The Devil's Bones

by Larry D. Sweazy

Jordan's chest constricted. He'd expected to hear those words once he saw the girl's face turn solemn on the phone. But actually hearing them was different than he imagined. A million images flashed through his mind, all of them starting and ending at Longer's Pond.

  “Where's Celeste?” Jordan asked.

  “She had some calls to make. Albert Patton. Some family. And she's trying to find Ginny,” Big Joe said.

  “Man, this sucks,” Spider said.

  “What do you mean, she's trying to find Ginny?” Jordan asked, unwrapping his fingers from the wheelchair. He sat down in a chair, leaving an empty space between himself and Big Joe.

  “She was supposed to be here a long time ago,” Big Joe said.

  “I saw her drop Dylan off at the station this morning,” Jordan said.

  Spider sat silently in the wheelchair, his face as expressionless as the people in the lobby, obviously lost somewhere in his own thoughts.

  “That's what Louella said. Nobody's seen her since.”

  “I don't like this,” Jordan said. “Not after my run-in with Ed.”

  “Celeste is pretty upset that Ginny isn't here, but there was so much going on it was hard for her to do much about it. She wasn't going to leave Holister's side to go looking for her. She's been chasing after that kid all her life.”

  Spider stiffened, stretched his arms like he just woke up, an action that was as normal for him as it was for someone else's chest to flex in rhythm with their heart. “What happened? Why did Holister die?”

  Big Joe looked at Spider oddly, as if he was unsure where the question came from, why the question came at all. “His heart gave out. The surgery and wounds were too much for him.”

  “So now it's murder,” Spider said, staring directly into Jordan's eyes.

  “I suppose it is,” Big Joe said.

  “One dead pig,” Spider said, holding onto Jordan's gaze. “One to go.”

  “What the hell's that supposed to mean?” Big Joe asked.

  “It's a long story,” Jordan answered quickly.

  “But part of the fuckin' story, nonetheless,” Spider said.

  Jordan shot him a look. Would you shut the fuck up? But it didn't do any good.

  “Somebody left a dead pig in the road on the way to Longer's Pond. They left a message: ‘Two dead pigs.’ Written in blood. Jordan doesn't think it has anything to do with him, but I think it has everything to do with him,” Spider said, finally looking away from Jordan.

  “Sheriff Hogue knows about it,” Jordan interjected, flashing the look again.

  “He needs to know what the hell is going on around here, Jordan. Holister is dead, for Christ's sake. Kitty's house is toast, and you're walking around dodging a sniper while you try to outwit that hardass we call a sheriff,” Spider said.

  “I know that.” Jordan felt tears welling in his eyes. He was angry. Sad. Concerned about Ginny. Uncomfortable in his father's presence. Just the sight of Big Joe made his fingers unconsciously curl into fists.

  Big Joe studied them both, remained silent. The aquarium bubbled, a plastic diver in a red suit floated to the top of the water and then floated back down.

  “I think there's a lot of things we need to talk about, but this isn't the time or the place,” Big Joe said. “I'm going to make sure Celeste gets home . . .”

  “. . . We'll look for Ginny,” Jordan said.

  Big Joe nodded. “I'll be at the tavern later. We can talk this all out then. In the meantime, stay the hell out of trouble.” He stared directly at Jordan.

  Spider stuffed his right hand into his pocket and pulled out the St. Christopher's medal. “Hang on to this,” he said, handing the dime-sized gold piece to Big Joe.

  “What are you doing?” Jordan said incredulously. “I told you to put that in the safe.”

  “And I told you I didn't wanna be an accomplice to your bullshit when Hogue came sniffing around. Good thing I got it with me now that he's gettin' a search warrant for the tavern. My guess is he's gonna show up anytime, and I'm not goin' to jail for withholding evidence. You can if you want, but I'm not.”

  Jordan tried to grab the medal out of Joe's hand, but the old man closed it in a fist. If he'd been a dog, he would've growled. The look on his face was enough to force Jordan to stand back and stuff his hands in his pockets.

