The Cabin on Souder Hill Page 8

  “Loudon just called, Pink, and . . .” Clarence said, letting his eyes fall to the pavement.

  Pink waited a few seconds for Clarence to speak then said, “Come on, Clarence, I got a client sitting here.”

  “Lulu’s dead. Loudon just found her.”

  Pink could only nod. “Does my mama know yet?”

  Clarence shrugged. “Loudon didn’t say. Just said Lulu was dead.”

  Clarence went back in and Pink sat a moment then looked over at Michelle. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I need to go attend to this. Can we . . .”

  “I don’t mind riding along—if you don’t mind,” she said.

  Pink didn’t mind. It just seemed strange. Why would anyone want to go see a dead body? Pink didn’t even want to go.

  “What did you say your first name was, Mrs. Stage?”

  “Michelle.”

  “Pretty name,” Pink said. “Like the song. Them Beatle fellas made you immortal.”

  Michelle nodded and smiled.

  They drove toward Lulu’s, Mrs. Stage sitting across from him quiet as a leaf. When he drove past the bakery, he thought about Clarence’s bear claw. Pink couldn’t figure out how Clarence could eat so much junk and stay thin as a cane pole. Pink’s body fell in love with every calorie that passed through his stomach and saved them like old love letters. It wasn’t fair, he thought, a man who loved to eat as much as he did. He looked over at Michelle, wondering what her breasts were like. They seemed to be holding up pretty well for a woman in her early forties. Maybe even younger, he guessed.

  They pulled into Lulu’s driveway. Loudon’s police car was parked behind Lulu’s Ford. “You can wait here,” Pink said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Pink walked toward the porch, and Lulu’s Chihuahua met him halfway across the yard. “Come here, Burrito,” he said to the dog, picking it up. It was odd to Pink that Lulu owned a dog. He always figured witches for cat lovers.

  Sheets and towels waved from Lulu’s clothesline. Loudon stood on the back porch.

  “Hey, Pink,” Loudon said.

  “Loudon,” Pink said. “What happened?”

  “Neighbors called when they didn’t see Lulu bring Burrito outside this morning. They said Lulu’s been feeling poorly, so when they didn’t hear the dog—”

  “Busybodies,” Pink said, and walked past Loudon to the back door. Lulu was stretched out on the kitchen floor. Pink squatted down and brushed the stringy, gray hair from her brow, her flesh cool and firm, like freshly kneaded dough. But her color made his stomach tighten, every purple and sapphire vein right there beneath her skin, like he was looking through ice.

  “Sorry about Lulu,” Loudon said. “Coroner should be here in a few minutes. I didn’t call your mama yet. Thought you might want to do that.”

  Pink held Burrito in his left arm and flipped open his cell phone to call his mama.

  “Stay till I get there,” his mother said.

  “Mama, I can’t. I got a client sitting in my truck.”

  “Pink Souder, you wait for me or you’ll be sorrier than you’ve ever been.” She hung up.

  Pink slipped the phone back in his pocket and strolled to the truck. He’d send Clarence up over the weekend to cut Lulu’s lawn. Hide a damn rhino in there, the grass was so high, he thought. He walked to the passenger side of his Suburban and pulled the door open.

  “Well, I’m gonna have to wait here for my mama,” Pink said to Mrs. Stage. “Seems like Lulu had a stroke. You might as well get out for a spell.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not unless you’re one of them preachers who can lay hands on a blind man and make him see.”

  “I don’t mind waiting in the car.”

  Pink put Burrito down and walked to the backyard. He grabbed the clothes basket from the grass and started taking down the sheets, making sure they were dry. He shoved the clothespins in his pants pocket before dropping the laundry in the basket.

  A maroon van pulled into the driveway, followed by a car Pink guessed to be the coroner. Neighbors appeared on front porches.

  “Damn circus,” Pink said under his breath.

  Emerson, with his gray sideburns and yellow polo shirt emblazoned with the funeral home logo, got out of the van and ambled over to Pink.

  “Hey there, Pink,” said Emerson. Emerson introduced the coroner to Pink.

  Pink shook his hand and pointed him toward Lulu’s back porch. About then Pink’s mother pulled up the driveway and rushed to the back of the house. Pink looked toward the Suburban and wondered where Michelle had gone. She wasn’t in the front seat.

