by Mary Lindsey
The chief’s eyebrow arched.
“He came by to say hi.” Ruby sounded tense.
“I’m told you’ve befriended the Burkhart girl,” the chief said.
“We’ve only just met.” As weird as he felt, it was a wonder his voice worked. His mom used to complain of migraines. From her description, he might be about to have one based on the painful swirling in his skull.
“You discussed her father, I assume.”
What the actual fuck was going on here? “Only that he died.”
“And that came up because?”
What a bitch. “Because I told her both my parents were dead and hey, I guess we had that little special something in common.”
“Hans Burkhart died in an accident involving a grape harvester. Terrible tragedy. He was too mangled for the girl to see. I’m sure she’s suffering from a lack of closure.” She walked closer, and the weird sensation in his head grew stronger, along with his dislike of the woman. She smiled. “Yes. You’ll do nicely, Aaron Ryland.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Oh shit. He’d blurted that out before he thought. The headache was messing with his usual control.
From across the room, Gerald’s mouth gaped open. Aunt Ruby shifted uncomfortably on the other side of the desk. Maybe he should dial it back. This woman might be a royal bitch, but she was also Aunt Ruby’s boss. “Sorry, I—”
“Welcome to New Wurzburg, Aaron Ryland.” She turned her back to him and ordered, “Gerald. File. Now.”
And as if he were the dog she treated him like, Gerald came running, file in hand, passing it to her as she strode out the door. But the look he gave as he watched her leave through the window was anything but that of an obedient puppy. His expression was one of pure hatred. Rain had seen it hundreds of times. Hate had a look and feel unlike anything else in the world—toxic, overwhelming, all-consuming—and it was the same wherever he went, this tiny town included.
The weird swirling sensation in his brain had stopped, at least. He sat and covered his face with his hands.
“You okay?” Ruby asked.
“Have the start of a wicked headache.”
She pulled a bottle of aspirin out of her desk and slid it to him. “Happens to me all the time. Probably the flickering lights.”
Gerald made a choking sound but looked away when Ruby glanced in his direction.
She grabbed a bottle of water from a flat of them on the shelf behind her and passed it to Rain. “What was with the chief’s questions?”
“I have no idea what that was about.” He popped the aspirin and took a swig of water.
Gerald made another choking sound and covered it with a hacking cough.
Ruby smiled, and the little lines around her eyes deepened. “She mentioned a girl.”
“Just someone I met.” Maybe with the chief gone, it was a good time to see what Ruby knew. “You happen to know anything about the death of a guy named Hans Burkhart? He died last October.”
“The girl’s father.”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. “I’m on coffee and varmint duty. The chief takes all the bigger stuff. She’d be the one to ask.”
Like hell he was going to ask her anything.
Aunt Ruby’s phone rang, and she picked it up before the second ring. “Ryland… Yes, Chief.” Her eyes darted to Gerald, shuffling files on his desk. He had a stack of them at least a foot tall. “I’m sure it was an honest mistake. I’ll do that right now. I’ll scan and send it to you in five.” She hung up without saying good-bye.
“You gave her the wrong file, Gerald.” Ruby crossed to the file cabinet. “You gave her Schneider Grain Company, not Schmidt Ranch.”
He shrugged.
“Gotta scan it. I’ll be right back, Aaron.” File in hand, she disappeared into the chief’s office.
“Weren’t no headache.” Gerald had a thick accent.
Rain remained silent, meeting the guy’s glare.
“Weren’t no harvester accident, neither.” He moved a file from under the stack on his desk. His hands trembled like Old Jim’s did when he needed a fix, causing the folder to vibrate. “The shed. The boat. Follow the body.” He placed the folder hanging over the edge and slammed his palm down on the metal desk, never taking his eyes off Rain. “Tell them people no.”
“What people?”
He stood, his breathing labored. “Say no. Normal people can’t handle it. The pull of it. The power. It’s like crack. You’ll break. It’ll kill ya.”
The guy was acting like he was on crack. He wasn’t making any sense.
