The News in Small Towns (Small Town Series, Book 1) (24 page)

“Maybe ah should jist go.”  Gina stood up.  I stood up and faced her.

“Maybe you should.  Maybe you should never have come over in the first place.  I should have just told you to get the hell out like I’m doing now or kicked your ass like I should have done in high school.  Go on home to your buttboy and have a good screw—and whah don’t you take your “hosses” with you?  Here’s a heads up: better keep lookin over that pale whaht shoulder of yours because now that ah’m not sick, stealin Cal away from your skinny butt will be easier’n pickin a ripe peach from a low branch.”

Gina stepped forward until our faces were only inches apart.  She had dropped her cigarette and both hands were fists.  Mine were, too.  “Bring it on, bitch,” she began.  She stopped and I saw her face working, her eyes searching for something inside herself.  Her mouth twitched and turned until it finally twisted itself into a smile.  “Buttboy?” she asked.

I couldn’t help myself; I smiled at my own ridiculousness.  Within seconds we both were laughing so hard tears came.  Then we were just crying and holding onto each other, our faces buried in each other’s necks.

In the paddock, Emmy had gotten up from her nap, taken a few sucks of milk, and started cantering to and fro.  She ran up to the two of us and stared, then ran away again, squealing.  To her, and to the rest of the world, nothing had happened.

“Think about what you want to do and do it,” I told her at last.  

“It’s not somethin ah’m goin to rush into,” she said.  “See you around?”

“If you don’t call me every day, I’ll kill you,” I said. 

Gina had told me that she loved me.  It was something I had been hoping to hear more then anything else, but when she walked out of the paddock, I thought she was walking out of my life.

For the rest of the day, I went around the house numb.  I cleaned up some, read a chapter of the horse mystery, and tried to work up my research into an article on the Plank Festival.  I longed for some diversion, but Jack was still out, and the pirate radio station was off the air.

I called Donny at his apartment and Linda C answered the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hey, um, Linda C, is Donny there?”

“Who’s this?”

“Sue-Ann.  Sue-Ann McKeown.  Is he there?  I want to ask him about his dad.  I was at the hospital yesterday when they brought him in.”

“Oh.  Okay, I’ll get him.”

“I don’t want to bother y’all.”

“No.  I’ll get him.”

Well, that was awkward, I thought as I listened to a clunk and then dead air.  I had not spoken to Linda C since she and Donny had become attached.  I hadn’t expected her to be at Donny’s; I knew that her own house was much larger and more comfortable, and the last thing I wanted was for her to think that I was—

“Hello?  Sue-Ann?”

“Donny, hi.  I wanted to find out about Ed.”

“Yeah, well.  He’s busted up pretty bad.  He’ll recover, all right, but he won’t be strong.  One of his arms will be almost useless and his lungs were damaged by some broken ribs.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “How are Chad and Tad?”

I heard Donny light a cigarette and blow smoke.  “For a while, I thought they were worse off than Ed.  It was like, if he died, they wouldn’t know which overalls to put on in the morning.”

“When I was at the hospital, Chad said something about wanting you for—”

“They want me to come back to the farm,” he said.

“They’ve asked you to do that before,” I said, reminded of our first meeting.

“They want me to come back to the farm and run it,” he said.

“But what about Ed?” I asked.

“Chad and Tad are pretty dim most of the time,” Donny said.  “But they finally figured out that Ed had run the farm just about as far into the ground as it could go.  They’re going to talk to Ed and make him give me his power of attorney.  In the next couple of days the three of us are going to sit down and go through Ed’s bank accounts and farm papers.  Chad and Tad aren’t like me; they don’t know nothing except the farm.  If it had to be sold for taxes or something, they wouldn’t be able to find jobs.”

“Is it as bad as that?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.  Once we’ve figure out where we stand financially, we’re going to go to the bank and see if we can get a loan for some new farm equipment.”

“You mean you’re going to do it?” I asked.

“I’ll try it for a while, I guess,” he said.  “But I’ll still have to keep my job at Harrison’s part time.”

“That’s great, Donny.  I’m really happy for you.  I was driving by the farm the other day and thought what a really nice place it could be with a little work.  Well, with a lot of work.”

“That’s one thing Chad and Tad don’t mind,” he said.  “I guess my job will be to make sure that what they’re doin is useful instead of crazy.  If we’re lucky, maybe the bank will lend us enough to buy a new John Deere with some mower and bailer attachments.  We’re going to stop growing corn and go into the hay business.”

