(46)

I’d awoken to the battering of the rain on the house, and though it was solid morning, the light through the split in the curtain was slim to none and seemed to have been painted blue-black. Outside, my yard was flowing with water and the wind had blown limbs down from the trees and they looked like the skeletal remains of a dead giant.

My phone was no longer hooked up, so after eating some stale cornflakes wet with water instead of milk, I managed to drive through the rain to town to find a phone booth. Going from car to booth I got so wet you could have wrung me out and used me to beat Jeff Davis to death.

I scrounged some change from my pocket, called Ronnie, and asked her if she was going to come.

“It’s been strange. I worked on convincing them all night, and only this morning did they agree to go, but I’m not sure for how long they’ll stay. I gave Mom the key. They are leaving before noon. Maybe a little later. They’re waiting for the rain to pass, though the weather report doesn’t look good for several days. Rain might keep everyone inactive, including the city council.”

“Don’t count on it. Council has you in its sights now, and I believe they are a spiteful bunch who would put your parents in harm’s way to get back at you. Not that they wouldn’t harm you outright, but I think that’s how they think. Sadism is their personal connection. What about you? You coming?”

“I can’t run, Danny. I’m the law.”

“Thought you might say that.”

“There needs to be some kind of law in this town, and right now, I think me and Chief Dudley are it.”

“You haven’t told him anything, have you?”

“If I told him, how much of it is he going to believe?”

“They have blackmail goods on him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s in on all their shenanigans or even knows what they are.”

“That’s part of their strength, us not knowing who’s in with them and who’s not. It’s like a vampire cult, only besides lives, they drain money and power. Who’s going to believe that? The host isn’t always aware of being drained.”

“Coolie Parker came to work looking like he had been in a fight with a badger and had done it with one arm tied behind his back.”

“I hope he hurts bad.”

“Said he had a car accident.”

“He would. He got those marks from me and Flashlight Boy.”

“If you’re calling me from home—”

“Phone booth.”

“I suppose you’ve decided you’ve had enough.”

“Last night, for a while, I thought so. Christine is leaving town like she’s riding a missile. Told me to write the book from home. Someone, Jack Jr. is my guess, broke her thumbs and index fingers and, before that, had her sign a bill of sale for the business. No way she would have sold it had she had a choice.”

“My God.”

I almost told her about Jefferson Davis, what he had said, but that didn’t put me or Buck in a particularly good light, so I thought it might be best to hold that back for the time being.

“I was going to stay here and write the book, but I decided I need more evidence. There are files in the country club, Ronnie. I think they are keepsakes, trophies of those they have dispatched for insurance money and a happy dampening in their shorts. I get those files, then I have absolute proof. Like Shirley said, it’s all about ritual, and my guess is part of that is collecting trophies or records of what they’ve done. That could be solid proof.”

“That sounds iffy.”

“Everything sounds iffy. I keep thinking I’ll wake up from all this. Listen, I’ve turned the air on in the house, so your mom and dad will walk into the cool. There’s no food here, unless you count half a box of cornflakes and no milk. I’m going to grab a few things, fill the car up with gas, and head your way. I’m going to put some money on the kitchen table so your parents can buy food. Anything to make it easy for them to be here. And be careful at the cop shop. Figure there’s more leaks there than a sieve.”

“Trust me, I’m being careful. I’m a little frightened.”

“That’s a good thing. I’m a lot frightened. I try and find someone to tell this to, some law outside of town, I think I could make a case, but I could make a real solid one if those files at the country club have what I think they have in them. Add that to the files I have from Mrs. Chandler’s dead husband, Bert, I think even their contacts would have a hard time supporting them, keeping them out of the soup. Can you meet me at the Chandler house late afternoon?”

“I have some duties first, and I want to do them and not cause suspicion. But I should be there before sundown.”

“Good enough. Might want to not wear your uniform and come in your own car, not the cruiser. Nothing says something is going on like a cop car at the curb.”

“All right.”

“But bring your gun.”