Shivaree (9 page)

“Occultist?” Frank asked. “Like an eye doctor?” He had never heard the word before.

Crane looked over and laughed. “No, not like an eye doctor. These people think they can do magic. They do sacrifices. Get up to all kinds of nonsense. Their leader, an honest-to-God rocket scientist, blew himself up a year or so ago while trying to work some kind of spell. After that, they began trickling into the city from Pasadena.”

Bayard turned to Frank, his face ashen. The man was so damned superstitious, Frank worried he might just turn tail and run. “But it’s all nonsense, right?” Frank asked, hoping the man’s answer would help put Bayard at ease.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” came Crane’s unhelpful reply. “I’ve lived out here for quite a while now. Seen some mighty strange things.”

FIFTEEN

Lucille sat at the Judge’s kitchen table, her hands clutching a cooling and untasted cup of coffee, wondering if she were simply trapped in a dream too stubborn to shake. None of what she’d experienced in the last day could really have happened. Ruby was dead. Dead and buried for these last two months. Lucille knew that. She’d soloed
a capella
on “Amazing Grace” as Ruby’s casket was slid into the crypt next to her mother. Lucille had forced a smile on her face and thanked Mrs. Blanton when the old woman commented that colored folk had the most melodic voices.

No, it was impossible. Plain and simple. But that cruel laughter she’d heard was undeniably Ruby’s, and deep down she knew that if hell were going to shut its door on anyone, it would be that darkly exquisite, manipulative young woman.

Lucille had known the Judge’s daughter for more than ten years now, ever since she’d taken over as the family’s housekeeper, back when Ruby’d been nothing more than a mere slip of a girl. Marva, the maid Lucille had replaced, had grown too old and blind to work anymore. Lucille knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was the only reason her predecessor had been allowed to leave the Judge’s employment. On Lucille’s first day, Marva met her on the Judge’s front porch. Without further ado, the older woman rolled up her sleeve to expose a burn scar extending from her wrist to her elbow. “Mind yourself around the little one,” she said before shuffling back into the house.

Since then, there had been plenty of opportunities for Lucille to witness Ruby’s cruelty firsthand, and she’d borne the brunt of it herself more than once. At first, Lucille tried to feel for Ruby, to sympathize for the pain being motherless must have caused the girl, but sympathy could only stretch so far before snapping. Ruby proved to be the most unkind, greedy, and covetous child Lucille had ever met. Lucille could not begin to understand what had happened to twist the girl’s soul into such an unfeeling knot.

Many times Lucille had been forced to step in and protect children who’d been strong-armed into joining Ruby for playtime. Ruby’s sole source of happiness seemed to be toying with people, humiliating them, ruining anything that made them feel good about themselves. What she couldn’t steal, she’d destroy. Lucille would never escape the image of that poor Blake girl, clasping her hand on her cheek, blood spilling through her fingers. It had been Ruby’s twelfth birthday party, and someone said the Blake girl was almost as pretty as Ruby herself. The girl would always have an ugly scar.

As Ruby grew, her methods of torture took on a greater refinement. While Ruby the girl had enjoyed weaving lies to land others in trouble, Ruby the young adult preferred learning secrets and using them to keep those around her in line. God help the soul whose sin Miss Ruby uncovered. Eventually Lucille decided to stay the hell out of her way.

Then, when she was nearing eighteen, Ruby seemed to transform overnight. She fell in love with that Dunne boy, Elijah, who was stupid or crazy enough to love her back. The affair came out of nowhere. The two had known each other all their lives; just all of a sudden it was like Ruby finally took notice of the boy she’d been happy to ignore till then. For a brief while, it looked for sure like the two were heading for the altar, but in the end it didn’t last long. Right about the time Lucille received the letter informing her of her husband Jesse’s brave sacrifice, Elijah left to play soldier in the same conflict. In no time at all, Ruby took to disappearing and hanging out with the boy who ended up running off to California with her. Lucille had seen Ruby’s disappearance as a great mercy, and she would feel very little shame in admitting she regretted that the Judge’s investigator had ever hunted Ruby down. It would’ve been better for everyone if she’d stayed gone, or, failing that, had stayed dead.

