August Moon

by Jess Lourey

  My radio wasn’t on. I needed to think, and the clean night air and buzzing bullfrogs were enough background sound. I knew in my gut that Robert, Alicia, and Naomi Meale were responsible for the vandalism, one dead girl, and one missing girl. The tracks I had seen outside the Fortune Café had been made by Naomi’s wheelchair, and they were the same tracks I had just seen at the corn maze. Lucy Lebowski’s body had been dumped in Clitherall, not far from the Bible Camp, and if it had been wet enough, I’m sure there would have been wheelchair tracks there, as well.

  The two men in black Julie said had pulled her and Lydia out of the maze had actually been Robert and Alicia, I was sure of it. Naomi probably waited in the background while they did their dirty work, and then they piled the body on her and wheeled it away. I didn’t know why they had done it or how they had known the dead girls, but guessed it was related to the God’s Army they were forming. I needed proof, though. That’s what I was hoping to find at the Bible camp.

  I turned on the gravel road leading to the New Millennium and continued on past the camp entrance, parking my car next to the Spitzer Lake public landing. I hoofed it back, my senses on alert for any sign of Lydia. The camp was dark. None of the six cabins had lights on inside, and the assembly hall was as black as a haunted house. The only spark I could see was a dim glow off the back of the Meales’ house. I scurried to the nearest cabin, my heart pounding in my ears, and crouched down. From here, I had a clear view of the central yard, a vast, moonlit sea separating me from the Meale house and the main hall. I was about to leave my safe spot and dart toward the house when I spotted someone lurking around the assembly hall.

  I pressed myself to the cabin wall, a shrub partially obscuring me from view. The person was not much taller than me, and slightly stooped. He or she appeared to be heading toward the Meale house. I concentrated on making my heart stop hammering until the lurker was out of sight, and then I dashed across the open space separating the cabin from the assembly hall before my common sense had time to haul on its work clothes.

  I crouched for a moment, catching my breath, and then slipped soundlessly around the moon-shaded side of the great hall and tiptoed toward the Meales’ house. At the end of the building, I peered around the corner and peed my pants a little when the shadow walked not twenty feet in front of me, looking over his shoulder back toward the house.

  When he turned his face toward the moon, I saw it was Pastor Winter, sneaking around the Bible Camp. What could he possibly be looking for? Cribbing a sermon for tomorrow’s service? Searching for a kidnapped girl, like me? Or maybe hiding an abducted teen’s body, or planting evidence of a kidnapping? He scurried across the open grounds to one of the sheltering cabins, and then was out of sight. When I heard the distant rumble of a car starting, I prayed it was Pastor Winter heading out, and I gathered my resolve to take my turn spying on the dimly lit Meale house.

  I walked lightly and low to the ground, avoiding the gravel so as not to make noise. My calves ached at the effort, and every sound, from the song of the bullfrogs in the slough to the snap of a branch in the woods, made my hackles quiver. When I was within twenty feet of the Meales’ house, I dropped into a crawl, my knife in hand. This close to the grass I could smell dryness and dirt, and the unwatered sod crackled under my hands and knees.

  A light spilled out the back of the house, and I followed it around to Pastor and Mrs. Meales’ bedroom. Crouching under the lit window, I took a deep breath and slid up the side of house, facing in. Not for the first time in my life, I wished my forehead was smaller. If they were looking out, they’d have a full view of two inches of noggin before I could see them.

  Fully erect, I was just able to peer over the sill. Pastor Meale was in bed, holding a Bible, a glass-shaded lamp casting a circle of yellow light around him. Next to him was a prostate form completely covered in a quilt. I assumed the body was Naomi, probably in bed early at her husband’s command. I continued around to Alicia’s window. Her room was dark, so I had to peer in for several minutes before my eyes adjusted. It looked like the bedroom was empty, so I took a risk and shone my flashlight around. The door was closed and the room was person-free. That was significant, but how, I didn’t know. Was Alicia somewhere, in charge of guarding Lydia? If so, where?

