Bellingham Mysteries 3: Black Cat Ink (11 page)

“She’s got a key; she’ll be fine. But what if Shawn warns those guys that we’re coming. What if they move the sculpture? I’ve been chasing this penis for weeks now. I don’t want it to slip out of my grasp.”

“Baby, I wouldn’t worry about any penis slipping out of your grasp,” Nick said chuckling.

“Please, can we at least drive out there and look to see if it’s there? It’ll only take twenty minutes.”

“Yes, but our guests could start arriving in twenty minutes as well.”

“It’s like curiosity doesn’t kill you,” Peter remarked sourly.

“It’s like you don’t remember that curiosity has nearly killed you at least twice,” Nick growled.

“If you don’t drive me out there, I’ll just sneak away in the middle of the party and go by myself in the dark dressed as a slutty nurse,” Peter said.

“What kind of ultimatum is that?”

“It’s not an ultimatum at all. It’s just a statement of fact. I know myself. I know what I’ll do.” Peter shrugged helplessly. “Some people are junkies; some people are gamblers. I’m nosy and I can’t help following my gut. My gut says something creepy is going on out there with
Untitled Five
, and so I need to know. Otherwise it will just drive me crazy all night. End of story.”

“If you see that it’s there, do you promise that we can go back and manage to be present at our own Halloween party?”

“I promise.” Peter solemnly raised his hand. “Slutty nurse’s honor.”

Following Shawn’s directions, they got on 542 heading east, past Nugent’s Corner, where Peter had intercepted the death threat, and on toward Everson, where orchards and granges dotted the country roads.

The drive was easy to find. Partly because it was well marked and partly because there was a black truck decorated with flame decals turning out of it.

This time, poking over the edge of the truck bed, rendered in beautiful Italian yellow granite, was the slightly bulbous head of
Untitled Five.

Peter gaped, and his arm shot out like as if he were a character in a wacky seventies chase film. “Follow that cock!”

“That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.” Nick put the car into gear and started down Everson-Goshen Road.

“I can’t believe that Shawn screwed us,” Peter said. “I went to that guy’s birthday party.”

“We don’t know that he screwed us,” Nick countered.

“Why would they be moving the sculpture, then?”

“Maybe they’re moving it for their own reasons. People seem to be independently deciding to cart it around for reasons of their own.”

“Or are they?” Peter said ominously.

“Or are they what?” Nick glanced askance at him.

“Are all these people truly deciding to move
Untitled Five
by themselves, or is the sculpture making them do it? Maybe it’s got a hex on it.” Peter did not believe in hexes, but the giddiness of actually being within sight of his quarry suffused him. They were going to recover the piece after all. Hours spent searching the city, following false lead after false lead would finally pay off. He could finally finish his article. “Or maybe the statue itself is haunted.”

”The spirit of the season is strong with you isn’t it,” Nick said drily.

“I just can’t help myself.”

They passed U-pick blueberries and U-pick raspberries until the truck turned onto a long dirt drive lined with cars. A brand new sign at the top of the drive read WHATCOM COUNTY CHURCH OF CHRIST.

Tacked to the bottom of this, written in marker on a piece of orange poster board, were the words HELL HOUSE—NEXT RIGHT.

Chapter Twelve

Though the sun had just set, Hell House, being a family event, was already busy. A thick line of people wound through the field. To the casual observer they looked just like any other group of revelers. Maybe there were a few more angels than would normally be represented at a Halloween party, but everyone seemed in good spirits—no pun intended. Peter was very, very glad that he hadn’t already donned his costume. This crowd was not the accepting and loving community that he’d grown used to in the sheltered little bubble of what was downtown Bellingham’s art community.

Nick paused on the road, blinker on but not turning. Then he pulled onto the property, following the pickup in front of him down the loose lines of cars parked on the south side of the property. He parked, but left the keys in the ignition. “I sincerely hope you’re planning to call the police.”

“I am, but what do you think they’re bringing the sculpture here for?”

“I have no idea.” Nick turned to face him fully. “Baby, I know that you think you’re impervious, but this is not a good place for us to be.”

