Devil's Oven (21 page)

It’s not too late.

Ivy turned at a sound coming from behind her. The reality of being alone on Devil’s Oven in the dark hit her. She had no gun, only the shovel and a pitiful light.
Foolish
didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

Grabbing the shovel and the rope of the sled, she left the spade and her water behind. Almost immediately, she regretted bringing the sled. Twice it banged into her ankles, nearly knocking her down. She was thinking of the coyote that Anthony had killed the previous night, but whatever was out there could just as easily be a wolf. A lot of people in the area who kept livestock complained about the wolves.

Desperate to know what it was, she stopped to look over her shoulder. Holding up the lantern, she saw Anthony, his teeth gleaming. He had that look of blank, humorless joy on his face. When he saw her, he slowed to a fast walk. He wore pants, but his shirt was gone, and his skin was filthy with dirt. The skin of the woman he carried reflected the lantern’s light more brightly. Her skin was white, her buttocks two half moons in the dark.

Anthony stopped when he reached Ivy. He was panting like a dog.

Ivy couldn’t speak.

Anthony slid the naked woman off his shoulder, dumping her on the ground at Ivy’s feet, her red hair spilling over them like blood.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“Your choice to use a firearm while being pursued by peace officers almost got you killed, Mr. Tucker. That happens too often in these situations.”

The search team had brought Bud in handcuffs to where Detective Burns and the EMTs waited at the forest’s main gate. The dog bite wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, but Bud flinched as the EMTs irrigated it with antiseptic. He had told them they could skip the hospital, that they needed to be focusing on finding Lila, not dicking around with the stupid idea that he had harmed her and killed Danelle Pettit.

“The bastard had my wife.
Has
my wife, damn it,” Bud said, trying not to lose his temper the way he had up in the woods. The frustration was killing him. They hadn’t seen the son of a bitch because they had been so focused on capturing
him
. The first dog had seen the monster, and had even gotten his teeth into him, all in defiance of his mission to stop Bud. But no one would listen.

What if I hadn’t shot the dog? What if I had just waited a few more seconds? Lila might have been injured, but they would have seen the creature, would have seen Lila. If they never found her, it would be my fault.

The realization made him feel guilty. Sick inside.

“Just see what you get off the teeth of the dog I shot,” he said. “Please.”

The reminder of what he had done got him a sharp twist of the handcuffs from the officer who was putting them back on after the EMT finished. Bud gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to let them change his focus.

“We’ll be sure to take care of that right after he gets out of surgery,” Burns said. “Though I have to say, I’m glad you were such a piss-poor shot. May keep you out of prison.” He gave Bud a grim smile. “For that, anyway.”

He nodded to the officer standing behind Bud. “We’ll catch up with you boys later at County,” he said.

Bud stumbled as the officer pushed him toward the waiting patrol car. They passed the second dog, the shepherd called Lord, who was standing affectionately close to his handler as though waiting for a scratch behind the ears. When the shepherd didn’t move or even look in Bud’s direction, Bud was hit with the realization that he was just another criminal to the dog and to the men and women around him. They had already decided he was guilty, and they were ready to move on.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Anthony stopped more than once on their way down the hillside, wanting to put Lila down on the ground again. Each time, Ivy begged him to
please, please
hold on to her until they got back to the trailer. Each time he indicated he was hungry.

“At the house, Anthony,” she said. “As soon as I get to the house. Just the minute we get there.
Please
.”

She couldn’t even think. Where in the world had he found Lila Tucker? Why hadn’t he killed her like he had killed Claude Dixon and Thora?

She did her best not to notice the way Lila’s head bobbed against Anthony’s back, and she prayed Lila wouldn’t die. Or would death be a sign of God’s mercy? Only He knew what Anthony had done to her. The lantern light had revealed ragged, bloody scrapes on her back, and bite marks on her shoulders and breasts and neck. Her eyes were open, but focused on some unseen thing in the distance. They blinked only every once in a while.

