MOON FALL (7 page)

"I have a customer," Minerva Payne told Mark Lawson as
the bells over the door of the Gingerbread House jingled
.
''Let's
go see who it is."

Mark nodded, his mouth full with a chunk of freshly cut
fudge, then followed the old lady out of the kitchen, only to
stop dead in his tracks when he saw his father, in full uniform,
approaching the counter
.

"Mrs. Payne," he began, then spotted his son. "Mark, what
are you doing here?"

"Nothing," he mumbled around the fudge
.

''Mark was just helping me in the kitchen, so I gave him a
piece of candy," Minerva said, smiling at the sheriff. ''I hope
that's all right-it's not too near dinnertime, is it?''

John Lawson looked taken aback, then shook his head and
gave her a strained smile. "No, ah, that's fine. I just didn't
expect to find him here." He looked at his son. ''You told me
you and Corey Addams w
e
re going over to the Parkers' today."

Mark looked a little sheepish. ''We did. I just stopped here
on my way home."

"Where's Corey?"

"He didn't stop
.
He's afraid of Minerva."

"Mark!" Lawson said. "Mind your manners."

Minerva chuckled and rested her hands on the boy's shoulders.
''That's all right, Sheriff. Mark is refreshingly honest,
and he really is one of the few Moonfall children who aren't
afraid of me." She smiled and ruffled Mark's hair
.
"Some of
the adults are afraid of me, too. Afraid I'll turn them into frogs,
or some such nonsense." She paused. "You'd best run along
now, Mark. Your father needs to speak with me."

"Really?" Mark asked. "What about, Dad?"

"Business. Look, go over to Gus's and help him do some
chores."

"Aw
, Dad-"

"He's cooking us dinner tonight, so give him a hand. I'll be
there in an hour. Now, scoot."

Minerva watched the father watch the son as he scuffed his
way out of the store, noted the affection in John Lawson's eyes.
It was a painful thing to see. "Sheriff? I thought you might
pay me a visit today," she said briskly.

''What made you think that?" Anxiety laced his voice, and
she knew
h
e was trying hard to hide it.

"Why, that poor young woman in the pond, of course."

"Were you the one who phoned about her?"

"No, Sheriff, but it's all over town. You can't keep something
like that secret for long."

"Who told you?"

"I don't want to talk out of turn."

"You won't. This shouldn't be common knowledge yet. I
need to know."

''Very well. Deputy Griffin told me."

"He already questioned you?"

"No, of course not. Why would he ask an old woman like
me about something like that? I gave him a potion that loosened
his tongue."

The sheriff's mouth worked, but nothing came out. Old ideas
died
h
ard.

''The potion was coffee and a Danish, Sheriff Lawson."
There were two wicker chairs near the window, and Minerva
walked over and sat in one, beckoning him to do the same.
"Old bones. They pain me when I stand too long." She waited
while John Lawson settled in the chair. He'd been a good
looking
boy, and he'd grown into a fine figure of a man with
a strong face and thick hair, just like his father, and old Gus
before him. As Mark would be one day. The Lawsons were of
fine stock.
And why shouldn't they be?
She smiled to herself,
then studied John. ''Would you like some coffee, and perhaps
a tart? I just took them out of the oven-and they're not apple."

He actually smiled at that and she saw some of his unease
drain away. Moonfall humor dictated that no resident would
be caught dead eating apples if other fruit was available. "No,
but thanks for the offer."

"Hot lemon," she told him.

"I'm on duty."

''Let me assure you, they contain no alcohol." She laughed
her low, throaty chuckle again. "Now, you have some questions?"

"Yes, Mrs. Payne, I do."

" 'Minerva' will do better."

He nodded, then asked several questions ab
o
ut her whereabouts
the previous night and this morning, if she'd seen or
heard anything unusual; exactly the sort of thing she expected.

"You can ask me anything, Sheriff," she prompted, when
h
e fell silent. "Isn't there something else?" She wanted him
to bring up his brother.

He gazed at her, his mask dropping for an instant to reveal
the frightened boy she'd seen so long ago. Then his expression
turned all-business again. "I have just one last question: why
did you expect me to come by to talk with you, yet find it
humorous that Deputy Griffin might do the same?"

Bones creaking, she rose slowly from her chair, then looked
down at John Lawson. "It's very simple." She bent slightly,
staring into his eyes. "You and I have unfinished business. And
why not? You never told anyone about seeing me at the Falls
twenty-four years ago."

Slowly h
e nodded, then stood. Unlike many men, he was
taller than her, but only by an inch or so, and be tried in vain
to avoid her eyes. "I don't know what you mean."

''Yes, you do. And we must talk about it soon. Before Halloween,
John,
long
before." At those last words, be flinched visibly.
"Why didn't you tell, John?" she persisted.

