Picture Perfect (12 page)

He wondered again how far away the nearest assistance was.

The patrol car was still flashing its blue lights when a loud squawk sounded through the open window. “Car 169, Car 169, proceed to mile 43 southbound. Emergency vehicle needed. Car 169, collision at mile 43, New Jersey Turnpike. Assistance en route, do you read?”

The trooper looked at Cudge and Elva and then back at the patrol car. He hadn't realized how damp his shirt had become or how eager he was to get away before he found out what Balog was hiding in the camper. Thrusting the registration and license back into Cudge's hand, he hurried to his car and took off, lights flashing, siren blaring.

“Get in the truck, Elva. Move!”

“Cudge,” she whined. “Cudge . . .”

Cudge blinked and Elva's whining brought him back to the present. “Are you going to get me the eggs? This fire's ready. And don't forget the black iron frypan.”

For a long moment Cudge looked at her, the menace and power in his gaze so tangible that she backed away. “Cudge, what's the matter? Cudge, don't look at me that way, I don't like it.”

Wordlessly, Balog stepped inside. If he had to look at her for one minute longer, he would kill her.

 

Duffy scampered ahead of Davey, intent on chasing a gray squirrel. Davey shook his head with exasperation. The squirrel would run up a tree, and Duffy would have led him on a merry chase for nothing. Nearby a cook fire was burning; he could identify the smell from when Dad barbecued steaks in the backyard. As expected, the squirrel escaped up a tree, leaving Duffy barking near the base.

“C'mon, Duffy, you can't climb trees and that squirrel won't come down until we're gone. C'mon!”

Reluctantly, Duffy obeyed, coming to heel near her master. Davey looked at his watch. The big hand was on the two. That gave him one more number to get back to Aunt Lorrie. He frowned. Running through the woods with Duffy was so much fun, maybe Aunt Lorrie wouldn't be too upset if he got back when the finger was almost off the three. That would make it almost one more number. No, he'd promised to be back on time and he would be.

The trail led away from the pond to the road. If he turned to the right and followed it around, he would come back to their campsite. Breaking through the growth at the side of the gravel road, Davey took another glance at his watch. He wasn't certain how far it was back to the site, and he thought he would have to hurry. Anyway, his legs were tired, and even though Aunt Lorrie had fixed his sock and adjusted the strap, his calf was still sore.

“C'mon, Duffy! I'll race you back to the RV!”

Duffy woofed, stubby tail wagging and ears lifted, watching Davey for his next move. When she saw that Davey wanted to run, she obliged happily, scooting ahead to lead the way.

Just around the road's bend, Elva and Cudge were eating when their attention was caught by Duffy's yips and Davey calling to her. They watched the little dog and the boy run headlong into their campsite. Elva recognized Davey immediately. He was the little boy who looked so much like BJ, the one that she had seen in the RV on the turnpike.

“That's a cute little dog you've got there,” Elva called to Davey, bringing him up short. Davey's pride in Duffy was evident in his shy smile. He liked hearing that Duffy was smart and cute.

“Her name's Duffy,” he told Elva, realizing that she was the woman from the pickup who looked like Millicent, his old babysitter. Remembering the man who had hit her, Davey turned to see Cudge sitting on a camping stool, his elbows on his knees, and an empty dish in his hands. Davey didn't like this man who had such a mean face and eyes that could eat you up.

“Where's your campsite, kid?” Cudge asked. It was a piece of information worth having. If their campsite was too close to where he intended to bury Lenny's body, then he'd have to make other plans while it was still light out.

“Over there, on the other side of the pond,” Davey told him, fidgeting beneath Balog's appraising stare. Duffy's exploring nose was put to the ground and she followed it to the tip of the man's boots. For an instant Davey thought the man was reaching down to pet Duffy; for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't want the man to touch his dog. “Duffy, come here,” he ordered.

