Dime Store Magic

Chapter 10

I THREW OPEN THE DOOR AND MARCHED ONTO THE PORCH. A camcorder lens swung to greet me.

"What's going on?" I asked.

The man with the camcorder stepped back to frame me in his viewfinder. No, not a man. A boy, maybe seventeen, eighteen. Beside him stood another young man of the same age, swilling Gatorade. Both were dressed in unrelieved black, everything oversized, from the baggy T-shirts to the backward ball caps to the combat boots to the pants that threatened to slide to their shoes at any moment.

On the opposite side of the lawn, as far as they could get from the young cinematic auteurs, stood two middle-aged women in schoolmarm dresses, ugly prints made into unflattering frocks that covered everything from mid-calf to mid-neck. Despite the warm June day, both wore cardigans that had been through the wash a few too many times. When I turned to look at the women, two middle-aged men appeared from a nearby minivan, both wearing dark gray suits, as ill-fitting and worn as the women's dresses. They approached the women and flanked them, as if to provide backup.

"I asked: what's going on?" I said. "Get that camera-what are you doing?"

"There she is," one of the women whispered loudly to her companions. "The poor girl."

"Look," I said. "It's no big deal. I appreciate your support, but-"

I stopped, realizing they weren't looking at me. I turned to see Savannah in the doorway.

"It's okay, sweetie," one man called. "We won't hurt you. We're here to help."

"Help?" she said, between cookie bites. "Help with what?"

"Saving your immortal soul."

"Huh?"

"You needn't be afraid," the second woman said. "It's not too late. God knows you're innocent, that you've been led into sin against your will."

Savannah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Get a life."

I shoved Savannah back into the house, slammed the door and held it shut.

"Look," I said. "Not to deny you folks your right to free speech, but you can't-"

"We heard about the Black Mass," the boy without the camera said. "Can we see it?"

"There's nothing to see. It's gone. It was a very sick prank, that's all."

"Did you really kill a couple of cats? Skinned them and cut them all up?"

"Someone killed three cats," I said. "And I hope they find the person responsible."

"What about the baby?" his camera-wielding friend asked.

"B-baby?"

"Yeah, I heard they found some parts they couldn't identify and they think it's this baby missing from Boston-"

"No!" I said, my voice sharp against the silence of the street. "They found cats. Nothing else. If you want more information, I'd suggest you contact the East Falls or state police, because I have nothing further to add. Better yet, how about I call them myself? Charge you with trespassing? That's what this is, you know."

"We must do as conscience dictates," the second man said in a deep, orator's voice. "We represent the Church of Christ's Blessed Salvation and we have committed ourselves to fighting evil in every form."

"Really?" I said. "Then you must have the wrong address. There's no evil here. Try down the street. I'm sure you can find something worth denouncing."

"We've found it," one of the women said. "The Black Mass. A perversion of the most sacred rite of Christianity. We know what this means. Others will know. They will come. They will join us."

"Oh? Gee, and I'm fresh out of coffee and doughnuts. I hate to be a bad hostess. If they don't mind tea, I'll put on the kettle. I make a really wicked brew."

The boy dropped the camcorder. For a second, I thought it was the tea comment. Then, as he stumbled forward, I glanced up to see Savannah peering through the front curtains. She grinned at me, then lifted her hand and the boy jerked backward, falling to the grass.

"That's not funny," I said, glaring at the teen as he struggled to get up. "I won't stand here and be mocked with pratfalls. If you have something to say to me, contact my lawyer."

I stormed into the house and slammed the door.

Savannah lay collapsed on the sofa, giggling. "That was great, Paige."

I strode across the room and yanked the curtains shut. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Oh, they wouldn't know it was me. Geez. Lighten up." She peeked under the curtain. "He's checking his shoelaces. Like maybe he tripped or something. Duh. Humans are so stupid."

"Stop saying that. And get away from that window. Let's just ignore them and make dinner, okay?"

"Can we eat out?"

"No!"

We ended up eating out.

Savannah didn't railroad me into it. As I was defrosting chicken for dinner, I kept thinking of the people on my lawn, and the more I thought about them, the angrier I got. The angrier I got, the more determined I was not to let them upset me… or, at least, not to let them know they'd upset me. If I wanted to go out to dinner, damned if they'd stop me. Actually, I didn't really want to go out to dinner, but after I made up my mind, I decided to proceed, if only to prove my point.

No one stopped us from driving away. The teenagers filmed our exit, as if hoping my car would transform into a broomstick and take flight. The Salvationists had retreated to their minivan before we made it to the corner, probably grateful for the excuse to sit down.

Savannah decided she wanted take-out from Golden Dragon. The local Chinese restaurant was run by Mabel Higgins, who'd never set foot outside Massachusetts in her life, and, judging by her cooking, had never cracked open an Asian cookbook. To Mabel, bean sprouts were exotic. Her idea of Chinese cooking was American chop suey-A.K.A. macaroni and ground beef.

Unfortunately, other than the bakery, the Golden Dragon was the only restaurant in East Falls. The bakery closed at five, so I had to buy my dinner from the Golden Dragon as well. I decided on plain white rice. Even Mabel couldn't screw that up.

