Signs in the Blood (15 page)

After dinner they walked slowly toward the parking garage where Elizabeth had left her car. Phillip was interested in all she told him about her visits to the different hollows and coves of Bear Tree Creek. “That's some collection of neighbors you've got,” he said with a laugh when she told him about the trailer park of the damned. “That's what my ex-wife thought all of this area was like; she never would come with me to visit my folks over in Shut In.” But his brows contracted into a frown when she began to describe the Starshine Community. “
That's
near you?” he asked. “What do you know about those people?”

Puzzled by the intensity of his question, Elizabeth began to retell her experience with Polaris and with the young man whom she had given a ride out of the community. “It was a very well kept place; there was obviously money behind it all, and everyone I saw looked healthy and clean, but—I don't know, it seemed a little weird. And there—”

“Weird!” Phillip exploded, “It would be! Goddammit!” He swung around and slammed his fist into the unyielding side of the brick building they were passing, then yelped in pain. Elizabeth took an involuntary step backward.

“Goddammit to hell!” He looked at his scraped knuckles, then up at Elizabeth, who was staring at him, openmouthed. Suddenly shamefaced, he said, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . oh, hell, the thing is . . . I can't believe this . . . the thing is, Janie told me just this morning that she wants to drop out of school and join this . . . this Starshine place. She says it's all part of her higher destiny.”

CHAPTER 12

A
L
ITTLE
R
ATIONAL
Q
UID PRO
Q
UO
 (
S
ATURDAY)

G
OD DAMMIT,
”
P
HILLIP
H
AWKINS SAID ONCE
more. “Higher density's more like it.” The anger in his voice had been replaced by a great weariness, and he looked around him slowly as if searching for something. “Elizabeth, could we sit on that bench over there for a minute? I'd like to tell you a little about Janie. Maybe you can give me some insights about daughters—I'm really outta my depth here.”

Elizabeth hesitated. Hawkins's startling outburst had alarmed her and she thought that it might be nice just to say good night quickly and get away from this unpredictable man. “I don't know—” she began.

He smiled and said quietly, “Elizabeth, please. I'm really sorry about losing my temper like that. I just get so damned frustrated trying to deal with Janie.” He ran his hand over his bald scalp. “Tell me, did your girls ever act so unreasonable that you just couldn't talk to them?”

Elizabeth relaxed slightly and sat down on the bench, which was, she noted, in a well-lighted area near a popular coffee shop.
If he gets really angry again . . .
she thought, and then she remembered when Rosemary, the so-called “sensible one” of her two girls, had called home from school during her junior year to announce that she had decided to drop out. Drop out and go to Thailand and join a community of neohumanist yogic nuns. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I think I know how you feel,” she told Hawkins. “But, fortunately, the girls have gotten more reasonable, and I've probably gotten more accepting.”

She smiled, remembering how she and Sam had agonized over Rosemary's plan but had never actually told her what a dreadful idea they thought it was. Just when they had decided that they must do something,
anything,
to stop her, Rosemary had called and in an offhand tone had mentioned that the nun thing was off and she'd decided to stay in school and work for her doctorate. And, by the way, she'd gotten a fellowship.

“The thing about Janie is she's so gullible,” Hawkins was saying. “And she doesn't seem to be able to think for herself; it's always all about what her friends are doing.” He dropped heavily onto the bench beside Elizabeth and turned to face her. “Are you sure you have time for this? I hate bothering you with family stuff, but . . .”

“Really, it's okay,” Elizabeth assured him. “Do you think she was serious about dropping out?”

“Yes, I do.” His voice was resigned. “She's not happy in school; her grades are falling; she's switched her major twice; her boyfriend broke up with her. I think she's desperate for some sort of change.”

“What about her mother? Will she go along with—”

“Her mother will pitch a fit and then blame me. You see, when we got divorced—about twelve years ago—Sandy wanted full custody of the kids. Well, I didn't like it but it made sense; it was my job—you know, long, unpredictable hours—that caused her to get fed up with me and with our marriage in the first place. So anyway, for years I was pretty much a hands-off dad. Oh, I had the kids with me on a lot of weekends and we took trips now and then in the summer. But all the decisions were hers. If I ever tried to suggest that I wasn't happy with something the kids were or weren't doing, she'd remind me that I wasn't able to be the full-time parent that she was—” Hawkins stopped abruptly.

