Henry looked at the gun in his hand.
“Henry, put the gun down,” Lester repeated, with more force in every word. Lester stood, loose limbed, his arms at his sides. One hand rested near his gun, almost as if a casual gesture. Yet I sensed that Lester could pull that gun as fast as any gunslinger.
“Camerons always come back,” I added, “even richer than before.”
That, too, was true. Unlike my family who lost everything and it stayed lost, the Cameron’s wealth ebbed and flowed, a tide of magnitude and scarcity.
Henry glanced at me. I hated the despair I saw in his face. “A Cameron never lost a dream before, Dora.”
“You know that’s not true, Henry.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. McDay piped up. “I remember about your grandfather before World War II.”
“Yes, yes,” Mrs. McGarrity interrupted, “we’ve all heard that story before, Bitsy, a million times.”
“But—” Mrs. McDay started and then subsided at Mrs. McGarrity’s glare.
“Put the gun down, Henry,” Lester said. Each word sounded carved into stone. Stone that matched Lester’s face, all his expression gone. “And we’ll talk.”
Mallard stood silent and still, a statue to match Lester. His eyes focused and flat.
Henry gave a laugh. “I’ve talked, Sheriff. I’ve talked to other Realtors, those developers,” he gestured with his free hand at the Sun Dog pack and they edged further away, “and bankers. I’m done talking.” He gave another laugh that ended in a sob.
“Henry, please,” I said.
He brought his hand holding the gun up and used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes.
Lester placed his hand on his gun. “Henry, please, put the gun down, son.”
Henry shook his head.
“Henry, come down from there, this instant,” Mrs. McGarrity said. I’m sure she tried to sound like her old school teacher, busybody self, but her voice quavered.
I wanted to run until I escaped this nightmare. Until I woke up and none of this—not my father stealing the Noira, nor Derek being killed, or the end of our dreams—had happened.
“I surely do need my car fixed up, Henry,” Mrs. McDay said. “And you surely are the best mechanic for miles.”
I clutched the Noira in my pocket. I wanted to blame it. Didn’t it symbolize all that had gone wrong? Would Godiva have come to Starke and fired up Henry’s hopes, only to have them destroyed?
“Henry?” Mrs. McChin said. “Don’t you want to come down and have a cinnamon roll?”
Henry waved his hand holding the gun in a dismissive gesture.
“Clear the civilians away,” Lester said to Mallard.
Oh, no. It didn’t matter what Henry had done or not done, this couldn’t happen. This wouldn’t happen.
At Lester’s words, the Sun Dog Developers scurried away, well-tailored tails down. As they went, the Alpha Female cast a look back over her shoulder. Pity seemed etched into her frown. Perhaps I’d misjudged her.
Mallard took Mrs. McGarrity’s arm.
“Young man, unhand me,” she said.
“Ma’am, come along.”
She looked into his face and went. Mrs. McChin and Mrs. McDay trailed after her, bedraggled lost ducks that followed a defeated leader.
Henry held the gun in a tighter grip across his body.
My mind whirled. Money, it was all about money.
Tony stepped back to let the Widows Brigade pass, then fell in line behind them.
“Dora,” Lester said.
I didn’t budge. He took my arm.
“Henry,” I yelled, “Nance wants to buy, um…” I couldn’t force myself to say “Aunt Maddie’s store.”
Lester tightened his grip.
“She wants the Cameron Castle,” I blurted. Ohm, no she doesn’t.
Everybody looked at me. It was getting to be a habit with my fellow Starkers. At least one of the people who looked was Henry. I had all his attention.
“Really?” Henry lowered the gun.
“She’s got tons of money.” That was an answer that was not a lie.
In a cluster, the Widows Brigade took a few steps back toward Cam’s Auto.
Henry frowned. “Why? Why would she want—”
The Widows Brigade took a step away. They knew about stray bullets.
“Why not?” I found myself saying.
“Because the Cameron Castle ought to be condemned?” Mrs. McChin said.
“No,” I said.
“Because the Castle has a nude squatter?” Mrs. McGarrity said.