For an instant, she saw the glint of a tear in his eye, but
h
e
h
ad great self-discipline and it disappeared quickly. "I don't
know," he said hoarsely, then turned and walked out the door,
shutting it so hard that the glass panes vibrated.

"Remember, John. You must remember," Minerva whispered.
"You couldn't save your brother, but you
can
save your
son."

"What the hell is the matter with me?" John ranted, as he
paced his grandfather's old-fashioned veranda. He turned
around and looked at Gus, who sat on the porch swing, calmly
lighting one of his foul-smelling cigars. The butt glowed red
in the twilight. ''I'm the goddamned sheriff, for Chrissake, and
I practically tossed my cookies the minute I walked through
the gates of St. Gruesome's."

"No need to swear, Johnny. No need to berate yourself,
either. We've all got our demons." Gus leaned forward. "And
yours are out there at the abbey."

John walked toward his grandfather, then leaned against the
white wooden porch railing, facing him. ''My demons are at
Witch Falls. St. Gertrude's has nothing to do with them."

"Sure it does, boy. Sure it does." He pointed the cigar at
John. "You were going there on Halloween to have some fun,
but something happened and you ended up at the Falls."

"What makes you think that?"

''Overheard you boys making plans." Gus blew a smoke
ring.

"What?"

"You and your friends thought you were pretty clever, hunkering
down behind the wisteria vine near my bedroom window,
didn't you?"

''You
eavesdropped
on us?" John asked, shocked. Of all his
family, it was Gus he'd always felt closest to, Gus he had
trusted the most.

"Not on purpose, but I couldn't very well help it for a while.
Remember why I moved in with your folks?"

"Sure. You broke your leg." That was an understatement.
Mom and Dad had been after Gus to sell his huge old Victorian
house-he'd been widowed for a decade and was still puttering
around there by himself. One night, a drunk slammed into his
car on the winding road below town. He was lucky to survive,
but his leg had been shattered in several places. When he got
out of the hospital, he went to stay in the Lawsons' single
story
California bungalow, and he never left, though he talked
about it-at least, until Dad died. Then there was no question
of his leaving. Mom died when John was still in high school,
and he and Gus grew even closer. Yet he'd never brought up
the
Halloween of 1972 until now.

"Broke it good, too," Gus was saying, around puffs of
smoke. "Almost missed the Haunt that year, but there you boys
were under my open window, and I couldn't help listening."

"You knew we were going, but you didn't rat on us?"

"Heck no, boy. What'd you take me for?" He chuckled to
himself, then began puffing out a se
ries of smoke rings, bull
s
-
eyeing
each one through the last.

John watched fascinated, afraid of what his grandfather might
say next. ''Maybe we'd better get home," John said finally. ''It's
getting late, and Mark's probably cross-eyed from watching that
oversized TV of yours." He pushed himself away from the
porch rail; then Gus fixed him with The Look.

"Did you go to St. Gruesome's that night, Johnny?"

For a moment he couldn't answer; then he realized that was
something else he, Doug,
Winky
, Beano, and Paul had talked
about under the wisteria, and irritation replaced anxiety. "You
overheard us, Gus. Why don't
you
tell
me?"

"You went, all right." The old man sat forward, his thinning
white hair blowing across his forehead in the evening breeze.
"You might think you didn't, but you did. I don't know what
happened out there, John, but St. Gertrude's is at the core of
your problems."

"We didn't go. We were going to, yeah, but then Beano said
that his brother made up all his stories about going and had
written to him telling him we shouldn't go. So we went camping
instead."

“
Why is it that five boys didn't know whether they went to
S
t.
Gertrude's or not? You boys argued back and forth for
weeks; then Doug Buckman died and you all stopped seeing
each other." He grunted ... The way I heard it, you convinced
one another you didn't go. Don't you remember?"

Walking our bikes up the long dark road. The gate, the
gargoyles watching us .
.. There's nothing to remember. We
were just making up stories."
Minerva Payne said we have to
talk. How come you never told them you saw me, John?
''Serves
you right for eavesdropping." John said this lightly, then crossed
the porch, opened the screen door, and raised his voice
“Time
to go home, Mark. Get a move on!"

Gus stood, flicking ash from his dwindling cigar ... You ever
want to talk about it, Johnny, you know where to find me."

“
Thanks, Gus, but Greg's death is not something I want to
talk about. Ever."

Mark flew out the door as Gus nodded. .. Just keep it in
mind. See you two next week?"

“
Sure. Come on, Mark. 'Night, Gus."

“
Bye, Gus," Mark tossed in, running down the steps.

John followed his son to the car, not looking back at the
h
ouse until he was inside with the engine running. Gus was
still on the porch, invisible except for the glowing cigar butt.
Damn that old man. Damn Minerva Payne, and damn Lenor
e
Tynan for starting it all up again.