Grave Intent

by Deborah LeBlanc

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Michael shouted. “There’s—”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t give it back. I said I can’t.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I lost it.”

  “You what?”

  “Lost it. Gone. I don’t have it, Michael.”

  Michael held his breath, waiting for a punch line. When it didn’t come, he said, “You’re shittin’ me, right?”

  Wilson shrugged. “I wish I were. That’s why I came back here, to ask you for your house keys.” He looked up at him sheepishly. “I went to your house earlier, before Janet and the girls left, because I broke out in this rash and needed a bathroom to wash up.” He held up a hand as if to thwart an assumed question. “The john here had too many people in it. Anyway, I had the medallion, or coin, or whatever the shit it is, in my jacket pocket, and when I went into your bathroom, I took the jacket off. It must have fallen out then. I didn’t find out it was missing until later, after I left your place. I went back to look for it, but—uh—your house was locked.”

  The elfish look on Wilson’s face told Michael there was more to the story than he was letting on.

  “What else?” Michael asked.

  “Huh?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “Uh—no. That’s it. I swear to—”

  “Dad . . .”

  “Okay, okay, so there’s the thing with one of the back windows on your house,” Wilson blurted.

  “What about it?”

  Wilson sat up straighter and stuck his hands between his knees. “I kind of broke it.”

  Michael frowned. “Why?”

  “Well . . . well, dammit, I didn’t mean to. It just kinda happened. I didn’t want you to find out about me taking the medallion, so . . . ” He looked down at his knees. “Shit . . . okay, so I tried to get into your house without you knowing. Tried jimmying the window, but the sonofabitch broke.” Wilson let out a thin, regretful snort and shook his head. “All that trouble, and I couldn’t even pull myself up through it.”

  Michael didn’t know whether to hit him, this time on purpose, or fall on the floor from shock at having been told the truth. He did neither. He just stood, staring at Wilson, wondering what was going on. Ever since the incident in the embalming room, when he’d inadvertently punched him in the jaw, something seemed to be changing with his father. Admitting his faults—owning up to his actions—telling the truth—well, eventually telling the truth. Definite changes. Big ones. It made Michael nervous.

  Deciding it better not to kick a zebra while it was in the throes of possible mutation, Michael bypassed the window incident and said, “Then we’ll search my house.”

  Wilson looked up at him with a shocked expression. “You’re . . . you’re not pissed?”

  “I’m not jumping for joy over the fact that you tried breaking into the house, but at least you told me the truth about it. The most important thing right now is getting that gold piece back to the Stevensons. Once you return it, and maybe with a little damage control, you might only have to spend a year in prison instead of ten.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  Michael allowed the following silence to breed into a level of discomfort that made Wilson chew on his upper lip.

  Finally, Michael said, “All right, we’ll start with this—I’ll go to the house and look for the coin. You finish aspirating the body in the prep room. I don’t want to leave it overnight. When you’re done, come meet me. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”

  Wilson stood up and glanced around nervously. “How come I’m the one who has to stay?”

  Michael eyed him.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll aspirate,” Wilson said, then trudged off to the prep room, grumbling.

  Still amazed at the seemingly evolving Wilson, Michael left the funeral home and headed across the street for home.

  Ponderous clouds clotted the dark, western sky, and Michael spotted lightning knit the horizon to the firmament. The lightning quickly grew in frequency and brightness, and Michael loitered, watching the light show. Each flash brought to mind the events of his day. The Stevenson service, the missing coin, the shadows he’d chased, hitting his father, the vanishing old man. Alone, each had been duly weird, frustrating, a challenge he’d never faced before. But now, reviewing them collectively, Michael had the odd feeling they were like the lightning, all warning signs, but of some strange, cosmic storm preparing to strike.

  Michael quickened his steps and wiggled the knot loose on his tie. “You’re flaking out, Savoy,” he muttered. “You need sleep.”

  By the time he reached home, Michael remembered the broken window his father had told him about. At this late hour, it would be impossible to find a repairman to fix it. He’d have to find a trash bag or piece of cardboard to tape over the hole before the rain came.

