Stone Maidens
Authors: Lloyd Devereux Richards
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Text copyright © 2012 Lloyd Devereux Richards
To Ritie, in loving memory.
PROLOGUE
It was late summer, and he was seventeen. It was hot. He liked that, even though he worked on a farm and spent long hours stacking hay. He was laying up bales for the winter in a three-story loft. From the open bay where the chain pulley swung to hoist the pallet, he saw her—the nubile young daughter of a neighbor farmer in a flower-print dress that flowed prettily. The tight-fitting bodice showed off her slim waist. The way her body moved inside the frock sent him tumbling down the wooden steps and out into the hazy August air.
She wandered into a cornfield, slapping the long green leaves of a second planting tasseled out, and disappeared down a row, taking a shortcut home. He followed her into the corn as if pulled by a ring in his nose, pushing aside the leaves and thick stalks in the fading heat of the day, his work boots sinking into the loamy soil. Walking faster, two rows over, he caught glimpses of her flowery dress. For several minutes he trolled behind, waiting till she was farther along into the maize. Gradually, he drifted deeper into the sweet-smelling crop. The bees buzzing from tassel to tassel made a loud, persistent hum.
His skin began to crawl as if covered in a swarm of ants. The droning of the bees penetrated directly into his skull. Breathing shallowly, he dropped to one knee, and everything went dark. He scratched at the ground, as if searching for his lost sight there, heaving on all fours with his face in the soil, sucking up dirt. Then slowly, slowly the light had returned—and with it a new craving.
The air had a film in it like her eyes did upon first waking. By midmorning the Fourth of July heat pressed in, almost choking her. Missy Hooper tapped
END
, dropped her cell phone into her purse, and closed the bag with a sigh. A second later she double-checked to make sure she’d turned the clasp all the way. The amusement park was jam-packed, and it would be easy to get pickpocketed if she wasn’t careful.
Now what? Glenna had gone in to cover for a waitress who’d called in sick at the diner where they both worked, and couldn’t meet her as planned. What a drag. Wandering around alone in a park full of so many people her own age out on dates was not her idea of fun. Damn Glenna. Why couldn’t she have just told Rickie no? Missy sighed again. Glenna let people take advantage of her. She needed to learn to stick up for herself better.
A tattooed carny drifted her way, holding out three baseballs with a toothy grin. “Whaddya say to a game of chance, little lady? Got some nifty prizes for a purty girl like you. Three balls for a dollar.”
Missy turned to avoid him and ran smack into a wiry young man with sandy-brown hair and bright-blue eyes.
“Whoa! It’s the bottles you’re supposed to knock over, not the other patrons.” He smiled and ran his hand through his crew cut.
Missy took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No problem. What’s your poison: bulldogs or monkeys? One of those prizes would look mighty good sitting on your bedroom shelf.” He leaned in closer. “It’s on me.” He gave the carny a five-dollar bill and got handed back four ones from the man’s change bib.
“Beg your pardon?” Missy said, blushing. “Are you speaking to me?” The young man had the weather-beaten appearance of someone who worked outdoors, like both of her brothers, and his face was strangely familiar though she couldn’t recall from where.
“Sure am.” He bowed from the waist, clothed in paint-spattered jeans and a red T-shirt. His orange Timberland work boots were flecked with paint stains. “Just point out the prize you want,” he boasted, his arms akimbo, “and it’s yours.”
Missy tugged at the front of her blue tank top, which immediately rode back up, exposing her belly button. She squinted up at the stuffed animals that hung from hooks. “That bulldog looks kind of cute.”
“Wish me luck then.” He winked.
Missy giggled. “Good luck.” She watched him collect the first baseball from the carny and palm it lightly, judging the target’s distance. He turned toward Missy and gave her a confident grin.
The shriek of a girl mid-drop on a roller coaster spun Missy around just as the coaster banked steeply and disappeared behind a high-topped tent.
Thwack!
The sound of the bottles toppling spun her back again.
“Darn if you aren’t the best of me!” The young man pumped a fist, obviously pleased with himself. “Now ain’t it just true that faith moves mountains?” He winked at Missy again. “Yours sure did.”
Missy awkwardly rode the outsides of her sneakers—the young man’s addressing her so forthrightly embarrassed and flattered her at the same time. A moment later her arms were full of
the bright-blue bulldog, which was as awkward to carry as a bale of hay.
“Got a car to put that thing in?”
She rolled her eyes. “I wish. A friend dropped me off. Someone else was supposed to meet me here.”
“Not a problem. You can leave it in my truck if you’d like.” Before she could respond, he blurted, “Say, are you hungry?” He stepped up to a concession booth and then turned his head back to her. “Want a Coke with your elephant ear?”
She was suddenly aware of the smell of fried dough and sugar permeating the air. Her stomach, as if on cue, gurgled loudly. “Sure.”
She decided she liked being waited on better than being the waitress. Even his doing all the talking felt nice, like he was taking care of her. He returned with the drinks and two fried elephant ears, each wrapped in wax paper. She rested the prize on the ground between her legs.
“Thanks. I can pay you back.”
“Your money’s no good here,” he said. The words were overly gracious, but his tone was self-mocking. He was funny, Missy decided, and cute in an odd, scraggy sort of way.
“Thank you,” she said. “My name is Missy.”
“Glad to meet you, Missy. I go by Jasper. On account of I like carving rocks in my spare time. Shall we go drop your prize in the truck then?”
They finished their fried dough and drinks and then walked out the park entrance.
“Say, if you’d like, I can drive you home.” He climbed in the driver’s side, leaned over the bench seat, and shoved open the passenger door, adding, “I’d be more than grateful to do you the honors, Missy.”
The thought of having to call and ask one of her brothers to come get her made her cringe. It would be a hot, sweaty wait, with
Jimmy at his coed bowling league and Dean over in Odon at his girlfriend’s house. “Sure. I guess that’d be all right.”
“Spilt some paint in the back bed. It’s still a bit messy,” he said. “Why don’t you put the bulldog up front?” He gestured toward the passenger seat.
Missy pushed the bulky prize across the seat then climbed in herself. The bulldog caught on cracks in the vinyl covering; yellowed foam padding protruded, and an acrid, salty smell hit her in the face.
He goosed the engine and shoved the vent window out all the way, told her to do the same. The road wound through a state forest. Although the amusement park was only a couple of miles away, it felt like they were in another world entirely. Everything here was quiet. Peaceful. Splintering sunlight shot between the trees.
“Ever been to Clear Creek before?” he said across the rush of incoming air.
She glanced at him over the stuffed animal. “You mean that swimming place?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Different place. I suspect it’s about as sweet a spot as you could find.” Jasper turned to look at her and smiled, almost shyly. “I’d like to show it to you if I could.”
They were on State Road 67. Her house was only five miles farther south. He seemed polite. “How far did you say it is?” she said, squinting in the sunlight that blazed through the side window.
“We’re almost nearly there.”
She nodded. “All right then, I guess.” She looked over at him again, trying to place him. The man was working something around in his mouth, and the edge of something glistened between his teeth.
“Got any more?” she said. “Of those candies you’re sucking?”
He lifted his lips. A dark sliver jutted out, glistening and wet. “Not what you think.” It slid back into the pocket of his cheek. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you sugar’s bad for your teeth?”
“OK. Well, what is it then?”
“Ever since I was a kid I always liked cutting stone. Carving small things, you know, like faces, animal shapes. Even cut some people out of rock. It’s tricky.” He slid a quick glance her way and then looked out the windshield. “Easy to break the stone in two if you aren’t real careful doing it.”