Blackwater Lights (8 page)

A long-haired kid in sweatpants walked toward them. “Sorry,” he said.

Ray handed him the ball. “It’s cool.” The kid tucked the ball under his arm and jogged back to his friend.

Ellen looked at her watch. “Shoot. I’m fifteen minutes late.” She stuffed the cigarettes and lighter into her purse. “Listen, do you want to get together and talk about this tonight?” She opened a pack of gum and tossed two white squares into her mouth. “I can meet you somewhere.”

He nodded. “Sure. Oh—wait. I can’t. I promised the librarian I’d meet him.”

Her eyes widened. “Denny Huffington?”

“Yeah. You know him?”

“Sort of. He was a couple years ahead of me in high school. I think he thought I was just a little dumb blonde. But William loves him. He convinced Denny to carry his robot book. Two copies, in fact.”

“I can cancel. It’s no big deal.”

“No. Did you tell him about any of this?”

“No. Well, some of it. He was helping me look for the camp. But we didn’t find anything.”

“Then why don’t I meet up with the two of you?”

Ray shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Ellen smiled.

Denny was waiting when Ray arrived at the Purple Burro. “I think I found something,” he said. “Well, maybe. It’s not much, but I wanted you to see it.” He pulled several sheets of paper from a folder. “This was from the local paper. May 1972. Which also happens to be one of the biggest years for the lights.
Lots
of sightings.”

Ray’s stomach tightened.

Denny handed him the paper. “A woman named Dottie Walker had a column, ‘Dottie’s Dotings.’ It was as bad as it sounds—mostly so-and-so had their sixth baby, or gee, wasn’t the church pancake breakfast the finest ever. But check it out.” He pointed to a neatly bracketed paragraph on the photocopied page.

Ray realized he was holding his breath.

“Does that ring any bells?” Denny asked.

“Maybe. Is that it?”

“No, no.” He held up another piece of paper. “Same column, two weeks later.” His breath smelled like peppermint. “Here.”

Denny stared at him expectantly.

“Anything else?”

“No.” He pulled at his beard. “But it’s a start. I’ve started looking through property records. It’s weird—I thought I knew everything there was to know about this place, and I’d never heard anything like this.”

“Do you have any idea where this camp was? Do you have a map?”

“Sure.” He unfolded a map of the town. Ray reread the “Dottie’s Dotings” columns. A camp for gifted kids. He’d never been singled out as gifted and only made decent passing grades until high school. But the camp she wrote about had to be
his
camp—the year was right. And the school buses …

It had been hot, nasty hot, and he and Kevin had been sitting in the backseat, bouncing high into the air with every bump in the road. Kevin had been sticking his cupped hand under his armpit and making fart noises. Ray had laughed so hard he thought he’d pee himself
.

“Here.” Denny spread the map. “This is from 1978.” He drew a circle with his finger. “This is Blackwater, along this squiggly road.” The town was surrounded by a nearly solid expanse of green ink, with a snaking river alongside it. “You can see why we don’t get a lot of
through traffic.”

“What’s north?”

“Not much. State road winds through here. National forest is here, the rest is a mix of state and private land.”

Ray studied the map. He had driven along that curving, hellish road to Crawford’s. “So the camp had to be somewhere off the road, if that many vehicles needed to park. Is there anything out there? Houses? Farms?”

Denny nodded. He moved his finger along the curving road. “Up here is the only African American church within … gosh, I don’t know. Probably a hundred miles or more.”

The preacher with the X-ray eyes. An old man, certainly old enough to have run a summer camp for gifted children. No one suspected preachers of bad behavior back then.

“You okay?”

Ray refocused his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. What can you tell me about the church? I think that might be important.”

“Used to be non-denominational—Pentecostalist. Lots of testifying, speaking in tongues, that kind of thing. All white people. In the early eighties a black preacher took it over. Another odd bird. Some say he just bought the church outright. Most of the congregation left.… Blackwater isn’t the most racially enlightened town, you might have noticed, and the idea of a black man even setting foot in this county was a bit much for most people. He still has a few people in his congregation, maybe fifteen or twenty, I’d guess.”

Ray sighed. “You sure it was the eighties when he showed up? He wasn’t here earlier? Like ’72, maybe?”

“I’m pretty sure. Yeah, it was definitely later than ’72. But I’ll check.”

“But what about up here? Near the edge of the map.”

Denny shrugged. “Some wealthy homes. A construction company owner has a second home there. And a philanthropist guy who pumps a lot of money into charities and the like.”

Ray inhaled. “Crawford?”

“Yeah.” Denny tilted his head. “You know him?”

“I know of him.”

“Huh. Interesting. He’s a bit of a mystery man. Likes to be left alone. I think I’ve seen him twice in the past ten years. I don’t even know if he actually lives there.”

Ellen’s eyes were puffy and red when she finally arrived. She smiled dismissively. “Allergies,” she said.

A scruffy waiter brought beers for Ray and Denny and a coffee for Ellen. Ray poured his beer and held out his glass. “You guys … I’m really grateful for the help you’ve both given me.”

Denny looked at Ellen with a raised brow, then back to Ray. “No problem.”

Ellen clinked her coffee mug against their glasses. “My mother always said the way God measures people is how they treat strangers in need.” She smiled at Ray. “Not that you’re really a stranger anymore.”

Denny held his beer glass aloft. He looked like he was going to say something, but just nodded.

