Flowertown (13 page)

“Bing, what the hell—”

“You claim to be above it all, too cool for it all, but the truth is, Ellie, you’re still waiting for somebody to come in and make it all okay, to come in and take care of it all for you.” He jumped up from the table, toppling his chair behind him, jabbing his finger in the air at her. “You’re a goddamn follower, Ellie, and I don’t know why I waste my time on you.”

Ellie could only gape at her friend’s outburst. She was used to him flying off the handle, but never so publicly and
never so hatefully. She watched as he threw down his napkin and stormed out the door.

Peg came near with the coffee pot. “Everything okay?”

“I have no idea.” Ellie rose, her only thought trying to figure out what had just happened. She waved her hand over the table. “Can I get this later? I’ll be back. I have to…”

Peg nodded to the door. “Go on. You can’t piss off Bing. We need the weed.”

Ellie ran out into the street and saw Bing stomping around the corner. She ran after him, calling for him, but he didn’t stop. By the time Ellie made it to the corner, he was gone. She stood there, hands on her hips, trying to think where he might have gone and what on earth could have gotten into him. She knew Bing was tightly wound. Their little dustups were frequent, but something about his tone, that furious look in his eyes when she told him Guy had been in her room, made the scene more unpleasant than necessary. She wandered forward, looking in the windows of the buildings, trying to spot her friend.

Two blocks later and she was at the site of the records office explosion. The cordon had been removed from the end of the block and most of the work trucks were gone. It still stank. Ellie wandered through the remaining puddles toward the wreckage. Only the lower half of the framework remained of the building, bare wires and steel bars jutting up from the blackened mess like broken bones. All the desks had been removed, although there were still some bent and blackened office chairs cast aside. Ellie wondered if one of those chairs belonged to Bing.

He was right, she knew. In a lot of ways, he knew her better than she knew herself, mostly because when she looked
inside herself, she hated what she saw. There was a part of her, a large part, that did want someone to come and take care of everything. She used to be so independent. When she lived in Chicago, she was the picture of a strong-minded rising executive. It was one of the things that had made her boyfriend, Josh, fall in love with her. She had made the plans for Spain; she had made all the arrangements. It had been her idea to move out of Chicago early, to spend the time with Josh’s parents to save money. She was the reason Josh had returned to Iowa. She was the reason Josh was dead.

Ellie closed her eyes, trying to empty her mind of that thought and all thought. She wished she hadn’t turned down Bing’s offer to smoke earlier. If she hadn’t turned it down, she would be high and she wouldn’t have started a fight with her best friend and they would be sitting and laughing over pancakes at Crispin’s right now. Another thing that was her fault.

No. Ellie opened her eyes. This wasn’t her fault. Not Josh, not the fight, not the weed or the anger. This was Feno’s fault. Every stinking, filthy second of the past six years was the fault of the greedy, careless bastards at Feno Chemical, with their top-secret compounds and their heavily armed goons. Bing thought she was a follower, that her rebellion was an act, but Bing didn’t know she had stolen classified files from the enemy. She knew it was probably the equivalent of throwing a deck chair off the
Titanic,
but she had acted out. She had struck a blow, and Ellie wanted to prove to her friend that he was wrong about her.

She glanced at the runoff grate where she had stashed the bag. A few maintenance workers argued about something at a nearby dumpster, but they didn’t seem to be paying
any attention. Trying not to be obvious or look like she had a destination, Ellie strolled toward the grate. One of the maintenance men noticed her and she pretended to poke around in the grass as if looking for something. When he turned away from her, she knelt and pulled back the grate.

The bag was filthy, part of it torn away from the debris that had flooded the grate, but the files were intact within it, still wrapped in the newspaper. Ellie tugged them from their spot wedged between the metal plate and a length of pipe. The plastic bag shredded, caught on something hidden within, so she was forced to pull the files and newspapers out uncovered. The oyster cracker box was crushed in one corner of the bag, but Ellie pulled it out and put it on top of the pile. She had no choice; she was going to have to carry the bundle exposed in her arms.

Moving slow enough to not catch the workers’ attention, Ellie strolled out of the work zone, looking for all the world as if she belonged there. She listened for someone to yell at her or raise some sort of alarm. She wanted to get the files back to her room, and after two blocks, she began to relax. Nobody had seen her digging in the runoff grate. Nobody had noticed the files. She clutched the bundle to her chest as it occurred to her that these might be the only files that had made it out of the records office. These were the only link to her old job. Her thoughts turned once again to Big Martha, and she decided that, after she had tucked the files away in a safe place, she would head to the care center and ask around for her boss. Hopefully Bing would be home by then and would be over his anger enough to go with her.

