by Judy Clemens
Casey counted sixty or so people—maybe seventy?—in the flickering light. It was hard to get an accurate count because people kept coming and going to get snacks or use the store’s restrooms or simply change seats to join a different group. Casey recognized a handful of customers who had come into the store, but most were complete strangers. They ranged from toddlers to old folks, men, women, teenagers, kids of all ages. Some had brought dogs, in most cases better behaved than some of the children. Apparently Vern and Dottie’s backyard was the place to be that night.
She thought, with a shock, that most likely one of them put that anonymous note on Vern and Dottie’s doorstep.
Casey watched for anyone who looked guilty or suspicious, but seeing how she didn’t know them, it was an impossible task. Flower Pants and her friend took seats close to the drinks table, directly in Vern’s line of vision, although he did his best to ignore them. Casey wouldn’t put it past those two to do something hurtful to Dottie, but would they do something that would also hurt Vern?
Surprisingly, the crabby cappuccino woman was there, sitting with a man Casey hadn’t seen before but who could be her husband, except for the way she rolled her eyes at him. But then, maybe that meant they were married. Did the woman’s irritability extend to everyone, or focus on the Dailys and anyone associated with them? And the poor guy sitting beside her.
Even Lance Victor and his angry buddy Coop were there, huddled in the far corner with several other teenagers. They weren’t smoking, most likely because they’d get yelled at. She didn’t trust them not to do something else stupid, though, seeing how they’d already done something dumb the night before. Besides, why would a bunch of teenagers be hanging around a family movie with all of the town’s old people and children? She’d keep an eye on them.
“You’re living here?” Nell, the white-haired girl from earlier in the day, stood in front of her.
Casey scooted to the side of the step and Nell plopped down beside her. She still wore the Beck’s sweatshirt, jeans, and pink boots, but had added a long necklace with a bunch of charms including a knife, a book, and a unicorn.
“They have a room in their basement. I’m staying there for now.”
Nell nodded, a Tootsie Pop pushing out her cheek.
“What flavor?” Casey asked.
“Root Beer. It’s my favorite.”
“I like sour apple.”
Nell tipped her head, her bright white hair falling to the side. “Those make my mouth water.”
Casey laughed, then stopped as people glared at her.
“Sorry,” she breathed.
Nell giggled. “It’s okay,” She spoke in a stage whisper. “People get real serious about movies.”
“You don’t?”
“Not this kind.”
“What kind do you like?”
“Scary ones.”
“Right.” Casey remembered the book Nell had lent her. “So who all do we have here tonight?”
“Nobody. I mean, the usual.”
“But who’s the usual? Is your grandpa here?”
She pointed to some older men in the back. “He’s the one with suspenders. I keep telling him that’s not cool, but he doesn’t care.”
“They usually don’t. What about your folks?” Casey hadn’t seen the woman with the white hair, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t slipped in. Assuming she actually was Nell’s mother.
“Nah. They don’t come. I’m staying overnight with Grandpa, so they probably went out to eat or something. Then Mom has to work tonight. She’s a nurse.”
Casey pointed toward the crabby woman. “Do you know who that is?”
Nell followed her finger. “That’s Annie’s mom.”
“Annie’s a friend of yours?”
“Not really. She’s sitting over there.” She indicated the group of giggling girls Casey had served earlier. They were Nell’s age, maybe a year or two older, perched like a bunch of self-conscious cats on a blanket, where they pretended not to know a group of guys behind them watched everything they did. Casey didn’t remember ever acting so silly, but she probably had. Nell, with her odd seriousness, probably hadn’t.
“Do you know anything about her?” she asked.
“Annie?”
“Her mom.”
“No. But Annie’s grandpa died last month. She doesn’t have a grandma, either. My mom says she left a really long time ago. I don’t think Annie ever knew her.”
“What do you mean, she left?”
Nell shrugged. “I don’t know. She just…left.”
