Chapel of Ease (20 page)

He said, “Do you mind if I take your picture for the article?”

“Sure. Where do you want to do it?”

He looked around. “Eh, this'll do.” He took out his camera and stepped back, looking for the proper framing. He took three quick shots, then reviewed them. “Huh,” he said.

“Did I blink?”

“No, just … well, look.”

He brought the camera over. On one of the three frames, there was a blur behind me that looked for all the world as if someone standing there had started to move just as the shot was taken.

“Digital,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Never had these problems when we shot on film.”

I followed him outside. Thorn and Ladonna were gone. C.C. sat on the open tailgate of his truck, casual as a model in a cigarette ad. Gerald stood beside him, and they stopped talking as the reporter and I approached.

“Get all you need?” Gerald asked Swayback.

“Got plenty. It'll make a good story. Thank you, Gerald, and again, I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Appreciate it, Don.”

“I'll send you some extra copies when the issue runs.”

We waved as he drove off. “Nice guy,” Gerald said. “Real nice guy.”

C.C. climbed down from the tailgate. “Ready to go into town?”

“What you need in town?” Gerald said.

“A cell phone signal,” I said.

“You welcome to use our phone.”

“I appreciate that, but I have so many minutes paid for, I hate to waste them.”

“Well, if you get stuck, feel free.”

As we pulled out onto the road, C.C. took my hand again, and this time he didn't let go. I could see him smiling as he drove.

“How'd it go?” he asked at last.

“Fine. I've done enough interviews, I know how to do them pretty painlessly.”

“What did he ask about?”

“Mainly Ray in New York. I guess he knows all about Ray here. Lots about the show.”

“Did you tell him about the chapel?”

“That we went to it? Yeah. Why? Should I have kept it a secret?”

C.C. thought for a moment, then said, “No, I don't suppose it makes any difference. It's not like the Durants read the paper.”

 

16

I got three bars, the best reception I'd had since we left Nashville.

I stood outside and dialed Neil's number while C.C. went into the Fast Grab convenience store. Neil answered and said, “Hey, Matt. Tried to call you a half a dozen times. How's the trip going?”

“It's been eventful. I don't get any reception at Ray's parents' house, or many other spots up in these hills. How are things there?”

“Our run is entirely sold out, and we're adding two more weeks. And there's already talk about moving to Broadway. Marketing-wise, this was genius. It's just hard not to think of it as some kind of blood money.”

“I know what you mean,” I said sadly.

“How was the memorial service?”

“It was basically a party. Lots of music. I sang ‘The Chapel Song' for them, and they loved it.”

“They're not mad because Ray's talking about them? He was always worried about that.”

“No, they're not. They're a little perplexed by the fuss, but that's all.”

“That makes me feel a little better.”

A big truck rattled by, and the woman in the passenger seat looked at me. Her meaty arm blocked the lower half of her face, but her eyes almost gleamed with intensity. Was it because I was so obviously a stranger? Or was she a friend of the Durants, about to call them and tell them I was in town?

I shook my head to get rid of my paranoia. I'd seen way too many movies with dangerous country bumpkins. This wasn't
Wrong Turn;
not every small town in the South was a hotbed of danger, right?

“I just sent you some pictures of the real chapel of ease, too,” I told Neil. “It's amazing how close our set is to it.”

“Thanks. I'll look at them when we get off the phone. See if there's anything we want to add to our set. So what was buried there?”

“Well, I didn't…,” I trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

“You're kidding me,” Neil said in his icy scolding voice. “You went all that way, you were actually
there,
and you didn't dig to see what it was?”

I didn't want to tell him about the Durants, since he'd warned me about that very thing. “It wasn't exactly the right time.”

“Uh-huh. After all that shit you and the rest of the cast kicked up about, ‘Oh, we have to know the secret, we can't possibly act it if we don't know,' you didn't find out?”

“It's on private property, Neil,” I said defensively.