Henry hung his head.
“Don’t help her, dearies.” Mrs. McDay nodded at me, the cherries on her hat bouncing. “Go on, Dora.”
“Don’t bother, Dora,” Henry said in a too quiet voice. He raised the gun.
I sensed the police tense.
“Nance can take anyplace and make it pay big bucks,” I said.
Henry hesitated.
“For Buddha’s sake, she took a derelict house trailer, plonked it down on an empty lot on the outskirts of Boise and made millions.”
Henry stood frozen. The wind picked up a lock of his hair and made it dance.
“She said it’s time for a high class jewelry gallery in Starke. She’s right.” I gave a tiny gasp of realization. Why shouldn’t it be the Cameron Castle instead of my aunt’s store? If I promised to go back to work for her, would Nance give me a loan to pay off Maddie’s rent? Could it be that easy?
“Could it be that simple?” Henry asked.
“Yes,” we all chorused.
“Cameron Castle as a jewelry store?”
“Not a jewelry store alone. It could be all sorts of shops.” I was on a roll, now.
“A mall,” Mrs. McGarrity said.
“A lot better mall than that dogged mining shaft monstrosity,” Mrs. McChin said.
“Hey,” Tony said, “that’s one of ours.”
“A very nice place it is, dearie,” Mrs. McDay said.
Henry beamed. “But the Castle Mall will be fabulous.” He set down the gun and raised his arms. “Don’t shoot. I’m coming down.”
Everybody cheered.
My shoulders slumped. Mallard sweated in relief. Lester grinned one of his old full-face grins at me for a second.
Tony looked at his dust-covered watch, grinned and said, “Quitting time.”
I stood aside as the crowd dispersed and the police talked to Henry, who looked sheepish. A catastrophe averted.
Mrs. McChin patted my arm on her way by. “Good job. A shame your aunt wasn’t here. She’d have brought him down even quicker.”
My aunt. Where was my aunt? She was still missing from the commotion, as was Nance. Nance. Had Nance tracked down Aunt Maddie? Oh, dear Buddha, don’t let it be so…
TWENTY-FOUR
“And this one is?” Nance tugged on a frame and pulled another of Charles’ paintings through the small door of our back yard studio. She set the painting on the dead grass and stepped back. She placed her hands on her hips so her bulls-eyes breasts thrust forward.
“One mess,” she answered her own question.
I stood at the corner of the homestead’s back porch, out of sight of Nance and Aunt Maddie.
Aunt Maddie stood to one side of the studio doorway, her mouth part way open. How bizarre. My aunt caused those faces in other people; she didn’t make them.
Aunt Maddie stepped closer to Nance. “Charles titled that one One Life, One Mess,” she said. She gave a store clerk simper.
Oh no, Aunt Maddie must believe that Nance was vetting Charles’ paintings to buy. Somehow, I figured she was wrong.
“It’s amazing how you knew the title,” my aunt continued. “Must be because you’re another artist.” In full-fledged sales mode. I half-expected her to curtsey.
I stepped off the porch. “Aunt Maddie’s always loved Charles and his paintings, Nance.” I hoped she heard me and understood.
Aunt Maddie yelped.
Nance
jumped.
Together they stared at me.
My aunt placed her hands on her hips. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be in Boise,” she pointed at Nance, “with her.” She hesitated, mouth still open.
“I got distracted, big time,” I said.
“Of course.” Aunt Maddie gave a flip of her hand in Nance’s direction. “You’re evaluating Charles’ paintings for sale.”
“The Cameron Castle is up for sale, Nance. It’s a lot bigger place than—” I almost said my aunt’s store.
“Oh, I’ve heard all about that nudist colony.”
“It’s not—”
“Way too much bad publicity, for it to be viable as a property,” Nance said.
Trust Nance to have heard all about it already and to dismiss any idea I had, as usual.
“Publicity.” Nance slapped her cheek as she always did when struck by an inspiration. “We’ll have a fire sale.”
“A fire sale?” Aunt Maddie said.