He wrinkled his nose; something smelled strange over here near the man's camper, a bit like the way his snow jacket smelled before his mother hung it on the line to air. It was the little white balls in the pocket that made it smell that way—mothballs, Mom called them. Curious, he dropped his eyes to the ground, expecting to see some sign of the candy-like balls. He decided he liked the smell on the other side of the pond better.

“Hey, kid, how many brothers and sisters you got camping with you? Not too many, I hope. I don't like all kinds of noise at night when I'm trying to sleep.”

“I'm the only . . . I don't have any brothers or sisters. I'm camping with my Aunt Lorrie.”

“I don't want to scare you or anything, but you shouldn't go walking through the woods after dark. I hear there's bears and wild cats that'll eat that dog of yours for supper.” A satisfied smirk lifted the side of Balog's mouth as he saw Davey gulp.

“Aw, why d'ya have to scare the kid that way? There ain't no bears in these woods!” Elva raised her voice and moved forward, her half-eaten eggs sliding around on her dish.

“Shut up, will you? That's right, kid—there's no bears, only tigers, and there's nothing they like better for supper than a nice juicy little dog like that one.” Balog looked around for Duffy. His eyes darted to the open door of the pop-up—in the shadows he could just make out the small dog nosing around the blanket-wrapped corpse. In two long steps he was at the camper and a second later Duffy came flying out.

Duffy grappled for her footing, barking in pain. To Davey's wide-eyed horror, Cudge leapt down and grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck, shaking her helpless body. “Damn little bitch! I'll teach you to go snoopin' around where you don't belong!”

“Cudge! Stop it! Cudge!” Elva screamed. “For crissakes, leave the dog alone! Put her down, Cudge! Cudge!” She grabbed hold of Cudge's arm.

With a mutter of disgust, Cudge threw the dog to the ground, ready to plant a boot in her side if she came after him.

“Get your dog, little boy, and get away from here!” Elva shouted.

Sparked to action by Elva's commands, Davey moved forward and scooped Duffy into his arms.

“Get out of here!” Cudge thundered. “Don't come snooping around here no more, you hear? And if I see that dog again, I'll kill her! Understand?”

Davey didn't move. His mouth dropped open, his wide eyes stared at the man. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

“You brazen little son of a bitch!” Cudge made a motion toward the boy, who was clutching his panting dog.

“No, Cudge, don't. You can't!” Elva knew Davey wasn't being stubborn and brazen, he was just scared stiff. Just like BJ. Just like herself. “Don't hurt the kid, okay?” she pleaded with Cudge. “He's scared, that's all. Just scared.”

Cudge shook Elva's hand from his arm, the movement tossing her backward to the ground. The behemoth in his brain was charging the gate now; he had to get control and force it back. His heart pounded with the effort; his knees became rubbery, incapable of holding his weight. Warning signals were going off inside his head, telling him that if he wasn't careful, he'd have trouble with the kid's family.

Jaw jutting forward, fists clenched, Balog leaned over, placing himself at eye level with Davey. “Get out of here,” he growled, “and if you want that dog to stay alive, keep her away from me!”

Suddenly, charged with a rush of energy that enabled him to move his feet, Davey turned and ran. Though the brace on his leg hampered free movement, and Duffy's weight was heavy in his arms, he still found the strength to run. His Reeboks pounded the dirt road, sending up spirals of dust. His laces snapped and twisted together in agitation, his socks slipped downward, wrinkling at the ankles. The nylon windbreaker whispered, louder and louder, urging him to run. Faster! Faster!

Down the road, through the trees, Aunt Lorrie's RV stood sentinel, waiting for Davey's return. He could see it now, all lit from within, a welcome refuge. He put Duffy down and watched her carefully, checking her for injuries. He walked on and Duffy followed—her movements seemed normal. She was all right.

Davey bent down and gathered Duffy close to him. Her cold wet nose brushed against his flushed cheek. One thought only raced through Davey's head—he must
never
let Duffy go near that bad man again.