Because Lucille knew Ruby was back. Perhaps more than anything, what convinced her of that fact was the way those men had accused her son of a theft the boy hadn’t committed. Setting up her playmates had been one of Ruby’s well-worn pranks. More than one of Ruby’s unfortunate young patsies had faced a furious switching after the disappearance of a prized object from the Judge’s house. Right about the time the child was able to move again without bleeding, the missing knickknack would suddenly reappear in its customary place. The kids involved knew better than to say a word to anyone.

Just as little Ruby framed her friends for her own amusement, the resurrected Ruby had somehow stitched Willy up as a thief to entice Dowd and his buddies to group together where Ruby could take them out with a single strike. Why Ruby had wanted to harm these men, Lucille had no idea, but she did feel sure that her son had been used as bait. In some twisted way, Lucille felt certain Ruby had meant it as a way of honoring her, like a cat bringing a dead bird to his owner’s doorstep.

At least now both her children had escaped, headed north where Lucille prayed they’d stand a chance for a life better than the one their mother would know here.

SIXTEEN

Mrs. Dunne had entrusted Corinne with the after-lunch washing up while she did laundry. Corinne had just finished the chore when she heard a car horn bleat out a tentative beep. She dried her hands and walked down the dark hall to the front door, watching through the glass as the black-and-white Hornet pulled down the long drive, sending the crunching gravel scattering like shrapnel even though the car proceeded at a careful pace.
The sheriff’s car
. She opened the door and headed out onto the front porch. The Hornet pulled to a stop, and the man she recognized as the deputy killed the engine. The sheriff spat out the open window, but then flung open the door, arduously extricating himself from the car as if he’d aged a hundred years since he’d dropped by earlier that morning. The deputy did not move.

“Sheriff,” Corinne said.

“Ma’am.” The officer touched the tip of his hat curtly.

“I’m afraid you’ve just missed Elijah.” Corinne registered the annoyance on the man’s face in his lowered brow and twitching mustache. “He headed back into the fields, but he knows to call you at four,” she added quickly to dispel the sheriff’s frustration, “like you wanted.”

“Yeah, I reckon that is what I had asked, but there have been some new
developments
, and I can’t wait till this afternoon.”

“I’ll be glad to go find him for you.” She took a step or two back and opened the screen door. “Would you and your deputy like to come in and wait for him? We have some of Mrs. Dunne’s peach pie left, and I’ll brew up some coffee if you’d like.”

He took off his hat and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Cold water would be just fine,” he said, then climbed the steps up to the porch.

“And your deputy?”

“He’s feeling a bit green around the gills right now, ma’am. We’d best leave him right where he is.”

Before opening the main door, Corinne flashed a quick look out at the deputy, who certainly seemed out of sorts. She stepped into the hall, marveling once again at how dark it was with all the shades pulled down to ward off the growing heat. For a moment she missed San Francisco’s seemingly never-ending cool sunshine. He shut the door behind them. “This way,” she said, immediately feeling self-conscious about her choice of words. She was the stranger here. The sheriff might have been to this house many times for all she knew.

A few feet down the hall, she turned left and stepped into the kitchen. Ava stood there at the sink. All the dishes Corinne had washed had been returned to soapy water, and her future mother-in-law had started the process all over again. She yanked one of the plates out of the suds, rubbing it as if she were out to wipe away original sin. “I fear you are woefully lacking in the domestic arts,” Ava said without turning, her voice cold. The sheriff cleared his throat, and she spun around, nearly dropping the plate to the floor. Her disposition turned to reconstituted sunshine in an instant. “Sheriff,” she said, a smile pulling her lips taut. Rather than backing that smile up, her eyes darted to Corinne.

“The manners of these young people,” she said, shaking her head, keeping those lips pulled up at the corners all the while. “You shouldn’t have bothered coming, Sheriff. My son is planning on calling your office this afternoon, like you asked.”

