Don't Cry for Me (20 page)

“No, what about them?”

“Oh, it’s awful! Just awful. They say Willis went crazy. Killed his daddy with a hunting knife and then headed for his mama when he suddenly dropped into convulsions and died at Sue’s feet. They say there’s blood all over the place and that Sue near went crazy.”

Gertie shuddered. She’d known the family her whole life. Sue was just a little older than Portia, Willis a couple of years older than Marvin.

“That’s awful, just awful. Does anyone know what happened or why?”

“Well, they say his symptoms all point to a drug overdose, but that’s just gossip. Don’t quote me on that, hear?”

“I hear. Do you know when the funeral’s gonna be?”

“No. The sheriff took the bodies. Don’t know when they’ll be released for buryin’. If I hear more, I’ll let you know.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks for calling,” Gertie said.

Her hands were shaking when she hung up the phone. The stew was beginning to bubble. She could hear it from where she was sitting, but she couldn’t bring herself to get up, because she was afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her. Lonnie hadn’t been back to the house since his first and only visit, although she knew for a fact he came and went at the mine. Buell was acting all weird and pissy, and now this. Maybe it wasn’t connected, but then again, maybe it was. Only time would tell.

* * *

Lonnie’s chopper landed just before one in the morning with a new load of baking soda, dextrose and lidocaine, the stuff they were using to cut the pure coke for street sale. The night crew was on the job, waiting to unload.

As soon as the chopper landed the men came running and began to off-load the fifty-pound bags of soda and dextrose, as well as the anesthetics. Lidocaine was used during the cut to mimic the numbing sensation of pure coke, which led the buyers to believe they were getting the “good stuff.”

And, per Buell’s challenge, Lonnie had brought muscle: his Chicago driver, Freddie Joseph, and three other very large men, all armed with equally large automatic weapons. Both their presence and their weapons were seriously intimidating to all assembled, and Lonnie knew it. It was what he called good PR. It never hurt for employees as well as clientele to know he meant business. Too bad Buell wasn’t here. It might have helped
him,
as well. However, when the time came, nothing was going to help Buell, so it didn’t really matter.

He got out of the chopper, transferred the suitcase of money he was carrying to his other hand and glanced at his watch. This trip had served double duty, because he was expecting a new shipment of Mexican coke in tonight. It should be here any time within the next half hour. He’d already spoken to the driver while they were inbound and knew the drugs were close.

“Uh, is there anything we can do for you, Mr. Farrell?”

It was a man from the night crew, but Lonnie didn’t remember his name.

“Yes, actually there is. You can go down to the road and unlock the gate. There’ll be a van coming shortly. Wait there and let them in, and when they leave, lock the gate behind them.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, and started off at a jog.

Lonnie turned abruptly and called after him. “Hey, you!”

The man stopped. “Yes, Mr. Farrell?”

“What’s your name?”

“Sydney Colvin, but everyone calls me Syd.”

“Thanks for helping out, Syd.”

Syd jogged off into the dark.

Lonnie made a mental note. He was going to need another foreman after Buell’s demise. This was a man with initiative. He might be a good replacement.

Lonnie went back to the office to wait, and less than thirty minutes later he saw headlights at the gate. He smiled, watching as the van came up the road and pulled to a stop at the entrance to the mine.

He stepped out onto the threshold and waited for them to get out. The door at the back of the van opened, and two armed men got out, quickly taking up guard positions on either side of the opening. Three more armed men got out and stood at the front of the van. The driver, a short, stocky Latino wearing blue jeans and a denim vest over a bloodred T-shirt, walked toward him as Lonnie’s hired muscle stepped up beside him.

“We meet again, Señor Farrell.”

“Hello, Miguel. It’s good to see you again, but we can skip the chitchat. I’m ready to do business.”

The man smiled. “We do not chit the chat, either,
señor.
As you say here in the States, show me the money.”

Lonnie swung the suitcase he was carrying into the light. “It’s all here, just like last time.” He flipped it open for Miguel to see, then locked it and handed it to one of his guards. “I assume it’s all right that I check what I’m paying for?”

Miguel stepped aside.

“Of course,
señor.
A smart man always tests the product before he pays. Luis! The lights,
por favor.
”

One of the gunmen swung a searchlight into the van’s interior.

Lonnie got hard just thinking about all the money he was going to make, then waved at his guards.

