by Sue Clifton
“No whoremonger nor unclean person hath any inheritance of God!”
His voice exploded like ignited dynamite cutting through a mountain. He grabbed a long, black cat-o-nine-tails tucked in his waistband under his coat and swung it, as men and women screamed, covered their heads, and ducked, many stampeding toward back exits.
“‘Neither fornicators, nor idolators, nor adulterers, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revelers shall inherit the kingdom of God!’”
With each sin announced, the man lashed out with the whip, barely missing many bystanders.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Again he struck the floor with the whip, each piece of metal on the ends of the nine tails hitting at the same time, and then he turned it on an empty table.
Pop! Pop!
The table and two chairs disintegrated, and the crowd shrank farther away; a few risked passing the giant’s helpers and hunkered down, scurrying through the swinging doors still propped open by men in black, who showed no expression as they allowed the miners to escape. The burly giant then turned his attention to the card tables and struck out at them.
Pop! Pop!
Two more tables broke apart, cards and money flying in every direction, but no one made a move to retrieve any of it. The giant stood where one table lay in pieces, his whip and his hands held high as he raised his eyes to heaven as if he were Jesus among the moneychangers in the temple at Jerusalem.
“For the love of money is the root of all evil…” His thunderous bass voice halted in mid-verse as his gaze wandered up the staircase.
Belle, beautiful beyond comparison with any woman in the establishment, was dressed lavishly in a red silk gown; her delicate white skin signified false purity under the bright saloon lights. With her shoulders held proudly back, she teased the supposed man of God with her cleavage.
She stopped midway down the stairs, and her gaze met the intruder’s. Her long, dark hair was tousled, loose over one shoulder and hanging across the edge of her right breast. Her flawless face broke into a wide smile, and she tilted her head down, batting her eyelashes as she looked up in flirtation. Her left gloved hand rested on the stair rail, and her right hand hung loosely at her side, hidden in folds of red silk.
“Well, well, Reverend Abel Mather.” Belle smiled a deceitful smile as she accentuated the word “Reverend.” “What brings you to my establishment? Lusting for the good old days?”
“Watch your mouth, woman,” the Reverend bellowed, snapping his whip as if cast as a violent Petruchio in Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. “Though thou clothest thyself with crimson, though thou deckest thee with ornaments of gold, though thou rentest they face with painting, in vain shalt thou make thyself fair; thy lovers will despise thee; they will seek thy life.”
“You were my lover, Abel.” Belle took a step down. “Do you despise me now?” She stopped. “Or do you dream of the way it used to be?” Belle droned the word “dream” as she smirked at Abel.
“Get behind me, Satan!” He snapped the whip again and took a step toward the stairs, his dark eyes burning like coals of rage in a firepit of hatred.
“What about your daughter? Was she Satan? Do you yet despise your own flesh even as she lies dead in her grave?”
“I…have…no…daugh…ter!” His face grimaced in anger as he drawled each syllable singularly; his eyes shot rays of loathing up the stairs. “You killed her when you brought her into your world of whoredom, Jezebel.”
The madman gave a demonic yell as he took three giant steps toward Belle, his cat-o-nine held high, ready to lash out at the woman. The bartender hurried from behind the bar, ready to run to his boss’s defense, but he was pushed back by the crowd parting like the Red Sea, giving the crusader-turned-murderer an open path to the madam.
Belle’s smile never waned, and she showed no fear or thought of retreat as she waited for him to come closer. When he was no more than six feet from her, she brought her right hand from its hiding spot in her dress. She released the rail, bringing her left hand up to meet her right gloved hand, which held a Colt .45. With gun steady, she aimed straight at the Reverend’s heart and pulled the trigger with no hesitation and no possibility of remorse. Belle’s hands shot up with the recoil of the heavy pistol, but her smile broadened as her bullet hit dead center.
The Reverend’s body shot backward, but he did not fall; his chest exploded and a dark-red ripple widened over his lapel. His hard eyes betrayed panic as he stared at Belle in disbelief. His whip fell and he placed his hand over his chest, the blood gushing between his fingers, covering his hand. His massive body crumpled to the floor, jarring the saloon like the aftershock of a strong earthquake.
His followers did not run to his side. The swinging doors hit the walls hard as the other men in black fled through them without looking back at the stilled body of their master.
The clink of glasses hitting against each other cut the silence as the bartender filled the bar with glasses and bottles of the best whiskey.
“Drinks on the house!”
Miners cheered and then herded toward the bar and free drinks. Two miners stepped over the huge, bloody heap, hurrying to reach the bar before the glasses were all claimed. The piano player beat the piano in a festive tune, only giving one quick glance to the blood-soaked body lying in a mound only a few feet from him. At one point, he lifted his feet from the pedals without missing a beat as a river of blood ran under the piano toward the swinging doors, as if it, too, thought an escape was possible.