I parked on the street. Most parking in East Falls is curbside, particularly in the village core, where all the buildings predate the automotive age. I've never mastered parallel parking-I'd rather walk an extra block than attempt it-so I pulled over in the empty stretch in front of the grocer, which had also closed at five.

"Geez, can't you park a little closer?" Savannah said. "We're, like, a mile away."

"More like a hundred feet. Come on. Get out." She launched into a moaning fit, as if I was asking her to trudge twenty miles through waist-high snow. "Wait here then," I said. "What do you want?" She gave me her order. Then I warned her that I was locking her in and did so, both with the car remote and spells.

As I headed back to the car, I noticed an SUV parked behind my Accord and quickened my pace. Yes, I was being paranoid. Yet, considering there were no other cars within a half-dozen spaces of mine, it did seem odd, even alarming. As I jogged toward my car, I saw the face of the SUV driver. Not Leah. Not Sandford. Grantham Cary, Jr.

"Great," I muttered.

I slowed to a quick march and yanked my keys from my purse. Under my breath, I undid the locking spells, then hit the remote unlock, so I could hop in my car without stopping long enough for him to approach me. As I drew near, I heard the soft rumble of his engine idling. I kept my gaze fixed on my car, listening for the sound of his door opening. Instead I heard the clunk of his transmission shifting into gear.

"Good," I said. "Just keep going."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reverse to pull out. Then he drove forward. Straight forward, hitting my car with a crash. Savannah flew against the dashboard.

"You son of a bitch!" I shouted, dropping the take-out bag and running for the car.

Cary veered out and tore off.

I raced to the passenger door and yanked it open. Inside, Savannah cupped a bloody nose.

"I'm okay," she said. "I just hit my nose."

I grabbed a handful of tissues from the box behind her seat and passed them to her, then examined the bridge of her nose. It didn't feel broken.

"I'm okay, Paige. Really." She glanced down at her blood-streaked T-shirt. "Shit! My new shirt! Did you get a license number? That guy's paying for my shirt."

"He's paying for more than your shirt. And I don't need a license number. I know who it was."

While Savannah went to retrieve the take-out bag from the sidewalk, I pulled out my cell phone, called the operator, and asked for the police.

"I'm not doubting it was Cary," Willard said. "I'm asking if you can prove it."

Of the three East Falls deputies, Travis Willard was the one I'd hoped they'd send. The town's youngest deputy-a couple of years my senior-he was the nicest of the bunch. His wife, Janey, and I had served at several charity functions together, and she was one of the few townspeople who'd made me feel welcome. Now, though, I was questioning the wisdom of phoning the police at all.

Although Willard was considerate enough to sit in my car, instead of making us stand on the sidewalk, everyone who passed did a double-take. Only twelve hours ago the police had found a Satanic altar at my house, news of which I was sure had flown through the town before noon. Now, seeing me pulled over talking to a deputy, tongues would wag with fresh speculation. If that wasn't bad enough, I was quickly realizing that accusing a respected town member of intentional hit-and-run was no easy sell.

"Someone must have seen it," Savannah said. "There were people around."

"None of whom stuck around to do their civic duty," I said. "But there's bound to be evidence. He didn't do a lot of damage, but the paint's scratched. Can't you check his truck?"

"I could," Willard said. "And if I find silver paint on his bumper I can ask Sheriff Fowler to requisition a lab test and he'll laugh in my face. I'm not trying to give you a hard time, Paige. I'm suggesting maybe this isn't the way you want to pursue this. I heard you had a run-in with Cary at the bakery yesterday."

"You did?" Savannah said. "What happened?"

Willard turned to the backseat and asked Savannah to step outside the car for a moment. When she was gone, he looked back at me.

"I know he hit on you. The guy's a-" Willard cut himself short and shook his head. "He hits on every cute girl in town. Even made a pass at Janey once-after we were married. I could have-" Another head shake. "But I didn't. I didn't do anything. Some things are more trouble than they're worth."

"I understand that, but-"

"Don't worry about the car. I'll write it up for your insurance company as a hit-and-run. And maybe I'll pay Cary a visit, drop a hint that he should pay the deductible."

"I don't care about the damage. It's a car. I'm upset because Savannah was inside. She could have gone through the windshield."

"Do you think Cary knew she was there?"

I hesitated, then shook my head.

"That's what I figure, too," Willard said. "He wouldn't have seen her over the headrest. He was driving by, saw your car, and pulled in behind, thinking it was empty. When he saw you walking up, he slammed into the rear end. An asshole, like I said. But not a big enough asshole to intentionally hurt a kid."

"So you won't do anything."

"If you insist, then I have to make the report, but I'm warning you-"

"Fine. I get the idea."

"I'm sorry, Paige."

I fastened my seatbelt and waved Savannah into the car.

Next stop: 52 Spruce Lane. Home of Mr. and Mrs. Grantham Cary, Jr.

