Plum Spooky

ELEVEN

DIESEL WAS AT the dining room table working on my computer when I walked in. “What’s the word on the naked woman?” he asked.

“I managed to get her out of Morelli’s bed, but she came back and shot his brother in the ass with a nail gun.”

Diesel pushed back in his chair and smiled wide. “I’d ask for details, but they might be disappointing compared to what I’m thinking.”

“It was a fiasco.” I got a beer out of the fridge and chugged half of it. “What are you doing?”

“Prowling around on the Net. Trying to learn something about electromagnetic fields. Munch’s doctoral thesis was specific to atmospheric ionization, a subject about which I know zip.”

I couldn’t see Carl, but I could hear Super Mario Bros. coming from the couch.

“Has he been playing that all night?” I asked Diesel.

Diesel stood and stretched. “Yep.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

“Yep.”

“Boy I’m impressed. That’s so mellow.”

“Actually I’m only hanging on until the battery runs down. I figure he’s got about two minutes left. And he doesn’t know how to recharge the thing.”

And at that moment there was silence in the room.

“Eep?” Carl said. He stood and looked over the back of the couch at us. He held the game player up for us to see. “Eeep.”

“It’s dead,” Diesel said.

Carl’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. He shook the game player and examined it.

“Jeez,” I said to Diesel. “That’s tough.”

“Easy for you to say. You spent the night with a naked woman, and I spent it with this monkey.”

Carl threw the game at Diesel and tagged him in the back of the head.

“This is getting old,” Diesel said, picking the game up off the floor. “I’m not as nice as I look. If I hear one more eeep I’m gonna open a can of whoop-ass on the monkey.”

“You’re frustrated because you can’t get to Wulf.”

“That’s part of it.” His phone rang, and he answered and listened. “Be right there,” he said and disconnected.

“Flash?” I asked.

“Yeah. Wulf returned to the Sky Social Club. He’s inside. Let’s roll.”

“What about Carl?”

“What about him?”

“I don’t want to just leave him here in this mood.”

Diesel pulled a charger out of his pack and plugged it into the game. “I’m recharging this,” he said to Carl. “I’m going to plug it in, and when the red light turns green it’s good to go. Do you understand?”

Carl shrugged.

Diesel grabbed my hand and pulled me to the door. “We need to move.”

FLASH WAS PARKED halfway down the alley. We slid to a stop behind him, cut our lights, and we all got out and stood looking in the direction of the Sky building.

“He’s still in there,” Flash said. “His car is parked behind the building, and it hasn’t moved.”

“Do you have any idea who’s in there with him?” Diesel asked.

“I have my girlfriend watching the front, and from what we can tell, Doc Weiner is there with two lieutenants. Mostly, the club runs during the day and empties out at night.”

The back door to the club opened, and Wulf walked out. Too dark for me to see more than his outline. There was the sound of his car door opening and closing. The Ferrari engine turned over, and Wulf backed out and drove away from us. We all scrambled to get into our cars.

Diesel wheeled around Flash, and just as he approached the Sky building, there was an explosion that blew out the building windows and doors and rocked the Escalade. I looked behind us and saw Flash put his car into reverse and tear down the alley. Diesel did the same. Flaming debris blocked the narrow road directly behind the club.

It took me a couple minutes to catch my breath and get my heart to stop racing. “What was that?” I asked Diesel. My voice was an octave higher than normal, and my eyes felt like they’d been popped out of their sockets.

“My guess is Wulf burned a bridge,” Diesel said.

Diesel and Flash circled the block but couldn’t pick up the Ferrari. Diesel continued to drive south without success. The trail was cold.

“I’m hungry, and I want beer,” Diesel said. “Where do I go?”

“Pino’s will be open. It’s just off Broad.”

Ten minutes later, we parked on the street several houses down from Pino’s. It was a dark, starless, moonless night that had turned too cold for my sweatshirt. I power-walked the distance from the car to Pino’s entrance and pushed into the heat and noise of the crowded bar. The place was filled with cops and nurses gone off shift, and my phone rang minutes after Diesel and I took a table and ordered food.

