Fiddleback 2
Page 45
Chapter Twenty Nine
Michael had just returned the shovel to the shed, and was sweating like a pig. It was the hardest work he’d ever done. He’d have liked to dig the hole deeper, but digging a big hole took a hell of a lot longer than he would have guessed. Wasn’t easy dragging Eddie’s body so far into the olive grove, either. He’d have loved to use the front-loader to excavate a hole, but he didn’t know how to use one and the noise would have been bad, a real game changer.
He was optimistic that this wouldn’t come back to haunt him—unless Trent ratted him out, which he wouldn’t do; that would be mutually assured destruction for the both of them. Eddie was a vagrant, basically. Who’d miss him other than Timothy? Probably nobody.
His shirt was dirty, pants were dirty, body was dirty. How’d the dirt get all over him? It’s not like he was rolling around in it, he was using a damned shovel. He yearned for a shower. Actually, there was a shower in the barn. And fresh clothes up in the loft: Eddie’s. His parents were undoubtedly awake and waiting for him to return their scores of missed calls and texts, and come home already. They would be worrying their asses off; he felt bad for them. If he came home looking like this, they’d demand answers. It was best to shower, get changed. Hopefully Eddie had a pair of blue jeans. Michael was wearing a plain white tee-shirt. Hopefully Eddie had one of those too. If not, he doubted his parents would remember what he had been wearing earlier today.
He returned to the barn and saw Timothy still unconscious on the floor. He checked his pulse again: still alive. The gash on his head was congealing, and Michael was pleased. He had the look of a nice guy. A nerd and a dork, sure, but so was Michael. He hoped the guy wouldn’t awaken while he was showering. As Ricky Ricardo would say, he’d have some ‘splaining to do. He’d make the shower quick.
It was a two minute shower, just enough to rinse away the dirt. He entered the barn from the little bathroom stark naked. He hustled up the ladder to the loft. In the dresser he got underwear and sure enough there was but one pair of jeans, and although they were two inches too long in the inseam, and an inch or two too loose in the waist, they’d do just fine. In the closet was a white tee-shirt with some little yellow logo centering it. He turned the shirt inside out, bit the tag off, and donned it. The outfit would fool his parents, most definitely.
He was heading down the steps of the ladder when his eyes just happened to catch what was under the dresser. It was shadowy under there, but one shadow stood out in relief, was about five inches long, a couple inches wide.
“What do we have here…” he drawled with a wry grin.
He went back up the steps and reached under the dresser, snatched the jade idol. He went back down. He scoped out the area where Trent and Eddie had been earlier, and there was blood. Blood from their numerous injuries. Most of it was from their broken noses, Michael guessed. It wouldn’t do to leave it. He set the idol on a six-foot high stall partition, went outside and scooped up a double fistful of dirt, sprinkled it on the blood. He repeated the action a few more times. He raked with his foot the blood and dirt together, spreading it thin. He took some hay and did the same, left a little on the floor to further cover it up.
He folded his arms under his chest and appraised the area. Not bad. It would pass. Especially being that nobody would be searching for Eddie, in the formal sense—he hoped. That gave him an idea. He needed to make it look like Eddie moved out, or the Stoddard’s might wonder if something happened to him. What a pain in the ass. He hauled ass up the ladder and gathered all Eddie’s clothes, stuffed them in a green duffle bag, and went back down. He’d have to ditch the bag somewhere.
Well shit, he thought. If he left the Buick here, they’d wonder how he skipped town. He’d need to take that, too. Heck, it would spare him ten dollars for a cab ride. But where would he ditch that? He’d think of a place. The best thing to do was to take it home, park it a couple houses down. In bed he’d think of a fine place to dispose of it.
He took his wad of clothes from the bathroom and stuffed them in the duffle bag. On second thought he pulled the jeans out and removed the Buick keys and his sixty-bucks cash, transferred them to his new jeans.
He looked around the barn one final time. It looked as it should, with the exception of the boy on the ground.
Before he turned and exited the barn, he remembered his newest and greatest acquisition: the jade idol. Ah yes, let’s not forget that. He went to the center stall wall and snatched it up, turned and put the idol in his pocket as he made his way out of the stall, stopping almost immediately with a chill running down his spine. He looked to the opposite stall, which was empty save for a low mound of hay. Because he hadn’t looked in that stall directly until now, he couldn’t be sure, but damned if he didn’t catch movement in his peripherals. A person, a small person. His memory of what he’d seen was waxing, and now sharp enough to further describe the small person, though it may have been all inside his head. What he saw was a fair skinned young girl with white hair. Not who he saw, but what he saw. And what he saw was a ghost. Or his imagination.
He couldn’t leave the barn fast enough.