Popcorn Thief (6 page)

“Water,” Darryl snapped at Franklin.

Franklin shrugged off his backpack and handed over his extra
bottle. The man looked in bad shape.

“What do you think he was doing here?” Darryl asked.

“He was being attacked,” Franklin said quietly. “See the
gouges on his face?”

“That thing? Was it here?” Darryl asked as he wet a kerchief
and washed the man’s face.

“Yeah. It was standing right over him,” Franklin said. He
shivered. He had no idea what the hell that creature was. It wasn’t natural,
though. It wasn’t a regular spirit. Why could he see it? Normally, he only saw
ghosts.

“Why didn’t you shoot it?” Darryl demanded.

“I—I—it don’t matter. You’ll be able to track it
again,” Franklin protested. “Besides, there was this guy here.”

“All right,” Darryl said with a sigh. He turned back to the
bum. “Come on, buddy, there you go.” He raised the man up a little and tried
giving him a drink of water.

The man sputtered and coughed, then heaved a huge sigh before
he opened his eyes. At the sight of the pair of them, he suddenly sat up and
scrambled backwards, trying to get away.

“Hey, hey!” Darryl said, reaching out and grabbing the guy’s
leg so he couldn’t get away. “We ain’t here to hurt you.”

The man reached up and touched his cheek gingerly. “Yeah?”
he said, disbelieving.

“We didn’t do that,” Franklin assured him. “Look, I’m
Franklin, this here’s my cousin Darryl.”

“Billy,” the man said. He looked fearfully beyond them out
into the clearing. “You sure it wasn’t some kind of dog or trained wild animal?
Something that’s with you two?” His voice sounded like sandpaper roughed over
hard stones.

Franklin didn’t bother pointing out that an animal that was
wild was the opposite of trained.

“It wasn’t us,” Darryl said. “Or any animal we have with us.
It’s—wild. We was tracking it.”

Billy nodded. “I ain’t never seen anything like it before.
That doesn’t mean it wasn’t some kind of trick that you two pulled.”

Darryl rolled his eyes, but Franklin asked, “What did you
see?”

“Some kind of whirling light. Calling to me, out here, under
the trees,” Billy said. “Haven’t been hitting the hooch today,” he added
defensively. Then he paused. “Okay, only a bit, though. So I followed it. Then
it attacked me.” He looked suspiciously at Franklin and Darryl again.

“We came up while it was standing over you. You were down on
the ground,” Franklin said. “We chased it off.”

“You still should have shot it,” Darryl complained.

Billy shook his head. “Won’t catch that thing with guns.”

“What do you mean?” Franklin asked. “What do you think it
was?”

“Evil,” Billy countered. He looked straight at Franklin, his
watery brown eyes suddenly sharp and clear. “And the only thing that’ll combat
that thing is love.”

Darryl scoffed. “Right. We’re supposed to hug it to death.
No, we got good rock salt here, ready to blast it to bits.”

“Do you think that’ll work?” Billy asked Franklin, ignoring
Darryl.

“It likes salty things,” Franklin replied. He really didn’t
know what else to do.

“Right, which is why it was licking my cheek,” Billy said
sarcastically. “That thing’s a killer. And it’ll come back after me, won’t it?”

Franklin hesitated, but he had to tell Billy the truth.
“Yeah, it might. But I ain’t never seen anything like it before, so I don’t
know for certain.”

“Okay. Guess I better go break the law, then,” Billy said as
he heaved himself up.

Franklin and Darryl stood as well. “What do you mean?”
Franklin asked.

“He breaks the law, he’ll be thrown in jail for the night,
maybe two. You think a few bars are gonna stop that thing?” Darryl asked.

“Nope,” Billy replied. “But being around a bunch of other
folks will. It drew me out here, away from the others. Now, they’re a sorry
group. I wouldn’t trust ’em with my sister, and she’s both a black belt and a whore.
They’re too confused to be much help. But a nice clean jail cell with a bunch
of cameras? That thing’ll swerve off.”

“Why do you think it called you, and not the others?”
Franklin asked before Billy turned to go.

