"But I'm on to him," Ed told his reflection in the shop mirror. He leaned in, snipped the hairs in his nose then paused to sneeze. After wiping the snot from the mirror he smiled. "Yes I am, Jinx. I'm on to you this time, you bald old fart. And I'm smarter now."
Smart enough to know Jinx wouldn't be happy until Ed was dead and Len was in his place. Jinx hated Len, too, but Len fit into his plans for the next generation. Young, strong Len, the next Kisner on the council. There would be no Lahr progeny on the council. Old Jinx and his worthless sperm.
Why else would he have no children? Ed had seen the man spark plenty of women in his time, but every oven remained cool. Jinx was obviously sterile. Jinx and Gil Schwarz, the mutant brothers. Their Schwarzness was the only explanation for their sterility. God didn't like their faces.
And Jinx's childlessness was all the more reason for him to hate Ed with such passion. Len was a fine specimen, healthy, solidly built, and smart like his daddy. Most of the other council members had come up with three or four girls before a boy was born. Ed's toothless grandmother told him that in the old days men shopped around if the wife didn't come up with a boy after the first two tries. It started with the original adopted that had to steal their wives from families passing through. Wilbur Denke wouldn't have approved of the shopping method, but then Denke's only son had been a queer boy who'd found himself mysteriously (Schwarzly) murdered before he ever needed a wife. And lots of wives were needed. If the first one didn't work out another was stolen and on and on until a son was finally born. If woman-stealing had still been in practice in his parents' day, Ed thought the triple-murder tragedy before Jinx Lahr's birth would never have happened.
But by then, of course, woman-stealing was dangerous and risky. Divorce was preferable to prison, and by the next generation even divorce was made more difficult. A man could be robbed legally.
Ed had been lucky to come up with Len on the first try. The other men’s’ wives looked like fifty miles of bad road by the time a son came along, poor saggy-bellied things. Nobody cared about daughters. If they were Eskimos, Ed often thought the female infants would have been killed. They did that sometimes, those Eskimos. If the men in old Denke had thought of it, Ed supposed they'd have killed girl babies too. In present Denke, girl babies outnumbered the boy babies by about seven to one.
God again, Ed thought, a subtle means to phase out the Denke way of doing things. Ed himself had a great deal of respect for the female gender. They did it right. They got upset about the little things as a means of releasing tension, so when the big stuff came they didn't fall over dead of a heart attack from the stress. That's why they lived longer. They got upset over the little things.
His wife was upset because Coral Nenndorf had stopped talking to her. Ed was surprised she cared. Coral was a ghoulish-looking spook with all that makeup and fake stuff. But she sure as hell thought she was high society, and since she thought so, everyone else was supposed to think so too. Ed didn't. Made him want to bare his dentures just to think about that fingernail-clicking bitch. She liked to lord it over the other women because she believed she was the only female in on the real lowdown about Denke. She probably wasn't, all things told. Females were a hell of a lot smarter than they liked to let on—Coral, of course, being the exception. She let on like she was a hell of a lot smarter than she really was. Once she'd even told her husband that she honestly believed the womenfolk could do a better job than the men had. All they needed was a chance to prove it.
That was a real laugh. You didn't send women out to do the hunting. They could handle the syringe maybe, but the blade? No way.
Coral and her damn high-minded ideas. She would hint around to the other gals but never give. She liked to keep the golden key of knowledge to herself, and if there was one thing that pissed women off in immense proportions it was that sister of a cockteaser, the infuriating talk-teaser.
Naturally, Ed's wife took out her own frustrations on him. Why was he making everyone so angry with him? Do what they want, Ed, whatever it is. We've known these people all our lives. We need them. I need them.
Well, Bossy, old Ed says you don't. Who gives a damn if I cut any hair today? I don't. Let it grow down around their hairy butts for all I care. And let 'em slit each other's throats while Jinx is gone. I could give a whistling shit. Let Vic Kimmler clean up the blood. I never liked being the law anyway.
