The Narrows(85)

“It may be a child and it may look like a person, but it isn’t. Don’t let it fool you.”

“No one’s going to fool me,” he told her.

She froze and gaped at him, as if she suddenly forgot who he was. Almost too casually, she withdrew her hands from him and brought them close to her body, crossing them at the wrists over her chest. Ben watched as her nostrils flared and sweat began trickling down her temples.

Ben stood. Something’s seriously wrong with her, he thought. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I can have someone take you.”

“I don’t need a hospital. I don’t need doctors.”

She’s afraid they’ll lock her up in the loony bin, Ben thought.

“I’m going to go over to your place and check things out,” he said. “Is the house unlocked?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you say this happened to Evan? Out in the yard?”

“Yes. In the back. By the cars.”

“Okay. Now I want you to try and relax. We’ll talk about this again when I get back. Meantime, you stay here with Jed and Bev.”

“Be careful over there,” she said in a near whisper.

Nodding, Ben stepped backward out of the kitchen. He found Jed and Beverly Moreland on the front porch, Beverly sitting ramrod straight on the bench while Jed leaned over the porch railing, smoking a Capone cigarillo.

Jed turned and looked at Ben as he came out of the house. “Well?”

“I’d appreciate it if you guys could keep an eye on her until I get back from checking out her house.”

“Something’s funny with her,” Beverly Moreland intoned. She had the strict, no-nonsense voice of an aged schoolmarm.

“She and Evan have always been a little off,” Jed opined, waving a hand at his wife.

“This,” said Beverly Moreland, “is more than just off, Jed. Something scared that girl.”

Another squad car pulled up the Morelands’ driveway, its heavy tires splashing through puddles. It parked beside Ben’s car and Eddie La Pointe got out, blotting his sun-reddened forehead with a handkerchief. He held his campaign hat in his other hand.

“Don’t worry, Ben,” Jed told him. “We’ll keep an eye on her till you get back.”

Ben intercepted Eddie at the bottom of the porch steps.

“Shirley said to hump it out here ASAP,” Eddie said, looking puzzled. “Something about Evan Quedentock…”

Still within relative earshot of the Morelands, Ben dropped his voice as they both walked back to their squad cars. He filled Eddie in on what Maggie had told him then added, “She sounds completely out of it. Whatever happened over at her place, it scared her half to death.”

“Goddamn,” Eddie muttered.

Ben said, “Let’s take my car.”

Since the Quedentock house was just on the other side of the Morelands’ farm, the drive took less than two minutes. Ben swung the squad car around to the rear of the house where the Quedentocks’ two vehicles sat at the center of a muddy turnabout. The house did not appear to be disturbed and Ben could make out no overtly obvious signs of a struggle—broken windows or items strewn about on the lawn—that would have caused him any further concern. Yet the quietness of it all was what bothered him most.

Maggie’s right about one thing, he thought, shutting down the car’s engine. Something’s going on, all right.

Ben and Eddie got out of the car just as a cool autumn breeze swept down from the mountains, shaking the orange leaves in the trees like maracas. The fronds of a weeping willow tree at the edge of the property waved at them, unfurled like the tentacles of some undersea beastie.

Ben pointed at the two vehicles. “She said it happened over here.”

They walked toward the cars, their pace seeming to slow down simultaneously as the items on the ground came into view—a shotgun and what appeared to be torn ribbons of clothing. What first looked like mud patterns along the side of the Volkswagen revealed itself to be a spray of blood as the two men drew closer.

“Jesus,” Eddie intoned. “That’s blood.”

There were bits of matter stuck to the windshield. Ben leaned forward and examined the gore.

“What?” Eddie asked, his voice high and panicky. “What is it?”

Ben dropped down beside the shotgun and felt the barrel to see if it was hot. It wasn’t. Looking around, he could see the dirt had been disturbed, and there were two distinct trenches leading away from the vehicles and into the grass. Ben stood uncomfortably.

“This ain’t good,” Eddie said.

“What’s that?” Ben asked, pointing to something on the ground beside one of Eddie’s boots.

Eddie bent and picked it up. “Looks like pieces of a shirt,” he said, examining the frayed ribbon of fabric. “She said this happened when?”

“She wasn’t clear. Maybe two nights ago. The blood is dry.”

“That’s really all blood, isn’t it?”

“Looks that way.”

“What’s she been doing since then?” Eddie asked. “For two days? Hiding in the house?”

“I don’t know.”