Long Black Curl (35 page)

And then there was Bo-Kate. He had no idea how to feel about her now. The things she'd done—and done with smiles, and laughter, and joy—appalled and terrified him. And he had no idea what she might do next.

“Drive past the motel, Nigel, and look for a place to pull over,” she said. “Then kill the lights.”

The motel parking lot was full of other vehicles, and lights blazed from within the caf
é
. People stood on the porch smoking and talking. Nigel thought he heard music as they passed, but it was faint and uncertain.

They topped a small rise and he pulled off the road onto a wide section of the shoulder. He turned off the lights and turned to Bo-Kate. “Now what?”

“We do a little hiking,” she said cheerily. She turned to Byron. “Your leg up to it?”

“My leg is fine,” he growled. “What will this accomplish, though?”

“Well, we're going to meet another old friend of yours, someone I think you'll be glad to clear the air with, just like you did with Marshall.”

Bo-Kate led them through the forest. If there was a trail or path, Nigel couldn't see it, and instead followed Byron's broad back. They went down into a gully, then up the other side until they found themselves on a hillside, looking down on the Catamount Corner from the back. They couldn't see into any of the ground-floor windows, but they heard the music clearly now: plaintive, aching tunes of love and loss. Nigel's eyes started to burn with sympathy, and only the cold kept him from crying.

If Bo-Kate noticed, she didn't let on. “Watch the edge of the woods below,” she said. “That's where he'll come out.”

“Where who will come out?” Nigel asked.

“You'll see,” Bo-Kate said almost gleefully.

They sat in the cold night for what seemed like hours but, according to Nigel's cell phone, was only about thirty minutes. By the time Bo-Kate said, “There!” and pointed, Nigel's feet were numb.

A shambling, zombielike figure emerged from the woods. It paused to look around and listen to the music coming from inside. Then it shuffled over to a back door and picked up what, at this distance, appeared to be a plate of food that had been left there.

Without a word, Byron started down the hill at a trot, using the trees as supports. He moved with surprising stealth for a man so big, and with a bad leg. “What's he going to do?” Nigel asked softly.

Before she could answer, Byron reached the other man and, with no preliminaries, laid him out with a wild roundhouse punch to the head. The plate flew into the motel's brick wall and shattered.

“They'll hear it,” Nigel said.

“Not over the music,” Bo-Kate said with certainty.

Byron pulled the man to his feet and punched him again. The other man attempted to crawl away, but Byron stood over him and kicked him in the side with his good foot.

“Are you going to let him kill him, too?” Nigel asked.

“No,” Bo-Kate said as if it were the most casual thing in the world, “but I want the big guy to work off some steam.”

“Who
is
he, Bo-Kate? I mean, I know who he apparently thinks he is, but that can't be, can it?”

“What was one of the first things I told you about the Tufa, Nigel?”

“That time doesn't work the same for everybody.”

“Exactly. Believe it or not, that
is
Byron Harley, the real one, the one who supposedly died in a plane crash sixty years ago. To him, those sixty years passed in a single night.”

“But, Bo-Kate, that … that isn't possible.”

She grinned. He was beginning to hate that smile. “It is here, my little Brit.”

They watched Byron pummel the other man for a few more minutes; then Bo-Kate led Nigel down the slope. When they reached the others, Byron was breathing heavily, and the other man groaned and held his ribs.

“Enjoying yourself?” Bo-Kate said.

“Just getting warmed up,” Byron growled. “This son of a bitch owes me a life.”

“You're not cashing that check today,” she said. “He's actually very important to the Tufa community, and we need him alive.”

She knelt beside him. In the glow from the motel's security lights, Nigel saw that he was an old man, with ragged whiskers and a dirt-smeared face. His clothes were oft-repaired rags, and his boots were held together with duct tape.

“Well, if it isn't the scariest man in Cloud County,” she said. “Not so scary now, are you, Eli?”

