Dark Places (15 page)

Chapter Thirty-six

I was bored stiff with all the rain and Pepper being gone. Even school wasn't the same without her. At least one thing had changed, though. With Cale gone, his toadies pretty much left me alone.

The day passed with the smell of chalk, lunches, and mildew. Everything around us was souring from the dampness. Kids' shirts and pants smelled musty, because most people in Center Springs depended on the sun to dry their clothes. With the weather like it was, folks had to dedicate one room in the house to racks of still-damp clothes, but unless they had good circulation, things like towels soured in a short time.

Miss Becky had a wooden rack she set in front of the open oven to dry ours. Other folks might smell mildewey, but not
her
family, because she also went through a lot of Mrs. Stewart's Bluing.

After school, I went into my back bedroom to read. I hadn't felt much like doing anything since Pepper left, but I had a pretty good book called
The Year of the Jeep
. In it, a kid named Cloud needed to make money to buy parts for an old jeep he was fixing up. Because of him, I'd considered getting a job for my own spending cash.

I flopped down on the bed with my head toward the foot while rain drummed the roof. I punched a feather pillow into shape and tilted the book toward the window for more light. When I opened it, a sheet of paper from a Harold Hodges notepad fell onto my chest.

I didn't use it for a bookmark, so I laid the book down and opened the folded paper to find a note from Pepper.

Hey butthole. I've had enough of this hick town, so I'm leaving with Cale. He's not really my boyfriend or anything, but we're going just the same. I bet he tries to kiss me, but he better not. I know everybody will be worried and it'll get on you, so I'm sorry. Cale has a cousin we're going to meet, then on to San Francisco. This will be a great adventure. Love you.

It was signed with a heart and a lot of Xs and Os that I didn't understand.

My eyes burned. I wiped them with the back of my hand. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I sat there to think for a minute. It was a private letter, but I had something that Grandpa and Miss Becky would want to know, not to mention Aunt Ida Belle and Uncle James.

I knew where they could find Pepper.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Crow was waiting in front of the house when Ned steered the butter-colored Bel Air around the corner over an hour later. They were down to one car after a mechanic finishing his lunch in the diner agreed to give the engine a once-over. He started the car and listened for only a moment before slamming the hood and calling a tow truck.

James rode with his elbow hanging out the window. This time, instead of only Dona and Kandi, Crow was standing in a small crowd mostly made up of young women. Ned pulled to the curb beside them. Everyone in the yard took notice until they realized the men weren't getting out, then returned to their animated conversation.

Their clothes were a riot of color selected by a blind man. There was no definition to wardrobes of patched jeans, sandals, and a wide array of oversized shirts. The only thing the girls had in common was their complete abandonment of brassieres, which shocked the older men.

A girl with curly hair barely restrained by a yellow headband pointed. “Is that them?”

Crow didn't acknowledge the car and ignored the obvious question. “You see her, or this Cale kid, you call the sheriff's department for me.”

Kandi grimaced. “We don't talk to the fuzz.”

“I know, darlin', but do this one for
me
.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

Crow ran his hand up and down her side. “I'm getting close to forgetting her.”

She melted into him. “Will you be coming back this way?”

“You can count on it.”

“All right. Maybe we'll find you in San Francisco, though.”

To Ned and James' shocked surprise, Kandi slipped her arms around Crow's neck and gave him a kiss that should have been delivered behind closed doors. She didn't turn him loose for a long moment, and when she did, both grownups in the car realized they'd been holding their breath.

Crow spoke softly into her ear, gave her a pat on the backside as if he didn't care who saw the intimate gesture, and waved to the rest. Most flashed peace signs, and one of the boys gave Crow a handshake. He climbed into the backseat. “Found what I was looking for! Winslow.”

Ned glanced over the backseat. “Arizona? There's a lot of other places between here and there.”

“There's a lot of big empty and nothing else. Pepper's been here, with that boy…”

James' voice choked. “Cale.” She'd been right there, only yards away, and now she was gone again.

“Yeah, Cale. They crashed here but nobody remembers when and that's all anyone knows. One of the girls said she left in a car with some kids heading for Winslow first, then on to San Francisco.”

“They're following sixty-six?” Ned studied Crow's eyes.

“That's the way.”

“Sixty-six don't go to San Francisco,” James said. “It goes to Los Angeles.”

Crow nodded, watching the girls walk back into the house. “That's right. And we'd better get going. Our best chance to catch them is Winslow. If we miss her there, we'll be playing catch up, and if they get to Barstow ahead of us, they might take any way to San Francisco. They may head up to Bakersfield and north, or cut across to Highway 5, so there's no telling what they'll do.”

“We might find 'em in San Francisco, if they get that far.”

“Two kids in that city will be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Crow said. “There are tens of thousands there already, and more are coming. Once they get off sixty-six, they can go whichever way the wind blows.”

