Not Flesh Nor Feathers

“Did you find her body?”

“No. Good Lord, no. I would’ve had to call the cops over that, and I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you if that had happened. I didn’t find any trace of her. But I did find something weird. I think it’s what she wanted to show me, but I don’t get it.”

“Well?”

“Well, it was a series of paintings on the wall, underneath the plaster.”

“Wait. What?” Christ deflated with confusion. “Murals? Under the plaster? How did you—”

“They were old KKK murals, pictures of hooded bozos on horses with burning crosses. But they’d been there a while, probably a hundred years or more. Someone had plastered over them ages ago, and the plaster’s coming down; that’s why I could see them. That’s what Ann Alice was trying to show me. As soon as I twigged on, she disappeared. I’d ask if you know what she meant by it, but I can tell by looking at you that you’re as stumped as I am.”

“I’m not stumped,” he argued. “I’m never stumped. I’m just temporarily unaware.”

“You’re nuts, is what you are.”

“But Ann Alice wasn’t.”

“Is that why she was selling her behavioral modification meds down by the river?”

He stood up. “Yeah, because she didn’t need them. That’s the point. She wasn’t crazy and she wasn’t stupid. If she showed you the furniture building, then she must have had a reason.”

“But what would that reason be? That’s what I’m asking you!”

I hadn’t known Ann Alice very well. She’d always struck me as a pretty little burn-out tomboy. It seems to take ghosts a lot of trouble and effort to manifest, though, so when they do, there’s almost always method to their madness. Of course, sometimes madness is the method, and that’s where it gets tricky.

“I . . . I have no idea. But maybe I should go check the place out—get a look around. You didn’t find anything, but I might.”

“Knock yourself out. Keep your eyes open, though. It’s private property and there could be cops hanging around. There’s a hole in the plywood covering one of the side doors. Go in that way and take a look. But be warned, you might end up running into Nick there too. He may do a local interest piece about it.”

“Is that what you’re doing here? Talking with him about this, I mean?”

“Yes. Why? What did you think I was doing?”

“You said you wouldn’t rat me out to the media, but for all I know—”

“I meant what I said, dumbass. But I did tell him about the paintings, because he’s got access to research options I don’t.”

He laughed, a half-dismal little cough of mirth. “I get it. You’re not above using him to do your legwork.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take it however you like it. I don’t give a shit. Thanks for the heads-up, though. I’ll go check the place out before Ned Nickerson over there gets his paws on it.”

With that, he dropped his board to the ground and took off down the sidewalk. I should’ve known more than to expect any gratitude, but it still annoyed me.

I went back inside and Nick was waiting with a refill. “What was that about?”

“Nothing important. I had a message for him, that’s all.”

“He looks . . . charming.”

“You are . . . lying,” I said, imitating his joking tone. “He’s a right bastard, but I owe him a favor. Sort of.”

“Long story?”

“Long story. Wouldn’t fit into a three-minute piece, I assure you. But hey, stupid question,” I warned. “Do you know who Ned Nickerson is?”

He scrunched his forehead, then brightened. “Nancy Drew’s boyfriend, I think. Not that I ever read them; I was a Hardy Boys man all the way. But my sister couldn’t get enough of them. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. It’s just a name that came up in passing. I thought it sounded familiar but couldn’t place it. You know.”

“Sure,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he believed me.

11

Seeing and Knowing

It rained again the next day and the river was up, which is how it goes. With bad weather comes a higher river, fewer people downtown, nastier roads, and construction breaks, so the North Shore Apartments would have to wait for repairs and completion.

Rainy days always make me restless anyway; I turn into a little kid again, wanting to go outside and feeling thwarted.

My mood wasn’t helped by the fact that I was on borrowed time at Lu and Dave’s. They knew I was leaving. I knew I was leaving. I was all packed and prepared to leave. We’d made our peace with it, but for one reason after another I couldn’t actually get the hell out.

It really was time, I knew. A lot of my friends still lived at home, but even with guardians as laid-back as my aunt and uncle, past twenty-five a girl tends to want her own space. And once everything had been arranged but delayed, my impatience was killing me.