When she passed Dingle’s Market on the other side of the street, she looked into the window and waved to Annabeth,
who stood at the front of the store, picking through the nearly empty produce bins with a customer. Ellie glanced past the other person, catching sight of little more than a ponytail. Then she stopped. She had seen more than a ponytail. Ellie turned back to be sure. There was no pale blue med tech coat, but even from across the street Ellie recognized the large strawberry birthmark. Annabeth Dingle was talking to Olivia, the med tech who had drawn her blood when the med center was supposedly closed.

A blaring horn made Ellie jump back from the street. The passenger in the dump truck flipped her off as the truck roared past with debris from the explosion. Ellie hardly noticed the obscenity, intent on getting to Dingle’s and confronting Olivia, but when the truck passed and an army truck crossed going the other direction, the window of the market was empty. Ellie hurried across the street, making a Feno truck stop to let her cross, and hurried inside.

“Hi, Ellie.” Annabeth waved from behind the toilet paper display. “Glad to see you’re okay. When I heard about that explosion you were the first person I thought of. Such a terrible thing. So many people were injured.”

“Yeah, I know. It was awful.” Ellie didn’t want to be rude to the older woman, but she had to find Olivia. She moved quickly past each aisle but saw only two young men and a teenage girl in the store. “Where is that woman you were talking to?”

“Woman?” Annabeth peeked around the endcap.

“A young woman. Dark hair in a ponytail, birthmark on her neck.”

Annabeth shook her head. “I don’t remember seeing anyone like that. But don’t tell the kids, I don’t pay that much attention. It’s not like there’s so much to shoplift anymore.”

“No, no, you were just talking to her. Just a second ago.” Ellie pointed to the produce bins. “She was standing right there. You all were looking at potatoes or something.”

The old woman laughed. “I’d need mighty good eyesight to see a potato in here, Ellie. We haven’t had potatoes in two weeks.”

“It doesn’t matter if it was potatoes. You were talking to her.” Ellie noticed one of the young men look down the aisle at her, his attention caught by the rise in her voice. Ellie lowered her voice. “I mean, I don’t know what you were talking about. I just wondered if you knew her.”

Annabeth headed back to her cash register. “Well, I know just about everyone in Flowertown, it seems. The locals at least. Of course, I guess nowadays we’re all locals, aren’t we? What’s her name, do you know?”

“Olivia.” Ellie followed her back, remembering the stitching on the med tech coat. She knew she had seen her, both at the med center that Guy had said was closed and talking to Annabeth, who now said she didn’t remember. But she had seen her. She wished she sounded more confident when she spoke. “She’s a, um, med tech.”

“A med tech? In here?” Annabeth climbed onto her stool. “I doubt that, Ellie. They don’t bother with the likes of Dingle’s. They have their own commissary, and from what I hear it’s pretty sweet. You must have her confused with someone else.”

“No, I’m sure it was her. Her name is Olivia and she’s local. She said so.” She had said so while she drew the blood that couldn’t possibly have been drawn. Ellie looked down into the crook of her elbow. The sight of the puncture wound steadied her, but when she looked back at the old woman, she doubted herself once again. Why would Annabeth lie?

“You all right, Ellie? You look a little peaked.” Annabeth squinted at her. “Your color’s off. Sort of yellow. You need to sit down?”

“No, I’m okay.” But her hand went to her forehead to feel the dampness there.

“Honey, you’ve had a tough go there. I heard about them rounding everybody up. Maybe you’re not quite up to snuff, if you know what I mean.” Ellie nodded at her soft words. “Here, let me get you a cold drink. On me. It’s a Shasta. I always keep a few cold ones back here because sometimes I don’t feel like walking all the way up front to the cooler.” She bent down under the counter and came up with a can of soda, dripping from the ice water. Popping the top, she passed it across the counter. “Do you need to take your meds?”

Ellie took the can, not meeting her eye. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.” It was Olivia who had instructed her not to take the red pills. At least she thought that’s what the note said. She had no note, no proof that she had been to the med center, and now she couldn’t even prove that Olivia existed.

“It’s important to follow the instructions when you get your meds. God knows I’ve followed them to the letter and I’m still here.” Annabeth settled back on her stool and
began leafing through an old gossip magazine. “Make sure you listen every time you go, because the instructions can change and that can throw you off. Did you get any new instructions?”