I let him talk for a few more minutes about his plans, listening to him as he made them, really.  Then I said, “I have two horses now.  I’ll be your first customer.”

“They must be paying you more than I thought at
The Courier,”
he said.

“It’s a long story, but look Donny, did you follow up on what I told you about Adam?”

There was hesitation on his end, and when he spoke he lowered his voice.  “You’re off base, there, Sue-Ann.”

“You talked to him?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I can’t . . .”

“You can’t talk because Linda C is there?”

“Right.”

“Listen, Donny.  This is important.  That other boy I talked to you about, Pauley Hughes, ran away from home and he’s crazy as a bug.  I’m afraid that he might—”

“Forget it, Sue-Ann.  But thanks for asking about Ed.”

“I’ll call you at work tomorrow,” I said, and hung up.

Chapter 16

It was Wednesday morning and I was up early again.  I fed and spent some time with the horses, then came in and made breakfast.  With two pieces of bread in the toaster, I went into Cindy’s room to wake up Jack.

“Up, sleepyhead,” I told him.  “We’re off to the wars.”

I was trying to make light of the fact that Jack was leaving that afternoon, flying from Tallahassee to make his connection to Iraq.  I might never see him again.  Strange how awful, devastating even, that possible loss seemed now when two weeks ago I would have all but assumed that he was gone from my life forever and not cared.  We can be the leavers, but not the left.  Gina was going to marry her good man and my good man was going off to the world’s biggest bombsite to get himself blown up.  I looked at the eggs, sausage, grits, and coffee like it was a last meal.

Jack had taken the darkroom materials from Cindy’s bathroom the night before after developing a few shots he had taken of me shooting both my yumi bow—dressed in full Japanese kyudo regalia, and my colorful Black Widow recurve, although I was still not strong enough to pull it more than a couple of times.  He also printed out a copy of the picture he had taken of me, Alikki, and Emmy just hours after the filly was born.  He had packed his bags and loaded his car except for his toilet articles and the clothes he would be wearing.

Jack came in bathed, dressed, and combed.  He seemed to be in a cheerful mood but ate without saying much.  He washed and put away the dishes while I dressed.  I found that if I combed my hair a certain way and pinned it, my bald spot was hidden and it felt good to be able to go out of the house without wearing a ballcap.

“Okay, what’s our first stop?” Jack asked, holding the front door open for me.

“
The
Courier
office.  Wednesday morning briefing.  I’ve been missing a lot of meetings because of my thyroid, but I want to get back in the mix.”  I had also gotten an email from Cal asking that I attend, so I knew that something was up.

“Sounds good.”

We took Jack’s car because it was new and had gas, while mine was old and dry.  I drove.  Jack looked out at the surroundings like it was his last time seeing them.  I guess that’s how he sees things: either for the first time or the last.  In between doesn’t count with Jack.

We arrived at the office a few minutes early.  Cal and Gina were already there and so was Paul Hughes, who was looking glum and put out.  Cal was sitting at the head of the table, his back to the window.  Paul sat on his right and Gina sat next to Paul. 

Cal only then noticed that I had brought a guest.  He reached over and put out his hand.  “Cal Dent,” he told Jack.  “I’m the editor here.”

“Jack Stafford,” Jack replied.  “I used to work with Sue-Ann at—”

“At
The Richmond Times-Dispatch
,” Cal finished.  “It’s a real pleasure, Jack.  I’m a fan of your work.”
“You are?”  Jack asked.

“You are?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?  I was hoping you’d win the Pulitzer Prize last year for those photos of the Jessup factory explosion, but even before that I knew your work on the terrorist attack in Washington—and that Philip Morris tobacco worker strike, that was priceless.”

“Jack’s on his way to Baghdad,” I told Cal.

“Following in Sue-Ann’s giant footsteps, eh?” he said.

“That’s what I do best,” Jack replied.

“Sue-Ann’s giant footsteps?” I said.

“Your work, Sue-Ann, not your feet,” said Gina.  And on cue, I felt Gina’s bare foot stroke my leg.  I looked at her wide-eyed.

Cal looked up at a movement in the doorway.  “Mark.  Come in.  Mark Patterson, this is Jack Stafford.”

“Mark and I have already had the pleasure,” said Jack, showing most of his perfectly white teeth. 

