by Ronald Kelly
Alice regarded him distastefully. "Do you think it's morally right to kill an innocent reptile for the sake of a macho hatband? That's how endangered species come about, you know."
"Shucks," said Rowdy with a big grin. "There are rattlesnakes a-plenty on God's green earth." He nodded toward her feet. "Why, there's one right there."
Alice let out a little yelp and jumped away from the spot. She instantly felt foolish when she saw that the floorboards were bare. "Very funny." She scowled as Rowdy burst into a fit of redneck laughter. "You ought to be on Hee Haw."
That seemed to break him up even more. "Funny you should say that…"
The roar of a diesel rumbled outside and Alice turned to see a yellow school bus drive past the store, then turn around in the Amoco lot next door. "If you gents will excuse me, I'll go meet the person I came here to see in the first place." She paid for her soda and went out on the porch of the general store.
A few minutes later, a small boy with mousy brown hair and glasses trudged up the road, balancing his schoolbooks on his head. He gave the woman a curious glance, but said nothing as he climbed the steps of the porch.
"Are you Dale Tucker?" she asked with a smile.
"Yeah. Who are you?"
She knew it was going to be a shock for him, but decided to go ahead and spill the beans. "I'm Alice McCray, or you may know me as Professor A. D. McCray."
Dale stared at her with hard suspicion. "You are not."
"I'm sorry, but I am."
The boy made a face as if he had just bitten into a green persimmon. "But you're…you're…a woman!"
She could see the disappointment in his eyes and tried to do her best to dispel it. "I know you were expecting me to be a man, Dale, but what's so bad about me being a woman? There are a lot of women scientists. It doesn't really make any difference, does it?"
The expression on Dale's face told her that it did to him. "What are you doing here?"
"I got the letter you sent me," she said. "And the photographs."
Dale seemed to flinch when she mentioned the photos. "I, uh, made a mistake. I shouldn't have sent them to you."
Alice reached into a pocket and brought out the prints. "No, you did the right thing. I believe your story, Dale. I think these pictures are for real. That's why I made the trip out here; to ask you a few questions and find out exactly where you took these incredible shots."
The boy looked as if he were near tears. "You wasted your time, lady," he said. "It was just a big gag. A hoax. I just made the whole thing up. Now why don't you just go away and leave me alone." Then he burst through the front door of the store.
Alice followed him inside, feeling bad. She watched as Dale ran down the center aisle and bounded up a narrow stairway that led upstairs. The two men stared at her and she found herself stammering for an explanation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset him so. I guess it was a big shock for him, finding out that I'm a woman."
Glen gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Miss McCray. He'll get over it."
Rowdy nodded and sucked down the rest of his root beer. "Yeah, the kid's a tough one. I reckon it is kinda weird finding out that your big hero is a lady…and a foxy-looking one at that."
Alice ignored his flirting and turned back to Glen. "The reason I made this trip was to find out where he saw the dinosaurs."
Glen stared at her as if she had two heads. "Dinosaurs? What are you talking about?"
"Your son claims that it's all a big hoax he cooked up, but I think he only said that because he was upset." She laid the photographs on the countertop. "I've put a lot of work into trying to prove that these are faked photos, but they all check out."
Glen studied the photographs. "You actually believe that Dale took pictures of real dinosaurs somewhere around here?"
"You mean you haven't seen these yet?"
"No, he didn't show them to me. But the idea is preposterous, don't you think? He must have faked them. He does have some dinosaur models up in his room. I bet that's what he used."
"They are not models," Alice insisted. "And a trained paleontologist couldn't have faked such photographs, let alone a nine-year-old boy. He said he took them at someplace called PaleDoveMountain."
Something peculiar happened then. Rowdy Hawkens's amused grin left his lean face in an instant. "Can I take a look at those pictures?" he asked. He flipped through them quietly, his eyes narrowing at the images of the pitch black triceratops and pterodactyl.
