Something in the Water...

by Jule McBride

  “Please,” she begged once more. “Please. Make me come.”

  Another thick finger thrust inside her. His tongue went wild. And then she arched to the mouth drinking her in like a river, and as the dam burst, she let go of the last vestige of control.

  6

  “I TOLD YOU I RECOGNIZED that guy,” whispered Jeb Pass. He was seated in front of the library’s ancient microfiche machine, rolling the lever to advance the screen.

  “Be quiet,” said Marsh as he wrenched around, looking over his shoulder. “We don’t want Chicken Giblets to come before we’re finished.”

  They were lucky she’d let them into the library at all. Closing time was seven this evening, but the boys had explained they’d come earlier, only to find the library shut, and that they had to get in now, to complete a top-secret project on Bliss’s history.

  “You’re lucky I’m here,” Chicken Giblets had replied, as if she might have had reason to drive away in the two-room mobile trailer that served as the library. Once a week, on Saturdays, the trailer was driven to smaller neighboring towns by her assistant, a seventy-six-year-old man named Carl DeLyle who, unlike his boss, hadn’t yet lost his license.

  “It’s not Saturday,” Jeb had reminded her, wondering if she was starting to lose her mind as well as her vision.

  “No, but Mr. DeLyle and I may have to use the vehicle. Who knows?” Her voice had dropped. “We might need to get out of town. As you may have heard,” she added, “I’m the one who called the CDC. I think something…well, that something funny might be happening in Bliss. Does your…” She paused. “Top secret project,” she continued, using the boys’ exact words, “involve that?”

  Jeb considered. “We don’t know yet, but possibly.”

  Now Jeb was wondering if Chicken Giblets was right. When they’d gone to the library the first time, he and Marsh had run into their schoolmate, Jay Jones. Unbelievably industrious, Jay edited the student paper and traveled to Charleston for chess matches, and he was generally busy in the early evening, delivering newspapers. Instead, he’d been swimming in the spring with one of the summer visitors, a cute brunette, and even more disturbing, he hadn’t seemed to care that he’d blown off his deliveries.

  “What happened to him?” Marsh had said, unable to hide his shock.

  Jeb had just shaken his head in dismay, feeling equally worried.

  Not knowing what to do, Jeb and Marsh had taken over the paper route, only skipping delivery to the Teasdale Terror House. Then, back in town, they’d grabbed a bite at Jack’s Diner, and Michelle had sauntered over to sit in a booth with them during her break. When Marsh had gotten up to put some money into the jukebox, Michelle had asked Jeb to the movies. Stunned, he’d considered turning her down, if only because her change of attitude was so abrupt, and because the rumors about the spring had made him question her motives. But then, he’d been waiting all summer for her to notice him, so he’d agreed to meet her at eight, which meant that he and Marsh really had to wrap up this research project soon.

  As it was, Jeb didn’t have time to go home before meeting Michelle. He’d have just enough time to duck into Marsh’s place, across from the theater, take a shower and borrow fresh jeans. Which he’d better, he thought now. He could swear Michelle had blown him an air kiss through the window of Jack’s when they’d left, so he wanted to look his best. If he was lucky, maybe Marsh’s dad would even have some cologne.

  Now Jeb scrolled upward. “I’m sure it’s him.”

  “The Core Coal Company,” Marsh whispered, rattling off the names in the text under a picture, then shaking his head as he read the last. “Angus Lyons.”

  “I’m pretty sure,” Jeb repeated.

  “He looks different now,” said Marsh.

  “He’s older. And he’s got a beard and long white hair.”

  Both boys paused, silently reading the article that detailed how the group had almost successfully bought up Bliss’s land by pretending they intended to develop rather than strip-mine it, and how Eli Saltwell had uncovered the plot.

  Marsh said, “Do you think he came back to buy land again?”

  “Dunno. Maybe he’s connected to…”

  “The fact that it might be happening again?” Marsh finished.

