Mystery Dance: Three Novels (62 page)

“Too much information, Rick. My day was hell enough without knowing that.”

“Here’s yesterday’s. ‘Chief Investigator Lieutenant T.L. Snead says–”

“
Who?
”

“Snead. Supposed to be some hotshot detective from the big city. Only been here a few months, though, so the good-old-boy jury is still out on him.”

“Snead.” Julia stared at her keyboard, her belly tightening.

Rick moved closer, taking advantage of the broken eye contact to loom over her. “What’s with this Snead? Do you know him?”

No. It’s all a coincidence. Cops don’t get transferred just in time for a ritual sacrifice to come bobbing up in the river. Snead didn’t follow me from Memphis as an agent of Satan. The devil isn’t stalking my immortal soul, because I’m not sure I even have one any longer.

Julia ignored the shadowy cloak of panic that hovered at the corners of her mind. “What does Snead say?”

“He believes identification will be difficult since the body was in the water so long. The skin was too far gone for fingerprints. And without the head, dental records are useless.”

“Gee, that’s convenient. It’s almost like a forensic expert committed the murder.”

“Or else a bunch of people who are insanely lucky.” Rick leaned forward and arched his eyebrows, trying to look sinister. “Or maybe Satan’s awesome power is protecting the coven from being discovered.”

For a brief instant, a second face had superimposed itself over Rick’s, a face with red eyes and a wide black nose and a goatish beard. A face distorted by evil.

Julia rolled her chair away. “Don’t do that, Rick.”

Rick grinned, but his grin was like that worn by the skull ring, sinister and sick. He tried to laugh but the wind died in his throat.

Julia stood and walked to the corner of her office.

Rick started to follow. “Hey, I didn’t know you were so jumpy.”

He put out his hand to touch her arm but she jerked away.

Satan doesn’t exist. Dr. Forrest says monsters are only in the mind.

Oh, but monsters
could
wear flesh. Daddy. Lucius. Mitchell. The Peeping Tom. The people in the coven who had scarred her for life. And maybe, just maybe, there was a monster inside her, wrapped around her bones, owning her every movement and breath and thought.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Julia.” His hands hovered as if he wanted to touch her or pass her a tissue, anything to ward off an uncomfortable show of emotion.

“Just leave,” Julia said. “I’ve got work to do.”

Rick backed away, pausing at the door. “Gee, hope you feel better. Guess you don’t want to go out to dinner, huh?”

The worst part was she couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. She waved him away, sat at her desk and pressed her palms against her eyes until the bright colors drove away the dark image of Rick’s goat face. God, if she was going to start seeing things, she might as well check into the rubber room right now. Visions were the gift of only the blessed or the damned. Which was she?

Julia finished her articles and went home around seven o’clock. She drove fast, racing the sun because she hadn’t left the house lights on. The thought of what might be waiting in the closet filled her with a gut-clenching dread. She arrived at Buckeye Creek Road just before dark. Mrs. Covington was sitting in her front-porch rocker as Julia drove by. The old woman waved her over.

Julia eyed the apartment building carefully. The Creep could be out on bail and already back at his window, binoculars in hand. The forest was quiet, the trees readying themselves for a long winter’s sleep. The mountains were so solid and strong and peaceful that Julia almost convinced herself that everything was normal, that Elkwood was a safe place, and the past was not tiptoeing up behind her with arms outstretched.

If God existed, he surely would set up his Earthly kingdom in this granite stronghold. But would his gates be open or would he fortify himself against unwanted, unwholesome company?

Julia stopped in the yard just beyond the porch railing. Mrs. Covington sipped her tea and lit a cigarette. The red tip glowed in the dusk. “How you doing, Julia?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Covington.”

“Call me ‘Mabel,’ honey.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Cops made a big show of it last night, didn’t they?” The woman sucked on the cigarette, its glow throwing strange shadows on her wrinkled face.

“Yeah. They arrested that guy for breaking into my house. He stole my–”

“Didn’t I
tell
you to watch out for him?”

“He broke into my house and–”

“It ain’t the first time.” Mrs. Covington took a puff and let the smoke swirl around her face. The porch squeaked in rhythm with the rocker. “They done let him out. I saw him up yonder with his buddies, drinking beer like he didn’t have a care in the world.”

