“Surely they didn’t abandon the search after one try,” Howie said.
“No, course not.” She fished another Coke out of the cooler, cracked it, and swallowed half at a go. “Not used to talkin s’much, and I’m parched.” She checked her oxygen bottle. “Almost out of this stuff, too, but there’s another one in the bathroom there, with the rest of my goddam medical supplies, if someone wants to fetch it.”
Alec Pelley took charge of this task, and Ralph was relieved when the woman didn’t attempt to light up as he swapped them out. Once the oxygen was flowing again, she resumed her story.
“There was a dozen search parties went in there over the years, right up until the ground-shaker in ’07. After that it was considered too dangerous. It was only a three or four on the Richter, but caves are fragile, you know. The Chamber of Sound stood up to it pretty well, although a bunch of the stalactites fell off the ceilin. Some of the other passages, though, collapsed. I know the one they called the Art Gallery did. Since the shaker, Marysville Hole has been closed. The main entrance is stopped up, and I believe Ahiga is, too.”
For a moment no one spoke. Ralph didn’t know about the others, but he was thinking of what it must have been like to die a slow death deep underground, in the dark. He didn’t want to think about it and couldn’t help it.
Lovie said, “You know what Roger said to me once? Couldn’t have been six months before he died. He said the Marysville Hole might go all the way down to hell. And that makes it a place where this outsider of yours would feel right at home, don’t you think?”
“Not a word about this when Claude comes back,” Holly said.
“Oh, he knows,” Lovie said. “Those were his people. He didn’t care for his cousins much—they were older and used to bullyrag him something awful—but they were still his people.”
Holly smiled, but not the radiant one; it didn’t touch her eyes. “I’m sure he does, but he doesn’t know we know. And that’s the way it has to stay.”
11
Lovie, now looking tired going on exhausted, said the kitchen was too small for seven people to eat in comfortably, so they’d have to take their meal out back, in what she called the gaze-bo. She told them (proudly) that Claude had built it for her himself, with a kit he got at the Home Depot.
“It might be a little hot at first, but a breeze usually sets in this time of day, and it’s screened against the bugs.”
Holly suggested that the old lady should take a lie-down, and let the company set up for supper outside.
“But you won’t know where anything is!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Holly said. “Finding things is what I do for a living, you know. And these gentlemen will help out, I’m sure.”
Lovie gave in and wheeled along to her bedroom, where they heard her grunting effortfully, followed by the squall of bedsprings.
Ralph stepped out on the front porch to call Jeannie, who answered on the first ring. “E.T. phone home,” she said cheerfully.
“Everything quiet there?”
“Except for the TV. Officers Ramage and Yates have been watching NASCAR. I only surmise bets were made, but know for sure they ate all the brownies.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, and Betsy Riggins came by to show off her new baby. I’d never say this to her, but he looks quite a bit like Winston Churchill.”
“Uh-huh. Listen, I think either Troy or Tom should stay the night.”
“I was thinking both. In with me. We can cuddle. Perhaps even canoodle.”
“What a good idea. Be sure to take some pictures.” A car was approaching; Claude Bolton, back from Tippit with their chicken dinners. “Don’t forget to lock up and set the burglar alarm.”
“The locks and alarm didn’t help the other night.”
“Humor me and do it anyway.” The man who looked exactly like his wife’s nighttime visitor was at that moment getting out of his car, and seeing him gave Ralph a queer feeling of double vision.
“All right. Have you found anything out?”
“Hard to tell.” This was skirting the truth; Ralph thought they had found out a great deal, none of it good. “I’ll try to call you later on, but right now I have to go.”
“Okay. Stay safe.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And I mean it: stay safe.”
He went down the porch steps to help Claude with half a dozen plastic bags from Highway Heaven.
“Food’s cold, just like I said. But does she listen? Never did, never will.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Reheated chicken’s always tough. I got the mashed potatoes, because reheated French fries, forget it.”
They started toward the house. Claude stopped at the foot of the porch steps.
“Did you guys have a good talk with my ma?”
“We did,” Ralph said, wondering exactly how to handle this. As it turned out, Claude handled it for him.
“Don’t tell me. That guy might be able to read my mind.”
“So you believe in him?” Ralph was honestly curious.
“I believe that gal believes. That Holly. And I believe there might have been someone around last night. So whatever you talked about, I don’t want to hear.”
“Maybe that’s for the best. But Claude? I think one of us should stay here with you and your mother tonight. I was thinking Lieutenant Sablo could do that.”
“You expecting trouble? Because I don’t feel anything just now except hungry.”
“Not trouble, exactly,” Ralph said. “I was just thinking that if something bad happened around here, and if there happened to be a witness who said the person who did it looked a lot like Claude Bolton, you might like to have a cop handy who could testify that you never left your momma’s house.”
Claude considered. “That might not be such a bad idea. Only we don’t have a guest room, or anything. The couch makes into a bed, but sometimes Ma gets up when she can’t get back to sleep and goes out to the living room to watch TV. She likes those worthless preachers that are always yelling for love-offerins.” He brightened. “But there’s a spare mattress out in the back entry, and it’s gonna be a warm night. I guess he could camp out.”
“In the gaze-bo?”
Claude grinned. “Right! I built that sucker myself.”
12
Holly put the chicken under the broiler for five minutes, and it crisped up nicely. The seven of them ate in the gazebo—there was a ramp for Lovie’s wheelchair—and the conversation was both pleasant and lively. Claude turned out to be quite the raconteur, telling tales about his colorful career as a “security official” at Gentlemen, Please. The stories were funny, but neither mean nor off-color, and no one laughed harder at them than Claude’s mother. She laughed herself into another coughing fit when Howie told the story of how one of his clients, in an effort to prove he was mentally unfit to stand trial, had taken his pants off in court and waved them at the judge.
The reason for their trip to Marysville was never touched upon.
Lovie’s lie-down before dinner had been a short one, and when the meal was done, she announced that she was going back to bed. “Not many dishes with take-out,” she said, “and what there is I can warsh in the morning. I can do it right from my chair, you know, although I have to be careful of the goddam oxygen tank.” She turned to Yune. “You sure you’re gonna be all right out here, Officer Sablo? What if someone comes stirrin around, like last night?”
“I’m fully armed, ma’am,” Yune said, “and this is a very nice place out here.”