As one Aunt Maddie and I turned and looked toward Dog Face Mountain. A small plume signaled that the Canine Creek fire still burned. Stubborn. Horrifying. In the fall of a drought year, such as this year, a fire could start and never stop until the snow flew. Such a fire took not only property, but all too often, lives.
“Oh,” Nance said, “not a real fire sale. Completely different.”
“Completely different how?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself.
Nance’s ideas, despite being off-the-wall, often worked. If she sold Charles’ paintings, no matter how, that alone could save the store. Hope fluttered its wings in my chest. Would my path finally hold a little less suffering?
“Well, first of all, we’ll remove these wonderful frames,” Nance said.
Aunt Maddie opened her mouth and then closed it.
“Then we put the paintings on sale.”
Aunt Maddie nodded in approval while I frowned in puzzlement. That was the problem with Nance; I never knew where she headed, just that it would be a wild ride.
“When a customer buys a painting, the money gets donated to their favorite cause.”
“Where’s the profit in that?” I asked. The hope flew off.
Nance held up an imperious hand. “Wait, there’s more.”
“You mean we donate a portion of the proceeds?” Aunt Maddie said. Even she, as unsuccessful as she was as a shopkeeper, knew better than to donate all the money.
Nance wagged a finger. “Wait.”
My aunt frowned.
“Then we have a great big bonfire—”
“Not until it snows,” Aunt Maddie said.
Nance made an “of course” gesture with her hand and said, “We’ll have the bonfire around Christmas.”
There’d be snow by then, I hoped. Oh wait, I wasn’t going to hope any more. That led to more suffering.
Nance’s eyes opened wide. “Yes, yes of course, that’d be even better advertising, a Christmas bonfire.”
“Now how would a bonfire be advertising?” my aunt asked.
Nance flung out her arms. “When everybody tosses their painting onto the fire, it’ll be glorious.”
Aunt Maddie and I stood there stunned.
“Toss the paintings onto the bonfire?” I asked.
“On purpose?” Aunt Maddie seemed to be having trouble grasping the whole concept. Me too.
“They’ll feed the flames and feed Nance’s Innovations.”
“Charles’ paintings?” Aunt Maddie struggled. “Charles’ paintings? You want to burn Charles’ paintings?”
Nance twirled.
I could tell she already knew how it’d happen, including the weather. The weather wouldn’t dare disagree.
“Nance’s Innovations?” Aunt Maddie still struggled.
Nothing stopped Nance in full spate or full twirl. “Yes, yes, Nance’s Innovations,” she sang. With her arms out, she resembled a large whirligig toy. The bulls-eyes made her dizzying to look at, or maybe that was just the presence of Nance.
“As the ashes rise,” she said again, “as the paintings burn away, it’ll be fabulous, tremendous, stupendous advertising for my store right where,” Nance stopped mid-twirl and pointed at Aunt Maddie, “your store is now.”
“You want to destroy Charles’ life work to advertise your store to throw me out of my own store?”
Oh-oh, Aunt Maddie had caught up.
Nance clutched both her boobs. “It’d be an honorable end, like a Viking funeral.”
“Dora, do you have my gun?” Aunt Maddie asked.
I shook my head.
My aunt glanced around.
“What’s she looking for?” Nance said.
“A weapon,” I said.
Nance looked at her and then back at me. She took several steps away from my aunt.
Aunt Maddie picked up a length of framing, a rather delightful piece of scrolled walnut.
“Run,” I said to Nance.
My aunt never followed through on any of her threats of violence. She hefted the walnut and then assumed a baseball batter’s stance.
Of course, there’s always a first time.
Aunt Maddie seemed to be focused on Nance’s chest. Those bulls-eyes might be irresistible targets.
“Run,” I said again to Nance.
Nance ran. She thundered across the Looney Jump Creek Bridge with all the grace of a stork jogging.
Aunt Maddie rested the framing length on one shoulder. A baseball player at rest. “You get out of town,” she said to me. “And you take that, that bit—”
“I’ve got a plan for taking care of Nance,” I said and realized as I said it that my plan for Nance to buy the Cameron Castle had already turned to ashes.
