The Nutting Girl

by Fred DeVecca

  Then she asked, “Why did you drink, Frank? You know you can’t do that.”

  “I thought you wanted to move on. Are you trying to make me re-live it? Isn’t that living in the past?”

  “No. This is the present, right now. And you’re not going to drink right now. That’s all I care about. But maybe knowing why you did it can help you not do it again.”

  I thought for a long time before I replied. “He said I killed Julie,” I explained. “And it made sense.”

  “That’s crazy talk, Frank.”

  “No, Clara. I don’t think it is. I made the mistake of telling her some of the stuff that runs through my head, and I think it set her off somehow. That’s all my own stuff. I had no right pouring it out on someone else.”

  “Your stuff is good stuff, Frank. That girl was unstable. Everyone knew that. If something set her off, it was inside her, not from you.”

  I couldn’t meet her eyes. “She had a spark inside her. It could have brightened up like the sun, or it could have exploded like dynamite. I lit the fuse. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She laid her hand lightly on my leg. “Frank, you did what you had to do. It is what it is. What she did with it was her responsibility, not yours.”

  I held a cup of tea but was not drinking it.

  “All I ever wanted to do was help her. All I ever wanted to do with anything was help people. That’s why finding things has always meant so much to me. That’s why I loved being a good detective. I had a knack for finding things and that helped a lot of people. I did a lot of favors for friends. And now that’s all backfired on me. Now trying to help someone might have killed her.”

  “You didn’t kill her, Frank.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “No.” After a while, she went on, “You’re scaring me, Frank. You gave up on life once before, and now it sounds like you’re going to do it again. Don’t.”

  “It was different before. I had two miracles happen to me. My sight came back and I died and was reborn. Those two things came pretty much back to back and it was exhilarating, for a while. Then life got to be routine. No more miracles. Life went on, day to day, moment to moment. I got bored. I got tired. Even finding things for friends didn’t help.”

  “That’s when you gave up,” Clara said.

  “Yes.”

  “And you got born again when you ran into this crazy movie guy and this sad young woman who fell into the river, and set out on a search a lot bigger than anything you were ever on before.”

  “Yes.”

  “You needed all this, Frank. You didn’t kill her. In fact, it’s almost the exact opposite. She brought you back to life.”

  Did she have to die to do that? I didn’t speak that thought aloud, but it ran through my head.

  I answered my own question. No, she didn’t have to die. She didn’t die. I didn’t kill her. In fact, if I was going to honor her gift of bringing me back to the living, I owed her something, and that was to find her—to bring her back to the living too, if that’s what she wanted. I knew that maybe that wasn’t what she wanted.

  But that would be her choice. My job was to find her.

  I had been silent a long time.

  “Are you still there?” Clara asked.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Good,” she said.

  She touched my hand then. I realized how much she had been touching me ever since I met her.

  I kissed her. I touched her. I thanked her.

  I walked back up the hill to gather enough strength to face day two.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Day Two

  Day two started with my filling Sarah in on what had occurred. Clara was at work, and Sarah was sitting on the porch with her computer on her lap. It was the end of June, and a hot humid summer seemed to be settling in. The air was dense but the sun shone through; some deep clouds and thunderstorms were forecast for later.

  “I can’t believe that fucker is living right up that goddamn hill,” she said. I had long since stopped trying to stop her from swearing. “And he’s accusing you of killing her?”

  “He means it metaphorically. At least I’m pretty sure he does. But it still hits home. I know what he’s saying.”

  “He’s crazy, Francis.”

  “I know. But still, if what he said didn’t make any sense, things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand.”

  “You got to let go of that stuff. You can’t allow what a crazy person says to affect you like that.”

  “I know.”

  “And you can’t ever drink again.”

  “I know. You’re just like your mom. She told me basically the same thing.”

  “I want to go up there and talk to him,” she said.

  “I knew you’d say that. But what’s it going to prove?”

  “I want to see his eyes. Just like I saw your eyes the other night. You can tell a lot by looking someone in the eyes.”

  “I think he killed her, Sarah. He was a mess, a total wreck. There wasn’t much left of him. Only a few things can drive someone like that back to the bottle. Murder is one of them.”

  “How about the death of someone you love?”

  “Yeah, that’s one too.”

  “We know he didn’t actually kill her. He was nowhere near when she fell in.”

  “He could have paid Frack to do the dirty work.”

  “But Frank, if he loved Julie, how could he kill her?”

  “He’s a psychopath, Sarah. He doesn’t love anyone except himself.”

  “That’s why I want to see him. I want to look into those eyes. If he’s a psychopath, I’ll know it.”

  “You’ve seen his eyes before.”

  “A lot has changed since then. I’ve grown up a lot.”

  It wasn’t long before she had her chance.

  There he was, over my right shoulder, walking on the lawn, stepping around the garden, approaching us. He still looked like shit—beard scraggly, hair greasy, clothes still the same as two nights ago. He reeked of foul body odor and alcohol seeping through the pores.

  He sat on the edge of the porch, his back toward us. Sarah could not see his eyes from here. But we could hear his voice. “I try never to leave my house, but sometimes I need supplies. And who do I run into but you two guys?”

