Chuy must have caught a glimpse of him passing overhead, because he was there in a second, his face a mask of distress. But when he saw Joe lying on the ground, groaning, he rushed to help him. With a lot of effort, he got Joe up, and somehow they made their way up the outside stairs to their apartment as darkness fell on Midnight. They paused to rearrange themselves about halfway up. From the darkness nearby, they heart a sort of chuffing noise. It came from some large animal. And without saying a word, they moved up the remaining stairs with a speed they hadn’t thought they could achieve a minute before. They went in the door as fast as they could and locked it behind them.
Then the only light was the light of the full moon.
27
Rachel Goldthorpe was murdered,” Arthur Smith was telling Manfred, at the same time that Joe was putting on his running clothes.
Manfred sat down abruptly. “For sure? How?”
“The tox results show that she had taken six times the dosage of her blood pressure medicine. Almost certainly that wasn’t on purpose. It had been dissolved in the water bottle she carried.”
“She drank out of it while I was watching.”
“Yeah, it was your telling the Bonnet Park police that detail that let them know to look for the bottle. Somehow in the attempt to save her, it got knocked off the table and rolled under the couch. One of the cops there found it just in time. The doctor says he suspected an overdose from the first, but now it’s confirmed.”
“She said she dropped it in the lobby,” Manfred said. “She said people helped her pick up her stuff and put it back in her purse. I guess . . . could it have been put in there then?” He almost held his breath, waiting for the answer.
“It doesn’t seem likely,” Arthur said, and Manfred breathed again. “If someone wanted to poison her, surely they’d put the medicine in an identical water bottle and substitute that one for the one in her purse. And that would take a lot of foreknowledge. The appearance of the bottle, with all the butterfly decals on it. The type of medicine she’d been prescribed, the dosage that would kill her.”
“What kind did she take?”
“The medical examiner says she overdosed on Cardizem.”
“What exactly does that do?”
“That was her blood pressure medication.”
“But she wouldn’t have taken it like that. Crushed up and put in her water. Who would take their pills like that?”
“Some people—especially sick people, and especially elderly sick people—can forget they’ve taken a dose of their medicine and take another one. And maybe after that, they forget again. But not only was she comparatively too young and clearheaded to make such a mistake, the pills were actually ground up. Her daughters told the Bonnet Park police that she had no trouble swallowing pills the normal way. So the conclusion is, she was murdered. What was in her and what was left in the bottle was probably ten doses altogether. Enough to kill her.”
“She took that big a dose that morning?”
“Yes. Some time that morning, before she walked through your door, Rachel Goldthorpe had taken at least six times the dose of Cardizem she should have had for the day. In consequence, she went into shock and died.”
“Could her regular dosage of pills have had an unexpected effect on her because she was sick?”
“It was a deliberate overdose.” Arthur said this with finality.
“I don’t want to believe anyone would kill Rachel. Especially since it sounds like whoever did it, it had to be someone who knew her really, really well.” Manfred shook his head vehemently. “She would never have killed herself.”
“You sound pretty sure.”
“She was so coherent,” Manfred said. It was a relief to tell Arthur this; he hadn’t realized until this moment how much he’d wanted to talk about Rachel. “She felt pretty bad, as I told you. Sick as a dog. And she looked it. But she was on top of things mentally, for sure. She was just worried about her son.”
“Who still insists that you stole her jewelry.”
“Which I did not. For God’s sake, what would I do with it? You may not admire what I do for a living, but I’m not a thief.”
“That’s debatable,” Arthur said. “Most people would say that you take money under false pretenses: that you can actually predict the future or advise the people who call you on how to make their lives better.”
“I could debate that with you, but I’m not going to,” Manfred said. “I wouldn’t take jewelry, or . . . I don’t know, stock and bonds, whatever . . . or anything but money for services rendered. I’m an honest man.” He’d been sitting at his curving desk, and Arthur had taken the other office chair. Now Manfred rose to look outside. It was almost dark. “Twilight,” he said. “Dusk. Gloaming.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?” Arthur sounded amused.
“I don’t want to sound all mysterious, but you need to get in your car and leave now,” Manfred said. “It’s not safe here tonight.” He turned to face the sheriff. “Don’t ask me questions. I can’t answer them. You know this is a weird little town, right? Midnight has its own rules. Tonight’s not a good night to be here. So can we continue this conversation tomorrow? I can even drive into Davy if you want me to.”
“You’re serious?” The sheriff joined him at the window. He looked out curiously, didn’t see a thing except the deepening darkness. “I don’t see the Yakuza coming down the street, or a giant lizard.”
“Arthur. It’s not really a good evening to be making fun.”
The sincerity of Manfred’s concern finally got through to Arthur. “Who told you this?” he asked. “What’s the danger?”
“A very reliable source. And I don’t know yet, but I know it’s coming.”