“The police were supposed to come today and dust for fingerprints.”

“Never you mind about the law. You’d best just take care of yourself.”

Julia patted her purse. “I’ve got a can of mace. And a baseball bat under the bed.”

The old woman cackled. “As good as a gun. Just make sure you use it on the right person.”

The tobacco smoke wreathed Julia, sweet at first, but then cloying. “I thought mountain people were supposed to be trustworthy.”

“That’s just what they show on the TV set. People is people all over, I reckon. Some good, some bad, and sometimes you can’t tell which is which.”

“Well, I’m just glad Walter was here when the Creep broke in. No telling what might have happened if not for him.”

Mrs. Covington quit rocking and leaned forward. “That’s a mighty handy coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Coincidence?” Julia preferred to think of it as good luck. She deserved a little, didn’t she?

“He’s been around right regular lately.”

“He told me he was working for you yesterday.”

Mrs. Covington stubbed out her cigarette. Her face was barely discernible in the shadows. Julia wondered why the woman didn’t have on her porch light as usual.

“Sure, he was working for me. But he could have done that any time. And he come by your place twice while you was gone. Walked around the back of the house where I couldn’t see him.”

Julia’s mind spun with this information, trying to match it up with what Walter had told her. “He seems okay to me.”

As okay as anybody in this new future where my lover attacks me and my shrink has a pentagram scar and cops let perverted Creeps roam free and headless bodies float downstream.

“He’s keeping an eye on you, but I’m keeping an eye on him.” A cat padded across the porch like a moving shadow.

“Well, if you don’t trust him, why do you let him work for you?”

“He’s mountain. Knew some of his kin, and kind of felt sorry for him when he fell on hard times. He might not be innocent but so far I can’t find a crack in his story. And I spend a lot of time looking. That’s why I keep him close.”

“He seems to be doing all right for himself.” Julia fidgeted, changed her purse strap to the opposite shoulder. She caught herself wondering if her door would be unlocked. Or if Walter would be hidden in her closet, waiting for her, a man who had a key to her house.

Julia moved to the porch steps, feeling lost herself though she was only a few feet from the railing. A light came on in one of the apartment buildings, and Julia wondered if it was coming from the Creep’s window. Would he dare to come back for a second helping of whatever pleasure he’d stolen in her room, or to finish the job of stealing the engagement ring?

And what if Walter had a secret agenda, and his kind face was only the mask of a sociopathic killer?

No. Julia refused to believe it, not of the man who had sat across from her in the living room last night. She couldn’t see those same gentle but strong hands wrapped around a throat, squeezing, squeezing, fingers digging into soft flesh. That face with the cheeks that creased when he smiled couldn’t twist into a punishing, murderous mask. And his Christian faith seemed sincere. Walter simply wasn’t capable of harming anyone without a good reason.

But then, Mitchell had kept his own violent urges carefully hemmed in, hidden behind eyes that disguised whatever strange storms brewed inside his head.

“Cops been out again,” Mrs. Covington said.

“Good. They said they would follow up on the breaking and entering.”

“They wasn’t doing much following. They went inside your house for a while.”

“Inside? Where did they get a key?”

“Seems like nobody needs keys to get in the Hartley house.” Mrs. Covington stopped rocking, and the cat hissed, leapt to the porch, and scurried away. “Company’s coming.”

Julia looked at the dim outline of the woman’s face, with its wizened roadmap of wrinkles. The wind changed a little, rattling the leaves. Beneath it, hushed at first but rising, came the sound of a car engine on the road. Headlights swept around a bend and sliced across Mrs. Covington’s house. It was Walter’s Jeep.

“Speak of the devil,” murmured Mrs. Covington.

Walter parked in front of Julia’s house, got out and walked over to the porch. He carried something that Julia couldn’t make out.

“Howdy, Mrs. Covington,” he said, adding more quietly, “Hi, Julia. I came by to see how you were doing.”

“How do, Walter,” Mrs. Covington said. “Say, is your Aunt Peggy going to make her apple butter this year?”

“Soon as the apples finish falling.”

“She always was the best cook in the Triplett family, in my book. Don’t go telling your momma that, though.”