“Tell the men to start unloading.”

The night crew came running, anxious to get the coke into the lab and out of sight. About halfway through the process Lonnie stopped them and chose a tightly wrapped brick out of the stack. He stabbed a switchblade into it, then pulled out a powdery substance on the knife blade to sample.

The night was still. No wind was blowing. He licked the tip of his finger, stuck it in the coke, then put it into his mouth, rubbing it into his gums.

The kick was instant, as was the numbing sensation.

“Good stuff,” he said, and waved the men on.

As soon as the last load was gone, he opened the suitcase and set it in the back of the van for Miguel’s approval.

Miguel checked the bills’ denominations and then counted the stacks. When he shut the suitcase and turned to Lonnie, he was smiling.

“It is a pleasure doing business with you,
señor.
”

“And you,” Lonnie said. “See you in two weeks. Same amount, same money?”

“
Sì,
we can do that. But if I lose any more to the
federa
les,
the price might have to go up.”

Lonnie shifted his stance. His chin went up, his shoulders went back. There was no mistaking the threat in his voice or that his hand was now hovering on the pocket of his jacket.

“That loss is yours to absorb. You don’t pass it on to your buyers. Same amount, same price, or no deal.”

Miguel smiled. “So, for you, we make the exception.”

Lonnie nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Safe flight,” Miguel said.

“And a safe trip back home to you, as well,” Lonnie said.

And just like that, two men who’d been toying with the thought of murder calmly parted ways.

As soon as the van drove off the property, Syd Colvin locked the gate and ran back to the mine.

“Good job,” Lonnie said. “You can join the others.”

The man hustled off into the shadows and disappeared into the mine.

Lonnie went back in, turned off the lights inside the office and gave orders to the guards to board the chopper. Production was moving smoothly. New product was in the house. It was now up to his men to turn it into salable blow.

“Are you ready, Mr. Farrell?” the pilot asked.

“Yes. Start it up,” he said, and climbed into the chopper moments before it lifted up, flying blind into the night. Until they’d cleared the airspace over Rebel Ridge, it was lights out and radio silence.

After that it was back into Louisville, where Lonnie would switch from the chopper to the charter jet and fly back to Chicago. He would sleep on the plane, pop a couple of uppers to get himself going in the morning and be good for the day.

But the time was coming, and he knew it would have to be soon, when he would have to make the break with Uncle Sol. The old man had been good
to
him and
for
him, but he was branching out on his own. He already had Sol’s blessing, but it was still going to be a big change. He hadn’t decided where he would make his new home, although he had to be closer to the mine than Chicago. What he did know was that he would never live on this mountain again.

* * *

Mariah had been unable to sleep after she and Quinn made love, although he’d quickly passed out, sated in body and soul from their passion. Knowing that her tossing and turning would only disturb his sleep, she got up and slipped downstairs with Moses at her heels.

She prowled through the pantry until she found some cookies, then got a can of pop from the refrigerator and curled up in the living room with the pup at her feet, watching every bite that went into her mouth.

She grinned and finally broke off a small piece, which he promptly inhaled.

“Silly puppy,” she whispered. “You didn’t chew it. You didn’t even smell it. You don’t know what that was you swallowed. All that mattered was that we shared it, right?”

The pup’s tail swept back and forth across the hardwood floor in agreement.

“That’s all,” she said, brushing away the crumbs, then popped the top on the can and took a slow sip.

The burn of the cola made her eyes water, and she hiccupped as the first swallow went down. But after that she was good to go. She sat surrounded by the silence of the house, thinking to herself how blessed she was, after a lifetime of being alone, to finally belong.

The man she loved with all her heart was asleep up in the loft. The puppy at her feet worshipped the ground she walked on. It was the first time in her life she felt safe and loved.

She finished off the pop, set the can on the table, then curled her feet up under her and closed her eyes, letting the peace envelope her.

She was somewhere in between sleep and semi-consciousness when she realized she was hearing a chopper. Still groggy and confused as to whether it was in her head or part of a dream, it took her a few moments to wake up. By then the sound was beginning to fade. She ran to the window and, just like before, saw no sign of lights, not from a chopper or a plane—no lights anywhere in the sky but the flickering lights of a billion stars.

Moses eyed her from his spot on the floor.