Something in the movie banged, and the blanket girls all jumped and shrieked. The guys crossed their arms and swaggered, like they hadn’t been startled by the noise or noticed the girls’ reactions.
The screen door behind Casey squeaked open, and Dottie stepped out. Casey and Nell jumped up to let her down the steps. Casey offered her hand, which Dottie accepted. “Thank you. It’s a little dark to be doing this.” The sun had set completely now, and the sky was black. Vern had turned off the store’s security lights to make it easier to view the movie, so the steps were lit only by the flickering light from the screen.
“We got you,” Casey said.
But Nell had moved back, her eyes wide as Dottie moved painfully down the stairs. Casey stepped around to get a better grip on Dottie’s arm, since Nell obviously didn’t want to help.
Once Dottie had navigated the last step, Casey accompanied her to a sturdy lawn chair, which sat beside one other empty seat. Vern’s, perhaps.
“You all right here?” Casey asked.
“Oh, yes.” Dottie gave a ghost of a smile. “Go. People are watching.”
Casey straightened. Sure enough, observing them were a number of people, including the group of old men, teenagers, Annie’s crabby mom, and, of course, Flower Pants and her cohort, who in the movie light looked like they might belong in one of Nell’s horror flicks. The only people uninterested in Casey and Dottie were parents with small children and the hormonal middle-schoolers.
Casey refrained from making a dramatic bow, and returned to sit by Nell, who had reclaimed her seat on the steps.
“Do you know her very well?” Casey asked.
“Mrs. Daily?” She leaned over to toss her empty Tootsie Pop stick into a trash can, then hugged her knees. “I see her sometimes when I come down for milk or bread for Grandpa, or get a snack. I see Mr. Daily more.”
“Are your grandpa and Mr. Daily friends?”
“Everybody knows Mr. Daily.”
That wasn’t the same as being friends. Vern had lived most of his life in this town and probably knew the group of old guys, including Nell’s grandpa, since they were kids. Did his marriage to Dottie void the friendships he should enjoy at this stage in his life? Or was Casey not seeing how things actually were, since she arrived in town a little over a day ago?
Vern ambled past and handed Casey a bag of popcorn. “Last one. Better take it while it’s here.”
Casey smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
He handed Nell a sucker. “Root beer.”
Nell took it somberly, not saying she’d just finished one. “Thank you. You always remember the kind I like.”
“That’s my job.” He winked and walked to Dottie, where he sat in the chair beside her. No one joined them. No one walked over to say hello. Several people glanced their direction, and Flower Pants could have lit a campfire with the hatred flaring in her eyes, but Vern took Dottie’s hand and ignored everyone else. How—and why—did the two of them stay in this town? There must be a reason, but Casey couldn’t think of one strong enough to make up for the things she’d seen in one day.
Casey tilted the bag of popcorn toward Nell, who stuck Vern’s Tootsie Pop in her pocket and took a handful. The two of them munched and watched the movie until the bag was empty, excep
t for unpopped kernels. Nell fidgeted, obviously not riveted by what was happening on the screen.
“So what got you interested in horror?” Casey asked quietly.
Nell shrugged. “I hear stories, you know? Real life ones. I don’t know if they’re true or not, but I figure they could be. And horror is so much better than other stuff, like who likes who, or aliens, or whatever. Grandpa says some people enjoy being scared, because they like how it makes them feel.”
“Do you?”
She rested her cheek on her knees, still pulled up to her chest. “I don’t really get scared. I always know movies aren’t for real, and I forget about books as soon as I stop reading. And what’s there really to be scared of? We’re all going to die someday.”
Yeah, she definitely would be able to see Death. With Nell’s interests, she and Death would be besties within moments.
Casey crinkled up the popcorn bag, earning her more glares from the people seated in front of her. “You seemed a little scared by Mrs. Daily a few minutes ago.”