“Don’t know if it was calling just me or not,” Billy said. “But
I was the only one who heard it.” He shrugged. “Just thought it was another one
of those damned voices. Thank you for the water,” he said, nodding his head at
Darryl. “And thanks for the warning.” Then he turned and tramped off through
the woods.

“Should we go after him?” Franklin asked Darryl quietly. Was
it safe for him here in the woods? How long before that thing came after him
again? Or would it go after someone else now?

“Do you want him sleeping on your front porch?” Darryl
replied. “’Cause he can’t go home with me. You gonna give him a ride on the
front of your bicycle?”

Franklin sighed. Darryl was right. He just wished he could
do something more.

“He’ll be all right,” Darryl assured Franklin. “Now, let’s
get back on the trail.”

Franklin let himself be persuaded. Billy would be fine. He’d
be able to take care of himself. He’d probably been doing it for a long time.

“Where was that thing standing?” Darryl asked, trying to
distract Franklin.

“Right where we are,” Franklin told him. “Like a goddamn cloud.”

“Let’s go rain on its day then,” Darryl said.

* * *

Franklin was ready to go home. All the woods looked the same
to him at this point—same trees, same brambles, same damn heat and noise.
His water was gone, he’d soaked through his clothes with sweat—so bad it
was like he’d gone swimming in them. He was sure he had blisters on his toes,
on his heels, even on his thighs. And he was going to have to work in the
morning.

“Come on, Cuz,” Darryl said. “Let’s just try it one more
time. Go back to Lexine’s cabin and search again.”

Franklin shook his head. “I’m tired,” he complained. Then
the woods backed off a little and Franklin walked into an open space. “Is this
the clearing where we saw Billy?”

Darryl gave him a look that just said
Duh.

“Instead of going back to Lexine’s, how about we go find
where Billy first saw the thing? Go to that hobo camp? ”

“That’s a good idea,” Darryl said. He knelt down next to the
spot where they’d found Billy, then stood back up, peering intently. “This way.
Come on.”

The trail seemed obvious, even to Franklin. His heart
lurched when he realized why: Billy had been in worse shape than they’d
realized, barely walking straight, breaking branches left and right.

They should have stayed with him, or gotten him some help,
or maybe a lift into town, or something.

Darryl walked faster. Was he feeling as guilty as Franklin?

They smelled the camp before they saw it, the wind carrying
the stink of unwashed men. It was just four of them, camped in a gully,
surrounded by pines. Two of the men lay passed out, their filthy blankets over
their faces, while their bare feet and legs stuck out, unprotected. A third man
lay curled on his side, around his pack, like he was drowning and it would save
him.

The last man sat propped up against a tree. He had a filthy
beard but a shaved head. A once white T-shirt rode up on his chest, exposing a
fat belly and tied-off pants. He waved at them before taking another swig of
something brown in an unmarked bottle.

There wasn’t any sign of Billy.

“Excuse me, sir,” Franklin said, trying to be as polite as
Mama would want him to be. “Do you know where Billy is?”

“Who?” the guy asked. He scratched at his bare belly with
his blackened fingernails and belched.

“White guy, brown eyes, hears voices,” Darryl said, bored.
He reached behind him and drew his gun out of his pack, then held it casually,
barrel down.

The guy spit to one side. “He said he was being hounded by
the winds from Hell. But he’s always saying things like that. The creek’s over
that way. You might find him there.”

“Thank you,” Franklin said as they turned to go. “What do
you want to bet they’ll all be cleared out by the time we get back?” he asked
Darryl.

“Pretty safe bet,” Darryl said with a grin. “As they should
be. Woods aren’t safe,” he added seriously.

The stream—an offshoot of Wolf River—lay like a
black ribbon between the trees. Rocks the size of cars lay casually piled on
the bank, as well as across the water.

Billy lay in the middle of the stream, looking like he was sunbathing
naked on one of the big rocks.

But this time, they was too late to save him.

* * *

“Should have known it’d be you finding the body,” Sheriff
Thompson told Franklin sourly. They stood out on the blacktop, next to the
police cruiser. Though the sun was finally setting, the baked road still held
the heat of the day. Bats chittered above them, going to do their duty. The
pine scent had died, and the woods felt more ominous as it got darker.

