Boo (18 page)

“That wasn’t a heart attack. That was you attempting to murder me.” With a fat mittened hand, she brushed her strawlike hair out of the way. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Isn’t it clear, young lad? You’re out here. I’m out here. We’re both hiding in the bushes, and it’s not because we’re nature lovers.” She glanced toward Wolfe Boone’s house. “Is it?”

Garth swallowed. “Look, I was just on the way up to see if Ainsley was okay. She’s somehow got herself tangled up with that creep, and someone’s gotta watch out after her.”

Missy Peeple’s eyes narrowed. “You expect anyone to believe that?”

Garth frowned and pulled the collar of his coat up, instinctively looking around. “Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, but—”

“It doesn’t matter what I’m up to. What matters is that we have one thing clear here.”

“What’s that?”

“You never saw me. I never saw you.”

Garth scratched his chin. “Okay. Fine.”

“And if you decide it might be fun to tell someone you saw me out here, what you saw back there will pale in comparison to what I can come up with. Don’t you see? Everyone always believes the little old woman. If I say you tried to harm me, they’ll believe
me
. If I say you tried to rob me, they’ll believe
me
. And honey, if I can fake death good enough to trick a man who clones pigs, then by golly, you better believe everyone else is going to fall for it.”

“Wait a minute,” Garth said, his fists in tight balls. “If I supposedly
murdered you
, then you’d be dead. How is a dead woman supposed to tell everyone who her murderer is?”

Miss Peeple smiled and cackled, then slowly opened her mitten. “Like this.”

Garth looked at her hand. “Like what?”

“Look harder, dear. Don’t you see it?”

“See what?” Garth asked with irritation. He leaned forward to take a closer look. Then he saw it. A few strands of his blond hair.

Her mitten clamped shut and she stuck her hand into the pocket of her coat. “DNA evidence. You should know about DNA, with your pig fiasco and all.”

Garth shook his head. “This is absurd. And I didn’t clone any pigs.” He took a look around again. All was calm and silent. “Besides, I have a logical reason for being here. What I can’t imagine is why
you’re
here.”

“You’re so naive,” Miss Peeple sneered. “You’re here for selfish reasons. I’m here for the good of the—”

The front door opened, and the sound of voices poured over the hill. Before Garth knew what was happening, the feeble old woman in front of him had yanked him to the ground with the strength of a gorilla. After lifting his face out of the dirt, he managed to crawl between two bushes to get a better view. He gasped.

A stinky mitten slapped him in the mouth. “Shush!”

Garth batted her away and hunkered down. There she was, standing next to Boo, both of them laughing like the best of friends. Garth watched carefully as Ainsley hugged Wolfe, then walked down the sidewalk to her car. Garth remained motionless in the shadows, as did Miss Peeple. Ainsley drove away, and then the porch was silent again.

He glanced at Miss Peeple, who was looking at him.

“What?” Garth asked in a harsh whisper.

Her eyes narrowed in quiet satisfaction. In a very light tone she said, “You might come in quite handy after all.”

I
N A DARK
, dusty old room of the community center, long forgotten by everyone but Missy, she sat quietly in a chair, tapping her cane against the creaky wood floors. Alfred Tennison had just left, and she knew she had him on the right track. Driven by greed to write a best-selling book about her little town, he was nearly the perfect tool for all she had in mind to save it. She’d fed him more information, just enough to whet his appetite. Just enough to drive the plan further along. But not enough to give him more power than he should have.

Something continued to bother her though, and as she thumped her cane she tried her best to reason her way through various scenarios. But no amount of brain power could give her the answer she needed to one very simple question:

Who had witnessed to Boo?

Perhaps in the scheme of things it was not all that important, yet it nagged at her in a way that even disturbed her sleep at night. And she was not accustomed to missing her beauty sleep. She raised her fingers to her face and gingerly applied pressure to the bags under her eyes, all the while thinking about who could’ve done this thing. Who in their right mind would tell the good news to the one person single-handedly responsible for putting Skary, Indiana on the map?

