The Miracle Stealer (11 page)

Figuring that I'd used up all my good luck not being found out so far, I decided to play it safe when I returned to the compound. I parked the Skylark along the side of the road, fifty feet short of the driveway, and made my way in on foot. While I was tiptoeing past the main house, I heard a rustling sound from the back, like something small kicking up leaves. I imagined an early deer visiting the salt lick and snuck around the side. As I passed beneath my Adirondack chair, I saw my bat up on the porch. I grabbed it just in case.

After coming around the corner, I saw the clearing down below was empty. The rustling—nearby now—stopped. I wasn't alone. I held the bat with both hands and lifted the heavy end up into the air. Standing like a baseball player waiting for a pitch, I scanned the shadows along the back porch, making out the outline of the grill, the birdbath. Next to the air conditioner, there's an alcove where we store the garbage can. My dad and I installed a chicken wire gate years back to keep raccoons from marauding our trash. In the moonlight, I made out the glint of wire—the gate was swung back. “Crap,” I muttered, relieved that all I had to deal with was some critter out for food. I lowered the bat.

Not wanting to corner a wild animal, I circled around so I stood off to the side, allowing it an easy escape to the forest. “Go on, git!” I said. “Ssst! Sssst!” Nothing came out. From five feet away, I peered in, but I still couldn't penetrate the darkness of the alcove. I didn't want to hurt whatever it was, but it was late and I was tired and a little ticked off. So I bent down and my fingers searched the ground for some projectile. They settled on a pinecone. Readying myself for something furry and small scurrying from the darkness, I sidearmed the pinecone into the alcove, maybe a little faster than I needed to.

“Not by your kind, liar girl!” the Scarecrow cried as he stepped out. Startled, I stumbled backward, tripped over a root or something, and found myself flat on my back. I reached around in the darkness, got hold of the bat, and scrambled up to my feet. In the shadows, Scarecrow hadn't moved. He clutched something hanging from his fingers, but I couldn't tell what it was.

I said, “Mister, I don't want to hurt you.”

His free hand scratched at his shoulder. “You couldn't bring harm to me. The Lord shields me from my enemies.”

Raising the bat, I said, “You sure you want to try that tonight?”

He chuckled. “I'll come to know your brother's heart. No matter your allegiance.” He held whatever he'd taken from the trash in both hands. It looked like a dishrag but I couldn't see clearly in the darkness. “Even this fabric radiates with his aura, and I sense he has the gift. But I must be sure before I test him.”

“How 'bout you just get the hell out of here and leave us alone?” I took a step closer, ready to take a swing.

But he didn't budge. “Your vile tongue betrays you, girl. I can smell your fear like stink. You don't confront me the least. For now I have all that I need.”

Then he turned and hiked up the hill, back toward Roosevelt Road. He passed through a slice of moonlight and I saw for sure that whatever he took from the garbage was cloth, something dark and dirty. I mounted the rise and watched him disappear in the woods. Just like back at St. Jude's, I was glad to see him go. I was angry now that I hadn't taken the bat to his head, and I hollered, “Stay away from Daniel!”

Behind me, the front door opened, and I swung around to find my mother standing in sweatpants and a T-shirt. She snapped on the porch light and stepped out. “Annie? Who are you yelling at like that? What's going on?”

Keeping an eye on the forest, I moved to the porch. “That damn nutjob—the figment of my imagination—he was in our trash.” I said it loud enough so that if he was hiding nearby
he'd hear me. More quietly, I said, “He took something, a souvenir, I guess.”

My mother rubbed at her eyes. “A souvenir of what?”

“Daniel,” I said, and the moment I spoke his name, terror flooded my heart. For all I knew, Scarecrow had been in the house as well. Still gripping the bat, I shoved my mother out of the doorway and sprinted inside, took the stairs two at a time, and stormed down the hallway, past my old room to Daniel's. I shouldered the door but stopped dead in the dark. By the soft glow of a Superman night-light, I saw my brother's sleeping form. He was all tangled up in the sheets, and his head was where his feet should be, but I could hear his breathing.

My mother, who apparently had put together the threat to her son, appeared behind me. She settled a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Thank the Lord Jesus.”