“Me?” Franklin asked. “Why me?”
Shit
. Had the cops figured out he’d been out at Lexine’s place?

“Weird stuff happens around you. And your family. I don’t
like it,” the sheriff said, running his finger and thumb along his mustache,
stroking it slowly.

“We don’t like—” Darryl started hotly.

“Weird stuff happens to lots of families,” Franklin
countered, interrupting Darryl before he said something that got them both
thrown in jail.

The sheriff looked at Darryl, then at Franklin. “I want to
see both of you down at the judicial center, in my office, tomorrow morning,
first thing.”

“Sir, I’ve got work—” Franklin said.

“I’m sure your boss’ll understand.” Sheriff Thompson paused.
“It isn’t just about this. It’s about Lexine, as well.” His hard piercing eyes
bored into Franklin.

Damn
it
. Should he just confess that he was
there? Get it over with?

“All right. We’ll be there,” Darryl said, grabbing
Franklin’s arm. “Can we go?”

“Yeah,” the sheriff said. “See you in the morning.”

Franklin and Darryl turned back up the road, going the long
way back up to Lexine’s cabin, where Darryl’s truck and Franklin’s bike were
still parked. It would have been shorter going through the woods, but even
Darryl was hesitant to go back into that darkness.

“Want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?” Darryl
asked once they’d walked far enough up the road to be out of earshot.

“What do you mean?” Franklin asked, startled.

“You were leaking guilt like a sieve,” Darryl stated. “What
were you going to confess back there?”

Franklin sighed. He could tell Darryl, right? “I was out in
Lexine’s cabin. The morning the cops found her. I was in the cabin when I heard
the sirens. That first trail we followed? That was me, high-tailing it outta
there.”

“Shit.”

They trudged on for a bit in silence.

“I should just tell them,” Franklin said.

“No. You should not. You don’t ever tell any cop anything
about your business,” Darryl said adamantly.

“Then there’s the corn,” Franklin added.

“What corn?”

“Didn’t the cops tell you? I’d thought they’d told the
family,” Franklin said. At Darryl’s blank look, Franklin continued. “They found
cobs of corn next to Lexine’s body.”

“What the hell?” Darryl asked. “How’d they get there?”

“One of my ghosts,” Franklin confessed. “Normally, a ghost
can’t lift something that heavy. I don’t know how she managed it. Then to
travel there with them—no idea.”

“Are they from your crop?” Darryl asked.

Franklin shook his head. “I’ve checked. I don’t see nothing
missing.”

“Then where’s this ghost of yours getting them from?”

Franklin sighed. “Karl Metzger.”

“Wait, the guy who’s always beating you at the state fair?”

“I’m surprised you remember his name,” Franklin said dryly.
“But yeah. Him. Karl. I think him and the ghost—Gloria—they had
something. Maybe.” He still didn’t know if Karl had loved Gloria or not, but Franklin
figured Gloria did care for Karl.

“So she’s stealing his corn?” Darryl asked.

“Yeah.” Franklin thought for a moment. “You remember what
Billy said about getting arrested? That being around a bunch of folks would
stop that thing?”

Darryl nodded.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Franklin said. “Maybe Gloria’s
trying to get Karl arrested. I’m wondering now—is that thing going after
him next?”

“Shit, I don’t know,” Darryl said. “You want to go to his
farm?”

Franklin hesitated. It was late, now. He and Karl had never
been friends, just competitors. “I’ll stop by there tomorrow,” Franklin said
slowly. He’d learned in high school to leave Karl alone—he was a skinny
white boy, but fast with his fists, and faster to take insult.

There wasn’t a chance in hell that Karl would believe
Franklin that there might be some crazed spirit coming after him, or that he
had a ghostly protector. But somehow, Franklin was going to have to convince
him otherwise.

FRANKLIN STARED AT THE SHERIFF. “Are
you sure, sir?” He shifted on the hard green-vinyl chair in front of the
sheriff’s desk. All the long slatted blinds were pulled, hiding the clear day
outside. Nothing was out of place: Every paper was filed, all the pens were
neatly lined up in the cup on the sheriff’s desk, and even the file folders
were color coded.

