The Secret of the Dark (12 page)

The hot tea helped. I took a few deep breaths and got control at last. “Here, Granny,” I said, “let me do that.” I took the skillet and spoon from her. She had tried to scramble me some eggs. I piled jam on buttered toast and forced down the food. Finally my head ceased its pounding but I felt totally exhausted.

The sound of paper crackling sent me to the living room. Granny's hand shook as she tried to coax a fire to flame. I took over again and soon had a merry blaze. Back outside I looked at my every step. Kingsnake or not, harmless or not, I didn't want another run-in with any snake. I snatched a few logs from the nearest end of the woodpile and ran back inside. You couldn't see more than six feet ahead in the yard. I don't know why people say fog is as thick as pea soup. It was clearly mushroom soup out there.

I pulled the couch around so it was closer to the fire and wrapped up in a crocheted afghan. I guess I fell right to sleep as it was noon when I became aware of Granny's hand on my shoulder.

“The phone is for you, child. How come you're sleeping all day?”

Had I been so far gone I hadn't even heard the phone ring? I rubbed my eyes and tried to wake up.

“Val? Granny said you were sleeping. Are you all right?”

“Certainly.” Mentally I shook myself the rest of the way awake. It was Rick. “Nothing to do but sleep.”

“You could come see me.”

“I'd get lost outside in about a minute. You know that. You come and see me. Have you had lunch? I'll even fix you something to eat.” I felt clearheaded.

“You don't care if I get lost in the woods?”

“I'm sure you know the mountain well enough to find your way,” I joked.

“You're right, I do. I could walk all these hills blindfolded. Okay. I'll see what kind of a cook you are.”

Rick laughed and hung up. I went in the bathroom to freshen up. My eyes were red and I still looked tired. I put a cold cloth over my face and did my best. Then I ran upstairs to find my red sweatshirt instead of the flannel shirt I had on. Red served to make my hair look even blacker and flattered me. I touched my cheeks with blusher and my lips with gloss. My lashes and brows were so dark they needed no makeup.

Add a smile
, I ordered. It helped. Some.

The hamburger meat was supposed to be for supper, but Granny wouldn't care if I switched meals. By the time Rick got there I had almost finished cheeseburgers, had filled a basket with taco chips, and a blue-flowered plate with homemade chocolate-chip cookies.

When he knocked I opened the door, smiled, and sent him back around the house for another load of wood. Let him deal with the kingsnake. He'd know it was harmless.

Rick seemed to enjoy the hamburgers. I wondered what kind of meals he and his father ate. I knew men sometimes cooked, but more often they just would open cans or make stew or soup. My father was good at helping but his cooking was a disaster.

“I've never met your father,” I said to Rick. He kept looking at me but he didn't talk much. He was hungry.

“He's around. You'll run into him.”

“Is he still drinking?” Granny came alive.

“Granny!” I guess one privilege of old age is being outspoken, but sometimes Granny went too far.

Rick laughed. “Some, Granny. Some.”

Maybe Rick was ashamed of his father, wouldn't even want me to meet him. “I'm sorry, Rick. Granny—”

“It's all right. I guess the whole mountain knows that Cy Biddleman has a problem with his liquor. Not many secrets here.”

Granny returned to her own fog. She didn't say any more, and she didn't eat well. She went to take her nap.

I cleaned up while Rick sat drinking ice tea.

“Don't you have a radio?” He looked around.

“No, nor a TV. It seemed strange at first I've only seen a newspaper once since I got here. I do have a tape player. I'll get it.”

My room reminded me of the bats. I hadn't even picked up all the little bottles they'd knocked over. My china cat was broken. I picked up the pieces and hoped I could fix it. My dad had brought it to me from Belgium. Fortunately the bats hadn't knocked over the tape player. I needed my music.

I doubted Rick was the Mozart type so I pulled out the two Michael Jackson tapes I'd bought plus one new rock group I'd heard only a couple of times.

The music filled the little cabin and I hoped Granny could sleep.

“That's better. We could dance.”