Nell looked at her boots and tapped the toes together. “She’s got some disease or something. I know I shouldn’t be weirded out by somebody being sick, but Grandpa won’t tell me what’s wrong with her, and she always looks so gray.” She pulled out the new sucker, unwrapped it slowly, and slid it into her mouth. Once she had it wedged firmly in her cheek she pinched the wrapper into a tiny ball and threw it toward the trash can. She missed. She and Casey craned their necks to see where it landed, but it had disappeared in the grass. “If she was a vampire or serial killer or something, I could handle it because then I’d know. But this is…”
“Scary.”
Nell’s voice was low. “Yeah. Her hair’s so thin you can see her scalp, and she walks all wobbly, like she’s going to fall over if somebody touches her.” She glanced at Casey. “She smells funny, too. Sort of…dead.”
Casey rested her elbows on the top step. “I get it. Sickness is creepy. You don’t know what it’s going to do to someone.”
“So you don’t think I’m awful?”
“Of course not. And I’m sure Dottie—Mrs. Daily—doesn’t, either.”
“I think she does. She doesn’t talk to me.”
“She doesn’t talk to many people, I don’t think.”
“Grandpa says she likes to keep to herself. That she always has.”
“What about Vern? He talks to people all day long.”
“I guess maybe when she’s not around it’s different.”
“He’s different?” Casey hadn’t seen that yet.
Nell waggled her head. “I’m not sure. I think once Dottie dies it will be better. For him, I mean. People will be more comfortable.”
“Because she’s sick and they don’t know what to say?”
“Or they just don’t like her.”
Casey was surprised and a little disturbed at Nell’s insights, which were truer than Casey would like to admit. This nine-year-old saw things more clearly than most adults.
“Do you like Mr. Daily?” Casey asked.
Nell looked at her boots again. “He’s nice to me.”
Once more, she dodged the question.
“From what I can see he’s nice to everybody. He’s also terribly sad.”
Nell blinked. “Why?”
“Wouldn’t you be sad if nobody wanted to be your friend? If you helped them but they treated your wife like a stranger?”
Nell’s eyes flicked toward the girls on the other side of the lawn. “Yeah, I would be sad if that happened.”
Casey regarded the Dailys. Nobody paid them any attention. The nearest people were fifteen feet away. Vern and Dottie were alone, even as half the town occupied their lawn.
Nell went stiff beside Casey. “What are they doing?”
A bang rent the night. The movie screen went dark.
Chapter Sixteen
Screams rose from the crowd, some frightened, some thrilled. Children cried and laughed, and adults called for kids to “Come here!” or “Stop that!” Phone lights punctuated the darkness, making faces glow blue.
Nell didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t even seem scared. Interested, maybe, and a little excited.
“What did you see?” Casey asked.
“Those guys.” She pointed toward the corner where Lance Victor’s friends congregated. “One of them was pointing to something up there.”
It was too dark for Casey to follow Nell’s finger, but “up there” could only mean a few things, and one was a power box on a utility pole.
Casey jumped up. “Will you be okay if I check things out?”
“Sure. I’ll stay here. Unless you need me to come.”
Casey admired the girl’s bravery, but wasn’t surprised by the offer. “Thank you. Give me a few minutes first.”
Using her phone as a flashlight, she made her way to Vern and Dottie.
“What happened? What’s going on?” Dottie clutched Vern’s arm.
“It’s all right, Dot.” Vern’s voice was gentle. “I’ll find out.”
“You stay.” They jumped at the sound of Casey’s voice. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Vern’s brow furrowed. “You sure?”
“Sit here with Dottie. Or maybe…why don’t you take her inside?”
He rubbed his face. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll stay with her. Want to go in, Dot?”
Casey skirted the back of the crowd behind the old men, making her way to the corner with the teenagers. Casey found them sitting in a tight circle, laughing and whispering. Staying on the outer rim of their phone lights, Casey listened, hoping to find out exactly why a group of teens would spend Saturday night at a family movie.