  He turned around and we could see his eyes.

  “Just the two guys I wanted to see.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Do Not Go Gentle

  “You have any booze in the house?” Mooney asked Sarah.

  To my surprise, she got up, went inside, and came back with an almost full bottle of Jameson. She handed it to him.

  After cracking it open and taking a substantial gulp, he said, “I’m on my way to Good Spirits to stock up. But that’s a long walk.”

  “Yeah, like a block and a half. Can’t walk that far without refueling along the way,” I said.

  He wiped his mouth and replied, “Yeah. I need my fuel.”

  Sarah was glaring at him—and staring into his eyes.

  “Thanks for the drink, sweetie,” he said to her.

  “I just got it for you so you’d stick around long enough for me to study you,” she replied. “Otherwise, you could go fuck yourself.”

  “Hey. What kind of way is that for a nice young girl to talk? Raven, you’re not doing your usual job.”

  “I gave up.”

  Sarah grabbed the bottle out of his hand. “That’s enough,” she said. “I’ve seen enough to know who you are and I don’t like what I see.”

  Mooney looked stunned, but also sincere.

  “I’m the best friend you got, girlie.”

  “Don’t call me girlie, asshole. Or sweetie.”

  “Okay, sorry. Jeez, I am an asshole, aren’t I?”

  Sarah did not hesitate to answer, “Yes.”

  “But I’m still the best friend you got.”

  “I don’t know how many friends like you I could stand.”

&n
bsp; “Don’t you want her back?”

  She didn’t have to answer this time. She just looked at him.

  “I’m the only one around with the resources to do that,” he said.

  I had to jump in here. “Mooney, two days ago you told me she was dead. Not only dead but that I killed her. Now you want her back? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Sarah was still holding the bottle. Mooney made a wave to her and she handed it back to him. He took a swig.

  “Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t,” he said. He took another drink and looked down into the bottle as if there were answers in there. Maybe there were. “I want to know for sure.”

  “You seemed pretty damn sure when you were accusing me of murder. Murder, Mooney. That means the person is dead.”

  Raising his head, he looked me right in the eyes. Then he did the same to Sarah, and said, “I think she’s dead, you guys. I know she’s dead. And it breaks my fucking heart.”

  And here he did a funny thing, especially for a psychopath; he began crying.

  He was sobbing and shaking. Then he took another drink, which seemed to stabilize him. He appeared stone cold sober when he repeated it. “Yeah. It breaks my fucking heart.” He paused a long while before continuing, “And I want you guys to find her. If she’s alive. I know that if anyone can find her, if she’s alive, it’s you guys.”

  I responded, “Mooney, we’re already doing that. At least we’re working on it.”

  “I can help you,” he said.

  “Good. We need all the help we can get,” said Sarah. She grabbed the bottle back. “But before you can be any help at all, you have to give this up. Again.”

  Mooney grabbed the bottle back. “No. You know, I’ve only been drunk twice in my life—once for two years, and once for three. I started young, when I was seventeen. Now I’m on the third time around, and this one’s going to last a while, just like the others did. You gotta give me this one, because I have a lot to give to you.”

  We didn’t have to respond because the obvious question hung in the air like a lynched thief.

  “Money,” he said. “I can provide you guys with all the money you need. To go anywhere, do anything.”

  We looked at him.

  He cried some more, then said, punctuated by a hiccup or two, “I hired both you guys a month ago and I’ve never fired you. You’re still on the payroll. Only you’ve got new duties this time. You have to find Julie.”

  “We want a raise,” Sarah said. “Two hundred dollars a day, plus expenses. Apiece.”

  “Done. You got it,” Mooney said.

  “No,” Sarah said. “That was too easy for you. Make it three. Three hundred a day. Apiece.”

  “You got it.”

  “And a down payment,” she added. She was a hard bargainer. “Two thousand dollars.”

  If you looked into his eyes now, you’d think he was sober.

  He nodded to Sarah, wiped his eyes, took another drink, handed the bottle back to her, and started walking into town.

  “You know where to find me,” he said. Turning around, he looked at me and chuckled. “Yeah, I’m a burnout. Have a good laugh.” Then he really looked at me, right in the eyes, and said, “At least I’m not fading away. I’m raging, Raven, raging, raging. You’re going gentle. Into that good night. And with that, I bid you both … a good night.”

  Then he was gone.

  “I don’t know what to think,” I said to Sarah. “You don’t hire someone to find a person if you killed that person.”

  “I do,” she replied. “I know what to think. But I’ll take his money anyway. Pack your bags.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Keep Kicking Mister Duck

  Half an hour later, Mooney was back on the porch clutching four bottles of Jameson, all fifths. Somewhere in town he had found one of those big white canvas bags with the name SHELBURNE FALLS on it in large green letters, in which he had packed the booze. A normal paper bag would have broken under the weight. Despite his shaky condition, Mooney was still resourceful.