  “Where'd you get this?” Big Joe asked, examining both sides

  Spider looked up at Jordan. “You gonna tell him?”

  “Holister had it at the pond. He got a letter the day before the shooting,” Jordan said uneasily. “There was a note with it. Poorly written, like someone was trying to disguise their handwriting. It said to meet at the pond.”

  “Holister was set up?” Big Joe said.

  “Yup, and Mr. Potatohead here wants to keep that information to himself.”

  “It's leverage, Spider. I want my gun back. I want my job back. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “A million times. But it's still stupid. I don't like Hogue any more than you do, but . . .”

  Big Joe stood up. “Both of you shut up.” He shook his head and tumbled the St. Christopher's medal in his hand, caressing both sides gently. “Esperanza,” he said, his tone softening, his eyes lifting to the ceiling.

  Spider reached in his other pocket, pulled out the letter, and handed it to Big Joe.

  “So, the past really has come back to haunt us. This is why you asked me about Tito Cordova in the car, isn't it?” Big Joe asked Jordan, taking the letter from Spider.

  He nodded.

  “This would surely get Holister's attention—get him to the pond,” Big Joe said.

  “And you home from Florida,” Spider said.

  CHAPTER 22

  January 5, 1995, 6:19 P.M.

  Kitty stood at the window, watching it snow. A fire crackled in the fireplace, lazy yellow and blue flames dancing along the bottom of the logs, and the sweet smell of hardwood filled the room. She had on a thick white hand-knitted sweater that matched the color of her hair, and a pair of gray wool slacks. A pot of chili sat simmering on the stove—Indiana chili, mild in taste, a thick sauce full of big chunks of tomatoes, green peppers, onions, hamburger, and macaroni. Dusk settled in early in the winter, and it was totally dark outside, even though it was barely evening. Jordan stopped as he crossed the living room. The sight of Kitty's spindly frame made him uneasy.

  His grandmother was nearly eighty years old. Her health was failing quickly—so much so that she had turned herself back over to the world of modern medicine. The windowsill above the kitchen sink was lined with medicine bottles, all in alphabetical order, each for a malady that he did not understand because Kitty would never tell him the extent of her troubles, of her illness, or what the doctor had diagnosed.

  He knew, however, that her death would come sooner rather than later. She had lost a lot of weight since the autumn winds turned cold, and now she was little more than a withered tree with all of her leaves decaying on the ground at her feet. She'd always looked old, but now she looked haggard, more tired than he could ever remember. He tried not to think about the certainty of what lay ahead. Jordan could barely imagine a world without his grandmother.

  She had seen him through the roughest years of his life, given him a home, and worked hard at being a parent when she was long past the time in her life to do so. He loved her for it, even though he had not been very appreciative of it at the time. But things had changed. His life was just starting, he knew what direction he was heading, and for once, he was happy.

  Everything had fallen into place once he and Holister had mended their fences, and Jordan had decided to become a cop. Everything but his relationship with Ginny. And that was going to come to an end, or a beginning, soon. He had finally decided that it was time for an ultimatum: Ginny would have to pick Ed Kirsch or him—and they'd both have to live with the choice she made. If only he could convince himself to stick to his guns, to really force Ginny to make a choice . . .

  “I t
alked to the lawyer today,” Kitty said, turning from the window. Her face was gaunt, her skin ashen, but her eyes were still sharp, still deep blue, the color of a summer sky.

  Jordan stiffened. He knew the conversation that was coming, and he didn't want to have it. “Do we have to talk about this now? I have a date.”

  Kitty nodded and eased her way over to the sofa that was centered in front of the fireplace. She sat down and pulled a purple afghan over her lap. “Sit with me a minute.” It was an order, not a request.

  Jordan obeyed. These days, he found comfort in rules and orders. Not that he had given up his own mind, but he was starting to feel a peacefulness that appealed to his own sense of right and wrong in being told what to do, how to interrupt the laws of the world. He had two weeks to go before he started a three-month course at the police academy in Indianapolis, and he couldn't wait. Not only would the time away from Dukaine be an adventure, it would be the start of his new life. He was excited and scared at the same time.