Poor Lila.
Ivy didn’t care about her the way she had cared for Thora, but Lila didn’t deserve the attack any more than Thora did.

When the house and trailer came into view, Ivy gathered her strength and rushed to overtake Anthony. Taking Lila to the house was way too dangerous, and there was no way to keep an eye on her at the trailer because Ivy had to be down at the house most of the time
. Am I already thinking that Lila’s presence has to remain a secret?
Lila was surely almost dead from exposure and fright and—dear God—abuse. The rational place for her to be was in a hospital.

Once again, Ivy had had a choice to make, and without thinking about it, she had chosen Anthony.

She had seen him standing there in the dark: belligerent, evil
yes she saw that now
, a bringer of death. She finally understood that she wasn’t going to change him or teach him or save him. He was like a child who would never grow up. But she had made him, and it was up to her to take care of him.

We should have left Lila to die in the woods, but now it’s too late
.

“No, we can’t have her here,” Ivy said. “She has to go somewhere else.”

But Anthony strode around her and onto the trailer’s back porch, ignoring her pleas. He laid Lila down in the rusting chaise beneath the kitchen window, then went inside without looking back.

Ivy hurried to Lila, who lay staring up into the star-filled sky, and covered her with her own jacket. Lila’s entire body trembled with cold. Her eyes looked glassy and unreal in her head, like she was a broken doll.

“Wait here,” Ivy told her, as though Lila were capable of running away. “Just wait.”

Ivy went inside the trailer. Glancing down the hallway, she could see Anthony in the kitchen, looking for food. In the master bedroom, she pulled the worn quilt from the bed and shook it out to dislodge many months of dust. Taking it outside, she covered Lila all the way up to her neck, tucking the blanket around her legs and arms to give her some warmth. Lila’s body didn’t relax or change position, but Ivy knew she had to be close to freezing to death.

“You’re safe now,” Ivy said. “I’ll take care of you. Everything’s going to be all right.” She wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to try to comfort Lila. She didn’t even know if Lila could hear her.

She ran inside again and turned on the thermostat. This time of year they kept it turned off because the air inside the trailer wouldn’t get quite cold enough to freeze the pipes. She heard the propane gas jets in the furnace
tickticktick
to life.

“Anthony.”

The floor creaked beneath Anthony’s feet as he came into the living room, a handful of cereal in one hand and the cereal box in the other. He stuffed some cereal in his mouth.

“I need you to bring her inside the trailer,” she said. “Put her on the couch for now.”

When he didn’t move but continued just to watch her, she said, “I’m not going to make your supper until you do what I ask.”

He stared at her. She watched for any sign of decision in his eyes, but there was none. He tossed the cereal box on the floor behind him and went outside to get Lila.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Word had gotten around about the viciousness of Danelle Pettit’s murder, and Lila’s disappearance, so the club was busy as soon as the doors opened at eight. Dwight kept his head down and backed up the bartender as unobtrusively as possible. Charity had phoned to say she would cover for the girl who had called in sick, and would bring in Jolene if she could find her. All the activity put a balm of normalcy on the evening for Dwight. So far, the police hadn’t shown up to ask any questions or to check out Bud’s office, which was fine with him.

It had been Dwight’s good luck that the bartender was late. Dwight had given him a small amount of shit, just to make it look good, but he didn’t go overboard. That the guy had shown up every Monday through Saturday night for the past two months was a miracle. When the bartender put his key in the back door about two hours earlier, Dwight was combing his hair into shape with hair gel belonging to one of the girls, and had just popped one of Pat’s wintergreen breath mints into his mouth. He didn’t usually go for them, but the smell of blood hung in his nostrils and he couldn’t blow it out no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe it was some sort of haunting, and he would be smelling Pat’s blood for years. It wasn’t a thought that made him happy.

Usually on a Friday night, he would start out the music easy and kind of fun, but tonight he went straight to a hard rock loop because he was in the mood. Too bad if it pissed off the girls and wore them out early. He was past caring. There was a dead guy beneath their feet, and their boss was in jail. They might all be out of a job in a matter of days. The music kept him going.

