Resurrecting Ravana (12 page)

“It’s terribly generous of you to do this, Mrs. Kepley,” Giles said. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions. It wasn’t necessary —”

Mrs. Kepley absently waved a hand at him. “Oh, please. It’s little things like making a cup of coffee or baking muffins or even washing dishes that are keeping me alive right now.” She poured some cream in her coffee and stirred. “Now, you say you didn’t know Del?”

“No, I-I-I didn’t, I’m afraid. I’m a librarian at —”

Mrs. Kepley frowned and stiffened her neck. “Was Del checking books out of the library?” she asked, surprised at the thought. “I hope none of them are overdue!”

“Oh, no,” Giles said. “Nothing like that.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. Del and I are both avid readers. He doesn’t like my spooky books by Stephen King and Dean Koontz. But he’ll go through several detective novels a week.” She stared between Buffy and Giles silently, long enough for them to look at one another cautiously. “I’m sorry,” she said, smiling then. Unspilled tears were starting to glimmer in her eyes. “It’s just that . . . well, it’s only been a day, and —”

“No need to apologize, Mrs. Kepley,” Giles said. “We understand that this is a very difficult time for you.”

“You’re very nice,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with wadded tissue she’d taken from the pocket of her housecoat.

“If you could just answer a few questions,” he went on, “we’ll be out of your way in no time.”

She was staring between them again. She shook her head very slowly and clicked her tongue once. “To lose both of them at once like this . . . that makes it so much harder.”

Buffy and Giles frowned at each other.

“Both of who, Mrs. Kepley?” Buffy asked quietly.

“Del and Tom.”

Giles asked, “You mean . . . your neighbor?”

“Hardly. He was over here most of the time. We might as well have joined the houses. I’ve never seen two men as close to one another as Del and Tom.”

“They were good friends, then?” Giles asked.

“We both moved into these houses at the same time, right after the war, Del and me, and Tom and Fran. From then on, we were inseperable. Fran was the best friend I’ve ever had, Tom was the best friend Del ever had. It was perfect. It changed, though, after Fran found that lump in her breast. That was the biggest loss in my life since my mother died.”

Giles leaned forward. “Can you tell me, Mrs. Kepley, why that man might have . . . done what he did to your husband?”

“There it is,” Mrs. Kepley said, as if Giles had suddenly discovered a misplaced earring. “That is the thing that disturbs my sleep the most. Why?”

“Were they having a fight, or something?” Buffy asked.

“A fight? For over fifty years! They fought all the time. Over everything. The radio, the television, sports, food, movies, politics. They were constantly fighting, like two six-year-olds over a box of toys. But all the while, each one would’ve laid down and died for the other.” She fingered a strand of her gray hair as she frowned at the tabletop. “The only thing I can think of . . . maybe they were talking over the fence — I’d heard Del shouting just before it happened — and then maybe something happened to Tom. I don’t know, a stroke? An embolism? Something to make him lose control of himself, and of the mower. Maybe Del thought Tom was joking and would turn away at the last minute, so he didn’t run. Afterward, Tom was somehow able to get into his house, and die there.”

Buffy cleared her throat. Her quiet voice trembled slightly as she asked, “What about . . . what happened to him in his house?”

Mrs. Kepley put a hand over her mouth and sighed through her nose. She took her hand away as tears began to drop onto her cheeks and make their way down. “That was . . . so horrible. I saw his daughter just last night. They said there wasn’t enough left to do an autopsy. Mostly bones and some blood. Such a horrible thing. People in the neighborhood are scared. They think it might be some kind of wild animal or something. I have no idea how that could have happened.” Her entire face clenched and she began to sob.

Giles went to her side and put his hands on her shoulders. He looked tremendously uncomfortable, but his voice was comforting. “My apologies, Mrs. Kepley. We’ve bothered you too long, I’m afraid. We’ll be going.” He nodded at Buffy and she stood after one last sip of her coffee.

Mrs. Kepley put one of her hands on one of his. “Oh, but it was so nice of you to drop by. I hope you’ll come back sometime. Maybe I’ll be more cheerful. I usually am, you know.” She laughed as she stood. “All the children in the neighborhood call me Grandma.”

“Thank you so much for the coffee,” Giles said.

“But weren’t you going to ask some questions?” she asked Giles.

“You’ve answered our questions. Perhaps you should get some rest.”

