A Hard Bargain (14 page)

His face was half in shadow, his clear eyes like silver. I could see the portrait already: Jerry By Moonlight. It would be my masterpiece.

Shana was right. This was too much. I couldn’t go on like this.

“Jerry.”

He turned to me, his expression expectant.

“A few times before, there’s been something you wanted to tell me.”

“Oh, yes.”

My heart was pounding so hard I knew he could hear it. “This might be a good time.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, it is.”

I waited, hardly able to breathe, myself. I knew whatever he was going to say would forever alter our friendship, our future.

“Mac,” he began. Then he turned his head. “Hang on. Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That rustling sound.”

“It’s just the wind.”

He stood up. “It’s the Mantis.”

“You know what kind of sound a giant mantis makes?” A giant mantis with a damned crummy sense of timing, I wanted to add.

He clicked on his flashlight. “Come on.”

He ran into the covered bridge. It swallowed him like the dark mouth of a whale. I followed his flashlight, a small spot of brightness that bounced erratically on the walls. To my horror, a large stick figure jumped at him from a crouched position. In the beam of my flashlight, I saw red alien eyes and a set of evil-looking claws.

“Jerry, look out!”

He ran right into it, fell, and rolled in a tangle of long limbs and muffled cursing. I rushed up and grabbed his arm. As I pulled him free, my flashlight revealed one red mantis eye on the ground and the other still attached to what looked like a bike helmet on the head of a very real person. The mantis staggered up and started laughing.

“Didn’t think you’d be suckered in, too, J.”

Jerry was trying to catch his breath. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or amused. “Damn it, Rick. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Adding fuel to the fire, pal, and fanning the flames.”

I kept my light in Rick’s eyes. He had on a brown turtleneck shirt and brown pants. The claws were cardboard. The eyes were the kind of red reflectors used on bikes and driveway markers. I could’ve killed him. “You’re pathetic, you know that?”

“Fooled you, didn’t it?” He took off the helmet. “Hell, J, you knocked my eye off.”

“This is crazy,” Jerry said. “Are you actually scaring anybody?”

“You should hear them yell.”

“And nobody comes after you?”

“So far, you’ve been the only one brave enough to tackle the Mantis and live to tell the tale—if you want to call that collision a tackle.” He grinned at me. “I like the way Mac came screaming to your rescue.”

My heartbeat had finally returned to normal. “I did not scream.”

“Like a banshee.”

Jerry used his flashlight to locate Rick’s reflector eye. “Are you out here every night?”

“Nah, just when I feel like it. I try to pop out of the woods on the other side of the lake, too, for a little variety. People expect the Mantis, they see the Mantis. It’s classic.” He put the reflector in his pocket. “Took you long enough to come looking.”

Jerry laughed. “You must be pretty desperate for customers.”

“Nah, just bored.”

I’d had enough, and I certainly didn’t want Rick to enlist Jerry in this scheme. I could just see the two of them: Mantis Man and Mantis Man, Junior. “Come on, Jerry. You found Mantis Man, and he’s a bigger fake than I could’ve imagined.”

Rick’s grin never faltered. “I may be a fake, but I’m going to be a rich fake.”

I switched off my flashlight so I wouldn’t have to look at that grin. “You might sell a few tee shirts to some kids, but you’re not going to get rich.”

“But Mac, old girl, this isn’t the only thing I’ve got cooking in town.”

“Okay, so you’ve swindled a few old ladies out of their life savings. You should be very proud. And stop calling me Mac.”

He put on his helmet and adjusted the strap. “The pet psychic project has run its course. Want to hear my latest?”

“No,” I said, “and Jerry doesn’t, either.” I grabbed Jerry by the arm and pulled him away. “Good night, Rick.”

Jerry was still chuckling as we got into the car. “Gotta hand it to him, that Rick’s a pro.”

“A pro jerk, you mean.”

“You aren’t going to tell people he’s the Mantis, are you?”

“No, I think anyone who’s taken in by cardboard and bike reflectors deserves a good scare.”

We drove in silence for a few minutes. I wanted to ask Jerry what he was going to tell me before the Mantis attacked, but I knew that, thanks to Rick, another special moment had bitten the dust.

Jerry said, “You look awfully grim. Did you think it was a real Mantis Man?”

