by Vicki Lane
“I have to get up my courage,” she’d told him, twisting her long, dark, silver-shot braid into a crown around her head. “I’ve avoided this party ever since Sam died. But Helen Nugent called and badgered me till I said yes, we’d come. And she was right; it’s time you met some of my friends.”
There had been no time to follow up on the questions raised by those pills found on Nola’s bed and by the ad seeking information about Spencer Greer. Just a rush to change clothes, gather up the chocolate pound cake Elizabeth was taking to the potluck, and, with a reminder to Rosemary and Laurel about feeding the dogs, hurry back out the door.
As the jeep wound around the unpaved mountain road that was a continuation of Ridley Branch, Elizabeth briefed him on what to expect.
“I think you’ll like the people who’ll be at the party—they’re all very individualistic but easygoing. This is the community Sam and I kind of fell into when we moved here—a real mishmash of back-to-the-land hippies, artists, craftspeople, professionals, and blue-collar types. The main thing we have in common is that we all made the choice to come here. At one time, there was a potluck get-together almost every weekend, but now it’s more like a few big parties during the year. The Nugents’ Christmas party is one of the standards.”
“Tell me about the Nugents. Have they been here long?”
“Oh, yes—they’re old-timers among us newcomers—they’ve been here since the sixties, ten years before the first wave of transplants, twenty years before Sam and I bought our place. Jeff and Helen must be in their early seventies now. Jeff has this white beard that make him look like Santa Claus, and Helen is—well, she’s a wiry little woman who looks like a piece of sun-dried leather. She’s hard to describe because she’s always moving.”
Elizabeth had fallen silent as she steered the jeep up the driveway and pulled past a large, new-looking barn into an open field that was crowded with trucks and four-wheel-drive vehicles. Two women, heading for a path leading up the hill, paused to wave, and Elizabeth tapped her horn in acknowledgment. The shorter and stockier of the pair stared briefly and unabashedly at Phillip, before flashing a smile and giving Elizabeth an enthusiastic thumbs-up signal. Then the two hurried up the path toward the tall building whose lights twinkled through the trees.
“Maxie and Thelma—Thelma’s the short one who evidently approves of you. They live on around this road. Nice folks. Thelma’s a potter and Maxie makes incredible art quilts—real high-dollar stuff that sells through galleries. They’ve been here almost as long as I have.”
“What about the folks giving the party—the Nugents?” As they walked toward the big house, from which could be heard the sound of music and many voices, he began to wonder what he could have to talk about with this artsy-craftsy crowd. “Are they artists too?”
“Not as such—I’d say they were artists of life, though—they raise these gorgeous Angora goats and sell the fleeces to handspinners and they have incredible gardens and an orchard of heirloom apples. And they’re working with a program to introduce a blight-resistant chestnut to the forests. We’ll come back in the spring when you can see what they’ve done here—the farm itself is a work of art.”
Light streamed through the many-paned windows that had been cut into the log walls, etching geometric patterns on the broad deck that stretched to one side of the converted barn that was the Nugents’ home. Taking a deep breath, Phillip followed Elizabeth through the front doorway into the warmth and swirling sound of a party in progress.
It was odd to be back at the traditional Christmas party. Odd that it was Phillip at her side, not Sam. For a panicked moment she felt like turning tail, but, with a welcoming cry of “Elizabeth! I’m so glad you came!” a wiry little person separated herself from a group of chattering women and bustled toward them. Beaming with pleasure, Helen Nugent reached up to hug her and Elizabeth felt the strength of her thin arms. Helen doesn’t change, she decided. She looked just like this ten years ago and she’ll probably look the same at ninety.
