Dead Voices (22 page)

“You can either wait up here and watch,” Harris said, “or you can head on back home. I’ll stop by later if I have any further questions for you.”

For several seconds, Henry didn’t move; then he glanced over at a large tree. Hitching his thumb at it, he said, “I’ll hang around close by.” He walked over to the tree and eased himself down against the gnarly trunk. Harris stayed with him for a few minutes to ask him a couple more questions and jot the answers down in his notebook. This time, Henry considered what he said more carefully. His biggest concern, still, was getting nailed for hunting out of season. but Harris never mentioned it, so he figured it was best if he didn’t, either.

Once Harris had gone back down to where the body was, Henry tried to relax as he watched the police set about their work at the scene. They marked the area with POLICE LINE tape, took hundreds of photographs, and poured plaster casts of any footprints and scuff marks they found. After a while, Frank radioed for the State Medical Examiner to come out so they could remove the body to the hospital for an autopsy. At first, Henry was interested in what the men were doing, but before long, he got bored; with that, his attention began to wander.

At first, Henry had hoped that this discovery would make him some kind of town hero — the person who had found the missing cemetery caretaker; but before long, he started seeing how all of this could turn into a ripe, royal pain in the ass. Over the next few days — weeks or months, more likely-he’d probably be bugged to death by everyone around town asking him to relate exactly what had happened. The prospect was getting increasingly less pleasant.

Muttering under his breath, Henry began to curse a whole host of things ...

First off, he cursed that sum-bitchin’ coon! Why the fuck hadn’t he steadied his aim better and blasted the fucker right there in the coop? Who cared if he’d splattered his whole coop with coon blood and shit? If he’d gotten one clear shot, none of this would be happening.

Next, Henry cursed fucking Murf and his fucking nose! Why the Christ did he have to smell out Fraser’s body and then go and dig it up? And the way he had gone after the body! Christ! Fraser was practically tom to ribbons by the dog’s claws and teeth! Something like that could make a guy wonder what they put into those cans of dog food!

Finally, and most of all, Henry cursed his own fuckidy-damned bad luck! Why couldn’t someone else have found Fraser’s body ... say, next spring sometime? The corpse wasn’t even on Henry’s land, so if someone else had found it, Henry would have been simply one more curious neighbor, asking for details and gossip about what had happened and when and why!

Of course, as he sat watching the police work, Henry also couldn’t help but wonder who the hell
had
killed Barney Fraser and buried him out here; but
that
, at least, he figured, was the least of his problems!

3.

Kendall Payne was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a quick lunch before heading back out to the bam. His hands and elbows were smeared with oil and grease from working on the tractor. As he chewed the sandwich Elizabeth had made for him, he made small, satisfied sounds in the back of his throat.

Elizabeth was at the counter, mixing up a batch of brownies for desert and racking her brain, trying to think of something to start a conversation with her father. Since she had arrived home, she hadn’t had a good opportunity to talk with him. He always seemed too busy, too preoccupied with work to take the time to talk with her the way her mother did. Even though they had had their differences over the years, Elizabeth had always felt a deep and abiding love for him; and she had always felt it returned. Now, with her mother away for at least an hour or two, she was hoping they’d get a chance to talk before he went back to work.

“Wasn’t that something about Barney Fraser?” she said, just to break the ice.

It was Thursday, her day off, and she was grateful for the break from all the gossip she had heard at Hardy’s about Henry Bishop’s discovery. Dozens of bizarre explanations were circulating, with stories ranging from darkly whispered rumors of Barney’s closet homosexuality and that he had been killed by a male lover who accused him of giving him AIDS, all the way to a Mafia hit connected to something, never specified, to do with his job as cemetery caretaker. When the unsubstantiated story began making the rounds that the autopsy had discovered dead human flesh — not his own — in Barney’s mouth and throat, talk about a secret group of black-magic practitioners and Satanists swept through the town like a fire.

“Don’t know what to think of it,” Kendall said gruffly. He took a long drink of beer and then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Barney always seemed like a nice enough fella, but who’s to say?”

