The Buried Book

by D. M. Pulley

  She didn’t even look at it. Instead, she reached out and lifted the necklace from his chest. “This here’s real nice. It might fetch you bus fare.”

  “No!” His eyes widened in horror. “No, I can’t. It—it’s my mother’s. She’s been gone.”

  “Well, if she’s gone, she can’t miss it, right?”

  “But she might come back,” he pleaded, trying to keep his chin from quivering. “She will. I know she will. She has to.”

  “Okay. Okay, baby. Maybe there’s somethin’ else we can work out.” She dropped the necklace. “You know how to mop?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, moppin’s the worst part of the job around here. I’ll give you a dollar if you do it. Deal?” She held out her hand.

  He nodded, and they shook on it.

  “One more thing,” she said, still holding his hand. She leaned in close, and Jasper could see the dark circles below her eyes under her makeup. “You got to leave tonight. I don’t know what you done, honey, but you have no idea who you’re dealin’ with.”

  CHAPTER 22

  What did you do for money? For food?

  Jasper spent the next several hours in the dressing room while the half-naked lady finished her shift. I don’t even know her name, he thought as he sat there, hidden under the makeup counter. He tried to sleep, resting his head against the wall. His legs went numb from sitting on the hard floor. His stomach rumbled in protest at missing lunch.

  His father would be out looking for him by now, he figured. He wouldn’t just leave and not come back. Jasper fidgeted in the dark, thinking about his dad rushing through the mess to the bedroom. Althea!

  “No,” Jasper whispered. The villain hadn’t found his mother. Maybe there were two burglars and they got into a fight with each other. Jasper climbed out from under the counter and stood up, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the blood returned to his legs in splintery needles. That made more sense, he decided. They were probably furious that they had gone to all that trouble and didn’t find anything worth much money.

  The muted sound of music came throbbing through the wall behind the lockers with a slow, pounding drumbeat. Jasper slumped back down to the floor. Something was seriously wrong with the lady who was keeping him hidden in her dressing room. She wore too much makeup and too few clothes. She didn’t look anything like the other ladies he knew. Mrs. Carbo and Aunt Velma wouldn’t be caught dead running around in black lacy drawers like that. They never wore all that black gunk around their eyes or so much red and pink on their cheeks and lips. It was like she was dressed up as some sort of clown. Only she wasn’t funny. She was something else. Remembering the sound of a zipper outside the locker made him frown. What had she tried to get the detective to do exactly? Pee?

  He knew the thought was stupid, but he felt even more stupid that he didn’t know the answer.

  Jasper surveyed the row of high heels lined up along the far wall. There was a red pair that wasn’t that different from the ones his mother owned. He stared at them. His parents had once gotten into a hellacious fight about red shoes. His mother wanted to wear them someplace, and his father had thrown an absolute fit about it. Jasper couldn’t remember all the words that were shouted, his head was buried under his pillow at the time, but he’d gotten the impression that the red shoes might just turn her into something. Something bad. Like they had evil powers. Jasper remembered wanting to sneak out of his room and steal the shoes. Maybe he’d try them on and they could make him fly or read minds. But he knew those thoughts were dumb. He already had a pair of red rain boots, and they didn’t do anything special to him. Red shoes must only work on girls, he’d thought.

  Jasper walked over to the high heels and picked one up. Aunt Velma would never wear these. Just like she’d never be caught dead walking around in lacy underpants. He began to wonder why his mother would have the same shoes as the painted lady in the next room. She never walked around in her underpants. She never wore all that gunk on her face.

  Holding the shoe, he could hear Cecil saying, Althea Leary was the most notorious hussy in all of Burtchville. The word hussy sounded damning, like liar or thief. But worse.

  Jasper put the shoe back and dragged his suitcase out from the painted lady’s locker. The music was still thudding somewhere behind the wall. He pulled his mother’s diary out of his bag.

