Shadow Man

by James D. Doss

  “Put it in P.”

  “Oh. Right.” She did this. “How do I shut the motor down?”

  Louise-Marie pointed to a chrome-plated slot under the gear shift. “You just turn that doodad to Off. Then give me the key.”

  Daisy fumbled with the ignition switch until the engine stuttered to a stop, passed the key to Louise-Marie. It was a great relief to be motionless again. She sat there for a delightful moment, enjoying the immobility. The stillness. The quiet. It was not to last.

  “My head is starting to pound, and I can see little wavy lines in front of my eye.” Louise-Marie took a deep breath, moaned. “I think my sugar’s getting too low. I need to get me something to eat.”

  “They should have some food in this big store.” Daisy managed to get her stiff legs out of the car. After retrieving her walking stick from the rear, she heard a rumbling sound, a crunch of tires on the gravel. She turned to see a young man on a motorcycle. He was filthy with road dust, had hair like a tangled mop, wore black leather and a malicious scowl.

  Stringy-Hair was glaring at her. “You the old biddy who run me off the road?”

  All these young people nowadays look so angry all the time. Like they never learned no manners. “Don’t you talk to me like that,” she snapped. “And why don’t you take a bath and get a job!”

  He said something that sounded like rich or itch but was neither. Something else sounded like arrrgh and was.

  “Mess with me,” Daisy raised her sturdy oak staff like the club it was, “I’ll whack you upside of your ugly gourd head. And while you’re laid out flat, I’ll sic Sidewinder on you—he’ll chew all the meat off your bones!”

  Hearing his name mentioned, the hound felt summoned. He lurched out of the car to confront the stranger. Instantly, the back of his neck bristled. “Arrrgh,” Sidewinder said to Stringy-Hair.

  Having recently uttered the same expletive, the motorcyclist understood. He growled, raised a filthy finger at the dog. Having had the final eloquent word, he revved the Harley engine to a roar that rattled the old women’s bones, sped away victorious—kicking gravel in a magnificent arc.

  Louise-Marie was perplexed by life in general and by this encounter in particular. “Who was that?”

  “Bugs-on-His-Teeth,” the Ute woman replied. She shook her stick at the departing villain.

  It is just amazing how Daisy seems to know everybody and everything. But what a strange name. “What did Mr. Bugs-Teeth want?”

  “To strangle us and steal our purses, I expect.” Daisy sighed at the injustice of it all. “That’s why I don’t like to travel these days. A civilized person is likely meet up with really nasty people. Tramps and savages and the like.”

  With the hound at their heels, the women went into the store. The inside was filled with dust and twilight. And every sort of merchandise imaginable. But not a human being in sight.

  Until a tall, stout woman descended the stairs. The proprietor was outfitted in faded overalls and heavy men’s boots. Girlish black bangs made a perfectly straight line above the double arches of painted-on eyebrows. She paused to unfasten a chain that stretched across the bottom step. The brass links supported a hand-painted sign which warned customers that the space upstairs was private living quarters—keep out. She gave the trio a stern, uncompromising look. “I’m sorry, but we have strict rules ’bout what kinda creatures can come into the store.”

  “Oh, it’s all right,” Daisy said with a quick glance at Sidewinder, another at her patch-eyed companion. “He’s her Seeing Eye hound.”

  Pokey Joe glowered at Daisy. “I was speaking to the dog.”

  32

  Pokey Joe

  At the proprietor’s invitation, Daisy Perika and Louise-Marie had taken seats by the potbellied iron stove.

  The Ute woman was having a go at a ham-and-cheese sandwich.

  Sidewinder was watching every bite.

  Daisy gave the hound a flinty-eyed look. Don’t you even think about it.

  The French-Canadian customer took a ladylike sip of her Seven Up, a nibble of Twinkie. “I was talking to the dog. Hah—that’s a good one,” Louise-Marie cackled. “I’ll have to remember that, and pull it on somebody who brings a dog into my house.” She began to consider the list of potential candidates.