It baffled her further because she knew the townsfolk well, knew what they were and were not capable of. She would have suspected the reverend if she hadn’t heard enough of the conversation to know he was as surprised as anyone when Wolfe Boone arrived at his church. And it certainly wasn’t Ainsley. She wasn’t in the business of even speaking to him prior to his change of heart.

Then
who?

Her mind shifted back to Ainsley. The town’s dear heart was becoming more and more of a liability. What was the girl thinking spending time with this man? Missy knew good and well that if Ainsley Parker was involved, Wolfe Boone would be sure to hear more of the gospel in some form or fashion. She could think of no one in the town who hated what he had done to it more than Ainsley. In fact, she had seemed to be the
only
one who couldn’t appreciate what he
had
done for Skary.

And now she was falling for him. This wasn’t good. Not at all.

The door creaked, and Missy jumped. She squinted through the dark haze and recognized Oliver Stepaphanolopolis.

“Deary?”

Now Oliver jumped. “Miss Peeple! What are you doing in here?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find a mop. Mr. Tetherbaum spilled his coffee again. I thought this was a storage closet.” Oliver stepped further in and looked around. “I didn’t even know this room was here.”

“It’s quite old. Nobody uses it anymore. Except me. When I’m … um … meditating.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Wait a minute,” Missy said and beckoned Oliver to come sit by her. He approached with great timidity, as if the room might be haunted.

“It’s a little dusty, dear. That’s all.”

Oliver eyed her. “Don’t you live alone? Can’t you get this kind of quiet at home?”

“Well, sometimes you just have to get out of the house, if you’re an old woman like me, spending so much time there.”

Oliver swiped a hand across the seat of the chair across from Missy and then sat.

“Oliver, I suppose you’ve heard the news. About Boo. That he’s, well, converted to the faith.”

“Sure. It’s going around. I don’t know how many people believe it though.”

“You know, I wonder who it was who told him.”

“Told him what?”

“Told him the good news. Shared the faith. Preached the gospel.”

Oliver shrugged. “I dunno.” He glanced at Missy, and his eyes widened. “What? It wasn’t me!”

“I never thought it was, Oliver. Relax. I’m simply saying that it might be wise of us to find out, don’t you think?”

“Why?”

“Oliver, how’s your car business?”

“It’s doing really well.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. In fact, last year was the best year yet.”

“Good for you.”

“Do you need a new car?”

“Dear, I haven’t driven a car since I reversed mine right into the front porch of Sam Brady’s house.” The truth was, she’d done it on purpose because Sam had tried to discredit her on a certain little scandalous story about the county commissioner. But when you’re seventy-eight, everyone just assumes you’re old and don’t know what you’re doing. She hadn’t even gotten a ticket. “No, I don’t need a car. I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

“Well, about your little business and all. I mean, if Mr. Boone stops writing, and this town becomes nothing more than just a town, I suspect that people won’t be buying—well.” She looked at Oliver, whose eyes lit slightly with concern. “Anyhow, no use worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet. But I am curious, aren’t you?”

“About what?”

“Well, if it’s a real conversion.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, if it’s not, then he’ll keep writing his books and this town will keep flourishing. But if it’s real, well, better days may be over.” She patted Oliver on the knee. “But no need to worry about that now.”

Oliver blinked, as if ridding his eye of some horrible image before him. “I guess if we found the person who witnessed to him, we’d know it was for real. Wouldn’t we?”

Missy feigned surprise. “Oh. Well. I guess you’re right. You always have been so smart, Oliver. It takes a smart person to sell cars like you do.”

He smiled a little. “Thank you. I can go ask Wolfe myself if you want.”

“No!”

Oliver jumped. “No? Why?”

“Because dear,” she said, “if it’s not for real, then he might make something up. We want the truth, don’t we?”

“I suppose you are right. Then we’d know for sure.”

She glanced at him. “And knowing things can sometimes put a person’s heart at ease.”

“I could ask around.”

“Sure. With subtlety, of course.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, we’d hate to start a vicious rumor that it was, indeed, a
hoax
.”

“A hoax? You think this is a hoax?”

“Well, isn’t that what you’re going to find out?”

