Bad Moon Rising

18

The commune was busy. Four or five people worked the sprawling garden, two two-man units were fixing drainpipes and a front door and two women were washing a van vivid with peace symbols in various colors. Grace Slick was urging people to violence (from her safe posh digs on the West Coast, of course) and a dog was yipping his disagreement. I wanted to shake his paw.

As I walked to the front porch of the nearest house a few people looked me over and apparently decided I wasn’t worth even sneering at. A Negro kid named Jim Ryan came out the front door carrying a toolbox. He was tall and fleshy but not fat. A few of the more ardent racists in town had hassled him many times. One time he decided to hassle them back. It turned into another case where Cliffie wanted to charge him but the county attorney’s office said no, he’d just been defending himself. The good people of the town, who far outnumber the bad, wrote many letters to the newspaper talking about the “riffraff” that had picked on Ryan and given Black River Falls a name it didn’t deserve.

Ryan had been one of those rare perfect clients-bright, quiet, amenable to following my instructions. Today he wore his “Power to the People” T-shirt and jeans. He smiled when he saw me. “Lot of people around here don’t seem to like you much.”

“It’s the same in town, Jim.”

He set the toolbox down. “I used to build homes in the summers. I collected a lot of stuff. You lookin’ for Sarah?” He was talking loud, over Grace Slick.

“Donovan.”

His dark eyes changed expression. “He’s been in his room since early last night. He doesn’t want anybody to bother him. I knocked once last night and he called me a bunch of names. Pissed me off. He’s a nasty son of a bitch, way he runs this place. I’ll be moving on pretty soon. Can’t hack it here any more with him around.”

“Any idea why he’s holed up?”

“You’re askin’ the wrong guy, Mr. McCain. I never could figure him out except he’s a jerk. I admit we need a leader here just to keep things running right. But we don’t need an egomaniac.”

A woman came out wearing a craftsman’s denim apron. She must have been in charge of the music because it died just as I heard a “See you in the barn, Jim.” She glanced at me. Her lips flattened into displeasure. She hurried on.

“Another admirer.”

“They think you didn’t defend us very well from all the bad publicity. Not all of them think that, not me and the majority. But some of them. They’re lookin’ for somebody to blame because they think maybe they’ll all have to move because of some of the people in town. I kept tryin’ to tell them that there wasn’t anything you could do. But you know how stoners are.”

“I guess I don’t.”

He grinned. “Sometimes they make me ashamed I enjoy drugs as much as I do.”

The interior of the house had been cleaned up and painted. The furnishings in the front room came from the Salvation Army or someplace similar. The old stuff has faces-the weary couch, the tortured chair, the wounded ottoman. It was no different upstairs where air mattresses and sleeping bags ran three or four to a room. The smells ran to pot and smoke and wine and sex. A kitten so small she would have fit in the palm of my hand accompanied me as I tried to find Richard Donovan. The walls of the hallway were colorful and baleful with posters of Che, Bobby Rush, Nixon, and Southern cops.

My search ended at the only room with a closed door. I tried the doorknob and found that it was also locked. I knocked: “Richard, it’s McCain. Open up.”

So our little game began. I’d knock and he’d stay silent. I had my usual rational reaction to impotence; I kept rattling the doorknob. It would magically open; I just knew it.

Finally, he said, “I don’t feel like talking. Just go away.”

“If I don’t talk to you, I’ll talk to Mike Potter.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“I’ve got a witness who saw you arguing with Vanessa right before she was killed.”

The silence again.

“You hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you all right and I bet it was that bitch Glenna who told you, too.”

“Doesn’t matter who it was. Now open up.”

After a long minute he was in the doorway, shirtless, barefoot and sullen. He was doing a James Dean, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. From what I could see, his room was clean and orderly, almost military in the precise way he’d laid it out. “So we argued a little. That’s all it was.”

“What did you argue about?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m told she shoved you and started to walk away but you grabbed her by the arm and then followed her into the barn shouting her name.”

“You know the kind of lawyers my old man has access to? He’d take some bitch like Glenna apart on the stand.”

