Satan’s Lambs

by Lynn Hightower

  It was lonely out.

  There had been no one to meet her at the ranger station, though she had cruised by slowly two times. With the exception of an old man on a tractor, she had seen no one.

  It was not possible to walk quietly. The path was wide and easy, covered with dry, wadded brown leaves. Winter had blasted the trees, though there were a few thinking about leafing out.

  The trail narrowed and sloped steeply upward. The trees thinned, and on the right the land cleared. Lena could see quite a ways over the tangle of weeds and coarse brown scrub.

  Something rustled. Lena stopped and looked, but saw nothing. She took a sip of flat, Coke-flavored water.

  She was breathing hard when she crested the hill. She walked along the ridge top, keeping her pace steady. A black-and-white butterfly, attracted by her bright red sweatshirt, fluttered close to her waist, then skittered away. Three Canada geese flew overhead, complaining in odd hoarse barks.

  Lena wondered if Mendez and Anita Casey were having dinner together in Louisville.

  She wiped her forehead with the palm of her hand, and tucked her hair in the back collar of her shirt. The air was damp and cloying and clouds were gathering overhead. Lena picked up the pace, wondering how much farther she had to go.

  Dusk settled heavily and she turned on the flashlight. The wind swirled her hair. A light cascade of raindrops pattered on the leaves. Lena pulled on her jacket. A silvery can of Bud Lite had been squashed and left under a bush. Lena curled her lip.

  She walked.

  The path veered right and widened, almost into a road. A sign showed an arrow to campsites 45 to 53. Deep tire ruts, spaced closely together, led the way. Lena saw paw prints in the muddy dirt on the right-hand side of the road. Dog, most likely. Big dog.

  Darkness came gradually, and the rain picked up. Lena shivered and adjusted the canvas bag under her arm. She had to go slower now. Every once in a while she stopped and killed the light, scanning the trees around her. No other flashlights. Was Jeff Hayes out there, waiting in the dark?

  Charlie would be scared. If he was there. She was scared.

  Mendez picked a fine time to be tied up in Louisville.

  Moonlight poured through the trees, and white mist rose from the ground as rain-cooled air mixed with warm currents. The path narrowed again and swung left. The decomposed leaves were wet now, and slippery. Lena slowed her pace. It took all of her concentration to follow the trail. She stopped every few yards, waiting for streaks of fog to slip away so she could find the path.

  Somewhere geese were honking and squawking loudly. Lena stopped and listened. About a mile away, she decided. The rain pelted her sporadically, gentle through the canopy of trees. She was wet through, and cold. Her shoulders began to ache. She left the Coke can on the trail and readjusted the canvas bag. Never thought she’d get tired of carrying money.

  The insects got loud, stirred by the rain and the warmth of the day. Too early for mosquitoes. All was not lost.

  Lena wondered if Charlie was cold. Or hungry. She was hungry. She thought about the Tootsie Roll, but decided to save it. Charlie could chew on that while she got him home and out of the woods.

  If she got him out of the woods.

  Her light caught one of the brown wooden signs, designating campsites 50 through 54. She’d gone too far. She doubled back, shining her light on the right-hand side of the trail, looking for markers.

  A few yards away she found it—a circular clearing where the paths converged, an outhouse, and a marker that pointed to campsites 46 through 49.

  She shone her light around the clearing and the woods, then shut it off and listened. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Lena opened the door of the outhouse. The hinge creaked. She went up two steps and inside. The smell wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Not too good either. There was no roof, and the rain had saturated the roll of toilet paper and turned it gray. Spiderwebs hung in the corners, insects had left eggs on the walls. The toilet seat was held in the up position by a spring in order to provide maximum convenience for men, who usually used the woods. A small brown moth dashed crazily back and forth in Lena’s light.

  The light caught a flash of movement by her left foot. Lena aimed the flashlight at the floor. A baby garter snake, not much fatter than an earthworm, lifted its round, brown head lethargically, disturbed by the noise and the light.

  Lena pushed the door open and backed slowly down the two steps. The door slammed shut and she headed for the trees.