“It’s late. I’m tired, that’s all.”

Jerry was unusually quiet the rest of the way home. Just before he went upstairs, he startled me by kissing my cheek. “Rick was right about one thing. Thanks for screaming to the rescue.”

All I could think to say was, “I didn’t scream.”

“Yes, you did. It was blood curdling. Any self-respecting mantis would drop to its knees and pray for mercy.”

I had to push him away. It was either that or grab him and hold on forever. “Good night, Jerry.”

Chapter Five

The next morning, I dropped Jerry off at the bookstore so he could continue his exorcism, or extermination, and went to Parkland. At the
Herald
office, I asked to see Chance Baseford. The secretary checked to see if he was available and told me Baseford could give me a few minutes. I went down the hallway to the last door on the left and tapped on the door.

“Enter,” a deep voice said.

Chance Baseford looked the same. The same broad pinkish face, the same mane of silvery hair, the same pompous attitude. “I’m very busy, Ms. Maclin, was it? This had better be important.”

I didn’t think he remembered me. “It’s a question only you can answer,” I said.

This approach worked. His manner changed. “Please sit down.” He smoothed back his hair. “How may I be of assistance?”

“I’m looking for the artist who painted a portrait of Desmond, Jeremyn, and Tucker Fairweather. I was told his name is McKittrick.”

Baseford put his fingertips together. “Ah, yes. McKittrick. Not a bad portrait painter if you want something ordinary. Sad to say, he left town years ago. Why are you looking for him?”

“I’m hoping he can tell me more about the fire that killed Victor and Lillian Fairweather.”

Baseford’s white brows drew together. I thought he was pondering the mystery, but abruptly, he sat back and pointed both first fingers at me as if shooting a gun. “Miss Parkland.”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“I knew I’d seen you before. I hope you took my advice and never picked up a paintbrush again.”

“Mister Baseford, if we could get back to my original question.”

“Did you continue with a so-called art career?”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“Why in the world are you interested in a twenty-year-old tragedy? Not hoping to solve the mystery, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, my God. Don’t tell me you’ve become one of those annoying female detectives. Aren’t there enough of them cluttering the fiction shelves?”

“Mister Baseford, what I’ve done with my life is not your concern. I just want to know if you have any information that might help the Fairweather family.”

“What’s left of it.”

“Yes.”

“With your looks, you should be doing just one thing.”

“With your looks, what should you be doing?”

I didn’t let the old bastard stare me down. I held his gaze until he gave a snort that might have been a laugh.

“Well, you’ve toughened up, I can see that.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, it is thanks to me.”

I’d let him go on believing that. “What can you tell me about the fire?”

He steepled his fingers again. “It happened late at night. Some candles overturned and caught the living room on fire. The older girl got the children out, but the parents weren’t as lucky.”

“You know something else, though, don’t you?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you keep glancing to something behind me.”

“That would be the clock. Your time is almost over.”

“Why glance at the clock when you’ve got a very expensive watch on your wrist?”

He snorted again. “That picture behind you. It’s by McKittrick.”

I turned around in my chair. Baseford’s back wall was covered with framed newspaper articles, plaques, awards, photographs, and pictures. The picture he pointed to was of a much younger Baseford. His hair was brown, but his face was still pink and his expression still superior.

“I’m surprised you kept such an ordinary painting,” I said.

“Take a closer look.”

I got up and examined the painting. An inscription at the bottom read, “To my dear friend and most exacting critic, sincere thanks, Monroe McKittrick.” Further down was the name “Jackson Frye.”

“Who’s Jackson Frye?” I asked.

“His assistant. He never did anything worthwhile. Always running around with the ladies. Come to think of it, I believe he was enamored of young Harriet Fairweather. Probably after her fortune, although she was tolerably good-looking.”

This was news. “Did he assist with the Fairweather portrait?”

“Most likely.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“You’d have to ask McKittrick.”

“Do you know where McKittrick is?”

“I know where he went. He may not be there now.”

I waited. Either the old bully would tell me or not. I wasn’t going to beg. Looking at Baseford now, I realized I’d built him into a monster when he was actually just a grumpy old man. “Do you paint, Mister Baseford?”

“No. Waste of time.”

