Flowertown (14 page)

Ellie and Rachel began counting words on the first page. They both tapped along, counting out loud, then looked up and spoke.

“Catalog,” Rachel said.

“Every,” Ellie said. “Did you count the headline?”

“No. Did you count all the little words like ‘a’ and ‘but’?” She shook her head. “That can’t be right anyway. Too complicated. Nobody would want to count that far, not unless the prize really is a ticket out of here. It’s got to be something more manageable. I know Mrs. Madison. She’s not that smart.”

Ellie lifted her gaze from the paper and let it drift to the view outside her window. She didn’t have Bing’s sweeping view of the street. Her window was just a few feet above the hardware store beside it, and all that was visible was an expanse of oily tarpaper, but Ellie wasn’t seeing it. Half of a thought swirled through her mind, looking for form. “She’s not that smart.” Ellie whispered to herself. “She’s not that smart, so maybe…”

She turned back to the paper and scanned through the four pages of the local newsletter until she found what she wanted. “Do you have the last edition, Rachel? The one that came out on Thursday?”

“Yeah.” Rachel rifled once more around the crowded nightstand, pulling out a crumpled newsletter like the one she held, only this one had several coffee cup rings on it. “I don’t know why you guys don’t read this. I mean, I know it’s not the
New York Times
, but it is local.”

Bing passed the paper to Ellie. “Trust us. We’re converted.”

Ellie looked back and forth between the papers until she found what she was looking for. She smacked her fingers against the page. “Corrections.” She read aloud from the newer edition. “The correct cooking time for Carrie Madison’s Pecan Sandies is fifteen minutes, not forty-two as
printed on Thursday. We apologize for any inconvenience this error might have caused.”

Ellie held the paper out triumphantly. Bing glanced at the equally stumped Rachel. “And this is good news because…?”

“Because,” Ellie waved the pages, “Carrie Madison is not responsible for the clue. She puts the right cooking time in. Whoever is sending the message changes the time to send the signal. See, in the last edition, the correction reads, ‘The correct cooking time for the Prune Crumble is twenty minutes, not sixty-four as printed.’”

“So they have a lousy proofreader,” Bing said. “And what the hell is a prune crumble?”

“No, you’re not hearing me. It has to be the incorrect number. The messed-up number is important in every edition.” She ran her fingers down the columns of Rachel’s stained copy. “Here. Here it is. ‘In the last edition the cooking time was mistakenly printed at forty-two minutes.’ Here on the second page is an article about Danny Glock’s forty-second birthday. Now in this one,” she picked up the new edition, “the cooking time is thirty-seven minutes. And here, on the third page, is a fascinating article about Katie McGill’s thirty-seven-pound dog.”

Bing and Rachel continued to stare at her, waiting for more, until Rachel raised her pencil at her and started pointing. “The clue is in the article. There are all kinds of numbers in the paper. Addresses and times. The cooking time tells you what article to look at.” She turned to the correct article and circled it with her pencil. Then her expression darkened again. “But what are we looking for? Is there some connection between Danny Glock and Kelly’s ugly
dog? By the way, I’ve seen this dog and it’s a flea-bitten mutt. It doesn’t weigh thirty-seven pounds soaking wet carrying a cat.”

“It doesn’t?” Ellie asked. “You’ve seen the dog?”

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “It’s not like there are so many dogs left around here. It’s a mutt. And last I heard it was on its last legs.”

Bing rapped his knuckles on the chair. “But that’s the sort of thing only a local would know. Only a local would catch.”

“Well, duh,” Rachel said, “only locals read this. Why would a Feno-fuck bother?”

“Hey.” Bing slapped her foot. “What kind of language is that, young lady? You’ve been spending too much time with Potty Mouth Cauley over here. You’re too pretty to talk that way.”

“I’ll ignore that.” Ellie flattened the paper out on the bed. “So what is it about thirty-seven that makes this article important?”

Rachel ran her fingers along the type quickly. “It’s not long enough for it to be the thirty-seventh word. It would be a short message.”

Ellie leaned back and squinted at the recipe. “Maybe it’s not thirty-seven. Look at the type.” The type for “the local” was blurry and mismatched, the lines crooked and awkward. On the cooking instruction line, several letters were blurred. “Look at the numbers. It’s not typed thirty-seven. Someone typed it three and seven. Believe me, I’ve proofed enough ads to know a type space when I see one.”

“Three and seven.” Rachel took her pencil and began to scan the lines of the article. “Third word and seventh
word…uh, gibberish. What about the first word on the third and seventh lines?” She and Ellie marked those as well with no better results. Bing sat quietly, his eyes darting from woman to woman, not wanting to break their impressive concentration. “Wait, Ellie, is this it? Third line, seventh word. ‘Wednesday.’ Three lines down, seven words in…’seven.’ That’s weird.” She and Rachel continued the pattern, counting three lines down, seven words in, and as Rachel read the emerging message, Ellie and Bing tried not to react.

