Long Black Curl (22 page)

“Yeah.”

“Watching it snow?”

“Nah, eating breakfast.”

“I should do that. Our power was out until about twenty minutes ago. Your parents working?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine, too. You think you can make it down to the Pair-A-Dice around lunchtime?”

There was a long pause. “Why?”

“Thought you might bring your guitar and we could play a little.”

Another long pause. “Are you serious?”

“Well, I can't invite you to my house, and you can't invite me to yours, can you?”

“Reckon not.”

“So?”

She heard other voices behind him, no doubt his brothers and sisters. They didn't seem to have noticed he was on the phone, or have any ideas whom he was talking to.

“I might can catch a ride with my uncle Andy,” he said. “He usually heads to town about then.”

A warm thrill ran up her neck and cheeks. “Well, I'll be there anyway. Maybe I'll see you.”

“Maybe you will.”

She hung up, threw herself on the couch, and stared up at the ceiling. Memories and sensations of so many Tufa women attracted to so many men filled her, things she could neither comprehend nor understand yet as a twelve-year-old girl. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against it.
I am Mandalay Harris, not any of you,
she said to the ghosts trying to command her attention.
You've had your fun. This is all about me.

At that moment, the house phone rang, her cell phone beeped with a text, and her laptop chimed to announce she had e-mail. All the messages concerned the fire at Bliss Overbay's the previous evening.

*   *   *

Tain Wisby looked out at the Hang Dog Diner's empty tables. The snow had effectively killed their business this morning, with men concentrating on getting to work, and women stuck at home with children out of school. Only three people needed her attention, all elderly retirees with nowhere else to go. They barely even noticed her in her scandalously tight waitress uniform, with her legs bare and top button undone. That indifference annoyed her more than the weather.

The Hang Dog was located on Highway 7 just past the interstate, outside Cloud County. There weren't many non-agricultural jobs in the county itself, so the non-farming Tufa had to look a bit afield for gainful employment. Once again Tain wished she'd kept her pants on that night at the convenience store, when her boss had discovered her and Shelby Renfro doing the deed in his office. Now Lassa Gwinn had her old job, and seemed determined to keep it until she was too big to get through the doors, like the legendary moonshiner Great Kate Gwinn.

“Little top-off here, Tain?” one of the old men said, and raised his cup in her direction.

She picked up the carafe and poured with a sigh of boredom. “Here you go, Mr. Lytle.”

“Not too exciting this morning, is it?” he said as he sipped.

“It sure ain't,” Tain agreed.

“If I was forty years younger, I might show you something a little exciting,” he said with a grin and a wink.

“If you were forty years younger, Mr. Lytle, I'd sure enough let you.” And she meant it.

Headlights swept through the gloom as a truck pulled into the lot. She didn't recognize the figure that got out, but her brief excitement was diminished when she saw white hair above the face half-hidden in a scarf.
Another geezer,
she thought to herself.
Yay.

When he came in the door, she recognized him. “Snowy Rainfield,” she said, genuinely pleased to see him. She knew he worked construction, and in this weather he couldn't be on his way to a job. “What brings you out on a day like this?”

“If I say it's to see you, will that get me a slap or a kiss?” he said as he took off his coat and sat at the counter.

“It'll get you a cup of coffee,” she said, winking.

Snowy leaned his elbows on the Formica and watched her as she moved to get his cup. Tain always knew when men watched her; it wasn't so much a sixth sense as a simple certainty that, if there were men around, they would
always
watch her. And it didn't bother her—she liked
all
men, up to a point. Past that point, though, only very select men would do.

As she poured she said, “How are the roads?”

“All right, where the sun hits 'em. Lots of black ice out there, though. You better be careful going home.”

“I didn't know you cared.”

“You're being coy,” he said as he sipped his cup. Then he looked around and saw that they were reasonably alone. Quietly, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. No promises I'll answer it, though.”

“What's Bo-Kate up to?”

Tain started, and banged the glass carafe against the edge of the counter, but luckily it didn't shatter. She composed herself, then said, “Would you believe me if I said I honestly don't know?”

“If you look me in the eye when you say it.” Even more softly, he added, “Tain, this could be bad news for everybody. Both sides. She flat-out shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be
able
to be here. And she's already done a couple of pretty horrible things.”

“Like what?”

Snowy dropped his voice even lower. “She's the reason Rockhouse died. She cut off his extra fingers. And yesterday, while we were burying him, she burned down Bliss Overbay's house.”

Tain stared at him, waiting for the smile, the sign that it was all a joke, but it never came. She had to clear her throat before speaking. “I really don't know what you mean, Snowy.”

Snowy leaned back and looked at her skeptically. “Is that right,” he said flatly.

This time she leaned close. Softly she asked, “Snowy, you know where the Wildwood Motel is?”

“Yeah.”

“Meet me there at three o'clock. Ask for me at the desk, they'll tell you which room.”

Snowy grew even more skeptical. “You setting me up, Tain? Who's going to be there waiting for me? Snad and Canton, maybe? With a couple of baseball bats?”

“Just me, I promise. If you want to talk about this, we'll need privacy.”

He knew what she meant. She knew that he knew. She also knew that he, like just about every man she knew, couldn't possibly resist.

Yet he said, “No thanks, Tain.”

She put the carafe aside and stood with her hands on her hips. “Snowy Rainfield, are you serious?”

“
This
is serious, Tain.”

“Your memory must be shorter than some other things I could mention.”

He grinned. “Good one. And my memory's just fine. But this ain't about us.”

She blew a stray strand of hair from her face. “What kind of assurance do you need that I'm not going to have my cousins hiding in the closet to beat the snot out of you?”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“I
promise
I am meeting only you to tell you what you want to know.”

