The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) (19 page)

“Nix on that,” I said. “You’re staying here, sister. Weatherby wouldn’t want the only family he’s got left riding into Hell because of him, and I don’t want that either. Stay here and take in the local color for your homework assignment, and leave the bloodshed to someone who can handle it.”

She slapped my face. It stung. “Mr. Candle, I will rescue my baby brother.” Selena folded her arms and stared straight at me. “I am no stranger to occult horror, and my knowledge of local customs will no doubt help me succeed where you have failed. I am indebted to you for saving Weatherby and keeping him safe at Castle Stein, but I can’t stand by while his life is in danger. I am going with you, and if you don’t like it…” She tried to think of an appropriate insult. “Well, if you don’t like it, you can go jump in a lake!”

I didn’t like it, but there was no away around it. Either I brought the twist along or she’d raise a stink. I leaned back in my barstool. “The boiler’s outside,” I said. “Let’s go. I’ve got enough guns and ammo in the back to take on an army – which I think we’ll have to do.”

“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” Selena explained. “Going in guns blazing didn’t work the first time, and it won’t work a second time. We’ll need the proper sort of weapons to defeat the witches – ones that have been blessed by a local priest. And I know just the guy to do the blessing.”

“So you’re in charge now?”

“My brother is in trouble, you seem to know next to nothing about our foes, and I do,” Selena replied. “So, yes, I am in charge. Are you upset about that?”

I shrugged. “I’m upset enough about having you along at all. Lead on, sister. I’ll just sit back and watch.”

She shook her head and came to her feet. She left the bar and I followed. Selena and I didn’t say what we were both thinking about – the fear that grew inside of us and gnawed away like a mad animal. Those witches might have already torn Weatherby to shreds, and there’d be nothing left for us to save but bloody scraps. If that was the case, I planned on taking out every witch and leaving the Hollow strewn with their guts.

Selena directed me to a rundown little church. It was a ways down the road, a chapel surrounded by the woods and half-overgrown. The steeple was bent, the white paint was peeling and the yard was covered with weeds and shrubs. There were tombstones in that yard dating back to before the Civil War, the names and dates long since eroded into nothingness. It wouldn’t surprise me if the place was abandoned. But Selena had me stop the Roadmaster and we stepped outside.

“You know this church?” I asked, as we walked to the double doors.

“I’ve done quite a bit of research here.” Selena pulled open the doors and entered.

There were holes in the roof. Once the fading sunlight managed to get through the cover of dark green trees, shafts of it reached down into the church and that was all the illumination there was. Worn pews stood before a small pulpit. The church was empty, except for one guy, and he stood at the pulpit looking down at a bible with sad, dark eyes.

He had dark skin, but he wasn’t a Negro. His features belonged on a white man, with a strong nose, hollow cheeks, straight snowy white hair and eyes like pits. He wore a dark suit with a stiff white collar. Selena noticed my confusion. “Reverend Sharp is a Melungeon,” she explained. “He has African, Cherokee and white ancestry.” She smiled up at him, and he looked up from his reading. “Reverend Sharp!” Selena called. “Are you busy?”

“No, Miss Stein. Not for you.” He closed the book like he was happy to stop reading it. Reverend Sharp walked over to Selena and clasped her hands. He gave her a look that would have gotten him thrown out of any seminary. “But it’s a little late for an interview, I think.”

“I’m not here for an interview, sir,” Selena said. She nodded to me. “Revered Sharp, this is Morton Candle. He’s a detective. He works with my brother, Weatherby. I’ve told you about him—and Weatherby – before.”

“You even showed me pictures,” the priest said. He gave me a hand and I took it. He had a weak grip. “I’m the Reverend Elias Sharp. I’m the shepherd of this little flock, such as it is.” He looked back to Selena. “My child, you look a little scared. What’s wrong?”

“Weatherby’s been taken,” Selena explained. “To Witch’s Hollow.”

“Oh no. Oh Lord Jesus, no.” Reverend Sharp walked back to his pulpit. He sat down, a sudden weight slamming into his shoulders. “They are children of the devil, Miss Stein, they truly are. If he’s with them, then he is lost.”