  He started at the beginning and reread all of the entries up to the one where his mother met Big Bill. Giggle water. He strained to remember the conversation he and Wayne had overheard at the Tally Ho. Sheriff Bradley had said something about a still and everyone making their own mash back when he wasn’t the law.

  That Mr. Hoyt had been up to something. Something bad. Can we make this our little secret? Jasper wanted to answer for his mother. No, Mr. Hoyt. We can’t. But she had. She had taken the dollar from him in the end. Jasper looked over at the red shoes sitting along the far wall then back down to the book.

  August 25, 1928

  Mr. Hoyt keeps having me do more things I know aren’t right, but I can’t seem to find a way to stop. I’ve been snooping around his stinking barn for days trying to figure out where all those jugs come from, thinking maybe there’s something I could accidentally break and put an end to all this. The dollars aren’t worth it. I’d rather be scrubbing Mrs. Hoyt’s rotten pots. But I hadn’t found a thing until today.

  Old Hoyt just told me flat out that all the giggle water is made up at the Indian reservation still. He says it’s heaps cheaper than the stuff running over the border. He’s sending me up the road to get more tomorrow. He’s sending me right up to the wild men!

  “You can’t make me go there!” I shrieked. “I’m liable to get scalped or worse by those heathens. My Lord! What would my father say?”

  Hoyt just laughed. “What, you think I’m gonna tell him? Hell no! And you ain’t gonna tell him neither.”

  “The hell I’m not!” I yelled back, hoping someone might hear. “This ain’t right. This ain’t Christian! You’re sending me to the slaughter. I won’t do it!”

  Then he slapped me dead across the face. “You go. I dare you. You go and tell your daddy that you’ve been cartin’ moonshine all over town for me and Big Bill. You go and tell him that I’ve been paying you dollar bills to break temperance and that I’m a no-good bootlegger. You really think he’s going to believe that? We’ve been goin’ to the same church for years. I’m a goddamned deacon!”

  I just stood there stunned for a minute. He had it all figured out. But I couldn’t give up that easy. “I have the dollars to prove it!” I shouted.

  “There’s lots a ways for poor girls like you to get dollars. Pretty little girls without morals. You catch my meaning?”

  I sure didn’t.

  He walked over and grabbed my backside with his big, hard hand to help me figure it out. “Your daddy would sooner think you’ve been lifting up these skirts and giving those town boys with money a nice taste. I’m a respected man in this community. You’re just a little liar, a hustler, and everyone knows it.”

  He laughed his hot-air laugh right in my face. I squirmed myself away from him as quick as I could, but he was right. Papa never trusted me, not one day of my whole miserable life. I’ve lied enough times about stupid things, but it’s more than that. He and Mama decided a long time ago that I was just born rotten somehow. He never looks at Perfect Pearl the way he looks at me, like he’s horribly disappointed. He thinks I’m a no-good schemer. Just like Old Hoyt.

  Jasper read and reread the entry, trying to make sense of it, certain he must have deciphered the words wrong. He finally slammed the book shut, not wanting to read any more, and curled into a ball with the words hustler, hussy, and taste turning over and over in his mind. My mother isn’t any of those things, he argued. She sang in the shower with a voice that would make him stop and listen. She made pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse just for him. But then sometimes she would leave him alone in the dark apartment when she thought he was sl
eeping. She didn’t mean to, he told himself. Maybe she didn’t have a choice. But the other side of his mind didn’t believe that.

  Jasper hugged his head with his arms to shut up his brain. He didn’t want to think bad things about her anymore. He didn’t want to think anything. Sleep, he thought, just let me sleep. He shut his eyes and laid there until he got his wish.

  Through the fog of a fitful dream, he heard a knock at the door.

  He sat up and found himself in his own bed back home.

  The knock came again.

  Jasper got out of bed and crept through the empty apartment to the door. He knew he was dreaming when he saw his mother’s favorite vase back on its shelf where it belonged. Still he kept walking. Who’s there? he whispered.

  There was no answer.

