A Summer with the Dead Page 25

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-ONE

  ELLY SAID SHE’D CHANGED her mind about selling the farm herself and phoned a realtor in Sequim. “He said he’ll be out to look at the place tomorrow, and, judging by my description and the size of the property, he said it’s worth between eight-hundred and nine hundred thousand. That’s a lot more’n the ninety thousand Harlan and I paid for this farm fifty-five years ago.”

  “I’ll make us some lunch.” Maya sensed another story on the horizon and braced herself for more of Elly’s nightmarish secrets.

  Elly eased down into the kitchen chair that faced the back door. From there she also had a view through the bay window to her left. She always sat in that spot, as if she expected to see someone standing in the door of the big barn, as if she needed to keep her eyes on that barn and the grassy hillside in between. There was always an expression of dread in her eyes.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot, Maya, and remembering things about Harlan and Angel and Felix. It was a dark business Felix chose for himself, and then Harlan chose it too. And once a person chooses a job like that, there’s no going back. There’s no way to un-do things. It becomes a part of your past. It’s your history. It’s you.

  “I used to think great things would happen in my life. I used to think I’d do something worthwhile, like drawing or painting … like Harlan did. Or maybe I’d help people who were in trouble, like I’d be a volunteer at a church. Somethin’ like that. Somethin’ respectful, but I chose Harlan and Harlan chose the business. I’ve often thought that if I had given Harlan an ulti … ulti … what’s that word, Maya? It means if I had made him choose between me and the business?”

  “Ultimatum?”

  “Yeah. Ultimatum.” Elly closed her eyes. A silent moment passed. “But I loved Harlan more than he loved me. I knew that from the beginning. He would have chosen the business over me.”

  “Aww, Elly. I can’t believe that. I mean, Harlan came to your rescue numerous times, right?”

  Elly nodded. “Yeah, but he always expected me to follow him no matter where he went, and he expected me to listen and to nod my head and to never question him. He expected me to obey him and stay out of his way once he decided how to handle a situation … as if I were too stupid to solve my own problems. He never knew I solved my worst problem without him, though.” Elly’s smile was bitter. “I solved my problem with Angel, and I did that by myself.” She spun around in her chair, eyeing the dining room and the lower stairs, as if she expected to see Harland standing there, listening. Apparently satisfied Harlan wasn’t eavesdropping, she turned back around with a sigh.

  Maya nodded toward the yellow basement door. Locked. “I’m not convinced you solved that problem, Elly, not entirely anyway. Angle is still a threat.”

  “Somewhat, but Angel has limitations. He can’t seem to … gather himself together. Heh heh heh. It’s like he lost the ability to organize his thoughts after I chopped him up. Maybe plopping his head down on that rose pattern platter is what did it.” Elly giggled. “I suppose Harlan would have handled things differently.”

  “How so?”

  “Harlan wasn’t nos … nos … Damn! Another word I can’t think of. It means melancholy.”

  “Soup’s ready.” Maya wanted to change the direction Elly’s story was taking. Discussions of heads on dinner platters made her feel ill. “Nice to have a cooler day for a change, isn’t it?” Maya asked. “Too many hot sunny days in a row and I get headaches. Today is cloudy and cool. Perfect for a bowl of soup.”

  “I don’t pay much attention to the weather anymore. Harlan was the one who grumbled about hot days, rainy days or icy cold days. Weather made working outside difficult sometimes.

  “Nostalgic! That’s the word I was trying to think of. Harlan wasn’t nostalgic. He never bought something just because it was pretty, or because it reminded him of his childhood, or because he knew I’d like it. I sometimes wonder if he was one of those people who don’t care about anyone except themselves, those people who can live fairly normal lives but if they decide to do something vicious or cruel … they never regret it. They never feel remorse.”

  “I think you mean a psychopathic personality, but now days it’s called an antisocial personality disorder,” Maya said.