“Yes, so the young lady here has informed me. I’m afraid it can no longer wait.”

“The sheriff would like some water,” Corinne said, readying herself to duck if Ava sent the plate she held hurtling toward her. “And I told him about your excellent pie as well.”

Ava dropped the plate into a large metal bucket filled with clear water, then went to the cupboard and removed a glass, filling it with water from the pitcher she kept in the refrigerator. She handed it to the sheriff, who downed it in a single draught. Ava held the pitcher up and raised her eyebrows, silently asking their visitor if he cared for more. He waved his right hand, shaking his head.
Why are they so afraid of using words?
Corinne wondered as the sheriff handed the glass back to Ava and took a seat at the kitchen table.

“I’ll go find Elijah,” Corinne said.

“After you do, perhaps you can help me hang the wash on the line?” Ava’s tone left no room for doubt that her words were not a request. She was clearly determined to keep Corinne from learning whatever news the sheriff had to convey.

“Of course,” Corinne replied. “As soon as my fiancé and I have finished hearing what the sheriff needs with us.” As she turned her back, she heard the sheriff snort out a laugh.

SEVENTEEN

“Yankee?” Bell asked, as he watched Ava’s face slowly regain its color.

“As good as. From California.”

“Elijah will have his work cut out for him with that one.” Bell couldn’t help but compare the mousey-looking Corinne to the sultry Ruby. Even though the women came in very different packages, they seemed to possess the same type of fire, the same steel backbone. “Your son has a taste for headstrong women.”

Ava nodded her head, her eyes narrowing and the corners of her mouth turning down. “That he does. When I learned of Corinne, I had hoped . . . well, I’d hoped for a very different type of daughter-in-law. The girl thinks she knows it all and has the right to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Just remember she’s Elijah’s job to handle, not yours.”

“That may be, but the sooner he takes a belt to her bare hide and puts her in her place . . .”

“Well, that ain’t likely to happen until after the honeymoon,” Bell said, giving Ava a knowing smile. “Once the heat’s out of him, he’ll soon decide he’s had enough of her stubborn ways. I’ve seen it a dozen times. There he is now.” The sheriff pointed out the door that opened to the sleeping porch. Elijah’s face had appeared through the screen of the outer door. He hesitated a moment before coming onto the porch; the way his head and shoulders bobbed on the other side of the screen implied he was scraping earth off his boots.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” Elijah said as he entered the kitchen, Corinne dogging him a few paces behind.

“Afternoon,” Bell replied, looking at the boy from head to toe, appraising him not as a young man he’d watched grow, but as a possible suspect. There was a trace of worry in the boy’s blue eyes—they were focused intently on him, the right one squinting a bit more than the left—but Bell could detect no guilt, no guile. The boy’s broad square shoulders were tense, pulled back enough to show that he suspected he might be in trouble, but his overall manner spoke of innocence.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Elijah asked. Bell motioned to the chair across the table from his own, and the young man pulled it out and sat.

Corinne hovered behind Elijah for a few moments before deciding to take the seat next to him. In spite of the grim nature of his visit, Bell had to smile at the look on Ava’s face. But he had no interest in drawing the woman’s ire. “Miss . . .” he began, but couldn’t put his finger on the girl’s family name.

“Ford,” Corinne filled in the blank for him.

Bell ran his hand over his moustache, noticing that the hairs felt somehow wirier than they used to. “Miss Ford, I am afraid I’ve come to discuss some rather unpleasant occurrences with your fiancé.”

Corinne looked Bell dead in the eye. “I’ve just returned from spending over two years in a war zone. I doubt if anything you’re planning to relate could be worse than what I’ve already experienced. I’m soon to be Elijah’s wife. That means whether good, bad, or
unpleasant
, I’m here to support him.” The girl was mighty full of herself, but Bell couldn’t help but like her.

At first Ava blanched, but she had turned nearly purple by the time she managed to form words. “Corinne, the sheriff is telling you that this is the business of men. You need to come with me.”

“No,” Elijah said, reaching out and taking Corinne’s hand. “I want her to stay.”