  “Thanks, Dad,” he mumbled, and entered his house. For a moment, Michael stood by the kitchen door, breathing in familiar scents. Janet’s favorite lavender soap, lemon furniture polish, a hint of chicken stew.

  He went to the refrigerator and opened it. Just as he suspected, a blue Tupperware bowl sat on the second shelf with a note taped to the lid. It read: Supper. Please eat! Love, me.

  Loneliness settled over him. Though they’d only left that afternoon, Michael missed his family. The special smile Janet always gave him when he came home from work. The way Ellie bounced around his legs, always so excited to see him. Her bright blue eyes always lit up something in his heart that he would’ve died for.

  With a sigh, Michael removed the bowl from the fridge, placed it on the counter, then glanced over at the kitchen clock. A quarter to eleven. Way past Ellie’s bedtime, but if he was lucky, Janet might still be awake.

  Michael grabbed the cordless phone and dialed the number to the cabin. After two short rings, he heard a recorded, female voice say, “We’re sorry, all circuits are busy now. Please try your call again later.”

  He hung up and carried the phone with him to the bathroom.

  A quick inspection of the tidy, blue-carpeted room turned up nothing but the standard bathroom essentials. Michael checked behind the door and found one of Ellie’s butterfly barrettes on the floor. He picked it up and without thinking, stuck it into his pant’s pocket, then moved on to the tub. No gold piece there, either, just yellow, nonskid appliqués shaped like daisies.

  Michael lowered the lid to the toilet and sat. He considered the possibility that his father might have been lying to throw him off track. Maybe Wilson already hocked the piece. But if he’d sold it to a pawnshop, there would have been no need for him to admit he’d broken the window. The confession would’ve been useless and dumb, even for his father. That left Michael with Wilson’s original story. If his father had come into the bathroom, removed his jacket, and the coin fell out, logically, it should still be here. Logic was one thing, however, reality often another. The damned coin wasn’t here.

  Giving his brains a rest, Michael punched the redial button on the phone, then once again listened to the two short rings and, “We’re sorry, all circuits are busy now. Please try your call again later.”

  “Shit.” Michael didn’t know anything about phone circuitry, but he figured if the technology was available to send men to the moon, somebody should be able to get a simple phone call through to Carlton, Louisiana.

  He clicked off the phone and with a groan, got to his feet and went back into the kitchen.

  Once there, he placed the telephone back on its charger, then retraced what he thought his father’s steps might have been from the kitchen door to the bathroom. Along the way, he looked behind doors and under furniture.

  Still no coin.

  Michael repeated the same process from the living room door to the bathroom, just in case Wilson had come in from that direction. It yielded the same results—nothing.

  Deciding to wait until h
is father returned before going through another search, Michael detoured to the kitchen. He divided the stew into two portions so Wilson would have something to eat later, then heated his share in the microwave.

  Twenty minutes later, with his stomach full and eyelids drooping, Michael plodded off to his recliner in the living room.

  “Just for a minute,” he said aloud, settling into the chair. “I’ll sit for only a minute.”

  Almost immediately, Michael felt his breathing deepen and his mouth go slack. He lifted his head, thinking he’d better get up. The chair was too comfortable, and he too tired. Not a good combination for someone who needed to stay awake. But he allowed his head to drop back and his eyes to close.

  A little bit longer, he thought. That’s all. I promise.

  His last thought before falling into deep sleep came by way of an image. Anna Stevenson’s worried face. She was saying something—warning him—crying. . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  By late afternoon, gray clouds hung over the fairgrounds like thick fungus. Janet swatted at a fly with the notepad she’d used to tally the day’s sales.

  “Not a bad haul,” she said to Sylvia. “Forty-eight dollars and only two pies left.”

  “I say that calls for a break.” Sylvia wiped sweat from her face with a paper towel.“We might be closing shop early anyhow by the looks of this weather.” She stuck her head out from under the tin awning of the concession stand and peered up at the sky. “Could use a little sprinkle to get rid of this heat.”