“If I was you, I’d get the hell outta here, as far away as possible. Get on that motorbike of your old man’s and leave before it’s too late.” And with that, he stormed out the door into the pouring rain.
Through the window, Rain watched Gerald speed off in the Corolla like he was running from the cops. He leaned his forehead against the glass, trying to make sense of the guy’s rant. Over the ticking clock above Ruby’s desk and the hum of fluorescent tubes, the muted click and groan of a scanner came from the chief’s office as Aunt Ruby prepared the correct file.
File. He crossed to Gerald’s desk and picked up the folder he’d left hanging over the edge. It was labeled Hans Burkhart. Gerald had clearly left it there for him, but Rain didn’t have time to check it out right now. Ruby was going to finish her task any second, and who knew when the chief would return. He’d have to borrow the file. Surely he could sneak it back in easily. Nothing unusual about visiting his aunt, right? He’d just put it right back on Gerald’s desk tomorrow. He stuffed the file in his backpack under the folding chair and zipped it.
“Hey!” Ruby said.
He straightened with a jerk like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice he was acting weird. Proof that people only see what they want to see.
“All done. Want a ride home?”
“Sure.”
“Gerald gone?”
“Yeah. He took off a few minutes ago.”
She shook her head as she replaced the file she’d just scanned. “Sometimes I think he screws up on purpose. I just can’t for the life of me figure out why.”
Rain couldn’t figure out a lot of things, but he was sure as hell going to try. Starting with the crazy things Gerald had said. Maybe Freddie could make sense of it. He slung his backpack over one shoulder.
“Have much homework?”
He grabbed his rain coat and followed Ruby through the door, waiting while she locked up. “Just some reading.” One file to be precise.
“Oh, I hope it’s not much. I’d love you to join our group tonight.”
“I’ll be there.” Never had he imagined going to a book club meeting. But this was one get-together he wouldn’t miss if his life depended on it. From the way Gerald was acting, maybe it did.
Thirteen
Smells of freshly brewed coffee and baked cookies filled the house. The first guest, Ms. Kendleton, Mr. Pratt’s substitute, arrived right as Aunt Ruby placed a plate of cheese and crackers on the coffee table.
Rain endured the mandatory pleasantries but struggled to stay focused. He’d read the file several times when they’d gotten home but hadn’t seen any evidence Freddie’s father’s death had been a murder. Actually, he hadn’t seen anything indicating it was a harvesting accident, either. No description of the body and no autopsy report, which he thought was required with something like this. At the top of the single page were the deceased’s name, the date, estimated time of death, and the Haven Winery address. “Northwest corner third row” was scrawled above the words “accidental death.” Nothing more, really, other than signatures from Ulrich Burkhart, a rep from a funeral home, and Chief Richter.
Rain still didn’t know what to make of Gerald’s bizarre ramble about a shed, following a body, and telling people no. As soon as this thing was over, he’d check out the file again and write down everything Gerald had said and try to make sense o
f it, if there was anything useful. The guy seemed out of his head.
More book club members arrived, bringing food and wine. It didn’t take long to draw the conclusion that this weekly get-together wasn’t solely focused on books.
In addition to Miss Kendleton were Ruby’s neighbors Eliza and Sharon—the one who’d made that delicious pot roast and lemon pie he’d eaten his first night. Also present was Susie James, the teacher who’d shown up when Friederike dumped Thomas in his desk. Ruby laughed with a woman named Mrs. Whittaker about getting a bird out of her sunroom. And last, but not least, was Ellen Ericksen, Grant’s mother, who arrived with a huge wicker basket. At first, Rain thought it contained food, but it didn’t. It was some kind of sewing basket.
The snacks were all spread out on the coffee table, and a couple of dining chairs had been added to the room so that everyone fit. Rain held back, not willing to join the circle. He sat instead in a worn armchair in the corner behind Mrs. Ericksen. As soon as he settled, she moved to the opposite side of the circle, facing him. Hell. He couldn’t move without it being an obvious attempt to get out of her line of vision.