  “I need you and George to go with me before you leave so I can sign the house over to both of you,” Kitty said. She hated Spider's nickname and refused to utter it aloud, or join the rest of the town who had happily donned her grandson with a moniker wrought with ironic pain.

  “Can't that wait?”

  “No, I don't think it can. I want to make sure I have everything in order before you leave.” Kitty drew a deep breath. Jordan could hear her chest rattle. “I know you might be disappointed that I've left the house to you and George, but it is the only fair thing to do. What your father did was wrong, but this house is as much George's as it is yours.”

  Jordan's stomach growled. The smell of the chili made him aware of his hunger, but he'd lost his appetite. He had not heard a word from his father since he had left town four years ago. Essentially, Jordan had been disowned. The tavern belonged to Spider, one hundred percent, and even though the thought had never occurred to him that Kitty would leave him total ownership of the house, the act did bring the wound on his soul to the surface. It was almost as if Kitty was asking him to relive the death and abandonment of his childhood all over again. He had to fight with everything he had not to fly into a rage—even though he didn't understand why he felt so angry.

  “I know that,” Jordan snapped.

  Kitty feigned a smile. “I wanted you to know now. Spider is all the family you have, and some day you'll need him. I don't want this to put a wedge between the two of you.”

  “It won't.”

  “Will you promise me that?”

  “Yes,” Jordan said, even though he didn't believe he would ever need Spider. They barely saw each other these days, and barely spoke when they did.

  Kitty's eyes flickered. She knew he hadn't told her the entire truth—her facial expressions always spoke louder than her words. But she didn't pursue the conversation. “All right, then, as long as it's settled.”

  “I don't care about the house—I mean, I'll take care of it for you, you know that. Spider hardly leaves the tavern.”

  “I know you will,” Kitty said, easing the afghan off her lap. “Sometimes I think the best thing that ever happened for both of us is when your father left. And it was the worst thing, too. I never liked your father, didn't trust him any farther than I could throw him, but I never thought things would turn out like they did. He was an alley cat—I just wish I could have warned your mother off of him. Lord knows I tried. She knew he had a roaming eye, knew he would be a hard man to pin down. But then I wouldn't have you and George if she hadn't followed her heart, would I?”

  Jordan answered her with silence. He'd heard all of this before. Kitty repeated herself constantly, especially in the last few years, never straying from the stories he'd heard since he'd come to live with her.

  “If I thought it would do any good,” Kitty continued, “I'd tell you more about him. I know you have questions, I know it hurts. But you can't change the past, can you? Your life is ahead of you, not behind you.”

  Jordan shook his head and rose to his feet. “I need to go.”

  Kitty reached out and grabbed his hand, stared into his eyes. “I'm really proud of you, Jordan. I'm really happy you're finding your way. Being a policeman is an honorable thing. There aren't many choices in this town—I feared for a long time you would end up working at the SunRipe plant or working in Morland like your grandfather. He was a very unhappy man. Neither is the place for you.”

  “I could never work for Buddy Mozel, or in any kind of factory for that matter,” Jordan said.

  “No, I don't suppose you could. Holister is a good man.” She hesitated, drew in a deep breath. “But he has his secrets too. We all do. Some days, I think this town is cursed. We've all treated the Mexicans poorly. Try not to carry on that legacy, will you?”

  “I don't have anything against the Mexicans,” Jordan said as he pulled away. “I'll be back later, we can talk about this tomorrow.”

  “There's always tomorrow, isn't there?” Kitty smiled, but it was a hard smile, a knowing smile, an acerbic grin that made Jordan shiver.

  “Jordan,” she called out as he grabbed the doorknob to leave, “You should stay away from Ginny. She's no good for you. Just like your father was no good for your mother. Don't make the same mistake she did—it cost her her life.”