“What’s up?” Morelli asked. “I just got four calls telling me you’re out with a guy who looks like he could kick my ass.”

“It’s Diesel.”

Silence on Morelli’s end. I figured he was counting his fingers and toes, trying to get a grip.

“Diesel,” he finally said. “My life isn’t bad enough, now I have to worry about Diesel.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

“Where’s he sleeping?”

“Wherever he wants. Can we change the subject? How’s Anthony’s ass?”

“He’s in your bed, right? Maybe I should just shoot him and be done with it,” Morelli said.

“I think he might be hard to kill. Anyway, you’re supposed to trust me.”

“Hah!” Diesel said. And he chugged half a bottle of beer.

“I trust you,” Morelli said. “I just don’t trust him.”

“He’ll be gone soon. Hang in there.”

More silence. This wasn’t a good time for Morelli.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” I said. “He’s gay, but he’s only halfway out of the closet.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I’m not his type.”

“He doesn’t look gay,” Morelli said.

“How can someone look gay?”

“They’re usually neat.”

“Well, he’s a gay slob, what can I say? And on top of that, he can’t get it up. Some sort of war injury. Blew his nuts off.”

Diesel had eyebrows raised.

“I have to go,” Morelli said. “Anthony is moaning for pie. I have a Mrs. Smith’s in the oven.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“I’m an idiot.”

And he disconnected.

“That sucks,” Diesel said. “I could have managed gay, but I really hate not having nuts.”

“It’s a temporary thing. Next week, you’ll be in Spain or Malaysia, and you’ll have your nuts back.”

“True. Call Ranger and see if he knows anything about the Sky explosion. He monitors the police band.”

I punched Ranger’s number, and he immediately came on the line.

“Babe,” Ranger said.

“Sky Social Club had an issue to night.”

“That’s what I’m told.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“It’s never your fault,” Ranger said. “So far, no bodies found, but I don’t think they’ve been able to get into the building yet.”

“I was watching the club when it blew. My man Munch is hanging out with a creepy guy named Wulf. Wulf left the club and BLAM!”

“You want to stay far away from Wulf,” Ranger said.

“You know him?”

“I know about him.”

“That’s a relief. I thought maybe you were related.”

“Not nearly. Diesel and Wulf are Swiss.”

“Swiss!”

Diesel had been watching the tele vision behind the bar, but that brought his attention back to me.

“You know where I keep the key if you need a safe haven,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.

I looked at Diesel. “You’re Swiss?”

“Origin of birth.”

“You seem so American.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time here.”

I AWOKE ALONE in my bed. Diesel’s side was rumpled, but Diesel was missing. Daylight halfheartedly peeped from the edge of my curtains, and I could smell coffee brewing. I dragged myself out of bed and into the kitchen.

Diesel handed me a mug and filled it with coffee. “It lives,” he said.

“You’re up early. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s not that early. It’s almost eight o’clock, and we need to be on the road. My sources tell me there’s going to be a memorial ser vice for Eugene Scanlon today. It’s being held in a church in north Philly I’m hoping his long-lost sister will show. Or his killer.”

“I hate memorial ser vices.”

“Maybe they’ll have doughnuts,” Diesel said. “You have thirty-five minutes to get memorial-ready”

“What about the monkey?”

“He’s had breakfast, his game is charged, and the tele vision remote is within reach.”

THE CHURCH WAS two blocks from Roberta Scanlon’s house. It was gray stone, with the standard bell tower and carved oak door. It was moderate size, and all parking was on the street. We arrived ten minutes ahead of the ser vice, and there were only a handful of cars at the curb. I was wearing my black suit with the short pencil skirt, three-inch heels, and a white silk sweater. Diesel had selected for the occasion his jeans without a rip in the knee.

Roberta was at the door when we entered.

“Thank you for coming,” Roberta said to Diesel and me. “We’ll have doughnuts after the ser vice.”

I felt Diesel smile behind me.

“Have you heard from your sister?” I asked Roberta.