“Don't get me wrong,” he said. “For the most part Sandy did a great job. Our son Seth has turned out really fine; he's in his senior year at ECU—got a full scholarship—no worries there. And Janie was a real sweetheart till about seven years ago. It was when she hit thirteen, all of a sudden she and my wife, my ex-wife, I mean, butted heads on everything under the sun. Sandy had Janie on track to be a cheerleader, an A student, Miss Congeniality—the whole nine yards. And Janie could have done it; she's a smart girl and pretty, too—takes after her mom—blond and petite. And she had always been so . . . so . . .”—he struggled for the right word—“. . . so biddable. Whatever Sandy suggested—this hairdo, these clothes, those friends—Janie would just say, ‘Sure, Mom,' and go along with the program. Actually, it worried me a little; it didn't seem like Janie had a mind of her own. She was a little Sandy-clone.

“But then all of a sudden, Janie's dropping out of her extracurricular activities, she's dressing all in black, she chops her hair off short and dyes it black, she puts a safety pin through her eyebrow, and there's not a mother-loving thing that Sandy can do about it.” At the memory, he grinned.

“Well, it tore me up to see Janie making herself look ugly and acting like some street punk. But if I said anything to Sandy about it, she'd claim I was ‘attacking her parenting skills.'” Hawkins's voice was sarcastic as he curved two fingers of each hand to indicate the quote.

“I even talked to a shrink I know; he works with the department sometimes. He went on about low self-esteem and broken homes. But at least Janie's grades stayed okay and she didn't act depressed. No eating disorders or anything like that. She just turned into a mouthy little somebody with a bunch of friends Sandy couldn't stand. She was staying out late too many nights and probably was involved with marijuana and alcohol, but she still pulled at least Bs in her courses. Finally she managed to scrape her way into college but when she announced that she was going to UNCA and nowhere else and that she'd be moving in with her boyfriend, Sandy said that she'd had enough—I could be the parent in charge.”

“So Janie's, what, a junior? At least she's made it this far.”

“Yeah, but we've averaged about a crisis per semester. Recently she's been skipping classes and hanging out with the street kids downtown. She informed me that panhandling gives her deep insights into the frivolity of our society.” His voice grew pained. “I worry about her a lot—that's part of why I took this extended leave, so I could be around. She's not as antagonistic toward me as she is to Sandy, but I'm afraid if I start doing the heavy father routine I'll lose what little influence I do have. . . .” He looked at Elizabeth. “So what do you think?”

“What do you mean? About Janie?”

“About this Starshine place—Is it just something she needs to get out of her system? Will she go back to school?” He shrugged. “Maybe I'm more like Sandy than I thought. I just don't know what the hell to do, Elizabeth. I guess I'm asking you because of what Sam used to say.”

“What did Sam used to say?”

“He said—I can't remember exactly how he put it—it was something like you had a mind like a man—logical, but you also had insights like women are supposed to have.” Hawkins smiled sheepishly, “Oops. I guess that's a sexist statement, but old Sam really put a lot of faith in your opinions.”

Elizabeth sat quietly for a moment, thinking of Sam. Then she said slowly, “I hate to give advice, especially when I don't know Janie, but I guess if it was one of my daughters I'd try to find out more about the Starshine Community before making a big deal of it. As you say, it might be fine; she might live there a while and then go back to school, but . . .” She paused, remembering the group of young women circling around Polaris. And the two men with rifles. “You know, Phillip, there were some things about that place that made me uneasy.”

She told him, a little reluctantly, about her unauthorized drive up the narrow road and the armed men at the windowless building. “And the young guy who got a ride out with me. He acted almost like an escaping prisoner, but he may have just been dramatizing the whole thing for my benefit. There's probably a simple explanation—”

Hawkins groaned. “I'll start looking into it, but I'll have to do it without involving Janie. I guess I could—”

“They have a Web site,” Elizabeth offered. “At least, that Polaris guy
said
they did. And I'll ask my daughter Laurel if she knows anything about it. She's usually up on all the stuff going on in this area.”

“Well, that's a start,” Hawkins said. “I really appreciate your listening to me. It helps just to talk to someone rational.”

Elizabeth smiled, remembering that having someone rational to talk to had been part of her reason for calling Phillip Hawkins. But where she had hoped to get advice, she had ended up giving it.

A noisy group of young people burst out of the coffee shop and congregated near the bench. All immediately lit cigarettes. As the smoke drifted toward them, Elizabeth and Hawkins looked at each other and, with silent accord, rose and resumed their stroll toward the parking garage.

“I got so wrapped up in my own stuff we got off the subject of your neighbor.” Hawkins looked at Elizabeth quizzically as he ambled along at her side. “You told me you were tracing Cletus's movements the week before he was found. So now that the autopsy has shown that he drowned, are you going to continue to humor your friend . . . Miss Birdie, is it?”