Ellen pulled her Marlboro Lights out of her purse. Denny stared at them as if they were sticks of dynamite.

Ray leaned forward. “Denny, I need to catch you up on a few things.”

Denny nodded. “Sure,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Ray told Denny what he had told Ellen earlier that day.

“Holy moley,” Denny said. His face had gotten splotchy. “I knew Crawford—”

Ray held his finger to his lips. Ellen hissed.

Denny drew back. “Oh. Sorry.” He looked around. The bartender stood watching a pro wrestling match on the TV. A few others had arrived and were having dinner, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. “I knew he was rich. But not that rich. And the”—he lowered his voice—“drugs. That’s unusual.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of drugs around here,” Ellen said. “Trust me. I have three meth-head cousins and a niece who eats pills like they’re breath mints. But nothing like what you’re talking about—Ecstasy and designer drugs.”

“And what about your friend Kevin?” Denny asked. “You still haven’t talked to him? Do you think he’s okay?”

Ray wiped moisture from his beer glass. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to speak to him. He had to leave because of an emergency, but he should be back anytime now.”

Ellen lit a cigarette and held it behind her back. Denny frowned but she ignored him. “I have to think that your friend is somehow involved with them,” Ellen said.

Ray turned. “Why?”

“Think about it. Kevin is rich, right? A millionaire?”

“At least,” Ray said. “He passed that mark awhile ago.”

“Well, who do rich people hang out with? Especially in a town this small?”

Denny nodded. “Other rich people.”

Ray sighed. “But he wouldn’t get involved with people like them. I know him. I’ve known him since we were kids. He works in a sleazy business, but he’s not sleazy himself.” He saw the expressions on the others’ faces. “Well, he’s a
little
sleazy, sure. But not … like them.”

Ellen shrugged. “But he brought you here, right? And then just up and disappeared? Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

Ray looked at both of them. “Yes. It is. But you don’t understand. He’s like a brother to me. He wouldn’t lie, and if he did, I would know it. He’s a shitty liar. And when he called me and begged me to come here, he was scared. Like I’ve never heard him before. And he said in his email that his office in Portland burned down. The cops thought it might have been arson. So if anything, the two of them might have done it—torched his business—to get him
away
from here.”

“Well, you’ll know soon enough,” Ellen said.

They sat in silence. Denny motioned to the bartender for another round. Ellen excused herself and went to the bathroom.

Denny leaned closer to Ray. “I found out some things,” he whispered. “But it’s stuff”—he tilted his head toward the bathroom—“that you might not want to discuss in front of her. The other subject we talked about.”

“It’s okay,” Ray said. “I told her about the lights. And she’s trustworthy.”

Denny stared. “Okay.” He seemed surprised. And not convinced.

When Ellen returned, Denny turned the map to face Ray. “On my blog, I’ve written about the archaeological and other anomalies in and around town. And they seem to cluster in this area to the north.”

“Where the camp was. Or might still be,” Ray added.

Denny nodded. “There’s a waterfall near the African American church. There are some petroglyphs on the rocks—symbols carved into them. An unknown language.”

“Naked Connie Falls,” Ellen said.

“What?” Denny asked. “You know the place?”

“Of course. Every kid in high school knew it.” She looked at Denny. “Well, most everybody. We used to go swimming there, in the falls. It was always cold as hell. A girl named Connie took acid and got naked and let some guy take pictures of her and they got spread all over school.” She held up her hands. “Naked Connie Falls.”

Denny stared.

Ray laughed into his hand. “What else is there?”

Denny slid his finger. “Here, which, now that I think about it, is pretty close to Craw—” He caught himself. “To
his
property. It’s a cluster of five tall rocks. They’re very unusual in appearance.”

“The Hand,” Ellen said.

“That’s what the locals call it,” Denny said.

“
You’re
a local.”

Denny’s smile froze. “Okay, we’ll call it the Hand. Anyway, it’s been dismissed by most academics—at least the few who even know about it—as a natural formation. There’s no evidence of anything remotely like it being built by Native Americans, so, in their stunted minds, it couldn’t be man-made. The usual debunker nonsense. But not everyone agrees. I certainly don’t.” He moved his finger toward the center. “Here is your friend’s house, Ray.” Still farther. “Here is the cemetery in the center of town. Built on top of the Indian mound. Another anomaly—and no one’s sure why it was built or who built it, despite what the history books say.”

Ellen stubbed out her cigarette. “Okay. I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with anything?”

Denny’s face reddened. “Maybe it means nothing.”

“Hold on,” Ray said. “Go ahead, Denny.”

“It could just be coincidence. I’m the first to admit that. But sometimes …” He laid the edge of the Purple Burro’s menu against the map and drew a line with his pencil. “Look at this. From the Hand … and the Falls … to the center of the cemetery mound in the middle of town. A perfectly straight line.”

Ellen shook her head. “It’s interesting. Sure. But it’s a line. A
line
.”

Denny blinked. He turned to face Ray. “And after what you’ve just told me tonight, Ray,
let’s say we extend the line even farther to the north.” He moved his finger a few inches. “Almost into the next county. A guy who throws some pretty fabulous parties lives right here—on the same line. Two points means nothing. Three, still nothing but coincidence. But four places of interest? I start paying attention.”

Ellen pursed her lips. “Okay.
That’s
weird.”

Denny nodded. “In Europe it would be known as a ley line.”

Ellen nodded. “Naked Connie would have agreed.”