“And you must be Phillip. I’m Helen. It’s so nice to meet you at last.” Her tanned face crinkled. “Of course I’ve heard a lot about you—all good, naturally.” Taking the basket Elizabeth was carrying, she said, “I’ll put this on the table. You two go get yourselves something to drink—the keg’s back that way, on the kitchen porch. Jeff’s back there too, Elizabeth—he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”
The big open space—a comfortable art-and book-filled living area flowing into a no-nonsense farm kitchen tucked under the bedroom loft—was filled with people: familiar faces, a few new faces, some faces that seemed familiar but she couldn’t put a name to. They threaded their way through the throng toward the kitchen area, stopping for Elizabeth to greet an old friend, to exchange hugs, to introduce Phillip. He fielded questions about his teaching position at AB Tech and his previous job as a police detective in the coastal town of Beaufort. “No, Bow-furt, North Carolina, not Bew-furt, South Carolina.”
Her friends and acquaintances seemed to be remarkably well informed about Phillip. I shouldn’t be surprised—after all, Sallie Kate and Harley know all about him and they socialize a fair amount. The newcomer community grapevine is evidently alive and well.
When at last they reached the back porch, where the keg and an assortment of open bottles of wine were drawing a crowd of thirsty partygoers, Jeff, in a crimson sweater, his beard like a white waterfall rippling down his chest, came forward to engulf her in a bear hug.
“We’ve missed you, Elizabeth. I don’t count running into you in town once every few years as seeing each other. I know,” he said as she started to speak, “we’re all busy with our farms or our work year-round. Thank god for Christmas; at least it gives us an excuse to party.” He put both hands on her shoulders and stood back to examine her. “You look good, Elizabeth. And I hear Full Circle Farm’s going great guns. We’re proud of you, girl.”
“Let’s find a quiet place to sit and eat—I’m about talked out for the moment.” Elizabeth balanced her laden plate atop her glass of wine and scanned the living room for possibilities. Most of the sofas and chairs were already occupied, and little groups of people sat along the raised stone hearth that extended across one end of the room. “How about the stairs?”
They perched a few steps up the peeled log staircase and began to enjoy their food. The potluck fare was much as it had always been, thought Elizabeth—a quirky mix of earnest vegetarian entrées, heavy on brown rice and lentils; some really inspired casseroles, equally vegetarian, but sinfully tasty with herbs and garlic and cheese; wonderful salads; crusty homemade breads; barbecued ribs; skewers of chicken satay; and a spicy sausage roll she recognized as Maxie and Thelma’s signature dish.
“This is quite a mix of foods—kind of like the folks.” Phillip’s fork hesitated over his plate, wavering between a delectable chicken satay and a jalapeño pepper, stuffed with cream cheese, wrapped with bacon, and hot off the grill. “They all seem pretty nice.”
“We are pretty nice.” Elizabeth looked up from her plate to see Thelma and Maxie claiming spots on the steps just below. “Even if some of us get a little loud at times.”
Thelma looked over at a raucous cluster standing around the counter that separated kitchen from living room and shook her head. “They’re arguing about the proposed plans for Gudger’s Stand—it’s a damn shame if the county commissioners let that company go through with that gated community.”
“Hey, Thelma; hey, Maxie. It’s good to see you all. This is my friend, Phillip Hawkins. Phillip, Maxie and Thelma Rudicek-Greene.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Phillip nodded at both women. “So, do most of these folks oppose development at the old stand?”
Maxie, a comfortably plump, comfortably middle-aged woman with graying brown hair, set down her glass of beer. “I think all of us here are opposed to that kind of development—exclusive gated communities, huge, ecologically unfriendly second homes—anywhere. But Thelma and I and
all the old river guides feel particularly strongly about Gudger’s Stand. There’s so much history there and it’s the perfect site for a county park. If RPI gets its way, the rafting companies and all the other paddlers are going to have to find another put-in site. People are really upset!” Maxie’s soft brown eyes flashed uncharacteristic fire.
It’s like seeing a…a fluffy bunny stamp its feet, thought Elizabeth, noting the flush of anger on Maxie’s cheeks.
