Lark! the Herald Angels Sing
Page 22
“The roof?” I guessed.
“No—the Dominion truck’s bucket lift. We taped a camera to it and hoisted it up. Also, Ekaterina’s picked out a couple of likely spots where she can fly up the drones later, but we don’t want to do that until there’s enough ambient noise to cover the sound, or at least distract from it.”
“Drones?”
“Yeah, she figures if they seize our cameras upstairs and in the bucket lift, we can still get some shots from the drones.”
Clearly I had made the right decision when I recruited Ekaterina for the mission. Maybe I should have put her in charge.
“But we’re not webcasting this, right?” I asked. “I mean not yet. We don’t really want to tip our hand until the crowd gets here.”
“It’s on a password-protected site for now. We can make it public as soon as the buses are in sight. And Delaney’s rounding up a massive network of people to push it out on Twitter and Facebook and whatever other social media seem useful.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Then we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Any word from the zoo?”
“Caroline texted,” Brianna said. “Maybe five minutes ago? She said Operation Overlord is in motion. With three exclamation marks, so I assume that’s good news. Does it mean something to you?”
“Operation Overlord was the code name for the Battle of Normandy,” I said. “As in D-Day. So yeah, I assume it means the rest of our troops are on their way.”
“Good.”
What was not so good is that now we’d have to wait—how long? Twenty minutes, maybe, if Caroline had texted when they were already on their way. More like half an hour if she was merely announcing that they’d started loading. And I could already tell that thirty minutes here would feel like thirty hours.
Rachel slipped back into the kitchen.
“You might want to see this,” she said, pointing behind her.
Brianna and I followed her back to the bay windows.
Two more vehicles had arrived at the jail. Another police car—a much newer-looking one—had arrived and parked in the sheriff’s space.
Sitting beside it in one of the deputy spaces was a pickup truck whose bed was filled with red plastic gasoline cans.
“What do you suppose they’re doing with that?” Brianna asked.
“No idea,” Rachel said. “But it can’t be good.”
“Find out how much longer till the first bus gets here,” I said.
Brianna dashed back to the kitchen.
“I don’t like this,” Rachel muttered.
I didn’t either. I wasn’t sure what the Dingles could possibly be planning with several dozen gallons of gasoline, but I couldn’t like the look of it.
Another sedan pulled up and parked in one of the deputy slots. Mayor Dingle got out and walked quickly into the building.
The door to the kitchen opened.
“Fifteen minutes at the earliest,” Brianna said.
A deputy came out of the building, grabbed a pair of red gas containers, and carried them into the building.
“They could be up to something,” I said. “No idea what. I hope our diversion doesn’t arrive too late. Delaney’s recording all this, right?”
“Yup, every frame,” Brianna said.
“Tell her to go live as soon as the first bus appears.”
“Why can’t you tell her?” Brianna sounded suspicious.
“Because I’m going over there to figure out what they’re up to,” I said. “And if necessary, create a mini diversion until the big one arrives.”
I went through the kitchen, out the back door, and over to where Ekaterina and Janet appeared to be discussing the Dominion truck’s engine.
“This does not look good,” Ekaterina said. She nodded at a tiny monitor on which I could see what I gathered was the picture from the camera over our heads in the bucket.
“I’m going in to distract them.” I took off my fake Dominion hard hat and tossed it into the cab of the truck. They’d figure out how we’d sneaked in soon enough—no need to give them a clue.
“Would you like me to accompany you?” Ekaterina asked. “Strength in numbers.”
“I’d rather have you out here, keeping an eye on things,” I said. “If anything happens to me, you’re hereby in charge. If anything … bad seems to be happening, improvise something.”
“You may rely on me.”
Yes, I could.
I decided to approach the police station from the other side, so I ran along the back of the building beside the Burger Barn, and then the one beside that, until I reached an alley. I half ran to the mouth of the alley. Then I stopped, took a deep breath, and peered out into the street.
I could see the deputy disappearing into the building with another pair of gas cans.
Show time.
I stepped out of the alley and headed straight for the door of the station, setting a pace that I hoped looked reasonably nonchalant while covering ground efficiently.
The deputy reemerged from the door just as I started up the steps. He stopped dead in his tracks and stood staring at me.
“Good morning,” I said. “And Merry Christmas.”
Any of Chief Burke’s officers, man or woman, would have put down the box they were carrying to open the door for an arriving member of the public. This deputy—Deputy B. Peebles, by his name tag—just stared.
The deputy at the front desk—D. Plunket—looked equally surprised. Sheriff Dingle and Mayor Dingle, who were standing near the desk, looked not just surprised but downright unwelcoming. I pretended not to notice them. It was fairly easy to pull that off since the room had no lights other than a few camping lanterns scattered here and there.
Deputy Plunket didn’t react to my greeting any more warmly than his colleague.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted out.
Luckily while crossing the street I’d thought of an answer to that question.
“I came to report a stolen vehicle,” I said. “At least I originally thought it was stolen, but from what Chief Burke tells me it’s possible that it was merely towed by mistake. So maybe I should have said I need to reclaim a towed vehicle. I was hoping you’d be able to help me figure out which.”
