Day One
Page 30
She closed her eyes and counted backwards, five to one. It used to be more. Ten to one, twenty to one. A hundred. She was learning.
“Oy. I know that look. Hey, babe, we’re moving in, right?”
“Thank you, Mitch.” She turned and leaned into him, kissed him lightly on the cheek. He smelled faintly of shaving cream and hazelnuts. “You know I appreciate it.”
“One of these days you gotta explain—” He stopped, pursed his lips briefly. He was learning too.
Across the street, the front door opened. The man who emerged was no one to inspire confidence. He was of medium height, lumpy, with shaggy grey hair and a wrinkled brown suit jacket over tan pants. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but this wasn’t it. He grabbed his newspaper and went back inside without appearing to notice he was being observed.
This is who you sent me to?
She took a breath and turned to Mitch. “I’m going over to say hello.”
“To the cop?”
“Yes.”
“What about the rest of the neighbors? The ones who’ve painted their houses some time in the last decade.”
“You need to be nicer to me.”
“Okay, okay.” He rolled his eyes. “Take Danny with you. The movers will be here any minute, and I’m trying to get Jase off his ass in the remote hope we’ll be ready for them.”
“I know there’s a lot to do. I won’t be long.”
Mitch headed into the house. She counted his steps until they faded away, then bounced Danny on her hip. “Ready to go meet Eager’s friend?”
Danny squirmed in response. There was a big empty house behind them. He wanted down, wanted to go explore.
“You can climb all over the place and get filthy later.”
“Da.”
She crossed the street and went up the front walk, Danny bouncing on her hip. But as she climbed the stoop and stepped onto the porch—squeak—her courage failed her. An image of Eager in Common Grounds Coffee House flashed through her mind.
“When he says his name is Skin and sticks his neck out at you, roll with it. He’s just trying to freak you out.”
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“Don’t worry. He’s all right. He’s not fucking afraid of Big Ed, that’s for sure.”
She thought of her father’s inability to stand up to her mother, how he never took her on the hunting trips through the marsh, how he wouldn’t stand up for her when she wanted to cancel the wedding to Stuart. He only found his courage when it was almost too late. She remembered talking to him on the phone that first time after she made her way back to Luellen’s little apartment, guided by an electric bill she found in Danny’s diaper bag. Her father described how Hiram showed up at the house suggesting that for all anyone knew she might be dead on a faraway hilltop. She lay on the floor next to Danny’s crib afterwards, crying for Pastor Sanders, for her fucked-up brothers, even for Myra. And Luellen. Especially for Luellen. She tried to imagine a different Ellie, one who drowned in the creek, or one who floated downstream for miles and days from creek to river, river to shore. Maybe a different Ellie floated out to the deep sea where no one would ever be harmed by her passage again. But that wasn’t the Ellie who stood here now, who’d crawled off that hilltop. Who found a way to be mother to Stuart’s child, because it was Luellen’s child too. She owed Luellen that much.
Some choices, once made, never stop being who you are.
The door opened and he appeared. The cop. Skin. He must have heard her on the porch. Maybe having squeaky boards wasn’t such a bad thing. Or maybe he heard her humming Luellen’s lullaby.
“Help you?” His voice was rough and smoky. He stood with one shoulder back so the red patch on his neck was mostly hidden.
She found a smile somewhere inside. “Hi, we’re moving in across the street and I came to introduce myself.”
“Oh.” He looked across at the house. Their house. It was as if he was seeing it for the first time. “I remember the For Sale sign going up, but I didn’t realize anyone had bought it.” He looked back at her, and at Danny on her hip. The little fellow met his gaze, his round Stuart eyes clear and unwavering beneath his shaggy bangs.
“Da.”
The cop’s gaze went soft. “And who might this be?”
“His name’s Danny, and I’m ... my name is Luellen.”
The cop raised his eyes back to hers but kept his head tilted—if anything, he was trying to hide the red patch on his neck. “Well, you might as well call me Skin. Everyone else does.”
November 19 - late
The Moose Comes Out of the Trees
My thoughts swim, rainbows of flame filtered through antique glass. Floating on a raft of air. Images, observations ... my whole life is a sequence of observations, randomly ordered and clouded by sensation. A loose, fluid sound, cold and damp. I blink and discover the light, warm to the sound of a needle piercing my neck. It feels like water flowing uphill. Floating among bubbles. Voices through the end of a tube, recordings on wax cylinders. The moose comes out of the trees. I blink again, and swallow. My throat opens and emits a red, round sound. I taste hot pepper.
“Tell ...”
The voices, distant. I can’t feel them, can’t see them.
“Please.”
A face, sudden focus from out of the dark, out of the light. A shaft of forehead, an eye shaped like wind, the rattle of a drum. “Take it easy, Mister Kadash.” I understand the words. “We’re rolling now, okay?” They smell like apples. Words shaped like apples. A dash of salt with the cayenne.