Mark sat down and looked at Jack expectantly.  “Coming to work here Jack?” he asked.

“Just passing through,” Jack answered.

Cal spoke up.  “We’re still waiting for—wait, here they come now.”  The outside door to
The Courier
offices opened and two figures stepped inside, looked around, and headed for the conference room.

I had never met Ray Colley even though he had served several terms on the County Commission, but I had seen his picture in
The Courier
.  He was a smallish man, kind of stocky, with brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses.  The only thing kind of odd about him was that he wore a string tie with his brown suit.  Half a step behind, I saw that his daughter was with him, no longer Goth Girl, but not yet Princess Barbie either.  She was wearing plain blue jeans, a white tee shirt and faded running shoes.  Her hair was still dyed black, but she had shaped it subtly into a style that was both appealing and stylish.  She slouched a bit and her body language told everyone who cared to look that she was scared and ill at ease, but that she still retained some of her punk swagger.  It was an interesting combination.  When she saw Jack it looked like she wanted to hide her face and expand her chest at the same time.

Jack had no idea what was going on, but that never stopped him from being Jack.  He stood up and, ignoring her father, walked up to the girl and held out his hand.  “Rebecca,” he said, sounding genuinely happy, “It’s so good to see you again.”  She put her hand out timidly and Jack took it in his own.  She totally melted.  Jack led her to a chair and pulled it out for her.  Then he turned to her father and put out his hand.  “Jack Stafford,” he said.  “I had the pleasure of meeting Rebecca this weekend.”

“Ray Colley,” said the surprised commissioner.

“Good morning, Ray, Becky,” Cal said. 

Paul barely nodded to Ray Colley and totally ignored his daughter.

“Okay, everyone,” Cal said.  “Let’s start the meeting.  I told Betty to come in later because we have some private things to discuss—some things that Sue-Ann has been working on.  It might be a good idea, though, if Jack—”

“Jack knows everything,” I cut in. 

Cal looked at Paul.  “Okay, Paul?” he said.

Paul shrugged.

“Let Jack stay,” said Becky hurriedly.  “Please?”

“Becky,” said Ray Colley sternly, “that’s enough.”  Then he turned to Cal and said, “I guess it’s all right.”

“Okay, then.  But nothing we say here is to leave this room, got it?”

We all nodded, even Mark, to whom everything must have been as clear as paint.

“I’m going to break things down as simply as I can.  Sue-Ann, if I get anything wrong, correct me.”

I nodded.

“All right.  Two Fridays ago, Clarence Meekins found a dead goat in his dumpster.”  Cal looked at Ray Colley.  “It was one of your goats, Ray.  Sue-Ann thinks that it was stolen from your pasture by three kids, then taken into the woods and killed.  You want to tell us anything about that, Becky?”

Becky, who had been shamefaced a few seconds before, turned to me with angry eyes.  She jutted out her chin and said, “Who’s she?”

Cal said grimly.  “As far as you’re concerned, young lady, she’s God.  She’s found out enough about the three of you to have you all arrested.  Now please address the question.”

She hung her head a little.  It might have been an act, because her bottom lip was still pointed in my direction.  “It was Pauley,” she said.

“What was Pauley?” Cal asked.

“He read something about voodoo in a book.  He got all crazy like.  The three of us—me, him, and Adam Zimmer—were riding around kind of smashed when he decides to, you know, steal this goat.  It sounded like a good idea so I caught one for him.  We took it out in the woods and tied it to a tree while Adam made all these voodoo symbols on the ground.  Pauley killed the goat and started to, you know, cut it open.  Auntie Adam threw up, but I’m not squeamish.  I wanted to see what the goat looked like inside and I wanted to see if any voodoo stuff would happen.”  The girl stopped and a look of fear passed across her face like a shadow.  Jack had to prod her to continue.

“What happened then, Rebecca?” he asked.

“Then I . . . I saw something in the woods behind us.  It was a face—really gross, like in a horror movie.  Pauley saw it too, and it was way up on a white horse and the horse reared up and the face made this horrible noise and we all ran.  Becky had been so caught up in her memory that her voice almost broke.  She stopped and regrouped.  She said, “Pauley said that it was one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse.”

“And you believed him?” Cal asked.

“I don’t know, maybe.  What else could it be?  I mean, you didn’t
see
this thing.