I smiled what I thought was the harmless smile of someone confidently expecting help from the forces of law and order. Deputy Plunket just stared at me. Clearly the entire Clay County force could benefit from some remedial training in customer service.
“Let me handle this, Darnell,” Sheriff Dingle said. “So what can we do for you, Ms. Langslow?”
So he knew who I was. Probably to be expected, but still—creepy.
“My car’s missing.” I rattled off the make, model, year, and license plate number. It would have been nice if he’d even pretended to be taking notes, but Dingles weren’t noted for niceness.
“How come you came all the way over here to report it?” he asked. “Your car wouldn’t be here—unless you’ve been visiting my county without my knowing it?”
“I didn’t know it required a visa.” I bit back several even sharper things that occurred to me and told myself to chill. Getting them mad wouldn’t help. “Actually, I may have been visiting your county without knowing it myself. I drove out into the woods yesterday to find Randall Shiffley, and I found the place where his truck was parked. At least I assumed it was his truck—I have to admit, one pickup looks pretty much the same as another to me. Or one car, for that matter.”
All three of them were looking as if they thought I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. But I didn’t need to make sense—I just had to keep talking until the big diversion arrived. I leaned against the counter and tried to adopt the body language of someone who had absolutely nothing better to do with her morning than tell a long, convoluted tale.
“Anyway,” I went on, “I waited there awhile, and then I thought I’d poke around and see if I could find him—which turned out to be a pretty stupid idea, because I’m not much of a tracker. M
y sons have been learning about it in Scouts, and they’ve been trying to teach me about it, but I think I need a lot more practice. Or maybe there’s a knack, and I don’t have it. When I finally found my way back out of the woods to the road where I’d parked, my car was gone. I had to walk to the zoo, and someone there told me they’d seen a tow truck go by hauling my car away.”
“What makes you think it’s here in Clay County?” the sheriff asked.
“Well, neither Osgood Shiffley nor his cousin Wilmot has it,” I said. “And they own the only tow trucks in Caerphilly. So Chief Burke asked if I was sure I hadn’t crossed over into Clay County while looking for Randall. I didn’t think so, but who knows? Maybe I did and whoever tows for your county thought it was an abandoned vehicle and hauled it off by mistake. I came over so I could report it and get your help figuring out if it’s over here.”
I assumed the expression of someone who was confident that she has explained everything perfectly and could now expect to have all her problems resolved.
The two Dingles, sheriff and mayor, exchanged a look. Deputy B. Peebles peered in the front door, with a questioning look on his face. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could see two more red gas cans in his hands. Mayor Dingle waved him away.
“How come you were looking for Randall Shiffley in Clay County?” the sheriff asked.
“Well, was I? I thought I was looking for him in Caerphilly County,” I said. “But it was out by the zoo—that’s near the county line. Maybe I wandered over the line by mistake and the truck I thought was Randall’s was someone else’s.”
“I mean what was Randall doing wandering in the woods near the county line?”
Obviously he already knew what Randall had been doing. But it was probably a bad idea for me to bring it up. Inspiration struck.
“Looking for my grandfather,” I said. “He—Grandfather, that is, not Randall—was leading some people on a nature walk in the woods near the zoo and hasn’t come home yet, so Randall and some of his cousins went out to rescue them. Say, you haven’t seen any of them, have you? The reason I’m so much in a hurry to find my car is that I want to drive around and help look for them. It’d be great if some of your deputies could have a look around for Grandfather. I can give you a description: he’s—”
“You think your grandfather and his nature walk might have wandered across the county line by mistake?” I could tell by the slight look on the sheriff’s face that he thought it was pretty funny, asking me that when he knew all the time where Grandfather was.
And what was that noise I was hearing outside. Could it be—?
“He once came close to walking off a cliff because he was staring up in the sky at some rare bird,” I said aloud. “I don’t think he’d even notice a mere county line. I mean, it’s not as if there’s anything to mark the county line if you’re not on one of the main roads.”
Sheriff Dingle glanced at the mayor as if asking a question.
“Well, little lady,” the mayor began.
Deputy B. Peebles burst into the room.
“There’s something kind of weird going on out here,” he said. “I think you should come and see this.”
Mayor Dingle and Sheriff Dingle looked at each other, then turned to follow the deputy back out. But just as he opened the door for them—
“JOY TO THE WORLD! THE LORD IS COME!”
Christmas had arrived in Clay County.
Chapter 34
Both Dingles rushed outside to stand staring at the spectacle taking place in front of their jail. Deputy Plunket walked to the double front doors and peered out. I joined him.
Six buses had arrived and were discharging their passengers on one side of the street or the other. Only a few of the passengers had emerged from the buses, but they were all singing at the top of their lungs. As they disembarked, they were arranging themselves in a semicircle in front of the jail and the county office building, singing all the while. The far greater number still sitting in the buses had opened the windows so we could hear their singing better. Even the women climbing down the buses’ stairways sang all the way.
“LET EVERY HEART PREPARE HIM ROOM!”