Ava’s eyes widened in surprise, but she said nothing. She just tilted her head to the side and tossed one final dark glance at her future daughter-in-law. When Corinne held her ground, Ava untied her apron and folded it neatly before leaving it on the counter. “I’ll be out back if you men need anything,” she said and exited the kitchen, passing through the sleeping porch and out the back door.

Bell had wasted enough time on Dunne family squabbles. He dove straight in. “When was the last time you saw your buddy Dowd or either of the Sleiger boys?”

Elijah slumped in his chair and ran his hand back through his hair first, then down his beard. “Last weekend, as I reckon. Why? They in trouble?”

Bell thought about how best to answer that question. He considered the likelihood that this meek young fellow could have ripped the entrails out of a man he’d been friends with since practically birth. Not at all, he decided. “I’m afraid I got some real bad news for you, son.” Elijah lowered his head, but kept his eyes locked on Bell’s. The boy was bracing himself. Bell decided to deliver the news without the graphic details. “I’m afraid we found Dowd Johnson and Bob McKee’s bodies this morning. Sorry, son. Your friends are dead. We ain’t got a fix yet on Wayne and Walter’s whereabouts, but they both seem to be missing.”

“Dowd and Bob are dead?” Elijah asked, obviously trying to reconcile the word with his friends’ names. Everyone in these parts knew the Dunne boy had served in Korea, but dealing with death at home, where it wasn’t expected, was a different matter. Corinne tightened her grip on Elijah’s hand.

Bell nodded his response. “I do have to tell you that the killings were particularly brutal. Given the shape Bob and Dowd were in, things don’t look good for the Sleigers either. I wish I could spare you from this truth, but I have to ask you if you know who might have wanted to kill your buddies, and do it in an ugly way.” Elijah said nothing. He lowered his eyes to the table and shook his head. “Maybe they crossed some moonshiners or
interfered
with the wrong man’s girl?”

“Gangsters, perhaps?” Corinne wondered aloud. She seemed surprised by the sound of her own voice. “I’ve heard,” she addressed Bell, “that they can be extremely brutal. They do it to make a point to others.”

“Ma’am, this is Conroy, not Chicago. Or even Savannah, for that matter.” It was more of a knee-jerk reaction, though—the woman had a point. Whoever had killed the men had left their bodies as a warning, a way of marking their territory. Bell knew damned well there were plenty
of gangsters in Conroy, but up till now they’d all been held tight under the Judge’s thumb. He believed Frank and Bayard hadn’t been involved, but
he found himself wondering if some upstart thugs were flexing their mus
cles. Taking advantage of the Judge’s bereavement to try and wrest away
the reins of his operations. Bell was long overdue to pay the Judge a visit.

The phone rang in the hallway. Elijah didn’t move. His face was frozen, his eyes burning into his own clenched fingers. Bell and Corinne exchanged a look, both uncertain as to whether Corinne had earned the right to answer. Corinne paused a moment, but then patted Elijah’s shoulder and followed the ringing out of the room.

Bell watched the boy as his face cracked and his lips began to tremble. “I ain’t the same man I was before I went to Korea, sir,” he said looking up at Bell. “I see things different now. Corinne, she don’t know about the things I used to get up to with Dowd. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Sheriff?” Corinne’s voice interrupted before he could respond to Elijah. “The phone is for you.”

Bell acknowledged the young man’s request with a nod. He passed Corinne in the hall on his way to the telephone table. He lifted the receiver from the table and answered, “Bell here.”

“Sheriff, this is Reverend Dean Miller from Five Point Methodist. Your office said I might find you there.” There was a pause on the line.

“And found me you have, Reverend Miller. What can I do for you?”

There were a few more moments of silence. “Well, sir,” Miller finally said. “I got something here at the church I need you to take a look at.”

“I’m rather busy at the moment; can you be more specific about what this
something
is?”

A pause on the line, then, “It’s a body, Sheriff. I don’t know whose. There ain’t no head. And it’s . . .”

“Yes?” Bell prompted, losing patience.

“It’s tied to the steeple.”