by Shelly Frome
Holding up two sheets of paper, he rushed to a conclusion. “These drawings are fresh and more detailed and the only ones not wadded up and tossed on the floor. Therefore, stands to reason she got a call, flung off her sling and ran out. Add it to the fact your delivery man spotted her trying to hitch up Route 7 not more than thirty minutes ago and what have you got? It all figures, right? Right.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. Sorry. Guess I was using you as a sounding board.”
Noticing how all the spirit seemed to be drained out of her, he thought of staying for another couple of minutes to try to explain how urgent this all was. But afterwards, no matter how brief his explanation, how could he ever live it down?
“Look, I’ll call you. Okay?”
Folding the drawings and tucking them into the inside pocket of his windbreaker, he made for the door. But as he reached for the knob, she stopped him, touched his face and lingered there as if capturing an image to remember him by.
He reached for words that would make it all right, but all he could come up was, “I’ve never seen anything through, LuAnn. Not ever.”
Turning away, he pushed on. Rushing to the car as everyone else was leisurely strolling by him, he wondered if he might be overreacting. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that difficult to intercept Alice before she caught a ride heading east on Route 4. He might even convince her that they could simply call on Chief Deputy Clay Tucker and lay it all in his lap; a ploy which, in the long run, was the best way to go. Almost immediately, however, he realized that Clay Tucker was one of the last persons who’d want to reopen this can of worms. And the prospect of intercepting Alice, let alone talking her into anything was problematic enough.
. . .
Predictably, his initial tack got him nowhere. Alice was nowhere in sight anywhere along Route 7 north. She might have gotten a hitch going east on Route 30 into the southern tip of Holly National Forest and another one up to Potts Camp crossing over Highway 178. She might be standing under this brooding, ashen sky in Cornersville or Bethlehem, unable to get another ride, shivering like when they first met. She might even be on her way to Higdon close to Darryl’s Rebel Spirits for all Josh knew, truly asking for it. He tried to remember what part of the map Alice was keying on before he took it away from her this morning but came up with nothing short of this general area.
He lost at least another hour tooling around the hill country straining the Chevette’s wheezy motor. He stopped at out-of-the-way convenience stores asking anyone if they’d spotted a girl answering Alice’s description with her thumb out. He showed people Alice’s crude map and drawing but received only friendly cursory replies. One moonfaced clerk shook her head even before Josh told her what he was after.
Somewhere north of Hickory Flat by the Tippah River he gave up on the idea of catching her stranded, half-heartedly grateful he’d come by, refusing to share what was on her cell phone message at first, but reluctantly giving in. He decided his best bet was to head back to Cody’s in the hope that someone could make sense of Alice’s handiwork and steer him in the right direction.
But before pulling away again, something kept nagging him. It had to do with the way the folks around Cornersville and Bethlehem were so quick to slough off Alice’s sketches. As though they immediately recognized something they wanted no part of. And there was one more thing. It may have been a coincidence, but the way the moonfaced lady averted the more detailed colored drawing made her reaction seem all the more curious.
He unfolded the sheet, studied it for a minute or two until it finally began to dawn on him: the yellow plastic place mat up in Billy’s flat at the breakfast table . . . how Alice sleepily placed the red swizzle sticks so they looked like crossed dueling swords . . . from the The Three Musketeers perhaps, forming a triangle in the center. How Alice murmured the words “Montecristo” in such a way that Josh was prompted to add it to his notes. Then it hit him: the box of special cigars Lamar Dean received as an early Christmas present . . . offering one to Josh . . . tapping his finger in the right-hand corner, making sure Josh recognized the seal certifying genuine, rare Havanas—Montecristo.
Any attempt to dismiss the connection was futile. He drove on a little faster.
At Cody’s, discounting Beca, the waitress with the shock of hair over one eye who still had it in for him, it was still no-go. Strother was gone, off to spend his winnings on Christmas sales in Holly Springs for his grandkids. Which irked his fellow card-playing retirees no end, especially Big Ed, the heavyset farmer. He reminded Josh how he had to go out and grab Strother away and haul him back inside to the gaming table. It was all Josh’s fault for giving Strother pointers, thereby upsetting the apple cart and ruining the fun.