  I crouched down onto my haunches, contemplating my next move. I considered searching the other buildings, but they were all open to the public and would be busy bright and early tomorrow, on a Sunday. I couldn’t imagine that the Meales would be foolish enough to hide a girl where she’d be certain to be discovered. There was only one logical place besides the Bible camp where the Meales could hide a body, and it was only a couple miles away: Naomi’s sister’s house on Hancock Lake. I shoved my knife into my waistband and jogged back to my car.

  I was at the Toyota door in less than seven minutes. I was fairly certain no one had followed me, but I drove with only the light of the moon until I was back on the blacktop. I knew there was a minimum maintenance road that would take me directly to Hancock Lake, and after several missed attempts, I found it and bumped along. When I came out on the windy road adjacent to Sissy’s house, I sped up and turned right to reach Hancock Lake. I parked my car at the same spot near the lake where I had left it on my original visit and walked up to Golden Pond Road, knife once again in hand. I knew Les Pastner patrolled these woods, and it was better to be prepared.

  I followed the perimeter of the woods, the lonely sound of an owl hooting overhead. I shivered. Night birds were worse luck than day birds. I was sure of it. When I reached Sissy’s driveway, the front kitchen window was ablaze in light. A figure inside zipped past the window, too quick for me to be certain who it was. I made my way closer, on guard for some more half-assed rope traps. My ankle burn from the first one was just starting to heal.

  I stepped closer to the house. There was also a light on in the basement, coming out of those little half-windows high on basement walls. The yellow glow shone through the snowball bushes in front of the windows strangely, flickering and golden, and I wanted to get closer to peer in.

  I was forced to cross an expanse of naked driveway to reach the house, though, and the moon barreled down like a headlight. I steeled myself and strode steadily to the house. I was fifteen feet from the basement window, the light strobing out, when the front screen door of the house crashed open.

  “Who’s out there?”

  An icy claw grabbed my heart and my feet. If I ran forward or sideways, I could hide in the woods. If I ran back, I could stay on the road and get to my car the quickest. My mind was agile, but my feet were leaden.

  The ratchet of a shotgun being cocked came on the heels of the woman’s harsh voice. “Who are you?”

  Her command broke through my fear, and I turned and beat cheeks. I ducked in the woods first, remembering a conversation I overheard between some hunters at the Turtle Stew. They said that if you zig-zagged from someone who was shooting at you instead of running straight, the shooter would only have a one in ten chance of actually hitting you. Even then, they would likely miss a vital organ. So I darted around trees, in and out of ditches, until my car was in sight. Then, I ran straight as an arrow, fumbling for my keys, so I had the car gunning before I was all the way sat down.

  I waited until I was a mile away to lock all my doors. As a resident of Battle Lake, I had been threatened by worse than a woman with a gun, but the creepiness of the Meales combined with Lydia’s kidnapping made the whole night menacing, from the trees to the moon’s liquid reflection on the lake to the raccoon scuttling across the road. I kicked myself for still not getting a good look at Sissy when she menaced me with the gun, but there was no help for it now. I’d need to come up with a way to slip inside that house in the daylight. Tomorrow.

  Sunday morning was as hot as the devil’s armpit, and it seemed draped in a cottony funk. Heavy clouds locked elbows in the sky, but even without a visible sun, the oppressive heat wasn’t letting up. The temperature and uneasy weather ril
ed the already-stressed folks of Battle Lake. Lydia was missing, and if she wasn’t yet dead, she soon would be. The town was buzzing with people whispering their worst fears, locking their doors, not letting their children walk next door to play. A mandatory curfew had been enacted, and word was the FBI was in town, which made the seriousness of the crime inescapable and visceral.

  For my part, I was out of Battle Lake in a week, and I didn’t know if that would be enough time to find Lydia, or to pin Lucy’s murder and the vandalism at the Fortune Café on the Meales. I needed a way to weasel into the Meales’ inner circle, and also to steal into Sissy’s house. The opportunity to accomplish my first goal presented itself nicely at the Café over breakfast.

  “Hey, Sid, what’s this?” I held up the flier I had just ripped off their community bulletin board.

  Sid looked up from the triple iced mocha with cinnamon she had been brewing. “I don’t know. That young Elizabeth-Taylor-look-alike from the Bible Camp stuck it up this morning.”