For a moment, he considered ditching altogether, but since the file held nothing, he decided to stay. Aunt Ruby had said she’d try to bring up the topic of Freddie’s father to see if anyone knew anything, which was really cool of her.
“Where’s Sophia?” Mrs. Whittaker asked, pouring wine into a plastic cup before sitting on the sofa along with Sharon and Eliza.
“She had to go to Corsicana to take care of her sister,” Miss Kendleton said from a dining chair to her right.
From a wing chair across from the sofa, Susie James squealed. “Oh yay! The baby came?”
“Not yet,” Eliza said with a huge grin. “Any time now.”
Miss Kendleton grabbed a cookie from the table. “How’s your husband’s vertigo, Eliza?”
“Much better, which suits me fine. I was sick of fetching him things like one of his bird dogs.” She panted like an eager puppy, and the other women laughed.
They went on like this for a while. Everyone seemed to have news about everyone and everything with the exception of Mrs. Ericksen. She pushed her needle in and out of some fabric pulled tight in a round wooden frame, listening but not contributing. Instead, she did her needlework and periodically studied Rain, which made him want to squirm. Her fingers moved quickly as she pierced the material, rarely glancing at her work. She even rethreaded her needle with a different color without looking down.
“I hear there was another calf killed at Schmidt Ranch,” Mrs. Whittaker said.
Ms. James reached for a cracker. “Dogs again?”
Ellen Ericksen’s fingers stilled.
“Probably. My husband says if it doesn’t stop, he’s going to get a group of guys together and take matters into his own hands.”
“That’s a terrible idea, Sharon,” Ruby said. “You know what the mayor and chief said about that.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t see them doing anything about it.” Sharon eyed Mrs. Ericksen. “Sorry, Ellen. I know Chief Richter is your sister, but we’ve gotta do something. The traps aren’t working, and we can’t afford to lose any more calves this year.”
Mrs. Ericksen plunged her needle into the fabric inside the round frame and resumed her sewing.
Whoa. Mrs. Ericksen was Chief Richter’s sister. On closer look, Rain could see the resemblance. Their mom must have given them look-regal-while-being-creepy-as-shit lessons.
“Poor Lud Pratt. He was so distraught when his cat went missing, he called in a sick day and I had to sub. He was certain that whatever had been killing the chickens in his neighborhood had gotten his cat.” Miss Kendleton spooned some sugar into her coffee. “I’m so relieved it showed up the next day.”
“I hear he found it safe and sound inside his house when he woke up the next morning,” Sharon said.
“It probably was inside the whole time,” Ruby added.
Rain knew better. He’d seen Merrick’s face after Freddie threatened to make him sing soprano and told him to find that cat. Merrick was probably as relieved by the outcome as Mr. Pratt. It would have been entertaining to watch the kid break in to return it, though.
Ms. James pushed from her chair and grabbed her coffee cup, then walked to the kitchen to refill it. “Do any of you know who’s clearing that land near the highway?”
There was a unanimous shaking of heads.
“It is going to be a new vineyard,” Mrs. Ericksen said. “Haven Winery is expanding.”
Rain’s stomach lurched when she met his eyes directly, like it was some kind of challenge.
“Speaking of Haven, did any of you hear what happened to the owner, Hans Burkhart?” Ruby asked.
Well, that caused Mrs. Ericksen to break eye contact. Her lids narrowed as she studied Aunt Ruby.
Again, unanimous shaking of heads. How was it they knew everything about everyone but didn’t have a clue about Haven or Freddie’s dad?
Eliza set down her wineglass. “I wasn’t aware anything had happened, but then, that bunch out at Haven Winery keeps to themselves. It’s like they’re a cult or something.”
Mrs. Whittaker raised her Solo cup. “They sure do make good wine, though.”
“The kids don’t mingle at school,” Ms. James added. “They stick together like glue. I worry about the girl. She was in my class last year, and I never saw her speak to another student outside of her cousins.”
“Her father died last October,” Ruby said.
Mrs. Ericksen’s fingers stilled again, gaze steady on Ruby. “He died in a harvesting accident. It was a terrible tragedy.”