  “Whatever the experts call it, I’ve come to realize that Harlan and Angel had a lot in common. They both thought their behavior was acceptable. They treated others like they were just things, things to be used. Neither one of them hesitated to tell a lie if they thought it would benefit them. They both had short tempers but long memories. Whenever they appeared compassionate or kind, it was just an act. They’d both get so angry over little things, but something that would shock you and me … they just shrugged it off. Hardly blinked. I remember how Harlan blamed Grady Goode for what happened that day. Remember? Grady might have grown up and learned how to be a nice person. Maybe. I don’t know, but he deserved the chance, didn’t he? He was just a kid. But Harlan had no patience. No tolerance. Didn’t matter what I thought. One scowl from Harlan and I knew to shut my mouth.

  “Harlan and Angel were both those antisocial people you mentioned, Maya. They both had that disorder—probably born that way. They didn’t look alike, but they could’ve been brothers.

  “Remember when I told you how Harlan was real upset after the police pulled him over and they found all that blood in the back of the truck, and Harlan told them it was pig blood from a delivery to a butcher shop on DiMaggio Street? He was so upset afterward, he agreed to leave Chicago when I said I wanted to go, remember? Well, he wasn’t upset about the blood or about delivering bodies to the ore refinery. He was just scared because he almost got caught. That’s all.”

  “You can add Benson to that list of people who don’t care about anyone but themselves. I never realized it before, but Benson fits the description too.”

  Elly took a sip of soup and smacked her lips. “At least I’m not one of them. They were incapable of love, but I loved Harlan with all my heart. And I love you too, Maya.”

  Maya patted Elly’s shoulder. “You and I are family, Elly.”

  “Harlan told me that you’re okay, Maya. Just like he decided Bossy the cow and Morris the horse were okay. Remember me telling you he didn’t want any animals? But I talked him into having Bossy and Morris and those forty chickens. After a while Harlan kind of liked them.”

  I’m just like the horse and cow. Maya smiled at her cup of steaming tea.

  “I remembered something else this morning when I first got up,” Elly said. “That’s when memories come flooding back as if a dam has burst. That old car you found in the pond? I remember the car now, and I know how it got down there. Gracious sakes alive, that was fifty-five years ago. It’s the forty-two Ford that Harlan and I drove here, all the way from Chicago. You don’t need to worry about it Maya, cuz’ there’s nothing in that car. Harlan said we needed to hide the vehicle, because those Chicago people we were trying to find us and they would have recognized that car. Harlan rolled that old Ford down into the gully and covered it up with branches. There was no pond back then. It was just a deep, weedy ditch with a little stream trickling through it. That old Ford has been sitting down there under those trees and branches all this time, just rusting away. I suppose it’s been a home to some mice, maybe some raccoons or possums and such. Nice to think that it’s provided shelter to something.”

  Maya sighed with relief. There was nothing horrific about that old Ford. The sheriff wouldn’t be finding any human remains in the driver’s seat. No bones in trunk. No black, moldy bloodstains on the rotted upholstery.

  A burst of sunlight turned the lower fields amber. A flock of chickadees darted along the fence line, chirping and chattering.

  “Good vegetable soup,” Elly said. “That was the last container in the freezer, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “No sense in making any more soup from what’s left in the garden, then. There’s a half row of beets, a d
ozen or so carrots and one head of cabbage. After we’ve eaten that up, we’ll have to buy fresh vegetables at the Red Apple.”

  “Oh, this farm is going sell soon, Elly. And you’ll be partying with Judith by September.”

  “I hope you’ll come and have lunch with Judith and me.”

  Maya said, “I look forward to meeting Judith. She sounds like a good friend.”

  *

  “Maya?”

  “ … Mama? What’s wrong?” Maya turned on her lamp and checked the new digital clock on her beside table. “It’s two in the morning. Has something happened?” Maya held her cellphone, not remembering hearing it ring nor answering it.

  “Oh dear. Is it 2:00 A.M.? I’m sorry, Maya.”

  “What’s wrong. Where are you?”