“You’re not convincing me you didn’t kill Vanessa.”

He leaned against the doorframe as if he might fall down if he didn’t have support. His eyes went through three quick and remarkable expressions-anger, hurt, fear. “I shouldn’t ever have hooked up with Glenna. She’s psycho, and I mean completely. Jealous of any girl who even looked at me.”

“That why you broke it off with her?”

“I can’t believe she still hates me. That was almost six months ago.”

He took a minute to jerk a pack of Marlboros from his back pocket. He knew how to stall. He set a world record finding a book of matches in the other back pocket, then getting the smoke lit. “I had a little thing with somebody.”

“Vanessa.”

His body tensed at the mention of her name. “She and Neil were having problems.”

“So you stepped in.”

“She wanted it.” The absolute lord and master of the commune was whimpering now. “I saw her in town one night and we ended up going to a movie in Iowa City. A French flick. She was a pretty cool girl for a hole like Black River Falls. Then we just started seeing each other-you know, on the sly.” His gaze fell away from me. He got real interested in how his cigarette was burning. “I didn’t want Neil to find out. I didn’t want him to think I was moving in on his chick.”

I forced the laugh back down my throat. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want him to think anything like that.”

This time his eyes tried to put burning holes in my face. “We were friends.”

“You’re a noble son of a bitch, no doubt about it.”

He moved back and started to slam the door but I was too quick. In a past life I must have sold encyclopedias. I had my foot planted in front of said door and it wasn’t going anywhere. “What happened when he found out?”

“Who said he found out?”

“Don’t waste my time. Of course he found out. It’s hard to sneak around in this commune or in town for that matter. Somebody must have spotted you.”

He touched his forehead with the fingers that held his cigarette as if somebody had just driven a railroad spike into it. “Glenna followed me one night. She saw us and told Neil. He-” I wasn’t sure if the shrug was meant to impress me or himself. “He was crazy. He threatened to kill me. Then I didn’t give a damn about him anymore. And neither did Van. She was afraid of him, in fact.”

“Leading up to the night she was killed.”

“What?”

“You still haven’t told me what you were arguing about with her.”

“ You know every goddamn thing. How about you telling me?”

“That she didn’t want to see you anymore and that there wasn’t any point in bothering her the way you had been.”

I wasn’t sure if it was an illusion or whether his face had paled.

“That seemed to be the pattern. Whenever the guy got too close to her she got scared and walked away. And that’s what happened to you, too, wasn’t it?”

The scowl didn’t work because he looked tired now. “You think whatever you want. But you better have some proof. Like I said, McCain, my old man has some very prominent lawyers. They’d eat you alive.”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere if I was you.”

The scowl hadn’t worked but he had more success with the smirk. “Sure thing, little man.”

I withdrew my foot. The door slammed shut. I wondered how long it would take him to call his old man. The prodigal son returns home. In bad need of a big-time mouthpiece.

Whittier Point was in favor when it was used by the kids of a grade school a block away. Then the grade school was consolidated with a larger school and Whittier Point was left to lie fallow. The city kept the grass mown on the area around the large pavilion but all the playground equipment was gone. Without supervision the city would be asking for a lawsuit; hell, even with supervision there’d been lawsuits. Hot weekends families still trekked up here, but on workdays it was often empty except for school-age lovers lost in their own obsession with each other.

Until nearly four thirty my only companions were quicksilver birds lighting on the empty picnic tables and two stray dogs who kept their noses to the cement floor as if uranium might be found under it.

For the first time I considered Richard Donovan a real suspect. Neil Cameron had been his rival for Vanessa. He’d been seen arguing with her not long before her murder. And he’d gone rich boy on me when I’d asked him if he’d killed her. Telling somebody you’re going to get world-class lawyers to save you doesn’t inspire confidence in your innocence.

And naturally I wondered why Nicole wasn’t here yet. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe she’d decided that she’d angered her father enough already by talking to me.