Undaunted, and since Ed was the only one of the bunch who would even talk to him, Josh told Ed how important it was and the least he could do was glance at Alice’s sketches. But even Ed’s slight bit of condescension was short-lived. Fixing his close-set eyes directly up at Josh, Big Ed let out one of his grumbling sighs and said, “Look, fella, I don’t know what you’re after. But I gotta tell you, I do mind these interruptions. By my last count, this now makes three or four. So if it’s all right with you . . .” As a swift indication the conversation was over and done, Ed turned away, took another peek at his hole cards and raised the ante.
And that was as close as Josh got. The handful of diners; Cora, the waitress with the permanent frown; the short-order cook and the freckle-faced kitchen helper shrugged him off. He was an out-of-towner who had taken up more than enough of their time.
The next alternative that came to mind was Ada Mae. The only one around remotely interested in Alice’s welfare. The only one who might give him some inkling of Alice’s whereabouts before he had to contend with the failing afternoon light.
As he hopped back in the car and covered the few blocks to the Dixie Dollar, he passed Sonny Drew’s cruiser headed in the opposite direction. Given the meandering way Drew was driving and the fact he’d failed to keep Darryl on ice, Josh couldn’t help thinking Drew’s days on the force were numbered. Josh pulled over, looked back and made a mental note that Deputy Drew was about to hole up at Cody’s for a while. Josh considered turning around and offering him Alice’s continuing plight as a way to get him back in the Department’s good graces. Then again, the Department meant placating his boss Clay Tucker, the very man who’d railroaded Dewey years back and was doubtless still in Lamar Dean’s back pocket.
Shaking off these flitting notions, he continued on to Ada Mae’s store, bound and determined to zero in on exactly where Alice was headed.
. . .
This maneuver began to pay off as soon as he cornered Ada Mae in the storage room perusing boxes of tacky Christmas tree ornaments, welcoming any excuse to switch gears and harp on Satan’s plans. However, the snag was the same old bind about a guardian angel.
Screwing up her pinched face, Ada Mae tapped on Alice’s makeshift map and said, “Afore I reveal the lair that’s sucked her in, you got to reckon with your spirit guide. You see, I asked my angel Gabriel ‘cause there’s no way I can keep an eye on that willful wayward child, especially now she’s gotten in over her head. And he tells me I am off the hook. No longer my lookout.”
“Fine. Which leaves—”
“You. But you can not go down there your own self. You’ve been summoned most likely, but you got to get it through your head you can not go it alone. Think back now. I’m gonna give you the signs and you answer me yes or no.”
Josh hesitated. Not because he was taking this in. But simply because he wasn’t sure he could continue humoring her a moment longer.
“Did you feel the touch of a hand?” said Ada Mae, as eager as can be. “A cloak of feathered wings wrapping around you? Did you hear angelic sounds? Was there a sudden rush of air like an angel on a mission? Did you see colors change or feel vibrations?”
“Come on, Ada Mae, I don’t have time for this. Alice doesn’
t have time for this.”
Glowering at him, Ada Mae slapped Alice’s map with the back of her hand. “Well you’d best make time. She’s got to be put in a foster home. And the only way she’s gonna get there is if you yank her off the path to perdition. And you can’t yank her off that dark path ‘less you got yourself help to free her brain and light the way. ‘Less of course it’s too late.”
With his mind racing, it didn’t take much to decipher what that meant. That Alice had already made her bargain with the devil. Which is precisely what Ada Mae would make of it if Josh so much as hinted that she was off to make a swap.
Avoiding that allusion at all costs, Josh snatched the map back and assured her that Alice’s brain was unlocked because things were coming back to her.”
“You sure about that?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t be here. So tell me, will you? Where exactly is she headed and how do you get there?”
“Oh, that’s it, ignore me, see how far it gets you.”
