by Anne McAneny
He sneered. “Don’t go using your fancy reporter-girl words on me. Now rumor has it you’re involved in this case against my brother, and I ain’t talking to no cops till I find out what’s going on. You need to tell me what they got on him—and then we’re going for a ride.”
“To where?”
“Start talking ” He cocked the pistol. I was one redneck-twitch away from a hot piece of lead cooking my insides—or at least putting a hole in them. I started talking, hesitating a few times when it came to the specifics of the case against Zeke, but Levi pressed.
“What kind of video?” he said. “Where’d they get it?”
I vaguely explained about the amulet, while expounding upon Etta Lee’s intellect and the value of choosing girlfriends more wisely.
“Get on with it. Where’s this video now?”
“They’ve probably made multiple copies by now.”
“And maybe they haven’t.” He waggled the gun, his finger trembling. In a different time and place, I might have been moved by this show of fraternal concern, but as things stood now, I was hoping Levi would shoot himself in the foot and die from a slow-creeping gangrenous infection. “Where is it?” he repeated.
“At the forensics lab.”
“That’s attached to the sheriff’s office, right?”
“Yes.”
“I done work on that building. There’s a back entrance.”
“It’s incredibly secure,” I lied.
He smiled, and I resisted the temptation to lecture him on how smoking discolors the teeth. “The security guard’s my cousin. I can get us in.”
“The place is swarming with cops,” I said.
“Them cops all seem to like you, from what I hear.” He assessed me up and down, much like he did at our first encounter. “Don’t see the big attraction myself, but you’ll do to get us where we need to go.”
“And then what? You think we’re just waltzing out with a big handful of evidence?”
“From what you said, there’s no witnesses, and ain’t no jury gonna convict my brother over a few specks of dirt he mighta tracked into some old lady’s house. If I get ahold of that charm necklace—”
SWOOSH!
Poor Levi. All he got ahold of was a bullet to the hand. As he yowled in shock over the damaged stump at the end of his wrist, the gun crashed to the floor. He leaped up from the sofa and had a downright conniption fit, but I had no time for sympathy or disgust. I dove, sliding right through a slick puddle of his blood, and extended my arm for all it was worth. The moment my fingers touched the twenty-two, I flipped over and aimed straight at the one-handed dude still shrieking in my living room.
The whole scene was pitiful, but my primary thought was how uncool Levi would look trying to light his ciggies from now on. He dashed out the door, gripping his bloody paw, just as sirens approached, accompanied by the mad scrape of tires skidding to a stop on my driveway.
I stood and took in the scene surrounding me. Gross. The splattered blood against the taupe couch looked like a flock of red ducks scattering skyward after a hunter’s stray bullet. Thank God my hunter’s bullet hadn’t gone astray. I turned around, faced the purty house across the way, and waved my gratitude with a smile. Then I walked over, picked up my cell, and returned to the window. Rafe’s voice came through from the other end of the line.
“Thank God you never put curtains on that window, Chloe.”
“Why would I? That would block my view.”
“And mine,” he said suggestively.
“Thanks, by the way, for saving my life. I had no idea you were such a good shot.”
“Quite good, as a matter of fact.”
I turned and glanced at my couch. “So I see.”
“Good thing we exchanged phone numbers, eh?”
“I’m just glad yours was the most recent number in my contacts.”
“Glad to be of service. By the way, I understand Mrs. Elbee’s memorial is tonight. Want to head over together?”
“Are you seriously asking something as casual as that after what just happened?”
“Want me to call back?”
I laughed. “No, it’s fine. Pick me up at six.”
“See you then.”
Chapter 37
Half an hour later, everything was cleared up with regard to Levi. Something told me I wouldn’t be seeing either Carver brother again for a long time.
“Thanks for getting here so fast, Chad,” I said.
“Good thing Rafe thought to call it in right away,” he said with only the merest hint of resentment.
“Still, I’m sure this was the last thing you needed on your plate.”
“All in a day’s work. But these last couple days have been awfully strange.”