  A narrow gravel path led to campsite 49. Lena figured Hayes could hear her coming. She glanced over her shoulder, shining the light behind, beside, and in front. Maybe he was up in a tree. She checked her watch and bit her lip. She was thirty-seven minutes late.

  The gravel trail ended in a clearing. Lena shone the light, illuminating a large, splintery picnic table, two stone steps that led to a squared-off tent site, and a concrete pit for campfires.

  No sign of Hayes.

  The dirt was flat and worn down. Lena walked the perimeter, shining the light into the trees.

  “Hayes?”

  An asphalt path sloped down through the trees to the water. She followed it.

  The lake was huge, blue-black, and silent. A fish jumped, making a splash and a ripple. The sky was deep black and livid with stars. Moonlight touched the water, turning it milky white.

  Lena shone the light on the reddish, pebbled wet soil. Every few yards was a landing, shored up with cement blocks, and a line post with a campsite designation. These were boat-in campsites, Lena realized. Somewhere between backpacking and Airstream trailers. There were three landings in the horseshoe-shaped inlet, but no boats. She headed back up the hill to the campsite. Somewhere close by came the hoot of an owl.

  Lena sat on top of the picnic table. Hayes had to see her, after all.

  An enormous black ant moved across the table. The ant was carrying something: the sagging corpse of another ant.

  The picnic table was wet. Lena felt the seat of her jeans soaking up water. It struck her that there were people who thought it was fun to come out here. She frowned, watched the trees, and listened.

  33

  Lena sat in the dark, enduring wave after wave of shivers. Her ribs were getting sore. It was after midnight—well after one, actually—when she flashed the light on her watch. She sat on the edge of the picnic table, her shoulders slumped, back aching, arms wrapped around her sides.

  She thought how the cold could exhaust you. She did not want to walk those miles back to the car. Earlier, picturing herself hand in hand with Charlie, she’d had confidence about finding her way back. Now, alone in the dark, she wasn’t so sure.

  “Time to call it a night, don’t you think?”

  Lena jumped off the picnic table and stumbled over a tree root. Someone stood at the edge of the circle, the magic circle of site 49. Lena shone her light into the woods.

  A dog whimpered.

  The man was black, tall, solidly built. There were touches of gray in his hair at the temples, and he had a serious, comforting face. He was in uniform—the olive drab of the National Park Service. A large black Labrador retriever stood close to his leg. The dog’s nose twitched, and she yearned toward Lena.

  “You mind?”

  Lena turned off the light.

  “You Lena Padget? PI from Lexington?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Don’t be afraid. Anita Casey radioed me from Louisville. I’m Ted Moberly. I’m here to see you’re okay.”

  Lena took a deep breath. “I’m okay.” It was hard to talk when your teeth were chattering.

  “Sound cold to me. You been out here long enough. Don’t think he’s going to show tonight.”

  “I was late getting here. I may have missed him.”

  Moberly shook his head. “Don’t think so. I haven’t seen anybody but a few night fishers. Local boys I know.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  The dog whimpere
d.

  “Hold on, Sally.” Moberly looked at Lena. “You like dogs okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, girl,” he said to the dog. “Go make friends.”

  Sally bounded forward and shoved her head at Lena’s leg. Lena staggered sideways, glad that Sally was too polite to jump. She patted the slick black head and Sally pressed closer, wagging her tail and panting.

  “Good girl,” Lena said. “Good dog.”

  “What time was this meet set up?” Ted walked closer. Sally wagged her tail, and he scratched her ears.

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “What time you get here?”

  “Ten after nine.”

  “Close enough.” Ted leaned against the edge of the picnic table and the wood creaked. “Uh. Getting too old for this.” He shook his head. “I don’t think he ever showed.”

  Lena frowned. “How much did Casey tell you?”

  “Anita? Pretty much everything. We’ve worked together before, same problem. Not your man Hayes, but others. Your Mendez wanted to call out the marines, but Anita convinced him that one marine was enough.”

  “So you’re a marine, huh?”

