Long Black Curl

by Alex Bledsoe

  “It’ll get you a cup of coffee,” she said, winking.

  Snowy leaned his elbows on the Formica and watched her as she moved to get his cup. Tain always knew when men watched her; it wasn’t so much a sixth sense as a simple certainty that, if there were men around, they would always watch her. And it didn’t bother her—she liked all men, up to a point. Past that point, though, only very select men would do.

  As she poured she said, “How are the roads?”

  “All right, where the sun hits ’em. Lots of black ice out there, though. You better be careful going home.”

  “I didn’t know you cared.”

  “You’re being coy,” he said as he sipped his cup. Then he looked around and saw that they were reasonably alone. Quietly, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. No promises I’ll answer it, though.”

  “What’s Bo-Kate up to?”

  Tain started, and banged the glass carafe against the edge of the counter, but luckily it didn’t shatter. She composed herself, then said, “Would you believe me if I said I honestly don’t know?”

  “If you look me in the eye when you say it.” Even more softly, he added, “Tain, this could be bad news for everybody. Both sides. She flat-out shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be able to be here. And she’s already done a couple of pretty horrible things.”

  “Like what?”

  Snowy dropped his voice even lower. “She’s the reason Rockhouse died. She cut off his extra fingers. And yesterday, while we were burying him, she burned down Bliss Overbay’s house.”

  Tain stared at him, waiting for the smile, the sign that it was all a joke, but it never came. She had to clear her throat before speaking. “I really don’t know what you mean, Snowy.”

  Snowy leaned back and looked at her skeptically. “Is that right,” he said flatly.

  This time she leaned close. Softly she asked, “Snowy, you know where the Wildwood Motel is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Meet me there at three o’clock. Ask for me at the desk, they’ll tell you which room.”

  Snowy grew even more skeptical. “You setting me up, Tain? Who’s going to be there waiting for me? Snad and Canton, maybe? With a couple of baseball bats?”

  “Just me, I promise. If you want to talk about this, we’ll need privacy.”

  He knew what she meant. She knew that he knew. She also knew that he, like just about every man she knew, couldn’t possibly resist.

  Yet he said, “No thanks, Tain.”

  She put the carafe aside and stood with her hands on her hips. “Snowy Rainfield, are you serious?”

  “This is serious, Tain.”

  “Your memory must be shorter than some other things I could mention.”

  He grinned. “Good one. And my memory’s just fine. But this ain’t about us.”

  She blew a stray strand of hair from her face. “What kind of assurance do you need that I’m not going to have my cousins hiding in the closet to beat the snot out of you?”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I promise I am meeting only you to tell you what you want to know.”

  He made a gesture with the fingers of his right hand, then touched his heart. With an annoyed sigh, she did the same, sealing the meeting with vows of honesty that went back further than most spoken languages. “Believe me now?”

  “See you there,” he said.

  * * *

  As he drove back to Needsville, Snowy couldn’t keep the memory of previous trysts from his mind. He and Tain had fooled around a dozen times over the years, and it had always been spectacular. Each time, he convinced himself that his memory of the previous encounter had been enhanced by time and wishful thinking, then found out that, no, it was as good as he remembered. Tain was uninhibited, afraid to try nothing, and most attractive of all, always let him know when she liked something he did.

  He shifted uncomfortably as his physical response to those memories asserted itself. He checked his watch—eight hours until three, when he’d see her. He hoped nothing came up that required real concentration, because he doubted he could manage it.

  He turned on the radio, set to the oldies station. Chaka Khan sang, “Tell Me Something Good.” Her sexy, carnal voice didn’t help his concentration at all.

  * * *

  “Rise and shine,” Bo-Kate said. “We’re burning daylight.”

  Nigel opened one eye and winced against the glare from the window. “I never imagined Americans actually said that.”

  “We invent all sorts of clichés.” She was dressed in tight-fitting layers that accented her curves, and he considered for a moment how long it might take to undress her. Then he saw the look in her eye, which said, I know what you’re thinking, and stop it. With a sigh, he threw back the covers and swung his feet onto the icy wooden floor.

  He started to pull on his pants. She said, “It doesn’t matter. We’re the only ones here.”

  “Your cousin’s not skulking about?”

  “She went to work. Mom and Dad went wherever they go. My brothers are passed out, or never came home from the wake, I don’t know which. We’ve basically got the whole house to ourselves.”

  “And this is how you want to spend it?”

  “Not now, Nigel. Big things are afoot.”

  “They could be.”

  She slapped him, lightly but not playfully. “Eyes front, soldier. Get cleaned up so we can get going.”

  “Aye, mistress,” he said, and followed her out of the bedroom.

  Within an hour they were back in the SUV, out of the woods, and on the paved highway. It was still messy after the snow, but mindful driving kept them from any calamities. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “You’ll see. Just stay on this road until I tell you differently.”

  “That’s essentially my job description, isn’t it?”

  She looked out at the trees passing on the passenger side. “There—see that extra-tall tree there?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the Widow’s Tree. Women who have lost their husbands or lovers go and carve messages on it. It’s got to be a couple of hundred years old by now.”