  Jeb nodded. “The recipe book’s gone, and Sheriff Underwood didn’t even bother to question us, or Pappy, even though Hammerhead’s bandanna and paw prints were found at the crime scene. And how could anyone get into that safe, anyway? I heard whoever broke into the Teasdale Terror House just opened it, as if they knew the combination.”

  “Maybe the witches did it themselves,” suggested Marsh. “They’re the only ones who know the combination. Anybody else would have to blow the safe up. Or like the last attempt, try to drag the safe off the property and open it elsewhere.”

  Jeb frowned. “But why would the witches do that?”

  “A publicity stunt, maybe,” Marsh offered. “To drum up more business for Terror House.”

  “They had a full house all summer,” argued Jeb. “And now, that guy from the CDC is up there.” Everybody had been talking about him in Jack’s Diner. “Sheriff Underwood says he’s checking the water for a virus that could have caused…”

  Marsh swallowed hard and glanced toward the six-pack of bottled water he and Jeb had just bought at the Superette. Judging from the empty shelf, there were other people in town who’d had the same idea. “If there is anything to the rumors,” Marsh said, “we’d better make sure we don’t get infected.”

  Both boys had shared fantasies of saving the town, on the off chance that everyone became infected. “Ariel’s back in town, too,” said Jeb nervously. “And that usually spells trouble.”

  “I heard one of your granddad’s friends was watching birds by Panty Point,” said Marsh. “And he saw Ariel and the sheriff swimming. Now Joanie Underwood’s mad and not talking to her husband.”

  “They never talk anyway,” said Jeb. “Mom told me that Mrs. Underwood’s wanted a divorce ever since their third baby was born. And she was always jealous of Ariel.”

  Marsh blew out a long sigh, as if to say the talk of the town would be too much for anyone to fully process. “But how did Hammerhead get all the way up to Terror House? You know how lazy he is.”

  “I could never even teach him how to fetch,” Jeb said.

  “Boys?” Giblets’s voice trailed down the tiny hallway just as Jeb dropped a quarter into a slot to get a printout of the article. “How are you coming along in there?”

  “Almost done,” they called in unison.

  But Jeb was sure things had only just begun.

  A BONFIRE BLAZED in a concrete pit made especially for the purpose, and Rex glanced toward the kids who were enjoying it, roasting marshmallows. “Nice,” he murmured, slipping a hand around Ariel’s back and urging her closer on the picnic bench. The buffet meal served in the tearoom had been the best he’d ever eaten, even better than some of his own mother’s specialty menus, which was saying something. Complete with roasted lamb, rhubarb, stewed tomatoes, okra and fresh corn, the dinner was topped only by the conversation. The guests had shared their life experiences, and they’d shown the usual interest in the Centers for Disease Control and Rex’s world travels. They’d questioned Ariel, too, about her work in TV production.

  Not that either of them had garnered more attention than the witches. Ebola, hantavirus and reporting human-interest stories had taken a back seat to the three solemn women dressed in black, carrying brooms and canes and telling tall tales of stolen books of recipes chock-full of killing poisons and love teas. But Rex had been pleasantly surprised to discover he fit in, and that Ariel’s relatives had taken a shine to him.

  Most times, he was put off by crowds. Analytical and scientific by nature, he was a reader, and he’d been an only child of older parents. Maybe that was why he’d hit it off so well with Gran and Great-gran, he thought now, as well as Ariel’s mother.

  “Quit,” Ariel murmured,
reacting to the way he was nuzzling her ear and scooting nearer on the bench.

  “You don’t really want me to stop,” he whispered back. They were both waiting until they could sneak away and get into bed. Turning toward her, he swung a leg over the bench, then pulled her between his legs, drawing a satisfied breath when the pressure of her back hit the fly of his shorts.

  “Listen,” she said.

  “You want to know what Matilda looked like?” Gran was asking the group of kids who were roasting marshmallows. Those less hungry stood off to the side, delighting themselves by holding sparklers, or playing badminton near the house under a spotlight. Traces of red light arced in the dark, and all the trees and bushes winked with fireflies.

  “Yes,” said a young girl. “Was Matilda pretty?”