  “That’s for sure.” Janet tossed the notepad into a cardboard box. “Why don’t you go and get something to drink? I’ll stay here until you get back.”

  “And miss sticking that skinny hairdresser, Mae Beth, with one of these pies? Not a chance.” Sylvia stuck a hand into her blouse to adjust a bra strap. “I forked out nearly four bucks for one of Mae Beth’s barbecue dinners at noon, so she owes me. You go on and find Rodney and the girls. Take a little walk, stretch your legs. You can bring me a lemonade on your way back.”

  Janet gave her a little salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’m not going to argue with a deal like that.”

  “Good.” Sylvia said, perching on a wooden stool. “Take your time.”

  With a wave, Janet left the concession stand and headed for the midway. The air was still and scented with cotton candy, roasted hot dogs, and horse dung from the nearby pony rides.

  She paused near the Tilt-A-Whirl and watched the buckets twist and race at breakneck speed. Its prismatic light show flashed to the beat of an old Beach Boys’ tune. A few feet away, staggered like giant toys on display, the Rocket Swing and Zipper, Snake Coaster and Tornado called to only the bravest of hearts. Chattering, flush-faced kids squirmed in lines, waiting their turn. Just beyond them were rides more suited to Janet’s taste, the merry-go-round, kiddy boats, and bumper cars. She’d never been able to handle the spin, height, or speed of the other rides, even as a little girl. Just looking at the Ferris wheel, which she spotted churning in the distance, made her feel queasy and light-headed.

  She concentrated on the nearby barkers who shouted their bargains to passersby.

  “Two tries for a buck, five for two,” one called as he threw darts at inflated balloons on a corkboard behind him. “Best deal of the day!”

  “Right here, pretty lady, right here,” another cried after her. “Three balls for two bucks. Make the hoop and win yourself a stuffed panda.”

  Janet smiled politely and shook her head.

  “Aw, come on. I’ll even give you a free throw. How ‘bout it?”

  “Maybe later.” Janet spotted Rodney, Ellie, and Heather at the Ring-Toss booth and headed toward them.

  As she stepped up behind the threesome, Rodney tossed a rubber ring at a pegboard. It fell to the ground with a plop.

  “Doggone it,” Rodney said. He slapped five dollars on the counter.

  “Yeah, doggone it!” the girls chorused.

  Janet watched the scrawny teen running the Toss, scoop up Rodney’s money, then place three more rings on the counter.

  “Three’s a charm,” Janet said. She reached around Rodney to tickle Ellie’s ear, happy to see her daughter smiling. Last night, after the humming episode, Ellie wound up tossing and turning in her sleep. Four times she’d cried out for Janet, and all four times when Janet rushed to her bedside, Ellie detailed the same nightmare. A man wearing a white hat chased her. He ran fast, Ellie claimed, because he could turn into a dog with big, long legs. She also said that a woman with pointy black hair, which, after deciphering Ellie’s adamant gestures, Janet translated to mean a widow’s peak, tried to help her. But the dog-man was bigger and ran faster, and just when he was about to bite into her leg, Ellie would wake up. She’d looked so exhausted this morning, Janet had considered canceling the fair. But after an hour of the girls’ begging, she’d conceded. Now, judging by the shine in Ellie’s eyes, it had been the right call.

  “Hey there, Little Bit,” Rodney said, grinning over his shoulder. “‘Bout time Syl let you out that cage.”

  Ellie scrambled to Janet’s side and tugged on her blouse. “Mama, look what Mr. Rodney’s gonna win for me.” Her face radiated with excitement as she pointed to the shelves of prizes along the inside of the booth. There were stuffed dogs and giraffes, posters of the latest teen heartthrobs, flags and whistles, pouches and zippered bags, and on the very top shelf, a menagerie of handblown glass animals. Each item had a numbered tag hanging from it, which Janet assumed corresponded to the numbers taped below each peg that jutted out from the back wall.

  “Which one?” Janet asked her.

  “That one.” Ellie jabbed the air with a finger. “Number—uh—” She looked up at Rodney.

  “Forty-two,” he said with his hands cupped around his mouth as though sharing a covert code.