  “Any messages from you on it?”

  “Ha! Not likely.”

  “No?”

  “No. My only real Tufa love was lost … differently.”

  “You must spend vast amounts of time working out ways to hint at things without giving away any actual information.”

  “As a matter of fact, smart-ass, we’re on our way to get some information right now.”

  “Indeed? What sort?”

  “Tactical. Then you’ll understand who the players are in this little war.”

  “You could just tell me.”

  “Then you might not believe me.”

  “And this will convince me?”

  “No, of course not. All in all, this is just another brick in the convincing wall.”

  “How can I eat my pudding if I don’t have any meat?”

  She smiled, then resumed looking out at the forest. “We have one stop to make first, though. Just outside town. Time to announce myself properly.”

  16

  Snowy dropped the load of debris from the backhoe’s bucket and swung around to scoop out another one. Bliss deliberately didn’t look at what tumbled out, not wanting to see her family’s heirlooms burned, dropped, and discarded into the big green Dumpster. She was having a hard enough time accepting that the old homestead, which had stood in one form or another since the Tufa arrived, was now gone.

  Orpheus Carding stood watching. The backhoe belonged to him, but he wasn’t able to run it since losing his arm five years before. “That sure is a mess,” he said over the noise.

  “It is,” Bliss agreed.

  “Reckon we’ll need about six or seven Dumpster loads to get everything cleared out.”

  “Reckon.”

  “Then we’ll all pitch in and build you a new place. Just like they u
sed to in the old days, you know? Lots of music, lots of hard work.”

  “Thanks.” She knew they would, too. She’d have a new house as good as, if not better than, the old one. But it was like those logging companies who claimed they’d plant one hundred trees for every one they cut down. They simply didn’t understand that you could regrow a forest, but not the forest.

  Snowy dumped the latest load, then leaned out of the cab and yelled, “I think you can get to it now! Watch for hot spots, though!”

  Bliss pulled on a pair of fireman boots and gloves, then picked her way through the debris along the path that Snowy had cleared for her. When she reached the stairs that led to the cellar, she shone a flashlight down into the darkness. Smoke and dust hung in the air, but not so heavily she needed a breathing apparatus.

  “Want to tie a line to yourself in case there’s fumes?” Carding called.

  “No,” Bliss answered. “It’ll be fine.”

  She carefully descended the stairs. The wooden steps went from singed to water damaged to untouched just before they changed to solid rock. These ancient stone steps were as dry as if they’d been under a protective bubble—which, in a sense, they had.

  She walked past the rows of shelves along the stone corridor, to the door at the far end. The only footprints visible in the dust were her own, from the last time she’d visited. She unlocked the door and shone the flashlight inside.

  The tapestry still hung as it had for longer than most could imagine. Just the sight of it made her sigh with relief. It was a relic of the Tufa’s old country, brought when they crossed the ocean to the jagged mountains that had since become the rolling, soft-sloped Appalachians. Stitched into the ancient fabric were the faces of the original Tufa, many of which could still be seen, if you knew how to look, on current residents of Cloud County.

  She closed the door, locked it again, and then leaned back wearily against it. This was great news for the Tufa, but it did nothing at all for her. It didn’t replace the Overbay family history, which had gone literally up in smoke. It didn’t bring back Rockhouse, and it didn’t send Bo-Kate Wisby back into exile. The enchantment protecting the tapestry had worked, but the magic that was supposed to protect the Tufa had been proved fragile and insubstantial when the threat came from within the community itself.

  She wanted to cry. She could always blame it on the acrid, smoky air. But this wasn’t the time. The Tufa’s greatest artifact was safe, at least, and would remain so. Now she had to protect the Tufa themselves.

  She ascended the stairs and waved to Snowy and Carding as soon as she saw them.

  “Everything okay?” Snowy asked as she approached.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “But we need to close the cellar off with a door or something. Something we can padlock. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Surely she ain’t gonna try again,” Carding said.

  “I have no idea what she might do,” Bliss said as she took off the boots. “I just know we have to be ready for anything.”

  She turned around, and Mandalay stood behind her. The girl wore a heavy coat and snow boots, and carried a guitar. “If you’d excuse us, Orpheus, I need to speak with Bliss privately. Thank you for coming out in this weather to help.”

  “Always a pleasure, never a chore,” Carding said with a nod.

  Bliss followed Mandalay down the hill toward the frozen pond. When they were out of earshot, she said, “I just heard. The storm knocked out our power last night, and all our cell phones were dead.”

  Bliss nodded slowly. “Mine, too. Someone had to come tell me at the fire station.”

  “I assume it’s still okay?”

  Bliss nodded. “She didn’t find the way down.”

  “I don’t have any words of consolation for you. I don’t know what happened. I can’t imagine why we were cut off like that, except that the night winds wanted things to proceed without anyone interfering. That’s small comfort, I know.”

  “I don’t want comfort. I want Bo-Kate Wisby’s head on a platter.”

  “That’s not going to solve the problem, either. We have to know what she wants, and why she came back. And how she came back.”

