“Oh, and dear God, help Queeg to hob-knob it up there, too. When it’s rightly his time, of course. Amen.”
“Amen,” said Boot.
“Amen.” James fumbled his way through a variation of the sign of the cross, although I figured the only Catholic thing about him was drinking and dancing.
First to his feet, Boot said, “Thank you, Dibby. Now…I’m plum-tuckered. Let’s make our way back.”
For a plum-tuckered man, Boot made short work out of trawling up the hill. By the time we reached the shack, James couldn’t catch a lick of breath. We settled onto the sofa. As if chaperoning, Queeg hopped up between us.
“Reckon I don’t have much in the way of refreshments,” said Boot, “lessen you’d like some fish jerky. Water? Whiskey?”
All of that sounded about as appealing as an ingrown toenail. Whiskey seemed to light fire in James’ eyes, though. I answered for both of us. “No thanks, Mr. Gundersen. We’re fine.” I shot James a scowl. He looked down at his hands, a chastised school-boy. A look I liked.
“Mr. Gunderson, what’s the link between Richie and Thomas?” I asked. “Do you know who…took ‘em?”
Boot got up, quickly walked toward his display of photographs. He snatched one up and on the way back to his recliner, he dropped it into my hands. “Before we go on, I want to put a face to the name. You should know who you done prayed for. Who you’re helping to put to rest.”
The face didn’t shock me, not really. “I know this boy,” I said.
“That can’t be, just can’t.” Boot shook his head solemnly. “Richie went missing when you were just a wee lil’ lass.”
“I know that, sir. But…I saw him in a vision. He was the other boy in the Saunder’s cornfield.” Since Boot had been forthcoming with me, I returned the favor, told him about my ghostly encounters, though I framed them as dreams.
Boot reacted unexpectedly. “The Saunders. Bah!” He spat on the floor. Queeg lifted his head, appeared to give his owner a disgusted look. “You wanna know what happened to them two boys, look no farther than your next door neighbors.”
“What’s the Saunders’ connection with the missing boys?”
He tossed up an arm and stump. “I hear lots of things, Dibby Caldwell. Lots of things. Yes sir…” Boot began to fade, lost in a reverie.
“Mr. Gundersen, please!” I clapped my hands. “What can you tell me?”
“I’ll tell you one thing, missy… That ol’ Evelyn Saunders? She ain’t as innocent as she plays to be. Now, she likes everyone to think she’s a frail, not quite right in the head, poor lil’ thing who can’t take care of herself. That’s far from the mark.” Boot closed one eye, stuck out his thumb and forefinger. Taking aim, he dropped his thumb, fired an imaginary shot my way. “But I got her number alright, yes sir. Ol’ Boot knows the score. Evelyn Saunder’s a man-eating monster if there ever was one. Surely she up and did away with her husband, Hedrick. And if she was capable of that, I reckon she did away with the boys as well. Sure as my name’s Boot Gundersen, I know it for gospel.”
“Did you actually hear it, Mr. Gundersen? Did Mrs. Saunders say something over the phone?”
Boot scratched his cheek, worked his way under the chin and around to the other side. “Well…no. Can’t rightly recall that she did. But I can piece things together alright.”
“Like what?” Exasperated, I tossed my hands up. Boot’s credibility as a source slowly slipped away, his age eroding memory’s edge. James didn’t help matters, fussing and fidgeting like he had better places to go.
“For starters, everyone knows Thomas wasn’t actually Hedrick’s boy. Well…maybe not everyone. But that juicy tittle-tattle kept the phone lines burning. Of course Hedrick got around, too, if you know what I mean. Not that I put much stock into rumors, mind you, but Hedrick was having relations with…ah…that is…” Boot waffled, first time for everything. He looked at me, averted his eyes. I knew what weighed on his mind. And frankly, it surprised me I didn’t give a hang.
“I’ve heard the rumors about my mom and Hedrick Saunders, Mr. Gundersen. But that’s not relevant right now. Who was Thomas’s biological daddy?”
“I could venture some guesses, I ‘spose, but that wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors. That Saunders woman got around though, just couldn’t keep her bloomers on. Now, she was careful, I’ll say that for her. Always careful about what she said on the phone. She got a lot of calls from male admirers. A lot of ‘em. But they spoke in codes of a sort, kinda like what I heard back in the Big War. Just short nothings, mind you, howdy-do’s and the likes. None of it really of import. But I heard enough to know things weren’t right. That she was cheating on her husband with half the men in Hangwell, seemed like.”
