Widow Town (18 page)

Gray stopped the cruiser before Hudson’s low brick house and shut the engine off.

He stepped outside into the punishing heat, its touch lancing beneath his shirt, pulling sweat from his pores. He walked toward the house, its door now cordoned off with
strips of plastic tape. He pulled these aside and opened the door.

The house stunk of unwashed flesh and mold. Hazy light filled the room and left shadows discarded beneath a single table in the corner. Gray stood in the doorway, his eyes passing over everything within the single-roomed residence. Dust was smudged here and there where the forensics team had scoured the surfaces with t
heir scanners and vacuums. All of the man’s meager possessions were stacked near the hump of clothes that once served as a bed. Gray kicked an empty plastic jug and left the house, shutting the door behind him.

He made his way through the long grass, its touch dry and brittle beneath his
boots. The barn loomed ahead, its eyeless face and open-mouthed door waiting for him. Inside the pallets of drugs and the materials to make them were gone. The cooking equipment had been removed also. The filthy space was barren. Rotted and broken boards lay in the dirt. The acrid smell of the poisonous smoke still lingered; a taste of death in the air. A fly lay on its back in the dirt, buzzing its wings in futility.

Gray walked to the rear of the barn and knelt in the furthest stanchion. The torture bucket’s outline
was still traced in the dirt. He touched the circle with his finger and stood, walking to where the chains and their hooks had hung.

The wooden beam was rough and several splinters tried to stand up and invade his skin as he ran a hand over it.
He leaned in closer, straining his eyes against the feeble light. The wood was almost unblemished save for one place where Miles’s chain hung earlier. He stared at the spot and then rubbed it with his thumb, feeling the slight groove. He turned and knelt in the dirt, spreading his arms out wide. His hands fell against the stanchion’s sides. He sat there for a long time looking at the ground and boards around him. Slowly he rose and shook his head.

“Nope.”

Gray walked out of the barn and kicked the door partly closed behind him. He went to his right, around the barn’s decaying side and within five strides was in the thicket that lined the overgrown yard. The trees’ bony shadows didn’t throw enough shade to cover his passage fully and the sun became an X-ray strobing through the dying leaves.

The land sloped away with
tangled nettles and wilting Hackberry. There was no respite from the heat beneath the broken canopy and Gray stopped to trigger the nebulizer, the mint cooling his burning lungs. The ground gradually leveled out and then dropped again in an abrupt dip. He stopped on the lip of the dried stream, looking at the naked rocks. The sand bottom was mostly undisturbed; a small animal track the only sign life existed in the woods.

Gray moved along the bank, his feet crackling in fallen leaves.
He imagined the sound the water normally made within the rough channel. Its voice was calm, the words it spoke rushing with its passage. Its urgency to reunite with the sea muted by the forest around it.

A flash of clothing through the trees stopped him mid-stride and he waited, listening to the footfalls coming closer around the bend in the streambed. A teenager appeared, head down, eyes combing the ground as if he’d lost something. Gray watched his progress until he was within a
stone’s throw of his position.

“Good morning,” Gray said.

The boy flinched like someone had taken a swing at him, his eyes flying to where Gray’s voice had come from. Gray moved into full view.

“Didn’t mean to sca
re you.”

“That’s okay, I didn’t
expect anyone to be down here.”

“MacArthur Gray,”
he said, extending his hand as he walked closer. The boy had an ugly gash on the left side of his face, a blossomed bruise around its edges. The teenager shook his hand, his grip feeble and quick.

“Ryan Barder.”

“Barder? You wouldn’t be Dr. Barder’s son, would you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Small world. Your dad fixed me up yesterday after the incident with your neighbor,” Gray said, nodding his head back toward Hudson’s property.

“I heard about that,” Ryan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Unfortunate. You never noticed anything strange?”

“About Mr. Hudson?”

“Yeah, or anything around his land?”

“Not that I can think of. He was a pretty quiet guy. He looked scary but always kept to himself.”
Ryan shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I see. Never heard any strange
sounds coming from his place?”

“Not that I remember.”

Gray nodded and glanced around the streambed. “Beautiful out here. I forgot how nice it is, even without the water.”

Ryan looked at the
ground. “Yeah, it’s been dry.”

“Sure has. Well, I’m just on a little hike, taking a peek around.
You doing the same?”

“Uh, yeah.
Our place is just a mile or so that way,” Ryan said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Were y
ou looking for something?”

“No, just walking.”

