Day Shift (Midnight, Texas #2) (21 page)

M
aybe five minutes before Arthur Smith arrived at Manfred’s, Joe told Chuy he was going to go for a run. He hadn’t been going out since he’d hurt his ankle, but he was so restless waiting for the night to come that he didn’t think he could stay indoors another moment.

Chuy looked at the clock doubtfully. “You warned everyone else in town,” he said. “Do you really want to take a chance yourself?”

“I know when darkness falls tonight,” Joe said impatiently. “You know the longest I’ve ever run is fifty minutes. I’ve got way more time than that.”

Chuy gave him a very direct look. “Okay, you. No fooling around. You get back here in time, and don’t overdo it on that ankle.”

“Yes, Mom,” Joe said, and went to change into his running clothes.

In ten minutes, he’d done his stretching and began to run. For the first few minutes, he brooded over the fact that he hadn’t been kind to Chuy, and he promised himself he’d make up for it when he got
back. And then the fact that he had no shadow, since he was running in the evening, was a bit spellbinding. He was used to seeing his shadow precede him, and he was constantly tempted to look back to make sure it was following him. He persuaded himself that was foolishness and pounded on with determination. It did feel good to be running again. It had been all too easy to take off days because of his ankle.

Which was beginning to throb again.

At first, Joe tried to ignore the burst of discomfort every time his foot hit the pavement. Then he admitted it but ran through it, because turning back so soon would mean he’d been foolish.

Then he admitted he’d let his anxiety provoke him into unwise behavior.

Then he fell again.

And he was down for several minutes. His ankle hurt far more than it had the first time, and that had been bad. This was terrible. He wondered if he’d broken a bone, for the first time in his long existence.

When he had gathered himself mentally, and the pain had subsided maybe a degree, Joe tried to get up. And failed.

He looked at his watch and began dragging himself back to Midnight.

After ten determined minutes, he had to admit he was not going to make it in time. If fate didn’t intervene, he’d be wounded and disabled out here with nowhere to hide, close to Midnight, when darkness fell.

Chuy might appear at any minute with the Suburban, but he might not. Chuy would wait until the last second, so he wouldn’t look like “Mom,” as Joe had so carelessly called him. Chuy was not overly proud, but he knew Joe very well. Yes, he would wait.

Joe thought about any solution other than the one that had occurred to him, and he came up with nothing. He was going to
have to break a promise, and it grieved him. But he felt the surge of excitement even as he felt the grief, and he knew the guilt even as he prepared for the glory.

He sat up straight and let his other nature rush in and fill him. He became more. He became much more. And his wings emerged, white and gleaming, indescribably beautiful. He caught his breath at the wave of joy that filled him, and he willed his wings to move.

He rose in the air, almost screaming with the sensation, and then he was flying. Each powerful flap made muscles in his back flex, muscles he had not used in years. Even on Halloween, when he and Chuy let their wings out for Fiji’s party, they did not fly, because they had promised each other they would not. Now he was breaking that promise, and he would pay for it, but the moment was sublime. He circled high above Midnight, looking down, once, twice, and then he saw his beloved come out on the sidewalk in the gathering gloom to look anxiously to the west. With a sharp reluctance, he knew he must land, and he came down behind the store.

Chuy must have caught a glimpse of him passing overhead, because he was there in a second, his face a mask of distress. But when he saw Joe lying on the ground, groaning, he rushed to help him. With a lot of effort, he got Joe up, and somehow they made their way up the outside stairs to their apartment as darkness fell on Midnight. They paused to rearrange themselves about halfway up. From the darkness nearby, they heart a sort of chuffing noise. It came from some large animal. And without saying a word, they moved up the remaining stairs with a speed they hadn’t thought they could achieve a minute before. They went in the door as fast as they could and locked it behind them.

Then the only light was the light of the full moon.

R
achel Goldthorpe was murdered,” Arthur Smith was telling Manfred, at the same time that Joe was putting on his running clothes.

Manfred sat down abruptly. “For sure? How?”

“The tox results show that she had taken six times the dosage of her blood pressure medicine. Almost certainly that wasn’t on purpose. It had been dissolved in the water bottle she carried.”

“She drank out of it while I was watching.”

“Yeah, it was your telling the Bonnet Park police that detail that let them know to look for the bottle. Somehow in the attempt to save her, it got knocked off the table and rolled under the couch. One of the cops there found it just in time. The doctor says he suspected an overdose from the first, but now it’s confirmed.”