You probably don’t know how, I thought. So you have to tear down those who can. I was too young to see that before.

Baseford said, “You might try the artists’ colony in Riverdale.”

“Thank you.”

“Now I really must get back to work.” He picked up some papers on his desk and made a great show of looking through them. “Good day.”

I went out and shut the door behind me. I stood in the hallway for a few moments and took some deep breaths. Wait till Jerry hears about this. Baseford’s nothing but a crusty old coot. On second thought, I might not tell Jerry. He’ll say now there’s nothing standing in the way of my art.

Only I had to admit that nothing was ever standing in the way. I put up all the road blocks myself. I let other people talk me out of something I loved. This was not going to happen again.

Riverdale was several hours away. I decided to save that road trip for later and get back to my office in Celosia. When I got there, several extra cars sat in the parking lot. At first, I thought Ted must have a lot of clients. Then I recognized the people standing at the front door. When I first met Ted, he and a group of concerned women were protesting the Miss Celosia Pageant. Here were the same protestors, only now they had a new cause and a new leader.

Twenty waved from the pack. “Good morning, Madeline! We’re organizing the members of S.T.O.M.P.”

I knew most of the members of Twenty’s anti-mantis group. Samantha Terrell is Austin’s mother. The other women are local soccer moms and members of Twenty’s garden club.

“Are you in with them?” I asked Ted.

“I agreed to listen to their side of the story.”

Twenty didn’t let him get away with this. In her bright blue sundress with silver trim, she looked like a bolt of electricity. “Ted Stacy, you know where you stand. Anything that harms the town has to go. Do you want us to become like Dixley, saddled with that awful Squash Festival? I suppose you’d want a Slug Festival or maybe Black Widow Spider Days?”

Ted tried to calm her down. “I still think you need to wait and see the movie.”

Her round silver earrings swung like little wrecking balls. “What about that creepy Mister Rialto and all his ideas about merchandising?”

“Those ideas have to pass through the Chamber of Commerce, and I doubt the mayor’s going to agree.”

“But it’s a free country, Ted! Rialto can set up his stuff by the roadside.”

“Chief Brenner can take care of that.”

Twenty sighed. “It’s just so tacky.”

Samantha Terrell agreed. “I don’t want Austin running through the woods trying to find the Mantis Man. He’s wild enough as he is. If he sees a movie about this creature, I know he’s going to want to see the real thing.”

“There is no real thing,” Twenty said. “It’s just a stupid story. If I could get my hands on the idiot that invented Mantis Man, I’d squash him like a bug. Madeline, when is Gaskins coming back to the Eberlin house?”

“The night of the full moon.”

“That’s tonight. We’ll be there. Ted, are you coming tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

“Samantha, I want you and Esme to make signs. Patty and Janie, you need to start the petition. No Mantis movie. No Mantis merchandise. Ted, what are you going to do?”

“I’d really like to see the movie first before I make a decision.”

“Madeline?”

“I’m sort of neutral on this issue, Twenty.”

She put her hands on her hips, and for a moment, I thought she was going to blast off like a rocket. “Well, sometimes you just have to take a stand. If S.T.O.M.P. has anything to do with it, there won’t be a movie. Come on, girls.”

The group moved on, Twenty giving us several dark looks over her shoulder.

“I can’t believe she’s so upset over this,” I said.

We watched as Twenty gave the women some last-minute instructions before they got into their cars. Ted gave Twenty a wave. She didn’t wave back.

“Neutral is probably the way to go, Madeline.”

“I hope I don’t lose her friendship.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious.” He rubbed his neck. “It’s too hot to stand out here worrying about the mantis.”

As we went down the hallway to our offices, Ted said, “Speaking of Mantis Man, I heard a couple saw him last night. Guess the old legends die hard.”

I started to tell Ted that it wasn’t an old legend but an old con man when Ted’s phone rang.

“That’s my client,” he said. “Talk to you later.”

I went back to my office and sat down at my desk. I had my second list of overdue books to track down, and I’d promised Evan I’d look through the Miss Celosia Summertime Pageant materials. Might as well get the pageant stuff out of the way first. Cathy and Mitch had put together an official-looking brochure with all the rules for Miss Celosia Summertime, a mission statement, and an application form. “A New Chance to Show the World What You Can Do!” the headline proclaimed. “The Miss Celosia Summertime Pageant is all about Girl Power! Everyone’s a Winner!”