  “Used to be. Ex-navy SEAL.”

  “Vietnam?”

  “Do I look old enough for Korea?”

  “Hard to tell in the dark.”

  “Huh. Don’t waste time trying to butter me up.”

  Something rustled in the woods, and Sally pricked her ears.

  “It’s okay,” Ted said softly. “Go on, get it.”

  Lena put her chin in her hands.

  “We need to check in,” Ted said. “Last I heard, Mendez was on his way. Said they’d stop at my place. I got a big pot of chili on the stove. How about we go have a bowl while we wait.”

  “He’s not coming, is he.” It was a statement. No answer required.

  Ted’s voice deepened. “I been here since nine-thirty. Walking the perimeter, in a two-mile range. No sign of anybody. And I’d know if he’d been around.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Lena said. “I know he wants the money.”

  Ted straightened and stretched. “I got a canoe beached on the other side of the peninsula. No more than a half-mile walk. Sally.” The dog came bounding back. “Ever taken a canoe out in the moonlight?”

  “Nope.”

  “Tonight’s your lucky night.”

  The canoe glided through the dark silky water. A tiny lamp on the right-hand side of the prow cast a narrow green beam of light. Ted sat in the back of the canoe and paddled. He had declined Lena’s offer of help. Sally lay on her belly in the middle of the canoe, her head resting on the left-hand side of Lena’s seat.

  The shoreline was dark and quiet. Fog drifted across the water and shrouded the inlets.

  “How do you find your way?” Lena asked.

  “Polaris over my right shoulder.”

  The buzz of a gasoline engine was sudden and close. Lena turned and strained her eyes. The boat was almost invisible in the darkness, a hundred yards away to their right. It was built for speed and silence, and painted flat black. It ran without lights.

  “That’s no fisherman,” Lena said.

  “Businessman,” Ted said laconically. He turned the boat until they faced the opposite shore.

  Lena wondered what he was doing, then the wake hit and she understood. The canoe bobbed up and smacked down, rocked by violent ripples. Lena didn’t like the way the canoe rocked from side to side, feeling no steadier than roller skates on ice. She put a foot on the canvas bag and pinned it to the bottom of the canoe.

  The ripples passed, and Ted turned the canoe. A minute later, the ripples found the shore, smacking noisily against rock and tree roots.

  “Pretty out, isn’t it?”

  “Umm,” Lena said.

  34

  Ted Moberly’s house was brown fieldstone, a snug two-story, set on a hill in a thicket of trees. Ted led the way across a broad porch, his feet thumping on the hard wood. Lena could smell chili cooking all the way outside. Sally lifted her head and sniffed the air.

  The house was small and immaculate, like the one in Lena’s childhood book of fairy tales, Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She stopped just inside the doorway.

  “Don’t be shy,” Ted said. “Come on in.”

  “My feet are muddy.”

  Sally groaned and shook vigorously, spattering Lena and the floor with water droplets and mud.

  “As you can see, we don’t worry about such things. But take your shoes off, if it bothers you. That chili smells good, don’t you think?”

  Lena nodded. She set the baseball bat in the corner, and put the canvas bag on the floor. She bent down and unknotted the laces of her shoes. The leather was wet and they were hard to pull off. Her socks were like sponges, so she took them off, along with her wet jacket, and piled them in the corner with the shoes. She shivered. Her shirt and jeans were damp. The floor was much too cool on her feet, but the house was warm. The heat pump ran, giving off a homey background hum.

  Ted disappeared through an open doorway on the right. Lena followed and found herself in the kitchen.

  The cabinets were dark polished pine. Lena’s feet made soft slapping sounds on the warped yellow linoleum. A round rag rug, shades of amber and red, rested in the center of the room, cushioning a rectangular wooden table. The refrigerator was white, humming loudly, and the stove and sink were harvest yellow enamel. There was no dishwasher in the small square kitchen, and clean dishes were drying in a plastic holder on the right-hand side of the sink.

  Ted stood at the stove, using a large wooden spoon to stir a copper-bottomed pot. He sniffed deeply.