“Why, that’s so sweet of you to think of me like that,” Mrs. Kepley said, as she led them to the door.

They drove a few blocks in silence after leaving Mrs. Kepley. Then Buffy said, “Well, it’s a shame . . . but it doesn’t help us.”

“We don’t know yet. It might.”

“So, what do we do next, Holmes?”

“Keep an eye on the news and see what details are available about the remains you saw last night.”

“There was a meat cleaver beside the remains. And the blade was stained.”

“Are you quite serious, Buffy?” Giles took his eyes off the road long enough to look at her.

“It was on the floor, near the . . . the . . .” She waggled her hand indecisively. “Leftovers.”

“If you don’t mind, Buffy,” Giles said, “I would prefer to use the word ‘remains.’”

After Giles parked the car at the school, they agreed to meet at lunch and went their separate ways.

“And go straight to class!” Giles shouted over his shoulder.

She did.

Chapter 10

E
VER SINCE
W
ILLOW HAD STARTED DATING
O
Z
, cafeteria food always reminded her of horror movies. Not that the food was horrible; it wasn’t great, of course, but it wasn’t horrible. Willow and Oz sometimes watched horror movies together, and every time a slimy, disgusting monster appeared, or someone’s face got ripped off, or someone’s head exploded, they would point to the screen and scream, “Cafeteria food! ”Now, every time she saw cafeteria food, she was tempted to point at it and scream, “Cafeteria food!” Or would it make more sense to point at the cafeteria food and scream, “Horror movie!”? She couldn’t decide.

Willow left the line, carrying her tray of food, and joined Oz, Xander, and Cordelia at a table. Oz gave her a kiss on the cheek and it made her smile.

“You are so wrong,” Xander said, pointing a finger at Oz. “You are the essence of wrong.”

Oz said, “I’m going with the strength, rage, and desperation to kick some serious ass. She wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Who wouldn’t stand a chance?” Willow asked. “Doing what?”

Cordelia explained. “They’re arguing over who would win in a fight, Alanis Morissette or Jewel. Can you believe it?” She sighed. “I’ve known rabid Xena fans who were less annoying.”

“Alanis,” Oz said.

“Just because Jewel is so delicate-looking,” Xander said with a scoffing chuckle. “Beneath that waiflike exterior is a woman of tremendous strength.”

“Alanis,” Oz said again.

Willow said, “I lost interest in Alanis after she read her high school yearbook — or whatever that was — out loud and sort of put it to music but not quite.”

“Jewel,” Oz muttered to Willow, “sings her own poetry.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Xander said defensively. “Jewel is a very deep chick.”

Cordelia laughed derisively. “Deep chick? You wouldn’t know deep if somebody threw you into it.”

“That’s funny coming from the intellectual equivalent of the Grand Canyon,” Xander said. “Great depth, very little content.”

Cordelia’s mouth dropped open as she turned to face Xander. “Little content? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, some shrubs here and there, maybe a few wild goats.”

Willow sighed.
This is getting old.

“At least I don’t go around pretending to be something I’m not,” Cordelia replied.

“Oh, like I do?” Xander asked. “What do I pretend to be that I’m not?”

“A biped.”

“Hello, Willow.”

Everyone looked up, including Willow, as Mila stopped at the table.

“You hadn’t come to my office yet, Willow, so when I saw you here, I thought I’d give you this.” She pulled an empty chair from the next table and seated herself beside Willow. From her purse, Mila removed a tiny red box and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Ms., I mean, Mila.” She opened the box and removed a wad of tissue, which was wrapped around a miniature version of one of the statues she’d seen in Mila’s office.

“My brother makes miniatures as well,” Mila said. “You admired the statue of Rama in my office, so I thought I’d give you one of the little ones.”

Willow was stunned by the intricate detail of the piece. It was every bit as vivid as the one she’d seen in Mila’s office, only much smaller. There was a tiny loop atop the head for a chain.

“This is so beautiful, Mila! Thank you!”

“I thought it would make you smile. That’s why I brought it.” Mila stood. “Feel free to drop by the office, anyway.”

Willow thanked her again, then Mila left. When Willow turned back to the table, still looking at her tiny gift, she lifted her head to see that Buffy had joined them. She sat across the table next to Xander, looking at the thing in Willow’s hand.