Without a word, Ned aimed the car toward the Texas/New Mexico line. He pegged the speedometer at eighty on the straight highway leading to the distant horizon.

The two-lane held straight and true, occasionally cresting a ridge, then revealing a shallow drop through the desert with a view so wide open it took their breath. Used to small, curving roads through landscapes of trees, pastures, and farms, the vast spaces drew their eyes to distant blue ridges shimmering in the sun.

Crow slid to the middle of the seat to see down the highway. “There's a slight chance we'll find them in Santa Fe, but the kids told me the best place they can crash is Winslow.”

“Crash?” James cracked the window for some air.

“It's a place they can sleep.”

“Is that where they take that dope?”

The slight frown on Crow's forehead was the only indication of how he felt for James. “There's drugs there.”

“I hope they don't make her take none.”

“James, these kids live for grass…marijuana.
Most
of 'em smoke it, and they'll take pills too, and LSD, and about everything else you can think of, but they don't
make
anyone do it.”

“She wasn't raised like that.”

Nothing Crow could say would sound right, so he kept his mouth closed.

They shot across the state line into New Mexico, and passed a highway patrol car heading in the opposite direction. Driving with his arm out of the open window, the trooper waved downward in an exaggerated patting movement, telling Ned to slow down. He took his foot off the accelerator, flicked a wave back to the trooper as they passed, and once he was over the hill, he slammed the hammer back down.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Rumbling thunder drummed beyond the distant treetops. Occasional bolts of brilliance punctuated the day as Cody fidgeted in the front seat, occasionally turning on the wipers to clear the rain sluicing down the windshield. One of those times when the glass cleared, he saw Cracker locked up as if pointing a covey of birds.

“Buck.”

Cody opened the door before the justice of the peace could rise and tilt the hat back on his head. Outside, he lit a cigarette and watched the Wilson boys slog their way to the dog. Cracker broke his point and dug in the soft ground.

Buck cleared his throat, spat, and lit a Camel. “Whadda ya think?”

“I think they're awful close to that dragline. I'd a thought they'd have found something farther out toward the middle of the bottoms.”

The Wilson boys conferred, then pulled Cracker away by his collar. They tried to coax the dog to toward another pile of cold, wet charcoal, but he ran back to the original site to dig. Jimmy Foxx knelt beside the wet dog and ruffed his sides.

Ty Cobb waved at the sheriff's car.

Another door slammed, and Ike Reader joined them carrying a bildukey. Those who'd been waiting in their trucks sloshed through the mud to Cody's side. Ike took the lead, waving the skinny shovel like a sword.

“What now?”

Cody took a drag on the cigarette and squinted through the smoke hanging in the moist air. “The rest of y'all get your shovels and let's see what we can find.” He pondered Ike's shovel and the long, thin blade sometimes called a sharpshooter. “Uh, Ike, I doubt they'll be buried in post holes.”

He examined the shovel as if it had materialized in his hands. “Uh, okay. I'll get another'n. Hey, Cody, listen, you think they'll put that dog in his box?”

“Don't see any reason why not. He's done his do.”

“Well, if it's all the same to you, I'll wait until they get him in it first.”

Cody took a shovel from Buck. “That'll be fine, Ike.”

“Listen, I'm not tryin' to get out of workin', ner nothing.”

“I know that, Ike. I'm glad you're here. Let's go, boys.”

The digging was easy in the soft ground. The problem was that water quickly filled the growing excavation. Ike soon joined them, and half an hour later, they had a mud hole.

Chapter Thirty-nine

James saw a sign outside a small Sinclair Station near the New Mexico/Arizona border. Last Chance for New Mexico Gas. “We might ought to fill up.”

Ned's patience was short, and when the attendant didn't arrive in what he considered a reasonable amount of time, he got out of the car. James followed suit and stretched to work out the kinks.

A man in filthy overalls popped out of the garage, wiping his hands on a rag as oily as his clothes. “Help you?”

Ned was already around the back of the Chevrolet, reaching for the gas nozzle hanging on the side of the pump. “Gas.”

“I'll do it. We're full service here.”

“All right. We're in a hurry.”

The attendant with the name Duke sewn onto his coveralls dug in his ear, leaving a smudge of oil on the lobe. “Regular, or ethyl?”

“Regular.”

“Figured.”

Duke removed the cap, jammed the nozzle into the tank, and gave a lever on the pump a flip. Internal machinery meshed and the numbers reset. “Travelin' far?”

“A fer piece.”

Duke scrubbed at a particularly stubborn bug smear on the windshield. “There's drinks inside.”

James gave the fender a slap. “That sounds good.”