  “Why?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “No, I mean, why do we need to know these things? She was cast out once, for just cause. Isn’t that reason enough to cast her out again? Or even something more permanent?”

  Mandalay saw something in Bliss’s eyes she’d never seen before: hatred. It both frightened and saddened her to see this steadfast woman so badly wrenched asunder. “Bliss, it may come to that. And when it’s over, you may have every reason to scream at me for not acting sooner, or with more force. But for right now, I really feel we need to know more. If we were meant to just stop her, then we would’ve done it yesterday.”

  “If you’re reading it right.”

  “There’s always that.”

  Mandalay continued to look steadily up into Bliss’s face, until the taller woman blinked and turned away. “All right. I won’t ever go against you, you know that. You always have my loyalty.”

  “I know, and I treasure it.”

  “But I’m very angry.”

  “So am I.”

  They were silent for a moment; then Bliss nodded at the guitar case. “Where are you off to?”

  Mandalay couldn’t repress a little smile. “Would you believe … I have a date?”

  * * *

  Mandalay walked into the Pair-A-Dice roadhouse and propped her guitar case by the door. Even at midday, the place was fairly full, mostly with old men still gossiping about Rockhouse’s funeral and the arson at the Overbay place. They looked up when the door opened, and a wave of surprise spread through the room, silencing all conversation. The young inheritor of the Tufa legacy did not often show up unaccompanied and unannounced.

  The Pair-A-Dice was a rectangular cinder-block building, windowless and with only one visible door, set back from the highway in the center of a gravel parking lot. Two enormous cutouts of dice on the roof were the only signage. Like many things to do with the Tufa, the place could be found only by those meant to find it. Unlike other things, the roadhouse could be found by outsiders, usually musicians who, for one reason or another, were open to the magic that dwelled in music, no matter what the source.

  Most of those present belonged to Rockhouse’s group; the old bootlegger’s cave they used for their meeting place was inhospitable during the winter, so they had to gather elsewhere. The few women still wore mourning black, but no one seemed terribly sad.

  The kitchen was in full swing for lunch, and the smell of fresh burgers filled the room. Mandalay hung her coat on the last remaining empty wall hook, then went to the small stage in the corner. An old Yamaha speaker was the only thing on the wooden platform. She sat the edge of the stage, took out her guitar, and idly noodled on it.

  She couldn’t believe that news of the fire had not reached her until that morning. She wanted to berate people for not driving out to get her, or using one of the other ways open to the Tufa. But she’d realized after talking to Bliss that something deliberately kept the news from her, just as Bliss’s own cell phone had been drained of energy. And by waiting until now to let her know, it had given her time to rest and clear her head.

  Well, sort of clear her head.

  Even as she gazed down at her fingers, though, she felt all her watchers. Conversation returned, but people spoke in whispers. She heard the unmistakable click of cell phone cameras, and that made her angry: What the hell was so interesting about a girl playing guitar, a girl they all knew and had known all her life?

  She raised her eyes and saw a dozen heads snap around, looking anywhere but at her. That made her smile, so she did it twice more.

  Arshile, the head cook, came through the crowd with a cup. He placed it on the stage beside her, then stood back and made a quick, complex gesture with his right hand. He said, “Thought you could use some hot chocolate, it being so
cold and all.”

  She smiled. “I sure won’t turn it down. Thank you, sir. How much do I owe you?”

  “On the house. I only make it for myself, nobody else drinks it.”

  “Much appreciated.” She noticed a Band-Aid on his forehead. “What happened to you?”

  “That? Oh, got it at Bliss’s house yesterday. Beam nicked me when it fell.” He paused, uncertain, then blurted, “Is something going on here today?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like … something to bring you here. I mean, after the funeral and the fire, and all…”

  “I’m meeting Luke Somerville.”

  “Elgin Somerville’s oldest boy?”

  “That’s the one. We’re gonna play a little. Hang out.”

  “Nothing … bigger going on?” he asked apprehensively.

  “Nothing bigger.”

  Arshile nodded thoughtfully. “I reckon that’s all right.”

  I reckon I don’t need your permission, Mandalay thought but didn’t say.

  He nodded, made another hand gesture, then went back to the kitchen. If he thought that someone so important to the Tufa should have better things to do with her time, he was smart enough to keep it to himself.

  Mandalay strummed a few chords, inevitably segueing into “Paranoid.” She wondered why that particular song suddenly obsessed her. Then again, she practically felt the rumors running through the crowd, all speculations as to why she was here, now, alone. Maybe it was just the right song at the right time.

  The front door opened again and Luke entered. He was thoroughly wrapped against the weather, and only his distinctive, lanky walk identified him until he started removing layers. Static made his black hair stick out in odd directions. He banged his guitar case on chairs and people’s legs, and muttered, “Excuse me, sir,” as he crossed the room. He dropped his coat and gloves on the floor and sat down beside her on the edge of the stage. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “I, uh … don’t know any of the hand signals I’m supposed to use to show respect.”

  She looked away as she felt her cheeks flush. “That’s all right. I invited you, remember?”

  “Yeah. That must’ve been quite a walk from your place. Did you get a ride?”