“That’s what the coroner told me. Lexine was killed by
someone. The scratches and gouges and like that—most of those were
post-mortem.” Sheriff Thompson paused. “We’d like a set of your fingerprints.
We already have Darryl’s.”

It didn’t surprise Franklin that Darryl was in the system.

“Why?” Franklin asked, uncertain. He hadn’t killed Lexine.
And while his prints were certain to be in the cabin—he’d visited there
more than once—so were most of the family’s.

“The killer left behind his handprint around Lexine’s neck,”
the sheriff said. “It would just be to rule you out as a suspect.”

“I didn’t do it,” Franklin said. “And why don’t you compare
the handprint to that businessman? Earl Jackson? Didn’t he do it?”

“We’re still investigating,” the sheriff said. He glared at
Franklin. “I’d think you’d want to be cleared.”

“I didn’t do it,” Franklin repeated. “And I don’t want my
prints in the system.”

Shit
. He shouldn’t
have said that.

“Why not?” Sheriff Thompson asked. “What are you trying to
hide?”

“Nothing, sir,” Franklin said. Fresh sweat broke out all
across his shoulders. “I’ve always tried to steer clear of the law. You don’t
really need my prints. You just want ’em.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what your
cousin’s been telling you, and I don’t care what you’ve seen on TV. I’m not out
to get you, or to make up something against you.”

“Then why do you need my prints? Really?” Franklin insisted.
“Because if she was killed by something human, it had to be Jackson.”

“There’s all that corn,” the sheriff pointed out.

“So take a cob from my field and compare it,” Franklin said.

“Karl Metzger accuses you of stealing his crop. He thinks
your fingerprints will be all over those cobs,” Sheriff Thompson said, staring
right at Franklin.

“I didn’t steal those cobs,” Franklin said adamantly. At
least he knew he was telling the truth about that.

“Then who did?”

Franklin wasn’t gonna tell the sheriff about Gloria. “Don’t
know,” he lied. “But it wasn’t me. And you got no cause asking for my prints.
Not unless Karl files a complaint. And he has no proof, ’cause I didn’t do it.”

“I’m going to find something, you know,” the sheriff said.
“Just be warned. And when I do, I’ll get a court order, and I’ll haul your ass
out of that grocery store in front of everyone to get your prints.”

“Then that’s just what you’ll have to do,” Franklin said,
stubbornly. “Because I didn’t do it, I wasn’t there, and I don’t want you to
have my prints just to satisfy your suspicion. Sir.”

“I’d have thought you’d be the smart one in your family,”
the sheriff said as he leaned forward. He folded his hands and stared at
Franklin from across the desk. “I think you’re hiding something. I don’t know
what. I don’t buy the gossip about ghosts or your family’s history. I think
you’re touched, and not in a good way. And I keep wondering when you’ll snap
and kill someone.”

“I didn’t kill Lexine,” Franklin repeated.

“So you keep saying,” Sheriff Thompson said. “But we’re
still investigating.”

“What about Billy?” Franklin asked. They didn’t want his
prints for something to do with him, did they?

“Who?”

“The tramp out in the woods.”

“William Blake was his full name. Seemed his parents had a
sense of foresight,” the sheriff said.

“Huh?” Franklin asked, confused.

“Named him after a crazy poet. Seems like they were
prophetic, as he ended up just as crazy, always hearing voices.”

“So he was special,” Franklin said.
Like me. Like Lexine. Like Adrianna
.

“No, just crazy.” Sheriff Thompson stroked his mustache,
thinking. “I can’t compel you for your prints. But I think it’d be smart to
volunteer them.”

Franklin shook his head. “No sir, I don’t think it’d be
smart at all.”

The silence stretched on between them, anticipation growing
in Franklin, like waiting for that first kernel of corn to pop after heating up
the lard.

“Can I go?” Franklin finally asked when it seemed the
sheriff wasn’t going to say anything, ever.

“Yeah, you can. But I’ve got my eye on you,” the sheriff
warned. “Any funny stuff going on, and I’ll know about it.”

“I can believe it, sir,” Franklin said as he stood and
started walking toward the door.

“Want to tell me why Darryl had rock salt in his rounds?” Sheriff
Thompson asked when Franklin reached the door.

