Dead Girl Moon (6 page)

“Tell him fifteen,” Cookie said, not realizing how close he was to the truth.

Larry would threaten a citizen’s arrest and Grace would jump from the car and hustle back to the street, where Cookie would pick her up and drive her home. Pay for five minutes’ work? Three hundred dollars.

17

W
HEN SCHOOL ENDED
, Grace started a new work rhythm. Go to the motel at one, clean rooms for a couple of hours, take a break and go to the café for evening shift, four to closing. Usually got a day or two off mid-week. That left late evenings to go out a little on her own, mornings to sleep late after JJ went to work. Good time to make some alliances. Build a little backup if she came to need it.

She began with Tim Cassel. Away from school he acted a little more mature. Plus, he had a cool Mustang convertible, enough money for burgers and beer, and a hard body that Grace considered acceptable. From a distance. Which wasn’t easy. The boy didn’t like no for an answer.

Next, she edged a little closer to Larry Cassel, who, contrary to his reputation, had been surprisingly thoughtful and, by Grace’s standards, was practically rich. The Lincoln was cushy and if it was the night before one of her days off, they sometimes tooled all the way to an Indian casino on Kalispell Lake for a midnight dinner and gambling. She could see he wanted her, but he seemed willing to wait. The statutory thing again.

Fitz Fitzhugh was all sweat and business. If his tips hadn’t been so extravagant she would never have given him a try. Weird, right? Mick’s father. Fitz had a way of looking at her like he knew her, like he could see what kind of person she was under that actress smile. He took her out in the country, turned up the car radio and taught her basic swing dancing. He was rough, and his kisses felt like sandpaper, but he always stopped when she asked. He drank a boatload of hard liquor. Grace thought the pills he took kept him upright. He offered some to her but she was afraid to try them.

The second time he went out with her he really surprised her.

“Want to shoot a pistol?”

That was a new one. They were south of town on a wooded ridge that overlooked the Clark Fork and the power plant. Grace looked at him to see if he was serious. Should have known. He was always pretty serious. Raised her eyebrows.

He bit his lip as if reconsidering, but wound up reaching over into the backseat, to his leather jacket, and bringing out a folded brown paper sack. “This one’s too big for you,” he said, unwrapping a dark square-shaped handgun. “Got a .32 in the back’s more your size.”

Grace nodded. “Sure.” Could be fun.

He set his pint of bourbon on the roof of the car, opened the trunk, lifted the spare tire, and pulled out a smaller package. Like a miniature copy of the first, but silvery with black grips. Returned to the trunk and came out with a six-pack of empty longnecks. “Targets,” he said. “Nobody close. People who hear’ll think coyotes.”

Grace set her beer on the hood and accepted the gun. Easy to grip but way heavier than it looked.

“Pistol,” he said, “revolver’s the kind you can see the bullets.” He reached up and touched her chin. “Just as soon you kept this between us,” he said. “Not even Mick. What we do is private. You okay with that?”

Grace nodded. There was something dangerous about this guy. Where Hammond was slick and organized, Fitz was rough and lone-wolf. Neither were regular citizens. Hammond was teaching her scams. Who better than Fitz to teach her to shoot?

It took a while but she finally broke a bottle.

Fitz clapped. “Have to take a second job to keep you in ammo,” he said, smashing her to him in what he considered a hug.

18

E
VELYN DIDN
’
T TAKE HER EYES
off the highway as she dug in her purse for the cell phone. A few hours after dark the big ranches had finished their day’s work, loaded their trailer rigs with cattle and hay, and sent them rolling toward Bonners Ferry or Sandpoint. Those big trucks and tired drivers could be all over the road and you had to be careful. She flipped the phone open, listened.

“Hey, I just saw you ahead of me.”

She thought she recognized the voice.

“Going home,” she said. “Long day.”

“Pull over for a sec, I got you a present.”

“Uh, give it tomorrow. I’ll be at work.”

“Can’t. Really, it’ll take less than a minute. Pull over at that dirt road with the mailbox.”