Roberta motioned to the inside of the church. “Third pew from the altar on the left. She’s the woman with the pink streaks in her hair.”

We sat three rows behind Gail Scanlon, and her sister sat next to her for the short eulogy. I counted thirteen other people present. All but two were women. All were Roberta’s age. Eugene Scanlon was not in attendance. He was in Trenton awaiting his autopsy.

After the ser vice, the Scanlon sisters stood and filed out to the vestibule, where the buffet had been set. They were both stoic. Roberta was in a shapeless black dress. Gail was wearing a bright rainbow-colored tunic top and flowing ankle-length skirt. Neither touched the food. Roberta spoke to the few mourners who approached her, and Gail quietly stood to the side.

Gail looked at her watch and twisted the tunic hem in her fingers.

“She’s getting ready to bolt,” Diesel said, pushing me forward. “Talk to her.”

“I don’t know her, and this is so private. What will I say?”

“Tell her the blouse she’s wearing is pretty.”

“What?”

“Look at her,” Diesel said. “She’s chosen to wear something colorful. I’m sure it was deliberate. But now she’s feeling uncomfortable because she’s made herself even more of a misfit. A compliment would go a long way here.”

“That’s shockingly sensitive.”

“That’s me,” Diesel said. “Mr. Sensitivity.”

I crossed the room to Gail Scanlon. “That’s a beautiful tunic,” I said. “Is it handmade?”

Scanlon looked surprised, obviously astonished that someone would speak to her, much less compliment her clothes.

“There’s a woman in the Barrens who makes these,” she said, smoothing a wrinkle away. “I think they have positive energy.”

“Do you live in the Barrens?”

“Yes. Usually. Sometimes I travel.”

“I haven’t spent much time in the Barrens. People tell me they’re interesting.”

“They’re wonderful. My life work is in the Barrens.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a soul guardian.”

That caught me off guard. A soul guardian. I liked it, but I didn’t know what it meant. It sounded a little wacko.

“I protect endangered trees and animals,” Gail said.

“Someone has to speak for those who have no voice.”

“Like a tree.”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

And then it slipped out. The required statement I didn’t really want to make. “Sorry about your brother.”

“You’re in the minority” Gail said. “He was a miserable human being.”

Whoa. I hadn’t seen that coming. “Excuse me?”

“You probably are shocked, but you didn’t know Eugene. He was a self-centered troublemaker all his life. Even when I was a kid. I know I shouldn’t speak bad of the dead, but that’s how I feel.” She stuffed her arms into a heavy knit sweater she’d been carry ing. “What I know is that Eugene caused his own death. He did something bad one time too many, and it caught up with him. He was a real smart man, but he wasn’t a nice man.”

“I should introduce myself,” I said. And I handed her my card.

Gail checked her watch. “Roberta said she spoke to you. Unfortunately, I have to get home. I have a lot of mouths to feed.”

“Where’s home?”

“I’ve got a patch of land in the Barrens.”

“Do you know Martin Munch?” I asked her. “Do you know a man called Wulf?”

“No,” she said. “I have to go. I can’t talk anymore.”

“One more thing,” I said, but she waved me off and hurried away.

Diesel moved next to me. “Well?”

“Nothing. She said she had to get home.”

Diesel and I went to the door and watched Gail get into an old Army surplus Jeep and ease into traffic.

Diesel grabbed my hand and pulled me to the Escalade. “Let’s see where she goes.” He took the wheel and jumped from the curb. “She’s going to be easy to follow in that Jeep. She hasn’t looked in her mirror once to see if she has a tail.”

“She’s anxious to get home.”

“And home would be where?” Diesel asked.

“Down a dirt road.”

“Good to know. In case by some freak chance I lose her, all I have to do is look for a dirt road.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. That’s all she said.”

“Nothing else?”

“She said her brother was a miserable person. And had always been a miserable person. And that he probably deserved what he got.”

Diesel shook his head. “Man, that’s severe. Imagine what she would have said if it wasn’t his memorial ser vice.”

