The Tea Party - A Novel of Horror (21 page)

“Liz, this isn’t an hallucination.”

“I know.”

“Liz, something’s going on. I’ve got to get to a doctor. I’ve got to know what’s inside me!”

Liz pulled her toward the door. “Doug first, doctor second. One more hour to find out if we’re all going nuts, and I promise I’ll take you to the clinic myself.”

She rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a notepad and pencil from the top of the refrigerator. She scribbled something quickly and attached the page to the refrigerator door with a magnetic ladybug. “Ugly isn’t it,” she said. “I put it here because it’s the first place they go when they come in.” Babbling; she was babbling. “No home should be without one.” Babbling, because there was a grinding in her stomach, a sudden need to scream.

Ollie gave a quick laugh. “It’s really ugly Liz. It’s absolutely godawful.”

She allowed herself to relax slightly. For that one sane and precious moment Ollie had forgotten her troubles. But it passed once they were in the car and Ollie saw the dents and cracked windshield; she began sniffling as they headed for the highway.

“It
’
ll be all right,” Liz told her, reaching over to pat her arm. “Listen to me, Ollie, it’ll be all right.”

Ollie nodded, then pointed suddently. “Hey, that’s Doug!”

10

Doug yelled and waved a hand wildly when he saw the BMW glide between the pillars. Liz nodded quickly and made a rapid U-turn, and he followed, reaching the house shortly after the two women had left the car. He gaped as he slipped from the saddle. Jesus Christ, he thought, Ollie looks pregnant.

Maggie was tethered in the backyard, and when he stepped into the kitchen, Liz fell into his awkward, surprised arms.

It took an hour to sort out all the stories, Doug refusing belief until Liz dragged him outside, pointed at the damage, and drove him to the spot where she had felt the quake. A road crew was working there, hot tar steaming, steam roller waiting, while a dump truck was filled with lengths of fallen boughs. He said nothing more until they returned to the house.

“Well, the way I see it,” he offered with a lopsided grin as they entered the kitchen to join Ollie at the table, “we are the victims of a Communist conspiracy to dominate the world through the introduction of hallucinogens into the drinking water. We are affected because we have particularly susceptible nervous systems, thereby enhancing the softening process of our brains.”

“You’re full of shit,” Ollie said, though her eyes gave him a smile her lips could not manage.

He shrugged with his eyebrows, then inhaled slowly while Liz poured them coffee. “You haven’t told Bud?”

“Are you kidding? After last night, he’d freak out, Doug! He’d go so far around the bend he’d never find his way back.”

“Look,” said Liz, “if we talked to someone who knew about such things, I’m sure we’d find perfectly good reasons for the wind and the earthquake. I mean, there has to be.” She toyed with her cup; it rattled on the saucer. “It’s the fire, and Ollie, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “It isn’t coincidence,” he said lamely.

“You’re nuts,” Liz said. “Coincidence—”

“I don’t believe in it,” he told her. “I don’t believe we could be living here all this time and suddenly, in the space of a single day, have all this come down on us. It makes no sense.”

“Well, it can’t be anything else,” she insisted. “If it were, you’d be implying some direction behind it all. Some connection.”

“Well, maybe I am,” he said without emphasis.

Ollie shook her head, swallowed, and headed for the bathroom. When she was gone, Liz took his hand and squeezed it.

“What is it, Doug?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew,” he said, and felt the hand covering his, saw the eyes, the fall of hair, the lines of her face.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she accused lightly in an abrupt change of subject, and when he started to deny it she held his hand more tightly. “I don’t mean that, I mean . . . you run away from me. Right? You run away, and I think I want to know why.”

“You think?”

A brief smile. “Yeah. Maybe I don’t want to know.”

He waited, listening for Ollie’s return, and before he could stop himself he told her about Seattle, all of it, and what he had dragged with him across the country. He never once met her gaze, but his hand stayed in hers. When he was finished, he waited forever before looking up. There were no tears, no smile, but she leaned over and kissed him solidly on the cheek.

He wondered if he should tell her that he felt much better for the telling, but he was interrupted by the slam of the front door. Liz was on her feet immediately, and he followed her up the hall to the living room where, at the window, they saw Ollie hurrying up the street.