“It will get me right to her if you’ll kindly co-operate.”
“Get you right to her and no way out.” Jabbing at the map, Ada Mae hollered, “Everybody knows the Tin-man water tower but nobody’s fool enough to go any further!”
Folding the map up, Josh shrugged her off. “Great, terrific, I’m a fool. Whatever has gotten into me?”
Josh was out the storage room and halfway up the empty aisle when Ada Mae called after him. “There, you see? Something greater has gotten into you, but you have to call on it. Else, all on your own, she’ll be swept down and you’ll be swept down along with her till you’re both smack dab up against Roy Holloway.”
Josh halted at the glass exit door and turned back.
“That’s right,” Ada Mae said, stationing herself at the far end of the aisle. “Talk about Satan’s man. You seen him. Seen that long rawboned shadow aside the running board of that ole car. So you’d best ask yourself how you gonna sidle on down there under cover. Let alone snatch her, drag her back out in one piece, in the dark, in his territory. Go on, ask yourself.”
But just when Josh thought she’d give him the clincher, he lost her again. With her eyes half-shut as if envisioning what was in store for him, she peered up at the drop-ceiling tiles and began to sing to herself. “In the pines, in the pines . . . where the sun never shines . . . and you shiver when the cold wind blows . . .”
“Where in the pines?” Josh called back, trying to snap her out of it. “How far? How do you get there?”
Lost in thought, she continued on with her incantation. “They’ll cause you to weep, cause you to moan . . .”
“Okay, Ada Mae, I get it, I get it. Way down in the pines. What is this place anyways? Where is Roy Holloway holed up? What’s the story here?”
Still transfixed, Ada Mae began to answer, her voice a faint echo in the recesses of the empty store. She spoke of a time when the place was bathed in light as a Rebel retreat during the days of the Old Colonel. Then handed down father to son as a campground till Satan slipped in. After that, came strange goings on. Gunshot wounds and howling in the night. Candidates running for office, out for game and some weekend fun but, soon after, folded up their campaign and were never heard of again.
For a time, Josh stood stock still, listening. Then, realizing she was too far gone for any further communication, he left her softly humming to herself.
He hurried out to the car, reached down to the floor mat in the back seat and grabbed his journal. He scanned the notes he’d made for Hunter Cobb till he came across two jottings:
Some time ago Lamar Dean needed a right-hand man out in front—Grady Poe. He needed another deep in the woods to watch his back.
Josh drove off, made a U-turn and headed back to Cody’s reaching for some way to make Sonny Drew do his job. Josh still didn’t know how to get to a road leading down from a water tower and was not about to get lost, waste more time circling around, cited for trespassing or criminal mischief or any other threats Sonny Drew had at the ready. And he was certainly not going to walk into some hunter’s lair, unarmed, up against Roy Holloway who, no matter how you twisted it, had to be the selfsame few-words guy.
Pulling into Cody’s, he wished there was time to get word back to LuAnn he was on to Alice’s whereabouts. He also wished he could take Ada Mae’s visions with a grain of salt. But there was nothing for it but to press on.
. . .
Though Josh hovered over his table and reminded him he was still in uniform, he was unable to get Sonny Drew to put down the sports page and quit deflecting.
Finally Drew flipped out his notepad making certain he had it down precisely. “‘Release of information is discretionary. Hunting accidents and incident reports are not public. You have to prove willful denial of access.’” Pocketing his note pad, Drew returned to the sports section.
Josh raised his voice, shouting so loudly he caused everyone including the kitchen help to look in his direction. “I am not talking about any hunting cover-ups, Sonny, so quit jerking me around! Otherwise you can add a second count of dereliction of duty to the list!”
A few seconds passed as Drew lowered the paper and glanced up at Josh.
“That’s right, Deputy Drew, you got it. Failing to charge Darryl with assault of a defenseless girl who’s barely fourteen. Plus you can add reckless endangerment and whatever in hell is now happening or about to happen to her.”
