Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

  Taking the flashlight, Elva trained it into the grave. Cudge slid in near Lenny’s feet and grasped the body near the shoulders to turn it. Some demon of perversity made Elva flash the light on Lenny’s face just as Cudge turned him over.

  “God!” Scrambling as though his life depended on it, Balog climbed out of the hole, his stomach heaving, his lower intestines loosening. The underbrush holding his legs seemed to be Lenny’s hands pulling him back into the grave. He propelled himself forward into the darkness, where he retched and felt himself almost foul his pants.

  “Cudge, Cudge, you all right? I didn’t mean for the light . . .”

  “So help me, Elva, what the hell’s wrong with you anyway ?” Cudge spat, clearing his mouth, knowing the sour taste of his own bile. “Get that shovel and start covering him over, and if you stop, even for a minute, you’re going in there with him. You got me?”

  Elva grabbed the shovel, pushing the dirt into the hole to cover Lenny as fast as she could. She’d seen Lenny’s face, and it was something she never wanted to see again. It was worse than what had happened to BJ.

  Twenty minutes later, they were finished. Cudge played the flashlight around the area, scanning the gully till he was satisfied everything looked normal. At the last minute he added a fallen branch, heavy with red-gold leaves, to the new grave.

  “Can we go now, Cudge? I hate this place, I really hate it.” In the chill night air, Elva shivered all the way back to the campsite.

  “There’s no point in hanging around here,” Cudge told her in the light of their campfire. He brushed the dirt from his jeans. “I’m going to take a ride and find a bar. I need a few beers. You’re staying here so nothing looks suspicious.”

  “You want me to stay in that pop-up after . . . Cudge, a dead body was in there and it stinks.”

  “The stink is your own fault. Just where else do you think you’re gonna sleep tonight? It’s cold out here and we’ve only got thin blankets. What’s the matter, Elva—afraid of spooks coming back to haunt you?” he taunted.

  “I’m not as scared as you,” she shot back. “I ain’t the one who almost shit his pants.”

  Without another word, Cudge jumped into the pickup and drove down the road. The taillights became fainter and fainter until they were just tiny red eyes staring at her through the darkness. Now she was all alone in the darkness, with Lenny’s body only yards away in the gully. It was like being left in a graveyard. Death was all around—she could feel it and smell it. It was cold, so cold. If only she wasn’t afraid to go into the camper, but Lenny’s body had been there for all those hours.

  A gust of wind swayed the trees, knocking a dead branch to the ground near her feet. Elva screamed and covered her face with her bony hands. Then she crawled up the steps into the pop-up.

  Chapter 5

  Morning arrived fresh and clear. The sunlight streaming through the hardwood trees sent a kaleidoscope of color through the motor home windows. Davey climbed down out of bed, yawned and looked around for Duffy.

  “I let her out to go to the bathroom,” Lorrie said, hugging him. Davey yawned again. “You are a sleepyhead this morning, aren’t you?” Lorrie kissed his forehead, discreetly checking for fever. It was cool. He was fine. And she was a worrier. “After you get dressed, I thought we’d go fishing for an hour or so, then we’ll break camp and head for our next destination.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.” She hunkered down to his level. “But you’re gonna love it.” She brushed his light, silky hair back from his forehead. It would need cutting soon.

  “I am?”

  “Yep. Now get a move on. Time’s a’wastin’,” she said, patting him on the backside. As soon as she stood up, she heard Duffy barking outside the door. “C’mon, girl. Time for you to eat, too,” she said, opening the door. The little dog bounded up the steps into the motor home and greeted Davey as if she hadn’t seen him in a week.

  Breakfast consisted of cereal, a banana, chocolate milk and a cupcake. Afterwards, Davey and Lorrie got their fishing gear and headed toward the pond.

  “They don’t seem to be biting,” Lorrie said morosely after only fifteen minutes.

  “How do you know there are any fish in the pond?”

  “I don’t, but it looks like a good place for fish, doesn’t it? Besides, Davey my boy, there’s more to fishing than meets the eye. It’s not always important to bring home the dinner, if you know what I mean.”

