Edge of Midnight (20 page)

She thought a moment. “Don't know anybody by that name. Don't you have an address?”

“Sure do.” He smiled with the old Black charm. “At home in my address book.”

She smiled back. “Don't you hate it when that happens?”

“The only thing I remember is it's right by a big old cornfield.”

“I can help you there. East End. Just take Ninth Street. The one out front? Turn right and all the way to the end. Cornfield's right there. You can't miss it.”

He eyeballed the other diners while he waited for his lunch. Mostly blue-collar working stiffs, just like he was. For all he knew, the waitress could be lying and one of them could be this Kelby guy. When his burger and fries came, he ate, and left a generous tip, figuring he might want to come back with more questions. He headed to the east side of town, food heavy on his stomach, and the heat making him slightly sick.

And then he saw it. By God! The cornfield! Jesus, it was a big sucker. He smacked the steering wheel. Was he smart, or what? A road bordered the field and he followed it until he came to a dirt road that right-angled into the cornfield. He turned. Car wheels kicked up a cloud of dust. Miles of corn stalks higher than the car started to creep him out. No way to turn around. Two choices, keep going, or back all the way out.

Christ, was there no end to this corn shit? He'd never suffered from claustrophobia, but he sure felt weird when he couldn't see anything but corn stalks. Eventually he came to an intersecting road and he gave that a try. After following it for miles, he started to think he'd been kidnapped by aliens and dropped in a maze for use as a lab rat. Finally he came once again to the real world. Not sure where he was, he had to drive around some to orient himself. He had the guy now, the bastard who was sleeping with his wife. It was only a matter of narrowing in, knocking on a few doors.

*   *   *

It was taking longer than he thought. All afternoon he asked questions, going house to house, getting damn sick of it.

The next house on his route was in need of a good coat of paint. A dog, tongue lolling, came loping up, barking enough to raise the dead. Which was what this Kelby guy would be as soon as Mitch found the bastard. A rangy woman in jeans and man's white shirt, tails flapping in the wind, came out to the porch and stared at him. He started to get out of the car and the dog snarled. He wanted to get out of this damn heat and he wanted a beer. Maybe he'd just kick the damn dog's head in.

“Help you?” she asked.

He rolled down the window. “I'm looking for a friend who lives around here.”

“What address?”

“That's my problem. I left the address and phone number at home.”

“Friend got a name?”

“Kelby Oliver.” What happened to all that Midwestern hospitality people talked about? Weren't these people supposed to be friendly? This was the most unfriendly bitch he'd run into yet.

“Never heard the name. Sorry, can't help you.” She snapped her fingers at the dog and he went running. The two of them stood on the porch and waited until he left.

Long way between houses out here. God, you couldn't even hear your neighbors if they shouted for help. The next house was in better shape, fresh paint, flowers and shit in the front. No dog either. He went up on the porch and rang the bell.

“Good afternoon.” A woman opened the door and smiled at him. Her teeth were too big, but at least she didn't look at him like he was a murdering rapist.

He smiled back, the smile that got them every time, and went into the song and dance about forgetting the address.

“Kelby? Sure I know that name. Moved into the old Applegate place.” She gave him an address and directions to get there. He repeated them to make sure he got it right, then thanked her.

He started up his car and drove back the way he'd come. After one wrong turn he found the place. A long gravel driveway led to an old farmhouse, looked a million years old. Two-story wood frame, big old porch on two sides. Stone barn and other outbuildings behind. Nobody came out on the porch. No dog sounded the alert. As soon as he got out of the car he knew why those fucking birds were circling. Something was very dead out there somewhere, and the smell came riding in on the wind. He went up the porch steps and pounded on the door. No response.

A scrap of paper was caught between the door and the jamb. He yanked on it and tore off a corner. Piece of newsprint. He pounded again. Nothing. He hesitated, wanting to kick in the door. Or break a window. Maybe just wait right here. He looked up at the birds, big suckers flying around the barn. What was in there? He clattered down the porch steps, followed the stone path, and rolled the door open.