  His mother always told him to never answer the door, but she wasn’t there. He was too short to look through the peephole, so he dragged a chair from the kitchen and climbed up onto the seat to peer out into the hallway through the tiny glass eye.

  The face of a girl peered up at him. A pretty girl with dark, pleading eyes.

  Do you know who killed me? she asked.

  The door to the dressing room slapped opened.

  Jasper sat up with a start and cracked his head on the underside of the counter. A pair of shiny black high heels clicked over to him, stopping inches from his nose.

  “I’m glad you got a nice nap there, kid.” The lady poked at him with her pointy shoe. “Rest time’s over. A deal’s a deal.”

  Jasper rubbed the top of his head and tried to get his cramped limbs to move again. Everything hurt. He quickly checked his pants and was relieved to find them dry. An itchy feather boa was stuck to his cheek. The lady stood in her lacy underpants next to a yellow mop bucket. It was an odd enough sight to make him crack a small smile. No one mops in their underwear.

  “Here.” She rolled the bucket toward him. “Moe’s gone home for the day. Front door’s locked. You need to go into the booths and mop up the walls and floors. We only used five today. They’re the ones along the left-hand side.”

  Jasper nodded and pulled himself to his numb feet.

  “You know which one’s the left?” she asked, holding up her left hand.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, if you’re not sure, just follow the smell. I gotta get changed.” With that, she ushered him and the bucket out into the dark hallway and closed the door.

  Two rows of closed doors lined the hall, barely lit by the flickering bulb at the far end. Jasper stood for a moment, listening to the silence before pushing the mop bucket to the first door on the left.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect when he stepped inside. The first thing he saw was a big room with a velvet couch lit up with pink spotlights. The purple walls matched the couch, and a white fur rug covered half the floor. He blinked for a moment and realized he wasn’t actually in the room with the couch. A pane of glass separated the tiny booth where he stood from the stage. The booth itself was just barely big enough for a grown man to turn around. There was a black leather rail about chest high to Jasper and a brass foot rail running along the bottom. Between the two rails was a black leather wall panel. It was spotted with spilled milk.

  Jasper frowned. All people did in there was stand and look at the purple room with its purple couch. Why? It all looked pretty boring to him. He lifted the mop from the bucket and scrubbed the milk from the wall. The mop water reeked of ammonia, but that was fine with him. He hated the smell of sour milk, especially after being around cows for weeks. He rinsed the mop and scrubbed some more. It took five minutes to clean the wall and floor of the booth.

  He opened the next door and found the exact same thing. Each booth looked at the same purple couch. He was deep in thought about it when a spot in the purple wall behind the couch suddenly opened like a door. He dropped his mop into the bucket and stared as the painted lady walked into the room and over to the sofa. She was wearing normal clothes, and the thick makeup was washed from her face. She bent to grab a water glass from the end table next to the sofa, then stopped and squinted at Jasper in the booth. She waved at him and gave him a wink. He waved back and stared after her as she left the room with her drink in her hand.

  Ten minutes later, she met Jasper in the hall as he was closing the door to the last booth. “All done?” she asked.

  Jasper nodded and wheeled the bucket toward her.

  “The janitor closet’s that way,” she pointed and helped him walk the bucket to the far end of the hall. “So whatdya think of your first day in the business, kid?”

  Jasper shrugged weakly. He didn’t know what to say, especially since he’d figured out that people paid money just to look at her on the couch in her underpants. Or maybe to watch her take off her underpants. He couldn’t even think it without blushing.

  “I felt that way too, honey.” She chuckled. “But you do whatcha gotta do, right? Here’s that buck I promised ya.”

  She handed him a dollar after he’d dumped the bucket and hung up the mop.

  “Thanks,” he said, afraid to look at her. Something was really wrong with her. Or with him.

  She crouched down to face him and grabbed him by the chin, forcing his eyes up to hers. This time, he didn’t see a painted face. She just looked like an ordinary woman. Her blue eyes didn’t look that different from his mother’s. They were hard at the edges but soft in the middle. She gave him a small smile and said, “Don’t mention it. You hungry?”