“She said she dropped it in the lobby,” Manfred said. “She said people helped her pick up her stuff and put it back in her purse. I
guess . . . could it have been put in there then?” He almost held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Arthur said, and Manfred breathed again. “If someone wanted to poison her, surely they’d put the medicine in an identical water bottle and substitute that one for the one in her purse. And that would take a lot of foreknowledge. The appearance of the bottle, with all the butterfly decals on it. The type of medicine she’d been prescribed, the dosage that would kill her.”

“What kind did she take?”

“The medical examiner says she overdosed on Cardizem.”

“What exactly does that do?”

“That was her blood pressure medication.”

“But she wouldn’t have taken it like that. Crushed up and put in her water. Who would take their pills like that?”

“Some people—especially sick people, and especially elderly sick people—can forget they’ve taken a dose of their medicine and take another one. And maybe after that, they forget again. But not only was she comparatively too young and clearheaded to make such a mistake, the pills were actually ground up. Her daughters told the Bonnet Park police that she had no trouble swallowing pills the normal way. So the conclusion is, she was murdered. What was in her and what was left in the bottle was probably ten doses altogether. Enough to kill her.”

“She took that big a dose that morning?”

“Yes. Some time that morning, before she walked through your door, Rachel Goldthorpe had taken at least six times the dose of Cardizem she should have had for the day. In consequence, she went into shock and died.”

“Could her regular dosage of pills have had an unexpected effect on her because she was sick?”

“It was a deliberate overdose.” Arthur said this with finality.

“I don’t want to believe anyone would kill Rachel. Especially since it sounds like whoever did it, it had to be someone who knew her really, really well.” Manfred shook his head vehemently. “She would never have killed herself.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“She was so coherent,” Manfred said. It was a relief to tell Arthur this; he hadn’t realized until this moment how much he’d wanted to talk about Rachel. “She felt pretty bad, as I told you. Sick as a dog. And she looked it. But she was on top of things mentally, for sure. She was just worried about her son.”

“Who still insists that you stole her jewelry.”

“Which I did not. For God’s sake, what would I do with it? You may not admire what I do for a living, but I’m not a thief.”

“That’s debatable,” Arthur said. “Most people would say that you take money under false pretenses: that you can actually predict the future or advise the people who call you on how to make their lives better.”

“I
could
debate that with you, but I’m not going to,” Manfred said. “I wouldn’t take jewelry, or . . . I don’t know, stock and bonds, whatever . . . or anything but money for services rendered. I’m an honest man.” He’d been sitting at his curving desk, and Arthur had taken the other office chair. Now Manfred rose to look outside. It was almost dark. “Twilight,” he said. “Dusk. Gloaming.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Arthur sounded amused.

“I don’t want to sound all mysterious, but you need to get in your car and leave now,” Manfred said. “It’s not safe here tonight.” He turned to face the sheriff. “Don’t ask me questions. I can’t answer them. You know this is a weird little town, right? Midnight has its own rules. Tonight’s not a good night to be here. So can we continue this conversation tomorrow? I can even drive into Davy if you want me to.”

“You’re serious?” The sheriff joined him at the window. He looked
out curiously, didn’t see a thing except the deepening darkness. “I don’t see the Yakuza coming down the street, or a giant lizard.”

“Arthur. It’s not really a good evening to be making fun.”

The sincerity of Manfred’s concern finally got through to Arthur. “Who told you this?” he asked. “What’s the danger?”

“A very reliable source. And I don’t know yet, but I know it’s coming.”

“If something is going to be on the streets that’s so dangerous, shouldn’t I be calling out a SWAT team or at least more deputies?”

“That would just put them in danger, too,” Manfred said. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he knew it was so.

There was a muffled sound outside, and both the men peered out the window. The Rev was leading a cow by means of a rope around its neck. The cow was not happy.

“What the hell?” Arthur said. “What’s the minister doing with a cow?”

“Good-bye, Arthur,” Manfred said hopefully.

“Just to keep you on an even keel, okay, I’ll go,” Arthur said, with a smile that said he was placating Manfred. Manfred had no trouble reading that.

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Manfred said. “Straight to your car, now.” He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He opened his door. If Manfred could have lifted Arthur and thrown him into the front seat, he would have. As soon as the sheriff was out of the front door, Manfred closed it to a crack and watched as Arthur walked to the crumbling driveway. He unlocked the car with a key fob as he walked, so he could climb in and start the motor as soon as he got there. Manfred could hear the little
thunk
that said the car doors had locked automatically.

Blowing out a sigh of relief, Manfred shut his own door and locked it. He drew the curtains closed.

He went into the kitchen to heat up his Mexican supper at about the same moment Joe was landing behind the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon. Outside it grew as dark as it was going to get on this night of the glowing moon.

