The Skull Ring (24 page)

"Belladonna?"

"Yeah. Also known as 'witch bane.' Long associated with black magic and Satan worship. It's taken as a hallucinogenic substance, even though it's actually a poison."

"I know what belladonna is. Hand of Glory, and all that. So what killed him, the wounds or the poison?"

"From what they can tell right now, he probably was just getting a decent buzz on when the knife fell the first time." Rick stuffed more of the donut in his mouth, crumbs dribbling down his chin. He wiped his hand on his pants. "If he was lucky, he was dead before they chopped off his head."

"You're saying 'they.' Any evidence that this wasn't the act of a lone psycho?"

"Who cares about evidence? This story is sweet."

"Is the daily onto it?"

"Don't you read the papers?"

"Not if I can help it."

"They're strictly soft-selling it. The cops are feeding them a line of crap, and as long as they can publish that quote-of-the-day, they're happy." Rick pulled a couple of wrinkled clippings from his shirt pocket and read from them.

"'Police say they are pursuing new leads in the case of a murder victim whose headless body was recovered last week. Investigators now believe the body was dumped into the Amadahee River miles upstream and that it's unlikely the murder occurred in this area.'" Rick looked at Julia over his glasses. "How's that for positive spin?"

"Not bad. The writer should work in P.R."

"The writer was the daily's editor. Rumor has it she's a bedmate of the sheriff and a couple of council members, and not just politically, either."

"Too much information, Rick. My day was hell enough without knowing that."

"Here's yesterday's. 'Chief Investigator Lieutenant T.L. Snead says—"

"
Who?
"

"Snead. Supposed to be some hotshot detective from the big city. Only been here a few months, though, so the good-old-boy jury is still out on him."

"Snead." Julia stared at her keyboard, her belly tightening.

Rick moved closer, taking advantage of the broken eye contact to loom over her. "What's with this Snead? Do you know him?"

No. It's all a coincidence. Cops don't get transferred just in time for a ritual sacrifice to come bobbing up in the river. Snead didn't follow me from Memphis as an agent of Satan. The devil isn’t stalking my immortal soul, because I’m not sure I even have one any longer.

Julia ignored the shadowy cloak of panic that hovered at the corners of her mind. "What does Snead say?"

"He believes identification will be difficult since the body was in the water so long. The skin was too far gone for fingerprints. And without the head, dental records are useless."

"Gee, that's convenient. It's almost like a forensic expert committed the murder."

"Or else a bunch of people who are insanely lucky." Rick leaned forward and arched his eyebrows, trying to look sinister. "Or maybe Satan's awesome power is protecting the coven from being discovered."

For a brief instant, a second face had superimposed itself over Rick's, a face with red eyes and a wide black nose and a goatish beard. A face distorted by evil.

Julia rolled her chair away. "Don't do that, Rick."

Rick grinned, but his grin was like that worn by the skull ring, sinister and sick. He tried to laugh but the wind died in his throat.

Julia stood and walked to the corner of her office.

Rick started to follow. "Hey, I didn't know you were so jumpy."

He put out his hand to touch her arm but she jerked away.

Satan doesn't exist. Dr. Forrest says monsters are only in the mind.

Oh, but monsters
could
wear flesh. Daddy. Lucius. Mitchell. The Peeping Tom. The people in the coven who had scarred her for life. And maybe, just maybe, there was a monster inside her, wrapped around her bones, owning her every movement and breath and thought.

"Hey, I'm sorry, Julia." His hands hovered as if he wanted to touch her or pass her a tissue, anything to ward off an uncomfortable show of emotion.

"Just leave," Julia said. "I've got work to do."

Rick backed away, pausing at the door. "Gee, hope you feel better. Guess you don't want to go out to dinner, huh?"

The worst part was she couldn't tell if he was serious or not. She waved him away, sat at her desk and pressed her palms against her eyes until the bright colors drove away the dark image of Rick's goat face. God, if she was going to start seeing things, she might as well check into the rubber room right now. Visions were the gift of only the blessed or the damned. Which was she?

Julia finished her articles and went home around seven o'clock. She drove fast, racing the sun because she hadn't left the house lights on. The thought of what might be waiting in the closet filled her with a gut-clenching dread. She arrived at Buckeye Creek Road just before dark. Mrs. Covington was sitting in her front-porch rocker as Julia drove by. The old woman waved her over.

Julia eyed the apartment building carefully. The Creep could be out on bail and already back at his window, binoculars in hand. The forest was quiet, the trees readying themselves for a long winter's sleep. The mountains were so solid and strong and peaceful that Julia almost convinced herself that everything was normal, that Elkwood was a safe place, and the past was not tiptoeing up behind her with arms outstretched.

If God existed, he surely would set up his Earthly kingdom in this granite stronghold. But would his gates be open or would he fortify himself against unwanted, unwholesome company?

Julia stopped in the yard just beyond the porch railing. Mrs. Covington sipped her tea and lit a cigarette. The red tip glowed in the dusk. "How you doing, Julia?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Covington."

"Call me 'Mabel,' honey."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Cops made a big show of it last night, didn't they?" The woman sucked on the cigarette, its glow throwing strange shadows on her wrinkled face.

"Yeah. They arrested that guy for breaking into my house. He stole my—"

"Didn't I
tell
you to watch out for him?"

“He broke into my house and–”

"It ain’t the first time." Mrs. Covington took a puff and let the smoke swirl around her face. The porch squeaked in rhythm with the rocker. "They done let him out. I saw him up yonder with his buddies, drinking beer like he didn't have a care in the world."

"The police were supposed to come today and dust for fingerprints."