Still . . . Yeah, he did feel kinda sorry for Vic. The sorry dummy still didn't know what he was getting himself into. Funny, but he was the only stupid Kimmler to have come down the line. All the Kimmler’s before him had been smart as whips. That's why they'd always been in charge. The very first Kimmler, one of the last boys to be adopted by Wilbur and Adelaide, was said to have been quite the little Einstein. A far cry from the sappy Vic, Ed decided.
Once Doc changed the prescription a few more times Jinx would have young Vic eating out of his hand—if he didn't already. Ed had seen the way Jinx and the others were buddying up to the newcomer. Even the ones who had sent their own sons away were happy to have the new, younger blood, all but Gil Schwarz, who was still angry about the mare business. He couldn't believe Vic would take the word of a woman over his own. It wasn't right. Men just didn't do that.
Not Denke men, anyway, Ed thought. And Schwarz was still frothing at the mouth over what that Wulf guy had done with his pistol. Gil claimed he was going to follow him when he left town and run that convertible off the highway. Then he intended to rip Wulf's heart out and eat it before his very eyes as he died.
That's what he said, anyway. Gil was colorful sometimes. Most crazy people were. Trouble was Gil would do just that if Jinx didn't chain him to a chair the day Wulf left town.
Personally, Ed thought Wulf's aim should've been lower. He knew he'd wake up and breathe easier tomorrow if Schwarz was kissing dirt. Any day now, Jinx would turn the tide of Denke opinion against old Ed Kisner's continuing existence. Ed wasn't going to be able to coast along like he previously imagined. He guessed he made his own opinions known and openly disagreed with Jinx Lahr once too often in the last few weeks. Someday soon he might find his own car being forced off the road by a grinning Gil Schwarz. And in view of his reluctance to find his flesh between those fierce white teeth, he knew he had to do something about the situation.
He left the mirror and walked to the window of the shop. The streets were empty. Too hot for visiting, sitting on porches or taking summer's day walks. There was a lone car in front of Jinx's diner, Darwin's big Lincoln. Sunlight glared off the chrome.
Money, Ed thought. If I'm going to leave here, I need money, money to buy Len some land far away from here. Have to get him out of Denke, and probably have to tell him the truth to do it, the whole truth. But he'll go. He's got a good head on his shoulders. He'll be sickened by the things his father has done—maybe even hate me—but I have to do it. Can't let Jinx have him. I won't. Things aren't going to change all by themselves. Someone has to start the ball rolling and it might as well be me. I'll be remembered for that if nothing else.
But where was he going to get the money he needed? To leave he would need a lot, enough to see himself and his son safely away. Bossy could stay. She needed these people, remember?
He clenched his pale fists suddenly. If he was as smart as he liked to think he was he'd have been saving a diamond ring here and a gold watch there instead of giving everything to Jinx. He should have—
His gaze flitted back to the diner. Jinx...
Jinx had himself a safe in that back room. Among the council members it was known as the First Bank of Denke. There was money in that safe. The town’s money.
Ed wondered how much was inside. Jinx lied to them all the time about how much they had. Ed knew he did, because Ed wrote down a few figures himself from time to time and most of those times his figures didn't agree with Jinx's figures. He knew Jinx liked to think he was the only one any good at mathematics, but Ed had learned a few things while Len was in school. He learned ever
ything he missed in his own schooling, including fractions.
His eyes began to water as he stared at the diner. The glass. The brick. The wood. The doors, naturally, would be locked. Jinx was a suspicious bastard.
But Jinx was gone. Gone to get more money.
Ed smiled to himself and blew out a few stray clipped nose hairs as he breathed. Dare he? Dare he do what he was contemplating? This was his home, after all. He had known these people all his life. Every man, woman and child, every shop, every house, every... His brows drew together as a small, midnight blue foreign job cruised slowly down the empty street.
Nope. He didn't know that car.
He walked to the door and poked his head out to watch the car's progress. It sped up as it left the town proper. Just an idle gawker? Or was the man behind the wheel kin to the two in the chewed up Buick? The ones who were after young Calvin Callahan.
Poor Myra, Ed thought. Then he looked back to the diner again and the smile returned to his face. Poor Jinx. Yessir. A shame he was going to miss that dance in the church hall tomorrow night. Everyone in town would be there.