  “I’m at home. I have trouble sleeping lately. Seems to be happening more and more. I was watching an old movie and it brought back memories of when you were little and your father was still here and still happy. Oh, Maya. I just lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

  Maya slid her feet and legs back beneath the covers and pulled the sheet up to her chin.

  “So, you’re okay, Mama?”

  “Yes, I suppose, although the offer on the house fell through. I guess the people who made the highest offer didn’t qualify for the loan. I might take the second best offer.”

  “That’s too bad. What about your trip to Italy? When do you leave?”

  “That’s been cancelled.”

  “Oh?”

  “My traveling companion has decided he’d rather not go.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  Maya was surprised to hear her mother use the word, yeah. She’d never heard Mama utter that word before. It was always, yes. Never uh-huh, yup or yeah. Always—always, yes.

  “Was this traveling companion someone you were dating?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Well. There are other fish in the sea, Mama.”

  “I know, but we really did seem to hit off at first.”

  “What caused him to change his mind?”

  “This is embarrassing to admit, but I think he was looking for financial gain.”

  “It’s not like you’re a millionaire, Mama.”

  “No, but …”

  “You can tell me. I’m not going to be judgmental. After all, I’m the one with the problems, remember? I’m the one who chose to marry a sociopath.”

  “Benson did have a mean streak, didn’t he? I didn’t want to admit that I suspected it, Maya, because I was the one who encouraged you to develop that relationship. I insisted Benson was a real catch, remember?”

  “I didn’t have to agree with you. I could have said no.”

  “Aren’t we the pair, though?” Mama said.

  “Some lessons are learned the hard way, Mama. Why did you decide your gentleman friend was after money?”

  “He proposed marriage. When I suggested a prenup, he became terribly offended.”

  “Oh.”

  “He kept asking how much I expected to get for this house when it sells. That was a red flag. Then he wanted to borrow my car one day, saying his was in the shop. I don’t know why, just an odd feeling, so I said no. It was after that he decided to cancel the trip. He hasn’t phoned in three weeks.”

  “Sorry, Mama.”

  “I feel better, just hearing your voice, Maya. How’s things going at the farm?”

  Maya tried to stop herself, but her sudden burst of laughter felt cathartic, the same way crying felt when a burst of tears was involuntary.

  “You wouldn’t believe it, Mama. Remember what you said about Elly?”

  “You mean, that she isn’t right?”

  “Yes. And you were correct. But even though strange things are happening here, I’m handling it just fine … and without the drugs. I haven’t had a Lorazepam in twenty-eight days.”

  “Maya, that’s wonderful.”

  “I’ve decided to stop the little rituals too. You know? The little ceremonies?”

  “What happened to cause these changes, Maya?”

  “I think it was finally deciding that the drug doesn’t really change anything. If something’s wrong I need to deal with it, not drug myself. Confronting the issue feels so much better than taking a pill and sliding into a stupor. Besides, if something happens, I want to be completely awake so I can deal with whatever it is.”

  “I’m happy to hear this, Maya. You sound strong.”

  “And the rituals—I just don’t want them anymore. I’ve decided—I don’t do those anymore.”

  “I think you’re right. I think confronting a situation is so much better than pretending it doesn’t exist. And, you know what? I’m sorry I woke you, but I’m glad we talked, because I feel so much better,” Mama said.

  “I do too, Mama. I think this is the best conversation we’ve ever had.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Go back to sleep, Maya. Call me in a day or too, okay? I’ll have dealt with my own issues by then.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Good night, Maya.”

  “Good night, Mama. Talk to you soon.”

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-TWO

  COTY LEANED AGAINST THE back porch railing. When Maya stepped outside and closed the kitchen door, he whispered, “What’s Elly doing?”

  “She’s asleep. She complained of a headache, so I gave her an aspirin and snuck one of my sedatives into her chamomile tea. She’ll be out for a few hours.”

  Maya and Coty headed up the driveway toward the big barn. It was 10:18 AM and the morning sun struck the face of the barn straight on. The barn’s once red stain had faded—bleached to a rust color. The white trim paint was peeling like sunburned skin. White strips hung from the doorframe and windowsills and tiny bits lay in the scruffy grass like dandruff.