Gail hit the 95 and went south to the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge. We were a couple car lengths back, rolling at the speed limit. Gail wasn’t a rule breaker on the highway. Diesel was relaxed at the wheel. I was thinking about the doughnut I didn’t get at the ser vice, wishing I’d been quicker at the buffet.

I was raised in the Burg, where death is more a social opportunity than a tragic event. Viewings and wakes hold the potential for a decent food spread and free-flowing alcohol. It’s one of the few occasions when throwing back whiskey at ten in the morning is in good form. It’s guaranteed that on occasion grief won’t be easily set aside by a plateful of meatballs, but no reason to let that unhappy thought ruin a perfectly good time at the viewing for a distant acquaintance. Personally I’d rather be at a mall.

“What do you think about death?” I asked Diesel.

“I like the buffet. After that, it’s not my favorite thing.” He looked over at me. “What do you think about death?”

“I think carnations should be banned from funeral parlors.”

We rode in silence after that. I mean, what was left to say? Gail still showed no sign of noticing our behemoth black SUV close on her tail. She sailed over the bridge and took 73 south. Miles later, I was thinking I was on the road to nowhere. And then Gail slowed and hooked a left off 73. She wound around some, and after a while the road turned to dirt and narrowed. We dropped back as far as possible, although I doubt we could be seen through the dust cloud Gail was kicking up. There were scrubby bushes on either side, and the rutted road twisted around trees and chunks of rock.

Diesel powered forward, into a stand of scruffy pines, and BAM! Something bounced off the front bumper, and we were blinded by a blizzard of feathers and blood.

“Omigod,” I said, my heart beating in my throat. “What was that?”

Diesel stopped the car and looked at the windshield, which was plastered with what could only be bird guts.

“That had to be the biggest bird on the planet,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt, getting out to take a look.

I stayed buckled. I didn’t want to see any more than I was seeing. I was glad I didn’t have a memorial ser vice doughnut to spew.

Diesel kicked at something on the ground and examined the front of the Escalade. He swiped a finger through the red stuff on the windshield and looked at it up close.

“Fake blood,” he said. “I think we hit the Pine Barrens version of a booby-trap piñata.”

“The feathers?”

“Real. But the bird who gave his all for them is long gone.”

“Why would someone booby-trap this road with a feather bomb?”

“I’m guessing Gail did it. Stops people from going forward. Makes a statement of sorts. Doesn’t really hurt anyone. This is probably what war would look like if women were in charge.”

Diesel got behind the wheel and flipped the windshield washers on. The fake blood mixed with the washer fluid and feathers and gummed up the wiper blades.

“What have you got in your bag?” Diesel asked.

“Tissues?”

He took the tissues, got out of the car, and tried cleaning the blades. No good. The tissues were now mixed with the blood and feathers and washer fluid. The whole windshield was a disgusting red smear.

“I’m not happy,” Diesel said.

I was still pawing through the junk in my bag, and I found a travel-size nail polish remover pad. “This should do something,” I said. “I only have one, so don’t waste it.” I tore the foil envelope open and gave the saturated pad to Diesel.

Diesel looked at the two-inch square. “You’re kidding.”

“Do you have anything better?”

“No. I’d stand on the hood and piss on the windshield, but I’m empty.”

“Some superhero.”

Diesel flipped me the bird and went to work with the polish remover. Moments later, he had a small piece of window exposed in front of the steering wheel. He cranked the car over, wheeled it around, and carefully picked his way down the dirt road, turning right when he reached the paved road. He followed signs to the Atlantic City Expressway, and found a gas station just before the Expressway entrance.

I was pumping gas and Diesel was scrubbing the windshield and grille when the Ferrari sped by the gas station and took the Expressway, heading west to the Turnpike.

“Too bad you can’t fly,” I said to Diesel.

“Yeah, rub it in. All through high school I took it for that.”

“Do you want to go back to the dirt road?”

“No. I want to get on a computer and do some research first. We could ride around for days on that road and never find anything. And we’re not even sure Gail means anything to us.”

I WASHED DOWN a sandwich with a soda and fed the last bite of bread to Rex. Better a late lunch than no lunch at all. Diesel was on my computer, looking at aerial views of the Barrens.