Those were almost the exact words the police chief had used. Goose bumps rose on Rain’s arms.
Ms. James set down her coffee cup. “That poor girl.”
“Harvesting accident?” Sharon’s brow furrowed. “I had no idea.”
“It wasn’t in the paper,” Mrs. Whittaker added.
Mrs. Ericksen stabbed the needle in and out with incredible speed. “You know how those people are. Like Eliza said, they keep to themselves.”
The hairs on the back of Rain’s neck prickled at her words. They reminded him of the “her kind” remark her son had made. Like Freddie’s family were less, somehow.
“Well, let’s get on to this week’s chapters, shall we?” Ruby suggested. The women chattered and laughed as they pulled out their books and notes. Rain didn’t have the stomach to sit through a book discussion with Mrs. Ericksen studying him like a science experiment, but it would be rude to leave at this point. At least this hadn’t been a total waste. He hadn’t learned much about Freddie’s dad, but he now knew three things he hadn’t before: Freddie’s family’s business was expanding; her father’s death had been swept under the rug for some reason, since the town gossip group knew nothing of it; and Mrs. Ericksen was not only spectacularly weird, she was the police chief’s sister.
He needed to talk to Freddie. Maybe he could go after this. She said she lived at Haven Winery. Google showed it was only a few miles down the highway. He had wheels now. Ruby had let him bring the motorcycle home instead of leaving it with hers in the shed…
He shot to his feet. Shit.
The shed. There had been a wooden boat in the shed. The boat, Gerald had said. Follow the body, he’d said.
Dread bordering on panic caused a wave of nausea to tumble through him. There could be a body in the shed. Shit, shit, shit. “I gotta go.”
“Oh. We’re just about to start the book discussion,” Ruby said.
He took a few steps toward his room. “Yeah, uh. Well, I totally forgot I have a history quiz tomorrow. I’m really sorry.”
The women said good-bye interspersed with things like “school first” and “what a nice boy.” Mrs. Ericksen said nothing, she simply watched him over her reading glasses, needle stabbing in and out.
Fourteen
Rain climbed out his bedroom window and moved through the shadows to the gar
age, opening it as quietly as possible. With luck, he’d be back well before the book club ended, and nobody would even know he’d been gone.
As he rolled the dirt bike down the street so he could start it without being heard, his chest ached. He hated sneaking out behind Aunt Ruby’s back—and he wouldn’t have if there hadn’t been a full house. He needed to get to that shed right now, and walking through the living room wasn’t an option with creepy Mrs. Ericksen watching his every move. Something about her wasn’t right. Hell, something about this whole town wasn’t right.
Once out of earshot, he started the bike and took off for the shed, feeling dread rather than freedom as the wind whipped his face.
By the time he’d made the short distance to the storage lot, his imagination had run wild with what he’d find under that boat, and he seriously considered turning back around and returning with Ruby once her meeting was over. He’d promised Freddie he’d keep Ruby out of it, though, so he sucked it up and stuck to his original plan.
The gate to the storage lot was unlocked and open, just like before. There were no lights, but the low moon, just a day or so past full, lit up the place enough to make out the gravel and crushed-shell road ringing the lot, surrounded by long grass bending in the wind from the east. Parking the bike just outside the unit that belonged to Ruby, he pulled the key from under the cinderblock where she’d stashed it when they’d been here before.
The lock clicked with some effort. He pulled it out and hooked it through the eye after flipping the hasp open. Swinging the door wide, he stared into the yawning blackness. Surely there was a light or something.
He swiped across his phone and accessed the flashlight mode, then searched for a switch or pull cord. Nothing.
The flashlight on the phone was probably not enough for this, and he was running low on battery, so he rolled his bike closer, turned the key, and angled the headlight to shine at the back wall.
The contents of the shed took on a strange life of their own in the horizontal light. The boat motor cast a long, irregular shadow that crawled across the room like a monster. The shadows from the handles of the toolboxes gaped like toothless mouths on the drawers. Everything assumed a sinister look and feel; even the paint on Ruby’s dirt bike brought to mind images of wet blood.