  He nodded voraciously.

  “Let’s grab a sandwich on the way to the bus station.” She stood up and offered him her hand.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he took it. “Okay.”

  The two of them walked past the closed booth doors to the back of the shop and grabbed their bags. She led him out into the alley and snapped off the lights.

  As the door swung closed, Jasper turned and asked her, “What’s your name?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Jasper. That’s one thing you oughta learn quick.”

  “What?”

  “Never tell strangers your name.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Do you expect us to believe you relied on the kindness of strangers?

  The lady led Jasper down the alley and around the corner to Woodward Avenue. The fresh air outside felt like a much-needed bath. He stole glances up and down the sidewalks as they went, but the detective was nowhere in sight.

  They passed three blocks before turning into a small diner with a hand-painted sign that read “Stella’s.” A short, fat woman with gray hair and thick glasses was standing behind a register near the door.

  “Lucy! How are you?” She had a thick accent and a warm smile.

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Valassis. How are you?”

  Mrs. Valassis didn’t answer, she just looked at Jasper and raised two bushy gray eyebrows. “Two tonight?”

  The lady holding his hand nodded, and their hostess grabbed two plastic-covered menus. She led the odd couple to one of the six booths lining the left side of the narrow restaurant. There were four square tables pushed against the opposite wall with mismatched chairs. Jasper and Lucy were the only ones in the restaurant except for two old ladies in the last booth.

  “Tonight’s special is the moussaka,” Mrs. Valassis announced proudly.

  “We’ll just have two hamburgers and two Cokes. Thanks.”

  The old woman seemed put out. “Moussaka is very tasty. It was my yaya’s recipe.”

  “Next time.”

  The old woman scuttled away with the menus and came back an instant later with two amber glasses filled with water, slapped them on the table, then disappeared again. Jasper grabbed the cup and drank the whole thing in one go.

  “Is your name really Lucy?” he asked when he came up for air.

  “No, but you can call me that if you want.” She gazed out the greasy window. Her eyes had gone dark, like someone had closed the curtains.

  Jasper tried to ignore the hundred embarra
ssing questions he wanted to ask about the purple couch and looked around the tiny restaurant instead. The old ladies two tables behind them were hunched over their dinners. Mrs. Valassis was slouched behind the register, writing something in a book. A set of shelves on the wall next to the door held odd-looking pastries and breads Jasper had never seen before. A wave of hunger made him close his eyes.

  He left them closed for a few minutes. He’d never been so tired in his life. His night on the couch at Mrs. Carbo’s had been full of fits and starts and blood splattered on the walls in his dreams.

  Do you know who killed me?

  Jasper’s eyes snapped back open.

  A shuffle of feet approached the table. Mrs. Valassis was back, clutching a blue ledger to her huge bosom. “Lucy, you want your usual numbers?” the woman asked under her breath.

  Not Lucy nodded and slipped a dollar across the table. Mrs. Valassis made a quick note in her book before taking the money and waddling back to the register. Jasper wanted to ask what the dollar was for but didn’t. Not Lucy went back to staring out the window.

  The walls of the restaurant were covered in a yellowish-white wallpaper with brown and gold pictures. There were ladies in flowing robes and men with long beards. They all had leafy crowns on their heads. The dresses were falling off the women. Jasper found himself staring and stood up. “I’m going to the men’s room.”

  Not Lucy didn’t even blink.

  Jasper tried not to ogle the multi-breasted wallpaper as he found his way to the back of the restaurant and down a narrow hallway to the bathroom. He took his time, hoping to burn up the minutes before the food would arrive. His hunger bordered on madness now, and he could feel the need to whine about it creeping in. He didn’t want to do it in front of his new friend, but he might not be able to help it. He washed his hands slowly and carefully, thinking about the dirty mop bucket he’d touched and the men staring at the purple couch. The walls of the men’s room were scarred with written notes and numbers. Jasper tried to decipher them as he pulled the hand towel loop down and down until a clean spot emerged.