by Jaye Wells
Peter stared up at the words, seeing them but not quite processing their meaning. He that endureth—what, exactly? Life?
He shook his head and wiped a sheen of sticky sweat from the back of his neck. Christ, he needed a beer.
“You okay, son?” Bunk didn’t try to disguise the humor in his tone. If he’d sounded the least bit sincere, Peter might have taken the chance to beg off and run back to his cabin.
But Bunk hadn’t sounded sincere and so Peter swallowed the bile clogging his throat and nodded. “Let's get to work.”
The old man looked unconvinced by his bravado but he nodded towards the cemetery gate. Peter walked under the arch ahead of Bunk. Several men had already gathered, but they weren’t working. Instead, they gathered in a loose circle around something on the far side of the plot. Each of the men had removed their hats and were scratching their scalps. Earl Sharps stood at the head of the group and stared down at the ground as if it were a disappointing child.
“What’s going on?” he asked Bunk. The old man shrugged and brushed past to go find out.
Peter considered hanging back in the shade, but he followed because part of him was hoping whatever had their attention would provide him with the out he was too proud to ask for from Bunk earlier.
“Mornin!” Bunk called. “I brought reinforcements.”
Earl looked over his shoulder. “Come lookit this.” On the tail end of the invitation, he spotted Peter walking up behind Bunk. “Mornin’, Pete.”
Having a name like Peter tended to invite all sorts of terrible nicknames, and Peter detested them all. However, the Ed Sharps who called him “Pete” was a lot more pleasant than the one who’d called him by his full name the other day in the diner, so he let slide. He guessed whatever Deacon Fry had told his flunkies following their conversation was to thank for the change, but it annoyed him that his impending exit was the only reason people were being civil.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he followed Bunk over.
Sharps stepped out of the way. “See for yourself.” A couple of others moved, too, to give Bunk and Peter access.
Bunk gasped. “What the Sam hell?”
Peter looked at the chunks of stone. Most of the pieces didn’t have discernible shapes, but one near his foot had an eye carved into it. He realized then he was looking at the remains of some sort of funerary statue. “How’d this happen?”
“That’s what we was trying to figure out. It was like this when we got here.”
“It was fine yesterday during the funeral,” Bunk said.
“Someone must have come up here last night,” Sharps said.
Bunk nudged the rubble with the toe of his boot. “Have you told Deacon Fry?”
Sharps shook his head. “He’ll be here soon.”
Another man, one that Peter didn’t recognize, who wore baggy camp pants and a beige T-shirt, spoke up. “When I find out who did this, I’m gonna throw ’em to my dogs.”
That was when Peter realized he was standing next to the infamous Jessup boy. Just in case, he stepped to the other side of Bunk, who was rooting through the rubble with his good hand for possible clues.
“Huh,” the old man said.
“You found something?” Sharps asked.
“Reckon so,” Bunk said.
They all closed in for a better look. Bunk moved several pieces of rubble away. “There’s something buried here.” He used his pincer to dig at the dirt for a moment before he cleared away an edge of whatever it was.
“What is it?” Earl asked.
Bunk jiggled the item to free it of some of the dirt, and a second later he pulled it free. “Got it.”
They all leaned in to see what he’d unearthed. He bent over it and took a moment to brush off the rest of the dirt. “I’ll be damned.”
“Well?” Junior demanded.
Bunk looked directly at Peter. “It’s your book.” His face stared at him from the back cover of his last novel, Devil’s Due.
“What the hell?” He took the book from Bunk and turned it over to the front.
Against the black background, the title had been written in a large, bloody font. His name appeared in a much smaller font below. He’d fought with his publisher over that cover for weeks. In the end, the people who paid the bills got to call the shots, but now, standing in a cemetery with a bunch of small town mountain people, he was grateful that they hadn’t gone with his suggestion of a big red pentagram against the black background. Something told him that the satanic symbol would have gotten his three-day reprieve rescinded.
“Were you in the cemetery last night, Mr. West?” Earl’s expression had lost its newfound politeness.
“Of course not,” he said. “Ask Deacon Fry. He paid me a visit.”
“Then how do you explain your book being buried here?” Junior puffed up like he was ready to kick Peter’s ass.
“Gee, I don’t know, maybe someone else did it?”
Bunk caught his eye and shook his head slightly in warning.
“Most of us were at the funeral dinner last night at Nell’s place,” Earl said. “But I suppose someone could have come up here after.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Peter said. “Why bury the book?”
“Or break the statue?” Bunk added.
The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood on end. Knocking over the statue could have been an accident, but why in the hell would anyone bury his book? Was it a warning? Did someone want him dead? His imagination ran off in a thousand different directions of possibility and none of them ended pleasantly.
“I think it was him.” Junior narrowed his eyes at Peter. “He’s doing satanic stuff up here.”
This was from a man who had a bear cub caged in his backyard to use to bait dogs. “If I were responsible, why on earth would I have come here this morning with Bunk?”
Junior spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the ground. “I watch them cop shows. The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.”