“You won’t believe me,” Franklin said.

“Try me.”

“We was hunting the thing that made the scratches. The
gouges in Lexine’s body. That we’d thought killed Lexine.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” the sheriff said.

Franklin paused for another moment, but nothing more was
coming from the sheriff. He let himself out, but didn’t breathe easily again
until he’d left the building, and was walking his bike down Main Street, to the
Kroger.

Should he have told the sheriff he’d been at the cabin that
day? It felt like it was too late now for him to say anything.

It didn’t matter. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

All he had to do was convince the sheriff of that.

* * *

Franklin rode wearily from the Kroger, across town, to Karl
Metzger’s house. Traffic was surprisingly heavy for a Tuesday afternoon. He
didn’t want to talk with Karl, but he had no choice. The afternoon’s heat
pressed against Franklin, making his uniform scratch across his back. Four
semis passed Franklin on the highway, almost blowing him off the road, making
his arms shake and his heart fall down into his belly with fear.

As Franklin expected, Gloria stood waiting for him at the
bottom of the driveway up to Karl’s house. She glared at him, her arms crossed
tightly across her ample bosom, her blond curls shiny in the late afternoon
sunshine.

Karl’s crops were growing well. The corn was tasseled and gleaming.
Franklin suspected that Karl’s crop would give him a run for the money yet
again this year. But Franklin’s crop was coming in earlier that year than
Karl’s, so he’d have more time to experiment with drying the cobs in the oven,
getting each kernel to the perfect consistency.

The big old black Chevy still sat in the driveway near the
house, only this time with the hood raised. Karl was nearly bent in two,
reaching for something inside.

Franklin got off his bike and walked over to the side of the
car. And waited. Karl didn’t pause what he was doing or look up. Maybe Karl
didn’t know Franklin was there? Franklin cleared his throat.

“I seen you already, coming up the drive,” Karl commented,
still only showing Franklin his backside. “Just a sec.”

Franklin waited, shifting restlessly from one foot to the
other. He didn’t see Gloria, though she’d walked with him up to the car. Karl’s
vegetables were doing better than Lexine’s. What was his secret?

“Knew you’d be coming up here sooner or later,” Karl said as
he finally finished with his adjustments. He picked up a greasy rag sitting on
the edge of the hood to wipe his hands.

Karl was still as skinny as he’d been in high school, but
Franklin could also see the muscles along his arms, under his black T-shirt.
His blue eyes blazed underneath his brown bushy eyebrows. He wore a neatly
trimmed mustache and goatee, something new since high school, and his long brown
hair tied back. Though Darryl was a hick, Karl was the perfect image of a good
ol’ boy.

“Look, I’m sorry about the cops,” Franklin said. “I didn’t
mean for them to come bothering you.”

“They wasn’t a bother. I was able to show ’em what you—or
someone you’ve hired—has been doing to my crop.”

“What do you mean?” Franklin asked. “What has someone been
doing?” Was Gloria doing more than just stealing Karl’s corn? Was this spirit
also doing something?

“I’ll show you. Come on.” Karl walked up to the house and
Franklin followed.

The front hallway had a thick bristle mat that Karl used to
clean off the bottoms of his shoes. He pointed to it when he finished,
expecting Franklin to do the same. Franklin scuffed his shoes against the rug,
exasperated. What did Karl think Franklin had on the bottom of his shoes?

Rich brown hardwood floors led from the entranceway. A steep
staircase was on the left. Karl walked past it, down a closed-in hall, to the
dining room.

Franklin paused in the doorway. Blue ribbons from the
Kentucky State Fair covered the wooden sideboard. Franklin felt sick. He’d been
happy to win just a single prize. Karl had dozens and dozens. Rage boiled
through Franklin, but he tamped down on it. Wouldn’t do no one no good for him
to start yelling.

An antique table made of light wood sat in the center of the
room. Karl walked around the table and pointed to the corner. Franklin
followed, keeping his distance.

A stack of corn cobs lay there, maybe two dozen.

“Every day or so, your thief adds another cob to the pile,”
Karl said sourly.