“Wednesday — seven — evening — church — back — door — food.”

Rachel looked to them to see their reactions. “Maybe it means you’re supposed to find some food that’s left behind the church at the back door. The back door leads down to the cellar of the church where they keep the school lunches, so that makes sense.”

“That’s probably it.” Bing nodded, flashing Ellie a look of caution. “And Wednesday is tonight, so we can just head over there tonight and pick up whatever it is we’re supposed to pick up. Rachel, my dear, you are a genius. Who else could have figured that out?”

“Probably lots of people, if they know the game is going on.” Rachel held up the paper and pointed to the title bar. “The paper
is
called
Words and Lines
.”

“Oh my God.” Ellie slapped her forehead at this obvious clue. “Bing, if stupid were a color, we would be its deepest shade.”

“This was so fun.” Rachel laughed and clapped. “Let’s look and see what last week’s was.” She stepped forward to grab the paper from Ellie and then swayed, staggering into
the nightstand. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor before Bing or Ellie could catch her.

“Are you okay? Rachel?” Bing wrapped his arms around her, pushing the hair off her face. “Did you faint? What’s the matter?”

“No, I just…I don’t feel so good. I think I’m going to be sick.” She let Bing help her to her feet and leaned on him as he led her to the bathrooms. Ellie watched them go, the color of Rachel’s skin unnerving her. When she heard her roommate’s retching, she picked up the earlier edition of “the local” and found the article on David Glock’s forty-second birthday. Counting four lines down, two words in, she pieced together another message.

“Monday—nine—morning—Dingles—guns.”

Bing slipped back into the room and grabbed Rachel’s towel and robe. “She’s going to take a shower. I think she’s done throwing up. God, how can so much foulness come out of such a pretty little thing?”

“Are you going to help her again?” Ellie asked, eyebrows raised.

“Unfortunately no. She says she’s got this. But I’m ready if she needs me.” He turned back at the door. “Don’t go anywhere. We have got to talk.”

“Tell me about it.” Ellie slipped the older local paper in the fold of the large newspapers, laying them on top of the hidden files. She had to tell Bing about them. In retrospect, it had been such a stupid thing to do, and now, with the investigation into the bombing underway, the files could be damning evidence. She worried about involving Bing or Rachel in her ill-planned scheme.

When Bing returned, Ellie had slid the files under her pillow and shoved the sheet around them. Her bed was always a mess; nothing looked out of place. He straddled
the old chair once more and drummed his fingers on the wooden back.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, Ellie, but are we sure this code thing is real? I mean, doesn’t it seem a little Junior Sherlock Holmes to you? A code in a hometown newsletter?”

“I know what you’re saying, but if you think about it, it makes sense. Remember, we’re not from here. Before the spill, there were less than ten thousand people in the whole county.” Ellie knew she was breaking one of the cardinal rules of etiquette by talking about life before the spill, but under the circumstances she really had no choice. “Josh used to talk about what it was like going to school out here. Everybody knew everybody. Well, look at Rachel.”

“Gladly.” Bing sighed. “I wish I could see her right now in the shower.”

“Okay, you’re getting a little creepy.” Bing nodded and Ellie continued. “She said they used to use codes like this in her 4-H bulletins. How many people in Flowertown do you suppose were in her 4-H camp? These are people who know how to survive. Hell, Rachel could probably trap an animal, cure the meat, and fashion a crude hut from its flesh without even messing up her ponytail. Believe me, I used to live near the Amish. People who grow up on farms know how to take care of themselves and their neighbors.”

Bing didn’t look convinced. “Even against a multinational chemical company and the U.S. Army and quarantine and poisoning? I think you might be overestimating them.”

“Well, that depends on the endgame, doesn’t it?” Ellie tried to keep her temper from her voice. They were both outsiders among the locals: she had been here only because
of her boyfriend, Josh; Bing had been on his way to a graduate school dig in South Dakota when the spill occurred. It was natural, she figured, for the two of them to always feel a bit like outsiders, neither Iowans nor Feno, but Ellie had come to love and admire the people she met from the area around Penn County, Iowa. It irritated her when Bing spoke down about them.

“What is the endgame? To take over Farmville?”

There was that tone again. “Well, you tell me, Mr. Conspiracy. Maybe they’ve been stockpiling supplies in case the barrier gets closed—like it is now. Or maybe they’re making plans to defend themselves from a breakdown in law in case the army withdraws—as it seems to be doing. You’re the one who says Feno is running the Evil Empire, censoring everything. Maybe they’re working to keep open communication with the outside world. Did you ever think of that? Or do you think you’re the only one smart enough to come up with thoughts like that?”