Thelma laid down her fork. “Hell, the county commissioners just want to get shed of responsibility for that place. It’s gotten a bad reputation ever since the old man was killed. And then this thing of a body in the silo…they’re probably wetting their pants at the thought of having to deal with some new scandal.”
“Someone told us that you were a friend of the sheriff.” Maxie turned to Phillip. “Do you know if they’ve identified the…the remains yet?”
“Not yet—these things take time. And between the holidays and the fact that this isn’t recent, it’ll be a while before they know anything.”
Elizabeth studied the two women, remembering when she and Sam had first met them, out for a walk on Ridley Branch. Almost twenty years ago. They’d just moved to their place and weren’t sure how neighbors would take to a same-sex couple. I remember we got to talking and Thelma said they’d had a carload of drunks come up their drive, hollering that they wanted to talk to the dykes.
“I came out the front door with a shotgun in my hands and fired it into the air once. Got their attention for sure. That car set a record for backing down a steep winding road. And now I always have a handgun with me,” the Thelma of long ago had told them.
Thelma had changed the least—still stocky, her dark brown hair still close-cropped. A few lines at the corners of her eyes. And the tattoos are probably still there on her back and arms.
The change in Maxie was more obvious. She had been in her mid-twenties when the two had moved into Marshall County—a slender, quicksilver nymph whose sun-streaked brown hair fell past her waist. More than one male had been smitten at the sight of her, but Maxie’s hazel eyes never strayed from Thelma—her avowed life partner.
And now she’s a motherly-looking, slightly dumpy woman. Ay law, as Birdie says. When I remember how the guys used to carry on over her…and to no avail.
“I’d forgotten you all used to be river guides. How long ago was that?”
Thelma’s brow furrowed. “We guided for River Runners from when we first moved here in ’89 till…it was five or six years, I guess. Finally we reached a place with my pots and Max’s quilts that we couldn’t give up the time in the studio—not to mention the fact that it’s damn hard work paddling one of those big rafts and we weren’t getting any younger. The whole scene started kind of changing too—or we did. Just got too old and too responsible for the drinking and the dope every night.”
“It was six years,” Maxie answered quietly. “Our last summer was ’95—before old Revis died. Don’t you remember, Thelma—that last time we went to one of the parties down by the bridge and that guy tried to rape me?”
Chapter 26
It’s All Connected
Sunday, December 24
What time is it?” Elizabeth yawned enormously as they walked hand in hand down the path toward the jeep, following the bobbing beam of Phillip’s flashlight. Lights twinkled like fireflies in the field below them as other departing guests headed for their cars.
“Twelve twenty-three.” The words were punctuated with a yawn even larger than hers. “Your friends are a hardy lot.” Phillip looked back to the big house. It seemed to hover above them, emanating light and music, a giant ship, manned by extremely friendly aliens. “We aren’t first to leave, but not the last by a long shot.”
“It could go on another hour or so, but I’m done in.” Elizabeth stopped and pulled him to her. “Are you glad we went? That stuff Maxie and Thelma were telling us—wouldn’t you say it could be connected—”
He kissed her lingeringly and held her to him. “Lizabeth, I enjoyed the party a lot more than I thought I would. I like your friends and I hope they’re going to be my friends. But those two women—that story—well, it’s given me a lot to think about.”
“It was sometime in October—the last party of the season,” Thelma had said. “Guides from all the companies always had a big bonfire and a combined picnic, campout, cookout, all-day, all-night, hoop-de-do down in the field by the bridge. There’d be a lot of drinking and a fair amount of weed but it was always a good vibe; me and Max had never had any trouble in the years before. Oh, there’d always be some guy who was sure that if she’d ‘give him a chance,’ he could turn her into a ‘real’ woman, but it was more of a standing joke than anything ugly.