  Police work

  Cruising along the county road, Scott Parris was beginning to entertain doubts about this course of action. I don’t know what caused me to think Charlie’s aunt Daisy could be out tooling around in Louise-Marie’s beat-up old car. I bet that elderly lady has never driven a car in her whole life. No, it’ll turn out to be some other old Indian woman that ran over Eddie Knox’s wooden foot. The recollection of Knox’s outraged correction made him smile. Make that high-tech carbon-fiber-whatever foot. But any way you looked at it, this search was a long shot. The Olds was heading east, and the driver knows we know that, so unless she’s balmy, she headed in another direction to throw us off. Or maybe she’s parked somewhere in the national forest till things cool down. There’s not one chance in a hundred that I’ll be lucky enough to spot— And then he spotted it.

  Bold as brass, parked right in front of Pokey Joe’s.

  The chief of police slowed. If that ain’t Louise-Marie’s old car, I’ll eat my hat. And boots to boot. So Daisy must be with her. He considered going inside straightway and confronting them. But that way I’d never find out what they’re up to. And this pair is always up to something. Something that’ll give me a serious case of heartburn. Parris drove a few yards farther, just past Hank’s Auto Repairs, which had been shut down long enough for a sizable elm branch to grow through a front window. He pulled his unit behind the abandoned building, into a brushy patch of willows. I’ll just sit here awhile and watch the Olds. Play it by ear.

  Meanwhile, back at the general store

  Pokey Joe hitched her thumbs behind the overall straps, eyed the white woman. “You feel better after the soda-pop, darlin’?”

  “Sure do,” the one-eyed diabetic said. “I think my sugar is about normal now. Or maybe a little more.”

  P.J. turned her attention to the silent Indian. “Anything I can do for you?”

  “Make me another sandwich,” Daisy said. “Just like the first one.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  Daisy and her pal watched the big woman disappear behind the counter.

  Sidewinder licked his lips. Cast a hopeful glance at Louise-Marie’s Twinkie.

  When Pokey Joe returned with the second ham-and-cheese on white bread, Daisy accepted it without a word, passed it to her friend. “After you get all the sugar you want, you’d better chomp down on some food that’ll do you some good.”

  Louise-Marie sniffed at it. “What thank you kindly, Daisy dear.” She took a bite of the sandwich, another from the Twinkie, then repeated the rotation. These go good together.

  The overalled woman departed, returned with a meaty ham bone wrapped in brown butcher paper. She leaned to pat the dog’s head. “You look hungry too, bub.” She placed the aromatic gift on the floor, immediately under his muzzle.

  Offended by this charity, Sidewinder turned up his nose.

  Pokey Joe raised a penciled-on eyebrow. “I never heard of a dog that didn’t like ham bones.”

  Rather than explain, Daisy preferred to let Nature take its course.

  A few heartbeats later, Nature did.

  In a blurred move, Sidewinder snatched the sandwich from Louise-Marie’s hand.

  The startled woman shrieked, tossed her Twinkie across the store.

  The Ute woman cackled a raspy laugh.

  The lady who had offered the ham bone howled. “Hoooeeee—I reckon that hound likes people food better than pig bones!”

  Louise-Marie shook her finger at the animal. “Bad, bad dog. You scared me out of a year’s growth!”

  Having swallowed the sandwich, Sidewinder trotted away to recover the cast-off pastry.

  Pokey Joe patted Louise-Marie on the back. “Don
’t you fret, sweetie—I’ll bring you another Twinkie.” And she did.

  Having had about all the fun she could stand in one day, Daisy decided it was time to get down to serious business. She smiled at the owner of the store. “That’s a nice-looking old church across the road. I believe I seen it once or twice when I was a little girl.”

  That must’ve been a hundred years ago. Pokey Joe looked through the front window. “St. Cuthbert’s hasn’t been a real church for twenty years or more. I guess most of the Cath’lics either croaked or moved away from here. Come to think of it, almost everybody has croaked or moved away.” I oughta pack up and go too. Before I croak or go broke.

  The Ute woman executed an expert follow-through. “I noticed a brown house out behind the church—is that the rectory?”

  Pokey Joe shrugged. “Might’ve been a long time ago, but not anymore. That’s Mr. DeSoto’s place.”