“I stand corrected.” Bing held up his hands in surrender, although Ellie could still hear dismissal in his voice. “So if this intrigue is going on, what’s our next step?”

“Well, I guess we go to the church at seven o’clock and see what’s happening.”

“Shit.” Bing pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through the screen. “I’ve got a med check at six thirty. I’ll be late, but I’ll try to hurry. I hate when they put my appointment at the end of the day. It takes forever to get my meds.” He slid the phone back in his pocket and rose. “Look, I’m sorry again about the fight earlier. I guess, you know, I’ve wanted there to be a conspiracy for so long and now that it seems like there actually is one, I guess I freaked.”

“Don’t sweat it. Having your building blow up around you will do that to a person. Where are you going?”

“I have a bunch of weed to deliver. My phone’s been hot all morning with people from the office. Nothing like a crisis to bring about a spike in profit.” He leaned over her to kiss her on the cheek, and Ellie saw his hand on her bed inches from the hidden files. He whispered in her ear. “Be careful tonight. Try to pay attention. Unless of course it’s a church dinner, and then just try to steal some food.”

“Will do, chief. Hurry back from the med center, though. You know how bad I am at details.” She called to him at the door. “Hey, has anyone said anything about Big Martha?”

Bing shook his head. “Well, I’m going to head to the care center and see if I can find her.”

She heard him yell good-bye to Rachel as he passed the showers. She had been so worried about not being able to talk to Bing, yet now that he had left her, she was sort of glad. Theirs was a difficult friendship, due in no small part, she knew, to her own thorny personality. Finally with a moment alone, Ellie pulled the files out from under her pillow and unwrapped them. She laid them on her crossed ankles and stared at the plain brown covers. These files could get her into a lot of trouble. Even if they turned out to be old requisitions for toilet paper, the fact that she had stolen them hours before her building exploded made them dangerous.

With a deep breath for courage, Ellie flipped open the first file and began to read. Or tried to. Most of what filled the first page was codes and abbreviations, trains of connected letters that made no sense to her. As she flipped through the pages, she saw notations in ink scribbled on
the edges of the paper, large blocks of text blacked out with ribbons of ink, and long lists of dates and times. Nothing made any sense to her, and Ellie was starting to feel very stupid for jeopardizing her safety for such gibberish until she flipped further through the pages and came to a photograph of an old man.

It was a Flowertown ID photo. Everyone within the compound had one on record somewhere, and like this one, most were taken when the occupants were quite ill. The man’s color was bad, even in the black and white photo. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin hung loose and papery. The worst to Ellie was the baffled and frightened look in his eyes. She had seen him before. Despite Bing’s teasing about her not paying attention, Ellie was quite good with faces. She skimmed over the record. Marvin Delmuth.

She remembered Marvin. He used to run the hardware store right outside her window. Ellie closed her eyes at the memory of leaning against the glass, her restraints finally removed, staring down at the street. Every day for three hours she was allowed to lean against the glass and watch workers building Flowertown around her. At first she would fall asleep where she stood, unable to fight the drugs, but gradually the drugs decreased and the time allowed alone increased, and she liked to spend as much of it as possible watching the people below her. And every day, every single day she stood in that window, the man in the plaid pants would come outside, empty his trash, sweep his sidewalk, and look up at her window and wave.

She didn’t wave back for months; she hardly understood what she was seeing. But one day she recognized the gesture and waved back. To this day, even through all the drugs, she
could remember the crooked yellow teeth that smiled back at her, sending another wave. When East Fifth was finally unlocked, most of the patients flooded out of the building and headed straight for their families, but Ellie had nowhere to go. Instead she sat on the top step outside of the building and waited for the little man to appear. He emptied his trash, swept his walk, and looked up at her window, and Ellie saw his face fall. Then he looked down and saw her on the step and his smile returned.

“Decided to get a little air, eh? It’s a good day for it.” That was all he said, no worried looks, no sign that he knew she had been locked up in a loony bin for two years. Just a happy wave and friendly word. That was Marvin Delmuth.

“Oh my God, what’s the matter?” Rachel sat on the edge of her bed, her hair wrapped in a towel. “You’re crying. Are you okay?”

Ellie hadn’t even realized she had started crying. “Yeah, I’m all right. I’m just looking at something that kind of took me by surprise.” Rachel cocked her head to see what she was reading, and Ellie realized there would be no hiding the files from her roommate. “I have to tell you something, something kind of serious.”

“Oh no.” Now Rachel’s eyes filled up. “Does it have to do with the blue tag?”