“How’d you hurt your face?”

Ryan’s hand went up to his cheek. “Tripped the other da
y and hit the kitchen cabinet.”

“Ah. It looks like it hurts.”

“Dad took a look at it, it’s not so bad today.”

A gust of wind tunneled through the overhanging limbs and made the leaves whisper to one another.
Ryan met Gray’s eyes and then dropped them to the ground once again. Gray stared at the boy for a span before smiling. “I’ll leave you to your walk, Ryan.” Gray put his hand out again and Ryan shook it. “Very nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Ryan said, tur
ning in the opposite direction.

Gray watched him go and then began to make his way back toward Hudson’s property.
As he entered the weed-choked yard his cell rang.

“Hel
lo.”

“Sheriff, I just heard about Miles.
I’m very sorry,” Ruthers said.

“Thank you,
Joseph, he was a good friend.”

“Monty said
it was a stroke of some kind.”

“Something like that.”

“You think that it wasn’t?”

Gray reached his cruiser and climbed inside. “I’m not sure what I think, Joseph. I have
n’t committed to anything yet.”

“Where are you now?”

“Out at Hudson’s poking around.”

“Find anything interesting?”

Gray paused, wiping the accumulated sweat from his brow. “Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”

~

Ryan waited until he could see the cornstalks of the field before he began to sprint. He made it three steps before a hand snagged his arm and yanked him around. A short yell came from him and he knew that when he turned it would be the sheriff standing there, dressed in his black clothes, his hat pulled down over those hard, questioning eyes.

Instead it was Darrin’s face that pressed close to his own.

“What was that all about?” Darrin asked giving Ryan a shake that sent a throb of pain through his head.

“It was nothing.”

“The fucking sheriff was poking around on the edge of our property, dipshit, and I saw you talking to him. Now what did he say?”

“Nothing, he was out for a walk.
He was checking out Hudson’s.”

“And what the hell were you
doing down there?”

“I wanted to make sure all the footprints and blood was gone from where Mr. Ba
—where he fell.”

Darrin’s gaze was a vice that wouldn’t
relent. His dark eyes contained a coiling violence that built like a storm front.

“We swept the prints and raked t
he blood under already, Ry-Ry.”

“I know, I’m just paranoid.”

Darrin studied him for another second before releasing the painful grip on his arm.

“Don’t go do
wn there again, little brother.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m watching you, Ry, always. Remember that.”

Ryan
nodded and began to walk away.

“Dad’s off tonight and he wants
us all to go to the festival.”

“Okay,” Ryan said, and kept walking.

“Cheer up, little brother, we’ll have some fun tonight.”

Ryan said nothing and continued past the corn. Their leaves swayed and fluttered with the wind as the sun
climbed an azure ladder in the sky.

The lights strung over Main Street were like low hanging stars.

Gray looked up at the jeweled wires
crisscrossed from the buildings into the night sky beyond but couldn’t see the real thing for light pollution. He ambled down the sidewalk, nearing the festivities, the sounds of a dozen songs filtered out through the doors of the open businesses.

The street had been cleared of cars and was now lined with benches and chairs. People roamed
between the buildings, most dressed well, kids running around their feet in circles of excitement, long glowing wands held in their hands. The air smelled of popped corn and brown sugar, frying grease and coffee. A wide tent was set up at the far end of the street, dozens of people passing through its pinned flaps for the cold beer being doled out within. The tunings of a twelve-person band came from the corner of the last block, their instruments not yet harmonious but alien and ugly in their discordant singularity.

He breathed it in and looked at the front of Lynn’s store. A girl in her early twenties stood behind the counter in Lynn’s customary spot. She was smiling at a group of adults who all held wares from the shelves. The people flowed like water across the street and several of them raised a hand in his direction. He tried to
smile and nod at each of them.

“Evening
, Sheriff.”

Gray turned to find Ruthers and Siri, arm
in arm, moving toward him. Siri wore a light blue dress that hugged her pregnant belly and brought out her eyes. Ruthers wore a pair of light slacks, a dark dress shirt, and a smile.

“Well by God, look at the two of you. Puzzle pieces
if I ever saw them.”

Siri smiled and blushed while Ruthers gri
nned harder.

“Or is this boy actually bothering you, Siri? I can have him haul
ed off in the blink of an eye.”

“No
, Sheriff, he’s behaving so far.” Her hand went to Ruthers’s arm and then dropped away.

“Good. Beautif
ul night to have the festival.”