  Emerson’s assistant, a young man in jeans, rattled a gurney across the yard to where Emerson and Pink were standing. The coroner was bent over the body. Pink’s mother knelt on the floor beside Lulu, rubbing her palm across her forehead. “Take her to the funeral home, Emerson,” Mattie said. “And I’ll be down later to tell you what needs to be done.”

  Emerson looked over at the sheriff. The sheriff shrugged.

  “I don’t want any of her things touched,” Mattie said. “I’ll take care of her belongings.”

  “Lulu didn’t have any people, did she, Mattie?” Emerson said, removing a comb from his pocket, dragging it through his thick hair.

  “Don’t worry, Emerson,” Mattie said. “I’ll pay for everything.”

  Emerson’s shoulders drooped. The coroner stood up and whispered something to the sheriff, then turned back toward the body.

  “Does anyone know what name I should put on the death certificate?” the coroner asked.

  “Lulu Martin,” Pink said. “That’s the only name I know.”

  “Lucretia Alessandra Genovese,” Mattie said. Pink had never heard that name before, but his mother said it with such dead chilling conviction it sounded more like an invocation than a name. The coroner asked for the spelling and Mattie spoke each letter clearly, never taking her eyes from Lulu, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead when she finished. “Come take her, Emerson. And be careful.”

  Burrito squirmed in Pink’s arms as Emerson and the young assistant transported the body to the van.

  “Sorry about Lulu,” Emerson said to Pink. “I know you two were real close.”

  “Yeah,” Pink said, knowing it wasn’t true. Lulu was his mother’s dearest and oldest friend, and she worked in Pink’s office where they tolerated each other on a daily basis, but they’d never been close.

  “Isabelle feeling any better these days?” Emerson asked.

  Pink shook his head. Emerson gave Pink a low wave as he shuffled back to the van. Burrito wiggled in Pink’s arms, barking at the vehicle.

  “I can’t put you down,” Pink said to the dog. “You’re so stupid, you’ll chase that van till you drop dead of exhaustion.” Pink headed for the backyard, looking for Michelle. The sheriff paused a moment to talk with Pink. “Coroner figures Lulu died of a stroke sometime yesterday afternoon,” the sheriff said.

  “I know,” Pink said.

  “How could you know? Coroner himself isn’t completely sure about the time.”

  “Her sheets were dry,” Pink said. “If she’d hung them out this morning, they’d still be wet. And if she’d been alive yesterday evening, she’d have taken them down before dark.”

  The sheriff stared, apparently studying Pink’s theory. Pink walked the sheriff back to his car. He searched the yard for Michelle until he saw her in the front seat of his Suburban. When the sheriff approached, Pink watched Michelle slink down in the seat, as if she didn’t want to be noticed.

  “Who’s the woman?” the sheriff asked, looking in Michelle’s direction as he opened the front door of his cruiser.

  “Prospective client,” Pink said. “Kind of pretty, don’t you think?”

  “Can’t rightly say the way she’s all slumped down in the
seat. Will you lock up when your mama’s done in there?” the sheriff asked, starting his engine.

  Pink nodded.

  “How’s Isabelle?” the sheriff asked.

  “Same.”

  “Hear about the storm?”

  “It’s seventy degrees out here, Loudon. I don’t think it’s gonna snow.”

  “That’s what they thought in ’93,” the sheriff said, backing from the driveway. “I’ll check on Lulu’s place later. Give Isabelle my best.”

  After the sheriff drove off, Pink went over to his Suburban, holding Burrito like a baby. “Where did you disappear to?” he asked Michelle.

  “A little walk, while you were taking care of things.”

  “It’ll just be another few minutes.” Pink went back across the yard, setting Burrito down in the grass.

  Burrito ran to Mattie’s side, sniffing her shoes. She leaned down and picked him up. “You’ll come home with me,” she said, kissing his head as he licked her face. She handed the dog to Pink. “Take Burrito to my place, Pink. I have to take care of some things. And don’t forget Burrito’s dog food on Lulu’s kitchen table. I set it out so you’d remember.”