“What crime was committed here?” he asked. “Are books outlawed in Moon Hollow?”
“Peter,” Bunk said, “maybe you should go back to your cabin and get some rest, what with you feeling poorly this morning.”
“I think we should wait until Deacon Fry gets here,” Earl said.
Bunk stood and brushed his hands on his jeans. “The man just said Deacon Fry visited him last night at his cabin. No, there’s some other explanation.”
While the other men argued, Peter knelt and fished through the rubble. Something shiny caught his eye. He moved the rock covering it and saw it was a piece of jewelry. He started to open his mouth to call the others over, but then he saw it was Ruby’s Nashville bracelet.
He’d seen it on her wrist the day before when they’d gone to Junior’s place. She’d had it on when he left her at her mailbox. He’d asked her about it and she said it belonged to her mama.
He shoved it into the breast pocket of his shirt and stood up.
“It could have been Granny Maypearl,” Earl was saying. “One of her hoodoo spells.”
He told himself that the bracelet didn’t necessarily mean that Ruby was to blame for the broken statue or the buried book. Someone could have stolen the bracelet, too. But he knew there was no way he should show it anyone until he’d had a chance to speak with her.
“You okay, Peter?” Bunk said. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“I just—it’s a shock to think someone used my book like that.”
Junior spat on the ground. Earl looked away, as if uncomfortable with Peter’s admission of weakness. Bunk’s eyes narrowed but he nodded.
“Why don’t you head back to the cabin? When Deacon Fry gets here we’ll explain what happened. He’ll likely want to chat with you a spell, but we’ve got some investigatin’ to do.”
“If you think that’s best,” he said.
On his way down the hill, he told himself there was nothing to worry about. Surely it was all just
a misunderstanding. But just in case, he was going to hunt down Ruby Barrett and figure out what the hell the girl had been thinking.
34
So Mote It Be
Ruby
After Deacon Fry visited her, Ruby got the girls ready for school and headed into town to do her shift at the library. Even though she knew no one would be coming in to check out books, she needed something to do to keep her mind off her problems.
As she walked by the church parking lot on the way, she saw several trucks parked in the lot. The men were already up at the cemetery getting ready for Decoration Day. She could only imagine what their reactions might have been when they arrived to find the angel broken on the ground. Would they assume someone had done it on purpose? Would they suspect her?
On the heels of that thought, she quickened her pace. She was suddenly very grateful for the refuge of the library, where she could avoid any of the drama once word spread through town.
Distracted with her to-do list for the day, she unlocked the front door and went inside.
“What are you doing here?” Sarah Jane said.
Ruby yelped and spun around with her back against the closed door. “Sarah Jane! I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Sarah Jane sat behind the desk as usual, but she didn’t look the same at all. Her once glossy hair now hung in dull sheets, and the only colors on her face were the red lines in her eyes and purple smudges beneath them.
“I had to get out of the house.” She said it in such a way that it left Ruby wondering if she’d been forced out by her parents instead of deciding on her own to leave.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“I was just stopping in to check on things.”
“I have it under control.” She looked down to shuffle through some paperwork. “You can leave.”
Ruby hesitated. The thought of going back to the house and spending the whole day wondering if anyone would connect the statue to her made her skin feel itchy. “I could stick around and help—”
“I don’t want you here, Ruby. Please just go.”
Any thoughts Ruby had about Jack’s death softening Sarah Jane evaporated. She opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment the door pushed against her back as someone tried to come into the building. She jumped out of the way in time to see Peter push through the doorway.
“Oops,” Ruby said, even though she’d been the one who got bumped. “Sorry.”
“My fault,” he mumbled.
“Good morning, Mr. West.” Sarah Jane stood and tried to smile. “I’m afraid we’re closed.”
“Oh,” he said, “I’m not here to check out a book. I was looking for Ruby.”
As heat rushed to Ruby’s cheeks, she was also aware of Sarah Jane’s surprised glance in her direction.
“Really?” Sarah Jane’s surprised tone indicated she’d never heard anything so odd.
Peter looked at Ruby. “Do you have a minute?”
A confusing tangle of emotions rose in her midsection, pleasure mixed with confusion and a little bit of fear. But through it all one thought broke through: It worked. He’s come to me.
“Uh, sure,” she said. Her tongue felt too thick for her mouth and she hated how nervous she sounded. “We can use the back room.”
He glanced at Sarah Jane and back to Ruby. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk outside.”
Sarah Jane’s eyebrows shot up to her perfectly trimmed bangs.
“Okay,” Ruby said.
Peter nodded and touched Ruby’s elbow to guide her that way. The spot where his fingers touched her skin sparked with sensation.
“Ruby?” Sarah Jane said, looking up from the forms she’d been studying. “Did you order some books?”
Her heart hop-scotched in her chest, but she managed to speak over her panic. “Of course not.”
“That’s weird. Someone ordered several copies of Mr. West’s books.”
“Maybe it was your mom.” She avoided Peter’s eyes.
