Night Shift (15 page)

Fiji asked herself the question that had gotten her through a lot of crises.
What would Aunt Mildred do?
Though Fiji was not the same person as her great-aunt had been—she was essentially more social and her heart was tenderer—she was determined to stand her ground and defend her home.

It was time to assume her aunt’s mantle.

F
iji unlocked the drawer below her work area, a broad shelf below the high counter where she took payments. The shelf was the right height for her rolling chair, and on it she did the gift wrapping, worked on the books, and studied Aunt Mildred’s journals. These were not Mildred’s anecdotes about her own life, but an accounting of what spell she’d performed for what person, what service she’d provided, what favor she’d granted. Some of these were dubious, some outright gruesome.

But most of these transactions were pretty straightforward. “Amulet to help Hetty W find her mother’s wedding cake recipe. Successful.”

“Spell to help Julio R’s favorite cow calve. Calf lived, cow died.”

The dubious ones tended to be things like, “Provided Linda H with herbs. Early enough.” In other words, Aunt Mildred had provided “Linda H” with a mixture of herbs to cause an abortion.

The gruesome ones? It had taken a while for Fiji to puzzle them out. What “Ult” meant next to someone’s name was that Aunt Mildred killed that person.

If Aunt Mildred had kept accurate and honest records—and Fiji was assuming she had—it had been rare for Mildred to resort to such a drastic measure. She did so when she had reason to worry about her own survival.

You had to do some really careful reading to figure out those entries. “Israel T, threat. Iced tea. Ult.” The unwise Israel T had threatened Mildred with (perhaps) jail or exposure, and she had poisoned his tea.

Maybe even at a church picnic.

Aunt Mildred had been no Christian, but she had gone to church regularly; there had been an ordained Baptist minister in Midnight then, and a larger population. The church had been full on Sundays.

Fiji tried hard not judge Mildred for her actions, since she didn’t know precisely what Israel had done to her great-aunt. Mildred had had a hearty sense of self-protection.

Fiji hoped she never had to kill anyone. But she knew for sure that if she didn’t stand up for herself, she would be walked upon. Kiki’s visit had been a timely reminder.

As Fiji considered all these things, she’d been staring down into the open drawer. She’d been looking at all the little items she’d collected to keep inside it, but not really seeing them. Now that she’d reached a decision, Fiji carefully lifted the index card marked “Teacher Reed” and placed it on the counter. On top of the index card were a quarter and a nickel.

That had been her aunt’s first lesson; keep something of everyone’s, no matter if you love him or hate him.

Fiji had never loved Teacher.

Fiji lifted each coin with tweezers and dropped them in a special bowl. It had never held anything else.

Bobo came over five minutes later. Fiji gently slid the bowl behind a display on the counter before she let him in. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “Did you find out if he’d searched the house?”

“Yes,” Fiji said. And then she stopped speaking.

“Talk to me,” Bobo said.

“Bobo,” she said, and then couldn’t figure out how to continue. Every time she looked at him, she could feel her heart hurting. “Listen, I’m so glad you came over and I thank you for it. But I’m going to handle this myself. I should not have called you. It’s an old habit. It won’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?” he asked, and to Fiji’s chagrin, he looked suspicious and wounded.

She stood and came around the counter, and to her own astonishment, she put her arms around him. After a second, he hugged her back, and it was a moment both of great contentment and great regret.

“I haven’t been living up to my potential,” Fiji said against his chest. “It’s time to become what I was supposed to be.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Finally Bobo said, “I hope whatever you become, you will remember . . .” And then he couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, and Fiji was left to wonder how it would have ended.

“I’ll see you later,” Bobo said quietly. “You know I’m there.”

And with that, he was gone.

I
n the kitchen of the diner, Teacher said to Madonna, “She almost caught me going through her drawers. If I hadn’t taken off my shoes . . .”

Madonna was staring at him, and her expression wasn’t happy. “You took a foolish chance,” she said. “What did you hope to find, searching her house? Fiji is as sweet as candy and harmless as a mouse.”

“You’re wrong,” he said. He didn’t often say that to his wife, but when he did, she listened. “I know you don’t believe in half the stuff that goes on in this town, but that Fiji can do some serious shit. You didn’t see that private eye after Fiji got mad at her.”

“You’re right,” Madonna said, glaring at him. “I don’t believe half you tell me. This is a crazy place, and the sooner we get out of here, the better. I can’t believe we haven’t gotten a million questions. These people aren’t dumb.”