“I just want to see inside,” Peter said.

“You can look it up online when we get home, I’m sure,” Nick commented. “They’re obviously going to put it in some display.”

“But the question is which one? I’d like to get a picture for the article. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Who the fuck cares where they put it? Now that these assholes have moved it, this entire thing is over. We can report that we’ve seen it without endangering Shawn—”

“Assuming that Shawn didn’t tip them off,” Peter put in.

“That is my working theory at the moment. So, like I said, now we can call the cops to come recover the piece before it gets more damaged.”

“I know I’ve gotten into some scrapes—” Peter had his hand on the door latch.

Nick autolocked the door. “Scrapes? You’ve tried to get yourself killed at least once a year for as long as I’ve know you. What I’m saying is this is different.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ll be in public the whole time. No one here seriously wants to do anything to me. Especially not in front of so many people.”

“You don’t know that. I think I can see at least ten candidates for people who would try and do any number of things to you anywhere that was convenient for them. And you know what? No one here is going to stand up for you if that happens.” Nick’s gaze was intense. “I love you, Peter, and if you go in there, I’ll go with you, but you should know that I can’t protect you from this many people. So please don’t go into that building. A photograph just isn’t worth it.”

“I honestly do not think I’m going to be killed in there, Nick,” Peter began.

“I’m not thinking you’ll be killed, really,” Nick said. “I just don’t want you to be hurt by what you see. Don’t think you won’t be. No one can stand in the face of such naked hatred and not feel it.”

Nick unlocked his door, sat back, and stared forward, waiting.

Peter could see from the resigned set of Nick’s jaw that he fully expected Peter to go, and he expected to have to follow—that he would follow even if Peter didn’t want him to.

And what if something did happen? What if Nick was hurt? He already had the story.

He gazed out at the shifting shadows the bonfire cast across the crowd. Despite their costumes, they weren’t monsters. They were just people.

People who very likely feared and hated him.

People who very well might turn on him if they suspected that he was merely gay, let alone a gay reporter hostile to their event.

Well, that’s what reporters did, didn’t they? Go into situations where other people wouldn’t go? How could he respect himself if he didn’t go in there now?

And yet the knowledge that Nick would follow him inside was unbearable.

So, was getting the photograph really worth it?

Not this time.

He took his hand off the door handle, pulled out his phone, and started to dial. He glanced at Nick, still sitting rigid in the driver’s seat. “We should start heading back before our guests think we’ve abandoned them.”

Nick’s stiff shoulders relaxed.

The police answered and immediately put Peter on hold. Halloween was a busy night for them. Glancing across to Nick, Peter caught Nick pulling a strange smile that he couldn’t quite fathom. “What are you grinning for?”

Nick’s eyes flicked over to him. “I guess slutty nurses do have honor after all.”

He cranked the ignition, put the car into reverse. Peter gazed at the black truck, watching as the blonde girl got out and walked around the back of the truck. She lowered the tailgate to reveal a slim, dark body lying in the back.

“Oh my God,” Peter breathed. “They’ve got Melinda.”

Nick’s foot came down hard on the brake. “You mean the
goat
?”

“Look, she’s right there.”

Nick shook his head. “It has to be a different goat.”

“She’s got Shawn’s head wrap around her neck.”

“Do you see him there?”

“No.” Peter craned his neck around, trying to get a clearer look. The girl was pulling Melinda by a rope tied around her neck. Eyeliner boy got out on the driver’s side. Initially, Peter thought he would assist her. Instead, he lifted a video camera and started filming. From the back door of the church, a collection of costumed people emerged and gathered around. One had a heavy-duty hand truck.

Melinda balked and seemed to be bleating, though he couldn’t hear her over the noise of the crowd.

“Why are they filming this?” Peter wondered aloud.

“Kids film everything these days.”

Peter squinted harder at eyeliner boy’s form. He definitely seemed to be giving directions. “What if these guys aren’t really Satanists?”

“You think they’re not?”

“They could be making a movie about Satanists.”

“There’s no reason they can’t be doing both simultaneously,” Nick pointed out. “We know for a fact that they’re dealing to Shawn, so they’re not innocent little kids.”