Everyone but Ed.
CHAPTER 27
Christa knew Myra wanted to talk to her and she wished the woman would just get it over with instead of looking at her in such a funny way. Christa was so nervous she couldn't eat her breakfast. And Myra didn't look good. There were dark places under her blue eyes and her face always looked tired lately. Tired and white and worried.
Myra was probably sick. Sick and going to die. That's what she wanted to talk to Christa about, just like Christa's mother had done. Sometime today Myra was going to sit her down and explain that soon she would be going away. Forever.
Moisture filled Christa's eyes as she stared down at her cereal. She looked up only when Andy lifted her bowl to her mouth and began to slurp down her milk.
"Andy, don't do that. Daddy says only slobs do that."
A loud belch was Andy's reply.
Cal and Uncle Nolan laughed. Christa wiped her eyes and pushed her own cereal bowl aside.
Myra watched her. "You haven't eaten very much, honey. Not hungry this morning?"
Christa shook her head. "Not really." She glanced around at the other faces before looking back to Myra. Her eyes welled up again. "Myra, are you sick?"
Andy dropped her bowl to the table with a loud clatter. When she saw Christa's eyes, her own began to fill. Cal stared suddenly at his mother, his expression worried.
"No," Myra said quickly. Her gaze went to each of them in swift succession. "I'm not sick. What gave you that idea?"
"You look sick," Christa said on a half-sob. "You look like my mom did."
Andy looked from Christa to Myra and then back to Christa again before echoing her sister's sob. Nolan dropped his spoon and reached over to lift Andy from her chair. "Hush," he said as he put her on his lap. "Myra's not sick she's just having trouble sleeping." He looked at Christa. "You have nightmares sometimes, don't you?"
Christa nodded.
"And they keep you awake sometimes, don't they?" She nodded again.
"Well, kids don't corner the market on scary dreams," he told her. "Adults have nightmares, too, and lots of times we lose sleep because of them. Right, Myra?"
Myra was still looking at Christa. "That's right, honey. I'm not sick."
Cal's release of breath was loud. "Why don't you take the fan from now on, Mom? I don't need it."
Myra smiled at him. "Thanks, Cal. You keep it." She darted another furtive glance at Christa. "I don't think it would help."
"Come on now." Nolan slid Andy off his lap and pointed her toward the pantry. "I'll bet those kittens are wondering where their morning milk is. Cal, did you milk the goat yet?"
"I'll do it now." Cal left his chair and followed Andy to the door. "Are you coming?" he asked Christa over his shoulder.
"Not right now." She wiped her eyes again and stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom."
While there she wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. She threw the wadded tissues at the wastebasket and missed. She resisted the temptation to leave it there—like Andy always did—and bent over to pick it up. Underneath the tissue, right beside the base of the toilet, was a little white pill. She picked that up, too. This was dangerous. Andy could get this and swallow it. She would have to give it to Myra to put away.
She was glad Myra wasn't sick. She liked Myra a lot. She reminded Christa of the last teacher she'd had, the pretty Mrs. Shellhammer.
Christa slipped the pill into her shorts pocket and raised herself on the tip of her toes to look in the mirror. Her dark hair and brown eyes seemed plain compared to the golden blond looks of Myra and Cal. And Cal was so smart. He was so smart he seemed like a grownup sometimes—mostly when he treated her like a baby.
With a long sigh she left the bathroom to return to the dining room. She stopped in the doorway. Uncle Nolan was bent over Myra's chair and he had his arms around her from behind. Myra's head was leaning back against him. Christa edged closer to hear what he was saying.
". . .in my room. Both of us might get some sleep for a change. Did you know I played with your nipples after you finally drifted off last night?"
Myra smiled. "Liar."
"Okay, I just thought about it. Seriously though, you really do look worn down."
"I know," Myra said. "But I don't think sleeping with you is the cure."
"You never know till you try," Nolan said with a low laugh. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the big bad Wulf?"
"Hardly," Myra answered. "I've heard he's all blow and no go."
Christa stepped forward. "Only with little pigs."