“And that's what stopped you? Look, you dig it up, see what it is, take some pictures, put it back, and fill in the hole. No harm, no foul.”

“It wasn't a good time.”

“Right. Well, you've got, what, two and a half more days? I expect an answer by then. Seriously, Matt. It was you and the rest of the cast who made this an issue; they'll rip you apart if you come back without it. When they're not moaning about Ray's death, it's all they talk about.”

His tone had gotten harsher and was starting to piss me off. I said, “I thought I was here to represent the cast at the funeral.”

“You did that. Now you have another job.”

“I'll do the best I can, Neil. Tell everyone I said hello.”

I hung up before he could say anything else. It was rude, but not as rude as I wanted to be. Then I dialed Joaquim. When I got his voice mail, I said, “Hey. Just checking in. Everything's fine here. I'll try again the next time I'm somewhere I get a signal.” I started to mention that he'd sent me the wrong text, but I assumed he knew that by now. I'd have that scene to play out when I got back home, but it was probably for the best.

Through the glass front of the Fast Grab, I watched C.C. talk to the girl behind the counter. Yes, breaking up with Joaquim would definitely be for the best.

Finally, I called Emily. “Hello?” she said. She sounded tired and slurry.

“Hey, Em. It's Matt.”

“Oh, hey,” she said, and perked up a little. “I didn't look at the phone first. Are you still down with Ray's parents?”

“Yeah, for a couple of more days. How are you?”

“Mostly sober, which is a change. The only way I can sleep is without dreams, and the only way to kill the dreams is to kill a bottle of wine first. But I can't do that forever, can I?”

“You getting out any?”

“A little. I have an audition later that I suppose I'll go to. I don't really care if I get the part or not.”

That didn't sound like Emily at all. Ray's death must have hit her even harder than I'd thought. “Then you'll probably get it without a callback,” I said, trying to sound light. “Isn't that always the way?”

“I keep hearing his voice, Matt. I'll be about to drift off to sleep, and I'll hear him singing, just softly and right out of range so I can't quite catch the words. But I know the tune, it's songs from the show, he used to sing them all the time when he was working on them.” She paused, and I'd never heard her voice sound so vulnerable as when she said, “Do you believe in ghosts, Matt?”

“I don't know, Emily. But if you've been drinking as much as you said—”

“Yeah, I know. I've also been going through his files. I haven't found it.”

“Found what?”

“What's buried in the chapel.”

So I wasn't the only one nursing this particular compulsion. “Maybe you should stop looking for a while.”

“But it's got to be there. He wrote so many songs, Matt, and kept so many notes. Ideas, lines, melodies … reading through all of it is like crawling into his head. Except he can't hear me.”

I was really concerned now, and tried unsuccessfully to remember the names of any of Emily's other friends, someone who might be physically present and could watch out for her. “Go to the audition. Go out to eat afterwards. Maybe go dancing. See some friends, hear some voices that
aren't
ghosts. When I get back, we'll go down to the Hamptons for the day. Sit on the beach.”

“That sounds nice,” she said, like a child being promised a reward after the dentist.

“I took some pictures of the actual chapel of ease. Do you want me to send them to you?”

“Please do. It was such a special place to Ray.”

“Okay, I'll send them as soon as I hang up. Love you, honey.”

“Love you, too. Be safe.”

When she hung up, C.C. came out with a bag of chips, some dip, and a couple of sodas. We sat at the picnic table across from each other, the sun behind him so that it cast a thin halo around his unruly black hair.

“Get ahold of your friends?” he asked.

“I did. Ray's girlfriend is having a rough time of it. They hadn't been dating for long, but she's really taking it hard.”

He nodded as he chewed. “That happens when a non-Tufa gets involved with one of us.”

“Oh?”

“Especially somebody like Ray, who's almost a pureblood. Once a girl gets a taste, it's like she's addicted. I knew one guy who must've driven half a dozen girls to suicide after he dumped them. Happens when Tufa girls date regular guys, too.”