  “I imagine she was.” Gran laughed. “Seeing as she was my relative.”

  Both children and parents giggled, but Gran wasn’t perturbed. “Why…” She looked toward her granddaughter and Rex. “I do believe she looked nearly identical to Ariel, with long blond hair and blue eyes.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Rex whispered, wanting to drag her back upstairs. He’d be gone tomorrow, so tonight was his only chance to explore every inch of her. He tightened his arm around her waist, still barely believing the sex they’d shared on the floor before dinner, or what the night before them promised. It was a good thing he was leaving in the morning, he decided. The chemistry between him and this woman was too strong. He’d lose his head over her, and since he’d just broken an engagement, he wanted to enjoy unattached sex for a while.

  Janet really wasn’t entirely out of his system. When he’d seen Ariel in that pink, feminine suit, he’d definitely wanted to take her down a peg. And then, when he’d heard Studs Underwood talking about their past, he’d felt…

  Jealous. There was no reason for it. Rex tried to remind himself that he didn’t even really know her, but then, rationality never had stopped a man’s emotions. At the dock, maybe he’d been reminded of Janet, too, since it had turned out that Ariel, like Janet, had a more adventurous past. The impression was furthered when he’d ridden up Mountain Drive in Studs’s Land Rover because the sheriff had talked nonstop about what a wild woman Ariel had been.

  Not that Rex trusted Studs. Rex had always been a good judge of character, and something about the guy didn’t add up. Beginning with his name, Rex thought now. The sheriff was hardly a stud. Balding on top and sporting unattractive stubble on his broad chin, he looked like he carried a chip on his shoulder, felt people owed him something.

  Now Rex’s eyes meshed with Ariel’s, and he smiled. He’d definitely broken his own law upstairs, the one he’d written after Janet, telling himself not to get involved. Of course, his and Ariel’s affair would only last for tonight. No longer. Pushing aside the thoughts, he forced himself to refocus his attention on Gran’s story.

  “…now about Running Deer. That was the name of Matilda’s escort,” Gran was saying. “He was a big man. Taller than a house, and it was said he could fell ten men with one swoop of his tomahawk.”

  “Could he really?” one young boy asked.

  “Oh, probably not,” admitted Gran. “That might have been an exaggeration. Why, you know how people like to tell tall tales! But he was tough enough to get Matilda all the way over the mountain and then Matilda built the house where you’re staying.”

  “Did Matilda and Running Deer fall in love?” asked a girl.

  “An excellent question,” said Gran, as she smoothed down the front of her black dress. “And many have thought so, although we don’t know. All we have left of Matilda is the book of recipes, which has now been stolen, and the house she built.”

  “And are stories about the water true?”

  Gran raised a brow. “Which stories?”

  “Does it have magical properties?” asked an older woman, half in jest, as if to say she hadn’t believed what she’d heard.

  “Seems like it to me,” Rex whispered.

  After they’d made love, they’d separated long enough to change—her into another light, airy sundress, and him, into a pair of shorts and a button-down blue shirt. Now he dipped his chin, planting a kiss on a bare shoulder. His thumb followed, rubbing circles on the spot his mouth had vacated, warming her skin, drawing a promise that he meant to make good on soon.

  “You’ve been drinking bottled water,” she said.

  “The pool,” he reminded.

  “You told me chlorine would probably kill a bug.”

  “Possibly, but who knows?”

  “Well, let’s not start widespread panic,” she said.

  “Panic?”

  “Don’t you watch movies about the CDC?”

  “Some.” He smiled. “What say we go upstairs and quarantine you?”

  “You don’t seem to be taking the threat too seriously.”

  “Judging by my last girlfriend,” he admitted, “being infected by love could be quite dangerous. I’d say it’s right up there with every other contagious disease.”

  Her shoulders shook with merriment. He liked hearing her laugh; the sound was as full as her voice and sent a thrill through him. “That bad, huh?”

  He nodded.

  “Were you madly in love?”

  “Almost married her.”