Two of the buses were the special purple-and-gold ones used to transport the New Life Baptist Choir. Another was the one from First Presbyterian—thank you, Judge Jane. The remaining three were Caerphilly County school buses, which seemed to be what Mother and Robyn had rounded up to transport the ladies of St. Clotilda’s Guild.
Beyond the buses I could see a flock of smaller vehicles. The pink-and-purple paisley Volkswagen bus was there, and Seth Early’s sheep truck. Also two trucks from the zoo. I hoped Cordelia had been successful in convincing Caroline to leave the wolves at home.
“AND HEAVEN AND NATURE SING!
“AND HEAVEN AND NATURE SING!”
I decided to make sure my presence in the police station was known to the rest of the world, so if I disappeared they’d know where to start looking. With that in mind, I followed the Dingles out onto the wide concrete landing at the top of the jail steps. They glanced at me and hurriedly moved to the far right side of the landing, as if fearful that I’d overhear what they were saying.
Some of the singers waved to me. I waved back cheerfully.
I spotted Mother floating through the crowd. She appeared to have just arrived, which would have meant she didn’t come on any of the buses. Not surprising—the idea of Mother on a bus was rather hard to imagine. Two of my younger women cousins were trailing along after her carrying what looked like a stretcher. What was that for? Surely she wasn’t anticipating casualties, was she?
The cousins reached a spot near the center of the gathering choir and, under Mother’s direction, they unfurled a large banner that read MERRY CHRISTMAS, CLAY COUNTY!
Two more cousins hurried up carrying stands in which the poles holding the banner could be planted, and then all four cousins breathed a sigh of relief—obviously both pole and stands were heavy—and joined the singing multitudes.
I looked past the singers to see how the locals were reacting. A few people were standing on the sidewalk or peering out the doors or windows of nearby buildings. They didn’t look hostile. A little bewildered, some of them, but mostly curious or even friendly.
I thought of walking down the steps and joining the crowd. It would certainly feel more comfortable, being among friends and family. But I also suspected there might be an advantage to going back inside. Maybe I could find a way to communicate with the prisoners, or at least confirm that they were here and okay.
So I took a place just outside the doorway and remained a spectator to the Christmas caroling. “Joy to the World” was followed by “Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella.” During “Silent Night,” Rose Noire and the rest of the herbalists lit bundles of sage and circumnavigated the choir, smudging all the way. The Presbyterians brought out a set of hand bells and performed “The Holly and the Ivy” on them. Kayla Butler performed a solo on “O Holy Night,” which was beautiful, but I wondered what her mother would think. Then again, since the chief’s wife was here leading the choir, why not a deputy’s daughter doing a solo?
I decided to see what else I could learn inside. I opened the front door. Deputy Plunket frowned as if he wasn’t sure he should let me back in.
I walked in anyway.
“Mind if I use your ladies’ room?” I asked.
“We don’t have a ladies’ room.” His voice had the petty, triumphant air of someone who enjoys catching the small and meaningless mistakes of others. “We have a plain old one-stall bathroom over there.”
He pointed to a door in the far corner of the room. Over the door was a sign that seemed to have been sliced out of a piece of well-weathered driftwood, with the word HEAD burned into it in old English style letters. Charming.
“Thanks.” I was tempted to comment on the irony of finding a unisex bathroom in a place as backward as Clay County, but I decided it was better not to annoy them. Not yet, anyway.
The caroling was a little less overwhelming in here, but still easy to hear. They’d started “Good King Wenceslas.” Good—that had a lot of verses. I found myself thinking “maybe we’ve pulled it off,” but then I backpedaled. “Don’t jinx it,” I muttered. The prisoners were still prisoners. We hadn’t pulled off anything yet. We just hadn’t yet crashed and burned.
Now that it was clean—or at least noticeably less dirty—I used the toilet. Not because I had to all that badly, but in many ways I’d turned into Mother once I had kids of my own. I frequently found myself uttering sentences like “Go while you can, because if you wait until you really need to, there might not be a bathroom nearby.” And I usually took my own advice.
As I was washing my hands, my radio crackled into life.
“Meg? You there?” Delaney.
“Yes.”
“The other officer went outside. Looks as if you’re alone in the station.”
Clearly she’d been keeping up with the video of events outside the jail. I left the bathroom and looked around. Deputy Plunket had vanished. The Dingles had not returned.
“Yes, they’re all outside watching the performance,” I said. “The coast appears to be clear.”
“These guys are idiots!” she exclaimed.
“I’ve probably just done a good job of convincing them that I’m harmless,” I said. “I’m sure if they knew me better they’d be in here watching me like hawks.”
“No, they really are idiots. Just how stupid are these people?”
“Shall I assume that’s a rhetorical question, or do you really want me to attempt an answer?”
“I always thought Rob was exaggerating when he told stories about how backward Clay County was,” she went on. “I assumed it was just some long-standing intercounty rivalry turned toxic. In fact, sometimes I thought you guys were all just a little mean, what with some of the things you’d say about Clay County. But oh, my God! You weren’t exaggerating!”