Bad Moon On The Rise (13 page)

He missed my sarcasm.

We surveyed the massive, sprawling log
structure together. The Pampered Princess Lodge was only two
stories high, but it spread across the rocky terrain in a series of
different levels that made you think of fairy enclaves in science
fiction worlds. Behind it, to the right, a wide path led to a
meadow that stretched upward, then leveled off and disappeared into
the dusk.

“
I think there’s a spot up
there where I can run my experi-ments in private,” Bobby said. “It
might be best to remain discreet so no one can steal my
idea.”

“
Whatever you say,
Sherlock.” I hoisted my backpack up on one shoulder and grabbed one
of Bobby’s four suitcases. Bobby never did anything lightly, most
especially packing.

“
Remember,” he reminded
me, “Your name is ‘Debbie Little’ and your husband left you for a
younger girlfriend who is having his baby. And just to make you
even more sympathetic, I’m thinking of shipping your husband out to
Iraq in a month.”

“
Please do,” I agreed. “I
hate him for what he’s done to me.”

Whatever charm the bed-and-breakfast
offered on the outside was killed by the interior. A Laura Ashley
bomb had gone off, saturating the premises with floral patterns
that clamored and fought for attention. It was like being trapped
in a florist shop while on Ecstasy. I didn’t know whether to run
screaming for the car, rent a bee suit or join the Junior League
right then and there.

As far as I could see, the entire
lodge was filled with floral drapes, floral carpet, floral
upholstery, a big honking floral dress on a big honking
proprietress and, in a shocking departure from the theme, huge
floral paintings. Not the good kind that remind you of head-sized
hooha’s, either, but giant daisies that looked like they ought to
be in the lapel of a giant clown.

“
Welcome, welcome,
welcome!” cried a mountain of purple and pink flowers topped with a
swirl of orange hair. “I’m Bunny Rogers and this is my humble
abode. You must be Debbie.” She turned her, well, florid, face on
me and honed in like a heat-seeking bosom missile. “You poor
thing.” Her voice dropped so that only the entire first floor could
hear instead of all twenty-four rooms. “Your father told me about
your troubles. Men can be such beasts. Throwing us away for younger
models like we were garbage. You can forget them here, honey. Here,
you will be our princess and we will pamper your cares
away.”

I’d been planning to drink them away,
but if she wanted to pamper me, who was I to argue?

“
Cool,” I said. “Where’s
the bar?”

Bunny looked confused. “No bar, dear.
Although I suppose there is sort of a speakeasy down the road a few
miles. It’s a little dicey, if you know what I mean.” Her face
brightened. “We do offer complimentary blush chardonnay each
evening for Happy Hour. Come five o’clock, this is the happiest
house on Silver Mountain!” She meant her laugh as tinkling, but I
suspect it sent any lingering deer leaping deep into the forest,
convinced that a tribe of drunken hunters was heading their
way.

“
Allow me,” Bobby said
smoothly, intervening before I sunk to a level too trashy even for
his cover story. “I am charmed to meet you.” He bent over and
actually kissed Bunny’s plump little hand, a gesture that inspired
a strange fluttering sound from her. I think it was an attempt at
cooing, but it sounded more like the engine of a Plymouth Rambler
trying to start.

As Bobby and Bunny flirted, I looked
around for a floral vase to hurl in. I saw only a huge door leading
down a short hallway. It was good enough for an emergency
escape.

Bunny saw me looking. ”I see you’ve
noticed the delicious odors coming from our dining room,” she
cried, grabbing my elbow and propelling me down the hallway. “You
must say hello to our other guests.”

Oh, crap. Before I could stop her, I
was thrust through a massive doorway and pinned in the eyes of
perhaps a half dozen couples and several trios of old ladies.
Mouths stopped chewing, forks froze, eyebrows rose as Bunny dragged
me into the room as if I were a scullery maid who’d been caught
boffing the stable boy on the mistress’s dining room
table.