“Is he doing it?” someone said. A girl, Casey thought.
A guy answered. “He better be, since he crapped out last night.”
“Can you hear it?” another asked.
They went quiet, but the rest of the crowd talked and laughed and whooped, so whatever they were listening for was either too quiet to be heard, or hadn’t started yet.
Someone rushed by Casey and dropped into the group. “Did he do it?”
“Can’t tell. Nice job with the lights.”
“Easy reach from the roof.”
One of the girls giggled. “And you didn’t get electrocuted.”
“Yeah.” One of the guys elbowed him. “Good job not dying, Coop.”
Coop. Lance Victor’s lovely friend who tried to scam cigarettes that afternoon. Which meant…crap.
Casey left the teens and jogged the perimeter of the crowd, her light pointed at the ground so she could dodge toddlers and dogs. She stumbled over a picnic basket but kept going toward the front of the yard, hoping to be in time, listening hard for the sound she was expecting. She avoided a collision with two men picking their way around, and caught a few words about the electrical box, and how they might replace the fuses.
Then she heard it. The hiss of spray paint.
Casey was in the clear now, at the front of the crowd in the empty swath of grass beside the store, but she still couldn’t see anything. She could smell, however. The sharp, tangy smell of paint. Should she shine her light on the vandal, or would that bring attention to what was happening? If she could stop him while it was still dark and use his can to paint over the message before those men reached the power box…
The security lights on the outside of Vern’s store flicked on, and Casey hissed through her teeth. Fortunately, the lights were aimed several feet from the wall, rather than right on it, so the damage could still be handled. A shadow moved within striking distance, an arm swiping up and down. Casey breathed deeply and eased behind the kid, as she’d done the night before. This time he spun around as she arrived. Swinging his arm, he caught her on the side of the head with the paint jar. It stung, but a container of spray pa
int didn’t hold much heft. Casey ducked a second swing and grabbed his arm. Using his momentum, she yanked him toward the ground and he landed on all fours. Casey placed a foot between his shoulder blades and shoved. He fell onto his face with a grunt. Casey wrenched the paint can from his hand and held it like a weapon, dropping her knee onto his back. “Don’t move, Lance, or I will empty this can on you.”
He struggled, as if to turn over. Casey grabbed his wrist, bending his hand backward toward his arm. “Don’t. Move.”
His head fell, forehead to the ground, and his body relaxed. Casey’s didn’t.
“I got it!” someone called. “Here comes the light!”
“No.” Casey waved her arm. “Wait!”
The projector burst on, shooting a bright square of light against the wall, where the movie had played. The crowd, which had cheered at the return of the light, fell into a stunned silence.
The light now illuminated a different drama—Casey, a stranger to most of them, with her knee on the back of a local teenager. As background, the kid’s message, which he had been able to complete this time, was displayed plainly, if not artfully.
DIE BITCH
Under the surprised scrutiny of the neighborhood, Casey relaxed her hold on Victor’s wrist, but left her knee where it was, keeping him trapped. He pulled his hand under his chest and turned his face from the electrified crowd, which grew louder and louder as the moments passed.
Casey squinted through the people toward Vern and Dottie’s chairs, but the light, shining full-force in her face, was blinding. She hoped, prayed, that Vern had taken Dottie inside, where she wouldn’t see this most cruel of taunts.
Flower Pants sat close enough that Casey could see the smirk on her face. The old lady wasn’t appalled by the disrespect shown to Dottie. She was pleased. Casey wanted to smack the expression from her face, but unfortunately she was a little busy.
Footsteps rustled in the grass, and Casey looked up at Officer Whistler. The officer propped her fists on her hips. “Looks like the three of us need to have a chat.”
It wasn’t a secret who had painted the words. Lance wasn’t talking, and his friends had scattered, but his fingers were tipped with black, and he had a smudge on his face. Casey couldn’t see how there was anything to discuss.