Dead Dancing Women (26 page)

THIRTY-FIVE

The Reverend Runcival was
alone in his office, down the hall in the church building, beyond the steps to the basement, before the doors to the church itself. We surprised him sitting quietly, hands behind his head, deep in thought. The man looked even smaller indoors.

He smiled tentatively, sat up, and nodded formally to Flora, who nodded as coolly back to him.

“Writing my sermon for Sunday—in my head,” he said pointedly, giving a little laugh. “No trees die when I'm writing.” He smiled at me. “What can I do for you ladies?”

He didn't rise. He leaned back in his chair again and twined his hands together over his chest.

“Mrs. Coy's getting threatening phone calls,” Dolly began.

“Terribly sorry,” the pastor said to Flora and clucked his tongue a few times. “Awful things going on. I can assure you I haven't said a word to stir up any …”

“There were three while she was out this morning. Just a few hours ago,” I said.

He lifted his eyebrows and waited to hear how that should be significant to him.

“Her caller ID listed this number as the phone they came from.”

He settled his chair forward. His mouth flew open. “You're not accusing me …”

I shook my head. “It's a woman's voice. We'd like to play the tape for you … and find out who was here a few hours ago. Maybe some woman working in the church, or here in the office, or … well, she'd have had to be here alone, I suppose.”

Dolly plugged in the tape player we'd brought, and fiddled with buttons. The tape played and that same voice burst out. One time. Two times. Three times.

At first the man shook his head, then he looked puzzled, then he sat forward, started to say something, but stopped himself.

“You recognize the voice?” Dolly asked. “We're protecting Flora here. If something more happens, well, you could be held as an
accomplice.”

The pastor frowned as if he found her silly but still there was a worried look behind the frown. “I don't really know who that is. All I can tell you, there was only one woman here today.”

“Who?” I asked, keeping my voice even, the excitement at bay.

“Well, that was … I don't know if I should be saying anything. Perhaps I should have a talk with her first.”

“Why?” I asked. “If she's mixed up in it, do you want to protect somebody like that?”

He shook his head, thought awhile, then decided something. “No, I can't. Not until I've spoken with her myself. It's what a good pastor would do. She deserves a chance to explain to me first. If I'm not satisfied, well … then I'll call Chief Barnard.”

“You could be taking your life in your hands,” Dolly said.

He laughed and brushed away the idea. “That's not a murderer,” he said. “That's a hysterical woman. If I'm right, it's the same person who first warned me about the old women dancing out there in the woods, holding the Pagan rituals. I was of a tendency to ignore it but she didn't think it would go away unless I spoke out against them. She lets herself get all excited. I'll handle it.” He turned to Flora. “You don't have to worry, Mrs. Coy. I know for a fact it's got nothing to do with your friends' deaths. Sometimes it's an attack of religious zeal. Sometimes it's a personal problem they can't handle. Ministers see more than you'd imagine.” He shook his head and actually chuckled. “Nothing to worry about. Not at all.”

We left the church with his hollow assurances fading behind us.

“Hope she doesn't get him, too,” Dolly said, more glum than usual.

I nodded. So did Flora. Somehow we weren't sure of anything anymore. Not anybody's safety. Certainly not the pastor's ability to handle what was coming at him.

Over dinner at Fuller's, Dolly was all for keeping an eye on the pastor, for his own good. I was all for returning to my house to see if Jackson was back yet. There was something unsettling about my ex-husband and a man I worked for spending an afternoon and evening together. I hoped all they'd talked about was football, or the stock market. Usually I could depend on Jackson to talk about himself for hours on end. I prayed he was still that dependable and wasn't showing signs of thoughtfulness. Still, I wanted to see his face. I was eager to hear if he would soon be gone from my life.

We settled on Dolly calling Lucky and reporting what had happened at the Church of the Contented Flock. She held her radio out across the table so Flora and I, and Eugenia and Gloria, and just about everybody else in Fuller's EATS, could hear. This wasn't much of a secret investigation anymore. Never had been, not with the uncanny ability to communicate over long distances the people in Leetsville enjoyed. Lucky said the Murphys were gone, released. Nothing to hold them on. Officer Brent didn't have anything to charge them with until he'd had Sullivan's police uniform tested for gasoline—something that would connect it to the fire.