The sin eater said nothing. He groaned deep in his throat.

“Oh, you'll be fine, old man. Just some bruises and cuts. Nothing you can't sweat out. Now, I want you to listen to me very closely. Are you listening?”

The old man nodded.

“Other people are going to die. You'll have plenty of sins to eat very soon. But once that's done, once everyone agrees that I'm in charge, things will be peaceful again. And this time, there won't be that undercurrent of tension between that six-fingered old bastard and a damn little girl. This time the peace will be solid.”

The sin eater said nothing. He just looked into her eyes, and Nigel noticed that Bo-Kate looked away, unable to hold his gaze. She got up, wiped her hands on her jeans, and said, “Come on, gentlemen. Back to the truck. Places to go.”

Byron bent down and said, “You have no idea how lucky your sorry ass is tonight.” Then he kicked the man once more and followed Bo-Kate up the hill, into the woods. Nigel brought up the rear, fighting the sick feeling that now roiled inside him.

*   *   *

In the truck, Nigel drove with his hands tight on the wheel. When Bo-Kate put her hand on his arm, she said, “Wow, what's with the death grip?'

“I'm in new moral territory,” he said without looking at her. “I'm learning my bearings as I go.”

“You having second thoughts?”

He risked a glance at her, but her face was shadowed. “Second thoughts about your reign of terror? Of course not. I'm still on your payroll.”

“And in my bed?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” She leaned close and said softly, “Although you might have to share me with Byron. How do you feel about that?”

“I don't own you; therefore, I cannot share you.”

She laughed. “You always know what to say, Nigel.”

He smiled. But he thought to himself,
If only that were true.

 

27

Bo-Kate rose on the bed and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She was naked, and so was Byron Harley, his big body stretched out on the guest room bed. He'd dragged the sheet over his bad leg, although truthfully she didn't mind it at all. But he was not rising to the occasion despite her best efforts, and that was starting to bug her. If she knew anything, it was how to give a blow job, both metaphorically and literally.

“What's wrong?” she asked, trying not to sound impatient. She'd wanted to make love to him since she was twelve, and to have him this close but apparently uninterested was not something she could tolerate.

He didn't look at her. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Feeling guilty about beating up those two guys? Look, they—”

“It's got nothing to do with them.”

Suddenly she understood. “Your wife?”

“Her name is Donna. And yeah. Her, and Harmony.”

“You can't tell me you haven't fooled around on her before. You're a musician, for God's sake.”

He glared at her, and his face turned red. “I don't think you want to get into this.”

“Byron, she's not around anymore. You can do what you want.”

His massive right hand tangled in her hair and jerked her face close to his. “What do you know about it?”

She gasped, though not from pain. She loved the sense of being overpowered, because it happened so seldom. “If it'll make you feel better to hit me, go ahead.”

He shoved her away to the end of the bed, almost toppling her onto the floor. “I don't want to hit you. I'm sorry, Bo-Kate, it's just … I mean, when I cheated on her before, I always told myself I'd make it up to her when this whole rock-and-roll thing ran its course. I'd be the best husband in the world, the best father. Only now … I'll never get the chance. So cheating on her, on
them,
actually feels worse now that she's gone. Does that make sense?”

Bo-Kate knelt on the bed. “It does. You're a good man, Byron. You don't deserve what happened to you.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But you also have to move forward. You can't reach back in time, you know. Not even the Tufa can do that.” She sat back on her heels and arched her back, presenting herself to him as submissive and feminine. “Let me help you. Let me show you what this world has for you.”

He looked her up and down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him begin to respond.

She slowly, gently cupped her breasts, barely touching the skin, and closed her eyes. It had no effect on her, but she knew very few men who could resist it. Then she slid one hand down between her thighs.

Through her eyelashes, she saw him now fully aroused. When he reached for her, it was all she could do not to laugh in triumph.

