Shadow Man (20 page)

At the proprietor’s invitation, Daisy Perika and Louise-Marie had taken seats by the potbellied iron stove.

The Ute woman was having a go at a ham-and-cheese sandwich.

Sidewinder was watching every bite.

Daisy gave the hound a flinty-eyed look.
Don’t you even
think
about it.

The French-Canadian customer took a ladylike sip of her Seven Up, a nibble of Twinkie. “I was talking to the dog. Hah—that’s a good one,” Louise-Marie cackled. “I’ll have to remember that, and pull it on somebody who brings a dog into my house.” She began to consider the list of potential candidates.

Police work

Cruising along the county road, Scott Parris was beginning to entertain doubts about this course of action.
I don’t know what caused me to think Charlie’s aunt Daisy could be out tooling around in Louise-Marie’s beat-up old car. I bet that elderly lady has never driven a car in her whole life. No, it’ll turn out to be some other old Indian woman that ran over Eddie Knox’s wooden foot.
The recollection of Knox’s outraged correction made him smile.
Make that high-tech carbon-fiber-whatever foot.
But any way you looked at it, this search was a long shot.
The Olds was heading east, and the driver knows we know that, so unless she’s balmy, she headed in another direction to throw us off. Or maybe she’s parked somewhere in the national forest till things cool down. There’s not one chance in a hundred that I’ll be lucky enough to spot—
And then he spotted it.

Bold as brass, parked right in front of Pokey Joe’s.

The chief of police slowed.
If that ain’t Louise-Marie’s old car, I’ll eat my hat. And boots to boot. So Daisy must be with her.
He considered going inside straightway and confronting them.
But that way I’d never find out what they’re up to. And this pair is always up to something. Something that’ll give me a serious case of heartburn.
Parris drove a few yards farther, just past Hank’s Auto Repairs, which had been shut down long enough for a sizable elm branch to grow through a front window. He pulled his unit behind the abandoned building, into a brushy patch of willows.
I’ll just sit here awhile and watch the Olds. Play it by ear.

Meanwhile, back at the general store

Pokey Joe hitched her thumbs behind the overall straps, eyed the white woman. “You feel better after the soda-pop, darlin’?”

“Sure do,” the one-eyed diabetic said. “I think my sugar is about normal now. Or maybe a little more.”

P.J. turned her attention to the silent Indian. “Anything I can do for you?”

“Make me another sandwich,” Daisy said. “Just like the first one.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Daisy and her pal watched the big woman disappear behind the counter.

Sidewinder licked his lips. Cast a hopeful glance at Louise-Marie’s Twinkie.

When Pokey Joe returned with the second ham-and-cheese on white bread, Daisy accepted it without a word, passed it to her friend. “After you get all the sugar you want, you’d better chomp down on some food that’ll do you some good.”

Louise-Marie sniffed at it. “What thank you kindly, Daisy dear.” She took a bite of the sandwich, another from the Twinkie, then repeated the rotation.
These go good together.

The overalled woman departed, returned with a meaty ham bone wrapped in brown butcher paper. She leaned to pat the dog’s head. “You look hungry too, bub.” She placed the aromatic gift on the floor, immediately under his muzzle.

Offended by this charity, Sidewinder turned up his nose.

Pokey Joe raised a penciled-on eyebrow. “I never heard of a dog that didn’t like ham bones.”

Rather than explain, Daisy preferred to let Nature take its course.

A few heartbeats later, Nature did.

In a blurred move, Sidewinder snatched the sandwich from Louise-Marie’s hand.

The startled woman shrieked, tossed her Twinkie across the store.

The Ute woman cackled a raspy laugh.

The lady who had offered the ham bone howled. “Hoooeeee—I reckon that hound likes people food better than pig bones!”

Louise-Marie shook her finger at the animal. “Bad, bad dog. You scared me out of a year’s growth!”

Having swallowed the sandwich, Sidewinder trotted away to recover the cast-off pastry.

Pokey Joe patted Louise-Marie on the back. “Don’t you fret, sweetie—I’ll bring you another Twinkie.” And she did.