“Even with that, he'd just claim he pulled it out of the building,” Lucky said.

He left the radio for a minute, then came back. “I spoke to Brent. He says he'll get on to the pastor in the morning. Find out who the woman on the phone was. At least scare her off, if she doesn't have anything else to do with this.

“And,” Lucky went on, then stopped, speaking to someone in the room with him. “Wait a minute, Officer Brent's got something he wants to say to you.”

The voice changed. “Officer Wakowski? Sorry I had to let the Murphys go. Wish I could have held them. Me and Lucky think you two might be in deep trouble with them out there somewhere. Look, if all three of you want to get the hell out of town, that's fine with us. Dolly's still officially off duty, Lucky says. Why don't you go someplace until we wrap this up?”

Dolly pulled back from her radio. She looked worried. “What do you think, Emily? I don't want to get you or Flora hurt …”

Flora pooh-poohed Dolly's fear and muttered something about not leaving her birds to killers. I thought a minute then said, “We've got to see this through. It sure didn't look as if Gilbert was too happy with Sullivan. They've got their hands full right now.”

Dolly nodded. She passed the message to Brent. I reached out and grabbed her hand. We held on a minute, in something like a pledge.

“Tell them we're all going out to my house … ,” I said.

Flora started to complain again but I shushed her with a finger at my lips. “We'll take your birds,” I said. “Can you fit four cages in the back of your car, Dolly? OK. They'll be fine at my house.”

“What about that dog?” Flora hissed across the booth at me.

“Sorrow loves birds,” I lied, figuring it was worth it to get a good night's sleep, on my own floor—if it came to that. At least my friends would be safe under my roof. Then, too, I was the only one among us who could offer a big male presence. Well anyway, I had Jackson, just in case things got bad. Like they used to do with virgins, I could throw him as a human sacrifice if the Murphy twins came after us with hatchets or ropes or flaming torches, or Pastor Runcival decided on an exorcism, or Harry Mockerman thought we'd make good soup.

Since I'd ridden into town in Officer Brent's big blue police car, I rode out of town in Dolly's big white and gold police car, with Flora in the back surrounded by bird cages. The parakeets weren't thrilled. There was much twittering and loud squawking. We had to shout to be heard above them.

It was dark by the time we were on our way. Along our country roads, that meant very dark. Especially on overcast nights that threatened rain. The deer were unusually active because it was autumn. They were getting ready for winter and about as nervous as they got in spring, when they had their minds on something other than hunting season. A couple of does ran across the road in front of the car. Dolly missed them by swerving to the right as they ran to the left, into the woods.

We were just coming up on the turn to Willow Lake Road, passing the place where a stream drained into Arnold's Swamp. I already had my mind on how much bread I had in the house for morning for my guests, and if there was enough tea, and if I'd let the milk go sour again.

I looked out the front window, worrying about where I'd put everybody. Dolly's headlights picked up the tall, furry-headed dead reeds lining the road and then a huge, slow raccoon, the biggest I'd ever seen. He parted the reeds on the swamp side of the road and crawled down the embankment. I pointed him out to Dolly and Flora Coy, who craned their necks in the direction of the swamp. We were all pointing and laughing when we were hit from behind. A huge jolt. No time to say anything. Dolly grabbed the wheel and held on. We were hit again. Metal crunched and squealed. I'd never heard or felt anything like it. My instinct was to keep myself from going forward but my body was propelled. The seat belt restrained me just before my chest hit the dash. I couldn't catch my breath. Dolly yelled as the car veered, then teetered at the edge of the embankment. We were going over, down into the swamp. I felt a strange sense of displacement, being where we shouldn't have been. Air bags came out, making a sound like a shotgun. My face was covered; my chest slammed with what felt like a solid board. There was another bang into the car and with sudden speed we sailed up and over the embankment, plunging headlong down into Arnold's Swamp, stopping with a jolt as the car met soft earth and dug in with sounds of folding and snapping and groaning. My head felt as if it was going to come off my neck. I didn't have breath to breathe. The car was stopped but the groaning went on. I couldn't tell if it was in or outside of the car. The headlights were on but, when I pulled the air bag away from my face, I could see the light was diffused, pointing out over dark water.

