Legal Tender

20

I got back in the bananamobile with my written directions and Mrs. Zoeller’s homemade map. Bill was holed up in a cabin his uncle owned and kept for hunting. The Zoellers thought it was untraceable to them and also that Bill hadn’t told Eileen about it. I wasn’t so sure. I had to believe Eileen knew about it, and had maybe even been there. A young man and a young girl, not shacking up in a shack? This was still America, wasn’t it?

I studied the map. The cabin was at the godforsaken frontier of the state, probably seven hours north of here and as far west as Pittsburgh. I needed gas, food, and more coffee. I ended up getting it at a minimart far from the Zoellers’ farm, in case there were any cops around.

“Nice car, Jamie,” said the teenaged attendant, who also sold me two bloated hot dogs.

“Jamie?”

“Your license plate.”

“Oh. Right.” I kept my head down, hurried back to the car, and took off.

I drove through tunnels blasted out of stony mountains and around corkscrew highways carved into grassy hills. It began to rain, and I sped by strip mall after wet strip mall. By the time I had gulped down the hot dogs and terrible coffee it was the worst storm the radio disc jockey had ever seen. Thunder rumbled in the western sky and my stomach rumbled, too, but not from the provisions. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and made a call on my cell phone.

“Is she okay?” I asked, when Hattie picked up.

“What? Bennie? Is that you?”

“Yes. Is she okay?” Gray rainwater pounded on the windshield. Between the storm and the static, we could barely hear each other.

“She’s fine! Fine!”

“When does she have the ECT?” The signal broke completely, and I waited for the crackling to subside.

“-Saturday morning, eleven o’clock! Bennie? You there? You okay?”

More crackling. It was maddening. When it stopped I yelled, “Why so soon? Can’t it wait until I’m there?”

“You worry about yourself! Your momma’s fine!”

“Make them wait, Hattie! You can’t do it alone!”

“She can’t wait!” she shouted, before the signal broke for the last time.

It was inconceivable that cops had followed me here, I couldn’t have followed myself here. I was utterly and completely lost. I sat in the bananamobile with the ignition off and the car light on. Rain pelted the roof, and I turned the homemade map this way and that. As best I could tell, I was in the middle of the woods, in the dark, in a thunderstorm.

There were no streetlights in the magic forest because there were no streets, just skinny, unmarked roads that snaked through the woods. I’d passed a nature preserve an hour ago, but since then the roads meandered around forgotten ponds and alongside endless stretches of trees. Trees were even less help than corn, and they all looked the same. Brown with green at the top. I wished for a match.

I grabbed the Keystone AAA map I’d found in the glove box and held it next to Mrs. Zoeller’s map. I would’ve called her if not for the cell phone records. I didn’t want to leave a paper trail, especially one consistent with the cops’ theory of me as Eileen and Bill’s accomplice. Besides, I should be able to figure this out myself. I stared at one map, then the other. Damn. I should be close.

Fuck it. I felt like I was close; I’d rather drive around and find it. I threw the maps on the mustardy hot dog wrappers, snapped off the light, and slammed the car into reverse. When I clicked on the high beams, they shone on a tiny sign through the trees. 149. What? I rubbed a hole in the foggy windshield with the side of my hand. 149 Cogan Road. That was it! The cabin. Holy shit!

I turned off the ignition and climbed out of the car, covering myself with an Eddie Vedder CD. Rain spattered through the tree branches and onto my suit. I tramped through the underbrush in leather pumps, finding my way in the darkness with an outstretched hand. If I planned ahead I would’ve kept the headlights on, but if I planned ahead I wouldn’t be wanted for a double murder.

Light shone like a yellow square from the cabin through the trees, guiding me as I trudged on. Luckily there were no creepy animal noises. I like my wildlife on leashes, with faces you can kiss. I picked up the pace and bumped into a branch, pouring rainwater onto my padded shoulder.

Shit. I stepped over a fallen log, shoes soggy and shrinking at the toe. I was in sight of the cabin, but could make out only its outline. The block of light looked bigger, closer. I slogged through mud and wet leaves and in ten minutes arrived at a clearing. There it was. The cabin. It was made of wood, weathered and ramshackle, and stood one story tall and barely twenty-five feet wide.

My heart lifted. I would see Bill and get to the bottom of this. I went to the door, also of wood and bearing a Z brace it clearly needed. I stepped on the ratty doormat and knocked.

“Bill?” I called softly, too paranoid to shout even in Timbuktu. There was no answer.

“It’s Bennie. Let me in.” I knocked again, louder this time. Again, no answer.

“Your mom sent me. I want to help you.” I reached for the doorknob, but there wasn’t one, just a metal latch and hook that had rusted years ago. I gathered security wasn’t an issue up here in the wholesomeness.

I pressed open the door. Suddenly, something clawed at my ankle. “Aaah!” I yelped. I flailed and shook it off. The CD clattered to the ground.

“Miaow!” came a thin, high screech, and I looked down. Cowering in the yellow slice of light from the room was a tan kitten with a spiny back. Jesus. I swallowed hard, picked up the kitten, and told my heart to stop pounding. I went through the door and inside the cabin.

“Bill, look what the cat dragged in,” I called out, but there wasn’t a sound except for the rain’s patter on the roof. I stood motionless in the living room, which was empty and still. It contained a tattered couch, a lamp with a dim bulb, and a spartan galley kitchen. Hunting fatigues hung on an industrial rack against the wall. There was no TV, phone, or radio. Bill was nowhere in sight. Nobody was. Nothing looked out of order, but I was getting the creeps.

“Miaow?” The kitten jumped from my arms, her tail curled like a question mark.

“Don’t ask me, cat.”

The kitten padded into a dark adjoining room I presumed was the bedroom. I followed, edgy, and groped on the bedroom wall for a light switch.

I flicked it on and gasped. The sight was horrifying. There, stretched out on the bed in shorts and a T-shirt, was Bill.

Dead.