  “Tell me what we’re going to see,” Maya said.

  “We might not see anything, but if we do, I want someone else to see it too. I need to know I’m not going batshit crazy.”

  Maya smirked. Like I’d be any judge.

  When they arrived at the barn, Coty opened the narrow side door and they stepped into a shadowed interior. Maya stood on compact dirt beside an empty horse stall. Thick dust covered harnesses, stirrups and ropes on hooks fastened to the outer wall. A saddle with splitting seams sat on a sawhorse inside the stall. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then she looked up and saw sunlight slicing through cracks in the upper levels. Every ray of sunlight danced with dust motes. The dust particles swayed left, right, up and down. The smell was musty. This building was filled with memories. Maya’s nose itched from the dust.

  “Over here,” Coty said. “Follow me.”

  He led the way between more stalls, alongside hay bales that were nothing more than piles of mold with snapped wires. An old saddle blanket lay in a wad at the bottom of a ladder. The ladder climbed toward a loft where more rotten hay draped the edges. Maya paused there, looking up, feeling eyes on her. They were not alone in the barn. She felt something scrabble across her toes, glanced down and spotted a brown rat dive beneath the frayed horse blanket. She shuddered and hurried after Coty.

  They passed a workbench. On the bench were dust covered tools, including a small hammer, several cans of salve with faded paper labels, disintegrating cardboard boxes filled to overflowing with brushes and mane combs. Four shovels hung on hooks by another outside door. There was a smell here. Ammonia? Fertilizer? Bat droppings? Whatever it was, it was strong.

  Coty passed through an open gate and turned down another passageway. Here, the smell grew even stronger. He halted beside a set of double doors and glanced back at Maya. Without a word, he shoved the doors apart. The doors separated on wheels, squealing on lower and overhead tracks. Straight ahead Maya saw a dust-covered tractor, a flatbed two-wheeled trailer resting on its long tongue, and behind the trailer was a large mound in the corner covered by an over-sized gray tarp.

  Coty crossed
between the trailer and the tractor, around to the mounded tarp.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  Coty lifted one corner of the tarp but then seemed to hesitate. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  “What’s a bad idea?” she asked.

  “Bringing you up here. I’m accustomed to seeing things like this. You’re not. I think we should go back down to the bunkhouse and have a cup of coffee. I bought some half and half just for you.”

  “No,” Maya said. “Show me. I want to see what’s under the tarp.”

  Coty wore a pained expression as he dropped the corner of the tarp. He shook his head and stepped away from the mound. “No, really,” he said. “Bad idea. Let’s go.” His hands trembled as he stuffed them into his jeans pockets.

  He’s afraid.

  Maya grabbed the corner of the tarp and pulled. Dust boiled up in a brown cloud, filling the air like smoke.

  “No!” Coty shouted. “Wait!”

  Maya dragged the tarp several feet away and dropped it. Blinking and coughing she pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and covered her nose and mouth. She squinted, blinking at the dust cloud, and as it slowly settled she said, “It’s a car.”

  Coty nodded. “A 1960 Cadillac. Loaded. Must’ve cost someone a year’s pay.”

  Dust continued to float and settle, covering the entire top of the vehicle, but the sides were bright blue with lines of chrome. The whitewall tires were rotted, flat and streaked with mold.

  Maya stepped up to the passenger side door and grabbed the handle.

  “You sure you want to do that?” Coty asked.

  Maya opened the door and leaned closer. The smell was very strong there. Almost overwhelming. This was where the smell originated. This was what she had smelled when she first entered the barn. Thirty years ago the smell would have been intolerable. It would have been at its rotten peak, its most putrid. It would have driven her away.

  This is what Elly had described, this fancy blue Cadillac with all the chrome and the interior that resembled the cockpit of a plane. “Automatic everything,” Elly had said. “Angel was such a show-off.”