Once again her heart was pounding as she looked up at the loft. Quinn hadn’t moved, and neither had the pup. Obviously it wasn’t real or they would have heard it. She was the only one hearing things that weren’t there.

She thrust her hands into her hair, tugging at the short strands in growing panic as she began to pace. This was the perfect hell. On the outside, she appeared to be healing. On the inside, she was coming undone.

Scared in every fiber of her being, she went up the steps, then got into bed, snuggling as close to Quinn as she could. If she was going crazy, she wanted to get all she could out of her life before she lost it.

Quinn must have felt her presence. He muttered something she didn’t understand, then laid his hand over hers and softly sighed.

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry, and finally fell asleep.

* * *

When Mariah woke, Quinn was already dressed and getting ready to leave for work. The time to confess was once again gone.

He leaned down to meet her eyes.

“You don’t know how much I’d like to join you in there,” he said, and kissed her on both cheeks before he settled a long kiss on her lips. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be home at the regular time, and if I’m delayed, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “I love you,” she added.

He grinned. “I love you, too, pretty girl. Take care.”

She nodded, then fell back against the pillow and listened to him going down the stairs, talking to Moses as he went.

“I already let Moses out, so you don’t have to get up until you’re ready,” he shouted up at her.

“Okay, thank you,” she called back.

Then he was out the door, and a minute later she heard the Jeep start up. She listened until the sound faded completely, then grabbed his pillow and rolled over, hugging it to her and wondering if this was the day she would finish going insane.

Eighteen

T
he little green Mountain Mushrooms truck was becoming a familiar sight around the area. It delivered organically grown portabellas as well as criminis, which were just portabellas in an immature stage, to several businesses in Mount Sterling, including one organic grocery store, and there were new orders coming in from a couple of restaurants in Lexington. The carefully packed boxes of the brown-capped fungi were selling at high prices, and the men working the nursery had caught on quickly to the process of growing them at optimum rates. Once the delivery truck had unloaded the mushrooms, it went back up the mountain with a fresh load of the bags of compost and bales of straw used to nourish the spores.

The main workers in the nursery were the four men who had opted out of Lonnie’s dirty business. They had become used to the long, narrow work space. They kept their mouths shut and their heads down when the other men were around. It was dicey being the only ones who had openly disapproved of what the others were doing. None of them wanted to wind up dead at the bottom of a mine shaft, but the situation had definitely driven a wedge between them and their friends who’d accepted Lonnie’s offer.

Bad news had a habit of spreading fast, and by the next morning, when the day shift started up the mountain, everyone coming on duty had heard about the tragedy at the Colvins and that Willis had died from an apparent drug overdose. Syd Colvin, who worked the night shift, was Willis Colvin’s uncle and Faris Colvin’s brother, but he’d already gone home and had yet to find out.

The whole thing had left the men stunned. It wasn’t like drugs were a rarity here. It was just that no one had ever gone off the deep end like that before, not from smoking meth or popping prescription pills. They’d died in plenty of accidental ways, but not foaming at the mouth in violent convulsions after killing a member of their own family.

What was worse and completely inexplicable, Willis Colvin hadn’t been a druggie. He’d been an honor student at the high school in Boone’s Gap and had never been a bad kid. So what kind of crazy drug could he have gotten hold of that would have caused such violent behavior?

They didn’t believe it had come from here. There was no way any of them could sneak coke out, but even so, the guilt was on all their shoulders. All they could feel was the sadness and the shock of knowing they were a part of the business that had caused two deaths.

To a man, not one of them spoke of it.

Buell’s eyes were red and swollen as he stood in the doorway, watching them strip and put on the white suits to tackle the new load of fresh coke that had come in overnight. He knew without asking that they were all thinking the same thing. This had happened because of something they were doing. They didn’t know how, and none of them had any way to prove it, but the guilt was taking seed. What had happened in that house wasn’t just a murder. It was a mortal, send-your-soul-to-hell, sin. If Lonnie had walked up at that moment, Buell would have shot him where he stood.

As soon as the men had changed and taken their places at the tables, Buell stepped out of the room, then strode through the passageway to the office. He couldn’t decide whether to call Lonnie with the news about the deaths or wait for more details before he got in touch.

* * *

Syd came home feeling tired to the bone. He didn’t want anything but a shower and the comfort of his own bed. He’d been a single man ever since his wife left him for another man, so he dealt with his own cooking and cleaning as it suited him.