  Sarah took one look at him, let out a deep sigh, and ducked back into the house. She couldn’t stand the thought of talking to him again. I wasn’t wild about the idea myself, but I did have some other things I needed to discuss with him.

  “Mooney,” I said, “let’s change the subject a little. What can you tell me about Edith Marie Pasternak?”

  He cracked open one of the bottles and took a healthy swig. “I do not know an Edith Marie Pasternak.”

  Mooney wiped his mouth. He looked as if he preferred this subject to Juliana Velvet Norcross, so I pulled out the now crumpled and creased photo and held it in front of his face. There was a flash of recognition.

  “Oh, Victoria. Victoria Diamond. Sure, I know her. She was going to be in the movie.”

  “Her name is Edith.”

  “I know her as Victoria. Victoria is her professional name. Her acting name.”

  “Well, this is her headshot. This is used professionally, right? And it calls her Edith.”

  “She changed it when she signed on. She’s Victoria.”

  “Okay, whatever. So you know her?”

  He held the bottle out toward me, but I ignored him. He took another chug.

  “Well, sure. I hired her. I hire all the actors. A casting director finds them and sends them to me and I hire the ones I like.”

  “You liked this one?”

  “I like a lot of them. I like girls, Raven. If you haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Have you seen her lately?”

  “No.”

  “You know anything about her—where she’s staying? What she’s doing?”

  He heaved a ragged sigh, and his face turned oddly petulant, like an aggrieved child’s. “What the hell are you bothering me about this girl for, Raven? Who gives a good goddamn?”

  “I give a good goddamn,” I replied. “I give a lot of good goddamns.”

  He let out a laugh and accidentally spit out a mouthful of whiskey. “You, Raven? You give a goddamn about something? Good for you, man. You’re coming around.”

  I did not react to his needling. “So … I’m waiting. What do you know about her?”

  “Not much. I hired her in L.A. and haven’t seen her since.”

  “I’ve heard she was with you here in Shelburne Falls.”

  “With me?”

  I made a broad gesture. “With all of you. Here in town. Part of that whole gang you were going around with.”

  He scowled. “You heard wrong, Raven. I haven’t seen that girl.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, damn it.” He was close to shouting. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “She’s a good-looking gal.”

  He gave a derisive huff. “Is she? In Hollywood, she’s plain. If not below average.”

  “Not to my eyes.”

  “You’re the one who’s blind, Raven.”

  “Okay.” I let it drop.

  “Maybe she was here with all the others,” Mooney conceded. “I can’t keep track of every redheaded girl who shows up.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Forget it, Raven. Forget all this shit, except finding Julie. That’s your job now.”

  “This is my job too.”

  “How many damn jobs do you have anyway? When I met you, you didn’t have any jobs. Now you got more than you can handle.”

  Despite the bloodshot eyes, the stench, and the occasional stifled hiccup, he acted almost sober and remained eloquent. I contemplated his face, trying to discern how much was bluster and how much truth.

  Finally, I said, “Jobs seem to find me.”

  “That’s funny, Raven. You’re supposed to be the guy who finds things. Now things are finding you.”

  Mooney was drinking, but he was still gazing at the photo of Edith. He was seeing something there, so I made one more attempt. Eloquence aside, this guy was a wreck and I thought he might break a little.

>   “You sure you don’t know anything more about Edith Marie Pasternak, aka Victoria Diamond?” I asked him.

  “Didn’t we go through all this like a minute ago? I’m positive. What else do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to say the truth.”

  “Truth? What is the truth? The truth is that this whiskey tastes good.”

  He pushed the bottle toward me and I ignored it again.

  “Truth, Mooney? Truth is seeing things as they really are. In Buddhism they call it dhamma. In Christianity, it’s what God is. Along with love. And a few other qualities that I’m blanking on right now.”

  He raised the bottle as if toasting me. “Thank you, Mister Lost His Religion, for the lovely sermon.”

  I nodded. “You are most welcome, Mister Lying His Ass Off. You don’t know anything else about that girl? I’ve heard different.”

  He took another swig, avoiding my eyes. “You can’t believe everything you hear, Raven. You know that.”

  “I know all about belief.”

  “And lack of belief.”

  “I only believe about fifty percent of the things I see—”

  “Well,” he broke in, “that’s because you’re half blind.” He was still looking off into the distance.

  I continued, “And maybe ten percent of the things I hear.”

  “How’s your hearing?” he said, staring at me now.

  “Not too bad.”

  “Good. At least one of your senses works.”

  “My sense of taste is okay too. And some of my other senses are all right, mostly the ones that can’t be measured. For instance, I believe one hundred percent of the things I feel.”

  He laughed at this and replied, “The trick is figuring out what you feel, right? Once you figure it out, you can believe it. It’s the figuring out that’s hard.”

  “You’re smarter than you look, Mooney.”

  “That’s one of my skills. Looking dumb. Comes in handy sometimes.”

  He drank up and then he broke the silence. “What are you feeling about me, right now?” he asked.

  “You mean besides feeling like you’re an evil sonofabitch?”

  “Yeah. Besides that. I already know that.”

  “I feel like you know more than you’re saying about that Pasternak girl.”