Selena and I followed him. I looked at the front pews and saw empty bottles leaning against the crumbling wood. Something told me they had contained liquid stronger than communion wine. I frowned. Reverend Sharp might be good for bumping gums about local yokel superstitions, but I didn’t think he could help us.

“I refuse to give up,” Selena replied. “I told you about what happened to my family. Weatherby faced Hell in Castle Stein, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Well, it won’t happen again. Mr. Candle and I will go into the Hollow and save his life. But we need your help, sir. You’ve spoken to me about what faith means to you. How you’ve heard the Word of God as a child, calling you to the priesthood. I’m certain you can—”

“I was pulling your leg, Miss Stein,” Sharp said suddenly. He sighed deeply and looked away. “A pretty girl comes in, asking me about matters of religion. I told you what I thought you wanted to hear. I told what’d make you happy. I ain’t never heard of the Word of God. I got into this job because I figured I could make fast cash on it, and I was mistaken.”

“W-what?” Selena stared in utter surprise at the reverend.

“No surprises there,” I muttered. “You got any other bright ideas, sister? Maybe we ought to belt out some gospel tunes, or go to Bible Study?”

Selena acted like she hadn’t heard me. “But you spoke with such conviction, such commitment. You can’t tell me you were lying!”

“Before I started ministering, I did swindles and con games on the streets of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee,” Reverend Sharp explained. “I started selling Bibles, and made good money down in New Orleans. I got a notion into my head that I could make more money if I put on a preacher’s collar, so I stole one from a drunk in Atlanta, and I’ve been spreading the Good Word ever since. I am a tired and old man, and came up here to spend the end of my life, where I figured I could say what I wanted, sip corn liquor, and no one would mind, on account of them loving Jesus so damn much.”

“How’s that working out for you?” I asked, picking up one of the half-full bottles of liquor and having a sip.

Reverend Sharp shrugged. “They are poor people, Mr. Candle. They say a prayer, they get some hope, and they keep on living, one day to the next. I’m good enough for that.” He couldn’t meet Selena’s gaze. “But when it comes to battling a couple of honest-to-God servants of Satan, I would be useless, Miss Stein. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. Holy weapons ain’t got nothing if there’s no faith behind them. And I got no faith. I’m just an old coward who likes his drink a little too much.”

I looked back to Selena Stein. She came to her feet. For a while, I thought she was gonna slug the old preacher in the jaw. But instead, she reached out and touched his shoulder. “I refuse to believe that, Reverend,” she said. “Perhaps you think that you were lying to me, that you have no faith. But I know otherwise. You’re a good man, and you can help my brother.”

“Ah, Miss Stein, I don’t know if—”

“Faith is not a matter of knowledge,” Selena explained. “You’ve got to test yourself, Reverend. And I think, when the time comes, you’ll pass.” She lowered her eyes. For a second, I thought she was gonna start crying. But she was stronger than that. Stronger than most dames I know. “Please,” she said. “I have to do this. I have to save my brother.”

The Reverend looked down at his bible. He picked it up. “You’re gonna go down to the Hollow,” he said. “Whether I come along or not?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I guess I’ll come, then. But you’re a good girl, Miss Stein. You deserve a holy crusader by your side — someone far better than me.” He tucked the worn Bible under his arm. “I’ll make some preparations,” he said. He walked down from the pulpit and knelt over the bottles of whiskey. He blessed the half-empty jars of booze, one after the other.

Selena and I watched him. “You really think this old man is gonna help us?” I asked. “I know the type, sister – he’s a rat, a worm bathing in his own slime. He uses people, talking about God while he reaches for their wallets. He’s played dozens of people. He’s been playing you.”

“He’s our only hope,” Selena replied. “He’s Weatherby’s only hope. You’re a cynic, Mr. Candle. I am an optimist, and so is Weatherby.”

“You sure about that?” I asked. “What he went through would turn anyone against their fellow man.”