Ellie stared at Annabeth, at her relaxed shoulders and casual hands leafing through the glossy pages. Then she saw the way the old woman’s foot tap-tap-tapped against the bottom of the stool. She knew that move. She did it herself whenever she was nervous or trying to hide something. What the hell, she thought, here goes nothing. “You know, now that you mention it, I did. Maybe that’s why I feel so weird. I’m not on the same twice-a-day dosage.” Ellie took a deep drink of her root beer and covered her nervousness with a soft belch. “They told me I could take all I want.”

Annabeth made a little “huh” sound and flipped the magazine closed, looking up at Ellie with an easy smile. “Well, that’s probably what’s ailing you. Change can be hard to adjust to sometimes. Takes a little while. You know what might help?”

Ellie glanced around them, wondering if she were going to pull a weapon or a secret clue out from under the counter. Instead the old woman pulled out a copy of “the local,” the Flowertown newsletter, and turned it to the back page. “There’s a recipe in the back of this issue for a soup that’s supposed to fortify your immune system. Carrie Madison put it in there. It’s so important this time of year to make sure you’re getting your vitamins.” She pushed the little paper across to Ellie. “Pretty simple, not sure how it tastes, but it sounds good. Just be sure to follow the instructions. Especially the cooking time. Carrie Madison may be meaner
than a raccoon, but she’s a whiz in the kitchen. You can count on her timing.”

The two young men came to the counter with a basket of groceries, and Annabeth turned to them with a smile. Dismissed, Ellie folded the newsletter up and tucked it between the files and the oyster crackers she still clung to. She grabbed the can of soda and headed for the door. Before she made it out to the street, Annabeth called out to her.

“And Ellie? If I meet anyone named Olivia, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

“Clearly I am losing my mind.” Ellie clutched the bundle to her chest and headed for East Fifth. She talked out loud to herself, not worrying how it looked to the few people she passed. That levelness she had felt upon waking was disintegrating fast, and if she couldn’t be calm she could at least be high, so she hurried toward the apartment. More than calm, more than weed, what she really wanted was to talk to Bing. This was no time for pride. He was right about her. She wanted him to make this all okay, and she was prepared to beg if she had to.

She waited for a short convoy of army trucks to pass before crossing the final intersection to Fifth Street. Quickening her pace, she made a list of the things she needed to do: get high, text Bing, open the files, get higher, and try to figure out why Annabeth wanted her to read a recipe for soup. Was that everything? Ellie nodded to herself as she climbed the two short steps to East Fifth and then let out a cry.

“Bing!”

He was just rounding the corner from the opposite direction, and for a horrible moment Ellie was afraid he was going to ignore her. She called out his name again and he jumped, snapped from whatever reverie he was lost in. He saw Ellie and held out his hands in supplication. Ellie jumped off the steps and ran to him. They spoke over each other.

“Ellie, God, Ellie, I’m so sorry.”

“Bing, I’ve got to talk to you.”

“It’s just that what you said about me talking big about the conspiracies when I don’t really know what’s going on—”

“Listen to me.”

“I felt like such a dumbass. I didn’t mean those things I said. I just—”

“Bing!” She grabbed him with her free hand. “Stop! It’s me, remember? I don’t care about that right now. Please, let’s go inside. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

“So do I.” They headed inside the building and started climbing the stairs. “I felt like such a jackass after I left you. And then I realized you were right and I’ve been talking out my ass for so long that I went to look for Torrez.”

“What for?”

“To see if I could get some more information on the ‘all you want’ thing.”

“That’s exactly what I was trying to do.”

Bing let Ellie into her room first. “You went looking for Torrez? I didn’t see you.”

“No, I was in Dingle’s.”

“Looking for Torrez?”

“Forget Torrez!” Ellie threw her bundle on the bed and flopped down beside it. “I thought I saw someone. It’s a long
story, but while I was there I thought I’d say something to Annabeth Dingle about ‘all you want.’”

“Why would you do that?”

Ellie realized she hadn’t told Bing about the bullets she had seen under the curtain in the store. It was too long a story to go into, so she waved it off. “It’s not important now. What matters is that she definitely reacted. At least I think she did. I can’t tell if she was sending me a message or if I’m just Binging out. No offense.”

“None taken.” He rested his chin on the wooden back of the wobbly chair he straddled. “Let me guess. She gave you a recipe for soup.”

“How did you know?”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded copy of “the local.” “Because Torrez gave me one too.”

“Well, that can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, it can’t.” Bing unfolded the paper and scanned through it. “It doesn’t mean it’s an answer, though. Not if we can’t figure out what we’re looking for.”