Elizabeth continued, “He might have been the one who dug — who did that to Uncle Jonathan’s grave!”

And by moving just one grave over, could have done the same thing to Caroline!

Her father grunted. His eyes narrowed, as if with remembered pain, but he said nothing as he took another bite of sandwich.

Elizabeth hated the way she was stumbling to get the conversation going, and then the last thing she wanted to have happen, did; the phone rang just as she was walking over to the table to sit down with her father. Huffing with frustration, she turned and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” she said, glancing at her father, who was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

“Hi, Elizabeth,” the voice on the other end of the line said. It had been years since she had talked to him on the phone, but Elizabeth instantly recognized Frank’s voice.

“Oh ... hi,” she said, not caring if she betrayed the disappointment she felt. Her first impulse was to say,
I thought we had nothing else to say to each other after that argument in Hardy’s backroom
, and then hang up.

“You’re not busy, are you?” Frank asked.

“Not at all,” Elizabeth replied, turning her back to her father and cupping the phone close to her mouth in case she lost her patience and told Frank to take a flying fuck at the moon or something.

“Look,” Frank said, sounding almost breathless. “I don’t want to waste your time or anything, but I was wondering if I — if you would like to go out sometime ... say tomorrow night?”

Elizabeth started to reply, but all she got out was, “I —”

“Maybe we could go out to dinner or something,” Frank said. He sounded hurried. “There are a lot of nice places that’ve opened up since you’ve been around. There’s a really nice Chinese restaurant, the Panda Garden, out on Forest A venue. Or maybe we could take in a movie or something.”

Elizabeth hesitated, feeling anger welling up inside her. Her first impulse was simply to say
no thanks
. That would have been easiest and cleanest because, bottom line, she had absolutely no interest in even seeing him again, much less picking up where they had left off twenty years ago. After unnerving herself by getting out the old Ouija board, she had vowed
not
to start digging up, much less start living in, the past. No matter what she had for pleasant memories of growing up in Bristol Mills, the more recent past was laced with too much misery and pain. She prayed that those wounds would heal up and be gone soon; she certainly didn’t need to open up any new ones!

On second thought,
why the hell not
?

No matter what bad things had come between her and Frank, she knew he was a decent sort of person. There probably wouldn’t be any harm if they went out on a — well, the word “date” almost made her chuckle aloud; she was too old to be going out on a date! But what was the harm if she went out to dinner or to a movie with him as a friend? If nothing else, she should see him at least once so she could apologize for overreacting that day in Hardy’s backroom. She knew damned well that she had unloaded emotions and reactions on him that should have been directed elsewhere ...

Like maybe right back on myself, where they belong
, she thought with a guilty twinge.

“Uh ... sure,” she said, surprised by the tentativeness in her voice. “I think that’d ... be fun.”

She glanced over her shoulder when she sensed that her father was getting up from the table and clearing his place. She wondered if he had overheard her conversation and figured out what it was about.

“How does tomorrow night sound?” Frank asked.

Elizabeth watched her father as he rinsed his plate at the sink and then put it into the dish drainer. Shrugging even though she knew the gesture was wasted, she said, “I get out of work at five o’clock. Why don’t you stop by around — oh, say six-thirty? That’ll give me a chance to get ready.” She turned to face the wall again but could feel her father’s gaze boring into her back.

“I’ll see you then,” Frank said, and hung up before Elizabeth could say anything more. Listening to the steady drone of the dial tone, she cradled the phone and, cringing, turned to face her father.

“Is that who I think it was?” Kendall asked. His brow was furrowed, casting deep shadows over his already grease-streaked face. His mouth was set in a thin, hard line.

“That was Frank ... Frank Melrose,” Elizabeth said simply, forcing herself to sound casual and uncaring.

“From what I heard, it sounded to me like he asked you out for a date,” Kendall said.

Biting her lower lip, Elizabeth nodded.

“‘N’ it sounds like you accepted?” He looked down at the floor for a second, then back at Elizabeth, his scowl deepening.