  Davey looked up at his aunt, his head tilted to one side, trying to understand.

  “Look, it’s this way. Fishing is about getting out into the fresh air and sunshine. You sit around, watch the water, listen to the birds, and commune with nature. Understand?”

  “I guess. If you say so.”

  “Davey, you have the instincts of a true sportsman!”

  It was nice when Aunt Lorrie smiled at him the way she was now. Her eyes got crinkly and it made Davey feel warm inside.

  “Tell you what. We’ve got a little time to kill before we take off, so why don’t you take Duffy for a short walk and I’ll stay here and fish. I’ll prop your pole up and whistle if there’s a tug on your line. Then you can come back and reel in your fish. How’s that?”

  “Aunt Lorrie, maybe if you didn’t whistle, the fish would bite.”

  “Davey! I have to whistle to let the fish know where to find the bait.” She watched with amusement as Davey pondered her answer. When the boy shook his head from side to side, Lorrie burst into laughter. It was clear Davey had his own views on fishing.

  Elva watched Cudge sleep. Even though she had pretended to be asleep when he’d returned to the camper in the early morning hours, she hadn’t been able to relax. He had come back drunk; within seconds he’d fallen across the bunk, his loud snores bouncing off the canvas walls of the pop-up. She had been even more afraid with him there than she had been alone. She’d seen him like this before, many times. When Cudge got drunk, he got even meaner.

  Inside the pop-up everything smelled of mold and mildew, sour liquor, and mothballs. Bright sunlight shone through the nylon mesh windows, which were backed by clear plastic to keep out the wind. The plastic warped the sun’s rays, making lacy patterns on the filthy floor. Elva scraped at the floor with the toe of her shoe. The grime was embedded so deeply that her rubber sole left no mark. That annoyed her still more.

  Elva needed to use the bathroom. There was a pot stashed in the camper, but she didn’t want to use that. There were showers and bathrooms at the end of the road, but she didn’t want to have to walk that far. She decided to wait.

  Cudge mumbled in his sleep and thrashed about on the narrow bunk. Elva held her breath. Was he going to wake up or would he sleep some more? His long arm hung disjointedly ; from where she sat she could read the numerals on his watch. Ten minutes past eight.

  Most people were up by eight o’clock. The woman and boy in the RV across the pond were probably up and eating their breakfast. Maybe they were finished with breakfast by now—they were probably arranging their day, the kitchen all tidied up, both of them dressed in neat, clean clothes. They must have money, Elva decided. You had to have money to drive an RV that only got six or eight miles to the gallon, and dress your kid in new clothes to go camping!

  Slowly Elva stretched one cramped leg from beneath her. She rubbed her aching calf before bringing her other leg out straight in front of her, careful not to make a sound. She took turns massaging each leg and, when she was certain she could stand, she slowly inched to her knees, holding onto the handle of the small refrigerator door for support.

  A hand gripped her from behind and she heard Cudge’s voice. “Wherever you thought you were going, Elva, forget it. We have something we have to do this morning, and then we’ll get out of here.”

  “I wasn’t going nowhere. And what do we have to do this morning?” She was surprised to see him so lucid and alert. Something told her that he had been awake all this time, thinking. And when
Cudge Balog started thinking, it didn’t bode well for her.

  Balog swung his legs over the side of the bunk. His watchful eyes never left Elva’s face. “We have to dig Lenny up.”

  Elva gasped, the wind knocked from her. The thought of going down into that gully, even in bright daylight, started her shaking. “Why?”

  “ ’Cause we don’t have any money, that’s why. Lenny was on his way to a crap game, wasn’t he? Well, he wouldn’t go unless he was well heeled. I blew what money I had last night in the tavern, or else I was rolled in the can. Don’t open your yap, Elva; I’m in no mood for you.”

  Oh, God! She couldn’t look into that hole again and see Lenny’s eyes staring up at her. It was a sin to open a grave, wasn’t it? She couldn’t do it; but one look at Cudge’s face told her she would.