My aunt moved her hands higher on the wood as if she choked up on a bat for a bunt. “You’re leaving. Now.”
Aunt Maddie didn’t listen. She never listened. She gazed up at Dog Face Mountain, now carved with deep shadows from the setting sun. “That murdering thief Rupert is out there somewhere.”
“I’m not afraid of my father.”
“You should be. He steals everything beautiful and destroys it.”
Fatigue, hunger and fear for my father and maybe for myself roiled over me in hot waves.
“You’re wrong,” I said. “If you mean the Noira necklace, he hasn’t destroyed it.”
Aunt Maddie made a dismissive gesture. “My sister—”
“He didn’t destroy my mother, she ran away.” The old pain roared into my heart.
My aunt flinched. “No—”
“I won’t be like my mother, like Charles, like Rupert. I’m not going to run. Not now. Not ever.”
Everyone abandoned me. Even Aunt Maddie with her insistence I leave.
“That evil man drove Patty away,” Aunt Maddie said, in little more than a whisper. Maybe she didn’t believe it herself.
“No,” I said. “My mom ran off with Charles.”
Aunt Maddie’s chin came up. “You can’t see the truth about Rupert.”
“My father—”
“Yes, he’s your father. You can’t accept that he’ll never love you. No matter what you do. He can’t give you the love you want.”
Rage flooded my mind. “Charles is never coming back. Never. ”
My aunt’s face crumpled. “That’s not true.”
I couldn’t stop myself. I gestured at the paintings scattered about the yard. “This is all a joke. Charles left because he didn’t love you.”
“No, no.”
Stop, I told myself. Stop. “You’re fooling yourself. You’ve always been a fool.”
“Oh, Dora, please.” Tears rolled down Aunt Maddie’s face.
I stopped. Too late. Oh Buddha, I’d never seen my aunt cry.
“Aunt Maddie, I didn’t mean it.” I would’ve given anything to take my words back.
My aunt said nothing. She walked toward the back porch.
“I can make it right.” I followed behind, my hand outreached. “P
lease let me make it right.” I touched her shoulder.
My aunt ran. She ran into the house and slammed the door.
I leaned my head up against the door. “Aunt Maddie, please. Forgive me.”
Silence punctuated by the wind through the pines bordering the homestead. It sounded as if the trees sobbed and underneath, an echo of a broken woman weeping. Oh, no, no, no.
I tried the knob. Locked. She’d locked me out.
“Aunt Maddie, let me in.”
Nothing.
I pressed my face into the crack between the door and the frame. “I swear I will make it right. I promise, I promise, I promise.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I scrubbed away my tears with the backs of my hands as I staggered down Main, half-drunk with dismay. The fool wooden sidewalk made me trip and almost fall. I was done falling. I set my jaw, hard. The low rays of the last of the sun reflected off the store front windows and mirrored my red-eyed face.
Mrs. McChin passed me going the other way. She stopped and started to speak and then hesitated and kept on moving. Wise old woman. I needed some heavy-duty meditation time, or maybe some screaming-out-loud time. I stumbled into my one remaining sanctuary. I headed for my workbench at the back, my own private altar. And stopped dead.
Godiva stood over my kiln. She held the kiln’s electrical cord in her hand. She studied the frayed cord as if examining some new species of snake.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I said, my voice hoarse.
Godiva jumped. “Where is it?” She waved the cord, the head flopping back and forth. A dead snake.
“Put that down.”
She dropped it.
“Answer me, how’d you get in?” Any minute, my head might explode like an overheated kiln.
She smirked. “I walked in. The front door was open.”
No it wasn’t. Was it?
I turned and stared at the bolt. Hadn’t I just unlocked the door? I couldn’t remember such an automatic action—too sleep deprived and too upset.
“Now that I’ve answered your silly question, answer mine,” Godiva bent, gave me a view of overstretched spandex, and snatched up the kiln cord. She resumed investigating it. “Where have you secreted it?” she demanded without even a glance my way. I suppose she saw me as only a stupid shopkeeper.
Starke Naked Dead Page 14