Headed nowhere again, my frustration reared. “Did Evelyn ever come right out and fess up as to who Thomas’ father was?”
Boot thought, absentmindedly scratched at himself. “No…can’t say that she did. But from what bits and pieces I heard… I believe Hedrick found out about Thomas’s heritage, then plum went outta his mind. So Evelyn killed him and covered it up. And if you murder once…I should know…” Boot’s eyes turned dark again, scary and rooted in the past. “…it don’t take much to kill again. Mark my word, Evelyn Saunders killed the three of ‘em. One after the other. Probably accountable for all the other missing kids in Hangwell, too.”
Boot dropped me right back to the beginning again. Even though he’d lured me to his shack with the promise of big revelations, he’d only given me gossip, scraps not hearty enough for starving birds. “Mr. Gundersen, is there anything else you remember? Did the Sooter sisters have contact with Mrs. Saunders?”
“Them ol’ witches? Feh. Far as I know, outside of their library, they don’t even own a tellyphone. Communicate through smoke signals or some such hooey.”
“What about Mrs. Saunders’ men callers? You remember who they were?”
“Lessee…well, there were a lot of ‘em. Mayor Hopkins, Odie Smith, Sheriff Grigsby, Daryl Mooney down from the gas station, Rod Simonson, the pharmacist…even ol’ Hy Thurgood. Evelyn wasn’t beyond tossing the town drunk a shag, shameless as she was. And, um….well, hell, Dibby… Sorry to say your daddy called on her, too.”
Whenever my world started to ground itself (and contrary to Christopher Columbus’ findings), it had a tendency to send me sailing right off the edge again.
Sick at the disclosure of Dad’s involvement, I pitched forward, a hand over my mouth. I rose, raced out of the shack.
It all made sense now, a horrible sense that didn’t sit well. Why Dad wanted me to stay away from Evelyn Saunders. He was up to his neck in everything.
I couldn’t think, could barely see. From a distance, I heard James hollering after me. Atop my bike, I wobbled out of Boot’s yard, made it onto the dirt trail. The world spun, my stomach twisted the other way. The ground raced up and things exploded with a cone of sparks.
“Dibby!”
Head pounding, I opened my eyes, looked up into James’ worried face. I closed them again, wishing for everything to fade away.
“Dibby! Are you okay?”
That damn stupid question again…
“Go away,” I muttered. “I’m sleeping.”
Leaves scattered as James plopped down next to me. “Damn, Dibs, that was some wipe-out you took. Maybe we better get you to a doctor or something.”
At the touch of his hand, I jumped. It felt cold, nearly dead. Or maybe I was feverish.
“Say something, Dibs! You okay?”
“I just wanna be left alone!”
“No.”
“What?” My eyes popped open. James, wan-looking, stroked my forehead.
“Your old man will kill me if you’ve got, like, a concussion or something and I left you in the woods.”
I sat up. Dizzy, but doable. “I’m fine. Quit your caterwauling. And get your hand offa me.”
“You sure? I mean, I’ll call for an ambulance or something.”
&n
bsp; “By the time it got here from Durham, I’d be six feet under. I’m okay, dang it.” I tried to stand, wobbled a bit. James grabbed me. I shrugged him off.
“Hey, just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help!” I brushed dirt from my arms, my backside. Brushed away any notion I needed help. “And you’re not off the hook yet! I’m still mad at you for coming. Don’t you ever listen? You almost ruined everything!”
“C’mon, Dibs. Seems to me I got here just in time. I don’t care how much he apologized, that old codger was going to do something to you. He was—”
“I can handle ol’ Boot. He wasn’t gonna hurt me.”
“Dammit! I just want to help you! Why don’t you—” His mouth snapped shut. For a change, he thought first, then calmed down. “Sorry. It’s just… I dunno, you’re the most frustrating girl I’ve ever met.”
“And I plan to stay that way.” Surely he didn’t mean it as complimentary, but I took it that way.
Side-by-side, we walked our bikes down the dirt road. The owls had returned in full force, keeping one another appraised of our progress.