“You like the café. You told me so. You like the work.”

“Yeah, I do. But we’re not moving
forward
.” Forward momentum was key to Madonna, whose father had been a garbage truck driver in Dallas. “We can’t stay here. As soon as the job is over, we have to get out of here. Sooner or later, they’re going to cotton to who and what we are.”

“You really believe they don’t already suspect?” Teacher looked incredulous.

“They don’t,” she said, as if it were chiseled in stone.

“But honey . . . These aren’t normal people with normal resources.”

His wife gave a scornful snort. “Yeah, like I believe that some magic person casting some spell is gonna make us look normal to the natives.”

Madonna went back to work serving dinner. Grady was occupied with smearing his mashed potatoes all over the counter and occasionally putting a piece of carrot in his mouth.

Teacher said, “I’m going to file a report.”

“Fix that drawer in the kitchen that keeps sticking,” Madonna said.

“Okay.”

“There’s plenty of leftover roast beef for a sandwich,” she reminded him.

“Thanks, babe,” he said, and went out the back door.

When Madonna closed the restaurant that night a little after eight o’clock, she scooped up Grady and stepped out the same door. She locked it, having to fumble because she couldn’t see. “Huh,” she muttered. Madonna turned to find that the trailer was dark. This was so unusual that she froze in place for a moment. Grady said, “Mama?” and gripped her a little more tightly.

The door to the trailer was unlocked, so Teacher had made it across the few intervening yards. Cautiously, Madonna reached a hand in to flip the light switch by the door. “Teacher?” she called. A groan answered her.

Teacher was curled in a ball on the living room floor, gasping with pain.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God. Grady, Mama’s putting you in your room while I take care of Daddy, okay?”

Grady protested, shrieking, but Madonna detached him from her neck and put him in his crib, shutting the door behind her to muffle his high-decibel yells.

Back in the living room, she threw herself on her knees by Teacher. He knew she was there. He reached toward her.

“What’s wrong?” Madonna asked, crouching on the floor by her husband. “Teach, what’s wrong?”

“Pain,” he whispered. “Pain.”

“I’m calling 911,” Madonna said. “Get you an ambulance.”

He shook his head. “Noooo,” he whispered.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Payback,” he said, after gathering himself.

“What you mean?”

He whimpered. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it until she winced.

“You mean
Fiji
is doing this to you?”

He managed to nod.

“I’m gonna kill that bitch,” Madonna said, reaching for her purse, where she always carried a gun.

Again, he shook his head vehemently. And he drew a long, shuddering breath. He was able to take Madonna’s hand.

“Why not?”

Teacher’s body eased. “She caught me, and she’s warning me,” he said. “Fair and square.” He took another deep breath, relaxed a bit more. “It’s going away. It’s over.”

When Teacher could stand, Madonna helped him into bed. He told her three times that he’d be fine after a full night’s sleep. “This has to stop now,” he warned her, before he closed his eyes. “No dosing her food or giving her the stink-eye.”

“But—”

“But nothing. She’s not our target. I took a stupid risk and I got caught. I showed her my hand and got nothing in return.”

Madonna looked down at him. “What kind of thing did you think you might find?”

“Some kind of clue why all the suicides are happening,” Teacher said. “Some kind of reason. You can’t tell me that isn’t some kind of mystical shit. And Fiji is the witch, so I figured the two things must be tied together.”

“She can’t be causing them,” Madonna said. “That’s just not her.”

“Well, I would have said the same thing right up until an hour ago,” Teacher said, wincing as he eased into a more comfortable position.

Madonna cocked her head. From the silence, Grady had cried himself to sleep. She would skip his bath and his toothbrush tonight in favor of letting him stay that way. She raised a finger to her husband and slipped into the toddler’s room to pull a blanket over him. She tiptoed out without waking him, to her relief.

Though Teacher was almost asleep, he roused enough to say, “She didn’t call the cops. She didn’t go running to her neighbors and ask them to come question me about it. She solved her problem herself.”

And with that, Madonna made a sound of disgust, turned off the light, and left him to sleep. She was not content with Teacher’s verdict, but for now she’d go along.

Madonna was not one to forgive and forget. She was more of the “get even” school.

She stopped herself from making plans for vengeance by reminding herself that Fiji was
not
the object of her paycheck these past two years. Madonna had to keep her eyes on the prize.

And it was a rich prize, indeed.