With Neva Jean beside me, I walked unsteadily through the hospital's front doors and out to the van. "You'll have to drive. Those pain pills have got me a little tiddly."
I settled myself in the passenger seat and fastened the seat belt as tight as it would go. I'd just had a brush with cancer, and I wasn't taking any chances. Neva Jean gunned the engine. "Let's head the bastard off at the pass," she said. "Where to?"
Where to, indeed? I didn't have any idea where to look for Collier.
I gave Neva Jean directions to get to Collier's town-house. I remember leaving the hospital parking lot, and telling her about the left-turn signal not working, and then I sort of dozed off.
When I came to again, we were parked in front of the townhouse. "Glad you woke up," Neva Jean said. "We been driving around in circles in this damn Peachtree maze for thirty minutes. I was about to get out and call us a cab." The garage bay in front of us was empty. "If this is the right place, it looks like nobody's home," she said.
I fumbled in the glove box. "Did you get my twenty-two out of my nightstand like I told you?"
She nodded yes.
"How about the bullets? In the empty bran flakes box at the back of the pantry?"
She nodded yes again. "I don't know what good that little old peashooter will do you. I still think you should have let me bring Swanelle's thirty-ought-six. He lets me use it when we shoot rats out at the county dump. You oughta see what that baby does to those bad boys.
When I get done the only thing left is the squeak and the tail."
I found the twenty-two, checked to see that it was loaded, and jammed it in the waistband of my jeans. "Wait right here," I told her. "I don't think he's home, but if he is, I'm just going right up to the front door and draw down on him. If something goes wrong, you lay on the horn there. Start honking and screaming and don't stop till you see blue lights on top of a white sedan."
I lurched up the steps of the condo, holding tight to the hand rail. My breast didn't hurt anymore, but my feet were suddenly detached from the rest of me, making any kind of a real frontal assault pretty much a joke. I rang the doorbell and put my hands behind my back, with the pistol cocked in my right hand. No answer.
Since the windows were all on the second floor and I couldn't reach them, I decided to give up on the condo. I put the safety back on and put the pistol back in my jeans.
Neva Jean had slumped so far down in the front seat all I could see of her was the dark roots on the top of her head. "We'll try the office," I told her as I got back in the van. "His secretary said he called in sick today. The office should be closed by now. Maybe he took Edna there."
Traffic was still fairly heavy, even though it was by now after 7 P.M. I dozed lightly, waking up a time or two when Neva Jean blasted the horn or hung her head out the window to holler at somebody to get the lead out.
The parking lot at the accounting office was empty. I walked around the building, peeping in windows. The foyer light was on, casting some light into the ground-floor rooms, but there was no movement inside.
In the van, I tried hard to concentrate. Where would Collier have taken Edna? And why? I felt groggy and lightheaded and guilty. Where the hell had that wing nut taken my mother?
"Let's cruise through the parking lot of the LDS church on Ponce de Leon," I suggested. "I doubt he'd take her there, but right now I'm fresh out of ideas."
The parking lot of the church was filling up fast with carloads of fresh-faced children and their parents. The lot was a beehive of activity, people talking in knots and others coming in and out of the building with covered casserole dishes. It looked like potluck supper night. But I didn't see a red Celica.
"I don't know anything about this guy, Neva Jean," I said quietly. "I don't know where he goes, what he likes to do, what sets him off. I don't even know why he might have killed Kristee. I have no idea where he might have taken Edna. He could be out at the river or over at Piedmont Park or the zoo at Grant Park—hell, they could be anywhere. Think, Neva Jean, where would they be?"
She squeezed her eyes shut tight and wrinkled her forehead, her lips drawn into a clownlike grimace. Thinking was clearly an alien process for her. "I don't know, Callahan," she wailed. "This is giving me the creeps. Let's call the cops before he puts your mama in cold storage like he did that other girl."
"What was that last part you just said?"
Neva Jean looked startled that she'd had an idea. "I said I hope he don't put your mama in cold storage like he did that other girl. Fur coat or no fur coat."
Something finally registered in my Demerol-drugged mind. "Rich's," I said. "That's the only place I can think of that he might be. Let's go there."