“This was taken several months ago,” Diesel said, “but I see a clearing and a house and a fairly large outbuilding at the end of the road we were on. There are a lot of narrow roads intersecting and going off in all directions from that dirt road, but there’s really only one house that can be reached by Jeep.”

“Are you going back now?”

“No. I want to look at more aerial views, and I have a call in to Scanlon’s supervisor.”

“That’s okay by me. I’d like to take another stab at Gordo Bollo.”

“As long as you don’t go out of cell range… and you take the monkey.”

“Why can’t Carl stay here?”

“He’s annoying. It’s nonnegotiable.”

“Okay, fine, but you owe me.”

“Lookin’ forward to settling the score,” Diesel said.

“Boy, you never give up, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be me if I gave up.”

I got Carl settled in the back of the Jeep and I drove to the office.

“I’ll go with you,” Lula said, “but I’m not going inside. I’m not having no more rat experiences.”

“What good are you if you won’t go inside?”

“I can guard the Jeep. Suppose by dumb luck or something you snag Melon Head. You want to make sure the Jeep is still there when you come out, right?”

Twenty minutes later, I left Lula and Carl in the parking lot, put on my game face, and walked into Greenblat Produce.

“If you’re looking for Gordo, you’re out of luck today,” one of the women said. “He called in sick.”

“That was fast,” Lula said when I climbed behind the wheel.

I pulled Bollo’s file out of my bag. “He called in sick.” I thumbed through pages and found his home address. “He lives in Bordentown.”

“I’m cool with that,” Lula said. “Let’s go to Bordentown and root him out.”

The day had started out warm, but clouds had rolled in and the temperature was dropping. Not winter-quality dropping, but enough to notice when there were no windows in your car. I turned the heater on full blast and hunkered down.

“Where’s your windows?” Lula wanted to know.

“They need to get zipped in.”

“Well, zip them in. I’m freezing my ass off.”

I’d bought the Jeep a month before, when it was hot and I didn’t need windows. I’d tried to zip them in once when it rained and had partial success. I was willing to try again. I pulled to the side of the road, and Lula and I grunted and tugged and cussed at the plastic windows. We finally got most of them secure, with the exception of the back window. The back window would zip only halfway.

“Good enough,” Lula said. “We need ventilation anyway since the monkey’s back there.”

Carl gave her the finger.

“That all you got?” Lula asked Carl.

Carl grabbed his crotch and hiked it up.

“That’s disgusting on a monkey” Lula said. “You been letting him watch MTV? You want to monitor his tele vision viewing.”

I checked Carl out in my rearview mirror. He was back to playing with his game.

“Get the map out and find 656 Ward Street in Borden-town,” I told Lula.

Lula opened the map and traced a line with her finger. “You gotta get off Route 206 in about half a mile.”

Ten minutes later, we were on Ward Street, but we couldn’t find Bollo’s house. There was no 656 on Ward Street. The only thing on Ward Street was a cemetery on one side and a ceramic pipe factory on the other.

I called Bollo’s home phone. No answer. No machine picked up. I called his cell phone.

“Yeah?” Bollo said.

“This is UPS. I have a delivery for Gordo Bollo, and I need a correct address.”

“Eat me,” Bollo said. And he hung up.

“I think he knew it was me,” I said to Lula.

“Should have let the monkey make the call.”

I called Connie. “I got a bogus home address for Gordo Bollo.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Connie said.

“You know what?” Lula said. “We’re halfway to Atlantic City. We could go to Atlantic City and make a killing on the slots.”

“Tempting, but I told Diesel I’d be available.”

“Available for what?”

“For bounty hunter stuff.”

My phone rang and I heard labored breathing and a whispered hello.

“Yes?” I said.

“Is this the bounty hunter?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God. I had your card in my pocket, and I didn’t know who to call. They think I’m still unconscious. I couldn’t call the police. I’m afraid they’d take my animals. But you find people, right?”

“Gail?”