  “Alicia?”

  “If you say so.”

  The flier said “Save Your Soul” across the top in gothic lettering. It was an invitation to the public to visit New Millennium Bible camp to “Cleanse Your Soul of Pagan Residue and Get Right with God or Pay the Price in Eternal Damnation.”

  The front door opened, and I heard soft-tennie footsteps stop behind me, followed by an old lady voice. “You thinkin’ of joining? Remember that Jesus wants spiritual fruits, not religious nuts.”

  “Mrs. Berns? What’re you doing here?”

  “I was on my way to church. Right outside the door, in fact. That’s when I realized I didn’t wanna go in. I think it’s all the glue-free communion wafers I ate yesterday. They didn’t sit quite right. I coulda pooped through a sieve last night.”

  “Maybe that’s why they only distribute one wafer a week.”

  “Maybe. How’d your date with Weston go?” She nodded over my shoulder, and I could see Weston leaning toward a computer screen in the next room. I hadn’t noticed him when I first walked in, being too distracted by the flier.

  “It wasn’t a date. He’s not my type.”

  “Too nice, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s a very nice man. I’m just not dating right now.”

  “Too bad. I bet your kids would be able to fly. Hey, Weston! You see Mira over here? Maybe you should come say good morning.”

  Weston’s head popped around, and he quickly shut down his computer. When he stood, he had a strange expression on his face; it reminded me of the look Tom the taxidermist had had last night when we had caught him stuffing a different kind of animal—guilty and defiant all at once. I realized there was a lot I didn’t know about him. “Good morning, Mira. Mrs. Berns. How are you two?”

  I took his offered hand and shook it, though the gesture seemed oddly formal. “Fine. I didn’t see you after we separated last night. Did you hear that a local girl’s been kidnapped?”

  His eyes cleared and turned serious. “I did. I joined the search party.”

  “They find anything?”

  “Nothing. The FBI has been called in. At least that’s what I heard one of the local police say.”

  “I wonder if they need any help?” Mrs. Berns asked. “I always enjoy a special investigation.”

  I raised my eyebrows, envisioning Mrs. Berns with a badge, a gun, and a license to kill. “Good luck with that. I’ve gotta get going.”

  “Where’re you off to?” Weston asked.

  I held up the flyer. “To get saved.”

  “I didn’t think you were the religious type.”

  I studied him defensively. “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a librarian, and you swear, and you’re so curious.”

  “Nice save. I’m actually going because I have a hunch that the pastor and his family out at the Bible camp have something to do with the recent bad luck in Battle Lake, and I want to check it out more.” I wasn’t sure what drove me to reveal my conspiracy theory. I usually played my cards much closer to my chest, but Weston was giving off a weird vibe, and I wanted to call him out.

  Weston looked at me sharply. “What makes you think that?”

  I became protective of my clues, the few that I had. “Just a hunch. Anyways, I’m off.”

  “Bring me with.”

  “I don’t know, Weston. I work best alone.”

  “If you two are going, I’m going too. I just gotta take a dump first.”

  I glared at Mrs. Berns.

  “What? Pretty girls poop, too. I’ll be right back.”

  I studied her. She was dressed normal today—no superhero suit, no toy sharpshooters. “Fine, I’ll get a scone and some tea and meet you two out front. If you’re coming along, though, you can’t blow my cover. We’re all going to get saved, no questions asked.”

  Mrs. Berns saluted and turned smartly toward the bathroom. Weston grinned and shrugged. For my part, I went to the front counter to order my breakfast. Sid gave me the “who’s that guy?” question with her eyes, nodding toward Weston, and I gave her back the “I’ll tell you later” look. Breakfast in hand, I headed out, Mrs. Berns and Weston on my heels. I ignored their chatter on my way to the Bible camp, the route becoming so familiar I could cruise it in my sleep.

  I knew it was a bad idea to bring these two, and when we reached the Bible camp driveway, I warned them again that we were undercover.

  “What’s our code name?”

  “We don’t have code names, Mrs. Berns. We’re ourselves, pretending to be here to get saved.”