Josh was so intense and leaning over so far, he barely heard the squeak of a chair from the back of the room and only caught sight of Big Ed barreling toward him at the last second. Assuming it was another case of interrupting his card game, Josh flinched and tried to pull back in time. But it wasn’t Josh, Big Ed was after. In one swift motion, he slapped away Drew’s paper, grabbed him by both shoulders and hoisted his slight frame straight up. Then he turned him around and shoved him toward the front door.
“Listen here, you little piss-ant,” said Big Ed. “For once you are gonna earn the tax dollars we wasted on you. You are gonna lead this fella down Piney Woods Road and investigate whether this kid is in danger. And if you don’t, if you chicken-out like always or give this fella any kinda hard time, I will wrap your little baton around your neck and haul your sorry ass down there myself. You hear? You read me? Now get!”
Sonny Drew was so shaken, he tripped on his way out the door, fumbled for his keys and dropped his note pad.
With the sound of applause still resounding from the café, Josh hurried back to the Chevette and hit the ignition just as Sonny Drew pulled out. Fully intent on sticking with the cruiser, no matter how fast Drew drove or where they eventually wound up.
31.
At the turning, Josh let Sonny Drew get way ahead of him. Drew was so flustered at this point, he was heedless of the ditches and deep shadows cast by the stands of loblolly pines and clumps of gum trees. Heedless of any wreckage to the cruiser. Heedless of the foggy mist and waning light. Obviously still smarting from the dressing-down and humiliation at the hands of Big Ed, not giving a damn anymore and just plain letting off steam.
Still and all, Josh wondered why someone so cowardly had no qualms about going full tilt down to the worrisome hunting lodge and smacking into the likes of Roy Holloway. Unless Drew was holding out hope that Alice hadn’t gone very far and he would be tearing right back, slamming on the brakes and informing Josh he would be charged with creating a nuisance and whatever else he could drum up.
In truth, Josh hoped Alice had made it only to the water tower, took a good look at the murky way the road dropped off, got scared and gave the whole thing up.
But Drew didn’t come tearing back and there was no sign of Alice anywhere near the water tower at the top of the road. Discounting any best-case scenario, Josh took the steep drop and ruts with caution, flipping on the defroster and wipers; making sure he didn’t break an axle veering onto a ditch; making certain the flimsy car made it down and was still in one piece for the drive back
up with Alice in tow, completely unharmed.
When he finally reached the bottom, he glanced to the right and didn’t like the way the gouged mud-packed drive narrowed under the towering oaks. Leaving little or no room for a getaway. Forcing him to risk stripping a gear gunning the car in reverse, or spinning the rear wheels and getting stuck.
It took a number of tries to skirt the thickets dead ahead before he was able to turn the car around and face it where he wanted it: tires on the passenger side gripping solid ground and leaving enough room for Alice to hop in as they headed on back.
To make up for more lost time, he got out and rushed up the drive, taking in the clammy dampness, the air redolent with burning hickory smoke, pine needles and moldering vegetation. The only sounds that of the nearby baying and howling of a hound.
Almost immediately he came upon Sonny Drew’s cruiser, the front bumper rammed up against the rear end of Darryl’s red pickup. Josh took a quick look at the lockbox bolted against the sidewall of the truck’s bed. The same lockbox harboring the switchblade knife Darryl retrieved the other day right after Josh punched him. The lockbox was open and empty and there was no one in sight.
Josh hurried on. Everything now pure sensations: the misty sights, the smells, the tightening muscles in his neck, the incessant yelps and howls. He had no plans, no idea where he was. All he knew was movement: check it out, go and find her. With Darryl somewhere around, it had to be hide-and-seek. Add Sonny Drew to the mix, she would probably wait it out, see what happened. If and when Sonny and Darryl gave up on their hunt —no Alice, no Bubba--she’d doubtless go on with her game of swap. Then Roy Holloway would come out of the woodwork. And do what? Actually go through with the deal whatever it was? Or maybe nothing like it. In the meantime, where anyone was at this moment, let alone what they were up to, was literally a shot in the dark.