Matchpoint (19 page)

And I would let Spencer worry about Rosalie and his pack of Facebook stalkers and let Holden worry about Becky and where I fit into the picture. For now.

With my priorities straight and clean hair, I put on comfortable sweats and a T-shirt and joined Grandma downstairs in the sunroom. She watered plants while I sat on a yellow polka-dotted garden chair and cranked up her old laptop to Google Arthur Holden.

I couldn’t find a thing about my mysterious pseudo-boyfriend. There was an Arthur C. Holden in Cleveland, but he was a sixty-five-year-old retired police officer, and he was Asian.

“Sometimes secrets are secrets for a reason,” Grandma
said, pruning a plant. “Sometimes a person is a secret. A tall, handsome secret.”

I thought about what Spencer said about my grandmother not liking Holden.

“You know something I don’t, Grandma?”

“Years’ worth, dolly. Years’ worth.”

The rest of the afternoon was unusually quiet. It was like the town was catching its breath before the next round in the battle against the cult. I hadn’t heard from Belinda or the mayor since they left the house, which I thought was a good sign, until I remembered that I hadn’t paid my cellphone bill. She couldn’t get in touch with me if she wanted, because she refused to call the home line in fear that she would have to speak to my grandmother.

With the coast clear, according to Grandma, Spencer was allowed to come downstairs and eat spaghetti and meatballs for dinner with us in the kitchen. We were a strange little family, but Spencer seemed to take it in stride, and Grandma was all but euphoric at having him at our table.

She picked his brain for an hour about polygamy laws in the state of California, completely ignoring the obvious topics of conversation she could have with the chief of police in a town where a cult had invaded, donkeys flew overhead, boys peed from the trees, and cop cars were used for coitus.

“Rain,” she said as I sopped up pasta sauce with my slice of garlic bread. She clutched my arm tightly. “Remember your promise.”

The only promise I remembered was not to lose my virginity during the homecoming dance in tenth grade, and I broke that one, big time.

“The promise not to go outside,” she reminded me.

“Forever?” I asked. “Don’t go out for the rest of my life?” I wanted to be a matchmaker like Grandma, but I
wasn’t prepared to be exactly like her and not leave the house forever.

“No, just for tonight.” She pointed to the ceiling, and Spencer and I looked up. It was the normal ceiling, white with a circa-1930s lamp. “Rain,” she said. “Bad things come with rain.”

“We’re set for clear skies all week,” Spencer informed her. I had caught him watching more than his share of the Weather Channel lately, but it was foolish to question Grandma about these things. “Fine. Rain,” he said after a moment.

“Don’t go out,” she urged me.

IT WAS a good meal, and it ended with coffee and cheesecake and a long discussion about the history of the mountain, and how there had never before been any mention of it being sacred or housing aliens. “People are more or less lunatics,” Grandma explained. “We’re just getting a large influx of more.”

Surprisingly, Spencer offered to do the dishes and to change my much-used sheets, and I decided to go upstairs to the attic and do some work on Belinda’s love life.

A month ago, I had cleaned out all of Grandma’s old “files,” which were just some dusty, yellowed index cards and bits of papers. There was precious little to work with, but it felt good to sit at the desk again in front of the big circular window that looked out over the street. I felt professional, like a real matchmaker. I wasn’t much for commitment, but the idea of finding love for Belinda gave me a warm feeling all the way down to my toes that wasn’t so bad.

With the warm feeling came a twinge of guilt about fixing her up with the mayor. Even before he was kicked in the head by his donkey, he wasn’t all there, and it was
unfair to saddle Belinda with him. I was determined to find her someone better.

I thought back to my hospital idea. There were plenty of people visiting the ER lately, I reasoned, and I bet I could find a good match who had a broken leg or some other minor injury without much trouble.

Belinda would be so grateful, I thought. She would tell me where she had been the night of the murder, and I could help her there, too. I slapped my hands together in triumph just as a clap of thunder ripped through the night. As I went to close the window, I saw movement at the house across the street. It was falling apart and up for sale, but it hadn’t gotten any takers yet, either because the market was sluggish, or because it was a major fixer-upper. Or maybe because a man had died in it the month before.

I jumped when I saw a shadow on the front lawn, and a feeling of icy dread slid down my back.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said out loud. But I wasn’t so sure I was telling the truth. I couldn’t get behind aliens, but I was pretty scared of hauntings.

I closed the window and threw the latch just as I saw the movement again, but this time I got a good look and realized it was Shlep, the dog from down the street.

“What are you doing, Shlep? You are going to get all wet,” I said, even though he couldn’t hear me.

I watched as he crossed the street, intermittently sniffing the ground and the air, following some scent to our house and right into our backyard. I pictured him digging up Grandma’s tomatoes, and the thought drove me to run downstairs and out the back.

“Shlep, Shlep,” I called quietly. It had gotten late, and I didn’t want to wake up Grandma or Spencer.

The lightning cracked through the dark, and I spotted Shlep still on the scent, heading right for Grandma’s
tomatoes. “No, Shlep!” I called, but he ignored me, intent on whatever it was he smelled.

I tiptoed out onto the back stairs in my bare feet and after a moment’s hesitation trotted out into the yard. “Don’t you dare, Shlep. Grandma will be so mad.”

The ground was cold under my feet, and I knew I only had a moment before it would start to rain. I ran after the dog and had almost caught him when he cried out in pain and ran out of the yard.

“What was that about?” I called after him. “I’m not that scary.”