  Turning to face him, she assessed him for a long moment. He found himself starting to feel strangely flinty. “Why so surprised?”

  She shrugged. “You just didn’t seem like the type of guy to…”

  “Settle down?” Suddenly, his lips stretched into another smile. “I guess our own…” he considered carefully before he said the word “…relationship isn’t following the usual pattern.”

  “A coffee date, then dinner, then a background check, then sex?” she guessed.

  “You do background checks?”

  She shook her head, her eyes dancing. “Not usually. But for you…”

  “If you’re going to hire a detective, you’d better hurry, since it’s almost the bewitching hour.”

  Her expression soured. “Besides, the only lawman around is Studs.” As if she didn’t want to pursue that conversation, she said, “The dinner-movie thing. Is that what you did with…”

  “Janet,” he offered, surprised to find he didn’t mind talking about her. Maybe there really was something buggy in the water because he wound up saying, “Yeah, until I found her getting it on with the chef right before our wedding.”

  “Ouch.”

  He was glad she hadn’t offered saccharine sympathy. “I’m over it.”

  Her cheeks puffed, as if she were fighting a grin, and he could see her skin color, even in the dark. “Upstairs you didn’t seem to be carrying a torch.”

  “And as you pointed out, I’m probably not even affected by the local water,” he promised. “Clean as a whistle. Free of the love disease.”

  “Isn’t that how you fight viruses, anyway?” she asked, placing her hands on his upper thighs. As she slid them down toward his knees, he felt a pull at his groin. He sucked in a breath, drawing it through clenched teeth as her hands ever so slowly continued moving over his skin.

  At the touch, he’d lost all thought. “Hmm?”

  “Don’t you fight viruses by injecting a small dose of the disease itself?”

  “Ah. True.” He squeezed her thighs with his, sandwiching her in the crook of his legs. God, she felt good. He arched, just slightly, pressing his groin to her back, hoping for relief from the pleasure that had started to build, knowing he needed to get her back upstairs soon. When his eyes captured hers, they held, sparking. “I think little doses of sex might work for me,” he murmured against her neck.

  He was prepared. Before dinner, he’d driven into town and bought condoms, a trip that hadn’t gone unnoticed. First, the size of his vehicle called attention to him, as did the nature of his purchase.

  “Staying up at the Teasdale-Anderson place, huh?” the pharmacist had asked dryly.

  “S
ure am,” he’d replied.

  Only when he’d returned to the parking lot had he made the connection between the comment and his purchase. With a sinking feeling, he’d wondered about Ariel’s reputation again. Not that he’d ever believed in proverbial bad girls, per se. In fact, he’d always thought it a shame when people couldn’t admit that women had healthy sex drives, just the same as men. Nonetheless, he hated to think of such a beautiful woman growing up in the face of such ugly talk, especially in a town this small, and he didn’t want to add to the situation. From what she’d said upstairs, and how she’d reacted, she was clearly sensitive about the issue.

  Resting his chin on the top of her head, he marveled at how she fit against him. “Are you sure you’re not infected?” she whispered.

  “We’ll know in the morning.”

  He’d collected countless water samples, and now each was in the cooker, the CDC’s nickname for the tumblers in the mobile lab. They grew viruses and bacteria at advanced rates, so if any trace of Romeo really was here, he’d probably see something in the morning, when he observed the samples under a microscope. Of course, if something besides Ariel was clouding his judgement…“I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” he said, stating his earlier opinion.

  “I hope not. I mean, even if it was in the water, and isn’t harmful in any long-term way, it would still interfere with my story.”

  He brushed back a strand of hair that had blown free from a ponytail. Just like today, her hair was drawn tightly back, fixed by a clasp, and while that did accentuate her features—the wide-set eyes, smooth skin, and a small cherry mouth—he’d liked seeing it down, the impossibly long straight strands flying like silk over her shoulders. “The story’s important to you?” he prompted, though he’d heard even more about the project at dinner.

  Despite the low firelight, he could see the moment her eyes turned veiled. “Yeah,” she said simply, her voice catching.