  Standing, he loomed over her. “You’re the one with the bright ideas, so how come you never thought about taking the money out of Lenny’s pockets? Why do I have to think of everything? Every cent we’ve got is buried in that hole with what’s left of Lenny Lombardi.”

  Cudge was looking at her strangely. And his voice, while hardly pleasant, was different somehow. He wasn’t yelling. Normally, he’d be yelling at her. Something about him was making Elva’s flesh crawl.

  “Go outside and take a look around. Where’s that Kool-Aid you made last night? Christ, I feel as though my mouth’s lined with cotton.”

  Elva handed him the plastic pitcher of grape Kool-Aid. “We can’t go down there in the daytime. Somebody might see.”

  “So what if they see? All they’ll see is us taking a little walk. What’s wrong with that? One of us will stand guard while the other digs Lenny up. We need that money.”

  All Elva heard was the word “we.” “We” meant both of them, which made them a couple. She liked it that Cudge was thinking of them in those terms. It made her feel special, like she meant something to him.

  “Go outside and see if anybody’s moving around out there. We don’t want anybody to come up on us when we have Lenny laid bare to the daylight.” He laughed, a horrible sound that made the bile rise in Elva’s throat. She nodded and closed the door behind her.

  Shading her eyes as she peered off into the distance, she couldn’t see anyone or anything. The campground was thick with trees and undergrowth, making it impossible to see very far in any direction. The campsites were all set away from the road, with a modicum of privacy. Off in the direction of the pond and the gully there was nothing to be seen. With only two other camping parties besides themselves, Elva really hadn’t expected to see anyone.

  Stepping out beyond the perimeter of their campsite into the bushes, she dropped her jeans to her ankles. She’d better go now, otherwise she’d probably pee in her pants when Cudge opened Lenny’s grave. Cudge’s bellow made her hurry, pulling her jeans up quickly.

  “Took you long enough,” he grumbled as she stepped back into the clearing. “Get over here and give me a hand with the camper. I’m going to close up the sides so’s all we have to do when we’re finished is throw the shovels in and crank the top down.”

  Obediently, Elva helped him fold in the canvas eaves and put away the barbecue grill and utensils they had used the day before. She knew they should have been put in before the canvas eaves were folded, but she was afraid to argue with Cudge this morning. In went the ice chest, the nearly empty bag of briquettes, and the dirty frying pan. Used paper plates and plastic cups littered the campsite and she began to clear the area.

  “Leave it! We paid enough to stay here; let them clean it up. I ain’t no garbage picker. Grab the shovel and let’s go.”

  Following him through the woods, Elva dragged her feet. The thought of what they were about to do revolted her. It was a sin, she knew it.

  At the edge of the pond Cudge stopped, coming up short, waving her back with his hand. Across the pond, a woman sat fishing. “Dumb broad, she’s not going to catch anything there,” Balog whispered. “I don’t like it.”

  “Me neither. Cudge, let’s forget it. Huh? It’s a sin to dig up a body. I know it is.”

  “Shut up. It don’t look like she’s going to walk this way, and even if she did, it’d take her a while to go around the pond to the gully. By that time, we’ll have old Lenny dug up and planted again. This time, permanently.”

  Elva swallowed hard as she followed Cudge.

  Davey tossed a stick high in the air, watching to see where it would land. “Go get it, Duff. Bring it back.” The little dog scampered off to do his bidding. Davey followed her into the grove of trees that circled the pond.

  Again and again he threw the stick and followed Duffy. Once or twice he turned around and looked back; his Aunt Lorrie was growing smaller and smaller as he walked away. Now he couldn’t see her at all. Looking at his watch, he realized he’d walked for three numbers, and his eyes widened as he looked around him. He was on the other side of the pond now, the side where the mean man was camping.

  His first thought was of Duffy. He could see her, carrying the stick back. There was a funny smell in the air. The smell like his snow jacket. “Good girl, Duffy. Here, give me the stick. Time to go back and see if we’ve caught any fish. I don’t like it over here; I don’t like the way it smells.”