What a G.D. mess.

Maybe Pat was down there mumbling to himself, listening to the girls stomp all over his head. Pat talked more dead than he did alive. The whole thing made Dwight want to take a seat on the other side of the bar with his own personal bottle of Wild Turkey for company. But if he didn’t keep his shit together, there was nobody to keep it together for him.

Charity showed up about eight forty-five, just fifteen minutes before the stage shows would start, her blonde hair in a messy pile on her head and her face bare of makeup. She looked like she had been out running. When she spotted Dwight behind the bar, she headed straight for him. He liked Charity, but didn’t need any of her bossy bullshit right then.

“You going to tell me what really happened to Bud?” she said. Several customers turned on their stools to stare at her.

Dwight swept the pieces of lime he was slicing into their bin and wiped his hands on a towel. He jerked his head to indicate she should follow him to the office.

“What in the hell are you doing coming in the front door like that?” he said.

“I want to know what you know about Bud,” she said. “
Our
Bud. I heard on the radio that somebody got killed at his house and he’s in jail.”

“Yeah, well, you know as much as I do,” he said. “You need to get back there and get your butt onstage. Where’s Jolene? Is she with you?”

She shook her head. “Bud hasn’t called you?” she said. “How come?”

“I hope to hell he called a lawyer instead,” Dwight said. It did irk him that Bud hadn’t called, but what could he do for him, anyway? He had enough going on. Everything was going to shit.

“Jolene’s pretty shook up,” she said. “She wanted to take a quick shower. She spent the day with that Tripp guy, the mountain cop. You know the one.”

Tripp Morgan was not even close to being on Dwight’s radar screen, and he only cared about that freak show Jolene to the extent that it affected the club.

“What’s Jolene shook up for? Does she have a thing for Bud or something?” he said. He licked his lips. His mouth had been dry for the last few hours. He reached into his pocket to take out another mint. That something might be up between Bud and Jolene had occurred to him, but he also knew Bud was stupidly loyal to his undeserving wife.

“Be serious. Jolene’s not the type,” she said. “Jolene is—I don’t think she thinks like that. And I’m not saying that just because she’s my friend. There’s good and there’s
good
, you know? Freaks me out the way she is. Like she knows everything and nothing at the same time.”

Dwight shrugged. “She’s nothing special.”

“Just don’t be a jerk to her,” Charity said. “She’s a good kid, and she didn’t do anything to Bud or with Bud, no matter if he wanted her to or not.”

“
You
need to get to work,” Dwight said. “If that’s what you think about Bud and her, make sure you tell it to the cops if they ask, okay? Bud didn’t do anything to anybody.”

“Of course Bud didn’t,” she said. “But somebody did.”

Pat’s mournful voice came to him over the music, whispered in his ear.
Now, who could that somebody be, I wonder? You really screwed up this time, my friend.

What in the hell does that mean?
Dwight wanted to scream. It pissed him off that his dead friend knew things he didn’t.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Damn it
. Tripp couldn’t help himself.

He approached the entrance to Bud and Lila’s driveway slowly, wanting to get a look at what was going on. There were messages on his phone from his boss, Denise; Keith; and Detective Johnson; all wanting to know where he was, wanting to get a little piece of him. In the second message from Denise, her voice had an edge to it, like she was angry or worried. Whatever they wanted from him didn’t matter. He turned off the phone. He had heard everything he needed to hear on the radio and his police scanner about Lila being missing and Bud being arrested.

A state trooper sat in his cruiser at the head of Lila’s drive. Because of the darkness, Tripp wasn’t sure if he knew the trooper or not, so he looked carefully ahead as he passed the driveway. But as the truck climbed the hillside, Tripp felt the draw of the place. If only he could be around her things, get the scent of her, then maybe he could find her.

Jolene had been hiding something. She knew more and he could feel it. All her mystical bullshit made him want to squeeze the life out of her slutty little body.