“True, but the old guy standing behind eyeliner boy looks enough like him to be his father. Do you really think that teen Satanists perform rituals in front of their parents?”

“Good point.”

“Holy crap. Here comes Shawn.” Nick pointed to the beige Westphalia barreling down the dirt drive. “When did the cops say they’d be here?”

“As soon as possible. They have a lot of calls,” Peter repeated dutifully. “Maybe half an hour or longer?”

“Goddamnit.” Nick sighed and parked the car again. “I guess we have to back him up.”

Peter suppressed a whoop of joy as Nick reparked the car. He got out and flagged Shawn down. He bounded out of his van, wild-eyed. “They took Melinda!”

“We saw,” Peter said. “How did they get her?”

“I went back to my place to pick up some of my stuff, and they were there.” Shawn hung his head miserably. “They grabbed her and took off while I was inside. They’re going to kill her, I know.”

The blonde girl had managed to get a rope around Melinda’s neck and had her out of the truck bed. In half a minute she disappeared through the back door. Once the goat was out, the others hopped up and tilted
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onto its side. The rolled it down a pair of two-by-fours down into the dirt and then onto the hand truck.

They appeared to be moving it toward the same door Melinda had disappeared into.

Peter looked at the long line of revelers waiting to get in the front and said, “I’m thinking that we go in the back.”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking, but what are we going to do once we get in there?” Nick asked.

“I don’t—” Peter stopped short because Shawn was away, weaving through the lines of parked cars toward the back door. “Oh, hell.”

The pair took off running.

If Hell House had been a dance club in LA, none of them would have gotten in. But it wasn’t. No bouncers with giant forearms blocked their way.

Armed with only a polite
Excuse me
, Peter and Nick pushed their way through the back door and into a small meeting room. Two rectangular tables draped with orange paper tablecloths filled most of the room. A cooler stocked with soda and spiked with dry ice sat at the end of one table, leaking spooky mist over various trays containing cookies and sandwiches. Assorted teenagers in gory outfits lounged on folding chairs, munching. Melinda stood in a clot of three girls who had an aura of 4-H about them. One girl was feeding her a wilted piece of lettuce. At the far end of the room was another open doorway draped with black cloth, around which strobe lights flashed and through which stilted dialogue could be heard.

All that stood between them and the goat were partially demolished party trays and a short kid wearing way too much eyeliner and holding a video camera. Not an intimidating figure at all. Still he managed to stop Shawn in his tracks. “I don’t want any trouble, Rory.”

Rory’s eyes flashed wide and darted toward the older man who resembled him.

Peter could imagine this introduction:
Hey, Dad, this is the guy I sell drugs to and whose life I threaten every now and then…

Shawn didn’t seem to make the connection between them and pulled out a wad of cash—the same cash Nick had given him. He peeled off three hundreds. “Here, this is it.”

The older man, plainly curious, stepped up. “What’s going on here?”

Rory lowered his video camera and said, “This is Shawn. He was doing some fundraising for the haunted house for us.”

Instantly, Dad’s face brightened. “We sure do appreciate it. We didn’t know if we’d have enough cash to finish off the week.”

A thunderous crash shook the room. Rory’s dad said, “That’s my cue. It was nice to meet you, Shawn.” He fitted a latex “face of death” mask over his head and went to make his entrance.

As he disappeared Peter heard the unmistakable sound of cop voices asking who was in charge. Two deputies stood in the doorway. Beyond them, Peter could see
Untitled Five
lying on its side in the damp earth, abandoned.

“How about this, Rory?” Peter spoke in an undertoned rush, eyes fixed on the approaching deputies. “You give me that goat, and I don’t tell them how that sculpture outside got here.”

Rory smirked at him. “What do I care? Shawn gave it to me as a present.”

“Do you really want to reveal your relationship with Shawn?” Peter asked.

“He’s helping me with a fundraising project.” Rory’s expression was all defiance.

At the end of his patience, Nick leaned close. “Listen, you little fuck, that statue is stolen and worth half a million dollars. Unless you want to be charged with receiving stolen property, just give us that animal.”