“What’s that?” Buffy asked.

“Oh, it’s a gift from Mil —, Ms. Daruwalla.” Willow handed the miniature to Buffy. “It’s the Hindu god Rama. Her brother makes them. He’s got, like . . . industrial-size talent. She has more in her office, and —”

“But why did she give it to you?” Buffy asked, frowning.

Willow froze. There was no anger or threat in Buffy’s voice at all, it was just a simple question, but an iciness fell over Willow that made her feel defensive, on guard.

“Because
she’s a very nice person,” Willow replied, “and
because
I was admiring the statues in her office.”

“What were you doing in her office?” Buffy asked.

Willow took a deep breath, and when she spoke, a note of sternness crept into her voice. “She invited me in. We talked awhile, had some tea, and looked at her brother’s statues.”

“Oh.” Buffy shrugged dismissively. “That’s weird.”

“What’s weird about it?” Willow asked defensively.

“Well, I mean, what are you doing?” Buffy asked. “Becoming friends with the faculty or something?”

Willow felt her heart machine-gunning her ribs. “It just so happens that I think she’s too cool to be faculty. And besides” — she stood and put the miniature sculpture in her purse — “maybe sometimes people have to look for friends in weird places, because the friendships they’ve already got have gone cold.” Willow spun around and nearly knocked her chair over hurrying away.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Buffy called defensively.

Willow didn’t reply as she crossed the cafeteria and pushed the door open hard with a stiffened arm as she left.

Oz scratched the back of his head and screwed up his face before asking, “ Little too Waco?”

“What?” Buffy asked. “I was just asking. She was the one who went all Carrie.”

“I think you’re all weird,” Cordelia said.

“By a show of hands, please,” Xander said. “Who gives a monkey on a rock what Cordelia thinks?”

No one raised a hand.

Cordelia clicked her tongue and exhaled explosively. “You know, I don’t have to sit here and take this.”

“Oh, I know,” Xander said with a nod. “You sit here and take it because you really like it.” He grinned.

“That’s it,” Cordelia said. She scooted her chair back, stood, and picked up her lunch tray. “I’m going someplace where I can digest my food.” Cordelia walked briskly away from the table.

Oz and Buffy stared at Xander as he resumed eating his lunch. Finally, he put his fork down. “Okay, okay, I’ll go talk to her.” He grinned at them both, picked up his tray, and followed Cordelia.

As Buffy watched him go, she said, “That’s not a relationship. It’s a two-person soccer-fan riot.”

Oz took a bite of food, chewed it slowly, swallowed. “What’s the sitch?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve seemed . . . different lately. Willow, too. Both distant.”

“Maybe it’s the exams,” she said with a shrug. “Or this thing that’s eating the meat off bones. I don’t know. I didn’t realize I seemed any different.”

Oz took a couple more bites of food and chewed fast this time. “I should go find Willow.”

“Yeah, well . . . she needs a thicker skin, I guess.”

Oz frowned as he pointed to Buffy with his fork. “That’s what I mean.”

The corners of Buffy’s mouth turned downward very slowly as her eyebrows rose. She looked at the clock on the wall. “I’ve gotta go to the library and meet with Giles. I just came here to pick up a portable lunch.” She stood, but before she could say anything more, there was an explosion of sound on the other side of the cafeteria.

Buffy looked in the direction of the sound. Several people suddenly shot to their feet to get out of the way of something. A fight.

Oz stood in time to see a folding chair fly through the air and crash onto a table. A tight group of students scattered to avoid the chair as it skipped off the table and clattered onto the floor.

“One little mistake and you won’t let me forget it!” a voice shouted. It sounded female, but it was so ragged with anger that it was difficult to tell.

Buffy and Oz moved toward the racket.

“One mistake?” another voice shouted back. This one sounded female, too. “You do it all the time!”

More crashing, a few startled cries from onlookers.

When they got a better view of the brawl, Buffy stammered, “Is that . . . no, that couldn’t be . . . is it?”

Oz’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “Get ready to believe.”

Miss Gasteyer and Mrs. Truman, Sunnydale High School’s two art teachers — their faces bloodied and hair splayed in all directions, Miss Gasteyer’s fat bag swinging violently from her shoulder — were fighting with fists, feet, teeth, and nails. And if the animal-like savagery in their faces was any indication, they intended it to be a fight to the death.