Having had about all the fun she could stand in one day, Daisy decided it was time to get down to serious business. She smiled at the owner of the store. “That’s a nice-looking old church across the road. I believe I seen it once or twice when I was a little girl.”

That must’ve been a hundred years ago.
Pokey Joe looked through the front window. “St. Cuthbert’s hasn’t been a real church for twenty years or more. I guess most of the Cath’lics either croaked or moved away from here. Come to think of it, almost everybody has croaked or moved away.”
I oughta pack up and go too. Before I croak or go broke.

The Ute woman executed an expert follow-through. “I noticed a brown house out behind the church—is that the rectory?”

Pokey Joe shrugged. “Might’ve been a long time ago, but not anymore. That’s Mr. DeSoto’s place.”

Having acquired a name, Daisy pressed for more. “It must be a blessing to have a close neighbor.”

“I don’t think of DeSoto as a neighbor—or even a customer.” Pokey Joe’s expression morphed from blandly neutral to mildly annoyed. “Except for topping off his gas tank once in a while, he hardly ever stops here to buy anything. I don’t even know how he makes a living.”

Daisy saw the opportunity, grabbed it by the throat. “Maybe he takes in boarders. I know this young lady who moved out to Garcia’s Crossing a little while back. From what I hear, she rented a room right next to the church.”

“I don’t know who DeSoto shares his house with.” Pokey Joe took a swipe at a horsefly with her hand, missed it by a millimeter. “But he has visitors from time to time.” She watched the insolent insect circle her head. “They generally come and go in the middle of the night.”

I knew it!
Daisy clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.

Pokey Joe made a second try, snagged the fly, squashed it flat, wiped her palm on the overall bib. “For all I know, ol’ DeSoto could be operating a bed-and-breakfast over there, but I doubt he’d pull in any classy tourists. For one thing, he’s a reg’lar slob. For another, he packs a little pistol in his hip pocket. Not that I got anything against slobs and guns, mind you—but I got a feelin’ this DeSoto is a bad egg.” The proprietor was distracted by the toot-toot of a horn. “’Scuse me, ladies. Looks like I got a live customer out front.” She departed in long, purposeful strides that shook the floor.

Louise-Marie cleared her throat. “I think that’s really nice.”

Daisy had almost forgotten her companion. “What?”

“This isn’t one of those self-service places, it’s the old-timey kind.” Louise-Marie pointed. “Look, she’s filling that man’s gas tank.”

“I don’t care if she gives him a shave and a haircut,” Daisy grumped. “I’ve got to go find someone.”

Louise-Marie raised an eyebrow. “That white woman who’s missing?”

Daisy nodded. “Her name is Pansy Blinkoe—after her husband was murdered, she took off.”

Murdered?
And then Louise-Marie remembered. “I read about that Blinkoe fella in the newspaper—somebody blew him up in his boat. But I didn’t hear anything about his wife running away. Why d’you suppose she’d do such a thing?”

Daisy had thought long and hard about this. “Because Mrs. Blinkoe knows who killed her husband. And the killer knows she knows. She’s hiding, so he don’t murder her too.” She shot her friend a grim look. “And I’ll bet you a silver dollar to a copper dime that Mrs. Blinkoe’s holed up in that house behind the church.”

“But why do you think—”

“Don’t ask,” the shaman snapped.

Not the least offended by this rebuke, Louise-Marie finished off the second Twinkie, wiped at her mouth with a dainty little embroidered hankie.

Daisy reached for her walking stick, pushed herself up from the bench.

Louise-Marie’s pulse picked up a few beats. “What do you intend to do?”

“What
we
are going to do is walk right over there to that house behind the church, and knock on the door.”

Her timid companion blinked the eye that could. “Oh dear. Isn’t that…well, rather
brash
?”

Daisy regarded her companion with frank contempt. “If you’re scared of this DeSoto fella, you don’t have to come—I’ll take care of things by myself.” With Sidewinder tagging along at her heels, she hobbled away toward the door, knowing full well what would happen.

It did.

Like a jack-in-the-box, Louise-Marie popped up. “Wait—wait for me!”