L
orrie was concerned about Davey's behavior. He hadn't said more than a few words since he'd returned. She sat watching him as he ate his hamburger. She could hear his shoes rubbing against each other restlessly beneath the picnic table—when kids did that, something was wrong. She restrained herself from lifting the colorful picnic cloth and peeking to see if she was right. She sipped her coffee, never taking her eyes from Davey.

Davey reached for his glass of chocolate milk and swigged it down. “I'm finished, Aunt Lorrie. That was good. I even liked the hard stuff on the hamburgers.”

Lorrie threw back her head and laughed. “Tell it like it is, Davey. Your aunt flubbed up. That hard stuff is called burnt crust. I promise you the cupcakes will be much better.”

Davey grimaced slightly. “Can I save mine till later?” He wanted to go inside the camper and lie down and think about the woman who looked like Millicent. He waited dutifully to be excused from the table. The moment his aunt nodded, he went inside the RV and sat down at the table. If he thought about the woman, he would have to think about the bad man.

“He was mean, Duff,” he whispered to the little dog. “And bad. We have a lot of things to think about, Duff, so you be quiet or Aunt Lorrie will come in and take my temperature.” Duffy settled herself on Davey's lap.

All manner of jumbled thoughts raced through the little boy's mind as he absently reached for his new
Goosebumps
book. His voice, when he spoke next, was controlled yet squeaky. “You weren't around, Duff, when Puffy got put in the ground. She was killed by a bad person who was going too fast in his car. Then they gave me you. You were supposed to be a boy dog, but Aunt Lorrie got all mixed up and gave you a name before she figured out that you were a girl dog. I don't want that bad man to get you, Duff. I don't want you to get killed. That's why we aren't going back there again. Now, you have to listen to me when we wake up in the morning. You have to stay with me.” He wagged a finger under Duffy's nose. “We're going to stay on this side of the pond so we don't see him!” For an answer, Duffy snuggled closer to the little boy. “I was scared and so were you. I could tell.”

Idly, Davey flipped a page of the book then played with the sharp corner until it was limp. When he saw how he'd curled the edge of the paper, he spat on his finger and tried to smooth it out. He pursed his lips then quickly turned three pages before he risked a look at the door. Aunt Lorrie wouldn't really care if he curled the pages. Books were supposed to be fun—she had even given him some of her own from when she was a little girl that had crayon marks and spilled jam on the pages.

“Now I've forgotten what I was thinking about.” Then Davey swallowed hard as the specter of Cudge's face appeared before him again. He didn't want to think about him, or the woman who looked like Millicent anymore. “C'mon, Duff, let's go get our cupcakes, and maybe Aunt Lorrie will let me talk on the CB.”

He opened the door and looked out. “Aunt Lorrie, can I have the cupcake now, and can Duffy have one, too?”

“You bet.” Lorrie smiled happily as she untied her red checkered apron. What a relief. Davey was fine. He'd just been tired from his long tramp through the woods. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take his temperature, just to be on the safe side. Immediately she quashed the idea; she wasn't going to be a mother hen. “So tell me, big guy, where did you and Duffy go and what did you see?” Lorrie asked, peeling back the cupcake wrapper.

Davey settled himself on the picnic bench. He couldn't lie, especially to Aunt Lorrie. “We walked around the pond and we visited the people in the camper. You can't see their truck from here, but it's there. I guess that's all we did. Duffy doesn't like it over there.”

“I see,” Lorrie said as she watched Duffy devour her treat.

Davey wiped his hands on his blue jeans. “Aunt Lorrie, will you let me talk on the CB before I go to bed?”

“Sure I will, Davey. Tell you what, why don't you get ready for bed, and when you're clean, you can talk for a while.”

Lorrie's gaze followed the little boy inside the RV. Something was wrong, she just knew it. He'd been distracted throughout dinner. Was he homesick? It was perfectly reasonable that he should miss Sara and Andrew. After all, this was his first time away from them. He was doing remarkably well, all things considered.