“Damn,” Liz muttered, and started for the door. “No,” he said, and took her arm. “I think Bud has to know first. With all this other stuff, she needs him more than she needs us. Besides,” he added, “you and I have to talk.”

11

Piper stood at the back door, an album cover in his hand. His housework was finally done, and Dumpling still hadn’t come back, and despite the fact that it wasn’t nearly as hot as the day before had been, he hadn’t the energy to go tramping through the woods after her. He lifted the cover and looked at the face of a young Carmel Quinn. Behind him, Irish eyes were smiling from the throat of Dennis Day.

“Damn fool animal,” he muttered, returning the album to its place. He shut off the turntable and straightened his cap. A visit to the kitchen filled his pockets with bits of roast beef, and he was soon walking down to the highway. At the intersection he flagged down Hallman’s tow truck coming toward him from the west.

“What’s up, Pipe?” Bernie said, leaning an elbow out of the window. His nose wrinkled, and he waved a loose-wristed hand. “K
eerist,
man, you smell like last night’s dinner.”

“Have you seen Dumpling?” Cleary asked, ignoring the jibe, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the stench of gasoline.

“Dumpling?” Hallman laughed shortly. “What the hell’s a Dumpling?”

“A hound, you ape,” he snapped, plucking at the loose skin on his wrist. “Gonna whelp any minute and the bitch’s run away.”

Hallman groaned. “Listen, I ain’t got time for your damned dogs, for god’s sake. I just lost a bundle out at Winterrest.”

Piper frowned and looked west. “What were you doin there?”

“Got a call from Parrish. Some rich joker with car trouble. All I saw was that Egan kid playing with hisself on the lawn.”

“Must’ve been a joke. You didn’t see my dog, did you?”

Hallman shook his head without an ounce of concern, shifted gears loudly and was gone, turning Piper away from the dust, pushing him toward Winterrest before he knew where he was heading. When he realized it, he stopped and turned around, and pulled off his cap. His left forefinger dug into one ear, wiped the wax on his jeans, then scratched through the thin white hair that laced across his scalp.

“Dumb dog.”

Worry doubly creased his face. He needed those pups to sell come September; he needed Dumpling for another litter; and he missed her because she was the only dog who didn’t try to bite off his ankle whenever he trained her. She was the best in a long line of coon hounds. She reminded him of his dead wife.

Well, hell. He didn’t even know where to start, so he might as well head home, get himself something to eat, and go on over to the Depot for a Saturday night’s watching.

He supposed he was picked because he was Irish, and the Irish were supposed to be fantastic drinkers. But drink made him throw up. Most of the time he nursed a ginger ale and an oath from Judy and Gil that they’d never tell a soul. He wasn’t even really very Irish, not all the way through. He hated Tommy Machen, couldn’t stand the raucous yelling of the Clancy Brothers either, but they were part of the damned act. He preferred Carmel Quinn and Dennis Day, solid professional Irishmen who could bring a tear to your eye and a lump to your throat just by winking them County Cork orbs.

But hell and damn the English, you can’t have everything. After all, the money was good and the company was okay, and shit they’d all be on welfare if he wasn’t for him since that damned feedbag of his son’s hardly ever turned a profit.

A finger poked him in the middle of his back.

He whirled with a gasp, slapping his cap back on as if caught with his hand in the till, and had a curse at his Hps until he saw who it was.

“Mr. Cleary, top o’ the morning to you.”

Piper forgot Dumpling, and the roast beef in his pockets. He nodded deferentially and touched his shirt pocket. “Got the invite, sir. Thank you. I appreciate it truly.”

“Very good, Mr. Cleary. I trust you’ll be there.”

He sniffed and whipped a handkerchief from his hip pocket to wipe across his nose. “Got a lost pup, sir., need to find her.”

“Mr. Cleary, your priorities are wrong,” said Eban Parrish.

Piper allowed as how that might be god’s truth, it being such a long time since the last time if Mr. Parrish knew what he meant. Mr. Parrish did indeed and without annoyance, then asked about the truck he had seen heading into town. Piper told him, word for word, inflection for inflection, what Hallman had said, and he almost ran when he came to the part about the Egan boy playing.