After a quick shower, he sat down on the side of the bed to check his messages. There was only one, and it was from his sister-in-law, Sue. He pressed Play, and then all of a sudden he heard her screaming, “They’re dead! They’re dead!”

His blood ran cold as he sat through the rest of the message, a jumble of words about Willis stabbing his daddy with a hunting knife and then coming after her before dropping at her feet in convulsions and dying from what the cops said looked like a drug overdose.

Syd looked over at his dresser. He was already shaking when he got up and walked toward it. The drawer was slightly ajar. The little box where he kept his extra money had been moved. He took it out and counted. There was a ten-dollar bill missing.

Then it hit him. That was how much he paid Willis to keep the grass mowed around his place. He ran to the window and looked out at the freshly mowed grass.

“Lord, oh, sweet Lord,” Syd moaned, and then ran back to the drawer and dug deeper, beneath the box and his socks, for the small baggie he’d hidden there.

It was gone.

Shock swept through him so fast that he threw up before he knew it was coming, right into his sock drawer and onto his stash of cash.

He staggered backward until he hit the side of the bed and sat down with a thump, staring down at his hands. He knew what had happened, and he knew that he had killed his nephew and brother just as surely as if he’d shot them himself.

He always left money on the table for Willis when he mowed, but yesterday he’d forgotten. Willis, knowing that Uncle Syd wouldn’t mind, had gone into his drawer and paid himself, then—being the curious teen that he was—poked around and found something that shouldn’t ever have been there.

Syd kept wondering what Willis must have thought, how he had felt, knowing the uncle he idolized had something like that—and wondering why, if it was okay for his uncle, it wouldn’t be okay for him, too? And then Willis Colvin had treated himself to pure, unadulterated coke, and the rest, as they said, was now history.

Syd wiped a hand across his face, too stunned to cry. He sat for a few minutes in the silence of his house, smelling the souring stench of his own vomit in the drawer on the other side of the room, hearing a drip in the bathroom where he hadn’t turned off the shower all the way, and knew his time on earth had to be over. There was no living with what he’d done.

Without a second thought, he went to the closet, dug into a shoe box where he kept his daddy’s old revolver, loaded it with one bullet, put it to his head and pulled the trigger where he stood.

* * *

When Syd never called back, Sue went to check on him. She found him on the floor of his bedroom, lying naked in a pool of his own blood, the revolver at his side. She called Sheriff Marlow and then went outside, too stunned to cry.

Syd’s hunting dogs were whining in the pen. She guessed he hadn’t bothered to tend them before he went to be with Jesus, so she fed them and watered them, and then sat down to wait. A few minutes passed as she sat praying, waiting for God to give her a sign that would explain how all this had come to pass. It wasn’t until she saw Syd’s blood on her dress that she lost it.

She looked down at the red splotches on her breast and started to shake. At that point horror came welling up in her, growing and growing until she threw back her head and let out a shriek so hideous it set the dogs to howling. Once she started she was unable to stop. She threw herself on the ground, wailing with such power and despair that she gave up her sanity, too empty from the grief to give this world another chance.

When Sheriff Marlow and his deputies drove up, they found her lying near a rick of wood, curled up in a fetal position with her eyes wide and fixed, and her mouth frozen open as if she was still screaming.

No amount of talking got through to her. Not only did they have to call the coroner about Syd, but they had to call another ambulance from Mount Sterling to come get poor Sue.

Mae Looney heard bits and pieces of it on her police scanner, then filled in the blanks on her own and promptly called Gertie, because that was how the mountain smoke signals worked.

Gertie took the call in near silence, grunting when necessary, muttering when a grunt didn’t pass for an answer, and hung up on Mae without saying goodbye. She knew Syd Colvin worked at the old mine, because she’d seen his name on the payroll Portia figured for Buell.

Gertie knew people would probably have read Syd’s suicide as stemming straight from grief, but she guessed different. It felt to her like Syd had a load of guilt too heavy to carry in this life and had given it up to the Lord. That was what she believed, and nothing was going to change her mind.

She called Buell the moment she got off the phone with Mae, but he didn’t answer, so she went in search of Portia to tell her the news. Portia’s face turned white, and then she started to cry. Gertie felt like crying with her, but that wouldn’t solve a thing.

As they sat out by the barn a sudden wind came through the trees, wailing like a banshee comin’ for the dead.

