

  “No time like the present—unless you’re getting cold feet.”

  “No. That’s not happening.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. That deposit on those damn doves is nonrefundable. So . . . what’d you want to see me about?”

  Maddie’s head was spinning. At least this aspect of what passed for David’s . . . normal . . . was still firing on all cylinders.

  “To tell the truth, I’m here because I’ve missed seeing you.” It wasn’t exactly a lie: she really did miss seeing him. And she knew she had to proceed gently. She didn’t want to scare him off.

  Clearly, David thought she was nuts.

  “What are you talking about? You just saw me on Tuesday night.”

  “I mean seeing you alone. Just the two of us. Like we used to do.”

  “Oh.” He looked a bit flustered. “I’m sorry about that. This job is a lot more onerous than I thought it would be. Who knew a small town like this had so many moving parts?”

  “Not me.”

  “Trust me. I’ve been trying to organize the committee planning for the annual ‘Dining With Friends’ hospice benefit. These people are knuckle-draggers. None of them thinks my idea for a ‘Last Supper’ theme is appropriate. Seriously? All I can say is there’s going to be a lot of competition for who gets the Judas place cards.”

  Maddie wasn’t cert
ain she’d heard him correctly. “Did you say Last Supper?”

  David nodded. “Isn’t it brilliant?”

  Maddie shook her head. “And here I always thought Watson intentionally inflated the demands on his time as a means to advance his notion of self-importance.”

  She noticed the way David flinched when she mentioned Watson. But he didn’t take her bait.

  “It’s no cake walk, that’s for sure. And I find myself having to work a lot of overtime.”

  “I guess that’s why you haven’t been able to schedule your inquest interview yet?”

  David colored. “What makes you say that?”

  “Michael.”

  David abruptly got to his feet. “So he’s crying to you now?”

  “Cool your jets, Kemosabe. He’s not crying to anyone. I asked him about it.”

  “Oh, really? Why didn’t you ask me about it?”

  “Maybe because you won’t return my calls.”

  Her answer found its mark. David dropped dejectedly back into his chair. “Sorry . . .”

  “What’s going on with you, man?” Maddie’s tone was gentle. “Something’s not right. What is it?”

  David lowered his head into his hands and stared back at her with a bleak expression. Maddie thought he was trying not to cry.

  “You know we both love you,” she continued. “You know we both believe in you. Why are you shutting us out?”

  “I’m not . . . I just can’t . . .”

  The phone on his desk buzzed. David jolted upright and grabbed the receiver.

  “What?” he barked. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Halsey. It’s not you. I’m just in the middle of something. No, no. I haven’t forgotten. I’m just on my way. Tell them I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up. “I have a meeting. I have to go now, or I’ll be late.”