Walter’s grin flashed in the weak light from the apartments. “I’m not as dumb as I look.” Then, to Julia, “I took a look at that appliance you gave me to fix.” He held up the bag he was carrying.

“Great,” Julia said, not wanting to talk about possessed clocks in front of Mrs. Covington, who probably already thought Julia was batty, the way she double-checked her locks, kept her windows shut in the heat of summer, and rarely ventured outside after dark.

“When you going to come finish up the mulching?” Mrs. Covington asked Walter.

“It’s on my list.” He moved closer to Julia. “Did you ever hear back from the police?”

“The Creep’s out,” she said. “I guess he’s got friends.”

“Figures.”

Mrs. Covington watched in darkness. Julia said, “I’ve got to go, Mrs. Covington. See you tomorrow.”

“All right,” she said. “Mind my words, hear?”

“Good night,” Walter said to the old woman, whose hand flickered in a wave.

Julia walked toward her house, Walter beside her. When they were out of range of Mabel Covington’s hearing, Walter said, “She’s a strange old thing, ain’t she?”

“Everybody’s strange around here,” Julia said.

“Everybody. What’s that supposed to mean?”

It means if I weren’t afraid that a Creep might be waiting in my house, I don’t think you would be stepping foot across my threshold again. It means maybe I’m not crazy at all, maybe it’s the rest of the world, and by my solitary saneness I’m the piece that doesn’t fit the Life Puzzle.

“I’m just tired and babbling.” She fumbled in the purse for her keys, tucked the canister of mace in her hand, and unlocked the door. Before entering, she glanced at Mabel Covington’s porch. The woman had lit another cigarette, and its glow bobbed with her rocking. Julia stepped inside and turned on the lights, blinking against the brightness.

“Leave the door open, if you don’t mind,” she said to Walter.

“The bugs will get in and eat you alive.”

“It’s not the bugs I’m worried about.” She slipped the mace into her pocket where she could quickly retrieve it if needed. She didn’t sit in her chair, hoping Walter would take the hint.

“Your eye looks better,” she said. The swelling had gone down, though the flesh around his eye was red.

Walter took the clock from the bag and set it on the coffee table beside the baseball cards. “Like I said, I’m not any electronics expert, but I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. The circuit boards look sound, and I’ve never heard of a microchip just going off the deep end.”

“So your diagnosis would be to throw it away and forget about it?”

“Sometimes something’s broke and you just got to go replace it.”

She moved to the hallway and yawned, even though her pulse was racing. “I’m tired, Walter. Long day.”

Walter nodded, not looking at her. Was he thinking of her bedroom waiting just a few yards down the hall? Or of his lost wife?

“Thanks for checking the clock,” Julia said. She wondered if she could reach the bat under the bed if he decided to attack. She tried to look sleepy over the fear, and then became angry at herself for doubting the only person who had helped her.

“She got into it, didn’t she?” Still Walter stared at the floor, or maybe past years.

“Got into what?”

“About my wife.”

Julia put her hand in her pocket, touched the mace. “Well….”

Walter clenched his fists. His face tightened, the crease in his cheeks no longer cheerful. “She was probably in on it.”

Julia didn’t know if Walter was talking about his late wife or Mabel Covington. “Mrs. Covington?”

Walter went to the open door without looking at her. “Nothing. The past don’t matter none.”

He was going to walk out. He was going to act like nothing had happened. She couldn’t let him do that. She didn’t want to lose this little bit of whatever feeling stirred inside her chest every time he was around.

Julia hurried after him, wondering if Mabel Covington was over on her porch, watching and straining her ears for tomorrow’s gossip. “Walter, the past does matter. Especially if it hurts.”

Walter turned in the doorway, a sad smile across his face. “No. If it hurts, you forget it. You bury it deep as hell, like you do your favorite childhood pet when it dies. Then you get on your knees and pray, but mostly what you do is wonder why the Lord would do such an awful thing.”

Julia found herself spouting Dr. Forrest’s aphorisms. “No. You have to dig it up, bring it to the surface, acknowledge its power over you. And then you can heal.”

Walter shook his head. “Sounds like the slogans on that New Age crap in that little crystal shop downtown.”