 

Cudge's voice was hardly more than a whisper. “It's almost ten o'clock, Elva. Time to take Lenny out. I've been watching that RV on the other side of the pond and their lights have been out for more than an hour. Get that shovel out from under the bunk. I can't wait to get rid of old Lenny and split.”

Elva was snuggled down in a blanket near the campfire. She sat up. “Are we leaving here tonight?”

“Nah! I told you before, we can't make any false moves. Everything has to look natural. C'mon, give me a hand.”

This was the moment she had been dreading—the moment when she would have to go near Lenny. “How are you gonna get him to that place you picked out this afternoon?” Her dun-colored eyes drifted away from Cudge towards the fire, the light. She didn't want to hear Cudge say she had to help carry him. If he told her she had to touch Lenny, she'd be sick right here and now.

“Same way we got him out of the apartment—on the ironing board. He's still tied on it, ain't he?”

“Cudge, I don't want to do it! It's dark and I don't like dead people.” Her whining grated on Cudge's already tightly strung nerves.

“You'll do what I tell you. Now, get your ass over here and grab your end of the ironing board.” He cursed viciously as he dragged the narrow end of the board over the aluminum step so Elva could grasp it. “Now, pull it out and I'll grab the other end.” He checked his pocket for the flashlight.

Balog led the way through the light underbrush near the road and into the darkness under the trees. “Just keep up and make sure you hold up your end.”

“It's too heavy.”

“You made it down the stairs at the apartment all right. You've got the light end, so shut up and quit your whining.”

“Maybe people get heavier when they're dead. Maybe that's what they mean when they say a ‘dead weight.' I don't think—”

“That's right, you don't think! I've had enough of your bright ideas. Christ! The smell of those mothballs is making me sick.”

The harvest moon shone through the trees and, once their eyes had adjusted to the night, they were able to see surprisingly well. “See, it ain't so dark. What's to be scared of? We'll be through before you know it.”

Elva trudged along behind Cudge, struggling with her end of the ironing board, wishing she could put it down even for a minute. The aluminum frame was biting into her fingers. If only she could stop and change her grip.

“Okay, here it is,” Cudge whispered, huffing with the exertion. “Drop your end and I'll slide him the rest of the way down. Take this flashlight and turn it on so I can see what I'm doing. And for crissakes, keep it pointed at the ground.”

Elva took the flashlight and turned it on, pointing it at the ground in front of Cudge. She trembled violently, making the light skitter in all directions.

After sliding down the embankment to the shallow gully, Cudge asked for the shovel that had traveled along on Lenny's stomach. Careful not to touch the blanket, or to think about the body beneath it, Elva gingerly lifted the shovel and handed it to Cudge.

Cudge felt better now that he was at Lenny's last resting place. It wasn't bad, he told himself. Lots of trees, quiet, shade in the summer—Lenny could have done worse.

“Are we gonna bury him with my ironing board?” Elva's voice squeaked.

“Dumb broad. No! How'd you like to spend the rest of eternity strapped to an ironing board? Point that light over this way.” Clearing away the underbrush, Cudge put the spade into the loamy earth and forced it deep with his foot. Shovelful by shovelful, the rich, black dirt piled up beside him as he dug deeper, calculating the size of the hole into which Lenny would fit.

“Your turn, Elva, and I don't want to hear any complaints. Just dig while I take a breather.”

Cudge's venomous growl left no room for argument. It wasn't long before the perspiration was dripping down Elva's face and between her shoulders. She didn't want to be a grave digger. How deep was deep enough? Her arms ached from the unfamiliar exertion. Now she had to stand in the hole to excavate the heavy earth. The woods surrounding them seemed unnaturally quiet. “Quiet as a grave,” her mother used to say, and now Elva understood it.

“Move over, Elva. I want this done and over with. You operate somewhere between slow and stop, and we ain't got all night.” The grave was almost four feet deep—Cudge decided that was deep enough. “Get over there and untie him from that board. Then you can help me roll him into the hole.”

“I . . . I can't,” she gulped. “Don't make me, I can't touch him!”