  “Ummm.” He looked over his shoulder. “How wet are you? I got some dry clothes I could lend you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sit down. I’ll get some coffee going.”

  “Think we should give Mendez a call?”

  “He’s on his way.”

  The dog nosed an empty stainless-steel food bowl, pushing it under the cabinet. She looked at Ted, who ignored her. She lapped from the water bowl, slopping water onto the floor and wetting her chest.

  “You’re still looking cold,” Ted said. “Why don’t you grab that jacket? Over there—hanging by the back door.”

  Lena took the black leather jacket and put it over her shoulders. The leather was cracked and worn, and gave off the vanilla-molasses smell of rich pipe tobacco.

  Ted picked up the pot from his Mr. Coffee and poured cold brownish black coffee down the sink. He glanced over his shoulder at Lena, huddled on the edge of her chair.

  Sally, toenails clicking on the linoleum, padded onto the rug, leaving muddy paw prints. Her tail wagged vigorously and she shoved her head in Lena’s lap. Lena noticed white hairs in the dog’s wet muzzle, and around her neck near the worn leather collar. Sally’s eyes were kind and knowing, and Lena realized this was no young dog. Lena scratched Sally’s ears, and the black Lab sighed, snuggled close, and made a high-pitched groaning noise back in her throat.

  “You got a friend for life,” Ted said. He poured water through the coffee filter and the heater sputtered and steamed. A thin stream of brown liquid filtered into the glass pot, and the coffee smell mixed pleasantly with the garlic-tomato smell of the chili.

  “You told me you and Anita Casey have worked this problem before. Did you use to be a cop or something?”

  Ted grinned. “Naw, now.” He dipped a ladle in the pot of chili and filled a brown ceramic bowl. “There you go. Let me get you a spoon.” He fished a large serving spoon out of a drawer that rattled with silverware. “Be careful now, it’s hot.”

  Lena dipped the spoon into the thick red chili, churning onion, beans, and plugs of sausage. Sausage? It smelled good. She blew a spoonful until it was cool, and took a small taste.

  “How is it?”

  “Wonderful. Could I … could I have a glass of water, please?”

  “’Course. Kind of spicy, I hope that’s okay.
”

  “Fine. It’s good. Great.”

  Ted set a large glass of icewater on the table in front of her. Lena took a deep swallow.

  “Naw, I never been a cop,” Ted said. He sat down across from Lena, dipping a large spoon into his bowl of chili. “Coffee be ready in a minute.” He took a bite of chili. “You want any Tabasco?”

  “No. Really.”

  Ted jumped up and opened a cabinet. “I go through more Tabasco. My wife—my ex-wife, that is—she keeps some around, just for when I’m there. Same bottle, year after year. Sauce is turned kind of green and dirty brown. Got an interesting flavor, that’s for sure, but don’t tell her that. I must go through a bottle a month. Guy that runs the grocery store keeps it in stock just for me. Says if he had a nickel for every squirt I use …”

  Lena took another bite of chili, avoiding the thick chunks of sausage. Sally whined softly and drooled onto her leg.

  “I see things sometimes,” Ted said. He stared into a corner of the kitchen. “Like one time, I came across three or four tiny little nooses, hanging in a tree. Strange, that night. And right by the nooses were the ashes of a fire. When I rooted through it, I found bone fragments.”

  “Human?”

  “Small animal. Rabbit, maybe, or cat. Sometimes what I find is pretty obvious—blackened circles of ashes, candle stubs, pentagrams.”

  Lena fished a piece of sausage to the top of the bowl. Ted was not paying attention. She slipped the sausage under the table to Sally. The dog opened her mouth, and the sausage disappeared swiftly and silently. Sally graciously licked the excess chili from Lena’s fingers.

  “Where do you find these things? Just out in the woods?”

  “Off in the remote sections sometimes. Or sometimes not. Some people won’t walk very far. Depends on who you’re dealing with. Lot of times it’s just kids. Bored, middle-class white kids—kids who ought to know better. Trying to make sense in a senseless world, I guess.” He shook his head.