From his concealment in the willow brush, Scott Parris waited. Watched. Those pesky little demons commonly known as “second thoughts” had come to torment him.
Those two may be in Pokey Joe’s till the cows come home.
There were also third thoughts.
I’m wasting time.
And fourth.
I oughta just go in there and find out what—Wait a minute. Here they come outta the front door.
He started the engine.
I’ll let them get in the Olds, follow ’em a mile or so down the road, then switch on the emergency lights and siren.
He smiled at the image of how his unexpected appearance would rattle the pair of elderly women.
It’ll make a great tale to tell ol’ Charlie Moon. After I pull ’em over, I’ll give ’em a good talking-to, then I’ll—What’s this? They’re not getting in the car.
Fascinated, the lawman watched events unfold.
What is going on here?

This raised a second question.
Why does an old Ute woman cross a road?

A third:
Why does an old Anglo woman follow her?

Finally:
Why the heck do I care?

But care he did.

While checking her customer’s oil, Pokey Joe noticed the women and the dog crossing the highway.
Guess they’re going to have a look at the old church.
It was not like there was anything else to see in Garcia’s Crossing.

Daisy paused to gaze at what remained of St. Cuthbert’s. It seemed smaller and more modest than when she was a child. Most of the stained-glass windows had been broken, the milky-white statue of the Virgin was spotted with lichens and moss. Scattered around the image were a few scruffy little rosebushes that seemed determined to survive. For a bright moment, the harsh work of Time faded. She was nine again, and Momma and Daddy were here, and little brother Tom-Tom. The tot was running after something that only the very young treasure. A dusty moth, perhaps, or a grasshopper. Salty tears filled her eyes, her heart ached as if it might fracture and break. She was startled when someone touched her.

“What is it, dear?” Louise-Marie patted her arm.

“Oh, nothing.” Daisy brushed a sleeve across her face. “Just got some grit in my eye.” She nodded to indicate the dirt driveway beside the abandoned church building. “We can follow that back to Mr. DeSoto’s house.”

Sidewinder watched until he understood the plan, then doggedly led the way.

A picket fence that had once enclosed the church property was mostly rotted away; a riotous party of tumbleweeds, kin-nikinnick, and chokecherry had come to stay. As they passed the ancient cemetery, it became apparent that there were not many relatives left in Garcia’s Crossing to tend the graves. Only the larger headstones were visible above the undergrowth. A few marble vaults—mute testimony of more prosperous times—were covered by a dismal species of waxy-gray vines.

To catch up with her companion, Louise-Marie took a few quick steps. “I never did like walking past graveyards. Even in the broad daylight.”

The Ute woman held her silence until they were past the burial ground. When their destination was in sight, Daisy paused, leaned on her oak staff.

A rusted-out Chevrolet van was parked near a tumble-down shed, a low-slung, expensive-looking sedan was sheltered in the sparse shade of a Russian olive. The DeSoto house was a long, narrow, peak-roofed structure. Having cracked in the heat of many summers, the stucco walls resembled the bottom of a sun-baked stream. The front entrance faced the back of the church. There was no porch. A pine board on a pair of cinder blocks served as a step. On each side of the door, small windows with almost-closed yellow shades suggested suspicious little half-lidded eyes set on a broad, stupid face. A robin strutted about in the dusty yard, evidently hoping to discover an earthworm that had little enough sense to be in this place.

Now past the cemetery, Louise-Marie had eased her pace and fallen a few paces behind the bold Ute woman. “Before we just walk up and knock on the door, I think we ought to have us a
plan.
”

Daisy was about to respond when something warm and furry rustled in the brush beside the lane, then bounded off toward a cluster of sage.

In hopes of a cottontail lunch, Sidewinder tore off after the insolent white flag.

Louise-Marie watched the chase, shuddered. “Oh, I hope he doesn’t catch the poor little bunny rabbit.”

“That poor little bunny rabbit is probably covered with bloodsucking ticks big as your thumb, and fleas that carry the plague.” Daisy chuckled. “And that old dog has the misery in his joints, just like me. He couldn’t catch a cold if he slept in the rain for a month.”

Her Disney image shattered, the tiny woman turned her gaze toward the dreary home. “I don’t like the looks of this place. And I don’t think we should be here—just the two of us alone.”