Belle turned and walked slowly back up the stairs, holding the tail of her red silk dress in her left hand and her Colt .45 in her right as young ladies peeked down from the top of the stairs, their tiny hands covering open mouths. They looked with small, dark, angled eyes from the bloody remains to the delicate madam without uttering a word or a scream.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Billie made it to the top of the wall twice in what seemed no time at all. But instead of climbing a third time, she turned herself around and around like she remembered doing as a child, intentionally making herself dizzy and losing her sense of direction. Putting her hands out, she felt around the walls until she felt a section of the wall not familiar to her. She closed her eyes as if she could add to the darkness, and felt of the rocks as high as she could reach, locating each rock outcropping large enough for a hand or foothold. Once the rock map was ingrained in her mind, she placed her hand and foot on rock ledges remembered, and up she climbed.
When she reached the highest point she had mentally mapped, she began feeling with each hand, locating new outcroppings and climbing higher, repeating this process until her arms grew tired. Slowly, she made her way back down the wall. By the time she reached the bottom, her muscles screamed with fatigue. After finding the table in the center of the room, she got her bearings and made her way to the mattress, where she collapsed in exhaustion.
Billie didn’t know how long she slept, but she was awakened by a scratching noise. Her peeping friend was back. She rose onto her knees and put her ear close to the rocks. Soon, the rock was pulled from its hole, and she heard him or her breathing again. Not wanting to frighten the person away, Billie sat quiet and waited.
Thump!
Again, something had been pushed through the hole. Billie felt around beneath the hole and picked up a small, metal tube-like object, a small flashlight, a Maglite. Billie picked up the end of the mattress and shielded the flashlight so she could see if it worked without shining the light out into her cell. With one small twist, a stream of light shot out. Quickly, she turned it off.
Billie lowered her mattress and crawled back toward the hole. She felt for the hole, and after finding it, put her mouth close to it.
“Thank you.” Billie whispered. She was surprised when she heard a strange male voice answer in a whisper.
“Welcome.”
“What’s your name?” Billie decided to see if she could get the voice, a he, to talk to her.
; “Charlie.” A moment of silence, and then he asked, “You?”
“Billie…my name is Billie.” She waited, not wanting to scare him off. “Can you help me get out of here, Charlie? I’m really scared.” Billie spoke in a cracked whisper, on the verge of crying, both out of fear and hope, but all she heard was silence.
“Billie? Charlie not know Billie.”
Billie thought by the way Charlie talked he was mentally slow, but it didn’t matter. He had already helped her with the knife and now the Maglite.
“Get help, Charlie. Please tell someone you trust…a friend. Bring them here.”
“Secret.” Charlie was talking at the hole from a distance now.
“Please, Charlie. I’m going to have a baby, and I need to live; my baby needs to live.” Billie sobbed softly. “I’ll die if you don’t help.” More silence…longer this time and Billie thought Charlie was gone.
“Charlie go.”
And just like that, Charlie placed the rock back in the hole and left Billie with her tears, her fears, and darkness.
After weeping for a few minutes, Billie sat up and shook herself out of her self-pity. Reaching under the mattress, she found the small hole she had made in it with the knife Charlie had left her before. She stuffed the Maglite far up inside the mattress next to the knife, making sure to pull the cotton stuffing around the objects and back toward the opening. Then, placing her hand gently on her stomach, she curled into a fetal position.
Be strong; fear not! God will save you! And I’ll help. Just show me the way.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Piper and Zach had been running for forty-five minutes, and once their rhythms synchronized, they talked without panting all the way down the winding road. They left the Jeep at Teesh’s as planned, after delivering the invitation to her and leaving the picture tied with the bandana around one of the children’s necks on the Jesus statue. Piper remarked she hoped Charlie would find it in time for her aunt Harri’s fantastic stew, and especially the “Charlie Chocolate Chocolate Pie,” as Harri now referred to another of her signature desserts. She’d made the “m’rang” extra thick just for Charlie.
Zach stopped to get a rock out of his shoe. “Your mom and Harri are exceptional people, Piper. I can’t get over all those pies Harri baked just so Hank could take them to the crew at their camp.”
“You can’t get those pies out of your mind, can you?” Piper smiled down at Zach as he retied his shoe.
“I’ll have to admit, my stomach is rumbling at the thought of a big slice of Harri’s pie, not to mention the stew. It smelled wonderful. But what’s with fried corn on the cob? Isn’t that taking something healthy and making it unhealthy?” Zach started running again slowly. “Not that I’m going to refuse it, mind you. I haven’t tasted anything Harri’s cooked yet that wasn’t to die for.”
Just as they rounded a curve, Piper turned to Zach, her nose held tight with her right hand. “Speaking of ‘to die for,’ what is that smell?” Piper let go of her nose and pulled her T-shirt up over her nose and mouth.
“Damn! That’s bad, isn’t it?” Zach followed Piper’s example and pulled his shirt over his nose. “Let’s move over to the other side of the road. I think the smell is coming from your side.”
“Let’s run faster and see if we can hurry and get by it.” Piper sprinted, almost pushing Zach into the ditch on the other side in an attempt to get away from the odor. “I think we’re getting closer, not farther away. Maybe we need to turn around and go back. It’s probably a deer carcass, or some kind of road kill.” Piper’s speech sounded both nasal and smothered. She had her nose and mouth in her T-shirt with her nose pinched shut.