Rick was a good dancer. His tall, lean body was athletic and graceful. I'd bet he hadn't been so antisocial that he'd missed the school parties.

We'd played through both sides of one tape, and I was putting on another when the phone rang. I picked it up automatically. No one spoke.

“Stop this, you hear me. Stop it!” My angry, jumpy mood flooded back.

Then a low voice whispered. “The fog holds secrets.”

“Who is this?” I kept listening till the phone went dead.

Rick pulled me close to him and laughed. “Maybe he likes to hear you get mad. You shouldn't say anything.”

“This isn't funny, Rick Biddleman. And it's not kids. Last night someone put bats in my room.”

Rick frowned. “They didn't bite you, did they? Bats carry rabies.”

I shuddered. That was a happy thought. “Where would anyone get bats?”

“It wouldn't be easy. But they fly all over the mountain at night. They could fly in the house if you left it open.”

Had Granny left the door open as well as unlocked? Now I couldn't remember our leaving at all.

“That's a pretty face, even with a frown.”

“Oh, Rick. This is serious.”

“So is this.” He stopped my questions with his mouth on mine. I struggled at first, but he was incredibly strong. And I wouldn't deny I responded to him. It almost frightened me. I managed to pull back. “Rick.” I was breathless. “You'd better go home.”

His laugh was low and teased me. “You like that too much, huh, city girl?”

He didn't argue about leaving. But his laughter haunted me after he'd gone. And I wasn't sure I was glad or sorry he'd left without a protest.

I put the other tape on but turned it low. I wanted to sit and think — or maybe not think — for a few minutes before Granny got up.

A knock sounded at the door. Rick had come back. Did I want to open it? I would, but I wouldn't let him kiss me again. It was too unsettling.

I pulled the door toward me. But no one stood outside.

CHAPTER

12

M
Y
first impulse was to slam the door, but anger took charge again. I stepped outside. There was a smell of cigarette smoke.

“Rick?” The fog wasn't quite as thick as it had been.

Then a shadow loomed and a man materialized. But it wasn't Rick. It was Cedrick Thurmond. In his arms he carried a basket of clothes covered with brown paper cut from grocery bags. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

“Fleecy sent yore laundry. She cain't come but figured you might need it.” His eyes stayed on me and made me feel funny. I knew he couldn't help being slow, but he could help being rude. His staring made me nervous.

“Thanks, Cedrick.” I took the basket

“She told me to check the woodpile too. See if you was needy of firewood.”

“No, it's fine. We've got plenty.” Maybe he wanted me to invite him inside, and I knew I should offer him a cup of coffee, or something for his trouble. It was a bad day to come driving up here. But I hesitated and he didn't turn to leave.

“I … I …”

“Yore supposed to give me back the basket. Fleecy needs it. You can put dirty clothes in it.”

“We don't have many today, Cedrick. Just a minute.” Quickly I dumped the clothes on the couch and hurried to shove the basket into Cedrick's hands. There was a silence like the one at the end of the phone.

“Thanks, Cedrick. I'm sure you want to hurry back home. I think it's going to rain again.”

He just stood and grinned at me. I shut the door, leaving him standing there. I couldn't let him in, I just couldn't. I didn't want to be alone with him, and Granny was still asleep.

I had the clothes put away and was on the verge of pacing the floor when she got up. Then I tried playing the piano, but my fingers refused the light, cheerful melodies and found a sad, haunting song.

Granny picked up her guitar, and she sang “The Wayfaring Stranger” again and then a song about a turtle dove looking for her lost love.

It was the weather. It was oppressive. Rick had brought in two loads of wood and it lasted the evening, but even the cheery, crackling fire did little to dispel the gloom.

Goodness, this was awful. I knew I was still tired. Maybe a good night's sleep would help.

But when I went to bed I lay awake for a long time, thinking. What should I do about the calls? The tricks someone was playing? They were to some extent harmless, even though frightening. Should I tell the police? What kind of police force would Catalpa Ridge have? And what could they do?

I needed someone to talk to. I went to sleep wondering who.

The next day, we went shopping in town to pass the time. When I ran into Neal at the drugstore, on impulse I asked him to come out to Granny's that night.