"Which one?"
"Downtown. The big store. That's where they have the fur vault."
The pain pills had me in their hold now. We drove west on Marietta Street, right into a soft springtime drizzle. The neon lights on the buildings seemed to shimmer in the rain, and the streets looked like patent leather. On Marietta, the median strip had been planted with dogwood trees. Here the shiny dark gray pavement was snowy with the fallen white petals of dogwood blossoms.
It was full dark now, and only a few souls were out on the streets.
Neva Jean swung the van hard left onto Forsyth Street, then left again on Alabama. She pulled to the curb directly under the old Rich's clock tower that had been a meeting spot for generations of Atlantans. Instead of numerals, the clock said SHOP RICH'S. MARTA buses lined the other side of the street, right in front of the Five Points train station that's the heart of the city's transit system.
The mannequins in the windows were all dressed in white linen. They wore white gloves, big elaborately flowered hats, and haughty expressions. With All the Frills Upon It the window backdrop said in bright green script.
"Look, Callahan, hats are back this year," Neva Jean said. "Ain't those something? But the store's closed. Let's go back to your house and call the cops."
I rubbed at my eyes. "Closed? No, as far as Collier's concerned, the store's not closed. He used to work here. He knows how to get in if he wants to. Drive around the block," I went on, "and when you get on Forsyth again, turn right and head for the viaducts."
She shook her head but did as I said.
"Now turn left again."
The turn plunged us into the city's underbelly. Massive rust-stained concrete pilings formed tall arches, the viaducts supporting the city streets above us. The cobblestone pavement was uneven and pocked with pools of rainwater. Steam rose from dozens of manhole covers.
"This is creepy, Callahan," Neva Jean whimpered. "I wanna go home."
"Your window is rolled up, isn't it? And your door locked? I don't like it either, Neva Jean, but I think this is how Collier got Kristee into the store."
The van inched slowly down the street, with Neva Jean sniveling the whole way about swamp monsters and mutant rats who lived under the viaducts. To our left we could see the railroad tracks that led into and out of this subterranean part of Atlanta. To our right, the back of the store loomed large and gray. Tractor trailer trucks nestled against the loading docks, their tails stuck up under pull-down doors on the dock. Cars were parked here and there along the way, but there was no sign of Collier's red Celica—until we reached the last loading bay. He'd pulled the car all the way into the bay, right beside a trailer that dwarfed the little compact.
"That's it," I said, pointing. "Pull on past, and around the corner, and park."
She did as I told her and rolled to a stop. "Don't get out," she begged me. "You don't know what these religious nuts are like. You didn't see Blood Atonement, did you?"
I shook my head impatiently. It didn't clear the cobwebs. I needed a nap. "Quiet, Neva Jean," I hissed. "Listen now. I'm gonna try to creep back there real quiet like. You stay in the van and keep the door locked. If you hear me holler, or a gun go off, lay on the horn like I told you before. People are working inside the store tonight, I think, so if they hear eno
ugh noise outside, they should come running. After you honk the horn, drive over to the MARTA station and get a cop; there are always bunches of 'em over there. But remember, until you hear something, stay in the van and keep the door locked. Understand?"
I checked my waistband to see that the .22 was still wedged tightly. It was. I got out of the van and watched Neva Jean lean over and lock the door.
My heart was pounding as I crept around the corner, keeping almost to a duck walk. I came up behind the Celica and peeped in. It was empty, but the contents of Edna's big straw purse were spilled out on the floorboard in front. My heart sank.
"Christ," I muttered. I was dizzy and weak as a kitten. Where could they be? If they were already in the store, it was hopeless. The loading dock in front of me was bathed in darkness. I crept closer, up the steep steps, to see a tiny pool of light spilling from under the closed bay door. They weren't on this dock.
I stood up and moved around the corner to the next bay. Three trailers were pulled up to the dock. It was dark here too. I inched around the end of the first trailer and peered into the blackness. Nothing. No sound, no motion. On my knees now, I crawled around the side, conscious of kneeling in an oily, evil-smelling puddle. The cobblestones cut into the knees of my jeans, and my head swam every time I moved too fast.