Parrish’s eyes turned black.

It was just for a moment, but Piper knew they had turned black, and something in the back of his mind told him he had seen that look before. He said a quick prayer for the lad, then backed away, explaining again that Dumpling was missing, Mr. Parrish must know what a prize she was, and if Mr. Parrish didn’t mind he’d be on his way, hunting for the fool creature before it got itself hurt.

Mr. Parrish didn’t mind.

Piper smiled weakly. “I guess, then, sir, I’ll be seein you tomorrow.”

“You will, Mr. Cleary. You will.”

Piper headed back up the lane, stopping only when he heard the soft whisper of his name.

Parrish was still at the intersection.

“Yessir?”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Cleary,” Parrish said. “It will be worth it, I assure you. You always did enjoy your little trips, as I recall.”

Piper said nothing, making only an affirmative gesture with his hand. It was true he didn’t mind driving off once in a while, getting away from Nell’s nagging, but he never would quite remember where he had been, or why he had gone there.

Parrish touched the dark red handkerchief in his breast pocket and nodded a farewell.

Piper nodded back, and had half turned to leave when Parrish called him again.

“Sir?”

“I should be careful, though, Mr. Cleary.”

Piper frowned. “Sir?”

“Well, you never can tell where you’ll find demons.”

12

Ollie stumbled through the back door into the tiny service porch and leaned against the wall to catch her breath. Her hand strayed to her stomach, and when she realized where it was she snatched it away and lay it against her cheek. The skin there was warm, and slightly slick with perspiration, and she tried as best she could to dry her face with her sleeves.

She was crazy, of course. But her insanity paled against the delusions Doug and Liz had thrown at her. It didn’t matter that the fire seemed to fit right into whatever pattern Doug was hinting at; she had the dope to fall back on, but those two . . . she shuddered deliberately, smoothed her shirt down over her chest, and opened the inner door.

Bud would help her. He had to. She had been wrong when she claimed he would flip when she told him. On the contrary, he would get a little excited, then explain to her the nightmare, calm her, soothe her fears, and protect her as always. He was Bud, after all, and they had been through too much together for him not to stand by her now.

She moved down the hallway, past the stairs, past the Retirement Room, and saw him at the front of the shop. He was standing by the counter, randomly punching keys on the register without engaging them. She waited until he sensed her and looked up, and she struggled into a smile.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded sullenly as she came nearer.

“I told you,” she said neutrally, “I went for a walk.”

“To get flowers, yeah,” he said, and stared pointedly at her empty hands.

“I couldn’t find any I liked.”

He turned his head toward the window. “Ollie, I’ve been thinking. A lot.” His face was gaunt, his hair tangled. “I think we ought to sell this place and get out. Go west or something. Parrish made an offer, you know. He said—”

“I know,” she answered quietly.

“What? You know?”

She nodded. She had been out walking one afternoon less than a month ago, going nowhere in particular, when Parrish called to her from his doorway. At first she had ignored him, sure that he meant someone else. But he called again and she veered, smiled, and thought nothing of it when he ushered her into the office and closed the door behind them. He had stood awfully close, too close for her comfort, and suggested that perhaps she and her companion might consider an offer he had just received for the building they owned.

His hand lighted on her arm, and she inched away, not wanting to seem rude, not wanting him to touch her. Before she could say a word, then, he had given her a figure she thought insanely high, and told him so, as well as telling him they had been through too much to give up on the shop now.

He understood, he said. And would they in the course of time be having children?

His hand again, this time darting out to brush over her stomach before pulling back and smoothing one of his lapels.

Not likely, she had told him. She and Bud were not into children or parenting or spooning mush into kids’ mouths.

Parrish smiled as he suggested she would in all likelihood make an excellent mother.

She had smiled back, apprehensively now, thinking that if she didn’t get out of this place right away this old fart was going to rape her where she stood.

Then he had placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her outside. Not another word passed between them, and she had nearly run back to the shop, her skin tight, her throat dry. She’d showered for nearly half an hour before she could rid herself of the feeling that she had been touched by the grave.