  “Okey dokey, artichokey. But if you’re in trouble, I’m the Green Lantern, he’s Aquaman, and you can be Snow White.”

  “I’m not going to be Snow White.”

  “Fine. You can be Dyna Girl.”

  “No, we’re just us. Weston Lippmann, Mrs. Berns, and Mira James. We’re here for salvation. If you can’t stick to that, you need to stay in the car.” Mrs. Berns looked hurt, and I immediately regretted my harshness. “Fine,” I grumbled. “I’m Dyna Girl, you’re Green Lantern, and Weston is Aquaman. But only if we’re in trouble. Okay?”

  Mrs. Berns looked redeemed. “Ten four, good buddy.”

  The parking lot was packed, as usual. People were streaming in and out of the cabins and the assembly hall, and a crowd was gathering around the pulpit in the water, to the east of the cabins. All the benches in the horseshoe around the pulpit were taken, and the congregation was seven deep. In the center was Pastor Meale, up to his ankles in slimy water. As the three of us marched toward the outdoor gathering, I looked everywhere for Alicia and Naomi. They were nowhere to be seen.

  For the first time, I wondered about the soundness of this idea. I had been so excited to have an in at the Bible camp that I hadn’t considered what getting saved might involve, and how I was going to come off as a sincere, repentant sinner. If Mrs. Berns and Weston hadn’t been with me, I would have turned around. Two missing teens in a week, one dead. Those weren’t the kinds of odds a normal person would stick their nose in.

  “Get a move on!” Mrs. Berns prodded me. “You’re the leader. Show us the way to the Lord.” She cackled as she followed behind.

  I led reluctantly to the pulpit-in-the-water and hung out on the border of the crowd. I had just about decided this was a waste of time when an opening parted in the crowd. “You are here to be saved?”

  There was no mistaking that Pastor Meale was pointing at me. It was now or never. “I am.”

  “Then come to the front and give yourself to Jesus.”

  I walked shakily through the crowd, and noticed that both Gary Wohnt and Sarah Ruth were at the front of the crowd, facing the pastor. Gary Wohnt, sunglasses-free, peered at me impassively. Sarah Ruth looked apprehensive. I flashed them both a weak grin, and cringed as the lukewarm water rushed over my leather sandals. The lake bottom was squishy underneath, and my feet made sucking noises when I pulled them up. The hot air smelled like peat moss.

  When I was
standing directly in front of the Pastor, I looked into his eyes, and strangely, my fear melted away. I knew he was taking responsibility for whatever happened next, and it felt good to share the load. Besides, what could happen in front of a crowd of people? He took me by the wrist and led me until we were at an open spot away from the pulpit, up to our waists in water. He placed one hand on my forehead and the other at the small of my back and pushed me toward the water. My back arched, and the bathwater-warm lake caught me. It was happening so quickly that I only had time to be thankful I had worn a bra.

  Pastor Meale pulled me back up, his eyes closed, whispering fervently. “May God take her safely to his Kingdom.”

  I looked around, relieved. That hadn’t been so bad. I turned to give Weston and Mrs. Berns the thumbs up when Pastor Meale took his hand off my forehead, grabbed my upper arm firmly, and ground his shoe-clad foot into my ankle. It was the same one that was still raw from the Les Pastner-trap-induced rope burn. I whimpered and went down, twisting to escape. I felt his hand on the back of my neck as I dove underwater, the fleshy bottom of the lake allowing me to spin out from under him. I didn’t surface until I had stroked several feet away, sure I was going to feel the full body of the pastor pin me underwater.

  When I came up, I wiped my eyes quickly, ready to dive down again if need be. Pastor Meale was where I had left him and Gary Wohnt was coming toward him, knee-deep in water. Everyone else was humming rapturously and swaying with their eyes closed, with the lone exception of Mrs. Berns, who had hawk eyes trained on the pastor and the police chief.

  I tried to put pressure on the foot Pastor Meale had crushed and squealed at the icy-hot pain that shot up my leg. My ankle was severely sprained, or broken. I swam toward shore as far as I could and hopped the rest of the way to Mrs. Berns, dripping filthy water. No one offered me a hand.