“It’s a sign,” Portia wailed. “It ain’t over, is it, Mama? It’s just gonna get worse.”

Gertie jumped to her feet and turned into the wind as it ripped through her hair, yanking and tugging the long gray strands out of their pins, and flattened the fabric of her dress so tight against her that it perfectly outlined the wear and tear on her body from her sixty-some years. Then, just like that, the wind was gone, taking all signs of life with it. The animals weren’t moving. The birds weren’t singing.

Gertie headed for the house. She knew in the very bottom of her soul that it was old sins—
her sins
—that had created the devil come into their midst.

Portia blew her nose on the hem of her shirt, then called out when she realized Gertie was leaving.

“Where you goin’, Mama?”

“To get my Bible,” Gertie said. “You go on and finish weedin’ them green beans. I need to pray.”

* * *

Mariah was pulling weeds with a vengeance while Moses watched from just outside the garden fence. She worked until she had the entire space weeded, then stopped to stretch her aching back, and as she did, she noticed that Moses had disappeared from sight.

Dusting off her hands, she came out, shutting the gate behind her as she began calling and whistling for the dog. But no long-legged, gangly pup appeared—not from around the cabin or from the forest at the edge of the meadow.

She frowned. Silly puppy. Where on earth could he have gone? She thought of her daily walks. He went with her every time, but this morning she had skipped their walk and gone to the garden instead. What if he had decided to go without her? What if he’d taken off after an animal that could hurt him? What if he went back to that cave where she’d heard the voices?

Now she was really worried. She ran into the house, grabbed the rifle and a flashlight, then remembered her cell phone and dropped it into her pocket before heading back out.

Her strides were long as she hurried through the meadow, too concerned to dawdle. She had no idea how long Moses had been gone or what kind of trouble he might be in. Within seconds of entering the forest she began to call his name. When there was no answering bark she kept walking, and the higher up she went, the faster she moved. By the time she got to the waterfall, nearly thirty minutes had passed. She had a stitch in her side and tears in her eyes.

“Moses! Moses! Come here, puppy!” Then she whistled, but there was still no answering yip.

She moved to the edge of the creek, making sure his little body wasn’t floating somewhere along the banks after falling victim to the snapping turtle, but the only things she saw were small fish darting into the shadows.

Just as she started to turn back, she saw a muddy paw print in the dirt along the bank. She knelt, running her finger lightly along the edge. It was barely dry. The print was fresh.

She stood up. The little shit. He had come this far. Where the hell would he have gone next? God, please not that cave.

She turned and headed farther up the path toward the mouth of the cave. When she walked inside and turned on her flashlight, she saw more paw prints. Granted, he’d left plenty there the last time, but not this many, and a lot of them were new prints over the old shoe prints she and Quinn had made. As she feared, he had been here. Whether he was still here or not was another matter.

“Moses! Moses! Come here, puppy!”

She whistled again and walked farther into the cave. She was so scared she’d lost him that she forgot to be afraid. She walked all the way to the back wall with her flashlight pointed down, and when she finally found puppy prints going into that unexplored passageway, she groaned.

She was about to call out, but before she had a chance she began hearing voices again. Like the last time, they sounded more like murmurs rather than distinct words.

Her heart started to hammer at the onset of panic. She was spinning out of control, with no way to stop herself. She staggered toward the wall, grabbing hold of an outcropping, desperately trying to steady her legs and slow the rapid thunder of her heart, and then sank to the ground, her shoulders slumping as she waited to disappear.

All of a sudden she heard barking and swung her flashlight into the passage just as Moses came running out of the darkness. He leaped against her and began licking her face.

Mariah threw her arms around him. “Bad dog, bad puppy. Don’t you ever run away from me again.”

She pushed herself up, grabbed the rifle and the flashlight, and headed for the mouth of the cave with the puppy at her heels. And for all the good it did, she scolded him all the way back.

But there was another, far bigger issue on her mind. It was sobering to realize that she might be getting worse. This was the second time she’d heard voices in that cave. She wondered if they were ghosts, or if it was all in her head. By the time she reached the cabin, she’d made up her mind to call Dolly. If there were stories of people having heard or seen ghosts there, she was going to go with that theory. She’d heard of people turning psychic after head trauma, and she was far more willing to go there than to accept the fact that she was genuinely crazy and going crazier by the day.