Myra's head jerked up and Uncle Nolan laughed. He released Myra and turned to sweep Christa off the floor. After tickling her ribs and making her laugh he lowered her back down again. "The only girls who aren't afraid of me are nine years old and under. Christa, tell her I'm harmless."
Christa pulled at her bunched-up shorts. "He's just a heartbreaker, Myra. Daddy said so. He doesn't really hurt girls he just loves them and leaves them."
Myra burst out laughing. Nolan's smile turned into a dark scowl. "Thanks a lot, kid. When did your dad tell you that?"
Christa smiled at his mock anger. "He said it a lot of times. That's why I remembered it."
"Great." Without another word, Nolan turned and left the room. Christa stared after him, suddenly unsure whether he had been playing mad or not.
"Never mind," Myra said. "He'll get over it. The truth always hurts."
Christa went to her and put a hand on her arm. "I'm really glad you're okay. I didn't want you to be sick."
Myra turned in her chair to embrace her. "I'm just fine. I promise."
"Good." Christa hugged her hard. Then she leaned back. "Maybe you should sleep with Uncle Nolan—if it would help you rest, I mean."
Myra looked away and cleared her throat. "I don't think it would help, Christa. Probably just the opposite."
"Are you really afraid of him?" Christa asked.
"Not in the way you mean, no."
"But you are in another way?"
Myra tried to smile. "Let's not talk about Uncle Nolan any more, all right?"
"Are you afraid he'll break your heart?" Christa pressed.
"Something like that," Myra answered. "Now, that's the end of that conversation. Would you like to help me clear the breakfast dishes from the table?"
"Maybe you should let me do it," Christa said. "If you want, you can go upstairs and try to go to sleep. I won't let anybody wake you up."
Myra's eyes suddenly clouded. Her voice dropped to a low murmur. "Not even her?"
"Who?" Christa asked. The look on Myra's face was strange. It made Christa uncomfortable.
"It's a woman, isn't it?" Myra said. "It's a woman, and she's this Drusie person that you and Andy talk about sometimes."
Christa froze. "Drusie?"
"Yes," Myra said. Her mouth began to quiver. "Please help me, Christa. Do you know wha
t I'm talking about?"
Slowly, Christa nodded. "Her name is Drusilla."
Myra put a hand to her mouth. "Does she... show you things? Terrible things?"
"No," Christa said. "Drusie's our friend. I think she used to live here."
Myra was crying now. "Oh God, I knew it. Ask her to leave me alone. Please, Christa. I don't know what she wants and I've been going out of my mind with the things she's shown me. She uses me to ... I don't even know what I'm saying here."
Christa put a hand on her shoulder. "I know, Myra. I know what you mean. She takes something from us so we can see her and it makes us tired. Is she giving you the bad dreams at night?"
"Yes." Myra wiped her nose with a trembling hand. "What is she trying to tell me? What does she want?"
"She wants us to leave," Christa said simply.
Myra stared at her. "Why?"
"Because something terrible is going to happen if we stay. She told me so."
"How? Can she talk?"
"Not really, but I always know what she's saying. Haven't you seen her? Her lips move but she doesn't have a voice. And her hair is always wet."
Myra put her face in her hands. "I haven't seen her I've been her every night. I know when she's around me, though, I can feel her. The day I had my nosebleed, that was her. You knew that, didn't you?"
"Uh-huh," Christa said. "But I couldn't tell you. I thought you might get upset like Daddy did."
"Upset?" Myra repeated. A terrible cracking sound came from her throat as she tried to laugh. "Over a little thing like a ghost?"
"She's not a ghost," Christa said firmly. "Drusilla isn't dead. I know, because I asked her if she'd seen my mom in heaven. Drusie hasn't been there yet."
Myra was staring at her again. "Christa, why doesn't she talk to me? Why does she show me all these gory things when she could just talk to me?"
Christa frowned in thought. "I don't think she can. If she could, she would've talked to Daddy by now. She wants us to get away from here. When I told her Daddy had decided to stay, she made a terrible noise in my head like the day I spilled the Kool-Aid. It was awful."
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