“You have to help me. Please. They’re taking me somewhere.” It was clear she was struggling to talk, trying not to cry, but a sob escaped before she reigned herself in. “I’m in terrible trouble,” she whispered. “You have to find me. And take care of my poor animals. Oh God,” she moaned. “It’s Wulf. He’s coming back. He’s coming to get me.” And the line went dead.

“You don’t look good,” Lula said to me. “You just turned white. What was that call about?”

“It was Gail Scanlon. It sounded like Wulf has kidnapped her.”

I dialed Diesel’s cell. No answer. I left a message to call me, and I called my home phone. No answer there, either. I put the Jeep in gear and called Ranger.

“Do you have my Jeep bugged?”

“Bugged?”

“You know, the gizmo you always put on my cars so you can find me.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you find me anywhere?”

“Pretty much. Where are you going?”

“I’m heading for the Pine Barrens to check out a woman in trouble, and I’m afraid I’ll get lost.”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

“There isn’t cell service in some spots, so if you don’t hear back from me for a couple days, you should come get me.”

“I’ll make a memo on my calendar.”

I hung up, and Lula was shaking her head. “I swear, if I was gonna ask a favor of Ranger, it wouldn’t be to come rescue my ass. And I don’t believe he’s got a tracking device on your junk of a car. What’s that about?”

“He has them on all his fleet vehicles, and he puts one on mine because I sometimes work for him.” And because he cares for me… a lot. The caring is mutual, but Ranger, like Diesel, is out of my relationship comfort zone.

“So now what? Are we gonna go after Gail Scanlon?” Lula wanted to know.

“Yeah. I have a pretty good idea where she lives. We’ll start there.”

Lula had the map in front of her again. “You got an address?”

“Yup. It’s follow the dirt road.”

I TOOK ROUTE 206 to Marbury Road and turned left. Route 206 was a slower road than the Turnpike but more direct. Carl was happy in the backseat with a bucket of fried chicken parts. Lula had a bag of burgers and fries. I had a vanilla milk shake. I left Marbury Road, and my confidence level dropped. I was going as much on instinct as memory relieved when something looked familiar. I reached the dirt road and slowed. I didn’t want to create a dust cloud announcing my approach.

Lula peered through the Jeep’s small windshield. “Are you sure we’re in Jersey? This don’t look like Jersey to me. This don’t even look like America.”

“How much of America have you seen?” I asked her.

“In person or on tele vision?”

I crept around a stand of pines and saw the massacred faux bird bomb on the ground in front of me. Hooray. I was on the right path.

“This is as far as I got with Diesel,” I said to Lula. “We lost Gail Scanlon here.”

“You know how to get out of this hellhole, right?”

“Piece of cake.”

“I don’t like all these trees and no strip malls. It don’t seem normal.”

I followed the dirt road for a half mile and came to a fork. Both sides of the fork looked exactly the same. I got out of the car and examined the dirt like I was Tonto running point for the Lone Ranger.

“Well?” Lula asked.

I got back into the Jeep. I hadn’t a clue. “Left,” I said.

“Boy, you’re good,” Lula said. “I didn’t see nothing in that dirt.”

Carl was on his feet in the backseat, peering over my shoulder, looking worried.

“What do you think?” I asked Carl. “Left?”

“Eeep,” Carl said.

I took the left fork, and after a while, I came to another fork in the road. And then another.

“All I can see is trees and sand,” Lula said. “It’s like the end of the world. There’s no sidewalks. Where’s the cement? And I haven’t got no bars on my cell phone. What’s with that? I don’t like being without bars.”

I looked at my phone. She was right. No bars. I hoped Diesel wasn’t trying to reach me.

“Maybe we should turn around,” Lula said. “I’m freaking. These trees are closing in on me. I need bars on my phone.”

“The road’s too narrow to make a U-turn. I’ll turn as soon as it widens.”

“What if it don’t widen?”

“It’ll widen!”

Truth is I had no confidence it would widen. And I had no idea where I was. I was lost beyond being lost. My plan was to go forward and keep turning left, and eventually I thought it had to take me somewhere.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Lula said. “I shouldn’t of had that super-size soda. You need to find a gas station or McDonald’s or something.”