“Well, I think I see where it’s coming from. See those buzzards circling over there?” Zach pointed with his free hand to a small hill about a hundred feet from the road.
“That’s too far away for road kill. Wonder what it is.” Piper stared in the direction of the scavengers, two of which had now landed and were picking at something.
As they got even with the birds, Piper stopped. Her gaze lingered on the spot where the buzzards sat.
“Zach, that looks like clothing. You don’t think…”
Zach stared in the direction of the birds and lifted his sunglasses, propping them on his cap with the hand not covering his nose. “I see what you mean. I have to check it out, but if it is a human, he or she is too far gone for us to help now. Stay here. It will be more unbearable up close.” Zach took off his T-shirt, stretched it as long as he could get it, and tied it around his nose and mouth. Before he could stop her, Piper had copied his move, leaving herself in her halter sports bra.
“Tie this, Zach; tight, please.” Piper turned her back, holding the ends of her T-shirt out for Zach.
“Are you ready? I assume you’re going with me.” Zach’s voice sounded muffled in the T-shirt. Piper nodded her head in agreement, not wanting to risk opening her mouth even under the T-shirt. The two left the road and climbed over boulders to where the buzzards were now on full alert, watching the intruders approach.
When they got within thirty feet of the decomposition, Zach picked up several stones and threw them at the buzzards and all took flight, cursing Zach in vulture profanity. The birds circled overhead, ready to light and finish their feast.
“Holy shit! It’s definitely a body, Piper. We better not bother it or go any closer. We have to call the sheriff’s office. It looks like the body’s been dragged a good piece. See that black boot farther up? And the body has pieces of black leather, maybe a jacket, but it’s been torn to shreds, probably from animals.” Zach put his arm out to stop her.
“Piper, I don’t want you to go any closer. I’m going to circle around the main part where it looks like the animals have really been aggressive and try to get up there where that boot is.” He looked at Piper. For once, she seemed to be listening to him.
“Actually, I’m feeling a little nauseated.” Piper’s eyes watered above her T-shirt mask, and she wiped each eye with the tail of the shirt. “I think I’ll go back to the road. Maybe somebody will come by, and I can tell them to call the sheriff’s office.”
“Good idea. I won’t be long, and I’ll be careful not to disturb anything.”
Zach turned and circled the site, coming up the hill from the main part—or parts—of the body. He did not want Piper to see how anxious he was as he made sure the body was male and not female. His heart pounded into his throat, not from exertion, but from fear.
The boot looked like a man’s black lace-up boot, the kind a motorcyclist would wear, but he had to look farther and make sure there was not a female body in the area. When he took a closer look at the boot, he heaved. A decomposing foot filled the boot and was covered in maggots, indicating the flesh had been there for a while. But there was no way he could determine when the person was killed. The body was not decomposed much, but it could have been buried and then dragged from its burial site. Zach needed to know if another body had been buried with the motorcyclist. He hoped and prayed the man was alone in death.
Piper watched Zach disappear over the hill. She wished she could have stayed to help him, but she just could not take the close proximity to the only human remains she had ever seen. Minutes seemed like hours, and she wished Zach would hurry and return. She paced, mostly in circles in the road, and then she spotted a boulder beside the road. She sat on it, pulling her feet up on the rock while holding her shirt even tighter over her nose and mouth and burying her face into her knees.
Come on, somebody! Anybody, except the murderer who did this!
She stretched her neck to see down the road but saw nothing but miles and miles of curved dirt road. Wondering where Zach was, she almost called out to him when she saw something shining on another boulder just to the right of where she sat. Leaving her rock perch, she bent over and picked up the shiny object lying on its side in a small crevice in the rock. A few inches from it, she found another of the same object. Clutching the small ite
ms tightly in her right hand, she returned to her perch. She stared at the objects in her right hand.
Buttons. No, not buttons…snaps.
She rolled the snaps over and over in her hand, looking at them closely.
Snaps from a cheap western shirt, the kind Dad hated and never wore. He referred to men who wore western shirts with snaps instead of buttons as drugstore cowboys.
Piper was deep in thought when Zach came over the hill. Before he got close to her, he stopped, pushed his T-shirt down around his neck, and heaved.
“Zach, are you all right?” Piper stood, dropped the snaps, and ran toward Zach.
“No! Stay there, Piper!” Zach was still leaning over. “I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute.” Piper did as she was told, and in a couple of minutes, Zach walked toward her, wiping his eyes and mouth on the tail of his shirt. Then he pulled the T-shirt mask back around to the front and covered his mouth and nose again.
“I should have gone with you, Zach. It must have been awful.” Piper put her arm around his waist.
“The worst thing I’ve ever seen.” Zach wiped his eyes on his shirt again. “It’s a guy, looks like a motorcyclist, by the leather jacket and boots. Found bits and pieces of denim, too—blue jeans, I guess. I didn’t get close enough to really see the body, or what was left of it, but I found where it had been dug out of a shallow grave and dragged down to where most of the remains are. There was no sign of another body as far as I could see, so I guess he was alone. There were animal tracks all around the gravesite. It looked like whoever buried him placed rocks on top to keep the animals from getting to him. Obviously, it didn’t work.”