"Never you mind about the law. You'd best just take care of yourself."

Julia patted her purse. "I've got a can of mace. And a baseball bat under the bed."

The old woman cackled. "As good as a gun. Just make sure you use it on the right person."

The tobacco smoke wreathed Julia, sweet at first, but then cloying. "I thought mountain people were supposed to be trustworthy."

"That's just what they show on the TV set. People is people all over, I reckon. Some good, some bad, and sometimes you can't tell which is which."

"Well, I'm just glad Walter was here when the Creep broke in. No telling what might have happened if not for him."

Mrs. Covington quit rocking and leaned forward. "That's a mighty handy coincidence, don't you think?"

"Coincidence?" Julia preferred to think of it as good luck. She deserved a little, didn't she?

"He's been around right regular lately."

"He told me he was working for you yesterday."

Mrs. Covington stubbed out her cigarette. Her face was barely discernible in the shadows. Julia wondered why the woman didn't have on her porch light as usual.

"Sure, he was working for me. But he could have done that any time. And he come by your place twice while you was gone. Walked around the back of the house where I couldn't see him."

Julia's mind spun with this information, trying to match it up with what Walter had told her. "He seems okay to me."

As okay as anybody in this new future where my lover attacks me and my shrink has a pentagram scar and cops let perverted Creeps roam free and headless bodies float downstream.

“He’s keeping an eye on you, but I’m keeping an eye on him.” A cat padded across the porch like a moving shadow.

"Well, if you don't trust him, why do you let him work for you?"

"He's mountain. Knew some of his kin, and kind of felt sorry for him when he fell on hard times. He might not be innocent but so far I can’t find a crack in his story. And I spend a lot of time looking. That’s why I keep him close."

"He seems to be doing all right for himself." Julia fidgeted, changed her purse strap to the opposite shoulder. She caught herself wondering if her door would be unlocked. Or if Walter would be hidden in her closet, waiting for her, a man who had a key to her house.

Julia moved to the porch steps, feeling lost herself though she was only a few feet from the railing. A light came on in one of the apartment buildings, and Julia wondered if it was coming from the Creep's window. Would he dare to come back for a second helping of whatever pleasure he'd stolen in her room, or to finish the job of stealing the engagement ring?

And what if Walter had a secret agenda, and his kind face was only the mask of a sociopathic killer?

No. Julia refused to believe it, not of the man who had sat across from her in the living room last night. She couldn't see those same gentle but strong hands wrapped around a throat, squeezing, squeezing, fingers digging into soft flesh. That face with the cheeks that creased when he smiled couldn't twist into a punishing, murderous mask. And his Christian faith seemed sincere. Walter simply wasn't capable of harming anyone without a good reason.

But then, Mitchell had kept his own violent urges carefully hemmed in, hidden behind eyes that disguised whatever strange storms brewed inside his head.

“Cops been out again,” Mrs. Covington said.

“Good. They said they would follow up on the breaking and entering.”

“They wasn’t doing much following. They went inside your house for a while.”

“Inside? Where did they get a key?”

“Seems like nobody needs keys to get in the Hartley house.” Mrs. Covington stopped rocking, and the cat hissed, leapt to the porch, and scurried away. "Company's coming."

Julia looked at the dim outline of the woman's face, with its wizened roadmap of wrinkles. The wind changed a little, rattling the leaves. Beneath it, hushed at first but rising, came the sound of a car engine on the road. Headlights swept around a bend and sliced across Mrs. Covington's house. It was Walter's Jeep.

"Speak of the devil," murmured Mrs. Covington.

Walter parked in front of Julia's house, got out and walked over to the porch. He carried something that Julia couldn't make out.

"Howdy, Mrs. Covington," he said, adding more quietly, "Hi, Julia. I came by to see how you were doing."

"How do, Walter," Mrs. Covington said. "Say, is your Aunt Peggy going to make her apple butter this year?"

"Soon as the apples finish falling."

"She always was the best cook in the Triplett family, in my book. Don't go telling your momma that, though."

Walter's grin flashed in the weak light from the apartments. "I'm not as dumb as I look." Then, to Julia, "I took a look at that appliance you gave me to fix." He held up the bag he was carrying.

"Great," Julia said, not wanting to talk about possessed clocks in front of Mrs. Covington, who probably already thought Julia was batty, the way she double-checked her locks, kept her windows shut in the heat of summer, and rarely ventured outside after dark.

"When you going to come finish up the mulching?" Mrs. Covington asked Walter.

"It's on my list." He moved closer to Julia. "Did you ever hear back from the police?"

"The Creep's out," she said. “I guess he’s got friends.”

"Figures."

Mrs. Covington watched in darkness. Julia said, "I've got to go, Mrs. Covington. See you tomorrow."

"All right," she said. "Mind my words, hear?"

"Good night," Walter said to the old woman, whose hand flickered in a wave.

Julia walked toward her house, Walter beside her. When they were out of range of Mabel Covington's hearing, Walter said, "She's a strange old thing, ain't she?"

"Everybody's strange around here," Julia said.

"Everybody. What's that supposed to mean?"

It means if I weren't afraid that a Creep might be waiting in my house, I don't think you would be stepping foot across my threshold again. It means maybe I'm not crazy at all, maybe it's the rest of the world, and by my solitary saneness I'm the piece that doesn't fit the Life Puzzle.

"I'm just tired and babbling." She fumbled in the purse for her keys, tucked the canister of mace in her hand, and unlocked the door. Before entering, she glanced at Mabel Covington's porch. The woman had lit another cigarette, and its glow bobbed with her rocking. Julia stepped inside and turned on the lights, blinking against the brightness.