“Yeah, no rain,” Ruthers said looking at the sky.

“Yeah, no rain,” Gray said. “Well I won’t hold you two up, I’m throwing off how dapper you both look just by standing next to you.”

Ruthers laughed and held out his hand. Gray shook it. “Have a good night, sir.
”

“You do the same.”

He watched them move into the crowd, how Ruthers supported her as she walked, making sure she wouldn’t trip over any of the power cords that stranded the street, how Siri held onto him in return.

“They were just waiting for each oth
er weren’t they?”

Gray glanced to his left and saw Tilly approaching, her hair tied back and a red floral dress sweeping
down just below her knees.

“I believe they were,” he said as she stopped and watched the milling town
speople.

“I hope they make it.”

“They will, for a time anyhow. Everything ends eventually.”

“Well yo
u’re full of sunshine tonight.”

He smiled. “I’m sorry for the other day, I d
idn’t mean to get so vehement.”

“Was that just an ap
ology from the great Mac Gray?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well I’m sorry too. You were almost killed and I should’ve been a little more patient.”

“Being almost gassed to death didn’t put tho
se ideas in my head, you know.”

Tilly sighed. “Yes, I know, Mac. But have you listened to yourself lately? The things you’re s
uggesting are out there.”

“I’m just paddling upstream, that’s all.”

“Did you ever consider that upstream might be the wrong direction?”

“I consider everything.”

Tilly shook her head. “You’re one aggravating individual.”

“But you knew that in grade school, Tilly. I’m having a hard time figuring out why you’
re so surprised at this point.”

She laughed, a
low and sad sound and looked out across the milling people before turning her gaze back to him.

“Did you ever think that maybe what you and Lynn went through, what you’re sti
ll going through, is having an effect on you?”

He stiffened, his spine straightening. “My judgment is my own, Tilly. There’s grief and there’s reason. I l
ike to keep the two separated.”

“Most
people think they do.”

“It’s okay if you
believe I’m wrong, but don’t tell me I’m off because I can’t handle my emotions.”

“Mac, I didn’t mean
—”

“Have a nice evening, doctor.”

Gray moved away down the sidewalk, not looking back, his eyes flowing over the crowd, not seeing any of them. The street was empty save for him, the clack of his shoes. He walked past Lynn’s store and continued on, the glowing lights nearing and then receding as he passed across a vacant lot, dust puffing beneath his feet. Rocks that hadn’t been collected yet he kicked out of his way, the night closing in.

The tow
n pond had been filled during the last week in preparation of the town event. A gushing pipe, now underwater, continued to pump in hundreds of precious gallons a minute to keep the level up as the earth sucked at the artificial spring, pulling it down into the unquenchable dirt. There was no moon but waterproof lights were lit in its depths, their bulbs down in the dark like glowing fish that have never seen the sun.

He walked to the railing that looked out over the
pond, its surface flat calm, only a handful of scattered trees growing here in the center of town. The week before, children had played tag in the pond’s dusty depression, their heads well below that of street level as they ran. He stopped and leaned on the rail, its touch lukewarm even in the night. So quiet.

A little sou
nd came far down from his right and he looked, seeing a figure there wrapped in the darkness, but even from the distance he knew it. He walked the railing, his hand grazing it now and then, the brittle grass breaking as he moved. He cleared his throat when he got nearer, not wanting to surprise her.

Lynn’s face turned toward him in the dark and just the faintest light
from town coated her features.

“Evening,” he said.

She wiped errantly at her eye and looked out over the water. “Hello.”

“Didn’t think I’d catch you standing in the d
ark. Thought you’d be dancing.”

“I’m tired, needed a rest.”

“Beautiful night.”

“Yes it is.”

He paused, placing his forearms against the railing. A pair of ducks paddled across the pond, soundless and smooth feathers.

“Thanks for com
ing to see me at the hospital.”

Lynn didn’t move. “That deputy of yo
urs can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“He’s my deputy.”

“I came to make sure you were okay.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t entirely for you, you know. I didn’t want you to die without saying a few things.”

“Did you get to say them?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t want to repeat them?”

She sighed and her head drooped. “God, Gray, will you leave it alone?”

“If you wanted it left alone you would’ve never come to the hosp
ital.”

“There’s a difference between compassion a
nd love, you know that, right?”

“Just as long as
it’s compassion and not pity.”

Lynn pushed away from the rail and began to walk past him. “You’re impossible.”