“And what about Tufa guys and…?”

I was teasing, and I thought he was, too, but his look was dead serious. “The truth? I don't know. I mean, I know there have been Tufa like … us … before, but they don't get stories and songs sung about them. So I don't know.”

“Maybe you could be the first.”

“Don't joke. When it happens, it's awful. I've seen it. It's like a heroin addict who can't get high no matter how much they shoot up.”

Well, things had gotten grim fast. Then again, that accurately described the way Emily seemed to feel about Ray. When I remembered how she'd behaved that day at his apartment, it didn't seem so far-fetched, and after talking to her just now, it occurred to me that perhaps I should watch my own step here. I dipped a chip and said, “I need to ask you something, C.C., and I'll understand if you want to smack me afterwards.”

“Not much chance of that after I saw you handle those Durants.”

“Do you think we could go back to the chapel and dig up that spot I showed you?”

He looked at me with steady disbelief. “You're kidding, right?”

“No. I know this will sound crazy, but the entire cast of Ray's show is obsessed by this, and if I come back without an answer, they'll lynch me.”

“The Durants won't be so easy to surprise next time. They're likely to just shoot you from the woods and be done with it.”

“You think they'll stake the place out?”

“Is it really worth it just to see what's buried in a hole?”

“For me, yes. If you don't want to help, I can't blame you. But you're the only person I know who knows where it is. I could never find it again.”

Before he could answer, another truck pulled up beside his. A beautiful dark-haired woman was behind the wheel, and she said, “Hey, C.C.,” as she parked. After a moment she came around the two vehicles, carrying an equally dark-haired little girl less than a year old.

“Hey, Bronwyn,” C.C. said. He held out his hand, and I thought they were going to shake, but instead he made an elaborate gesture, which she returned. I'd never seen anything like that before. “Bronwyn, this is Matt. He was Rayford's friend in New York. Matt, this is Bronwyn Hyatt—”

“Chess,” she corrected.

“Sorry, Bronwyn
Chess.
She got married.”

I stood for the introduction. Like C.C., the newcomer was backlit by the sun, so it wasn't until she moved and the light fell on her face that I recognized her. I stared. “It's you,” I said in a shocked whisper.

“It's me,” she said.

“So you saw her on TV, huh?” C.C. said.

“What?”

“She was a war hero. Well, I guess you still are, right?”

“I was never a hero,” she said. Her baby pulled at her hair. “Well, not until this one came along. Every day she doesn't go for a ride in the dryer is a day I'm heroic.” She smiled. “I'm kidding, you know.”

“No, it has nothing to do with the war,” I said. “I saw you when you came to visit Ray in New York.”

Her easy smile changed to a forced and obviously false one. “Me? I haven't been to New York since before she was born, and then it was just overnight. Now, if you'll excuse me—”

“Then you've got a twin,” I said, not about to let this go. “We talked at the press preview the night Ray died, less than a week ago. I was as close to you then as I am now. You asked me if we'd stop the show if Ray told us to.”

“What's a ‘press preview'?” she asked innocently.

Now I started to get mad. “It's when you do the show for the critics.”

“Well, it's a coincidence. It must be. Did this visitor have a baby with her?”

“No.”

“Then I promise you, it wasn't me, because she and I go everywhere together.” The baby smacked her mother's cheeks and giggled. “Well, it was nice to meet you, but I have to pick up some diapers before this little lady gets tired of sitting in her own pee.” She turned and strode into the convenience store, more quickly than her casual air would imply.

“That was strange,” C.C. said.

“That was bullshit,” I said through my teeth. “I swear it was her.”

“Why would she lie about it?”

“I have no fucking clue. But she just did. Unless she
does
have a twin?”

“Folks say all us Tufa look alike. But no, she's only got brothers. Well … had brothers. One of them died a while back.”

“Then it was her. I mean, I'd swear on a stack of Bibles with a gun to my head.” I started toward the store. “I'm going to go talk to her some more.”