“But this time Max was talking about, the party got crashed by a bunch of jerks who’d been up at the old house, drinking at Revis’s so-called private club. At first they seemed okay; they’d brought some bottles of tequila and were passing them around and everything was cool. Then this one guy starts putting the moves on Maxie. I had a pretty good buzz going and I was just sitting on this log, watching the whole thing. I knew my girl back then, just like I know her now, and I was sure she wouldn’t be crawling in anybody’s sleeping bag but mine. So it was just kind of humorous to see this guy try and impress her. I was watching the whole thing like it was some fucking sitcom.”
Thelma had taken a swig of her beer and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Anyhow, I’d gone off behind a bush to take a fast pee and just then this prick tells Max oh dear, he hadn’t realized how late it was. He’s got to leave because his mama’s not well and he promised to get home before whatever time it was. Sweet Baby here was such an innocent back then that when he told her he forgot to bring a flashlight and would she help him find the way to his car, she fell for it.”
Maxie had blushed and looked away as her partner continued the story. “Luckily I came back to the fire just in time to see them heading off into the dark, so, not being as trusting as Max, I followed after them. It didn’t take long; once they were away from where the party was going on, the bastard grabbed her and put one hand over her mouth. When I caught up, he was pulling her toward one of those abandoned cars that used to be down there. I always carried a little Beretta back then—a dyke had to be careful in some company—and I pointed it straight at his crotch and told him what was going to happen if he didn’t let Maxie go.”
Thelma had laughed richly and reached out to ruffle her partner’s hair. “I should have shot the sorry fucker’s dick off, but there would have been too many complications. The minute he let go of Maxie and slunk off into the dark, we got our shit together and headed for home. That little experience was another reason we dropped out of the whole rafting scene for good.”
“Maybe you should have shot him, Thelma.” Maxie’s quiet voice had been grim and her expression steely. “When we heard about them finding that body in the silo—was it just last week? I remembered that night and I wondered if it could have been Bam-Bam. Remember, we never did find out where she went.”
Elizabeth and Phillip had fallen asleep while discussing the implications of the missing girl; the story was still in Elizabeth’s mind when she awoke in the chilly light of Christmas Eve morning. James had wedged himself tightly between her and Phillip, and Molly too had sought the additional warmth of the bed, preventing Elizabeth from stretching out her legs.
“Phillip,” she whispered, “are you awake?”
There was no answer. His back was uncommunicative, a blank comforter-covered wall.
“Phillip?” she persisted.
“Uhmm?”
“Are you going to call Mackenzie first thing and tell him about what happened to Maxie? And about this Bam-Bam person?”
“Uhm-hum.” He tugged the covers higher, dislodging James from his nest and disturbing Molly who stood and, with a reproachful look to Elizabeth, circled twice before curling up once again at the foot of the bed.
/> “Thelma said that Bam-Bam was a guide with River Runners. I know those folks; I’ll call Debbie and see if they have any record of her. With a name like Bam-Bam, they should remember her.”
“Uhmm.”
“I know it’s probably nothing—Thelma and Maxie said that guides came and went all the time. But it all goes back to that October of ’95. Isn’t it possible that the bones you found in the silo are this girl? And what if the guy who grabbed Maxie was part of the rape? They said ‘a bunch of guys who’d been drinking up at the stand.’”
“Uhm-hum.”
“And what the hell should I do about those pills Nola’s not taking? If it’s the nursing home overmedicating her, there’s no sense talking to anyone there. And I don’t trust Tracy, who is, I suppose, Nola’s guardian at this point.”
There was a long exhalation of breath and Phillip rolled over to face her. His eyes were shut but the suspicion of a smile played about his lips as he reached for her.
“Come here, Sherlock.”
“Okay, I understand that Christmas Eve is probably not the best time to start bugging Mackenzie about all these things that happened over ten years ago. But I just did a little Google research on those pills Nola’s been spitting out.”
Phillip looked up from his book as Elizabeth emerged from the office clutching a printed page. “Listen to this, Phillip. Side effects from Ambien can include hallucinations, delusions, altered thought patterns, poor motor coordination…there’s more, but some of this could certainly apply to Nola.”