“You know, just ‘cause Boot said your old man talked to Evelyn Saunders, doesn’t really mean he was, you know, having sex with her or anything.”
I suppose James was right. But my anger was something I intended to hold on to for a bit. Lately I’d forgiven folks too readily only to be betrayed by them all over again. Like James. And Dad. My heart could only take so much stomping on.
“I’m not passing judgment one way or another on my dad just yet. But the truth of the matter is he pretty much lied to my face. As usual. And I aim to make it stop.”
“How? You can’t change parents.”
I shrugged. “Same way I always do, I reckon. I’ll make him tell me everything.”
“Good luck with that. I can’t even talk to my old man.”
As if it’d suddenly keeled off a tree branch, an owl stopped mid-hoot. Pretty much used to the sensation by now, I still didn’t like it. Somewhere a switch had been triggered. The woods had grown unnaturally quiet.
“Back there, at Boot’s,” said James, “you asked about the Sooter sisters. You know it’s not possible for them to be Thomas Saunders’ dad, right? Right?” He grinned, thinking he was cute. He wasn’t that cute.
I swatted his shoulder. “Ow! Geez Louise, what was that for?”
“Don’t be dumb, it’s not becoming. And I betcha I know more about sex than you do.”
He stopped. I watched as his face rolled through its limited display of emotions: dumb, lecherous, befuddlement, and finally, face-sagging insecurity. He said, “Wanna find out?” But his voice squeaked, a frightened child playing at big boy games.
I just laughed. “Let’s not get side-tracked. I think there’s a couple different things going on here. There’s the unknown identity of Thomas’s scientific daddy. Then there’s the question who killed Thomas and Richie. Hedrick, too. Not to mention ol’ Hettie. My brain hurts! But I’m beginning to think there’s more than one killer.”
“Why?”
“I keep going back to the symbol Hettie showed me in Dad’s freezer. The six-pointed star. The hexagram.”
“Right. Witch stuff.”
“Yup. I think Hettie was implicating her sisters. Even Boot called ‘em witches.”
“But…why would they kill Thomas Saunders?”
“Beats the tar outta me. Human sacrifice, maybe?”
“Maybe,” said James.
Deep in the woods, something thumped. Something heavy. A second bump ground up through my boots’ soles. Bats fled their nocturnal roosts. Leathery wings whisked away. Creatures fled, trotting briskly across the ground cover. Leaves snapped, then settled. Again, all sound had bottled up, sealed with a cork. Not a chirp, buzz, caw, anything.
Faster than a forest fire, something had emptied the woods.
The air weighed heavy, muggy. A sweat drop poked out at my nose’s tip and dangled. Another ground-trembling throb knocked it off.
“What the hell’s that?” whispered James.
“Danged if I know.” I looked down, realized I’d grabbed James’ hand. Didn’t know when I did it, but it provided a bridge of comfort.
Whump…thump…thump…
From the dark of the woods, inhumanly heavy footfalls approached.
Thump…thump…
The unseen creature’s pace increased. Not quite running, but determination drove its monstrous tread toward us.
“Let’s go!” I dropped James’ hand, hopped onto my bike. The bike bobbled back and forth, bumped across the pocked road. With speed, I straightened it out. I glanced back at James, saw him struggling. “Go, James! Dammit, come on!”
“I’m trying!”
Whump, thump, thump…
The creature broke into a heavy sprint. My bike vibrated. The handlebars jack hammered in my hands. A spattering of collected rain spilled from treetops.
“I’m…coming…” James wheezed, falling farther behind.
Carelessly, blindly, I sped like mad, dipping in and out of potholes. If I hit a rock, one unlucky move, I’d go flying head first into one of the trees.
Behind us, the world’s largest door swung open, moved back and forth, back and forth on great, creaking hinges.
Reet, ret, reet, ret…
A vacuum of hot air sucked back my hair, whipped my shirt tight around my bosom.
Whumph.
The ground quit shaking.
Ahead lay the railroad tracks. The moon glowed off-white, sick. I clattered over the tracks, not slowing, hell on the tires. James followed.
Above us, something flapped. Heavy wings spread out, spanning wide enough to blot out the moon.
I didn’t want to look. But I had to. Above, a dark figure paced us—big, unimaginably big—wings whipping out, then folding back around its squat body.