He made a gesture with the fingers of his right hand, then touched his heart. With an annoyed sigh, she did the same, sealing the meeting with vows of honesty that went back further than most spoken languages. “Believe me now?”

“See you there,” he said.

*   *   *

As he drove back to Needsville, Snowy couldn't keep the memory of previous trysts from his mind. He and Tain had fooled around a dozen times over the years, and it had always been spectacular. Each time, he convinced himself that his memory of the previous encounter had been enhanced by time and wishful thinking, then found out that, no, it
was
as good as he remembered. Tain was uninhibited, afraid to try nothing, and most attractive of all, always let him know when she liked something he did.

He shifted uncomfortably as his physical response to those memories asserted itself. He checked his watch—eight hours until three, when he'd see her. He hoped nothing came up that required real concentration, because he doubted he could manage it.

He turned on the radio, set to the oldies station. Chaka Khan sang, “Tell Me Something Good.” Her sexy, carnal voice didn't help his concentration at all.

*   *   *

“Rise and shine,” Bo-Kate said. “We're burning daylight.”

Nigel opened one eye and winced against the glare from the window. “I never imagined Americans actually said that.”

“We invent all sorts of clich
é
s.” She was dressed in tight-fitting layers that accented her curves, and he considered for a moment how long it might take to undress her. Then he saw the look in her eye, which said,
I know what you're thinking, and stop it.
With a sigh, he threw back the covers and swung his feet onto the icy wooden floor.

He started to pull on his pants. She said, “It doesn't matter. We're the only ones here.”

“Your cousin's not skulking about?”

“She went to work. Mom and Dad went wherever they go. My brothers are passed out, or never came home from the wake, I don't know which. We've basically got the whole house to ourselves.”

“And this is how you want to spend it?”

“Not now, Nigel. Big things are afoot.”

“They could be.”

She slapped him, lightly but not playfully. “Eyes front, soldier. Get cleaned up so we can get going.”

“Aye, mistress,” he said, and followed her out of the bedroom.

Within an hour they were back in the SUV, out of the woods, and on the paved highway. It was still messy after the snow, but mindful driving kept them from any calamities. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“You'll see. Just stay on this road until I tell you differently.”

“That's essentially my job description, isn't it?”

She looked out at the trees passing on the passenger side. “There—see that extra-tall tree there?”

“Yes.”

“That's the Widow's Tree. Women who have lost their husbands or lovers go and carve messages on it. It's got to be a couple of hundred years old by now.”

“Any messages from you on it?”

“Ha! Not likely.”

“No?”

“No. My only real Tufa love was lost … differently.”

“You must spend vast amounts of time working out ways to hint at things without giving away any actual information.”

“As a matter of fact, smart-ass, we're on our way to get some information right now.”

“Indeed? What sort?”

“Tactical. Then you'll understand who the players are in this little war.”

“You could just tell me.”

“Then you might not believe me.”

“And this will convince me?”

“No, of course not. All in all, this is just another brick in the convincing wall.”

“How can I eat my pudding if I don't have any meat?”

She smiled, then resumed looking out at the forest. “We have one stop to make first, though. Just outside town. Time to announce myself properly.”

 

16

Snowy dropped the load of debris from the backhoe's bucket and swung around to scoop out another one. Bliss deliberately didn't look at what tumbled out, not wanting to see her family's heirlooms burned, dropped, and discarded into the big green Dumpster. She was having a hard enough time accepting that the old homestead, which had stood in one form or another since the Tufa arrived, was now gone.

Orpheus Carding stood watching. The backhoe belonged to him, but he wasn't able to run it since losing his arm five years before. “That sure is a mess,” he said over the noise.

“It is,” Bliss agreed.

“Reckon we'll need about six or seven Dumpster loads to get everything cleared out.”

“Reckon.”

“Then we'll all pitch in and build you a new place. Just like they used to in the old days, you know? Lots of music, lots of hard work.”

“Thanks.” She knew they would, too. She'd have a new house as good as, if not better than, the old one. But it was like those logging companies who claimed they'd plant one hundred trees for every one they cut down. They simply didn't understand that you could regrow
a
forest, but not
the
forest.

Snowy dumped the latest load, then leaned out of the cab and yelled, “I think you can get to it now! Watch for hot spots, though!”

Bliss pulled on a pair of fireman boots and gloves, then picked her way through the debris along the path that Snowy had cleared for her. When she reached the stairs that led to the cellar, she shone a flashlight down into the darkness. Smoke and dust hung in the air, but not so heavily she needed a breathing apparatus.

“Want to tie a line to yourself in case there's fumes?” Carding called.

“No,” Bliss answered. “It'll be fine.”

She carefully descended the stairs. The wooden steps went from singed to water damaged to untouched just before they changed to solid rock. These ancient stone steps were as dry as if they'd been under a protective bubble—which, in a sense, they had.

She walked past the rows of shelves along the stone corridor, to the door at the far end. The only footprints visible in the dust were her own, from the last time she'd visited. She unlocked the door and shone the flashlight inside.

The tapestry still hung as it had for longer than most could imagine. Just the sight of it made her sigh with relief. It was a relic of the Tufa's old country, brought when they crossed the ocean to the jagged mountains that had since become the rolling, soft-sloped Appalachians. Stitched into the ancient fabric were the faces of the original Tufa, many of which could still be seen, if you knew how to look, on current residents of Cloud County.

She closed the door, locked it again, and then leaned back wearily against it. This was great news for the Tufa, but it did nothing at all for her. It didn't replace the Overbay family history, which had gone literally up in smoke. It didn't bring back Rockhouse, and it didn't send Bo-Kate Wisby back into exile. The enchantment protecting the tapestry had worked, but the magic that was supposed to protect the Tufa had been proved fragile and insubstantial when the threat came from within the community itself.