“Yeah. Right.”

She twirled her cane in her hand. “There are a few people in this town who might’ve done it. Make a list. Check it twice. Let’s find out who’s been naughty or nice, shall we?”

Oliver swallowed. “And, um,
nice
is what we’re looking for, right?”

“Of course,” Missy grinned.

He nodded nervously and said, “Okay, well, I guess I’ll get going. See if I can find the … the great human being who did this.”

Missy touched his arm as he stood to leave and with a gentle wink she said, “And honey, not a word of this leaves this room, you understand. I mean, we’d hate for this poor lad’s religion to become a sideshow of some sort. Not everyone has the kind of integrity that we have.”

Oliver nodded and then left quickly, and Missy starting tapping her cane nervously again. Oliver was gullible, which was a good thing, but he had a little bit too much of a conscience for Missy’s comfort, even if
he did sell used cars for a living. Surely he could sell the idea that he was just asking out of gratitude or curiosity.

At any rate, she’d planted a few seeds. She knew by the way Oliver drove around town proudly in his BMW that his business was his life. She just hoped he didn’t end up becoming a regret of hers.

Missy clutched her cane and stood to her feet, wobbly for a few long seconds. As she gathered her things, she heard the creaking of the door again. She looked up, but the door to the small conference room in which she was standing had not moved. She heard the creak again, and shivered. Looking around the musty room, she squinted, trying to find something that would make that noise. Then, near the east corner, she found it.

Garth.

There he stood, in the doorway of an old closet, with a huge smile on his face. His hand was raised above his head, and in his hand was something small and shiny. He walked three paces toward her, his hand dropping to his side, and then stopped, only four feet away.

“Hello, Miss Peeple.”

Missy tried to sound pleasant. “Why, Garth. What a surprise.”

“I bet,” he chided. He sounded very amused with himself. “Wondering what I was doing in the closet?”

“No doubt cloning rats.”

He narrowed his eyes but still kept his smile. “No. Actually, I was, well … let me just show you.” He opened his hand, and there sat a small voice recorder. “So, you see, two can play at this game.”

Missy swallowed hard but did not lose her composure. She scratched her nose with one hand and tightened her grip around her cane with the other. “Well, well. What do we have here?”

“I’d venture to say it wasn’t an innocent little conversation between two upstanding citizens of Skary. We could listen to the conversation again and decide, if you want.”

She glared up at him, baring her yellow, coffee-stained teeth like a dog trying to protect its territory. “What do you want, Garth?”

“The same thing you want, except I’m going to be in charge from
here on out. I’m not comfortable with little old ladies bossing me around and accusing me of murder. You can understand.”

“I still have a sample of your hair.”

“I have a recording that could set off more fireworks than the fourth of July.” He patted his recorder. “So I guess we have a problem.”

“Don’t you think we can work
together
to achieve the same goal, young Garth? I mean,
we’re
not the enemy … are we?”

Garth’s hardened expression softened as he thought. “I want one thing out of this deal: Ainsley Parker.”

Missy Peeple scooted forward and, in a wise elderly way, patted Garth on the sleeve of his coat and said, “Oh, honey, just stick with me, and she’s all yours.”

Garth tapped his fingers on the recorder as a reminder, then slipped out of the room. Missy let out a breath of frustration. That Garth Twyne. If ever there was a liability. She took a moment to gather herself, then got her mind back on track. The week was still young, and she had much to do, not the least of which was plan a way to let a certain somebody know his daughter was preparing for a forbidden date.

A
INSLEY DIDN
’
T BOTHER
to find her slippers as she traipsed across the chilly, creaky wood floor to the bathroom. On cold mornings, the house always seemed even emptier than it was. A few years after her mother died, Ainsley and her father had discussed selling the house and moving into something smaller. Butch, her brother, had already moved away, and Ainsley had hoped to marry soon. Fifteen years later, still unmarried and still at home, she was glad they hadn’t decided to sell the house. On cold, empty mornings, she had warm memories of her mother in every corridor of the house. Aunt Gert, in her more vibrant days, had practically lived here too.