We backed from the room slowly, and I eased the door shut. In the hallway, I turned to her and said, “First thing in the morning, we're calling Bundower.”

“You're certain it wasn't just some lost hiker? A vagrant?” she asked.

“What's it gonna take for you to believe me?” I asked. “I recognized the son of a bitch.”

I asked her if the front door was locked and she nodded. Then I stepped past her and went into Daniel's room, where I knew I'd lie on the floor awake till dawn. I kept the bat by my side.

T
he Chief rolled into the compound about nine that Tuesday morning, an hour and change after I called him. After a thorough inspection of Daniel's Lego spaceship, he carried the mug of black coffee my mother made him out onto the porch, where we followed while Daniel stayed inside, perfecting a weapons modification suggested by Bundower. The Chief blew over the steaming mug and looked toward his hulking car, a rounded black-and-white police cruiser that belonged in an antique car show. It was likely the only vehicle in Paradise older than my Skylark. From the backseat, his raccoon-chasing bloodhound, Pinkerton, stared at us, droopy-faced. The Chief asked me, “So you don't know this individual?”

I shook my head. “Not his name. But he was up at St. Jude's last week.”

He and my mother traded glances. “You're absolutely certain of that?”

“One hundred percent,” I said. “The dude is a psycho stalker.”

“But you didn't observe him attempting to enter the house?”

“No,” I conceded.

“And nothing was stolen?” he asked, looking over at my mother. She was wrapping a finger in the hair falling on her shoulder, an old nervous habit I hadn't seen in years.

“He took something,” I insisted. “From the trash…Isn't that some kind of crime?”

Bundower turned to me before replying. “Probably. But mostly it's just plain nuts.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That's the thing.”

“Andi,” the Chief said, “if what you say about this guy is true, that he harassed you in the hospital and you had evidence that he trespassed once already, why didn't you call me?”

I looked down at the pine needles. “I didn't think you'd believe me.” My mother sighed and rolled her eyes and I couldn't resist the dig. “That seems to be going around.”

Bundower nodded and sipped, then wiped his mustache. Since his wife died, it had turned silvery white, bushy, and overgrown. It kept getting dunked in the coffee. He and my mother wandered around the side of the house, him leading the way and poking at the ground with the toe of his pointed boot. I sat on the swing and stewed. I couldn't tell if they were taking me seriously.

They were gone for a good ten minutes, longer than they needed to gather evidence from the mess by the garbage cans, which I hadn't disturbed. I wondered what they were talking about. In the months right after Mrs. Bundower died, my mother used to cook the Chief a meal every Monday afternoon. We always left it on his welcome mat, where the previous week's pot or Tupperware was always waiting, scrubbed spotless.

The two of them appeared from the other side of the house, and the Chief was tapping at every window as they passed. He set his empty coffee mug on the porch rail and considered me before speaking. “There's no indication of anyone trying to gain entry. I doubt you were in any physical danger.”

“I can guarantee he sure was. That joker steps on our land again, and I'm likely to—”

“Andi, don't you go doing anything rash. This is a police matter.”

“I'm not making any promises.”

Bundower glanced at his watch. “Now listen. There's no reason to get all upset, but after you called this morning, I stopped by the park. Had a talk with some, well, campers of a sort, I guess I'd say. They're a tad on the odd side.”

I asked, “Odd how?”

“Well, Anderson, just odd, that's all. Anyway, with your call and everything, I thought I'd drop by. They seem harmless enough. The mayor's taking it as a sign that Paradise Days will be a big success.”

“Those folks aren't here for Paradise Days,” I said. “They're here for Daniel.” Bundower and my mother didn't look at each other, but that told me plenty. “You both know I'm right.”

The Chief stepped forward and raised a hand to my shoulder. He looked me in the eyes and ran his other hand along his mustache. “I understand that you're worried about your brother. I respect that. But I'm telling you that nothing's going to happen to him. I'll post No Trespassing notices along the road before I leave, and I'll be sure Eddie drives by a few times on his shift. I gave your ma my cell number if there's any other trouble.” There was an intensity, an honesty in his voice. And even though I didn't agree with him, I knew he believed that Daniel was safe.