"Well, I'm sorry, Miss McCray, but I really do think your trip was a wild-goose chase," Glen told her. "If Dale did concoct this hoax, then I apologize. It just isn't like the boy to be pulling such pranks. I hope you don't blame him, though. His mother passed away a few months back and it's been awful hard on him. Grief can make a young'un do some mighty strange things."
Alice wasn't satisfied with the idea that it was nothing but a childish hoax, but she didn't press the matter any further. "That's okay. I needed a little vacation anyway and this is beautiful country. I might stick around for a few days and do a little hiking. Is there a hotel nearby?"
"Compton's Boardinghouse is right across the street," said Rowdy, looking up from the photographs. "I'm sure that Miss Mable has an extra room. I'll walk over there with you, if you'd like."
"All right," said Alice.
"Again, I'm sorry if Dale caused you any trouble," Glen said as the two started for the door. "And don't worry about Dale. I'm sure he'll get a real kick out of you being here once he gets over his disappointment."
As they walked across the road to the boardinghouse, Alice eyed Rowdy Hawkens. The lanky man was still sorting through the photos with intense fascination. Watching him, she began to realize that he didn't share Glen Tucker's opinion that the photographs were a hoax. On the contrary, Rowdy seemed to see something in those picture that even she hadn't. His eyes seemed to brighten with an expression she could only identify as dawning recognition.
"They are for real, aren't they?" she asked him flat out. "You've seen them before, haven't you?"
Rowdy laughed, but not as brashly as usual. "Hell, lady, the only dinosaurs I ever see is when I finish off a fifth of Jack Daniel's." He looked at the pictures one last time, then handed them back, "You may think us country hicks are stupid enough to go believing in such things, but we ain't. And I'm more than a little surprised that you're taking the boy's joke so seriously yourself."
But she could see that he was trying hard to cover up. He did believe that the photographs were genuine. Was there something extraordinary living on Pale Dove Mountain? It was a good bet that Rowdy Hawkens knew something about the situation that she didn't. And since Dale Tucker had decided not to cooperate with her, maybe Rowdy would. Maybe if she pulled in her feminist claws and was extra nice to Hawkens, he would end up telling her everything she wanted to know.
The supper at the Tuckers had gone well, until the wrong question had been asked.
"What did Liz die of?" Jenny had wanted to know, quite innocently.
Glen had sat there, staring at the dirty dishes on the kitchen table, feeling that cold sensation of sinking dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He had a hard time getting the word out, but finally did. "Cancer."
"Cancer," Dale had echoed, as if uttering the name of some horrible fiend.
After that, things had sort of fallen apart. The lively conversation drifted into uncomfortable silence. It wasn't long before Jenny realized her error and mercifully took her leave. Dale had gone to his room shortly afterward, leaving his father alone in the kitchen.
Glen hated himself for letting the evening end like that. He should have ignored the creeping despair and moved on to a different subject. The visit had started out extremely well. Sure, it had been difficult to endure Jenny's presence in their home. It made Glen feel both happy and guilty to have a warm and attractive woman sitting across the table from him, even if she was only a friend. Her bright smile had broken the barrier of his sadness, bringing smiles of his own.
They were a little rusty and awkward, but they had been genuine all the same. And although he tried not to, Glen found himself attracted to her. He felt that was wrong, so soon after the death of his wife, but he found he couldn't help it. The more Jenny's laughter and smiles filled the kitchen, the more Glen's icy heart began to thaw. For the first time in six months, he had nearly gotten through an evening without having Liz foremost in his mind.
But Jenny's sudden question and his subsequent answer had brought the unpleasant memories rushing back into his brain, like a dark dog that had wandered too far from home and, realizing its mistake, returned to its master, never to stray again.
It was nearly midnight now. Dale was asleep in his bed and the supper dishes were stacked in the kitchen sink. And Glen was strolling through the town cemetery, staring into the starry sky and recalling those horrible days after the cloudy spots had been discovered on Liz's X-rays.