“You know, I've been thinking about that. I did say that maybe I was just humoring her but there's really more to it. You see, I've known Miss Birdie for years and I respect her a lot. She's a very smart woman—not educated but very smart. And if she knows anything, she knows about her son. If she says he wouldn't have crossed that bridge, well, I think she's probably right. I knew Cletus too and he was scared to death of water and stubborn as a mule. Once he'd made his mind up, nothing could change it.” She sighed heavily and they both stopped walking. Her eyes rose to meet Phillip's gaze. “The only thing is . . . the autopsy result. How did he come to drown in the river if he didn't fall off the bridge?”

“Well, let's consider the possibilities. He could have been taken to the river by someone else and pushed in. Hell, he could have been drowned somewhere else and his body dumped in the river. Of course you would expect the autopsy to reveal signs of a struggle. He could have been drugged . . . but the autopsy would show if that—”

“I think they said his body was pretty beaten up from falling on the rocks; couldn't that have covered up injuries caused by a struggle?”

Hawkins ran his hand over his shiny bald scalp again. “I don't know. Medical examiners are pretty sharp. But if there was no reason to expect foul play, and they were in a hurry—” He broke off, then began again, his eyes bright with excitement, “Where did they do the autopsy, anyway?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, trying to remember what Sheriff Blaine had said. “I think he said that the medical examiner was in Chapel Hill.”

“Hot damn!” Hawkins chortled. “We're in luck.”

“Oh?” said Elizabeth, surprised by his glee. “What do you mean?”

“One of my best friends, R. L. Levine, was medical examiner down in Greeneville for years. Two years ago R.L. moved to Chapel Hill and was made chief ME there. If I call tonight, I'll bet I can get the inside scoop on that autopsy.”

Elizabeth hesitated, a little surprised but thoroughly delighted at Hawkins's enthusiasm for what she had come to think of as her problem. “Will they—the medical examiner, I mean—do that? Give you that information?”

“No problem.” He laughed. “This one will. I have a few markers I can call in.”

He had insisted on seeing her to her car—“parking garages can be dangerous places at night”—and he'd promised her that he would be in touch as soon as he had talked to the medical examiner. Scribbling his phone number on a scrap of paper, he had handed it to her and said, “They just installed it at my new place. Call me if your daughter can tell you anything about those star people.” She had thanked him for the dinner and they had said good night.

As she drove back to Marshall County, Elizabeth thought about the evening.
It went really well. It wasn't like going out on a date, just having dinner with a friend. He's a nice person and easy to talk to. I felt comfortable with him and, God knows, he seemed to feel comfortable with me—telling me all that about his daughter. I had a feeling she was trouble, just from talking to her on the phone—poor guy, trying to deal with that all the time.

She shuddered at the thought of having a petulant twenty-year-old on her hands and shoved a cassette into the tape deck. Sheila Kay Adams's strong, pure voice filled the car, singing of love and death in a ballad that had been handed down in her family for seven generations.

. . . She steppèd up to Little Mathey Groves,
Her eyes cast on the ground.
Said, Please, o please come with me stay
As you pass through this town, town,
As you pass through this town.

I cannot stay; I dare not stay.
I fear 'twill cost my life.
For I can tell by your finger-ring
That you are Lord Daniel's wife, wife,
That you are Lord Daniel's wife.

Lord Daniel's in some distant land;
He's left me for to roam.
He's taken all his merry men
And I am quite alone, lone,
And I am quite alone.

O please, o please come with me stay,
I'll hide thee out of sight.
I'll pleasure you beyond compare
And sleep with you all night, night,
And sleep with you all night.

It was nearly midnight when she pulled up in her driveway. She'd forgotten to leave on the outside lights and the batteries were dead in the little flashlight she kept in her purse. She picked her way carefully along the rock pathway, James leaping and barking in front of her. Molly and Ursa were nowhere to be seen. The sliver of new moon that hung low in the east over the dark mountains provided only faint illumination.

Suddenly she was aware of the unmistakable reek of skunk. The heavy, burning garlicky odor grew stronger as she climbed the steps to her porch. James's barking was frantic now and she could see the dark lump lying across her doormat. “Oh, shit,” said Elizabeth.

The lump didn't move, but she was unwilling to step over it in the dark, so she retreated back down the steps and entered the house through the greenhouse door. After turning on the porch lights she cautiously opened the front door. The skunk was very dead; its head was partially gone, but there was little blood. The choking smell drifted through the doorway and James continued to bark.