Crow emerged on Ned's side. He stretched as well and noticed that for the first time Ned wasn't wearing his badge or pistol. Ned saw him glance at the empty space on his shirt, and started to comment but he stopped when an old DeSoto fifty yards away coughed, slowed, and coasted toward the drive. There wasn't enough momentum to carry it any farther, and the car died in the middle of the lane.

Crow shaded his eyes, making Ned think of an old painting he'd once seen of a Mohawk brave squinting into the distance. “That's an old lady driving.”

James trotted over to help. The two-lane highway was momentarily empty, but he knew a car would be along any minute. The woman's mouth was a tight line and her fingers fluttered over a strip of lace at the top of her blue dress. “I'm out of gas.”

“I see that. You steer and we'll give you a push. Put 'er in neutral.”

Crow joined them and she forced a smile at the hippie. James and Crow planted their feet and found a place on the sloped rear end. The black metal was hot against their hands. The heavy car moved slowly at first, then picked up momentum as they dug in to gain as much speed as possible to overcome the drive's upward slope. Moving like molasses in the wintertime, Duke joined them.

The car was rolling at a pretty good clip when Ned gave a wave. “Turn!”

Using both hands inside the wheel, the elderly woman put every bit of her ninety pounds into the turn. Puffing and pushing, the trio managed to subdue gravity. The car rolled to a stop at the pump opposite Ned's sedan.

With the same lack of interest, Duke moseyed over to her window, breathing hard. “Regular or ethyl?”

“Regular.”

“Fill'er up?”

“You give green stamps?”

“Nope.”

“How far is the nearest gas station that gives S&H Green Stamps?”

Duke scratched at the stubble on his chin. “About half a mile back the way you came.”

“Then give me a two bit's worth.”

He blinked in surprise. “Two bits?”

“Young man. You should give stamps.” She handed him two quarters. “There. Payment in advance. And you should wash up every once in a while.”

Ned chuckled, then rubbed his stomach, now a steady ache punctuated with knifing pains. Duke pumped two-bits' worth of gas and hung up the nozzle. Without a word, the woman started the car and drove off.

“I never seen anything like it.” Duke absently rubbed his hands on the oily rag and raised Ned's hood. He pulled out the dipstick. “You're about half a quart low.”

“Put some in, then.”

It was silent under the hood for a moment. Duke stuck his head around the hood. “It's a good thing y'all pulled in here when you did. This belt's broke.” He held it by both ends.

Ned tilted his head. “That so?”

“Sure enough. I have one in there that'll fit, though. It'll be two and a half, plus another two and a half to put it on. Won't take but a minute.”

A sudden sharp pain slashed through Ned's side, making him gasp. He leaned on the car for support. “Go ahead.”

Duke met James and Crow coming back outside. “Belt's broke. I'll get another one.”

James started to answer, but saw Ned leaning on the car with a stricken expression on his face. He rushed to him, setting two Coke bottles on the roof. “What's wrong?”

“I don't know. It felt like somebody's twisting a blade in my guts.”

“We might need to find a doctor.”

Ned straightened with a wince and shook his head. The pain had eased. “Nope. It's better now. Probably something I ate. Besides, we don't have the time right now.”

Torn, James paused. “All right, but if it keeps on like that, we're doing something about it.”

“All right, then. We can't go anywhere right now anyway.”

Carrying the new belt and a handful of tools, Duke came outside, stepping faster than before, followed by Crow. “Be done in a jiffy, fellows.” He dove under the hood. Crow stood in the shade of the overhead, watching Duke work on the fan belt while he chewed a Baby Ruth. He drained his RC cola, dropped the bottle into the wooden case sitting beside the station's door, and settled into the backseat to wait.

Ned and James were in the front twenty minutes later when Duke slammed the hood. He stepped smartly around to Ned's window and paused, oddly bent. “There you go.”

“What do I owe you for the gas and belt?”

“Not a thing, gentlemen.”

“What?”

“Well.” Duke paused and glanced at Crow waiting with the back door open and one foot on the ground. “Y'all did for that old lady and you didn't need to.”

“That don't make no sense.” Ned tilted his head upward, confused. “We owe you for your time, at least.”

“Nossir. We provide service with a smile. Uh, y'all can help someone else down the road and that'll be payment enough for me.”

Thinking the man was crazy, Ned glanced at the pump, shook his head, and opened his billfold. He handed him six one-dollar bills. “This is for the gas. You keep the change. I'm at least gonna pay
that
.”

Another glance into the backseat. “You sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Thanks.” Ned pulled away and when he glanced at his side mirror, Duke was standing right where he'd been, rubbing his stomach and watching them leave.

“That was the damndest thing I've ever seen,” Ned said. “Why wouldn't he take any money for this new belt and the work he did?”

Crow met his eyes in the rearview mirror, thinking about the cleanly cut fan belt he'd seen Duke throw into the trash. It didn't take but a second to convince him that he'd made a serious mistake. “I guess he liked your looks.”