An hour later, I was still creeping along in the Barrens. No golden arches in sight.

“I’m gonna burst,” Lula said. “I gotta go.”

I came to a stop. “Pick a tree,” I said.

“What?”

“This is as good as it’s going to get. We’re lost, and we’re out of gas.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” Lula said. “It’s gonna get dark. I don’t like the idea of being here in the dark. It’s creepy. And the Jersey Dev il comes out at night.”

“There’s no Jersey Dev il.”

“I heard about it. It got wings. Big wings.”

Carl had climbed over the seat and was sitting hunched on the gearshift. Carl didn’t like talk of the Jersey Dev il.

“Are you sure we’re out of gas?” Lula asked.

I turned the key, but the engine didn’t kick over.

“I can’t believe you got me into a situation where we’re out of gas and there’s no restroom,” Lula said. “I’m going down this road, and I’m finding a place on my own.”

Lula heaved herself out of the car and set off down the road.

“That’s not a good idea,” I yelled after her. “You’ll get even more lost.”

“Roads don’t just go nowhere. Roads go somewhere. I’m following this road.”

I slid from behind the wheel and ran to catch up to her. I thought walking off was a dumb idea, but she had the gun with bullets in it. I didn’t get into a cold sweat over the Jersey Dev il, but I wasn’t crazy about the idea of Wulf finding me unprotected in the Jeep.

We walked for a half hour, and we were definitely losing light. Carl was close on my heels, wide-eyed and silent. Lula was two steps in front of me, huffing along. She suddenly stopped and cocked her head.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“What?”

“That flapping sound. Like something flying through the trees.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“I’m pretty sure it was the Dev il,” Lula said.

“The Jersey Dev il is folklore. It’s a bedtime story. And it’s not even scary. It’s supposed to look like a potbellied horse with wings.”

“Yeah, but I heard that the Dev il likes to eat plus-sized, beautiful brown-skinned women.”

“That’s ridiculous. Horses are herbivores.”

“This is a dev il horse. There’s no telling what it eats. And it could stomp you with its hooves. Or it could put a spell on you.”

The Jersey Dev il was starting to sound like Morelli’s crazy Italian grandmother.

“What we really want to worry about is the whine of a Ferrari engine.”

“Not gonna be a Ferrari on this road,” Lula said. “It’s full of big ruts. A Ferrari’d bottom out.”

She was right. This was both good news and bad news. Good news because I didn’t want to get run over by Wulf. Bad news because I was on the wrong road.

“I see something through those trees,” Lula said, heading off into a stand of pines. “I bet there’s a house over there. I bet it’s got a bathroom.”

“Be careful. Even if it is a house, you don’t know who lives in it. It could be a crazy person.” Like Wulf.

“I don’t care if they’re crazy so long as they have a bathroom.”

Ten minutes later, we were still walking through the pines, following a beam of light.

“This is like the enchanted forest,” Lula said. “I always think we’re getting somewhere, and then we get nowhere. Remember in The Wizard of Oz they had to walk through that forest and the trees were reaching out and grabbing at Dorothy? Or was that Harry Potter? Anyway, that’s how I feel. It’s like the trees got eyes and mouths, and they’re whispering about us. And their limbs are moving around like arms, and they’re clutching at us with hideous tree fingers.” Lula did a whole body shiver. “I’m telling you it’s like ghost trees. Like we’re in a ghost forest.”

“It’s the wind!”

“It don’t sound like wind. I know wind when I hear it. This is talkin’. The trees are watching us and saying things. I got a feeling going down the back of my neck that’s like a death crawl. If I had gonads they’d be so far up in my body they might never find their way back down.”

I didn’t need this. I was already freaked out on my own. I didn’t want to hear about trees talking. Bad enough we were lost beyond anything I could have imagined. The road was a distant memory behind us, and I was having flashbacks of news stories involving stupid hikers and skiers who’d wandered off the trail and were never seen again. And now she had me imagining talking trees. And the worst part was that the trees really did sound like they were talking.