Daisy tried to think of something tart to say. But there
was
something bad here. She could feel it down into her marrow. “Go back to the car, if you want to. If something happens, and I don’t come back in ten minutes—you tell that big woman in the store to telephone the police.”

Unnerved by this sober statement from her friend, Louise-Marie shifted gears and found some traction. “No—I won’t leave you alone.” She bent with a grunt, picked up a stick. “If you’re staying, so am I.”

Daisy shook her head at the sight.
Here I am, a hundred miles from a home that’s burnt to the ground, walking into who-knows-what, and what’ve I got to protect me? A silly old woman with a little switch in her hand, a dimwit dog that goes off chasing rabbits.
Almost unconsciously, she asked God for help.

Her perfunctory prayer had been anticipated long before Daisy had been conceived in her mother’s womb—yea, even before the first star had warmed to a dull, reddish glow.

Having left his unit parked by Louise-Marie’s Oldsmobile, Scott Parris took up a position in the weed-choked space beside St. Cuthbert’s. He watched the elderly women exchange words, then march up to the door of the stucco house. Daisy Perika had a habit of getting herself into trouble, and taking the French-Canadian woman along for the ride. He scratched at an itch on his ear.
What is she up to this time?

Daisy started to put her foot onto the small plank that served as a step, hesitated. The board looked like it might fall off the cinder blocks. She reached out with the oak staff, gave the door a light tap. She heard no steps in the house, but had the uneasy sensation that someone was watching her. Someone was.

Someone stared through a narrow slit set high on the cellar wall.

Daisy tapped on the door again, harder this time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement by a tattered curtain.

The women waited.

Finally, Louise-Marie made this observation in a hopeful tone: “Maybe there’s nobody home.”

“Oh, they’re here all right.”

Somewhere, far off in the brush near the church, there was an urgent whine from Sidewinder.

The Ute woman supposed that he had run the cottontail into a hole.

Louise-Marie entertained a hideous vision of the hound ripping a poor little flea-and-tick-infested bunny rabbit into bloody shreds. The world was a hard place.

Daisy Perika was about to knock again when—

The doorknob turned.

The Ute elder tightened the grip on her sturdy walking staff.

Louise-Marie readied her puny stick.

The man who appeared in the doorway had utterly failed in his lifelong aspiration. A red-hot dandy was what he wanted to be. This vain ambition was the reason for the seven-hundred-dollar ostrich-skin boots, skin-tight black jeans, turquoise-studded snakeskin belt, and canary-yellow silk shirt decorated with a scattering of embroidered butterflies. Spiffy duds, all in all—and he might just have pulled it off. Except for a few minor deficits—such as a shirttail hanging out over a bulging gut; greasy, slicked-back hair; and a mustache too thin to be manly. The stern judges in the Dandy of the Year contest would have winced and subtracted extra points on account of being appalled. There were other deficiencies that the pitiful soul could not be held responsible for—a deeply pockmarked face, a knobby nose, a chin decorated with a slug-shaped mole. This latter feature wriggled as his lips worked with a plastic toothpick. He stared at the visitors with flat, unblinking eyes.

Never one to hesitate in passing harsh judgments, Daisy sized him up in a glance.
This pineapple head’s the kind of back-alley pimp that gives flesh peddlers a bad name.

The man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. Spitting out the toothpick, he stuck a filter tip between his lips. “What?”

With a sickening epiphany, Daisy realized that Louise-Marie had been right.
I should’ve worked out a plan before I knocked on his door.
To gain a patch of time, she cleared her throat. Cleared it again. Then: “Are you Mr. DeSoto?”

He produced a plastic lighter, flicked it three times, touched a flame to the tip of the cigarette. “Who wants to know?”

“I’m Daisy.” She gestured with an elbow to indicate the woman behind her. “That’s Louise-Marie.”

He blew a smoke ring over the Ute woman’s head. “So whatta you want?”

Daisy had barely opened her mouth when she heard the words behind her.

“We’re with the Salvation Army—we visit sick folks and shut-ins.”

The Ute woman turned to stare at her one-eyed friend.