“You going to the memorial tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah. Picking up Melanie LeGrange at the airport, believe it or not, and then heading over.”
“What? Mrs. LeGrange is coming all the way back to Beulah for Grace Elbee’s service?”
“No. Get this. Someone sent her a first-class ticket to fly in for that magic show tomorrow night.”
My open-mouthed gape replied in full.
“I know, right?” he said. “Anyway, when she heard about the memorial, she decided to fly in a day early.” Chad shifted and looked uncomfortable. “Listen, Chloe, something I’ve got to tell you.”
My heart lurched to a stop.
“The guys finished the dig in Boyd’s basement. There’s nothing there.”
I allowed myself to breathe again.
“Couple bones,” he said, “but they’re from a dog. Other than that, we’re going through the soil with a fine-tooth comb, but there’s no body.”
I told Chad what Boyd had said in the woods, about how he admitted to cuffing Hoop in that room, but that he denied killing anyone. “Boyd actually seemed surprised about the blood and other evidence down there,” I said. “Claimed he never even thought to clean up that room because nothing really happened.”
“And you believed him?” Chad said.
“No, but why admit to cuffing Hoop at all? Why not just keep denying it outright? It lent a grain of truth to his story.”
Chad and I lamented Old Bastard’s unexpected appetite and then said our good-byes. It took me over an hour to clean up the mess Levi had left. Seemed I was always cleaning up after the Carver brothers lately—from Zeke’s bathroom stench to Mrs. Elbee’s body to Levi’s blood. And if I wasn’t mistaken, I was staring at a fleshy wedge of fingertip in the corner of my living room. I hoped that was the last I’d see of either of them.
As I brought my stained sofa cushions to the laundry room, I caught a flash of yellow in my open book bag. My eyes went wide with surprise. It was the envelope from Hoop addressed to Macy. I’d forgotten all about it after clocking Zeke with the attic stairs. I dropped the cushions and unclipped the envelope from the box to which it was attached. It wasn’t in the purview of good taste to rummage through a dead kid’s memorabilia, but I’d gone to an awful lot of trouble to do otherwise now.
And then I gasped. I’d never thought of Hoop as a dead kid before, and yet, I’d done it so nonchalantly, so carelessly. Had I become that jaded? Or was it finally getting easier to accept because I’d always known—since the day they found his Schwinn in the swamp? Or when he hadn’t shown up at Macy’s funeral? Or maybe from the moment I waved to him that final morning, when a horrible sense of foreboding had crushed me?
Clutching the card in my hand, I sat down. I hesitated before opening it, even checking over my shoulder for Macy’s ghost. For her sake, I sure hoped Hoop had written something worthwhile inside. I removed the card from the envelope. The front showed a picture of two birds holding a wavy, pink banner in their beaks as they flew skyward. It declared: Happy Birthday to a high-flying girl!
The sad irony was that Macy had ended her life as a high-flying girl. Unless I’d always imagined it wrong. Maybe Avis Whitaker’s old Cadillac had jolted her sidewa
ys, or straight to the ground. I’d never asked for details. All I knew was that the car was found with her left pedal hooked in the fender, and the marks in the road showed that Mr. Whitaker, the bike, and the car had all skidded a hundred-fifty feet before crashing into the oak.
I opened the card. It contained a preprinted message: You’ve already taken off with my heart. On the other side was Hoop’s heavy, dark handwriting. I knew it better than my own. That same scratchy penmanship had shouted back at me every time I’d read his final essay—and I had read that thing a hundred times over.
The note said:
April 1 . . . 15th Birthday . . . 12:03 a.m.
Happy Birthday, Macy! It’s a big one because . . . you can finally date! And that leaves just north of 105,000 hours till our wedding day, and then we got forever, which is a few more seconds than I can put a number to, but I’m sure going to try:
We’ll be together longer than the human race survives. Longer than the moon shines and the earth rotates, but not longer than the stars because we’ll be two of them, forming our own constellation: the Double-Macy-Hoop! (If only other humans had survived long enough to see it!) The Double-Macy-Hoop will of course be in the form of two hoop snakes who’ve accomplished the rare state of ouroboros—that perfect symbol of eternity, rebirth, perfection and balance. Yin and yang. And that sure is us. Me as one circle, you as the other. But we won’t be concentric. In our own way—a way I can’t even imagine—we’ll be coiled together, two perfect circles entwined, forever.