He lifted his mug from the porch rail and handed it to my mother. “Thanks for the coffee, Nance.” She reached for it with two hands and their fingers grazed when she took it from him.
As he strolled to his patrol car, he said, “All right, you two. Give a holler anytime, day or night. I don't sleep so much anyways.”

My mother looked away but smiled when she said, “Thanks, Earl.”

I figured he'd given her his number while they were inspecting the house. Bundower opened his door and spoke to me over the car roof. “And hey, you leave fighting the bad guys to me. That's what I get all the big bucks for.”

I couldn't help but grin, and I said, “Sounds like a deal.”

My mother and I watched him drive to the road and tack a few notices on some of the trees, then he drove off and we were alone once more.

The rest of the morning and the afternoon passed strangely. I stayed in the main house with my mother and Daniel, and a light rain kept us inside. He pulled out a box of dog-eared board games that we used to offer our guests, so dusted over it made us sneeze. Together, the three of us played Scrabble with all our tiles faceup, then kiddie poker with Monopoly money and a deck that we later discovered had no kings. While my mother made turkey sandwiches, I called Mr. Dettweiller and told him I'd buy the Skylark.

After lunch, my mother dug through the cupboards and unearthed a fondue set and melted some chocolate, and Daniel experimented with dipping everything from graham crackers to Oreos in the warm goo. Together we played Twenty Questions and cooked up a batch of iced tea. Daniel placed it on the rear porch to brew after the sun broke through the thinning storm clouds.

I couldn't shake the sense that the three of us were acting, pretending to be a family on vacation in this place. Now and then
the phone would ring, but none of us moved to answer it, as if we were indeed just visitors. Maybe we thought it would shatter the spell if something from the outside intruded. Maybe we just wanted to stay safe in that little bubble for as long as we could.

Daniel wanted to make English muffin pizzas for dinner, so my mother headed in to Cohler's. Daniel and I lay on the floor in front of the couch and watched a cartoon movie about Japanese robot warriors. It was dumb and boring, but Daniel liked it, so I didn't mind. I guess the previous night's sleeplessness caught up with me, because I slipped away into a peaceful nap.

I woke to the sound of someone screaming in pain, and I sat bolt upright to find the robot warriors replaced by talking dinosaurs. But the yelling wasn't coming from the TV. I jumped up and ran to the kitchen, where Daniel was dunking Lego men in the chocolate fondue.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, shocking Daniel so hard he dropped the stick that the screaming Lego victim clung to.

“I was just playing,” he said.

“You're making a mess. And scaring me half to death.”

I spooned out the gooey men and put them in the sink, cranked on the water.

Daniel sulked over and helped me dry them with a dish towel. “I'm sorry,” he said. “You fell asleep and the movie stopped.”

I snapped off the water. “Forget it,” I said. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

I dumped the melted chocolate in the garbage, and Daniel asked, “Everybody thinks I'm special again, don't they?”

I thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Everybody except for you?” he asked. Put that way, it made me feel like crap, but before I could answer, he spun around, and my mother backed through the front door with her arms loaded with grocery bags. I hadn't even heard her pull in the driveway. Daniel turned back to me and I said, “Go help,” and that was the end of our conversation. We carried the bags in one at a time while my mother unloaded. She'd bought Fritos and Yoo-hoo, treats we hadn't had in the house in years. While she put away the food, she avoided making eye contact with me, and I wondered what had taken her so long in town, but it wasn't something I could ask.

Before making the mini pizzas, my mother said that Daniel needed to get some fresh air and asked if I wanted to join them on a quick walk. I thought about the blood concoction down in the shed and told her I had to take care of a couple things. Yet when they walked off, I found myself just sitting on the front porch, watching the woods and thinking. Traffic passed by, far out on Roosevelt Road, and I tried to judge if the flow was heavier than normal. Now and then I thought a car slowed more than it needed to, perhaps, and I imagined the passengers saying, “There. That's the house where he lives.”

When one of these vehicles actually took the turn into the driveway, it startled me good. But just as I was about to bolt inside to call Bundower, I recognized Gayle's Honda. It swung around the curves and pulled up on the gravel. Gayle climbed out, holding both her fleshy arms over her head. “I'm not trespassing, don't shoot!”