“If something is going to be on the streets that’s so dangerous, shouldn’t I be calling out a SWAT team or at least more deputies?”
“That would just put them in danger, too,” Manfred said. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he knew it was so.
There was a muffled sound outside, and both the men peered out the window. The Rev was leading a cow by means of a rope around its neck. The cow was not happy.
“What the hell?” Arthur said. “What’s the minister doing with a cow?”
“Good-bye, Arthur,” Manfred said hopefully.
“Just to keep you on an even keel, okay, I’ll go,” Arthur said, with a smile that said he was placating Manfred. Manfred had no trouble reading that.
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Manfred said. “Straight to your car, now.” He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He opened his door. If Manfred could have lifted Arthur and thrown him into the front seat, he would have. As soon as the sheriff was out of the front door, Manfred closed it to a crack and watched as Arthur walked to the crumbling driveway. He unlocked the car with a key fob as he walked, so he could climb in and start the motor as soon as he got there. Manfred could hear the little thunk that said the car doors had locked automatically.
Blowing out a sigh of relief, Manfred shut his own door and locked it. He drew the curtains closed.
He went into the kitchen to heat up his Mexican supper at about the same moment Joe was landing behind the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon. Outside it grew as dark as it was going to get on this night of the glowing moon.
Manfred didn’t look out again, not even an hour later when he heard a sort of bellow. He thought it came from nearby, perhaps from across the road, and he thought it sounded like a terrified animal. But he only looked up from his book for a moment and then went back to reading with his jaw set. Much later, in the middle of the night, he woke. Despite the window air-conditioning in the front room, which served to cool the whole house, he had thrown off his sheet. He sat up to find the end so he could draw it back up. As he groped around the bed, he heard something pass by outside his house, something big, something that made an
odd coughing noise. He closed his eyes and prayed, and the thing passed by. He sank back down on the bed, pulling the percale sheet up over him like a child.
Whatever had prowled around his house seemed to be going in the direction of the pawnshop.
—
In her basement apartment, with its windows right by the ground, Olivia watched the paws walk by outside. Her lights were all off. She felt safer that way.
—
Above the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon, Joe and Chuy looked out the front windows. For the most part, they were silent. Joe’s ankle was hurting, but it was bandaged and he’d taken some pain relievers. He was as comfortable as he was going to be that night. They’d pulled up chairs and a small table for their wineglasses, and Chuy had gotten Joe a footstool to prop his ankle on.
They sat there through the night. They were keeping guard, in their own way. So they saw everything that happened.
“At least one more night, maybe two,” Chuy said, as the darkness began to lighten. “You think we can do this two more nights?”
Joe said, “I think we have to. With the boy being so young.” He shook his head. “Honey, you can sleep if you want to. Doesn’t need but one of us. My ankle would keep me up, anyway.”
“I’m not going to leave you watching by yourself,” Chuy said.
Joe didn’t answer out loud, but he reached over to take Chuy’s hand.
—
Above the pawnshop, Bobo Winthrop tried to sleep, with little success. He was worried about so many things. Foremost in his mind was his concern about the pawnshop not being open at night during Lemuel’s absence. Sometimes Olivia was able and willing to do the shift; sometimes she wasn’t. When a business wasn’t open regular hours, people tended to stop coming. And the night customers were the most profitable. What would happen if he couldn’t keep his business afloat?
He turned over to try a new position, but his mind refused to turn off.
Lemuel and Olivia could find somewhere else to live, he supposed. Perhaps Lemuel would want to buy the business back from him. But Bobo didn’t want to leave Midnight. He liked the town, liked the area, liked Texas. There were so many good things about living here: Fiji being across the road, so he could see her often. Manfred next door. Joe and Chuy down the street. And the Home Cookin Restaurant, where he’d passed some very contented hours eating and talking.
He hadn’t realized the previous few months had been a Golden Age.
Now the money wasn’t trickling in, Manfred was in trouble with the law, and there was this big, bad thing outside trapping them indoors for the night. Of course he’d noticed there was a full moon. The moon would be as near to full as made no difference for the next two nights. He wondered if he’d have to stay locked inside all that time or if he could manage to stay up most of the night with the front doors unlocked to get the customers he often got during that moon phase. They were the customers better left to Lemuel—but he hadn’t heard from Lem in weeks. Or would those customers be in too much danger? What made this full moon more dangerous?
And then he was back to his worry about the shop.
The worst thing about sleepless nights was the feeling of running in a hamster cage, at least mentally. The same thoughts, over and over . . . He tossed and turned for another half hour. Finally, he slept.
—
The Reeds drew all the shades in their trailer, double-checked to make sure all the windows and doors were locked, and got out their guns, which were loaded and ready for use. Madonna held Grady for a long time before she put him to bed, and she left the door of his room open so she could hear the smallest sound. They didn’t turn on their television, either, which was a trial for both Madonna and Teacher. Instead, Madonna checked her Facebook page and some recipe websites, and Teacher read a backlog of mechanics magazines. By midnight, they were relaxed enough to crawl into bed to sleep.
