Shivers 7 (19 page)

“I know, I’ve heard the rumor. I’ve heard just about everything in my day, Ellen. I’ve been consulting here for more than twenty years, you know.” As if to emphasize his point, the doctor ran a hand over his shining bald pate. “I was here when Mrs. Woolrich’s family checked her in.”

“And…?”

“And what? They didn’t walk in and announce ‘Please take our mother. She’s had Alzheimer’s since the old town was submerged,’ if that’s what you mean. I seem to remember that they did say she’d been exhibiting symptoms for quite a while and that she’d finally become too much to handle, but that may just be my imagination filling in the blanks—whatever they said, it should be somewhere in her records. Her family moved away right after they checked her in. They pay her bills, but as far as I know, they never come to visit her.”

As if she’d heard them talking about her, Agnes Woolrich suddenly turned and looked directly at the pair in the hallway, then walked over and closed the door to her room.

* * *

Agnes felt better as soon as the door swung shut, cutting off the inquisitive stares and conspiratorial whispers from the hallway. She’d spent so long wandering alone inside the confines of her own head that the presence of others seemed like an intrusion, especially when they were so curious, so intent on peeking into her life.

Relief from prying eyes was easily obtained, but peace from her own thoughts was not something Agnes had managed to achieve. It was likely not something that she would ever manage.

She sagged, her descent stopping only when the backs of her thighs met the edge of the bed. A sluggish breeze crawled in through the open window, rustling her stiff gray curls and bringing with it the smell of lilacs, and the odor of something long dead.

As if brought by the breeze, more memories flowed over her. With them came an overwhelming sense of disbelief at what she’d been a party to.

How had she ever been convinced that the end justified the means? Some meaningless materialistic gains in exchange for the casual manipulation of so many lives…and, ultimately, the loss of one life, a life that had once been so very dear to her. Had she been drunk with power, mad with misplaced love? Or was there truly nothing at which to point a finger, no cause or excuse for her behavior? It was a mental exercise with no benefits, mindless aerobics that would shape no goal.

But while torturing herself with recollections might serve no purpose, Agnes herself did possess a purpose. For just as she’d been a pawn in a larger scheme thirty-eight years ago, so now were her actions being directed. She wasn’t sure by who, or what, but she didn’t bother to question. She knew what she had to do, and that was enough.

Her gaze was again drawn to the window, where the breeze sent a tattered curtain of leaves fluttering to the ground. Nothing escapes the Earth, she thought. In the bottomless depths of its existence, certain things were neglected for a time, but nothing was ever forgotten. In the end, everything was drawn to its bosom, submerged beneath is smothering soil.

* * *

She picked up the phone. It hadn’t been hard to get his number; it wasn’t even unlisted. He’d always enjoyed the spotlight, and cast himself as a man of the people, even as he was stepping on their heads in order to climb over them. The phone buzzed angrily in her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Henry. This is Agnes.”

“My God! I’d heard you had some sort of miraculous recovery, but I didn’t believe it.”

“Word must travel fast.”

“It does when you’ve got your ear to the ground. I still keep track of everything that goes on in this town.”

“I’m sure you do, Henry. And I’m sure you still control a fair share of it, too.”

“Now that you mention it, I suppose I do.”

“I knew that you would. But you don’t control me. Not any more.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I remember everything that happened. And that there needs to be an accounting.”

“Listen to me, you…” Orthlieb paused. She could hear him struggling to maintain his composure. “If you try to go public with this now, everyone is just going to think that you’re exactly what you appear to be—a crazy old woman.”

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’m not talking about ‘going public.’ I’m talking about making amends.”

A wordless sound of derision came from the other end of the line.

“I want you to meet me, tomorrow, at the old town site. About five o’clock.”

“You must still be insane. What makes you think I’d do anything of the sort?”

“You’ll do it. You’ll do it or else I
will
tell everyone what you did.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“And if I do come, what happens then? Just what’s your plan?”

It’s not
my
plan
, she started to say, but knew that would only bring more questions. Instead, she simply said, “You’ll have to be there to find out; to keep your secrets secret. Oh, and Henry…? I want you to bring the others with you.”