I got up and started walking around the area outside the pavilion. The birds had that day’s-end sound, and a cordial, solemn weariness seemed to settle on the trees and grass and the small lake just over the west side of the hill. There were moments when I wanted to be a kid again, hurrying home to my collection of paperbacks and comic books, the only realm in which I was really myself. My dad would still be alive and he and my mom would be laughing about something adult just as I entered the kitchen and asked when supper would be ready. I could even put up with my bratty sister, whom I loved despite all my protests to the contrary.

Then I saw her.

The winding paved road ended in a steep grade if you wanted to veer off and reach the pavilion. But she rode her ten-speed with energy and skill. As she drew near she waved; the gesture was girly and sweet. But then the front tire swerved and she was quickly dumped on the grass.

I ran over to her. She’d been thrown facedown but she was quick to roll over on her back with her arms flung wide. She was gasping for breath. Her eyes fluttered as if she might faint. I knelt down next to her and felt her racing pulse. Her breath still came in bursts and a whimper played in her mouth.

“I guess I should’ve taken the car.” That she’d managed the sentence with such clarity reassured me she was all right. Still, it was strange that a girl of her age, in apparent good health, would be worn out to the point where she’d lost control of her bicycle.

I helped her to her feet and looked for any cuts or scrapes. She fell against me for a moment. I slid my arm through hers and walked her into the pavilion and sat her down. “I’m throwing your bike in my trunk and giving you a ride home. No arguments.”

“They’ll see us together.”

“I’ll let you off a ways before your estate.”

“God, this is so embarrassing.”

“It’s still ninety degrees. Could happen to anybody.”

“Our house isn’t even a mile away.” She touched her face. Body heat had emphasized the acne on her cheeks. Her white blouse was soaked in spots.

“I’ve got a cold Pepsi in the car that I’ve had about half of. How does that sound?”

“That sounds great.”

She drank it in sips, which was smart. The drink relaxed her, or seemed to. She leaned back and took one of those deep breaths that usually mean you’re feeling better-even philosophical-about some problem. “I guess it was kinda stupid on a hot day like this.” Then: “My dad really doesn’t like you.”

“That I know. But why did he kick Tommy Delaney out?”

She wiped her brow with the back of her tiny, corded hand. “Poor Tommy. I always liked him but I don’t think anybody else did. Except Marsha. She told me one day how bad it was at home for him. His folks always argued and sometimes it got violent. I guess his whole life was like that. She said that was why he liked being at our place so much. It was peaceful and it made him feel special, you know, with my dad being so wealthy and all. The funny thing is, it was my dad who started inviting him over. He’d show him off to his friends. He always gave a speech, too, about how Tommy was going to put the Hawkeyes in the Rose Bowl. But Eve hated him. She thought he was a moron. And that was the word she used. She worked on Dad until he started to dislike Tommy, too. I guess when Van was killed he decided it was a good time to get rid of Tommy.”

“Tommy’s not handling it too well.”

She fanned herself with her tiny hand. “That’s what I figured. He really isn’t some big dumb jock. He’s real sensitive, you know? I think he was in love with Van for a little while but he was smart. He gave up right away. I mean, it was hopeless. Then he fell in love with Sarah. Van wouldn’t even listen to him when he was telling her that Neil was sorry for being so mad all the time and how much he loved her. Tommy felt sorry for Neil, that’s why he stepped in. But I told him up front it wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?” But my question came automatically. I was thinking about Tommy being in love with Sarah.

“She wanted to humiliate Dad every way she could. And that meant being with a lot of boys. But I doubt she slept with more than one or two of them. She told me she hated sex because it reminded her of Dad.”

“And this was all because your dad married Eve?”

“Well-” She perched herself on the edge of the bench. She pursed her lips, looked away for long seconds then said: “There was something else, too. But now it doesn’t matter. Van’s dead.”

“Did this thing that doesn’t matter anymore affect you the same way it affected Van?”

She inhaled deeply through her nose. “I really don’t want to talk about it, all right?”

“It might help me.”

“My dad said it’s all over. That you’re only out to embarrass him.”

“At one time your dad and I were close to being friends.”

“That isn’t the way he remembers it.”