Lung cancer. The diagnosis had seemed absurd at first. Liz was the healthiest woman in town. She exercised, watched her weight, and had never smoked a cigarette in her life. But nevertheless, the dark blotches were there on the left lung, looming like a storm cloud on a clear horizon. The biopsy had confirmed the doctor's diagnosis, and suddenly, the absurdness was gone. In its place bloomed anger, frustration, and plenty of fear.
The growth was too advanced for the risk of surgery. The only other options had been radiation treatments and chemotherapy. She had endured both, but the cancer had refused to respond. The treatments only made things worse. A gradual loss of hope accompanied the loss of hair and weight. Soon, his vibrant and beautiful wife had become a shrunken invalid, making steady trips back and forth to the hospital in Knoxville. He and Dale had done all they could to make her happy and comfortable, but it always seemed to be a losing battle.
Glen remembered lying in their king-sized bed one cool October night, unable to sleep. As he stared at the ceiling overhead, he felt Liz clutch his hand in the darkness. "Make me feel good again," she had said. Glen had done his best to grant her wish, to drive away the sickness and the pain and the constant terror, if only for a short while. But halfway through the act of lovemaking, they had both burst into tears. They had lain there in each other's arms, crying like motherless children. A few days later, Liz went to the hospital for the very last time. She never came home again.
The days after her death had been pure hell, for both him and Dale. He tried to talk to the child, but his words of comfort seemed pointless and stupid. Silence invaded their lives, separating father and son like a flooded stream raging out of control. They would eat their meals quietly, the empty chair at the table standing out like an ugly, open wound that would never heal. At night Glen would lay awake and listen to Dale's mournful sobs through the bedroom wall.
On one such night, Glen decided that he and Dale had endured enough. Life simply wasn't worth living without Liz. Glen had gone to the closet and taken down the holstered snubnose .38 he kept loaded on the top shelf. He sat at the foot of his bed, caressing the coolness of the blued steel and the smoothness of the leather holster. It would be simple enough to do. First a bullet in the back of Dale's head, then one through the roof of his own mouth. They would be together then, like before. Just him and Liz and Dale, a family forever.
Glen had unsnapped the strap and pulled the gun from the holster. But something had put a halt to his deadly intentions. That something had been a single scrap of white paper wedged between gun and holster. It dropped to the floor between Glen's bare feet and he picked it up. It smelled of Liz's perfume and was etched with her graceful handwriting. It simply read DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID.
He had pitched the gun across the room, shattering the mirror over the dresser, then planted his face in his hands and surrendered to the grief that had built up inside him. A moment later, a small hand gripped his and he stared into the tearful face of Dale. "It's okay, Dad," the boy had said. "Everything's gonna be okay." He had embraced his son then, and since that night, things had gotten progressively better.
Glen stood before his wife s grave and prayed for strength. He knew that Liz wouldn't want him and Dale to grieve so long and so hard, that she would want them to go on with their lives. But it was so damned hard. Since childhood, Liz had been his one and only sweetheart and it was hard to let go of such a love. Not impossible, but terribly hard.
He was turning to leave when he was surprised to see that he wasn't alone in the graveyard. Jenny Brice stood a few yards away, beside the earthen mound of her father's grave. A leafy magnolia tree stood between them, and Glen realized that she was unaware of his presence there.
"Looks like we both had the same idea," he said softly.
Jenny jumped at the sound of his voice, then relaxed when she saw him standing there. "Yes, welcome to the Mourners Club." She left the grave and joined Glen near the magnolia. "I want to apologize for ruining things tonight. That wasn't a very tactful question I asked. I could have found out just as well from asking Miss Mable or Gart. I'm sorry."
"And I'm sorry that I let it throw me for a loop," said Glen. "I was having a good time—the best time in a long time—and I blew it. I guess part of it came from feeling guilty about being with you. I was enjoying your company almost a little too much."
Jenny smiled. "Same here. I don't know if you ever knew it, Glen, but I had a big crush on you back in high school."