Elizabeth blushed under the gathering storm of her father’s disapproval. But she also felt defensive and almost said aloud,
Hey, wait a minute! What the hell’s going on here
?

“Dad,” she said, trying to color her voice with a hint of laughter. “I think I’m old enough to decide for myself who I want to go out with. Besides —”

“It ain’t that simple,” her father said in a low, measured tone. “You’re still a married woman. I don’t think something like that is — is proper.”

Elizabeth flushed with anger. Only with effort could she refrain from shouting at her father — as she
had
as a teenager. He wasn’t even trying to see things from her point of view! Why in the hell did everyone think she needed so damned much advice about what she should and shouldn’t do?

“Doug and I are separated, Dad,” she said evenly, “and nothing will change my mind. I want a divorce because as far as
I’m
concerned our marriage is over ... it’s
dead
! Can’t you understand that?”

In the hollow silence that followed her outburst, a blinding panic filled her as she remembered the night Caroline died ...

4.

The night was filled with the tortured sounds of twisting metal and ear-shattering explosions ... a searing jet of orange flame ripped upward, into the storm clouds ... a shrill voice, sounding feeble and helpless against the razor-sharp blast of the blizzard, cried out . ..

“
... Help! ... Mommy! ... Help! ... “

“You ain’t not married till you get legally divorced!”

Her father’s voice snapped Elizabeth back. She shook her head as though she had been blindsided.

“Till you’re divorced, you ain’t got no right to be going out on no Goddamned date with Frank Melrose or anyone!”

“Come on, Dad!” Her voice was high and shaky. “For crying out loud. It’s just Frank Melrose. He wants to go out for dinner tomorrow night. It’s not like I’m going to jump into bed with him!”She felt a moment of satisfaction when her father’s face registered shock.

“No — I never said nothing ‘bout jumpin’ into the sack,” he replied gruffly. “I just said it ain’t proper for a married woman to be runnin’ around with another man.”

“Do you want the truth, Dad?” Elizabeth asked.

“I always ‘spected you’d tell me the truth,” Kendall said. “‘N’ I assume you always did.” His strong workman’s hands clenched the edge of the countertop. Tendons and grease-stained knuckles stood out like mountains on the backs of his hands. Elizabeth wondered how such hands could ever be soft and loving.

Sucking in a hissing breath of air, she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, slouching. Unclenching her own fists, she folded her hands in her lap. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Dad —” she said, barely above a whisper. She sniffed loudly.

“I haven’t been
married
to Doug, not in the real sense, since long before ... Caroline died. If I was really honest with myself, I’d have to say even before Caroline was born, but definitely after that.”

She paused, blinking madly as she looked at her father. Kendall stood there watching her with almost no expression on his face. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Havin’ children changes lots of things, but it don’t necessarily mean —”

“It changed
everything
between me and Doug,” Elizabeth said. There was a strain of resignation in her voice. “Look, Dad, I hate to pop any illusions you might have had, but Doug and I had been drifting apart for years —
years
! He had his work and I had mine, at least until Caroline was born. And then I was just stuck home, taking care of this ... this baby!”

She was surprised that she could talk about Caroline in such a detached way. But something in her father’s steadiness gave her the strength to see things just a bit more objectively and not get so lost in her emotions.

“That’s natural, for the woman to be home, raisin’ the children, “ her father said. “That’s the way it’s always been.”

“Come on, Dad,” Elizabeth said. “Let me ask you, then, what was the sense of spending all that money to send me and Pam to college? Did you think I needed a diploma so I could stay home and raise children? I could do that without a high school diploma, for crying out loud.” She shook her head as though amazed, but her father’s expression never wavered. “Dad, that kind of thinking may have worked back when you and mom got married, but times have changed. Most families need two full-time incomes just to get by.”

Her father started to reply, but she cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. “But I don’t want to get side-tracked. I’m talking very specifically about my marriage — me and Doug — and I’m telling you, straight out, we weren’t
married
, not in the true sense, for years!”