“We’re rolling ...”
“Please.” I think it’s my voice. “Please tell Ruby Jane ... find her. Tell her ...”
I float away, raft of air, unable to remember what.
November 22
Police Seek Help Identifying Man Found Dead On Green Springs Highway
KLAMATH FALLS, OR: Local police are seeking help from the public in identifying the body of a man found dead on Green Springs Highway late Tuesday night. The man appears to have suffered a gunshot wound to the chest, though the official cause of death has not been announced, pending autopsy.
The victim is described as six feet tall, in his early fifties, with short, steel-grey hair and a medium build. He was discovered in the ditch by a group of teenagers driving along the road shortly after midnight. No identification was found on the body.
Police theorize the man was the victim of a robbery. He was found without cash, keys, cell phone, wallet or other identifying items. A statewide alert has been issued.
Acknowledgements
Writing is often seen as a solitary act, and there’s no doubt writers spend plenty of time inside their own heads. Even those, like me, who write in public—the coffee shop, the library, the nearest pub—spend an inordinate amount of time focused on the keyboard and on the hermitic act of creation. Despite that, I find the collaborative aspects of writing to be among the most rewarding. Interactions with readers, other writers, friends, and colleagues keep me as sane as I am likely to ever be. Sometimes it’s kicking around ideas, sometimes it’s commiserating, but mostly it’s just sharing a love of the written word.
I’m not sure what I’d do without my friends, fellow writers Brett Battles and Rob Browne. Daily IM buddies, and drinking buddies on those too rare occasions when we find ourselves in the same city. They’re never more than an email or a phone call away when I need them. And not to be overlooked are Tasha Alexander, Kelli Stanley, JT Ellison, and Eric Stone—confederates and confidants all!
On the research front, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Dr. Steven Seres, who coached me on acute trauma care, particularly the effects of gunshot wounds. Whatever I managed to get right on the medical front is thanks to him. Whatever I got wrong is all on me.
Thanks as always go out to Janet Reid for her hard work on my behalf and for her deadly shark’s teeth, perhaps not so sharp as she might like us all to believe. Thank you also to Tyrus Books publi
sher Ben LeRoy and editor (and Sheriff) Alison Janssen for being smart and delightfully nerdy, and for their vision and risk-taking. I am humbled to be part of the of Tyrus family.
I thank my good friends and fellow writers Candace Clark, Andy Fort, Corissa Neufeldt, and Theresa Snyder, who beta-read Day One and offered invaluable critiques.
And last, but not least, I thank my lovely wife Jill, who puts up with my tics and weirdnesses and gets mad when I kill off her favorite characters, but who manages to love me nonetheless.
BILL CAMERON lives with his wife and a menagerie of critters in Portland, Oregon. His stories have appeared in Spinetingler, Killer Year, Portland Noir, and the forthcoming First Thrills. He is a member of Friends of Mystery, International Thriller Writers, Sisters-in-Crime and Mystery Writers of America. Visit www.billcameronmysteries.com for more information.
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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Other Books by the Author
Contents
Part One
The Idiot With the Pistol
Silly, Silly Shadow
Grass Fed and Pasture Raised
Local Farmer Found Dead
Get Yourself Some Sandpaper
None of Your Concern
Disturbance At Area Clinic
Roaming Eye Rolls
Thinking the Devil's Thoughts
He Was a Cop
Gas Station Owner Found Beaten To Death
No More Fucking
Between Him and His Right Hand
Stay Away From the Kid
Sunlight in His Eyes
Police Investigate Two Deaths in Rural Klamath County
Part Two
Whole Family Is Made of Butter
Not on the Schedule
When It's Safe
Police Investigating Attempted Assault
The Color of Hay
You Can Call Me Hiram
Stuart's Ellie
Just an Afterthought
Shadow Slinking
Woman Escapes Prowler By Fleeing House
Drop Everything
The Fleshy Part of the Thigh
Shared Minutes
I'm Your Man
Police Seek Assailant In Assault On Sleeping Woman
Pig Rode The Hot Breeze
That Crazy Bitch'll Know Someone
Back Door
Stargazers Assaulted
Balls to the Wall
Somewhere Beyond Corn
Follow the Babysitter
A Long Way From Long Gone
Body Of Elderly Klamath Man Found By State Trooper
Part Three
No One You Want to Fuck With
Shadow Ale
Know Nothing of Deserves
Miss Safe Sex Klamath County
Man Comes Out of the Trees
Sliding Rocks and Runoff
Balance of Power
Wade into the Storm
Sheath of Overdeveloped Contractile Tissue
Harvey Scott Watches
Civil Twilight
Long Past Time
S-s-s-shadow
Lucy-Loo
Forgotten
Find What You Find
I Can Do This
The Moose Comes Out of the Trees
Police Seek Help Identifying Man Found Dead On Green Springs Highway
Acknowledgements
About the Author
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