"I knew. And I think Liz did, too." Glen stood there and regarded the young woman, feeling a comforting peace flow through his grief-weary mind. "You know, we shared some good times back when we were kids, all three of us. You were Liz's best friend and I was her only beau. She loved us both a great deal. And I can't help but feel that she wouldn't mind if we spent a little time together, if only to talk and try to get over the grief we feel. In fact, I think she would've encouraged it."
"You may be right," said Jenny. Awkwardly, she hugged the big man and he hugged back. In another time or place, their closeness might have led to passion. But that night, all they could think of was loved ones lost and the need to heal the hurt.
Arm in arm, they left the cold stones of the cemetery, talking of Liz and Fletcher and old times. And along the way, they shared a little laughter, as well as a few tears.
Chapter Twenty
"Someone's starting to get under my skin," said Jackson Dellhart.
Vincent Russ studied the photos that his boss pushed across the desk at him. They were cheap Polaroid snapshots, and at first, he couldn't quite make out what they were pictures of. One looked like a scene from a horror movie, a collection of bones and entrails scattered along a bloody concrete floor. The other looked like a shot of a traffic wreck, the hood of a pickup truck tattooed with deep and jagged slashes.
Then, as if they were some clever optical illusion, the meaning of the violent images became clear. They were messages, spelled out in human viscera and mangled steel. Or rather, warnings. The first one read LEAVE US ALONE!, while the second read SECOND CHANCE!
"Where did you get these?" asked Russ.
"I have people working for me in Tucker's Mill," said Dellhart. "Spies who are keeping an eye on things in the area. I didn't see any need to inform you of my hidden sources, but now I think it is best that you know.''
Russ suppressed his obvious displeasure at being left in the dark. He had set the initial steps of Project Pale Dove into motion, thinking that he was taking care of the situation extremely well, considering that he was acting alone. He had successfully bribed the county clerk, Bill Baldwin, to legitimize the land transaction in the eyes of the local law, as well as the state investigator, Robert Jergens, whose influence helped put necessary distance between the Stoogeones and Eco-Plenty. But now Dellhart was telling him that there had been hidden informants in his midst without his knowledge. Russ didn't like that one bit.
Dellhart handed him a file. Russ opened it. It contained various reports on local activities, as well as a list of two dozen names, one column highlighted in red, the other
in yellow. "So what are my instructions, sir?" he asked.
"I want you to take command of the operation and see that there are no further problems." Dellhart shook his head in disgust. "Only three days into the project and I have two men missing and presumed dead, and one man confined to a psychiatric ward. And these bizarre messages start popping up, too, trying to scare us off. You have two objectives, Vincent. Objective one is to get the surveying finished and the timber crews onto the mountain on schedule. Objective two is to discover the identity of the bastard who is making things hard for us and eliminate him. I thought it was a wild animal at first, but now it seems to be a very cunning and dangerous man."
"How am I going to get the surveyors? There's a good chance I won't be able to hire any locally, especially with the trouble those two encountered yesterday."
"I'm having a surveying team flown in from our ongoing project in the Brazilian rain forests. They'll have the mountain sectioned off well before the May deadline."
"What about protection for the workers?" asked Russ. He thought of the ill-fated Colin Wainwright and his ineffective presence on the mountain. "And the termination of the threat?"
"I've already hired some local muscle for that purpose," Dellhart told him. "They are the names marked in red on the list. Mostly poor white trash and backwoods rednecks who live in PeremontCounty. They have been on the Eco-Plenty payroll for a few weeks now and are prepared to get mean and nasty at a snap of our fingers. I want you to contact each man and inform them of the situation, in a limited capacity, of course. Then I want them armed and stationed around the mountain, to provide protection for the surveyors as well as defense against this renegade meddler. The names marked in yellow are my local ears. I'll have them attuned to the daily activities of Tucker's Mill, ready to inform you when the identity of the vigilante is discovered."