I was answered by a thud, a movement in the yard. I looked around, but without the lightning, it was dark.

“Shlep?” I called out, but I knew it wasn’t the dog. Someone—a person, not a canine—was walking around Grandma’s backyard at night.

I swallowed with difficulty. “Spencer?” I tried again, but there was no answer.

I froze in fear, sure that I was being watched. As I took a step toward the house, the sky opened up and began to pour down rain. I was instantly soaked through my clothes. I started walking faster, but I heard the noise again, as if it had moved into my path, and I quickly jogged to the right to avoid whatever it was that was there, only to stumble into what I at first thought was a man.

I screamed but stopped just as suddenly when I realized it was only a scarecrow.

“When did Grandma put you up?” I asked the scarecrow. The lightning cracked, illuminating the backyard and giving me a good look at the figure. And its face. A long white scar glowed down its right cheek.

“Oh, hello, Dr. Dulur,” I said to it. And then everything went black, and I slipped down into unconsciousness and onto the muddy ground of Grandma’s backyard.

I WOKE to someone shouting my name. “You’re not Dr. Dulur,” I said, opening one eye.

For a moment, I had thought it was a ghost, but it was Spencer, kneeling over me, a gun in his hand and a look of concern on his face.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I took stock of my body. I was wet, dirty, and cold, but I wasn’t hurt. “I think I fainted,” I told him. “I thought I saw the craziest thing.”

Spencer nodded. “I heard you scream. Can you stand?” He helped me up. The rain was coming down in sheets, making it difficult to see, but the bolts of lightning illuminated the scene as if taking snapshots of the action. I staggered back when I saw the scarecrow.

“I thought it was my imagination,” I said, more to myself than to Spencer.

“Holy Christ,” he said, noticing it in detail for the first time. Sewn onto the head of the scarecrow was Dr. Dulur’s face. “What kind of sick fuck,” Spencer began, reminding me of Nathan’s words. And then we heard a thud and heavy breathing, and I knew we were not alone. I
had
been watched, and whoever it was was still around.

Spencer raised his voice so I could hear him over the thunder and rain. “Get back in the house,” he shouted, aiming his gun at the dark beyond us. “Get in, now!”

“Not without you,” I said, surprising myself.

He turned around, obviously surprised himself. His face was inches away from mine, but he yelled to make sure I would hear him. “You are the world’s biggest pain in the ass!”

I put my hands on my hips and dug my heels into the mud. “More of a pain in the ass than your Facebook friends?” I asked like an idiot who wasn’t standing in a thunderstorm next to a dead man’s face with a killer nearby.

Spencer smacked his forehead with his non-gun hand. “Do what I say, woman. Get inside. Now!”

The lightning cracked through the night, shining a light on Dr. Dulur’s face, and then suddenly a shadow appeared from the bushes and took off running through the backyard’s gate out to the front. Spencer went after him like a shot, and I followed him.

We ran into the dark through the rain in our bare feet. I was only dimly aware of stones and twigs scraping
my feet as I ran, slipping in the mud, trying to keep up with Spencer, who was running full out as if he could see the shadowy figure in front of us. I saw nothing, only darkness, rain, and the occasional lightning bolt. But I could hear him. He was breathing hard, and he was wearing heavy shoes that slapped the wet ground as he ran.

“Stop! Police!” Spencer shouted, and tried to take aim with his gun. “He’s going into the Ternses’ house,” he said. “Go back inside!” he shouted at me, as if he was surprised I was still behind him.

“No way,” I said. “I’m sticking with you.” It wasn’t all about stupid bravery or feeling protective of Spencer. I had no intention of going near the face again. At least not alone. Even if we were running in the direction of a homicidal maniac, at least I was with an armed cop.

We were across the street in a matter of seconds, staring at the house’s front door, which creaked as it flapped open and closed in the storm. Spencer took a step toward the door, his gun raised. I grabbed his torso and held strong. “No, don’t go in,” I said. “Spencer, wait for backup. Don’t go in.”

He squirmed away from my hold. “Go back to your grandmother’s,” he said. “Gladie, do as I say.” And he took a step into the house. I followed him in.

It was instantly quieter, but it was even darker inside the house. I had been there several times before, but it had been filled with furniture and knickknacks, and now it was empty, abandoned. And quiet.

I had stopped breathing, and so had Spencer and the shadowy figure. I knew he was in there somewhere, but we couldn’t see or hear him. On the other hand, he could probably see us in the doorway, and Spencer quickly pulled me to the side to rest in the corner a moment, allowing our eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Spencer,” I whispered, but he shushed me. Then we
heard a thud on the floor and running footsteps. “He’s in the kitchen,” I told Spencer. “That’s the sound of the linoleum.”

Spencer held my hand while we ran toward the kitchen. And we got him.

Well, almost.

The shadowy figure, dressed all in black from head to toe, skulked in a corner like Boo Radley in
To Kill a Mockingbird
. We could almost make out his form, but just as Spencer shouted
“Freeze!”
I slid on the wet floor and careened into Spencer, sending his pistol flying from his hand in a high arc to land in the kitchen sink and sending us falling on the floor like dominos, with me as the top domino. Boo Radley hopped in place and swung open the kitchen door and fled out of the house.

“Oops,” I said.

BY THE time Spencer recovered from getting the wind knocked out of him and fished his gun out of the sink, the man in black was long gone. Spencer didn’t say a word to me, nothing at all about me foiling the apprehension of the No-Face Case killer.