The Carys lived in one of East Falls's finest homes. It was one of five stops on the annual East Falls garden walk. Not that the gardens were spectacular. Quite mundane, in fact, tending to overpruned shrubbery and roses with fancy names and no scent. Yet each year the house made the tour and each year the people of East Falls paid their fee to troop through the house and gardens. Why? Because each year Lacey hired a top-notch decorator to redo one room in the house, which then set that season's standard for interior design in East Falls.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Savannah said as I stalked up the front walkway.

"No one else is going to do it for us."

"Hey, I'm all for putting the boots to the guy, but there are other ways, you know. Better ways. I could cast a spell that'll-"

"No spells. I don't want revenge. I want justice."

"A good case of body lice would be justice."

"I want him to know what he did."

"So we'll send him a card. Cooties courtesy of Paige and Savannah."

I tramped up the steps and whammed the cherub knocker against the wooden door. From inside came the scuffling of shoes. A curtain fluttered. Voices murmured. Then Lacey opened the door.

"I'd like to speak to Grantham, please," I said, with as much courtesy as I could muster.

"He isn't here."

"Oh? That's odd. I see his car in the lane. Looks like he scraped up the front bumper."

Lacey's surgically tightened face didn't so much as ripple. "I wouldn't know about that."

"Look, could I please talk to him? This doesn't concern you, Lacey. I know he's in there. This is his problem. Let him handle it."

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"He hit my car. On purpose. Savannah was inside."

Not a flicker of reaction. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

"Did you hear me? Grantham hit my car. He-"

"You're mistaken. If you're trying to get us to pay for damages-"

"I don't care about the car!" I said, pulling Savannah over and waving at her bloodied nose and shirt. "This is the damage I care about! She's thirteen years old."

"Children get bloody noses all the time. If you're hoping to sue-"

"I don't want to sue! I want him to come out here and see what he's done. That's it. Just bring him out here so I can speak to him."

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Stop covering for him, Lacey. He doesn't deserve it. The guy chases-"

I stopped there. My quarrel was with Grantham, not Lacey and, as good as it would have felt to tell Lacey what else her husband was doing, it wasn't fair. Besides, she probably already knew. I'd only be lowering myself to cheap shots.

"Tell him this isn't finished," I said, then turned and stomped down the steps.

As I approached my car, I "realized Savannah wasn't behind me. I turned to see her in front of the house. Inside the lights flickered on and off. A television soundtrack blared, then faded, then blared again.

"Savannah!" I hissed.

A main floor curtain drew back. Lacey peered out. Savannah looked up and waved her fingers. Then she jogged toward me.

"What do you think you're doing?" I said.

"Just a warning," she said, grinning. "A friendly warning."

When we got home, the teens were filming my neighbor's black cat. I ignored them and pulled into the garage.

While Savannah reheated her dinner, I listened to my messages and returned calls to several Bostonian friends who'd seen my plight on the news. My Satanic altar made the Boston news? They each assured me it had been only a cursory mention on one channel, but that didn't make me feel better.

The teenagers left at nine forty-five, probably to make curfew. The older quartet stayed, taking turns sitting in the minivan and standing vigil on my lawn. I didn't phone the police. That would only call more attention to myself. If I didn't react, the Salvationists would tire soon enough and go home, wherever home was.

I went to bed at eleven. Yes, sad but true, I was young, single, and going to bed at eleven on a Saturday night, as I had almost every night for the past nine months. Since Savannah's arrival, I've had to struggle to maintain even friendships. Dating is out of the question. Savannah is very jealous of my time and attention. Or, perhaps more accurately, she dislikes not having me at her convenience. Like I've said, stability was one of the few things I could offer her, so I didn't push it.

Before retiring for the night, I peeked out the front curtain. Two men still stood on my front lawn, with two women in a nearby car, but the faces and the vehicle had changed. Replacement workers? Great.

I spent way too much time that night brooding about Cary. As if dealing with a Satanic altar wasn't enough, now I had a maturity-challenged lawyer stalking me. How did I get myself into these messes? Maybe publicly humiliating Cary wasn't my brightest idea ever, but how was I to know the guy would retaliate like a sixteen-year-old turned down for a prom date?

Then there was Travis Willard. I liked Willard, which made his cop-out only that much worse. If he wouldn't support me against Cary, who would? I could say East Falls was a typical small town, insular and protective, but I grew up in a small community and it hadn't been like this at all. If the Elders would only let me move… but that led into a whole new area of brooding. I already had enough to last me the entire night.

All was quiet the next morning. Not surprising, given that it was Sunday and this was East Falls. At nine A.M. the phone rang. I checked caller ID. Private caller. Whenever someone doesn't want you to know who they are, it's a good bet they aren't someone you care to speak to.

I let the machine pick up and set the kettle on the stove. The caller hung up.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. Another mystery caller. I sipped my tea and waited for the hang-up. Instead, the caller left a cell-phone-static-choked message.

"Paige, it's Grant. I want to speak to you about last night. I'll be at the office at ten."

I grabbed the receiver, but he'd already hung up, and *69 didn't work. I considered my options, then dumped my tea down the sink and walked down the hall to Savannah's bedroom.

"Savannah?" I called, rapping at the door. "Time to get up. We've got an errand to run."