Hunter's Moon (35 page)

A trio of jugglers passed, followed by a vintage Oldsmobile convertible in which a woman in an evening gown was waving at the crowd from her elevated position in the back seat. CJ suspected she was a lot colder than her beaming smile let on.

CJ leaned toward Artie’s ear. “Who’s that?”

“Miss Franklin County,” Artie said.

After the parade, everyone dispersed to check out the different booths lining the sidewalks of Main Street. As a child, CJ had wondered why the town held the Festival at this time of year with it being almost too cold to enjoy anything. Even now with his knowing more about the town’s history and how the Fall Festival had begun and then grown over the years, he still thought the people of Adelia would’ve been better served by holding the event during the summer months.

CJ pondered the reasons he’d returned to Adelia. With the threat of arrest behind him, Janet at least open to the possibility of a dialogue, his latest book selling well, and the critic willing to settle, his reasons for staying in Adelia had been all but removed. He could have returned to his apartment in Franklin—newly rescued dog in tow—and resumed his life. Instead, though, he’d gassed up the 853 and had come back. There were a few reasons that seemed germane enough to serve as sufficient motivation, not the least of which was that he still had a house to finish remodeling with Dennis. Another reason—a more serious one—was that he hadn’t yet finished his story for
The Atlantic
, and now that he’d started it, he wanted badly to finish. He’d done some research about what privatizing the prisons would do to Adelia, and it didn’t look pretty. Were that to happen, a great many of Adelia residents stood to lose their jobs. And as much as CJ wanted to think that this place was out of his blood, he knew it wasn’t true.

What he also had to admit to himself was that he wanted to—twenty years later—finally punish Graham for what he’d done to Eddie. And he wanted to do it in a fashion that veiled references in his books couldn’t accomplish. By publishing an article about Graham’s plans to privatize the prisons, there was a possibility he could derail his brother’s campaign. Toward that end he’d been lucky to find himself having coffee at Maggie’s with the head supply clerk for Franklin County’s prisons. The man was an avid reader and said he’d devoured each of CJ’s books, so he’d been more than willing to chat about things he might not have otherwise mentioned. During the conversation the man had let slip that he’d been instructed to begin looking at new vendors for everything from food products to cleaning and office supplies. The commonality between these new vendors was that Jake Weidman either owned or had a significant interest in each of them. While not quite a smoking gun, such facts helped to strengthen CJ’s story.

He knew that none of it would bring Eddie back, but at least it would hurt Graham. He suspected this was just another example of his clinging to the spite that Sr. Jean Marie had pointed out to him, and yet he also wondered if there wasn’t something larger at stake here—a rebalancing of the cosmic scale? CJ knew that God was the ultimate judge, the one who would mete out to Graham what he deserved. But he also wondered if he himself might not be the instrument the Almighty would use to accomplish that goal.

Regardless, he was here and he would, if nothing else, try to enjoy the festivities.

CJ bought a falafel and tossed a small piece to Thor before digging in. He and Artie stopped to watch some kids bob for apples outside of Maggie’s. CJ laughed when a boy came up from his unsuccessful attempt and shook his head, spraying water all over Maggie. As he chuckled, he glanced over at Artie and saw that his boss didn’t share his mirth. In fact, it looked like the man wanted to bolt.

When they walked away in search of some other activity, CJ said, “What’s up between the two of you?”

Artie flushed red and didn’t look at CJ when he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, boss. Maggie’s got it bad for you and you won’t even look at her. What gives?”

It was one of Adelia’s milder—and entertaining—mysteries. Maggie, though, wasn’t talking. And just bringing up the subject in front of Artie made his face look like a fire truck—which was why CJ was caught off guard when Artie answered.

“That was a long time ago,” Artie said.

They reached a quieter pocket between two booths where Artie stopped, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked around at all the activity before settling on CJ.

“There’s not much to tell. I took Maggie to the prom—I’m sure you already know that.”

CJ nodded.

“It was a mistake. I didn’t ask her out again.”

CJ knew that too. What he didn’t know was why after all these years Maggie still carried that torch high.

“Why was it a mistake?”

“Let’s just say that I tried to pretend Maggie was someone else and leave it at that, okay?”

CJ didn’t understand at first, and he was sure his frown conveyed that to his boss, but Artie wouldn’t be pulled into saying anything else. CJ had to do the heavy lifting by himself.

“Oh . . .” he said when it came to him. Then, with eyes wider,
“Oh.”

Artie grunted and walked off.

After a moment CJ followed. “Who was the other woman?” he asked.

“None of your business.”

“Come on, boss,” CJ pleaded, a grin on his face.

“I swear I’ll fire you if you don’t cut it out,” Artie said, and while CJ didn’t believe him, he took the hint.

Guilt is a commodity best used sparingly
was Daniel Wolfowitz’s motto, and that belief had seen him through many things over which his father would have anguished. Even so, in the lengthy and growing list of things he’d done, there were a few that, if he thought about them without the appropriate chemical substances acting as filters, made him feel dirty. By contrast, then, what he was doing today was a walk in the park—hardly a crayon mark on the wall of his conscience.

He’d followed CJ and Artie Kadziolka for a while—long enough to get a good feel for the route they would take through the Festival. He guessed he had at least an hour, but planned to be out within fifteen minutes. It made it easier that CJ had the dog with him.

He approached Kaddy’s from the back, and when he reached the door he pulled a small case from his coat pocket. He studied the lock for a few seconds before opening the case and selecting the right implement. It had been a while since he’d picked a lock, so it took almost a full two minutes before he had the door open. He hurried in and shut the door behind him.