“Karl, I ain’t been doing this,” Franklin said angrily. He
walked over to the stacked corn and picked up a cob, peeling back a bit of the
husk. It wasn’t ripe, which was a shame. The kernels had grown so straight and
firm. It would have been good popping corn, if it’d been allowed to mature.

Franklin didn’t let himself smile at the thought that maybe
Karl was losing the best of his crop. Franklin didn’t want to win because Karl
wasn’t showing his best at the fair.

Gloria appeared just behind Karl’s shoulder, looking
longingly at him.

“Did you ever know someone named Gloria?” Franklin asked.
 

“Who?” Karl asked, confused.

“Gloria,” Franklin repeated.

Karl shook his head, his face blank.

Oh hell. Did Gloria just love Karl from afar? Did they not
even know each other? This was gonna get real ugly. How the hell was he
supposed to resolve a love affair that hadn’t even been real?

“Karl, think,” Franklin said, impatient. “Pretty black
woman, dyed blond hair—curled—red nails and lips?” Franklin wasn’t
about to mention how Gloria was dressed.

Karl looked down at the ground. “She cut my hair,” he said
quietly. “At your mama’s salon.”

Franklin hadn’t ever met Gloria, which meant she’d started
sometime after Mama had died and Franklin had stopped going to the salon. “Did
you two go out?”

Karl shook his head. “But I wanted to ask her out. I was
planning on it. Had bought the tickets to the opera house and everything. Then
she got herself killed in that bus crash on the Interstate. You know, last
week? Week before?”

“Is she mad at you, Karl?” Franklin asked.

“She didn’t even know I existed,” Karl said with some heat.
“So you can just forget about whatever you were about to say.”

“She knew, Karl,” Franklin said. “She’s the one stealing
your crop.”

“Yeah, right, pull the other one.” When Franklin didn’t
smile or laugh, but continued to look serious, Karl said, “All right. That’s
it. Leave.”

“She’s trying to help you,” Franklin said as he headed
toward the door. “I don’t know why she’s stealing your crop. But she ain’t trying
to get revenge.”

“Bullshit,” Karl said. “That’s all women know.”

Gloria transferred her glare to Karl.

“Shouldn’t have said that, Karl,” Franklin said.

“I don’t believe in your ghosts. I think it’s you, or some
kid you’ve hired to steal my corn. And I’m gonna prove it, too. I’m gonna get
my shotgun, fill it with rock salt, and stay up all night in the corn field.”

Gloria tipped her head back, opened her mouth, and howled.
Just the sight of her raised all the hair on the back of Franklin’s neck. He
was damned glad he couldn’t actually hear any noise: It likely would have
broken a window or two.

As far as Gloria was concerned, if Karl spent the night in
his field, he’d get himself killed. Franklin remembered that silent watcher the
one time he’d been in Karl’s field, the way it had set his back up. Was there
something waiting for Karl out in his fields?

Something deadly?

And there was nothing Franklin could do about it.

* * *

After leaving Karl’s place, Franklin rode back into town,
straight to the Sorrels’ house. He knew he had to call on them before he could
go home. There was still a bit of light in the sky, with the high clouds
shining pink and purple.

Kids played in the yards and didn’t pay Franklin any heed as
he rode by. Neighbors talked to each other. It seemed like a perfectly normal
summer evening.

But Franklin felt far from normal. Lexine was dead. That
damn spirit was going after people he cared about—even Darryl, who he’d
figured would be destroyed by alcohol, not some spirit.

How could Franklin protect them? He didn’t know if the shots
filled with rock salt would work. Would they just anger the spirit? Maybe make
it stronger?

It was evil. Maybe he should talk with Preacher Sinclair about
fighting evil, though he’d probably just tell Franklin to go read his bible.

Franklin sighed. He missed Mama at times like this. She’d
have known what to do.

No new art hung out front on the Sorrel’s fence. Franklin
wondered if they’d been outside the yard at all since the attack. He rang the
doorbell on the fence. The chime had changed: instead of a regular
ding-dong,
now it rang like church
bells.

Ray opened the gate door after just a bit. “Franklin, good
to see you,” he said, reaching out and shaking Franklin’s hand. “I’m sorry for
your loss. Come on in.”