But I, too, have a suspicious streak, particularly when it comes to strange men. So I reached and pulled a map of Florida closer. “Explain to me why Union troops would be this far south?”
“Ale bottles from Massachusetts,” he said. “Smart girl. But that’s no guarantee the beer was drunk by Union soldiers.”
“Maybe not. But soldiers from the North would’ve come by boat. You can carry a lot more supplies in a boat than on horseback. Bottles of beer are too heavy to carry more than a few on horseback.”
That was only a partial explanation. I knew Union soldiers had been here because the attorney had shown us photos of their uniform buttons. Belton Matás sensed I was holding back but played along by offering an overview of the Civil War-or started to-when I noticed Birdy walking my direction.
I got to my feet. “I think my friend’s ready to go. Can we talk tomorrow?”
He stood at gentlemanly attention and signaled for Carmelo to stand, too. “My pleasure, Miss Hannah Smith. But how about this? Come with us in the morning and I’ll show you where we found the bottles. Carmelo has to get gas for the boat first-that means driving to a gas station-so how about nine-thirty?”
I didn’t want to bring up Theo’s name or the plans we’d made. “It would have to be later. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”
“Let’s say noon, then.” His eyes found Birdy. “Invite your friend along.”
“That’s nice of you. I’ll ask her on the walk back.”
“You didn’t come in a car?”
“We were told it’s faster to come across the old railroad bridge.”
Belton cleared his throat. “Some advice from an old man: I wouldn’t wander around here alone at night.”
That caused me to look at Tyrone’s double-wide. No reason, I just did. Once again, there was a face at the window, a shadow that watched Birdy approaching or watched me. I felt sadness for the person inside, not fear. I held up a hand and waved to acknowledge his existence.
The blinds snapped closed… then opened. A single hand polished the window in slow motion, two brief strokes-a reply.
The blinds closed.
7
From the way Birdy suddenly went quiet, I knew we would be sleeping in a motel tonight, not the house, so I beat her to it, saying, “Let’s find a place in Labelle and come back in the morning with bug bombs. We’ll set them off before Theo shows us the dig site. By evening, it’ll be okay to sleep.”
Birdy, her mind somewhere else, said, “Huh? Oh-I can’t. You know I work Sunday mornings, so I can’t stay tomorrow night.” She peered ahead, unsure of something. Several steps later, she took my arm and whispered, “Someone’s coming.”
“Where?”
“A person. See?”
No. The moon was to our left. Enough light pooled on the road so that we didn’t need our flashlights, but not enough to make out details. When I reached for my flashlight, Birdy, voice low, ordered, “Don’t. Keep moving,” then slipped the purse off her shoulder; a purse that contained a semiauto pistol loaded with police man-stopper rounds.
“Whatever you say,” I replied-both of us whispering-but then changed my mind when I saw movement near the sign we’d seen earlier: Slew Vaccine and Herpetile.
I planted my feet, which dragged Birdy to a halt. “Mr. Matás pulled in there by accident the other night and a big dog or something charged his car. I don’t want you to shoot someone’s dog.”
Her purse was open but she hadn’t taken the gun out. “I wouldn’t-unless I had to. Even out here, dogs should be on a leash.” She thought for a moment. “What do you mean or something?”
I said, “Shush,” because details were emerging from the trees. It was a person carrying something heavy, a formless shape that breached the entrance to what Theo had described as a small, modern facility. The object looked like an oversized trash can; the person, male, was wide-shouldered, strong, but as short as a child. He squatted, placed the can by the road, then reversed his course, walking with the odd teeter-totter strides of someone who is muscle-bound or on stilts. There was a gate. He pulled it closed behind him.
Birdy gave it a long, uneasy minute before saying into my ear, “A dwarf. That’s another dwarf… isn’t it?”
I sniffed the air flowing toward us, a light breeze from the north. Garbage… fermenting fruit… and a fecal musk that forced my head to turn.
Birdy’s, too. “My god, what’s that stink?”
I said, “Mr. Matás could have been wrong about the dog. At first he said it was something else, maybe a-” I hesitated.
“A what?”
“At first he thought it was a chimpanzee.”
“A chimp? Jesus Christ, how do you confuse a dog with a chimp?”
I shushed her again. “That was his first impression. It was dark, he was in that rental RV of his. Then an old man came out, yelling, and Mr. Matás is close to eighty himself. Anyone that age would’ve been confused. Now he thinks it was one of the large breeds like a Saint Bernard.”
“A chimp!” She reached into her purse. “Those things are monsters. Did you read what a chimp did to that poor woman? She had to have a face transplant.” Birdy had her pistol out, a flashlight in her other hand. She stood taller to scout ahead. “Come on, let’s have a look.”
“A look at what?”
“Footprints. The road’s mostly sand. That’ll tell us. Special permits are required to keep dangerous pets. I’ll have the owner’s ass if there’s an illegal chimp roaming around here at night.”
I said, “A person who makes snake vaccine probably knows more about permits than either one of us. Let’s go back and ask someone to drive us.”
She kept walking. “Then whoever owns the thing can, by god, show me the paperwork.”
I grabbed her arm, but Birdy remained focused on the gate. “Stay here, if you want. Tell me you didn’t read about the woman who had her face chewed off.”
“You are off duty. And what if the dog or whatever it is bites? Call your office and tell them about this once we’re safe and in the car. Let’s get a few deputies out here.” Another tug, but it was the wrong thing to say.
“I am a deputy sheriff,” she reasoned, but spoke to herself. “Off duty or not, I’m still an officer of the court. Let’s at least look for tracks.” She pulled away and walked toward the drive, pistol at her side.
I followed along. The sign posted at the driveway glittered with yellow reflective tape, oaks formed a cavern above. Cicadas buzzed a seesaw chorus until we were near the mouth of the drive, then suddenly went silent.
Birdy stopped. “That thing has to weigh a ton.” She was referring to the trash can. It was industrial-sized and stuffed with pruned tree limbs, pieces of furniture, and broken tile. “It would take both of us to lift it.”
“Seriously-let’s come back in a car.”
“Stop worrying. This is what I’m trained to do.” Pistol ready, she continued walking.
I didn’t share her confidence. In my pocket was an LED flashlight, small but dazzlingly bright. It was a gift from the biologist I had dated, a man who, I suspected, had traveled to many dark places and was particular about light. When I switched it on, Birdy said, “Wow, that helps,” but then crouched and said, “What the hell was that?”
The light had spooked something in the bushes to our right. We heard the heavy crunch of breaking limbs. The noise started at ground level, then seemed to ascend higher into the trees.
I whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”