The stone barn would probably last forever. The house was going to crumble into dust one day. Showed what kind of priorities whoever built them had. The best for the cows, the rest for the people. Probably had a wife who was unfaithful. He stepped into the dim interior. Dust floated in the sunlight that slanted in. A car sat inside, California license plate. He pounded a fist on the hood. Kelby's! The son of a bitch who talked his wife into going away with him. Just the thought of what he'd do to the fucker made his heart pick up a beat. Car door unlocked. Maps in the glove box.

He clambered up the ladder to the loft, stared at a bunch of hay bales stacked in the corner, then climbed down and went back out in the sunshine. Behind the barn, a flagstone path took him toward a tall octagonal building. Jesus, must be forty feet high. He craned his neck looking up. Made of wood, crumbling with wear and neglect. He was headed down a slope toward trickling water when the heat got to him. Dragging in air that felt too wet to breathe, he went back to his car before he died of a goddamn heart attack. What he needed was to get out of this fucking heat and around a cold beer.

Now that he knew where she was, there was no hurry.

 

25

Cary felt eyes watching her all the time. Whenever she left the house, she had the sensation someone was following her. Never anyone she could spot. Ha. With her vision, she'd miss anyone who wasn't wearing flashing neon antlers, but the creepy feeling of eyes staring at her back went with every step. Returning after being out brought panic that Mitch had found her, was waiting inside. Even once she was in and had checked all the little slips of paper placed at doors and windows, she didn't feel safe.

She dreamed Mitch was chasing her through the cornfield. The wind slapped the blades in her face as she tried to escape. Thursday night she didn't fall asleep until around four, then slept so hard she had trouble pulling herself from bed in the morning. She showered and dressed like the natives, in shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. Stuffing two library books in a tote bag, she went out to the screened porch and looked around before descending the steps. Just that small exertion had her sweating and the T-shirt clinging to her back.

She wanted to go home. She wanted Arlette. Swallowing hard, she blinked rapidly. Tears wouldn't bring Arlette back. An awful smell blew in on the hot wind. For several days she'd been getting that smell. Deep in her heart, she knew what it was, but wouldn't allow her mind to accept. Today the smell was so strong she couldn't pretend. It was the smell of decay, death.

Slowly, she crossed the dirt road and approached the cornfield. Wind tossed the stalks and they rattled menacingly. Heart picking up speed, she took a step into the field. Strong smell. Not of decay, of corn and dust. Stalks rose three feet above her head, shutting out the light. She took small steps, squeezed around a plant and into the next row. With her poor vision all she saw was tossing blades leaden with fat ears of corn. After weaving through two more rows, she realized they didn't run in a straight line and she didn't know how to get out. Panic seized her. She ran. Dust rose with every footfall.

She stumbled and fell, breathing in fast gulps of dusty air. Stop, she told herself, just stop. Don't move, breathe in, breathe out. The sun, where is the sun? The house is east. Even though she'd only ventured a short distance, it took an hour, luck, and a strong sense of direction to find her way out. She needed another shower before she went to work. Because she was in a hurry, she dropped the shampoo bottle. It hit the floor, the top rolled off, and shampoo spread everywhere. After she cleaned that up, she couldn't find her shoes, then she did her thing of placing slips of paper in strategic places.

The sky was a cloudless blue that stretched forever, and the temperature was around ninety-five. People said this heat was unusual, that it got hot in August but not this hot. They also said September was usually worse. Stephanie, moving even faster than usual because Cary was late, gathered an armload of books, kissed her grandmother, said her last class had been cancelled and she'd be home early, then dashed off.

Elizabeth restlessly plucked at her nightgown. Probably felt as sticky and hot as Cary did. Cary gave her a sponge bath, and the entire time Elizabeth kept trying to say something. Occasionally her words were understandable, which was a good thing, and Cary encouraged her, but nagging worry pointed out that, if she could talk, she could tell the world about Cary's lies.

When Elizabeth made motions like she was writing, Cary found a pad and pencil. Pencil clutched awkwardly in a fist, Elizabeth drew a C and then an A. Fear squeezed into Cary's throat. Somehow Elizabeth had found her out, and was writing her name to let her know. Suddenly, the effort seemed too much and Elizabeth tossed the pencil. She slapped the pad with her palm. “Ca-ca…”

Cary simply stood there like a dummy. Elizabeth put a hand near her ear, thumb and little finger extended.