There was only one way in. “Does Eve go out much at night-alone?”

Getting to her feet was an effort. She wobbled on the first two steps. I caught her wrist gently and eased her back.

“Please let me go. I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“I just asked you if Eve went out alone at night sometimes.”

“What do you want me to say? Yes, she did.”

“How about your dad? Did he go out at night alone sometimes, too?”

“Of course he did. And still does. He’s an important man. He has to.” She broke suddenly, hands to face, quick dagger of a sob. “You know about their arrangement, don’t you?”

“Was that why Van hated him so much?”

This time she had no trouble standing. Or walking. She walked down the wall and finally seated herself on the low ledge at the end of it. She didn’t say anything for a time. She wasn’t crying now. She didn’t even look upset. When she looked at me all she said was, “I need a cigarette.”

I did the movie star thing and lighted smokes for both of us. I carried them down and gave her hers. She had her nice legs stretched out in front of her now. She was considering them. She didn’t seem to have much pride in herself. I hoped she at least realized that she had perfect coltish legs.

She smoked eagerly. “How did you find out?”

“Right now that doesn’t matter. How did you and Van find out?”

A bright smile. “We followed her. Private investigators. We wanted to get something on her. We thought maybe Dad would divorce her if we could prove to him she was unfaithful. And that was pretty easy. She went out with Bobby Randall several times. And we assumed there were others, too. It’s funny how it worked out, though.”

I waited until she was ready to talk again.

“Before we got to tell him, Van and I got the flu pretty bad. We were in bed because we were so sick. I was asleep late one night when Van came into my room. She was so sick she could barely talk. She said she’d started down the stairs to get some orange juice and then she heard something she couldn’t believe. I was so groggy I wasn’t even sure what she was talking about. She said that this party Dad and Eve were having tonight-the men were drawing numbers to see which one of them would sleep with another man’s wife. I couldn’t understand it at first. But Van wasn’t just beautiful, she kept up on things. She said this was what they called wife swapping and she said Dad was having a great time. They were going to pair off, then get together that weekend at Dad’s house up on the river. It’s three stories and sort of like a hotel. Then Van started crying. I helped her into the bathroom so she could throw up. She was that sick-sick about what Dad was doing. She got into bed with me-I used to do that to her when we were little. She just kept crying and I held her and rocked her and sometimes I’d cry, too.”

She turned and flipped her cigarette onto the lawn. “That was a couple of years ago and that’s when she started running around. She’d never been like that before.”

“Did you or Van ever confront your father about it?”

“Oh, sure. We could tell he was embarrassed. He promised he wouldn’t do it anymore. We both wanted to believe him. But then after about a month or so he started going out alone at night the way Eve kept doing. We followed him. He went to the same motel Eve did. The women were wives of his friends. Van used to scream at him and threaten to kill Eve. She always said that Eve shouldn’t ever have been allowed to live in the same house our mom did. I agreed with her completely. Completely.” Then: “Pretty shitty, huh?”

“Pretty shitty.” I don’t know why I was surprised that the Mainwarings had lied to me about the girls not knowing.

“He said we’d understand better when we were older. But neither of us believed that. That isn’t any way to live. It’s like he’s in his second childhood or something.” Then: “I guess I’ll take you up on that ride back home.”

“You want to head back now?”

“Yes, maybe I’d better. I’m really wasted for some reason.”

I remembered how she’d been in my car the other day, not at her best, either. But there were a variety of physical responses to loss and trauma.

“You feel up to walking now?”

“I’m not a baby.” Sharp, angry.

“I was just offering to help.”

“I know, it’s just-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I hate being bitchy.”

“I can’t imagine you bitchy.”

Her whooping laugh was directed at me. “You’re one of those guys Van always told me about-the ones who idealize girls. You don’t want to be around me when I get bitchy. I was even worse than Van and that was pretty bad.”

“Thanks for the warning. Next time I’ll come armed.”

A soft summer giggle. “Well, I didn’t say I was that bad.”

With that she shoved off the edge of the wall. “Thanks for everything, Sam. I really appreciate it.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go get your bike.”