  Having acquired a name, Daisy pressed for more. “It must be a blessing to have a close neighbor.”

  “I don’t think of DeSoto as a neighbor—or even a customer.” Pokey Joe’s expression morphed from blandly neutral to mildly annoyed. “Except for topping off his gas tank once in a while, he hardly ever stops here to buy anything. I don’t even know how he makes a living.”

  Daisy saw the opportunity, grabbed it by the throat. “Maybe he takes in boarders. I know this young lady who moved out to Garcia’s Crossing a little while back. From what I hear, she rented a room right next to the church.”

  “I don’t know who DeSoto shares his house with.” Pokey Joe took a swipe at a horsefly with her hand, missed it by a millimeter. “But he has visitors from time to time.” She watched the insolent insect circle her head. “They generally come and go in the middle of the night.”

  I knew it! Daisy clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.

  Pokey Joe made a second try, snagged the fly, squashed it flat, wiped her palm on the overall bib. “For all I know, ol’ DeSoto could be operating a bed-and-breakfast over there, but I doubt he’d pull in any classy tourists. For one thing, he’s a reg’lar slob. For another, he packs a little pistol in his hip pocket. Not that I got anything against slobs and guns, mind you—but I got a feelin’ this DeSoto is a bad egg.” The proprietor was distracted by the toot-toot of a horn. “’Scuse me, ladies. Looks like I got a live customer out front.” She departed in long, purposeful strides that shook the floor.

  Louise-Marie cleared her throat. “I think that’s really nice.”

  Daisy had almost forgotten her companion. “What?”

  “This isn’t one of those self-service places, it’s the old-timey kind.” Louise-Marie pointed. “Look, she’s filling that man’s gas tank.”

  “I don’t care if she gives him a shave and a haircut,” Daisy grumped. “I’ve got to go find someone.”

  Louise-Marie raised an eyebrow. “That white woman who’s missing?”

  Daisy nodded. “Her name is Pansy Blinkoe—after her husband was murdered, she took off.”

  Murdered? And then Louise-Marie remembered. “I read about that Blinkoe fella in the newspaper—somebody blew him up in his boat. But I didn’t hear anything about his wife running away. Why d’you suppose she’d do such a thing?”

  Daisy had thought long and hard about this. “Because Mrs. Blinkoe knows who killed her husband. And the killer knows she knows. She’s hiding, so he don’t murder her too.” She shot her friend a grim look. “And I’ll bet you a silver dollar to a copper dime that Mrs. Blinkoe’s holed up in that house behind the church.”

  “But why do you think—”

  “Don’t ask,” the shaman snapped.

  Not the least offended by this rebuke, Louise-Marie finished off the second Twinkie, wiped at her mouth with a dainty little embroidered hankie.

  Daisy reached for her walking stick, pushed herself up from the bench.

  Louise-Marie’s pulse picked up a few beats. “What do you intend to do?”

  “What we are going to do is walk right over there to that house behind the church, and knock on the door.”

  Her timid companion blinked the eye that could. “Oh dear. Isn’t that…well, rather brash?”

  Daisy regarded her companion with frank contempt. “If you’re scared of this DeSoto fella, you don’t have to come—I’ll take care of things by myself.” With Sidewinder tagging along at her heels, she hobbled away toward the door, knowing full well what would happen.

  It did.

  Like a jack-in-the-box, Louise-Marie popped up. “Wait—wait for me!”

  From his concealment in the willow brush, Scott Parris waited. Watched. Those pesky little demons commonly known as “second thoughts” had come to torment him. Those two may be in Pokey Joe’s till the cows come home. There were also third thoughts. I’m wasting time. And fourth. I oughta just go in there and find out what—Wait a minute. Here they come outta the front door. He started the engine. I’ll let them get in the Olds, follow ’em a mile or so down the road, then switch on the emergency lights and siren. He smiled at the image of how his unexpected appearance would rattle the pair of elderly women. It’ll make a great tale to tell ol’ Charlie Moon. After I pull ’em over, I’ll give ’em a good talking-to, then I’ll—What’s this? They’re not getting in the car. Fascinated, the lawman watched events unfold. What is going on here?