I gulped for air and made a noise. A release of terror. There were no other sounds in the car. My feet were getting oddly wet. Cold water seeped up through the floorboards and under the door. I sat with my eyes closed for I didn't know how long, trying to catch my breath, make sure I was alive, that I could feel the various parts of my body. My head and neck were hurting more than I wanted to think about. Everything else was intact.

“Dolly? Emily?” I heard Flora's weak voice coming from the back seat. I wanted to cry with relief. At least she was alive.

“I'm OK, Flora,” I called over my shoulder, pushing at the air bag, wondering how I could deflate the thing and get it away from my face. “Are you OK?”

“I … I think I got hit with one of the cages. I feel blood on my face.”

“Oh, God. We'll get out of this. Give me a minute.” I called back. “Dolly, can you open your door?”

No answer.

“Dolly?” I called louder. I couldn't see anything because of the dark. Even when I pushed the air bag down and held it there, I couldn't see anything. I felt across the seat, toward where Dolly had to be. Her arm was beside me, warm, limp.

“Dolly!” I called again, grabbed on to the arm, and shook it.

No answer.

“Oh no,” Flora moaned in the back. “Is she all right?”

“Maybe knocked out,” I said, keeping my voice steady. It looked as if I was the one who had to get us out of there. We'd been hit. I knew that. Something big. A truck. A huge car. For an instant, though I'd seen nothing, I had a vision of that hybrid vehicle Harry Mockerman drove. Half truck. Half car. The front end a rusted-out black pickup, the tires from a car, the back a hand-built flatbed. Big enough to knock anything over, I imagined. But I'd seen nothing. It was all imagination, my way of giving a face to what had been done to us. Or maybe I'd recognized a sound. I couldn't think. Nothing wanted to fall into any kind of order. All I knew was that I had to get us out of the car. Had to take care of Dolly.

“You see who hit us?” I yelled back to Flora as I maneuvered myself from the seat belt, away from the air bag. I pushed at my door and it gave, but stopped, wedged against something I figured had to be dirt. We'd sunk down into the muck. I pushed harder. The door gave enough to snap the overhead light on.

“Thank the good Lord!” Flora called. “Oh, my poor birds. Let me see here …” I heard her moving, straightening cages, talking to her birds. “See to Dolly, Emily. Oh, please see to Dolly. Dolly? Dolly?”

Still no answer.

“You getting out, Emily?”

“Un-huh, trying,” I said, pushing harder, widening the opening far enough for me to strain my body through. My feet sank into cold swamp muck. Without being able to see where I was putting my feet, only able to sense the icy water climbing my legs, under my jeans, over my skin, all I could think of was water moccasins and beetles and blood suckers and whatever else lived in swamp water. Thank God it was October instead of August, I kept telling myself as I picked one foot up after another and set it down again into the ooze, feeling my way, hand over hand, around the car to Dolly's side door.

She lay with her head against the window, slumped down. I tapped, but she didn't move.

The car motor was still running. I could hear a burbling at the back, as if exhaust was escaping into the water. I pulled on Dolly's door then had to catch her when I got it open. She fell hard against me. I glanced into the back seat. Flora was lost in a pile of bird cages.

I put the back of my hand to Dolly's face and slapped her slightly. “Dolly,” I whispered near her ear. “Dolly. You OK?”

No answer. I felt her chest. There was a slow rise and fall of breath.

“She's OK. Just knocked out!” I yelled back to Flora, who began to moan again about her birds.

“I've got to find Dolly's radio,” I said, feeling around beyond Dolly for the switch to her car radio. “Maybe it's still working.”

“Oh, I hope. Hurry. Hurry. Are we sinking? I feel water. Oh Emily, we're going to die. Somebody wants us to die.” Flora was hysterical. I had to calm her down and get us help.