“Call?” Cary said. “You want to phone someone?”

Elizabeth stabbed a finger at Cary.

“You want me to call someone?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Who do you want me to call?”

Elizabeth pointed to the bedside table and kept pointing until Cary brought out the pamphlet about the miniature horse. “You want me to call about this?” Cary said.

“Ca-Ca…” Elizabeth held a hand near her face, as though talking on the telephone. “Ca! Call!”

“Yes, okay, I will.”

“Now!” Elizabeth clawed at Cary's hand and pointed to the telephone.

“I'll do it later. From home.”

“Now!”

Cary didn't want to call about a horse that led around the blind. She didn't want the world to know she was blind. For some idiotic reason, she was ashamed. Which was stupid. It wasn't a punishment, she hadn't chosen to be blind. Given a choice, she'd ask for her sight back in a flash. A Seeing Eye dog was one thing. Noticeable maybe, but not bizarre. A horse? She'd attract attention. She didn't want people looking at her.

Elizabeth got so agitated, Cary punched in the number simply to quiet her. “Ronny Wells,” a woman answered.

Cary said she was interested in the Leading the Way program. When asked her name, Cary hesitated, then said “Kelby Oliver.” More lies. She'd run from Mitch and all the lies, and here she was still lying.

“Oh, right. You called a while back. You were inquiring for a friend?”

“Uh—no, actually…” How well did this woman know Kelby?

“I know you're taking care of Dr. Farley. When are you free to leave?” Then, like a snowball gathering speed as it rolled downhill, Ronny was saying she'd come by, pick her up, and bring her out to show her around.

When Cary hung up, Elizabeth gave her a nod of approval. Bath, hair brushed, fresh nightgown. Breakfast, coffee midmorning. While Elizabeth napped, Cary did laundry and worried what would happen when Ronny Wells got a look at her. Elizabeth woke restless again, and kept trying to say something.

“K-k-k-ke?” She clutched at Cary's arm with more strength than Cary thought possible.

“Kitchen? You hungry?”

Head shake. “K-k-k-k…”

“Cold? You want a blanket?” Trying to figure out what Elizabeth wanted to say was like playing charades.

Head shake. “K-k-k-ke—”

“Kind? Kitten?”

“K-ke-kel—”

“Kelby?” Tell her Kelby was missing, had disappeared and left behind her car, driver's license, and credit cards? Lie? Say Kelby had gone to visit a friend?

Suspicious brown eyes glared at her. “Wh-ere?”

“I don't know where she is.”

Alarm flared in Elizabeth's face. “In t-t-tr-dan-g…”

While Cary was trying to figure that out, Stephanie came home and Ronny Wells drove up in a van with
LEADING THE WAY
painted on the sides.

“Hi. I'm Ronny Wells. Veronica, if you want to be formal.” She was maybe sixty, trim, athletic-looking, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a nice smile.

“Kelby.” Cary slipped into the passenger seat and waited to be called a liar.

“You know anything about horses?”

They have four legs and a tail? “Not a thing.”

Ronny laughed. “Did Dr. Farley bully you into this? I've heard she has the force of a tornado.”

Ronny had a bit of tornado force herself. Getting blind was one thing, stumbling around in the dark with a white cane, maybe even getting a dog, but Cary didn't want anything to do with horses.

East of town, Ronny turned onto a gravel road that led to a gateway with a large arched sign,
LEADING THE WAY
. Pastureland stretched away into the distance, with horses of all sizes, heads down, munching grass.

“They don't cost much to feed. About twenty dollars a year in grain and they mow your lawn to boot.” Ronny drove up to a red barn with white trim, just like a magazine picture. She got out of the van, motioned for Cary to come with her, and slid open the large barn door. A small horse trotted up to greet her.

“This is Cinnamon Ginger.” The horse was about two feet tall at the shoulder. Ronny patted its neck. “Her favorite snack is popcorn. Her favorite activity is watching television while she's eating it.”