  This raised a second question. Why does an old Ute woman cross a road?

  A third: Why does an old Anglo woman follow her?

  Finally: Why the heck do I care?

  But care he did.

  While checking her customer’s oil, Pokey Joe noticed the women and the dog crossing the highway. Guess they’re going to have a look at the old church. It was not like there was anything else to see in Garcia’s Crossing.

  33

  A Meaningful Conversation with Mr. Desoto

  Daisy paused to gaze at what remained of St. Cuthbert’s. It seemed smaller and more modest than when she was a child. Most of the stained-glass windows had been broken, the milky-white statue of the Virgin was spotted with lichens and moss. Scattered around the image were a few scruffy little rosebushes that seemed determined to survive. For a bright moment, the harsh work of Time faded. She was nine again, and Momma and Daddy were here, and little brother Tom-Tom. The tot was running after something that only the very young treasure. A dusty moth, perhaps, or a grasshopper. Salty tears filled her eyes, her heart ached as if it might fracture and break. She was startled when someone touched her.

  “What is it, dear?” Louise-Marie patted her arm.

  “Oh, nothing.” Daisy brushed a sleeve across her face. “Just got some grit in my eye.” She nodded to indicate the dirt driveway beside the abandoned church building. “We can follow that back to Mr. DeSoto’s house.”

  Sidewinder watched until he understood the plan, then doggedly led the way.

  A picket fence that had once enclosed the church property was mostly rotted away; a riotous party of tumbleweeds, kin-nikinnick, and chokecherry had come to stay. As they passed the ancient cemetery, it became apparent that there were not many relatives left in Garcia’s Crossing to tend the graves. Only the larger headstones were visible above the undergrowth. A few marble vaults—mute testimony of more prosperous times—were covered by a dismal species of waxy-gray vines.

  To catch up with her companion, Louise-Marie took a few quick steps. “I never did like walking past graveyards. Even in the broad daylight.”

  The Ute woman held her silence until they were past the burial ground. When their destination was in sight, Daisy paused, leaned on her oak staff.

  A rusted-out Chevrolet van was parked near a tumble-down shed, a low-slung, expensive-looking sedan was sheltered in the sparse shade of a Russian olive. The DeSoto house was a long, narrow, peak-roofed structure. Having cracked in the heat of many summers, the stucco walls resembled the bottom of a sun-baked stream. The front entrance faced the back of the church. There was no porch. A pine board on a pair o
f cinder blocks served as a step. On each side of the door, small windows with almost-closed yellow shades suggested suspicious little half-lidded eyes set on a broad, stupid face. A robin strutted about in the dusty yard, evidently hoping to discover an earthworm that had little enough sense to be in this place.

  Now past the cemetery, Louise-Marie had eased her pace and fallen a few paces behind the bold Ute woman. “Before we just walk up and knock on the door, I think we ought to have us a plan.”

  Daisy was about to respond when something warm and furry rustled in the brush beside the lane, then bounded off toward a cluster of sage.

  In hopes of a cottontail lunch, Sidewinder tore off after the insolent white flag.

  Louise-Marie watched the chase, shuddered. “Oh, I hope he doesn’t catch the poor little bunny rabbit.”

  “That poor little bunny rabbit is probably covered with bloodsucking ticks big as your thumb, and fleas that carry the plague.” Daisy chuckled. “And that old dog has the misery in his joints, just like me. He couldn’t catch a cold if he slept in the rain for a month.”

  Her Disney image shattered, the tiny woman turned her gaze toward the dreary home. “I don’t like the looks of this place. And I don’t think we should be here—just the two of us alone.”

  Daisy tried to think of something tart to say. But there was something bad here. She could feel it down into her marrow. “Go back to the car, if you want to. If something happens, and I don’t come back in ten minutes—you tell that big woman in the store to telephone the police.”

  Unnerved by this sober statement from her friend, Louise-Marie shifted gears and found some traction. “No—I won’t leave you alone.” She bent with a grunt, picked up a stick. “If you’re staying, so am I.”