Then I heard it: a gasp, and a small, terrified cry. It was coming from the next bay over. Lying flat on my belly now, I pulled myself along on the ground, wincing as my chest made contact with the pavement. Finally I reached the end of the trailer and could see where the cries were coming from.
Collier, dressed in a white zip-front jumpsuit, was on the loading dock, half dragging, half carrying Edna, who was resisting with all her might, toward a large metal merchandise hamper that stood on the dock.
"No, please," she said in a tiny voice I could hardly recognize. "Please, please don't do this. Please."
He pulled her roughly upright, and for the first time I saw the hunting knife in his hand. The blade gleamed in the semidarkness. He held it up to my mother's neck and gently nicked her earlobe. She cried out, but he made no effort to quiet her. I could see the blood dripping onto her white blouse.
"Let me go, please," she cried. "I won't tell."
I heard more cries now, but they weren't coming from Edna. It was Collier; he was crying—sobbing, really. "It's the only way," he sobbed. "You'll be in a better place, where your wicked earthly ways will be forgiven." He took the knife blade and held it to her throat. I pulled the .22 from my waistband and prepared to rush the dock.
But Edna had other plans. She dropped to the ground, clutching her chest, rolling herself into a tight ball. "My heart!" she gasped. She started to choke and cough. "Heart . . . heart attack." She rolled back and forth, gasping and crying and clutching her heart. Collier stood there transfixed, staring down at the victim who was dying before he could guarantee her salvation.
"Get up," he shouted hoarsely. "Get up, or I'll kill you." He gave her a brutal kick to the side, and Edna screamed and rolled onto her side, clutching her chest and gasping for air. "Heart attack," she cried. "I'm having a heart attack!"
It was the best chance I'd have. I made for the dock, my heart pumping a mile a minute, my hands extended in front of me, the .22 pointed at Collier. He was so busy kicking Edna and witnessing the spectacle of her heart attack that he didn't see me approaching until I was on the dock and only a few feet away.
"Leave her alone!" I shrieked, pointing the .22 directly at his heart.
Shock registered on his face. Edna groaned loudly and tried to roll out of harm's way, which is when I stepped on her. She screamed, and I went down in a heap on top of her. Collier reached down and wrenched the gun out of my hands.
"Harlots!" he shouted at us. "Unclean vile contaminated filth! I know who you are. I know your sins. You make a mockery of our Heavenly Mother."
Edna and I clung tightly to each other, there on the filthy floor of the loading dock. Her face was greenish white, and her breathing really seemed labored. I thought she might die of her heart attack before Collier could shoot or stab us both to death.
He was ranting and raving for real now, calling us Semites, unclean prostitutes who defiled God's holy places. He kicked Edna again, then jerked me upright, shoving the gun in his own waistband and brandishing the knife before my eyes. "I will pluck out the eye that offends thee," he shouted. "Your blood will atone for your sins. I am the avenging angel Moroni, brought forth to clean these defiled places." He took the knife and nicked the skin under my chin. I felt a sharp sting and a warm trickle of blood. I screamed until I thought my lungs would burst.
"Quiet," he thundered. "We'll pray now, before you and the other harlot—"
But he never finished his sentence. From behind and above his head I saw a shining silver wand come down in a crushing blow on Collier's head. He swayed for a moment, and the wand struck again, then again. The pretty blond hair turned bright red on one side, and he finally crumpled to the ground.
I think I sat down rather suddenly myself at that point, in a heap beside Edna, who had stopped groaning and gasping and seemed to be recovering quickly from her coronary.
"Y'all all right?" Neva Jean said anxiously. "Lord, I thought that boy was gonna do a Veg-O-Matic on the two of you, right here at Rich's Department Store."
I looked at the long silver wand she was brandishing. "What the hell is that?" I said groggily.
Neva Jean's laugh echoed weirdly in the empty loading dock. "You are out of it, Callahan. This here's nothing but the business end of that big old vacuum cleaner you had in the back of the van."