I sighed and read on. Miss Celosia Summertime was created “to bring out the best in every young woman.” The pageant offered cash prizes and an exciting trip to New York City. I wondered how they managed that and then remembered Mitch had connections in New York. A modest twenty-five dollar registration fee was required. Contestants were encouraged to bring in canned foods for Celosia’s United Community Can Drive.

I was reading about Poise and Personality when Shana knocked on the door.

“I hear you and Mantis Man went a couple of rounds last night.”

I closed the folder. “Something like that. How did you know?”

She came in and sat down in the chair. “High school kids were making out on the other side of the bridge. They said they heard a rustling noise and a terrific scream.”

“It wasn’t a scream. It was a battle cry. I thought that thing had Jerry.”

“So there really was a Mantis Man?”

I was still so disgusted with Rick I didn’t care what I’d promised Jerry. “It was Rick Rialto.”

“Rialto’s the mantis? He must be older than he looks. People have been seeing this thing since the Thirties.”

“He’s trying to create interest—as if people aren’t mantis-mad already.”

“Well, the kids were really frightened.”

“Tell them the mantis is just a two-bit con man who’ll do anything for the almighty dollar.”

“Did Jerry know this?”

“No, he was just as surprised as I was.”

Shana indicated the folder. “That looks like an important case.”

“Rules and regulations for Miss Celosia Summertime. I promised I’d have a look.”

“And?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. I just can’t seem to escape the pageant world. That part of my life is so over.” I set the folder aside. “For some teenage girls, it’s a good opportunity. They really can learn poise and self-confidence. But when you come right down to it, a pageant is a beauty contest. Why else would you parade around in a bathing suit and an evening gown?”

Shana picked up the folder and looked inside. “You have to admit your pageant experience has come in handy.”

“But it’s not something I want to depend on to solve mysteries.”

“That’s unlikely, isn’t it?”

“Oh, here’s the best part. Cathy and Mitch want to have a Miss Mantis Pageant.”

Shana almost fell out of the chair laughing. When she could speak, she said, “You can’t be serious!”

“Coming soon to a theater near you.”

“If I put something like that in one of my books, no one would believe me.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m imagining the talent competition.”

“My mind won’t go that far.”

“Shiniest Carapace. Best Antennae. Healthiest Spiracles. I want in on this. Do the Pageantoids need a consultant?”

“Please don’t encourage them.”

Shana dug in her pocketbook for her notebook. “You don’t mind if I write this down, do you? I’ll have to use it somewhere.”

“I didn’t know you wrote comedies.”

“You never know.” She jotted some notes. “On a different topic, I appreciate Jerry’s help with Hayden’s latest ghost.”

“I can’t see that he’s helping very much. He keeps adding to the stories.”

“Hayden needs someone to talk to. He knows I’ve heard enough of it.” She looked up from her writing. “How’s the Fairweather campaign coming along?”

“It’s taken a very odd turn. Jerry keeps wanting to tell me something.”

Her eyebrows stayed up. “Really? What kind of something?”

“Something serious. But we keep getting interrupted. Last night, for instance. It was the perfect setting. Jerry and I were alone by the bridge. The moon was shining on the river.” I held up my thumb and first finger a few inches apart. “We were this close.”

“And?”

“And Rick decided to play Mantis Man.”

“So now you know how Twenty feels.”

“Yes, I could gladly kill him.” I shook my head. “She’s too serious about all this.”

“Celosia’s her home.”

“Parkland’s my home, but I don’t panic if someone wants to make changes.”

“Small town life is different.”

“I believe that,” I said. “I also believe there’s more to this than Twenty wanting to keep Celosia mantis-free.”

Shana’s eyes gleamed with humor. “Then we’d better not tell her about Miss Mantis.”

***

I spent the rest of the morning tracking down library books. While shaking down Reverend Dobbs at the Presbyterian Church, I caught sight of a red umbrella in his umbrella stand, but it didn’t have a duck head. Dobbs handed over
Journeys
With
Paul
, grinning sheepishly.

“I thought it was my copy.”