—
In the Midnight Hotel, in their separate “suites,” Suzie and Tommy slept the sleep of exhaustion, only rousing enough to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water. Just down the hall, Mamie had had to take some pain medication for her hip, and she was snoring in her room. Shorty Horowitz slept sporadically, waking to confused dreams that were set in his colorful past. His grandson, in a room upstairs, was worried about spending yet another night in Texas, and concerned about finding somewhere for his grandfather to settle. If only he had a sibling to share the load. Barry slept with silver around his neck and wrists.
Lenore Whitefield was exhausted, too. She was out the second her head hit her pillow. Her husband stayed up to look at porn on his laptop, unbeknownst to Lenore, who would have hit him over the head with that laptop had she known.
The two contract workers sat in their respective rooms upstairs playing a computer game with each other. They did not see anything odd about this behavior. They didn’t pay any attention to the town, and they never knew that if they’d stepped outside the doors that night, they might have been eaten.
28
Manfred had to leave his work desk untended the next day to honor his promise to drive into Davy to see Arthur Smith. Though he grumbled internally about leaving his work, and he did need to talk more to Barry and Olivia about what had happened when they were in the Goldthorpe house (there’d been no chance for him to get the full story), he had to admit he was anxious to hear whatever Arthur had to tell him. Davy only seemed a large town in comparison to Midnight. Though it was just a few minutes’ drive north, Davy had many more restaurants and shops. It was also the county seat, with the usual cluster of lawyers around the usual courthouse. Since Davy was also on a small river where rafting and canoeing were possible, the town conducted a brisk tourist trade in the summer and early fall.
The law enforcement agencies in the town had recently consolidated into one building, a renovated school. The sheriff’s department, the jail, and two courtrooms were in the same building, and the ambulance service was one block away, the fire department a block after that. Manfred had expected a little district that ran on emergencies and crime to be bustling, but not in Davy. There were no fires, nor anyone in need of rescue at the moment. The sheriff’s department seemed just as quiet. The jail had a separate entrance at the other side of the building, so Manfred didn’t even have to share parking space with visitors. He was not at all tempted to find out if there was more bustle over on the jail side. He was nearly phobic about cages; he had not gone to a zoo since his first visit to the Memphis zoo with his school class.
The lobby of the sheriff’s department was spick-and-span, thanks to an inmate who was mopping it with great vigor. Another inmate was dusting the leaves of the large potted plant by the door. They were both wearing traditional orange jumpsuits.
A female officer in uniform was behind the desk. Manfred’s heart sank when he recognized Officer Gomez, who’d been to Midnight before and shown herself unsympathetic in the extreme. She glared at Manfred, her round face hardening with disapproval. They’d never talked, but apparently she recognized him. Or maybe she just hated small men with facial piercings.
“Officer Gomez, what a pleasure to see you. I hope you’re doing well.” Manfred didn’t even try to summon up a smile, but he did manage to sound civil.
Arthur Smith came through an open doorway behind Gomez, just in time to hear her say, “Yeah, asshole, what do you want?”
There was a moment of silence that could only be described as pregnant. Manfred was fighting the sudden temptation to grin, Gomez was sharply aware that someone was behind her, and Arthur was furious. The mopping prisoner sniggered, and the dusting prisoner stifled a smile.
“Officer Gomez,” said Arthur, the care he was taking to make his voice calm and smooth apparent in every syllable.
“Sir,” she said. She didn’t dare to turn around. She kept her eyes fixed down on the telephone at the desk.
“After I talk
to Mr. Bernardo—a taxpayer and a citizen of this county who has never been charged with, much less convicted of, any crime—you and I are going to have a conversation. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Manfred could read Gomez’s posture. She did not lift her eyes because she didn’t want to meet Manfred’s. She was afraid he would be triumphant or gleeful.
Not much, he thought. Hardly at all.
“Please come back to my office, Manfred,” Arthur said, sounding close to normal.
“Thanks, good to see you.” Manfred worked to make his own greeting nonchalant.
When they were in Arthur’s very modest office with the door shut, Arthur said, “What was that about? Has she behaved this way before?”
“Short answer is yes. She’s not a fan of Midnight. She answered a call out there when we were worried about motorcycles buzzing the streets, basically told us to go to hell.”
“You didn’t tell me about this.”
“The motorcycles left when they saw the patrol car, so just the fact that she showed up worked. Telling you about her attitude seemed a little like tattling to Daddy, I guess. Besides, Fiji threatened Gomez with her cat.”
Arthur smiled. “I would have liked to see that.”
“We also figured, maybe the next time we called it might be Gomez who responded again. We wanted to stay on her good side, just in case.”
“I apologize. I try to run a good department.”
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