  “Yeah, forty-two.” Ellie pointed again.

  Janet surveyed the numbered tags. “Which one’s forty-two?”

  “Up there,” Ellie said, jumping up and down. “The pony.”

  Heather’s head poked out from around Rodney’s side. “I’m getting the big Pooh bear,” she announced.

  Janet spied the Pooh bear sitting on a bottom shelf with the rest of the stuffed animals, but the only horse she saw was one made of glass. It sat on the corner of the top shelf and was about the size of Ellie’s hand. The transparent head was thrown back, its nostrils flared, and the large, red glass eyes appeared frozen in virulent madness. An orange tag with the number 42 hung around its neck. The sight of the glass beast made Janet uneasy.

  “Why not try for a stuffed giraffe?” she coaxed.

  Ellie’s eyes fixed on the glass horse, her expression determined. “No, the pony.”

  Janet looked at Rodney, who grinned and shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter,” he said. “I’ll be lucky to get one of them posters at the rate I’m going.” He picked up one of the rings and spun it around a finger. “Wanna give it a shot?”

  “Sure,” Janet said, figuring she could aim for something less breakable and less creepy. She stepped up to the counter.

  “They’re spaced close together,” Rodney said, motioning to the pegs. “So the hoops bounce off real easy. But I could’ve been throwin’ too hard.”

  Janet balanced the ring between her thumb and forefinger and felt Ellie press against her leg.

  “Don’t miss, okay?” Ellie said anxiously.

  Janet winked at her, then flipped her wrist, sending the rubber doughnut across the booth. Heather squealed as it bounced against the wall, teetered over a peg, then fell to the floor.

  “This is nearly impossible,” Janet said to Rodney. She reached for another ring. This time she held it so she looked through its center. Instead of tossing it, she shoved it vertically toward the wall.

  “Number seven!” the barker shouted as the ring found its way around a peg. He grabbed a plastic doll from a shelf and handed it to Janet.

  “Well I’ll be doggone,” Rodney said. With a laugh,
he stuck his hands into the bib of his overalls. “You’re a natural, Little Bit.”

  With a laugh, Janet took the doll and placed it on the counter. She saw Ellie eye the last ring dejectedly. “One more toss,” she said to both girls. “If I don’t get another prize with this one, I get to keep the doll. If I do get a prize, we’ll flip a coin to see who gets what. Deal?”

  Heather nodded, and Ellie took a deep breath.

  Holding the last ring in the same vertical position, Janet aimed for the number seven peg. If she was lucky, she’d win another plastic doll and not have to worry about flipping any coin. She let the ring go and closed her eyes.

  “Number forty—” The barker’s voice was lost to shrieks of joy.

  Janet’s eyes flew open, and she scanned the pegs. The rubber loop hung on a peg near the barker, three feet to the left of where she’d aimed. The number taped below the peg was 42.

  “You did it, Mama!” Ellie shouted. “You did it!”

  Janet stood open-mouthed as the boy placed the glass horse on the counter.

  Ellie scooped it up and clutched it to her chest. “I’m gonna name him, Joe-Joe.” She grinned up at her mother. “That’s a good name for my pony, huh?”

  “How about another round?” the barker asked Janet.

  Janet’s mouth snapped shut. She shook her head at the barker, picked up the doll on the counter, and handed it to Heather. She caught Rodney’s eye, and he scratched his chin, a bewildered look on his face.

  “Don’t you think so, Mama?” Ellie asked. She kissed the horse on the nose and stroked its hooves.

  “It’s a great name, honey,” Janet said, trying to compose herself as she shooed the girls away from the booth.

  “But I wanted the Pooh bear,” Heather whined. Her bottom lip began to tremble.

  “Tell you what,” Rodney said. He shoveled Heather into his arms, and she giggled when he propped her up against his shoulder. “What say we take one more ride on the Ferris wheel before calling it a day?”

  “Can we, Aunt Janet?” Heather begged, the Pooh bear seemingly forgotten. “Please?”

  Janet looked up at the thickening clouds. “Think there’s time before the rain?” she asked Rodney.