“
Hi,” I said weakly,
looking around the room at my audience. Average age: sixty-two.
Favorite fabric: khaki. Favorite designer: L.L. Bean. Most popular
hair color: Clairol 106B. Median attitude: annoyed at being
interrupted while stuffing face, but intrigued by the possibility
of fresh meat.

“
We have two new guests
for the week,” Bunny announced grandly. “And this is their very
first time at the Pampered Princess. As regulars, I hope you will
make them feel welcome.”

I smelled a ritual sacrifice coming
and made a hasty escape, mumbling about freshening up and backing
out of the room. But Bobby had my back. He waded goodnaturedly into
the dining room, commandeered a table and was already busy making
friends as I fled upstairs.

I changed my clothes and made a hasty
retreat onto the front porch, where I promptly tripped over a mop
someone had stupidly left in the middle of the doorway. As I went
sprawling on my ass, the mop stood up, ambled over and began
licking my face. Ugh. It was a dog. One of those yappy little dogs
with so much hair you can’t tell if it is coming or going. Plus
this one’s breath smelled like tuna. He’d been raiding a cat bowl
somewhere, and if I knew my Bunny types, there were a dozen cat
bowls to choose from.

“
Get off me,” I said and
the dog retreated under a rocking chair, either mooning me or
giving me the evil eye—it was impossible to tell which.

A Fed Ex truck had been lumbering up
the crest and turned into the drive-way just in time to witness my
fall from grace. The driver hopped out and helped me to my feet.
“You okay?” he asked.

“
Depends on how you define
okay,” I mumbled.

He laughed and headed into a side door
to the left of the main entrance. When he came back out, holding a
package under his arm, I was waiting in his passenger
seat.

“
Deliver me to the nearest
bar,” I begged.

“
Overnight or standard
two-day shipping?” he asked cheerfully. He was about fifty years
old, portly, with thick grey hair and a brush mustache. Not your
hunky Fed Ex man of sitcom fantasies, but at least he had a sense
of humor.

 “
Whatever gets me
there fastest,” I said.

“
Then hang on,” he advised
me as he ground the gears. The truck lurched into a wide circle and
went barreling toward the winding mountain road. “I’ll have you at
the Dew Drop Inn within ten minutes. But don’t get too excited.
It’s just a bar. The Princess is the only place to stay around
these here parts. Like it nor not, you’ll have to stay there.
Though I understand the urge to escape. That Bunny has been crazy
about flowers her whole life. Never saw her wear anything but
flowers on her clothes from first grade on. If it gets to be too
much for you, just give me a holler and I’ll deliver you to the Dew
Drop for a break.”

“
Have I ever told you that
you’re my hero?” I said as the truck rocked around a curve and I
slid toward the open door. The driver reached out, snagged the edge
of my shirt and dragged me back into place.

“
Careful there,” he said
cheerfully. “You don’t want to get swept away by the wind beneath
my wings.”

 “
Whatcha got there,
Noah?” a reed-thin old man with six teeth at most called out as the
Fed Ex man gallantly delivered me right to a bar stool.

”
Another refugee from the
Pampered Princess,” my savior said. “I think she’s allergic to
flowers.” He picked up an outgoing package from the bartender,
waved me a cheerful good-bye and headed out the door.

“
Wow,” I said. “He’s
efficient.”

“
That’s Noah for you,” the
skinny old man said and cackled. He eyed me hopefully as his beer
mug was empty.

“
I’ll take a shot of
whatever you have that’s closest to Jack Daniels,” I told the
bartender. “And you can give him another one on me.”

The old man smiled his gummy thanks
while I checked out the bartender. He was at least six feet six,
with muscles that strained under his flannel shirt and a head of
cascading wavy black hair just starting to turn gray. Imagine if
Bigfoot had gone to bartender school and you’ll get the
picture.

“
The closest I got to Jack
Daniels is Jack Daniels,” he said, setting down at least two
fingers worth in front of me.