“No, honey. It’s nothing like that.” Ellie took her hand. She couldn’t stand to see Rachel upset. “Besides, you’re sick enough for both of us, right? How are you feeling?”

Rachel stuck out her tongue. “I’ve got to go back to the care center today to get my final round done and to get my papers. I hope they give me another one of those shots. Do you think that since, like, you don’t have a job now, you
could come with me? I hate to ask, but it’s such a drag being over there.”

“Of course I will, honey. Besides, I want to see if I can find Big Martha. I don’t know what happened to her after the explosion. Hey,” Ellie squeezed Rachel’s hand, “I didn’t know you went to the care center for your detox. I thought that was at the med.”

“Oh God,” Rachel rolled her eyes and leaned back on Ellie’s bed. “It was, originally. And then they moved it because they said the process was too complicated for the med center, that I was fouling up the lines.” The med center was where everyone went for their regular testing and maintenance medications. The care center was more accurately a hospital. “You know how this place is. If there’s a hard way to do it, they’ll find it. I’ve never seen people more in love with paperwork.”

“Funny you should mention that.” Ellie tapped the files in her lap. “I’m going to tell you something, and you have to promise me you will never breathe a word of it to anyone, nobody, not even Bing.”

“Not even Bing? I thought you told him everything.”

“Well, I’m working up to it. This is something really stupid that I did and I just don’t know what to do about it. If I should do anything about it.” Ellie told an abbreviated version of the theft story, leaving out her torment of Cooper.

“You stole Feno files?”

“Shhh.” Ellie looked toward the door, half expecting goons to come bursting in. “It was stupid, I know. I was just mad. I felt like they were accusing me of something, so I figured I would go ahead and do it.”

“You might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. My nana used to say that.”

“Let’s not bring up any sort of hanging, shall we?”

Rachel giggled and pulled the file off of Ellie’s legs. “Oh, Mr. Delmuth. I loved him. He was so nice. He used to own the five-and-dime on State Street before he bought the hardware store. He kept rabbits in the window and always let us pick them up and play with them. I was so sad when he died. I got to visit him in the care center when he was in there, right before he died. He remembered me after all that time. He was like that, you know. He always remembered you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ellie didn’t want to look at the picture. It was probably taken one of the few times in his life he wasn’t smiling. “That’s nice that you were able to get in and see him. They don’t usually let people in who aren’t family members.”

“I was working there, filing.”

“You worked at the care center?”

“Ellie, I’ve worked everywhere in here. Because I did well on the first round of meds. I was one of the very few who did. They thought it was because I was so young, although a lot of kids in my class didn’t make it.” She heard Rachel swallow hard as she reached for the other files. “Let’s see who else you have. Kevin Denten. I remember him. He went to high school with my sister Lee. He was hot, but they used to whisper that he was gay. Lee never believed it.” Rachel looked up at Ellie. “I probably shouldn’t say things like that about the dead, should I?”

“He’s dead too?”

“Yeah, if I’m not mistaken, he died around the same time Mr. Delmuth did. You probably grabbed the death records
of a certain period. See? Because the next one is Mrs. Denver, and I know she was in the care center at the same time as Mr. Delmuth. I remember because her daughter was such a flaming bitch to the nurses that they almost arrested her.”

Ellie closed the two files on her lap. “Well, that was a huge risk for nothing. I mean, it’s not like a secret they were dead.”

“No, but hey, you did it. And you didn’t get caught, that’s kind of cool. Besides,” Rachel looked back down at the open file, “it’s nice to see Mr. Delmuth again, although that’s a terrible picture of him. I’d steal it and give it to his son, but I doubt he’d want to see his dad like that.”

“His son still runs the hardware store next door?”

“Yeah, Bradley. He’s nice, like his dad. He lost his wife not long after his father died. That was sad. Annabeth Dingle brought over, like, fifteen gallons of chili.” They both laughed. Annabeth was famous for that canned chili. “That was less than a year later, I think. Yeah, it was after the fourth round.”

“Fourth round? What do you mean?”

Rachel looked at Ellie as if she had just fallen from the sky. “The fourth round of meds? Hello? Earth to Ellie. You do remember the first round of meds, don’t you? The ones they gave us right after the spill.”

“I remember them very clearly, thank you.” Ellie doubted anyone would ever forget those first months of containment and the brutal effects of the decontaminants.

“Well, after that round and all those people died, they worked up a new round. I was, like, one of the very few who could handle the first round, so by the second round I was fine. I mean, as fine as anyone could be in here. That’s why I was working in the care center. That’s when they were getting
their filing system in place.” Rachel put her hand to her mouth, embarrassed. “Oh, that was probably about the time you were…you know.”