At the top of the stairs he found that gaining entry would be easier than he’d anticipated. The door had been forced open. The possibility that someone had beat him here—that perhaps he’d stumbled onto a robbery in progress—came to mind, so he stood outside the door, listening. After sixty seconds had passed, during which he heard nothing, he pushed open the door just enough so he could slip inside. Once in, he repeated the listening bit, with the same result.

A quick search around the room convinced him that what he was after wasn’t here. He moved deeper into the apartment until he came to the kitchen, and when he looked in he saw his prize.

The laptop was open but powered off. He pressed the power switch and sat down. As he waited for the computer to boot up he knew this entire excursion would be rendered worthless if CJ had password-protected the computer.

He hadn’t.

Daniel went straight to the Start menu, moving the cursor to Documents to scan the files listed there. Only two Word documents, and only one he thought looked promising. He quickly skimmed through the pages. CJ had been poking around town, asking questions that shouldn’t be asked. And if he was asking questions, it meant he had a purpose. Daniel had to get a feel for what CJ was working on—to see if there was anything that stood to upset the balance of a campaign teetering on two wheels.

Knowing he didn’t have time for as thorough a read-through as he needed, he pulled a CD-ROM from his coat, put it in the drive, and burned the whole directory onto the disk. That done, he extracted the CD and powered off the laptop.

Thirty seconds later, there was no sign that anyone had been there.

Chapter 28

When CJ walked into the VFW hall for the second time in the last month, his first thought was that the old building could be made to work for just about any purpose. From a somber gathering weeks ago it had been transformed to its direct opposite tonight, and CJ was amazed at the difference. The women’s auxiliary had outdone themselves with the decorations, juxtaposing multicolored balloons and bright tablecloths with elegant finger foods and life-sized silhouettes of dancing couples affixed to the walls. There was even a disco ball suspended from the high ceiling, although CJ suspected that was Gabe’s doing.

Still, as nice as the place looked, he didn’t care to be here. His presence was a gift to Dennis, who hadn’t wanted to come alone but who did desire to dance with a certain young lady. Not one to stand in the way of young love, CJ agreed to the role of wingman.

“So where is she?” CJ asked, reaching for a plate at the nearest table of food.

Dennis scanned the crowd while CJ selected a sampling of crackers and cheese.

“I d-don’t see her yet,” he said.

“She doesn’t have a peg leg, does she? That’s usually a good reason to avoid a dance.”

“Are you s-still in eighth grade?” Dennis said.

His plate full, CJ turned his back to the table and, like Dennis, looked out over the crowd, despite the fact that he had no idea what she looked like. After a while he said, “I don’t think I’m going to be much help.”

“You s-seldom are.”

They’d arrived fashionably late, after working a few hours on the house project—a workday that started late when Dennis decided he wanted to visit the lawn fete at St. Anthony’s, the main draw of the second day of the Fall Festival. CJ, who’d burned out his capacity to endure a crowd the previous day, was inclined to work by himself until Dennis got there, but in the end Dennis talked him into it. It occurred to CJ as he followed Dennis through the haphazard arrangement of games, food, pony rides, and craft tables that, for an uncommunicative sort with a stuttering problem, Dennis sure had a knack for talking him into things.

Tonight was further evidence of that. There were only two occasions that CJ could remember in which he had graced a dance floor. The first was his senior prom; the second was his wedding. And he’d been dragged near kicking and screaming on both occasions. Consequently, before he agreed to come along, he’d made Dennis promise not to ask him to dance.

“What if she d-doesn’t show up?”

“Then you find her tomorrow and ask her where she was,” CJ said. “If you do it right, you can tell her you were looking for her without seeming creepy.”

“And if I c-can’t do it r-right?”

“Then you’ll forever be known as that creepy guy.”

“Th-thanks.” Then Dennis grimaced, put a hand to his stomach. “I don’t f-feel well.”

CJ clapped his friend on the shoulder. “It’s just nerves. You’ll do fine. But you have to find her first.”

A disc jockey with a setup at the back of the room seemed to favor swing music, which CJ thought was a perfect way to make sure that only those of a certain age showed up at the dance. At least people seemed to be enjoying it. The dance floor was full.

He bit into a wedge of cheese on a wheat cracker, wondering how long he had to stay before he could earn credit for the wingman role. It wasn’t his fault that the young lady who’d attracted Dennis’s interest wasn’t here.

He watched the dancers while he ate, picking out the ones who knew what they were doing amid the ones who danced like he did. He could appreciate dancing on an artistic level—envy the couples whose movements showcased the dedication and natural talent necessary to avoid looking like fools on the dance floor.

He’d just cleaned off his plate when he saw her.

It was clear that she and Ben had taken a dance class or two. He led her around the floor, the pair of them executing Texas Tommys and Coaster Steps through the novice dancer minefield. As soon as he saw her, everything else in the room went away.

He watched her through the whole number and didn’t realize his mouth was open until Dennis nudged him with his elbow.

“Close your mouth before you swallow a fly.”

When the song ended and the next number—a slower one— started, CJ set his empty plate on the table, flashed Dennis a grin, and stepped out onto the dance floor.

“What are you d-d-doing?”

CJ didn’t have any idea, but he wasn’t going to tell that to Dennis.

Neither Ben nor Julie saw him approach, but when CJ tapped Ben on the shoulder, Julie’s husband didn’t seem surprised— almost as if he’d been expecting the interruption. And without missing a beat, he placed his wife’s hand in CJ’s, patted CJ on the back, and left them on the dance floor.

CJ slipped his hand around Julie’s waist, and she let him lead her in something that at least resembled dancing. Her breathing was still heavy from the last dance; CJ could see the small vein in her neck pulsing as her heart pumped.