“
Good enough for me.” I
downed it in two gulps and shuddered as the warmth flooded through
me. Though all my clothes fit into a knapsack, I had brought way
too much baggage up into the hills with me. I needed to lighten the
load. I thought of Burly and Helen, living in domestic bliss. I
thought of the promises I’d made to Corndog Sally that I’d find her
grandson before she died. I thought of the sorry state of my love
life. And I thought of how I was about to open up yet another wound
to pick at with my next phone call.

“
I’m going to step outside
and use my cell phone,” I explained to the bartender. “Need me to
settle up first?”

“
Naw.” He stuck a
toothpick in his mouth and parked a massive boot up on an empty
wooden crate. “I’ll just hunt you down and kill you if you skip
out.”

“
I bet you just rake in
the tips.”

He grinned and pointed to the
backdoor. “Reception’s better out that way.”

The mountains are iffy when it comes
to cell phone service. Sometimes you can find a spot as clear as if
you were standing next to the person you’re talking to. At other
times, the “No Signal” message will taunt you even as you kneel in
the shadow of a transmitting tower, staring hopefully up at its
girders.

The cellular gods were with me that
night. I discovered a little clearing out back behind the bar, a
few feet away from a towering pile of cordwood aging for the winter
ahead. Evidently, the barman came out here for smokes on a regular
basis. A tree stump had been leveled off for a stool and was
encircled by a months-old ring of cigarette butts. I sat on the
stump and stared up at the stars—there were millions dusted across
the heavens, far more than you could ever see near the electric
glow of an urban area. It took my breath away and it gave me
courage. I took a deep breath and dialed.

“
Yeah?” Bill Butler always
just sort of growled into his cell phone when he answered. He had
to carry one because he was a detective with the Raleigh Police
Department and being off the grid was frowned upon. But he hated
them and acted like you had personally pissed him off each time you
called.

“
It’s me,” I said.
“Casey.”

“
Well, well, well,” he
answered in his Texas drawl. “And to what favor do I owe this
honor?”

“
Why can’t I just call to
say hello?” I protested.

He laughed. “Just tell me what you
need, Moonbeam.”

“
I’m up in Bartow County,
looking into the disappearance of a teenage boy. His mother was...”
I hesitated. If Bill knew I’d had anything to do with Tonya
Blackburn’s death, even just finding her body, I’d probably get a
lecture that didn’t end until spring. “His mother was killed and
now he’s missing.”

“
And you think he’s in
Bartow County?” Bill said. “Because that’s such a magnet for
teenage run-aways?” His tone was beyond sarcastic. “You know, I’m
not even a native of our great state, but even I could tell you
that people run away from Bartow County, they don’t run to it. It’s
what? The dirt-eating capital of the world? Soon to be the
meth-running capital of the world? You are not even in Kansas
anymore, Moonbeam. You are in hardcore Appalachia.”

“
I know,” I said. “It
sounds crazy, but I tracked the mother’s movements before she died
and supposedly she was sent to Silver Top Detention Center. Only no
one can find any official record of that happening.”

Unlike Marcus, Bill did not insist
that this was impossible. He had not built the computer system, he
used it, and had a very different perspective on it. “That’s not
good, Casey,” Bill warned me. “For a lot of reasons. There are a
lot of renegades with badges up there. I want you to watch your
step.”

“
I will be careful. That’s
why I called. Can you find out about the sheriff here for me? Find
out who he is? Maybe ask around and see if he’s a stand-up
guy?”

“
In other words, you want
to know if he’s single?”

I laughed. “No. I want to know if he’s
honest. I might need his help with a case I’m working on. Trust me,
I can find out if he’s single on my own.”

“
You know, that’s one
thing I always admired about you, Casey. You’ve got a wild streak
in you, but you draw the line at married men.”

“
What’s that got to do
with anything?” I asked.

“
I am one now,” Bill
said.

“
Oh.” It caught me by
surprise. I had been prepared to hear the voice of yet another good
man I’d not been able to stick with, but I had not expected to
learn that someone else had done what I could not do.