The same hellish creature that had flown over us the other night. Suddenly, the beast’s identity dawned on me, a scary and impossible and all too real notion.
“James, we gotta get outta the woods!”
“Trying!”
Past the railroad tracks, we plummeted down the dirt road’s massive hill, speed to our advantage. Ahead lay one more terrifying, vulnerable patch of woods, the only way back to Oak Grove Road and blessed civilization.
I broke into the dark, blindly following the trail, navigating by gut. Tears of fear streamed back across my cheeks, then evaporated in my wind current.
Behind me, a thin knife of light snapped on. I shrieked, looked back. One handed, James fiddled with a pocket-sized flashlight, his bike drunkenly weaving. Awkwardly, he plugged the flashlight’s grip between his teeth—his big mouth finally coming in handy—and reclaimed his bike’s handlebars. The light bounced up and down, chaotic.
The beating of the creature’s wings rose, ancient, rife with stone arthritis.
Flump!
Leaves fluttered down around us, new leaves not yet ready to shed. Branches tremored. Smaller twigs dropped, a sudden hailstorm. The beast had roosted in the tree tops.
The dirt road curved right, not too much farther to the fork delivering us to Oak Grove Road.
“Faster, James! Get your arse in gear!”
“Dibby…wait…” He’d fallen behind, his voice barely audible. Maybe now he’d quit smoking. If we lived for the chance.
I cut the bike sharp, twisted. My foot jagged down into the leaves, shushing through them.
The beast leapt into the treetop next to me. Limbs cracked. Leaves rained.
Head down over his handlebars, James had given up. But his shaking hand remained up, flashlight still trying to light my way.
The monster didn’t move. Not an inch. But I knew he was up there. Felt his heavy, other-worldly presence like Santa on Christmas morning.
I sped back toward James. Stupid, sure. But even if it meant an early end to my abbreviated life, I’d have done it for anyone. Except for maybe Suzette.
&nb
sp; “James, it’ll be alright.” Everyone’s allowed a white lie now and again. “Give me your flashlight.”
He handed it over, dropped his arm like it weighed a ton. I straddled my bike closer to the beast occupied tree and rode the beam up the tree. Other than a thick crown of leaves, I couldn’t see anything.
“Yvette! Miriam,” I hollered, not standing on proper names now. “I know it’s you! I know you’re using ol’ Stoney to get me. You’re too scared to do your dirty work yourselves, gotta use your gargoyle! Yvette, I know you’re watching through Stoney’s cement eyes. And Miriam! Are you listening through his horned ears? Well, I ain’t afraid! You hear me? You may as well come on down, Stoney!”
James looked at me like I’d gone ‘round the bend. Maybe I had, too. My brave words didn’t match at all how I felt, nothing but lies.
A large limb broke, dropped. Inches from shearing James’ arm off, it exploded on the ground. A sudden loud whoosh pulled branches up and sent leaves storming down. More limbs broke away, snapping like gunfire.
Fast as gunshot, I hightailed it back to James.
Thump, bump!
Stoney dropped to the ground.
He stood beneath the overhanging tree’s umbrella of darkness. The flashlight couldn’t catch a lick of the gargoyle other than his thick, grey legs. Of course I’d seen his clawed feet up close and personal many a time, but this was the first time they set me to shivering. One foot moved just an inch or so. The resulting crack sounded near to a dam breaking.
I got off my bike. Time to make a stand.
“You can kill me now if you want to, ladies. But it ain’t gonna do you any good. I already told my dad and the sheriff you killed Thomas Saunders. Whatever you do, it ain’t gonna save your hides from prison.”
As far as bluffs went, it was a doozy. One I felt I sold, especially since I somehow managed to stay up on my feet. Never had I felt so adult and never had I so wanted to retreat into a mother’s—who I didn’t even know—arms.
Stoney stayed still, true to his statue origins. He grunted, just one single deep-chested sound, an old dog with failing bones.
Suddenly, the beast squatted. His clawed fists dropped into view beside his thighs, then tightened into small boulders of stone. Knees bent with double cracks. Up he went, crashing through the tree’s foliage. A barrage of limbs and leaves cascaded down, his departing gift to us. Across the night sky, he diminished in size until he flit out of sight.
Peculiar Country Page 26