Pauley didn’t even stop to pick up his book.”

“Tell us about the chickens,” Cal said.

“A couple of days later, Pauley wanted to try out another spell that he remembered from the book.  Adam didn’t want to go back in those woods, but me and Pauley convinced him—Pauley could convince Adam to stand on his head in the middle of I-10 if he wanted to.  Adam even knew an old lady who had some chickens so we went and stole some.  I got one and Adam got the other.  But a dog started barking at us and Pauley killed it.  Then he started to cut it up until I told him to quit.”  Becky went silent for a moment, remembering.  “I didn’t think he should have done that.  I mean, goats are the worst, but dogs are all right.  But then we went back out in the woods and we killed the chickens and burned them in a fire.  We were all plastered on this tequila we had.  Adam made some symbols on the ground and Pauley started dancing around and calling on the loas—that’s what, you know, they call the voodoo gods—but nothing happened.  I think that Adam probably got the symbols wrong because of the book.”

“What book?” asked Cal.

“You know, that book we left in the woods the first time.”

“What about it?”

“It was gone.  Adam had to try to make the symbols from memory and he’s a dim bulb sometimes.”

“Sue-Ann?”  Cal looked at me, wanting to know if I had any questions.  I did.

“What were the three of you doing at the Ag Center last weekend?” I asked.

The rebel in her flared up again.  “None of your damn business,” she said.  Her father raised a hand to slap her but Cal caught his wrist and shook his head almost imperceptibly. 

It was Jack who got her to speak.  “Sue-Ann’s an old friend of mine, Rebecca.  She’s good people and you can trust her.”

Becky shrugged, and spoke, but to Jack and not to me.  “Pauley wanted to hang out.  He’s got a thing for this girl.  He met her a couple of months ago and tried to get cozy with her but she blew him off.  Later on he was at Meekins’ Market and thought he saw her going into the woods behind the dumpster, so he went in after her.  I think he was just high, but that’s when he found the clearing.  It was a great place for meetings.” 

“And the Ag Center?” Jack asked gently.

“I was getting to that, I was,” Becky replied.  “You know that night we killed the goat?  Well, after that ghost thing chased us out of the woods, Pauley drove us all to Eat Now to hang out and plan what we were going to do next.  And that girl was there; the one with the crazy hair.  She was with this guy,” she pointed across the table at Mark Patterson.  “So we snuck up and sat in the next booth so we could hear what they were saying.  He was trying to pick her up but I could tell she was about to blow him off, too, but his cell phone rang.”

“Hey,” interjected Mark.  “She didn’t blow me off.  That was probably the call from Cal telling me about Clarence finding the goat in his dumpster and  . . .”

I saved his bacon here.  Again.  “So what did Krista say when you told her you had a tip to check out?”

“She, um, told me she had to get back home but if I wanted to see her again, she’d be at the Ag Center on Saturday.”

“Right,” said Becky.  “So that’s how we knew she’d be there.  We were going to follow her home from the Ag Center but we got thrown out.  That’s the last time I saw Pauley.  Last time I saw Adam, too.  They were supposed to meet me at Eat Now but they never showed. 

It was Paul’s turn to talk.  “Becky,” he began in a tired preacher’s voice, “Pauley’s run away.  Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

Becky shook her head.  “I donno.  Maybe back out in those woods.”

“Whah d’you think that?” Gina asked.

“He, um, thinks that the reason the last sacrifice didn’t work was because the animals were too little.  He’s got some plans, but he didn’t tell us what they were.  He says he hears weird voices on the radio, but I listen to the same station and I never heard them.”  She rubbed her eyes and looked around the table, and I could l see that her bravado was ebbing away.  She even looked a little scared as she continued.  “He bought this new knife on eBay,” she said.  “It’s like one of the old sacrificial knives—kind of curved and really sharp.  It was pretty expensive but he had his daddy’s credit card number.  I really wanted to see him use that knife . . .”  Then she looked Jack in the face and blushed, if people actually do that, and changed course.  “But I’m not into that any more,” she told him.

Cal looked at Paul.  “You think we need to bring the police in, Paul?” he asked.

Paul looked much older than he had when the meeting started.  It was as if he had only just been convinced that Pauley had gone off in the head.  “I don’t know anything any more,” he said.  “Let’s give Paul Jr. another twenty-four hours.  He’s run away before, but he’s always come back.”