“When I tell you to do something, I mean for you to do it. He'll roll easy; don't think about it.”

His no-nonsense tone propelled Elva toward the body. Shakily, she untied the knot that held Lenny to the board, trying not to touch the body or feel the yield of flesh beneath the blanket. One good thing, she thought. Cudge was right about Lenny rolling easy. The incline of the gully aided her efforts as she prodded and pushed toward the grave. She nearly gagged from each dull thud the body made as it rolled over. “Watch out, Cudge, here he comes,” she said in a quivering voice. The loud thwack of Lenny's body falling into the grave made Elva squeal with fright. An awful sound. The last sound poor Lenny would ever make.

“Right. He's down. Now we shovel the dirt back on top of him.”

“No! Wait! He's . . . he's lying on his face.” The flashlight beam revealed Elva to be right.

“So what, he'll be facing the way he's going.”

“No, we can't, you have to turn him over. He was your best friend, you can't leave him like that.”

Revulsion filled Balog at the thought of touching Lenny. What if the blanket slipped and Lenny was looking up at him? Christ! No man should be expected to see his best friend before he threw the dirt over him. Yet Elva was right. Besides, if he left Lenny face down, Elva would never stop whining or let him forget it. He was tempted to tell Elva to turn Lenny over, but the grave was shallow and narrow; it would take a fair amount of strength to position the body within its confines. He shuddered. “Here, hold the light and get ready with the shovel. And whatever you do, don't shine it on his face. I don't want to look at him.”

Taking the flashlight, Elva trained it into the grave. Cudge slid in near Lenny's feet and grasped the body near the shoulders to turn it. Some demon of perversity made Elva flash the light on Lenny's face just as Cudge turned him over.

“God!” Scrambling as though his life depended on it, Balog climbed out of the hole, his stomach heaving, his lower intestines loosening. The underbrush holding his legs seemed to be Lenny's hands pulling him back into the grave. He propelled himself forward into the darkness, where he retched and felt himself almost foul his pants.

“Cudge, Cudge, you all right? I didn't mean for the light . . .”

“So help me, Elva, what the hell's wrong with you anyway ?” Cudge spat, clearing his mouth, knowing the sour taste of his own bile. “Get that shovel and start covering him over, and if you stop, even for a minute, you're going in there with him. You got me?”

Elva grabbed the shovel, pushing the dirt into the hole to cover Lenny as fast as she could. She'd seen Lenny's face, and it was something she never wanted to see again. It was worse than what had happened to BJ.

Twenty minutes later, they were finished. Cudge played the flashlight around the area, scanning the gully till he was satisfied everything looked normal. At the last minute he added a fallen branch, heavy with red-gold leaves, to the new grave.

“Can we go now, Cudge? I hate this place, I really hate it.” In the chill night air, Elva shivered all the way back to the campsite.

“There's no point in hanging around here,” Cudge told her in the light of their campfire. He brushed the dirt from his jeans. “I'm going to take a ride and find a bar. I need a few beers. You're staying here so nothing looks suspicious.”

“You want me to stay in that pop-up after . . . Cudge, a dead body was in there and it stinks.”

“The stink is your own fault. Just where else do you think you're gonna sleep tonight? It's cold out here and we've only got thin blankets. What's the matter, Elva—afraid of spooks coming back to haunt you?” he taunted.

“I'm not as scared as you,” she shot back. “I ain't the one who almost shit his pants.”

Without another word, Cudge jumped into the pickup and drove down the road. The taillights became fainter and fainter until they were just tiny red eyes staring at her through the darkness. Now she was all alone in the darkness, with Lenny's body only yards away in the gully. It was like being left in a graveyard. Death was all around—she could feel it and smell it. It was cold, so cold. If only she wasn't afraid to go into the camper, but Lenny's body had been there for all those hours.

A gust of wind swayed the trees, knocking a dead branch to the ground near her feet. Elva screamed and covered her face with her bony hands. Then she crawled up the steps into the pop-up.