Heck, we’ll be our own fire in the sky. But if you don’t want to wait that long . . . then for your one and only fifteenth birthday . . . my gift to you . . . Look up!
I reflexively looked up, futilely hoping—for what? For Hoop to be holding an engagement ring? To be juggling two rings of fire? All I saw was blurriness filling my own eyes. My God, he loved her. He loved her purely and unconditionally. Why had I never accepted it?
I let my tears flow before closing the card. There was a note on the back: P.S. Please wish your mom a Happy Birthday for me—only four minutes belated!
It took me longer than it should have to understand the postscript. Mrs. LeGrange’s birthday must have been the day before Macy’s. If Hoop had planned for Macy’s card to be read at 12:03 a.m., as indicated, he’d only have missed Mrs. LeGrange’s birthday by a few minutes. The last time I’d seen Mrs. LeGrange, in front of Boyd’s General, it must have been close to her birthday. Our encounter had only lasted five minutes, not the type of meeting anyone would remember . . . but I did. It was the last time I’d seen Macy alive. I could still conjure the raw emotions I’d felt when Mrs. LeGrange mentioned how Macy would be allowed to date soon. Like a selfish brat, I’d pedaled my bike home and cried until my pillow was saturated. I’d cried out of self-pity, knowing that Macy and Hoop would become official. And then I’d cried for being such a horrible friend.
I slammed a fist down on the table. If only they’d lived! Maybe Macy would have become a stuck-up homecoming queen, and Hoop a raging jerk or drunk like his father. I might have grown to despise both of them. Life would have been so . . . normal, with reputations growing soiled and realistic, rather than purified and flawless through the filter of death. Childhoods weren’t supposed to end abruptly, freeze-framing people in innocence and perfection. They were meant to peter out slowly so that adults could look back and wonder when they’d become so jaded.
I knew exactly when I had.
I pulled out the box that had accompanied the birthday card and lifted the lid. Fireworks. A hundred dollars’ worth or more. Of course. That’s what Hoop had planned to give Macy for her birthday: a fireworks display. Fire in the sky.
I reached into the box and picked one up. It fell apart in my hand, corroded and ruined.
Chapter 38
Grace Elbee had apparently planned every last detail of the memorial with her pastor. Not surprising. She’d been talking about her death for years and had been prepared to go—just not in the precise way she’d gone.
A small tent had been erected outside the church, the chairs lined up, and the stage set. Grace had pre-purchased a bottom-of-the-line casket. “I’ll be dead. Why delay the decay?” she’d once told me.
Rafe and I took seats near the back so I could watch the comings and goings. I was especially curious to see if Richie Quail would show.
Grace’s son, Eric, sat in the front row with a dour-looking gentleman—probably a sponsor or a guard. Grace had always claimed Eric was in rehab, but some of us believed it was a facility of a more restrictive nature.
Next to Eric were Grace’s friends from before her candlestick days. They periodically approached Eric to offer condolences, but he kept his head lowered. Probably Jonesing for a drink or a ciggy.
Rafe nudged me and nodded to the right, toward the center aisle. A rotund barrel of gregariousness had made its entrance: Richie Quail. He’d returned to town after all. A burning fury rose up within me. It was all I could do to keep from storming the aisle and throttling one of his necks. Thanks to him, Boyd would never reveal his secrets, never reveal Hoop’s fate.
Quail’s second wife hung off his arm like a cheap accessory. She was some Russian babe he’d mail-ordered like a toy off a cereal box. She averted her eyes from all who glanced in her direction—which was everyone, because she was ridiculously gorgeous. Just the thought of Quail and her in bed together made my stomach feel nauseous. Quail made a big to-do of his arrival, waving and shaking hands with people as if it were a wedding and he was the father of the bride. Christ, he could have been the father of his bride.