Sarah Jane frowned. “Hmm.”
“Ruby?” he prompted.
“Oh right.” She ducked past him and through the door he held open.
“That’s the strangest thing,” Sarah Jane said as they stepped outside.
Peter followed her out and turned away from the church to walk toward the diner. He kept looking back over his shoulder as they walked.
“Were you in the cemetery last night?” he said in a low tone.
The question, so unexpected, caught her completely off guard. “I—why?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. When the light caught the Nashville charm, her heart stopped and then tripped into a triple-time pace. “No,” she blurted.
Up close, she could smell his scent, which was a mixture of sun and a slightly sour smell that she recognized as day-old alcohol cologne. He smelled just like Daddy after a bender.
He shoved the bracelet back in his pocket, as if it were too dangerous to see the light of day. “Ruby, this is serious. They found the broken statue.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She moved away from him to escape the scent.
“What about the books?”
“I’m sure Sarah Jane’s mom ordered them.”
He grabbed her arm. They were in front of the closed post office. “Damn it, Ruby. This isn’t a game. They found my book buried in the cemetery.”
Her mouth fell open. In her rush to leave the night before, she’d forgotten all about burying the book. “I—what book?”
He shook her a little. “Stop it. I know it was you.”
Tears gathered in Ruby’s eyes and pressure built up inside her until she wanted to scream like a teakettle. “I—” She snapped her mouth shut. If she admitted to everything then Peter would never help her. She’d be trapped in Moon Hollow until it was time to join her mama and Jack up on Cemetery Hill. “I—”
She searched the area wildly for an escape route, but they were in the middle of the street. If she ran off it would attract too much attention. Besides, he’d just follow her.
Down the street, a door jingled as Reverend Peale exited the diner. He was only a few feet away and had already spotted them. He tipped his hat to Ruby. “Miss Barrett, how are you on this fine day?”
“Just fine, Reverend Peale. How are you?”
“Oh, fine, fine.” He turned his attention to Peter. “And who might you be, young man?”
Peter held out his hand. “Peter West.”
“Ah, yes, I do believe Deacon Fry mentioned we had a guest in town. Why haven’t you come to visit with me yet?”
“I don’t believe I’d had an invitation.”
“Well, consider it issued. You’ll come by tomorrow around ten.”
Peter smiled, clearly charmed. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”
The reverend waved a hand. “Oh fiddle, there ain’t nothing going on in this town then, anyway. You’ll come.”
Peter laughed. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”
The reverend nodded, as if to seal their deal. “I look forward to hearing all about this book you’re writing about Moon Hollow.”
With that, he said his goodbyes and waved off their offers to help him to the parsonage. When he’d walked far enough out of earshot, Peter touched her elbow again. “We need to talk about this somewhere else.”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t want to talk about it at all. She was embarrassed and worried he just wanted to go talk somewhere so he could tell her he’d never help such a dumb little girl. But running away would only make her feel more ashamed. “There’s a spot nearby.”
He nodded. “Lead the way.”
Ten minutes later, she stopped in the middle of the forest. “Here we are.”
He stood beside her and looked around. “What is this place?”
She tried to see the spot through his eyes. The crumbling stones formed a ragged square in the clearing. “According to the stories, t
his house used to belong to the Witch of Moon Hollow.”
He looked at her as if to see if she were joking, but she nodded.
“She was Granny Maypearl’s great-great granny.”
“Did they burn her?” he asked.
She laughed. “No, silly. She was respected as a healer and midwife in the region. Going back as far as Moon Hollow has existed, a woman has acted as mountain granny to the people here.”
“So what changed?”
“Deacon Fry changed it.”
He walked toward the ruins of the house. “How?”
“I don’t know the whole story, but Deacon Fry started changing things a long time ago—even before he became mayor.”
“That’s something I’ve been wondering about him. He clearly runs the church, so why isn’t he a reverend?”
She shrugged. “He flunked out of seminary. But since his daddy was reverend for a long time, Deacon Fry’s always had a lot of power in town. He’s just way more conservative than his daddy was and started making new rules as soon as he got himself elected mayor.”
“What sort of rules?”
“Well, for one, music can only be played in church and has to be religious. Used to be everyone in town would gather on porches at night to have sing-alongs, but Deacon Fry said it was sinful to carry on like that.”
“You said all the women in your family did mountain magic—your grandmother, too?”
“Granny Maypearl lives way up on the ridge but people still go out to get her remedies, which makes it easier to hide it from Deacon Fry.” She smiled and thought back to Granny’s voice singing to her as a young girl. “Granny can hear the mountain song. That’s the source of her magic.”
“And you really expect me to believe that her granddaughter doesn’t dabble in magic, too?”
Too late, she realized he’d backed her into a corner. “I can’t hear the mountain song,” she said. “I don’t have no powers.”
He looked as if he was struggling to follow all this talk of mountain magic and songs. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t try to do some sort of spell in the cemetery last night. Come on, admit it.” He reached into his shirt pocket and removed the bracelet again.