“Bring the others? I can’t do that! You have no idea what…”

“Just bring them,” she interrupted, and hung up before he could reply. It felt good to turn the tables on him. She sat back, satisfied. Now there was nothing to do but wait for events to play themselves out.

She looked out upon a town she didn’t recognize. It was a hollow place, built on lies and deception. The real town lay miles from here, fallow and abandoned. And waiting.

6.

Digger had just cracked his second beer and was walking across his brother’s back lawn, deep in thought but idly enjoying the feel of the grass between his toes, when the sprinkler heads suddenly popped up and started spitting in the late afternoon heat. Digger was caught in their midst and swore at the unexpected surprise, even though, he had to admit a moment later, it actually felt pretty good. He looked back toward the house, expecting to see a grinning Frank, hand poised over the sprinkler control, but instead he saw his brother, sister-in-law Mindy, and wife Christie, engaged in conversation around the barbecue grill. The kids had gone next door to a friend’s house to hurl themselves into a swimming pool until the food was ready.

Digger walked over to join the gathering around the grill, paralleling the arc of a miniature rainbow over the lawn. But like the skies themselves had proven to be so many times in the last few years, the rainbow was all flash and no substance—as Digger reached the end of the rainbow, it simply faded away, taking its pot of gold with it.

“You ever heard of water conservation, Frank?”

“What?” He looked up from his task of idly poking the meat on the grill. “Oh, the sprinklers…”

“If you’re using them at all—which you probably shouldn’t be—it should be early in the morning or late at night, so that—”

“I know. Get off your high horse, would you? Our power went out last week, when they were working on the lines. Screwed up the sprinkler timer.”

“Those things have battery back-ups, you know.”

“I can barely keep fresh batteries in my smoke alarms. You think I’m going to be right on top of my sprinkler system?” He flipped a steak, as if to underscore his point.

“Here they go again,” said Christie. “I knew we couldn’t have peace for long.” There was a jovial tone in her voice, but she exchanged a knowing look with Digger as she said it. He shrugged his shoulders and took another swig of his beer.

“Let’s get the rest of the food,” said Mindy, nodding to Christie. “Hope you guys are hungry,” she called as they walked inside, “I’ve got corn on the cob and baked potatoes, besides all that meat.”

Digger figured it was no coincidence that Mindy had chosen this moment to pipe up about the food—both she and Christie tired quickly of the two brothers’ jibes, good-natured though they usually were. Digger didn’t always care for his brother’s wife—she was a little too manipulative for his tastes—but she’d clearly been good for Frank. Since they’d married, he’d quit carousing and settled down, gotten involved with Lion’s Club, won a couple commendations, and wound up receiving the appointment to Chief of Police a little over a year ago. It was too bad that their father hadn’t lived to see it, but Frank had turned out to be a real success story; deserving of congratulations.

“Cheers, Frank. Congrats.”

His brother’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”

“For this,” Digger replied, gesturing expansively. “For everything. Just drink a toast with me.”

After another moment’s hesitation, their bottles clinked and Digger tilted his head back. The beer tasted good, but it was already losing its chill.

“You hear anything from Sharon?”

Frank snorted. “Not since my birthday. That’s about all she can muster these days—a couple cards a year on holidays, and a couple phone calls on birthdays. No, when she left, she left for good, that’s for sure.”

“You shouldn’t take it personally. Brad got an offer he couldn’t refuse from his company. What were they supposed to do, just ignore that?”

“She was looking for a way out of here before that. You know she was.”

“Maybe. But that’s her right. It’s hard to live with a legacy—you, of all people, should know that. How many times a day does somebody bring up Dad to you? Christ, sometimes I think he should get his own saint named after him. There’s a lot of past here for us to want to get away from. I can’t say I’m surprised that Sharon left. Can’t say that I blame her, either.”