  Duffy cocked her head to one side, growling deep in her throat. Someone was there. Davey looked around, trying to detect the direction the sound came from. He thought he heard a voice. He held his arms out to Duffy who needed no second urging. “Shhh,” Davey whispered close to the dog’s ear. “It’s that mean man. Be real quiet, Duff.”

  The little boy moved away from where he thought the sounds were coming; crouching low. Afraid for his dog, he went deeper into the woods, hiding in the low growth of scrubby pines.

  He heard the sounds again, and he knew he had chosen the wrong direction. They were there, right in front of him. He could look between the green branches and see them. “Quiet, Duff. Quiet. That man said he’d kill you if he saw you again. We have to be still, and hide and wait till they go away.” Davey wished he and Duffy hadn’t walked so far, hadn’t gone out of earshot of Aunt Lorrie.

  The girl who looked like his babysitter kept wiping at her eyes. She looked scared. The man was digging with a short-handled shovel, and it crossed Davey’s mind that he was digging for buried treasure. Davey wanted to know what was in the ditch; he wanted to see what buried treasure looked like. He dropped to his knees to get a better look and accidentally let go of Duffy.

  “I hit something,” Cudge said. “God, he’s buried deeper than I thought.”

  Elva forced herself to look down into the open grave. She couldn’t speak; her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Davey looked at the open hole. A man’s shoe. A man’s leg. A blanket. What was the man doing in the hole, and why did the mean man have to dig out the dirt?

  The truth dawned on Davey. After his cat had been run over by a car, his dad had dug a hole in the backyard and buried him. His dad wrapped the cat in a clean towel, not like the dirty blanket the man was wrapped in. When you were dead and didn’t breathe anymore, they put you in a hole and planted flowers. But there weren’t any flowers here. He felt a vague disappointment that he wasn’t going to see a buried treasure of gold coins and jewels. Just a dead man.

  “Get in there and go through Lenny’s pockets, Elva.” Cudge’s voice was cool and controlled. He had purposely kept a thick layer of soil over Lenny’s face, knowing he didn’t have the stomach to see it in broad daylight. Besides, something was eating at him. Elva kept saying it was a sin to open a grave. What the hell? It was a sin to kill!

  “What? I can’t . . . no, Cudge, I won’t do that. I’ll puke.” Elva’s face was a sickly green.

  “Do what I tell you and quit your yapping. We need that money, Elva. I did all the digging.”

  His last remark stopped her. Illogically, she saw the practicality in what he wanted her to do. And he had done all the digging. Hesitantly, she jumped down and bra
ced her legs on either side of Lenny’s, trying hard not to retch.

  Cudge saw her hesitate. “C’mon, Elva, we ain’t got all day. Just get the wallet. Try the back right-hand pocket first.”

  Elva’s hand made contact with the blanket, but it might have been the slime of a giant slug, the way it made her recoil.

  “Do it, damn it! Get it and hand it up!”

  Lenny was heavy and cold. She could feel how cold he was, right through the blanket, even through his clothes. She managed to lift him slightly and get her hand underneath him, feeling for the rectangular bulge that would be his wallet. Closing her eyes, she found it and pulled it free. Cudge reached down and grabbed it away from her.

  “Good girl, now try the other pockets. He must have had a good-sized roll.” While Elva struggled with her revulsion and Lenny’s stiff body, Cudge opened the wallet and pulled out two twenties and a single. “Find it, Elva. This can’t be all he had. Lenny liked to go into a game well heeled.” Putting the bills into his own pockets, he dropped the wallet onto Lenny’s chest.

  “I think I got it, Cudge,” Elva told him, her spirits lifting because he had called her a good girl. “It’s a wad, all right.”

  “Hand it over.” Must be a couple of hundred dollars, he told himself, satisfied. Ol’ Lenny was worth a lot more dead than alive. “Try those other pockets.”

  “I already did and there was nothing. Cudge, I don’t want to touch him anymore. And jeez, this blanket stinks. I think we used too many mothballs.”

  “Search him, Elva, do like I tell you.” His hands closed over the shovel handle, eyes intent, watching. He wouldn’t like hitting Elva and rolling her into Lenny’s grave, but he had to do it. She was stupid, and stupid was dangerous.