Louise-Marie LaForte was blushing crimson. She gave Daisy a pleading look.
I just felt like I should say something.

Daisy grinned at her companion.
Well, the old mare has taken the bit in her mouth, I’ll just let her run with it for a while.

DeSoto’s lips twisted into a quasi smile. “Salvation Army—you two old biddies?”

The Ute elder shot him a sizzling look. “Who’re you calling
biddies,
you two-bit piece of horse—”

Alarmed that the Indian stick of dynamite was about to explode in their midst, Louise-Marie intervened. “Mr. DeSoto, we are here to…uh…to bring you some nice books to read.”
That was good.

“Books?” The cigarette hung precariously on his lower lip. “I thought the Salvation Army dished out bread and soup.”

Though not having told a lie since she was six years old, L.M. fell headlong into the job. “That’s right, sir. But we also distribute all sorts of wholesome literature.” In an attempt to conjure up examples, she fell back on her own collection. “For instance, we provide
Aunt Celia’s Country Cookbook
,
The American Heritage Dictionary, Birds of the Rocky Mountain West, Guys and Dolls, See Here, Private Hargrove,
and…and the Holy Bible.”

The man snorted. “Bible?”

Sensing that her friend’s line was going a bit limp, Daisy took up the slack. “You know, that black book with gold on the edges of the pages.” She took a step closer to the man. “If you was to read one, you’d find out what God expects from you. For one thing, hospitality to strangers.”

“Izzat right?” He blew smoke in her face.

Daisy coughed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

He chuckled. Blew another puff at the funny old woman.

The Ute elder held her breath until the smoke had passed her by. Then: “Now listen to me, you pineapple-headed pot-gut—don’t you do that again.”

The blackguard sucked in another lungful of smoke.

She added in a menacing tone: “I’ll hit you
hard.
” Where it’ll hurt.

Noting that the little woman wielding the big stick was looking at his crotch, he sensibly allowed the fumes to escape through a pair of hairy nostrils.

Sensing that she was getting the upper hand, Daisy pointed at his house. “You go inside, and tell Prudence and Alonzo that there’s some ladies at the door that wants to have a word with them.”

The cigarette wobbled between his lips. “You get offa my property or I’ll—”

“Keep your yap shut till I’ve had my say!” Like a cougar about to pounce, Daisy hunched her shoulders. “And while you’re at it, tell that pretty white girl you’re hiding that I want to see her too.”

DeSoto retreated into the doorway. “Go away, you crazy old woman!”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Pineapple Head!” She shook the walking stick at the hideously pockmarked man, raised her voice loud enough for Pansy Blinkoe to hear—
and Pansy heard every word.
“Now you tell that silly yellow-haired girl to come out here—and tell me why she left her home to stay with a blivit like you!”

Though not a person who would ever be mistaken for a scholar, it must be said that DeSoto had an Inquiring Mind. He also harbored an aching suspicion that he had been insulted. “What’s a blivit?”

Daisy explained to him that a blivit was two hundred pounds of manure in a sixty-pound bag. Though it must be admitted that she used a vulgar synonym for “manure.”

Being not entirely without feelings, DeSoto was hurt. He muttered a vile remark, making reference to the mean old woman’s ancestry, then slammed the door in her face.

Daisy banged the knobby end of her stick on the wall, dislodging a sizable chunk of stucco.

Louise-Marie tugged at her friend’s arm. “I don’t think he is going to cooperate—we might as well go back to the car.”

“Not till I talk to Pansy!” The Ute woman took a hearty lick at the door.
Bam!

The hound loped up, woofed happily at the excited woman.

Daisy turned an accusing eye on the dog. “Where was you when I needed you, you old sack of bones—off chasing a varmint? You could’ve made yourself useful, bit a big hunk outta that slick-haired pimp!”

DeSoto appeared at the window, waving a pistol. “Go away!”

Daisy yelled back: “You let me talk to that young woman, or I’ll call the cops on you!”

Right on cue, Scott Parris came trotting across the yard. “What’s going on here?”

Daisy and her pal were struck dumb by this unexpected appearance. Startled by the sight of the silver shield pinned on the lawman’s shirt, DeSoto backed away from the window.