Manfred didn’t look out again, not even an hour later when he heard a sort of bellow. He thought it came from nearby, perhaps from across the road, and he thought it sounded like a terrified animal. But he only looked up from his book for a moment and then went back to reading with his jaw set. Much later, in the middle of the night, he woke. Despite the window air-conditioning in the front room, which served to cool the whole house, he had thrown off his sheet. He sat up to find the end so he could draw it back up. As he groped around the bed, he heard something pass by outside his house, something big, something that made an odd coughing noise. He closed his eyes and prayed, and the thing passed by. He sank back down on the bed, pulling the percale sheet up over him like a child.

Whatever had prowled around his house seemed to be going in the direction of the pawnshop.

—

In her basement apartment, with its windows right by the ground, Olivia watched the paws walk by outside. Her lights were all off. She felt safer that way.

—

Above the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon, Joe and Chuy looked out the front windows. For the most part, they were silent. Joe’s ankle was hurting, but it was bandaged and he’d taken some pain relievers. He was as comfortable as he was going to be that night. They’d pulled up chairs and a small table for their wineglasses, and Chuy had gotten Joe a footstool to prop his ankle on.

They sat there through the night. They were keeping guard, in their own way. So they saw everything that happened.

“At least one more night, maybe two,” Chuy said, as the darkness began to lighten. “You think we can do this two more nights?”

Joe said, “I think we have to. With the boy being so young.” He shook his head. “Honey, you can sleep if you want to. Doesn’t need but one of us. My ankle would keep me up, anyway.”

“I’m not going to leave you watching by yourself,” Chuy said.

Joe didn’t answer out loud, but he reached over to take Chuy’s hand.

—

Above the pawnshop, Bobo Winthrop tried to sleep, with little success. He was worried about so many things. Foremost in his mind was his concern about the pawnshop not being open at night during Lemuel’s absence. Sometimes Olivia was able and willing to do the shift; sometimes she wasn’t. When a business wasn’t open regular hours, people tended to stop coming. And the night customers were the most profitable. What would happen if he couldn’t keep his business afloat?

He turned over to try a new position, but his mind refused to turn off.

Lemuel and Olivia could find somewhere else to live, he supposed. Perhaps Lemuel would want to buy the business back from him. But Bobo didn’t want to leave Midnight. He liked the town, liked the area, liked Texas. There were so many good things about living here: Fiji being across the road, so he could see her often. Manfred next door. Joe and Chuy down the street. And the Home Cookin Restaurant, where he’d passed some very contented hours eating and talking.

He hadn’t realized the previous few months had been a Golden Age.

Now the money wasn’t trickling in, Manfred was in trouble with
the law, and there was this big, bad thing outside trapping them indoors for the night. Of course he’d noticed there was a full moon. The moon would be as near to full as made no difference for the next two nights. He wondered if he’d have to stay locked inside all that time or if he could manage to stay up most of the night with the front doors unlocked to get the customers he often got during that moon phase. They were the customers better left to Lemuel—but he hadn’t heard from Lem in weeks. Or would those customers be in too much danger? What made this full moon more dangerous?

And then he was back to his worry about the shop.

The worst thing about sleepless nights was the feeling of running in a hamster cage, at least mentally. The same thoughts, over and over . . . He tossed and turned for another half hour. Finally, he slept.

—

The Reeds drew all the shades in their trailer, double-checked to make sure all the windows and doors were locked, and got out their guns, which were loaded and ready for use. Madonna held Grady for a long time before she put him to bed, and she left the door of his room open so she could hear the smallest sound. They didn’t turn on their television, either, which was a trial for both Madonna and Teacher. Instead, Madonna checked her Facebook page and some recipe websites, and Teacher read a backlog of mechanics magazines. By midnight, they were relaxed enough to crawl into bed to sleep.

—

In the Midnight Hotel, in their separate “suites,” Suzie and Tommy slept the sleep of exhaustion, only rousing enough to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water. Just down the hall, Mamie had had to take some pain medication for her hip, and she was snoring in her room. Shorty Horowitz slept sporadically, waking to confused dreams
that were set in his colorful past. His grandson, in a room upstairs, was worried about spending yet another night in Texas, and concerned about finding somewhere for his grandfather to settle. If only he had a sibling to share the load. Barry slept with silver around his neck and wrists.

Lenore Whitefield was exhausted, too. She was out the second her head hit her pillow. Her husband stayed up to look at porn on his laptop, unbeknownst to Lenore, who would have hit him over the head with that laptop had she known.

The two contract workers sat in their respective rooms upstairs playing a computer game with each other. They did not see anything odd about this behavior. They didn’t pay any attention to the town, and they never knew that if they’d stepped outside the doors that night, they might have been eaten.