Ellie slid her copy out from between the box of crackers and the newspaper-wrapped files. She had to tell Bing about the files but decided they would take one problem at a time. “She said something about the soup recipe. Here, on the last page: hearty potato leek soup. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Sounds good. But then according to you I eat ass soup.” He looked up at her with a smile. Then she could see in his eyes the memory of the last time they had discussed the foul-smelling soup and the carnage that had followed. “It’s probably not about the taste, though.”

Ellie climbed back against the wall and crossed her legs beneath her, propping the page up on her crossed ankles.
“When I saw Annabeth, she was at the potato bin. It was empty. She said she hadn’t seen a potato in two weeks. Could that be something?”

Bing gnawed on his fingernail. “And maybe leek isn’t really leek, like the vegetable, but l-e-a-k, like something leaking out. Like that stupid movie that’s opening up about terrorists getting out of Flowertown.”

“So what does that mean? Someone’s leaking potatoes out of Flowertown?”

“Or maybe leaking them in. Maybe this is about the supplies being cut off.”

Ellie leaned over the paper, staring at it, demanding it reveal its secrets. “But what does that tell us? Why would both Annabeth and Torrez give us this if we don’t know anything about sneaking things in or out of Flowertown? Annabeth said to pay attention to the cooking instructions. I guess this Carrie Madison is a master chef or something.”

“Is that what she said?”

Ellie shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Not something like that, Ellie.” Bing tapped the pages. “If this is a secret, the details matter. What exactly did she say? You’ve got to start paying attention.”

“I was kind of distracted, thank you. I was trying to break into a secret society. That’s your forte, Bing, not mine. And you’re so observant, what did Torrez say?”

Bing scratched his head, squinting at the paper. “Somebody was coming up the steps. He just jammed it in my hand and said, ‘Time to cook.’ Then he left.”

“Cooking time. That’s what she said.” Ellie slapped her hand on her thigh. “She said that Carrie Madison was meaner than a raccoon but a whiz in the kitchen. I think
that’s what she said. Then she said that you could count on her. Count on her cooking, count on her timing, something like that. What’s the cooking time?”

Bing scanned the recipe. “Uh, sauté leeks until soft and semi-transparent, add butter, blah blah blah, potatoes, cream, blah blah blah, cook uncovered thirty-seven minutes. That’s pretty specific for potato soup.”

They stared at each other, trying to find the answer in the other’s face. Neither moved when Rachel slipped between them and lay down on her bed. Ellie nodded with an idea. “Rachel, how long would you cook potato soup?”

“Ugh.” Rachel grabbed her stomach and rolled onto her side. “Tell me you’re not going to make soup. Please make it somewhere else. I never should have had that chili yesterday.”

Bing and Ellie both turned to the girl who, while not as sick as she had been, was definitely under the weather. Bing reached out and rubbed her foot. “I thought you were feeling better. I thought they gave you a shot.”

“They did. I guess it’s wearing off. I’ve got to go back tonight and get my final papers. Then I’m outta here!” Her cheer seemed forced as she pulled the pillow tight to her cheek. “What are you guys doing? I didn’t know you read ‘the local.’”

“Well, we don’t usually.” Bing met Ellie’s glance, asking her to go along with his story. “It’s this stupid thing a guy from work is doing. You know, since we have no work for the time being, what with our building blowing up and all. It’s some kind of scavenger hunt that he said is hidden in the paper.”

Rachel yawned and curled up tighter. “But your place blew up yesterday. ‘The local’ came out Monday. Next one
comes out tomorrow. Is it like an ongoing thing?” Bing nodded, obviously relieved for the out. “Let me see it.” He handed her the paper.

“It’s got something to do with the cooking time in the soup recipe.”

Rachel read the recipe, then pulled herself up to a sitting position and reached over to the crowded nightstand beside her bed. She pulled out a puzzle book and pen. “Thirty-seven minutes. That’s the clue? Do you know what you’re looking for? Like, a place or a thing or a date, or what?”

“We don’t know.” Ellie shook her head at Bing. She didn’t want to involve Rachel in whatever it was they were getting into. “It’s really no big thing. This guy is a total ass.”

“No, no, no.” Rachel flipped through the pages, her brow furrowed. “I’m really good at things like this. We used to do this at 4-H camp, hide messages in the camp bulletin, use secret codes to sneak out at night.” She looked up at them and laughed. “No chance this is a secret code to get us out of here, is there? Ha!” She chewed on the end of the pencil. “Thirty-seven minutes has got to mean something. Is there a map involved? Like coordinates?” Bing and Ellie shook their heads, uncertain, but Rachel wasn’t paying attention. “Nah, that’s too hard. You’d have to give everyone a map to make it fair. Assuming it’s fair, of course. Thirty-seven minutes. Maybe it’s a word code, like the thirty-seventh word.”