He followed her. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

“No, you’re trying to make jokes.
It’s what you’ve always done. While I face things, you shield yourself and put up a front that you think holds everything back. You don’t realize that you leave everyone else on the outside. I’m the one that took things head on, and all I needed from you was a little support, that’s it, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to do that.”

“Please Lynn, stop.” He grasped her arm, slowing her. She turned just enough for her face to be outlined against the lit town. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said that years ago. I’m sorry for the late nights and the early mornings and how I was. It’s a character defect not being able to open up. Believe it or not I tried over the years and I failed each and every time. I would go to tell you something that was on my mind or try to comfort you and a joke would come out, or something sarcastic. But for a while yo
u seemed to be okay with that.”

He let her go and she stayed where she was,
still not looking fully at him.

“I loved you,
what else could I do?” she said.

“Nothing, I wouldn’t let you. You think I don’t know these things? I haven’t
just been thinking about it for months. I’ve known it for years. I wondered how to make myself better, how to be good to you.”

“You were good to me, you just n
ever let me in.”

He sighed and rubbed his sweating palms against his pan
ts. “We never talked about it. About Carah.”

Lynn turned her head toward Main Street but she didn’t walk away.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“There’s everything to say. She deserves tha
t.”

She spun toward him, her hands grasping his shirt, strong. “Don’t yo
u tell me what she deserves MacArthur, don’t you dare!”

“I didn’t want to face it, not a
fter that morning. I couldn’t.”

“Don’t,” she said, her grip loosening.

“I always checked on her before work, you know that,” he continued, his mouth dry as the soil. “I would be late sometimes because I’d watch her sleep and lose track of time. Her little hands, that’s what I remember the most. How small her fingers were, and always balled into fists, like she was ready to fight the world.”

“Please, stop,” Lynn said, her voice airy.

“But that morning they were open, unclenched and spread out. She looked like she was still sleeping and I didn’t know, Lynn, I didn’t know for over a minute that she wasn’t breathing.”

“Damn you, damn you to hell.” She hit his chest once and a sob slipped out, something broken, irreparable.

Now his own tears were sliding like gentle rain down his face. “I tried, I tried to save her but I couldn’t, honey, I couldn’t, and I couldn’t talk about it even though I knew that’s the only thing you needed from me. You’re that strong, the strongest person I know, and all you needed from me was to say a few words. I fought all these years against what I thought was wrong and something as fragile as a baby girl broke me when she left.”

Lynn leaned her head against his breastbone and struck him again, lighter this time. He put a hand on the back of her head and stroked her hair. A gust of wind came up and curled around them. The dead grass tal
ked and the band began to play.

“I won’t bother you anymore, but I had to say it. I’
m just so sorry it’s too late.”

She clutched his shoulder and breathed deeply before letting it out. She pushed him away, not unkindly, and swiped once at her ey
es.

“She would
’ve been beautiful,” Lynn said.

“
Just like her momma.”

He didn’t realize
until then that he was holding her hand. He let it go and made his way around her back toward the lights.

When he stepped onto the street a group of men were sipping frosted glasses of beer. They turned as one as he
moved out of the dark and he frowned.

“Well
, Sheriff! I’ve been meaning to come by and see how you were doing,” the closest man said. He was shaped like a pear, the belt of his pants seemed to go on forever. His face was red beneath the light and the little hair he had waved in the air as he moved to shake Gray’s hand.

“John, how are you?”

“Good, good. How’re you feeling?”

“Never better.”

“Still taking the nebulizer?” Vincent Barder said stepping forward. Gray nodded and shook his outstretched hand.

“Sure am, doc.”

Mark Sheldon appeared at the doctor’s shoulder. “I was just telling the Mayor the details about your impressive dispatching of Mr. Hudson, our local scourge. Our sheriff here did some very fine detective work and stopped him cold before he could hurt anyone else.” The DA gave him a frigid smile and Gray didn’t return it.

“You’re quite the shot with that antique,” the rotund mayor said, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a much lighter man.

“I’m lucky, that’s about the extent of it,” Gray said, still eyeing the DA. Gray saw Mark’s vision shift over his shoulder and when he looked back he spotted Lynn striding out of the darkened lot, her skin contrasted with the black dress she wore that he hadn’t been able to make out near the pond. A cloud passed over Mark’s face and Gray let the smallest of smiles twitch at his lips. Lynn started to approach the group and then motioned to Mark, tipping her head toward the beer tent.