Rafe patted my arm and only then did I realize I’d balled up my fists and raised my shoulders. “Plenty of time to talk afterwards,” he said with a hint of a grin on his face.
I’d barely gotten over the revulsion of seeing Quail waddle down the aisle when Chad walked in with Melanie LeGrange on his arm. Wow—still stunning. Chad gestured for her to enter the row immediately in front of ours. Not until he was seated did he realize his proximity to me. He almost smiled, but when he saw my seatmate, he adjusted his reaction to a curt nod. And when he sat and faced forward, I thought I saw his superhero jaw tense up and set itself for the rest of the evening.
Mrs. LeGrange took her seat, but immediately turned around. She lit up upon recognizing me. Despite more wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, and slightly thinner lips, there was no denying her beauty. She seemed much healthier and happier than I remembered. Even with additional weight, she remained thin, but all hints of her former frailty had vanished. My assessment was confirmed when Rafe got a full look at her; I’d swear I heard him stifle a gasp. Who could blame him? Her good looks were of the Hollywood type, rarely seen in person and never seen in the likes of Beulah.
“Chloe Keyes,” she said with a gleaming smile. “My goodness, is it really you?”
“It sure is, Mrs. LeGrange.” I leaned forward and hugged her, forcing Chad to lean right. She squeezed me tightly—a real hugger’s hug—and when we let go, she gazed at me as if in awe, no doubt wondering what Macy would have looked like at my age. “It is wonderful to see you. Truly.”
“And you as well,” I said. “You look amazing.”
“It’s been a long road,” she said, her eyes warm and full, “but I’ve survived. Finally got where I needed to be.”
I smiled in response, unable to fathom her travails along the way.
“Is this your husband?” She glanced at Rafe and extended her hand. I could only imagine the grating toll the conversation was taking on Chad.
“Oh, no,” I said, my face growing hot, “this is my friend, Rafe Borose. Rafe, this is Melanie LeGrange.”
Rafe, still wearing a reverential smile on his lips, reached out and shook her slim hand. “Mrs. LeGrange,” he said. “Enchanted to make your acquaintance.” Then he either closed his eyes or did an elongated blink as he bowed his head in her direction.
Mrs. LeGrange tipped her head a bit, too, her silky blond bob fallin
g slightly to the side. “Lovely to meet you, Rafe. Did you grow up in Beulah? I don’t recall your name, and yet, it’s so unusual.”
“I live in New Beulah, actually. One of the recent transplants.”
“Well, I’m glad you found us. Chloe here was a wonderful friend to my daughter, Macy.” She glanced down but then back up, quite deliberately, as if a therapist had taught her that small trick for finding courage. “She passed away many years ago.”
“My condolences.”
Mrs. LeGrange nodded in appreciation, then turned back to me. “It’s still hard for me, of course, and I didn’t think I’d ever return to Beulah, but I received the strangest invitation. A magic show, believe it or not, and my curiosity got the better of me. Do you know anything about it?”
“Only that I’m going, too,” I said. “The whole town is. Where are you staying, by the way? I can offer you a great Murphy bed at my place.”
“Thanks so much, but everything’s been taken care of by whoever invited me. I’ll be at the Hilton in New Beulah.” She leaned forward and spoke confidentially. “Personally, I suspect Richie Quail is behind all of it. He was very generous to me when I left town, and I don’t have many connections left here. It’s got to be him.”
“Richie Quail is actually here,” I said. “Up front. Perhaps he can explain afterwards.”
“Oh, I doubt it,” she said. “He’s kept the whole thing very secretive. Probably wouldn’t do to spill the beans the day before. I just hope it doesn’t have anything to do with . . . well, the day after tomorrow would have been Macy’s birthday. And tomorrow is the anniversary of her”—she smiled awkwardly—“well, anniversary doesn’t seem like the right word. I just hope the date is a coincidence.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “By the way, that means your birthday is tomorrow, right?”
She looked baffled that I knew, and I saw Rafe looking more than a little surprised.
“How in the world did you know that?” she said.