  A tremble ran up Jordan's spine. The continuation of the conversation about his mother and father brought immediate visions of blood, of anger, of faces and voices he could barely see and hear in his memory. A picture of his mother, all decked out in her senior prom dress, sat on the mantle—a beautiful girl he did not know, who had grown into a woman and was lost in a senseless car accident. A ghost who had been gone almost half of his life. Pictures after she married Big Joe were put away, bound in heavy string, locked in a trunk in the attic. Rarely, if ever, did Kitty speak so openly about his mother, so directly, and she had intentionally touched a nerve—he could see the pain of it in her eyes.

  “Why do you hate Ginny so much?” he asked.

  “I don't hate her. I've known Ginny since she was born. She was the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. Her hair was golden. It was so pure it turned white in the summer. People would just stare at her, treat her as if she were royalty. If her last name had been Mozel instead of Coggins she would have owned this town even more than she did. A person gets used to that kind of attention, comes to expect it. Trust me, Jordan, you will not be enough for her. Nor will you be able to give her enough. For whatever the reason, Holister has pulled away from Ginny now that she's grown, and his attention is the one man she can't capture. Don't think you can fill the hole that exists within her, because you can't.”

  “Why?” Jordan asked softly. He had never heard this story before. “What happened between Ginny and Holister? They can't stand to be in the same room with each other.”

  “I don't know. It's probably just a natural thing between fathers and daughters. And I suppose Celeste and Holister are like every other married couple. They've had their ups and downs. My guess is they had Ginny to hold them together. Bad thing is, it worked out just the opposite. Holister spends more time in his police car than he does at home. I suppose that's a blessing to us, and a curse to Celeste. But I wouldn't know, she hasn't taken me into her confidence for years.”

  Jordan knew there was a strain between Kitty and Celeste, but he never pried, was never really interested in finding out why. He was only interested in spending time with Ginny. Sometimes when he was younger, just being in the same room with her had been enough. “Did Holister ever step out on Celeste?” he asked.

  Kitty eyed Jordan seriously. “You always were one for questions, weren't you?” She chuckled with approval in her eyes, but grew serious quickly. “Do you mean was Holister like your father? No, I don't think so. But I don't really know. How could I? Like I said, he's a good man. He was a friend of your father's a long time ago, when they were young. Buddy Mozel, too. The three of them were real close. But they went their separate w
ays, like most young people do. Don't gauge Holister by your father's deeds, Jordan, that's a dangerous way to live.” She stood. “I've said too much already. I'm going to bed. But, Jordan, please be careful.”

  “I love her, Kitty.”

  “I'm sure you think you do. Just be careful, and stay away from her. Find someone else to love—someone who will love you back.”

  He opened the door as Kitty padded down the hall to her bedroom, her words still ringing in his ears. Her stern order to stay away from Ginny was one he knew he would disobey. Kitty didn't know Ginny like he did, didn't know how much he loved her. He was bound and determined to win Ginny over, no matter what Kitty thought, or how much Ginny claimed she loved Ed Kirsch.

  A cold rush of air stung his face and snowflakes quickly covered his head before he could put on his black ski cap. In the distance he heard a snowplow scraping Main Street, could see the glow of pulsing yellow lights cutting through the darkness. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, Jordan stumbled and almost fell. He hadn't paid any attention to the drift piling up in front of the stoop. His mind was elsewhere . . . wondering how love could be so great if it hurt so much, if the whole world was against you.

  January 5, 1995, 11:13 P.M., Monterrey, Mexico

  Tito stood silently behind the curtain. Light slid underneath the thin sheer, illuminating his feet. He could barely breathe, and could not move, could not take his eyes from Aidia Marquez's silhouette as she bent over on the toilet and brushed her hair. His thoughts were dark, unimaginable, as he envisioned Aidia's lustrous brown skin and tried with all of his might to fight off the curiosity of her nakedness.

  Aidia had been kind to him, and he knew the lust he felt was wrong. The nuns would condemn him, instruct him to say the rosary a hundred times, go to confession to be absolved. But there was no God in Aidia's house, no way to rid oneself of sin. She would only laugh at him, shoo him out the door to fetch her tequila or groceries for the week, make him sweep the porch and sing a silly song, or clean her paintbrushes, all the while listening to ópera music. Her punishments confused him . . .