Frank’s lips were pursed tight enough to become a single white line across his face. He looked like he wanted to spit. “Why are you always so hard on Dad? Sharon’s the same way, always talking like he’s this huge burden hanging over us. Most people I know would’ve loved to have had a dad like him. If it’s so hard for you to live with his memory, why don’t
you
just leave?”

“There you go again, taking it personally. This is my home, and I’m not leaving it. But that doesn’t mean I have to be in love with it every single day.”

In response, Frank looked away and drained the last of his beer. He turned and threw the empty bottle at a trashcan sitting behind the garage. The bottle sailed in clearly, a perfect toss. It shattered inside, the sound jagged against the quiet suburban afternoon.

Digger reached down and fished a fresh beer from the sweating ice chest. Frank accepted the bottle with a nod, which was usually as close as he came to an apology. But then he surprised Digger by saying, “Sorry. Guess I’m a little tense right now. Lot of stuff going on.” He paused. “Guess you heard about the goddamned
gang
fight we had?”

“I heard, but I couldn’t believe it. Since when have we had gangs around here?”

“Since now, I guess. The kids we brought in wouldn’t say much, but I think they just got together in the last few months. Probably looked cool to them from the movies. And, of course, they have to be
rival
gangs. So much for our peaceful small town.”

“I heard a second kid might die.”

“It looks like he’ll pull through. But besides that gang thing, we’ve had two bar stabbings in the last week and more fights and domestic disputes than we normally get in a whole summer. It’s like this whole damned town’s on edge.”

Digger started to make a crack about job security, but thought better of it.

“And then there’s the ‘old town mystery, ’” added Frank.

“Any idea yet who that poor guy in the cellar was?”

“No, it’ll take weeks to get the forensic results back. And the police files from back then, including the missing persons reports, are in boxes in storage. I sent Grunwald over there to take a look, and he called me up, practically begged me to not make him go through them. They’re a mess.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“What could I tell him? We’ve got what looks and smells like a forty-year-old homicide on our hands and we’ve got to start by figuring out who the deceased is. I told him to roll up his sleeves and dig in.”

“Speaking of which, are you sure you really need me back out at the lake tomorrow? I’ve got a sewer job needs to get done, and I’d rather do that myself. I could send Robinson down to the lake to dig for you while I get started on—”

“No, sorry. I want you at the lake. In case we find anything else, I don’t want word all over town that same night.”

Digger felt a sudden breeze, cooling the sweat trickling down his neck and back. It felt wonderful. He knew there was likely no escaping another day at the lake, but didn’t want to give up just yet. “You really think you’re going to find anything else? Your guys have sifted through every inch of mud in that cellar. And you admitted that the Potter’s field story seemed to check out after all, in regards to the other bodies.”

“No, I don’t think we’re going to find anything else. I said ‘just in case,’ didn’t I? But we can’t quit yet—I have to be as sure as I can be that we’re not missing something. Or someone.”

Digger felt his hair lifted from his forehead. The breeze had become a wind. He looked up and saw the eastern sky rapidly darkening. He turned back to his brother.

“All right, fine. Lord knows what kind of trouble Robinson’ll get into if I let him do the sewer line on his own, but I guess that’s how it’s gotta be.”

“Thanks. I need somebody I can trust, and you’re it.”

Digger nodded. “So, that’s it, then—nothing else new on the old town case…?”

“Not really. We figured out that the cellar used to be under the old Water Department building. I talked to Eckersley, the guy who was running it back then, but he says he doesn’t have any idea who the dead guy could be. Why am I not surprised at his answer?”

Thunder suddenly rumbled through, punctuating Frank’s remark. As shadows of clouds fell across their faces, he seemed to notice the changing sky for the first time.

“Man, look at those clouds. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was actually going to rain…”

7.

The sky was the Prince of Lies, the boy who cried wolf, and a shameless tease, all rolled into one. If there were any hopes left to wring out of the locals, the current crop of clouds would surely do so. Tufts like off-white cotton candy fled to the east, chased by roiling billows of dark gray and black. To the casual observer, it would seem that a storm must be in the offing. But to valley veterans, it wasn’t worth getting one’s hopes up.