Evelyn thought it over. In the past couple of months she’d been given several presents and most she’d been able to sell to girlfriends in Plains for more cash. Could be anything from a bracelet to an iPod. She put the phone away, knowing that her brake lights would signal her decision, and concentrated on spotting the unlit gap in the tree cover. Tiny rocks pinged off her undercarriage as she edged off the road and moved forward to give the trailing car room to pull in.

Looking in the mirror all she could see was the glare of his headlights. She tried to see if she was right about the voice, but he kept in the headlight shine as he walked toward her. All she got was the dark silhouette.

He stopped before he reached her window. “Come on out. I don’t want to reach it through.”

“Only for a minute.”

“Sure.”

She opened the door and swung her legs out, started to stand and got jerked off her feet as he tugged her the rest of the way out. She got a whiff of alcohol as he pulled her close.

“Wha—”

He hit her hard in the ribs and doubled her over. Pulled her upright immediately.

She got air and tried again. “Why are—”

He shook her, making her teeth rattle. “You think you’re so goddamn—”

It was a reaction. She didn’t even think as she slapped him as hard as she could, right in the face. She didn’t see his return punch coming but she felt it ruining her jaw and then a blinding pain in the back of her head.

He was not expecting her to crumple. He grabbed her by the shoulders, hauled her up and shook her again. Her head rolled side to side with no resistance. She was out cold. He looked at her more closely, held her up in front of him. She was limp. Worse, she didn’t seem to be breathing.

When he lowered her to the ground he noticed the dark spot on the window. More closely, he saw ooze and a bit of hair at the top corner of the car door that had been left open in the tussle. If the back of her head hit that when he punched her … He touched the point. Blood. On the metal edge and on the rubber insulator, and drops, the first one he’d already seen, inching down the window. He knelt and turned her head to the side. More blood, a lot of it in her hair and down her neck. Put his ear to her lips. Nothing. To her nose. Nothing. Hand on her diaphragm. Nothing.

Shit!

Still kneeling beside her, he looked both ways. Headlights just coming around the curve maybe a half mile ahead. He took her wrists, pulled her away from the road and over to the far side of his vehicle. Jumped in, jammed off his headlights, started his engine. Jumped out and ran to open his passenger door. Lifted her into the seat. Hustled back and made a right turn onto the dirt road, goosed it and coasted, engine off now, into a nook in the trees. Hit the parking brake hoping it wouldn’t flash his rear lights. Seconds later the eastbound car whirred past.

When he ran back to the highway, it was clear in both directions. He had at least thirty seconds. He slid into her seat, started her car and reversed it into the unpaved road, peering through her rear window to guide him. In the nightglow he was able to pick up the lighter color of the graded dirt as he moved maybe a hundred yards down until another recess presented itself. He put it in drive and wheeled the sedan forward far enough to conceal it from the highway. Where did this road go? He may have been on it fishing once or twice, thought it went in another mile or so to a ranch and barn not far from the Clark Fork. It would do.

He grabbed her purse and coat and ran with them, opening his door and tossing them in on top of her. Got in. Got out and ran back to her car tearing his shirt off, then his T-shirt, and used that to wipe down her door handle and steering wheel and gear shift with a swipe at the keys. Ran back, made a U, and headed west on the highway.

He was breathing so hard the windshield was fogging. He lowered the windows and the cool air braced him, like a slap, getting his attention. Brief picture: Standing holding the bars in a cell the size of a coffin. Not him. That wasn’t going to happen.

First, dump the body. He knew just the place. He’d read that bodies bloat with gas, bob up to the surface. Not this one. He had a tire iron to puncture her stomach. Second, clean up. To get it right he knew he’d need help, knew he needed to make a call. When there was no answer he left a message. Cell phone to cell phone, private, he told what happened, where he was going, and what he was going to do. Give a heads-up so help would be ready.

19

S
OME PEOPLE WENT LOOKING FOR TROUBLE
. Mick’s dad said no need. Trouble will find you. Okay. Sixteen years old, Mick knew trouble. Lived with it, ran with it. Made it through the worst times. With any luck at all, he was done with trouble.

At the beginning of summer, Mick got a part-time job stocking and doing warehouse work for Hammond’s hardware store and the nearby feed store. Started saving money for school sports fees. Grace continued working for Hammond’s motel and café as a maid and waitress, just upped her hours. JJ got a job mornings with county recycling. Queen of the cans!