Gayle lumbered up the stone steps and lowered herself into one of the oversize Adirondacks. She handed me a copy of
the new
Gazetteer
, the headline of which read
PARADISE DAYS IS HERE AT LAST
!

Gayle said, “It's on page six.”

I flipped past the ads that I'd typeset myself and found the story.
DANIEL ACTS AS UNUSUAL MIDWIFE
. Gayle knew she didn't need to include his last name. Around Paradise, there was only one Daniel. There was Volpe's photograph of Daniel gazing at baby Miracle, which I recognized from the waiting room at St. Jude's. I wasn't thrilled by the article, but scanning through, I saw that it was really just a human-interest piece. There was no mention of the rumor of the baby being stillborn or any supernatural intervention. When I finished, I looked at Gayle, who was staring into the woods. She'd held back, told only part of the story, on my behalf. “Thanks,” I said.

But she pretended she didn't know what I was talking about. “I figured you'd want a copy. More important, how's Jeff?”

I knew she'd deliberately changed the topic, and that was okay with me. “He's fine.”

“He looked better than fine at Victorio's the other day.”

“Quit,” I said.

With one hand she played with the jangly bracelets on her other wrist. I could tell Gayle had more on her mind than the paper and Jeff. But I knew that unlike my mother or the Chief, Gayle would get to it. After a while, Gayle stopped fidgeting and asked, “So what's the latest on Daniel?”

The muscles tensed up in my shoulders and I didn't answer. Gayle saw my reaction and said, “I'm here as your friend, not a reporter.”

I told her that Daniel and my mother were out on a walk,
then moved on to what mattered more. “That skinny freak was in our garbage last night, but Bundower came by and gave us the all clear.”

Gayle's eyes widened. “I saw his little signs. Nothing like paper to ward off a lunatic.”

“Better than nothing, I guess. He also told us there were some strange campers in town for Paradise Days.”

“They ain't all campers,” Gayle said. She took a deep breath and then exhaled. “Some are Pilgrims.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So I've heard. What do you know?”

“I know that some are down in the field and some are camped up in the fairy fort. People are claiming to have been healed. No resurrections or anything, mostly minor miracles. A lady with scoliosis says her spine straightened out. Some guy from Virginia swears his cataracts cleared up. He keeps pointing at things in the distance and saying, ‘That's a pine tree. That's a bridge. That cloud is shaped like a bunny.'”

“Well, he sure doesn't sound crazy,” I said.

“Crazy or not, Andi, people are coming. That's what I came to tell you. I've heard estimates that that service next Sunday will be attended by five hundred people, maybe more. Just this afternoon, I overheard the mayor saying that Daniel will be making a special appearance at Paradise Days.”

“Daniel's going to Paradise Days over my dead body,” I snapped. “And there's not going to be any service on Sunday.”

Gayle turned and studied me. “What do you mean by that?”

Again I thought of taking Gayle into my confidence. I knew that if all went as planned and my hoax was a success, the
Gazetteer
would report the news to the entire community,
broadcasting the fraud and forever casting shame on me and doubt on Daniel.

The sound of shuffling leaves turned both our heads, and around the corner of the house came Daniel himself, whipping one of the reeds that grows along the water's edge. My mother followed him, and when she saw Gayle she stopped and stared at me, wondering, I was sure, just what I'd learned about the world outside.

“Hey, Gayle,” Daniel shouted.

“How was your hike?” Gayle asked. “Any sign of Samson?”

“Nope. But we did see a yellow-bellied sapsucker.”

“Is that a fact? And what color was its belly?”

Daniel laughed and charged up. Gayle lifted the paper from the swing and unfolded it so he could see his photo. “Looks who's famous,” she said.

Daniel frowned. “That doesn't look like me.” He started sounding out the words of the headline.

I eyed my mother. “Run into anybody on your hike?” I asked. “Like maybe the mayor?”

My mother glanced in Gayle's direction. Slowly, because she had no place else to go, she ascended the stone steps.

I said, “You won't believe some of the crazy rumors Gayle's been hearing.”

My mother steadied herself on the railing, but not because she was tired from their walk. “Daniel,” she said, “why don't you run inside and get washed up? Then maybe you could bring Ms. Ehrlacher some of that iced tea.”