She looked admiringly at the pipe, which was flecked with tiny drops of blood. "You can have your Hoovers and your Eurekas and all them fancy machines. Give me an Electrolux three and a half horsepower any old day. Those babies can flat suck."
EPILOGUE
YOU GONNA FISH OR SUNBATHE?" McAuliffe wanted to know.
We were in his battered red rowboat, out in the middle of Lake Burton, on a Wednesday in May that was so beautiful it felt illicit.
"Can't I do both?" I said. Mac was fly-fishing, for bass, I guess. I was mostly soaking up the rays, stretched out in my new bathing suit on the plank seat in the back of the boat. We were both enjoying a rare midweek day away from work.
We'd left Rufus back at the car. "No room in the boat for a dog and a woman," Mac had said. He got a tennis ball out of the Jeep and gave it to Rufus to play with. I guess I was lucky he didn't give me the ball and take Rufus in the boat.
I propped my head up on my bent elbow and turned to watch his leisurely casts into the deep green lake water.
"Something on your mind?" he asked casually.
"I can't stop thinking about Ardith Cramer," I admitted. "You know she left town without ever seeing Demetrius? He's seventeen years old, Mac, nearly an adult. And she'll never know him. And she doesn't care."
"What makes you think she doesn't care? Just because she doesn't carry his picture around in her billfold? Maybe she cares desperately and can't articulate it. Maybe she feels guilty about abandoning him. Don't be so hard on her."
"I'm not," I said stubbornly. "I hate to say it, but I think Ardith is one of those women who are totally without maternal instincts."
"Is that bad?"
"Not if you don't have a child to raise, I guess." I'd been seeing Andrew McAuliffe steadily for a month now, and he never failed to surprise me with the matter-of-fact way he looked at life. He didn't get all emotional about things, the way I tend to.
"How did Ardith get the money to leave town?" he asked. "I thought she was broke."
I felt myself color a little. "She had a paycheck coming from the work she did for the House Mouse. And I—uh, gave her the rest of Wendell Driggers's money."
"You're a soft touch, Julia Callahan Garrity."
I kicked his leg lightly with my bare foot. He caught it, squeezed my toes, and let go.
"Have you heard anything more about W
hit Collier?"
"He's still down in Milledgeville, being evaluated by the state's shrinks. I hear they've got a whole team of 'em looking inside his twisted little mind. His lawyer called me two days ago, to ask some questions about the kinds of things he said when he kidnapped Edna and when he was trying to dispatch both of us to an early grave. The lawyer wouldn't tell me much, but I gather they plan to plead him guilty but insane. He did belong to that crazy cult in Arizona, you know. Collier's folks are mainstream Mormon, fairly wealthy from what his lawyer said. When they found out a couple years ago that he'd gotten involved in this Uncle Nehemiah thing, they arranged for him to get this job with the accounting firm in Decatur. He joined the LDS church here and was fine, but I guess the followers back in Beechy Creek started sending him books and tapes and stuff. The lawyer claims that when Collier met up with Kristee, he thought he'd found the girl of his dreams. Then, when he discovered what she was really up to, he came unglued."
"Does anybody know exactly what happened?"
"Only according to Collier. Bucky Deaver sneaked me a copy of the statement he made to the police when they arrested him, before the lawyers got there and shut him up. Collier told the cops he went to the Beemishes that Sunday night to ask Kristee to marry him. The front door was unlocked, so he went in the house to look for her. He says he found her in the Beemishes' master bedroom, standing stark naked in the closet, trying on Lilah's fur coats. She had packed up her things and taken a stack of stuff: jewelry, silver, the papers from the safe. Kristee laid out the whole scam for him right then and there, how she'd slept with Beemish and Shaloub and was blackmailing both of them, how she and Ardith had dreamed up the Mormon nanny scam, and how they were planning to cash in their chips and head for the Cayman Islands.
"He told the cops he had to kill Kristee in order to guarantee her salvation. He strangled her with his hands, then dragged her down the back staircase out the garage to the garden. That's where he cut her on the finger, so that her blood could mix with the soil as atonement for her sins. Blood atonement, as it were.
Every Crooked Nanny Page 27