Turned out Grace usually got Tuesdays off, and a couple of days a week neither the feed store nor the hardware needed any grunt work, so there were some afternoons that Grace, JJ, and Mick hung around together.

In mid-July Mick had an idea. Simple. Obvious, really. Maybe a great idea that would speed things up between him and Grace. The three of them had all afternoon off. Time enough to go to a private swimming place up on the Salish River. Mick figured if JJ went, Grace was more likely to come along.

A tiny glitch: Jon. The ten-year-old overheard Grace and JJ talking while they were getting ready. He threatened to run to the Conoco and tell Mick’s father that Mick was taking the Pontiac without permission. Extortion. Okay, it might mess up their privacy, but on the other hand, maybe it would make Mick seem more generous and mature. Truth, he was dizzied by the idea of Grace in fewer clothes and agreed to take the kid.

As they piled in the car, Mick noticed the girls didn’t seem to be carrying bathing suits and didn’t seem to have any on under their jeans and shirts.

Grace caught him looking. “Don’t have any,” Grace said. “We’ll swim in our clothes.”

“You don’t have to get your clothes wet,” he said, letting his imagination run.

“They’ll dry,” JJ said.

They drove past the popular swimming area on the Clark Fork under the bridge at the east end of town and took Salish River Road north to a spot JJ’d shown him an earlier time he’d “borrowed” his dad’s car. Almost nobody ever drove that road in summer when fishing was poor.

Two miles past where the narrow pavement turned to dirt, the road got steeper, trees thick on either side. Even in July, the shade in the small canyon let the bordering grass stay green. They parked at a curve and walked about a hundred yards back to a cliff-faced bend that created a pool a few feet deep. It was maybe forty feet across, with weak current until you got to the end of the hole and the water took off again. Private, bordering on cozy.

JJ had a blanket for them to sit on and a beat-up life vest for Jon to wear so he wouldn’t drown. When they got to the gravel beach, JJ and Jon began fighting over the vest. Jon wouldn’t wear it. JJ tried to make him. Jon flung it into the current and it disappeared downriver. Case closed. Grace said well then, he couldn’t go in the water. Jon pulled away from JJ, ran and jumped in, clothes and all. Another case settled. Mick told JJ and Grace to go ahead and let the kid drown. Be less trouble in the long run. Jon didn’t hear that. He was already diving, looking for trout.

Mick took off his shirt and lay down on the blanket to warm up before going in that cold water. Grace shed her jeans, sat down beside him in shirt and briefs. That might have embarrassed JJ, because she started walking, following the riverbank upstream.

Grace watched her leave. “She’ll be back in a while,” she said, nodding at JJ.

The river made its own sweet noise, and Mick was lying close enough to Grace to hear her breathing. Such a good day, such a good idea. Sunny, warm, pure brilliant, and he’d made it happen. He tried not to stare at Grace. Mostly kept his eyes on the water. Pictured her, instead, in his mind’s eye. Began imagining what it would be like if they were a couple. What it would be like to kiss her. Pretty exciting. A little too exciting. He needed to calm down. Mick didn’t have much experience with girls. Better to keep his eyes closed for a while and put his mind on something else. Football? He wasn’t sure it was possible.

Jon’s yelling jerked Mick into the present. Jon, the little dickwad that blackmailed Mick into bringing him along. Right away Mick figured Jon was caught in the current, getting swept away. He scanned and saw the kid across the river tugging on a log in an eddy. Mick shouted at him to stop because the thing could drown him; could catch on his clothing and roll him under. Mick could see there was already something stuck on it. A rag or a mop.

But he was wrong. Jon had hold of a body.

20

I
N A SECOND A LOT CAN GO THROUGH YOUR MIND
. You watch junior year go down the drain. You give up the idea of playing football. You drop the dream you’re going to get together with Grace. You see your friendship with JJ disappear. And then a hope fights its way in. An idea. With a little bit of luck, you could skate around this. You could get out of here without being seen. You could say we were never here. You might not even have to lie. You could just return Dad’s car and shut up. You’re not in a hole. This didn’t happen.