“I’m sure,” she replied. “He may try and hide it, but he’s still got the hopes and goodness and innocence of any child.” She broke away from me, and walked over to Reverend Sharp.

“This might help,” Sharp explained as he handed her some of his bottles, and she carried them in her arm. Holy whiskey. I’d laugh, if the situation wasn’t so bad. “And I have my Bible. I’ve tried my hardest. But I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Then try and have faith,” Selena told him.

We went to the door. I got there first, but it opened before I could reach it. I found myself looking at a round fat man with a gray, stiff beard like a train’s cowcatcher. This was Clayton Crabbpatch. Three of his sons stood behind him. All of three of them wore overalls, and nothing else. His sons were bulging with muscle, with short brown hair and eyes a little too close together. They stood behind Clayton Crabbpatch, pickaxe handles resting on their shoulders. I wondered what the bludgeons were for. A rusty pick-up truck sat behind them.

“Candle,” Crabbpatch said, as he handed me a thick wad of dough. “Here’s your payment. You tried, you lost your partner, so I added in a couple more bills. You done as good as anyone could. You can’t be expected to do no more.”

“I’m afraid I will,” I said. I looked at the money in his hand. “A shamus doesn’t get far, taking his client’s money before the case is complete. Your daughter’s still in the Hollow, Mr. Crabbpatch. So is my partner. I’m going back there to get both of them.”

“Don’t go doing that now, boy,” Clayton said. “I’m telling you it’s done with and I’m trying to pay you!” His face went red. He looked back at his sons. “Now you take my cash and get the hell out of these hills, or things are liable to get nasty.”

“Things are plenty nasty already,” I said. “And I’m telling you — the case won’t be closed until I’m good and ready to close it. Until then, take your wad of cash and get out of my way.” Something was fishy and my detective’s instincts flashed to life. Clayton Crabbpatch was hiding something, which he was afraid I would find out if I went to Witch’s Hollow. Whatever it was, it seemed to be worth more than Charity’s life.

Crabbpatch shook his head and frowned, resting his hands on his guts like he had a stomach ache. He stepped back, and his three sons walked towards me. Selena and Reverend Sharp were in the church, and I motioned them to step back. I faced the three bruisers. The first Redneck raised his pickaxe handle. It was a stout piece of wood and the arms holding it bulged with muscle. It could crack my skull in a second.

“You do what my pappy says now!” the boy ordered. “Or I’ll drop you, you hear?”

“I hear fine,” I said. “And I’m waiting for you to try.”

He tried. He swung that pickaxe handle straight for my head. I grabbed it with one hand, the rough wood burning my fingers as I stopped its swing. I took my other hand, made it into a fist and cracked it against the hillbilly’s chin. He went down and I grabbed the pickaxe handle from his hand. Crabbpatch’s second son came towards me, his pickaxe handle above his head. I sidestepped it, and then used my own club to take the legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, and I smashed out a couple of his teeth before tossing the pickaxe handle over my shoulder.

The third son got wise. He ran back to the pick-up truck, slammed open the door, and reached under the seat. He came up with a revolver, but I pulled out my automatic and fired a shot over his shoulder. He dropped the gun as blood pooled on his sleeve.

“The next one’s going in your brain, pal,” I told him. “Now raise your hands, nice and easy.”

He did just that. He looked to his father, who shook his head and gulped. I walked over to Clayton Crabbpatch, stepping onto the chest of his oldest son on my way. I let him have a nice long look at my .45. “I don’t know what you’re hiding and I don’t care,” I said. “I’m going to the Hollow, to get my partner and your daughter. If you want to stop me, you’d better be ready to fight and to fight dirty.”

“They’ll kill you.” Crabbpatch looked down at his bare feet. His sons pulled themselves up and started limping back to his automobile. “You go to the Hollow, you ain’t gonna be coming back. The witches will strip off your skin and eat your flesh. They’ll suck down your soul and rip out your bones for their playthings.”

“Let them try,” I replied. I brushed past him, motioning for Selena and Reverend Sharp to follow.