I was itching for an excuse to leave the house when Harry called and gave me an even better reason to want to flee.

“You ready?” he asked, as if I could possibly tell him “Yes.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. What’s your ETA?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Does that work for you?” In the background I could hear Malachi jabbering happily.

“Tomorrow afternoon. In time for supper?”

“In time for supper,” he confirmed. “How do you want to do this?”

“Preferably? In body armor. But failing Kevlar, how about you two show up here at the house around six. I’ll sit down with the ‘rents and warn them. I’ve been putting this off long enough. I think it’s time to have that little chat, whether I like it or not.”

“I don’t envy you. Be gentle with them.”

“I won’t have a choice. Hey, do you know how to get here?”

I gave him directions and we hung up. Tomorrow afternoon. Supper with the family, plus Harry and Malachi. It was enough to make me break out in hives, but it would only be worse if it was a surprise.

Lu and Dave were lounging on the back porch together, watching the rain like Lu and I had the day before. We lived in a quiet patch of Signal Mountain. Our nearest neighbors were two lots away on either side, so we had plenty of trees in our backyard and no one to bother us.

It was easy to feel isolated; but then again, it was easy to feel secure.

I made myself a stiff drink—then I thought further ahead and made three. I used up the last of Lu’s sweet rum and a two-liter bottle of soda, but it would be worth the replacement costs to have an alcoholic buffer. I finished the drinks off with ice and straws, then stuck them on a TV dinner tray and took a deep breath.

I pushed the patio door open with my foot.

“Frosty beverages?” I offered, trying to sound jolly.

“Absolutely!” Dave agreed first, reaching forward and taking a blue plastic tumbler off the tray. Lu took the orange one and I was saddled with the pink. “Now what do you want?” he asked.

“Want?”

“Or need?” Lu clarified. “You look positively ill. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly. Nothing’s wrong. Can’t I bring my two favorite people a drink without getting the third degree?”

Lu sipped hard through the straw and smirked. “Maybe you should pick two other people—possibly people who don’t know you very well.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be any fun. I just wanted to run something past you before tomorrow afternoon.” I settled in, taking the patio chaise longue and pushing it a foot or so back, up against the wall. I did my best to look relaxed, and almost certainly failed.

“You in some kind of trouble?” Lu asked, taking the safe route because she was unsure whether to be concerned or amused.

“Do you need money? What have you done now?”

“I haven’t done anything. But I’m about to do something you might take objection to, and I want to warn you rather than spring it on you.”

“Whoa, boy.” Dave made a show of taking a deep drink. “It must be serious. These are pretty strong.”

“Well, serious is sort of relative, isn’t it?”

“Sweet Jesus.” Lu followed Dave’s example.

“No—no, really. Okay. Before you get worked up, let me make some disclaimers. First of all, I’m not in any kind of trouble. Second, no one’s gotten hurt, and no one needs money. I’m not moving to Europe and I’m not plotting anything illegal.” The minute I said the last part, I wondered how true it was. In the interest of full disclosure I backpedaled carefully. “Actually, we might be in a gray area, there. Like, I don’t know if it could be called ‘harboring a fugitive’ if the police stopped looking for him because they think he’s dead.”

It was as big of a preparatory hint as I could deliver. Lu and Dave both froze and stared, each of them trying to parse out what I was so reluctant to divulge. Neither one knew what to ask, so neither one asked anything. They waited me out. So when the moment had reached its critical mass of awkwardness, I kept going.

“It’s like this. You know a couple of years ago—when I went to Florida.” It wasn’t a question. We all knew what I was talking about. I had a quick flashback to the swamp, and to Avery with his dank little cabin. I remembered the smoke and the ashes, and the way Malachi—even hog-tied—had repented enough to lend a hand.

“Go on.” Dave said. He was trying to sound tough and warning, but I heard eagerness there too.

“You guys remember Harry, right?”

“Sure,” Lu said. “Older guy. Tall and tough-looking. The Jack Palance of clergy.”

“Used to work for Eliza,” Dave added.

“That’s him. He went back to the monastery in St. Augustine after all the craziness happened. And it’s hard for me to overstate how seriously crazy all that was. But I need you to take my word for it.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">