*   *   *

When it became clear that Bo-Kate was not returning anytime soon—and the sounds that bled through from across the hall left no doubt—Nigel slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and went out into the hall. He thought seriously about jumping into the SUV and fleeing this whole disturbing scene, and if he'd been certain it would free him from Bo-Kate's wrath, he might have done it. But of course he could never be sure of that. If what she told him was true, on top of the things he'd seen for himself, the only place he could ever be safe was by her side, doing her bidding. That thought terrified him the most.

He saw light at the bottom of the stairs and went down to find Tain seated at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a romance novel. As always, she seemed dressed for a hot summer's day.

She looked up with a little half smile. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“One could ask the same of you.”

“I have to be at the diner by five.”

“May I join you?”

“At the diner?”

“At the table.”

“I reckon. Bo-Kate asleep?”

“She's entertaining her other guest.”

“And she didn't include you?”

“I'm not sure a threesome is in my job description.”

“Mm, too bad. So what did you do today?”

“We drove around and met some people.”

“Marshall Goins, I assume. Heard he turned up dead.”

Nigel had not been in the city hall, and so hadn't seen what occurred. Still, he suspected, and now it was confirmed. “He did?”

Tain nodded. “Heart attack. They say, at least.”

Nigel felt a flood of relief. Natural causes were no one's fault. “That's unfortunate.”

“But not a big surprise, not when Bo-Kate's around.”

“Do lots of people drop dead of heart attacks in her vicinity?”

Tain did not smile when she said, “Lots of people die around her, yes.”

Nigel looked at the scratched, ancient tabletop. “I'd appreciate you keeping this between us, Tain, but I'm having serious second thoughts about our purpose here.”

“Don't have the stomach for a shock-and-awe campaign?”

“No, not really. My skills are administrative and logistical. And my relationship with Bo-Kate was founded on beliefs that have proven not to be true.” He paused. “I admit an attraction to powerful women, and when we first crossed that line between business and personal, I found it incredibly exciting. And surprisingly easy to maintain. But now…”

“You're in it up to your neck, aren't you?”

“I am. And I fear I may drown in it. And that isn't something I want.”

“I wish I could help you, Nigel. You seem like a nice guy.”

“For a ‘colored boy'?”

She took his hand sympathetically. “No, you seem like a nice guy, period.”

“Thank you. But I fear that is no longer the case. And I truly fear things may get worse.”

She bit her lip thoughtfully. It was one of the sexiest things Nigel had ever seen any woman do, ever. Then she said, “I know someone who might be able to help you.”

“And who is that?”

“I can't say. I need to check with this other person first. But if I'm right, I'll connect the two of you.”

“It will have to be soon. Whatever Bo-Kate ultimately has planned, it's coming to a head. One can't accumulate too many bodies without attracting attention.”

“I'll get back to you later today. What's your cell number?”

He took a card from his wallet and slid it to her. “If I sound a bit nonsensical when I answer it's because your cousin is listening and I want her to think it's a misdial.”

“Gotcha.”

“Thank you.”

She bit her lip again. “I wish we had time for you to do that properly.”

 

28

The Hang Dog Diner was packed with its usual morning regulars, and Tain stayed busy refilling coffee, taking orders, and avoiding impulsive butt-grabs. The other waitresses—heavyset, dour matrons already tired of life and love—looked at her askance, but knew better than to say anything. Tain wasn't deliberately courting this attention; it just came to her, especially from the non-Tufa men who didn't understand what she was. The women may not have known either, but they did realize it wasn't deliberate, she didn't encourage it, and however annoying it was, it wasn't her fault. Certainly the girl worked as hard as they did.

Tain watched the door for Snowy. She needed to connect him with Nigel as soon as possible, but he hadn't returned either of her calls, and she didn't have a computer to discreetly e-mail him. He had every reason to suspect she was calling for a repeat of their afternoon at the motel, and was clearly avoiding her. That made her sad, and a little angry, but she kept reminding herself that it actually wasn't
about
that.