He came just as I was finishing the dishes. Granny was worn out by the day in town. She ate poorly and went right to bed. It was too warm for a fire, so Neal and I went out on the porch. Crickets fiddled and occasionally the mockingbird sang its evening song. Mountains across the western horizon were violet gray against the darkening sky. It seemed too beautiful an evening to discuss problems. But that's why I'd invited Neal over. I needed someone to talk to.

“How's work?” I started out to get a conversation going. Both of us had fallen under the spell of the evening.

“We got busy this week. I'm sorry I haven't had time to call. I've hardly had any sleep, either. Rare, but it happens.” Neal sat on one end of the old glider. I sat on the other. This was a business evening.

“It's okay. I enjoyed meeting your mom again the other night. She's a great cook.”

“She likes you. Said Granny was lucky to have you here.”

“Neal, someone doesn't want me here.”

“What do you mean?”

I told him about coming home to find the bats in my bedroom. Then about the phone calls and the letter and finally the voices and the stranger on the mountain, on Granny's property. Part of me felt I was telling the plot of a movie I'd seen or a book I'd read. The other part remembered the brush of the bats' wings. The cut-out words in the letter. The fear I'd felt.

“Meeting someone in the woods isn't unusual. Even on Granny's property. No one pays much attention unless it's posted. If he had a gun he was hunting. Old-timers here pay no attention to hunting season, either. Legal for them is when they're hungry.”

“Okay, let's say the stranger was my own fear making something of nothing. But the letter. It was addressed to me and said,
Go away. We don't want you here
. And the phone calls. There have been too many to be random.”

“Both could be kids. They got a good reaction out of you the first time and remembered the number. They'd have known who you were, so they could send the letter using your name. It's fun to scare someone who pays attention. You are a newcomer, so you're fair game.”

“Neal, you can't think this is all in my head — that I'm making it up. And that kids would keep this up because I'm a stranger.”

“I think someone's having fun at your expense. Who could possibly be serious about not wanting you here? Everyone likes Granny and you've come to help her.”

Suddenly I got angry at Neal. I'd thought he was the one person who would be sympathetic, and he was making this into a joke and giving some good reasons why it could be. “I had hoped you'd want to help me, Neal. I don't know who else to go to.”

“I guess you could call the sheriff. But I doubt Lonnie Stewart would pay much attention to your story. And frankly he's not an asset to the county. But there's never been any crime here. So it doesn't really matter. He's the only one who wanted the job.”

A sheriff elected because he was the only one who wanted the job? “What should I do then?”

“Ignore it. They'll get tired of the game. My dad and I are going caving this weekend. Get your mind off it. Come along.”

“I don't think so. I don't like to keep asking Fleecy to granny-sit. Maybe I'll try to find someone who'll take money for the job.”

“Mom has to work Saturday or Granny could come to our house.”

“Your mother is busy enough.” I felt Neal had already forgotten what I'd told him and now was back to thinking of his normal, everyday life. Even his inviting me along didn't help. I kept trying to enjoy his being here, though. I told him about the snake in the woodpile, Granny's king-snake. And my thinking it was a rattler because of our scare on the footpath.

I guess he was really tired. He didn't seem to be in a laughing mood. “Snakes usually avoid people. They won't bite unless they have to. In fact, I think water moccasins and copperheads are more dangerous than rattlers. Rattlers warn you.”

“More snakes for me to worry about? Let's stop talking about snakes.”

“We could stop talking altogether.” Neal moved closer to me.

I let him kiss me but there was none of the romantic feeling of the moonlit night. I was trying not to be angry and I felt confused and disappointed. I don't know what I expected him to do, but I wanted him to be interested at least. He had passed everything off as if these kinds of things happened every day.

“What about the bats?” I said, pushing him away.

“What?”

“The bats. You can't explain away the bats. How did bats get in my room?”

He sat still for a minute, as if he were frustrated at my lack of interest in his kisses. “Was your screen open? Sometimes birds get into houses. Then they can't get out. And you said the door was open.”