  “Mama, can’t you take the dog with you? I’ve got a client waiting on me.”

  Mattie swiveled toward Pink’s Suburban, her eyes fixed on Michelle in the front seat. “Is that what she is?” Mattie glared at Pink, her mouth a hard line.

  “Of course. What the hell you think she is?” Pink said.

  “Don’t talk to me that way, Pink. You should be ashamed, Isabelle lying home sick in bed while you hound around like some wild stud dog.”

  Pink spun from her and carried the dog to the car. “Mind watching him a second?” Pink asked Mrs. Stage. He reached the dog through the opened window, dropping him on the front seat. In a second the dog was in Michelle’s lap, shaking. Pink was strolling back to the house when Mattie came out carrying a shopping bag and a small purple velvet sack with a crimson drawstring.

  “Come help me a second, Pink.”

  Mattie set the grocery sack down on the porch, then turned and went back into the house. Pink followed, still perturbed by her accusation. Mattie was kneeling at the fireplace wiggling a stone from the hearth when Pink entered the room.

  “Don’t just stand there, Pink. Help me.”

  He came over and squatted down next to her.

  “Pull that stone out,” she said.

  Pink gripped his fingertips around the rock and toggled it by the edges until it pulled free. Mattie reached inside the vacated hole and withdrew a small ornate silver container that looked to Pink like a ring box.

  Mattie looked over at Pink then pushed off the hearth to get to her feet.

  “What’s that?” Pink asked.

  “Lulu’s umbilical cord. Now lock up, Pink, and don’t forget Burrito’s food.”

  His mother grabbed the bags off the back porch on her way out, glancing over at Michelle before driving off.

  “Was that your mother?” Michelle asked.

  Pink climbed in behind the wheel. “Yeah. Sorry for the drama,” he said, turning the key. “Let’s go have a look at that property of yours.”

  Chapter 12

  Michelle tried to remember what Sheriff Fisk had said about Lulu when he’d shared the Pink Souder story. Pink adjusted the air conditioner and sat a few minutes with the engine running, as if deep in thought. Michelle felt strangely calm, the most at ease she’d been since taking Darcy’s car. Maybe it was the dog, she thought, giving him a kiss on top of his head. Pink backed out of Lulu’s driveway, talking on his cell phone, telling someone about Lulu’s death.

  “Yes. Burrito’s right here,” he said, the phone pressed to his cheek. “He’s going to Mama’s house. Yes, I’ll open a window if I stop for lunch. Yes. Yes, I said I would. Yes, I’ll bring you soup. Tomato. I thought you liked tomato? Okay, no tomato. Chicken noodle if they have it. Okay.”

  When Pink clapped his phone shut, he sighed and threw it onto the seat. Before he could pull away, a neighbor came up to the window and rapped on the glass.

  “Oh, hell’s bells, what have we got now?” Pink said, rolling down the window. “Hi, Helen.”

  “Sorry about Lulu,” Helen said. “She looked out of sorts these past few weeks. I thought maybe she’d fix herself a little something to pull out of it.”

  “No magic stronger than death, Helen,” Pink said.

  “When’s the funeral?” Helen asked.

  “Christ, Helen, I ain’t sure Emerson’s got her to the damn morgue, yet.”

  Helen glared at Pink, and then turned from the car. Pink hit the button for the electric window. “Damn busybody,” Pink said. “People who don’t know about Wiccans think magic can stop a damn runaway freight train. Lulu was a witch, like my mama. But ain’t no besoms or candles gonna stop death.”

  “A witch?” Michelle said. “Your mother’s a witch?” She remembered now that Sheriff Fisk had mentioned that to her at the cabin. Even so, it felt strange Pink offering the information so casually. And his mother hadn’t appeared . . . otherworldly.

  Pink looked over at her. “Wiccans aren’t like Halloween goblins or anything. It’s like a religion or something, you know.”

  “What’s a besom?” she asked.

  “A small broom,” Pink said, spraying dirt and rock as he pulled from the driveway. “Supposed to ward off evil spirits and whatnot,” Pink said, scratching under his chin as if he needed a shave.

  Michelle checked Pink’s finger for a wedding ring and saw a gold band cutting into his chubby knuckle.

  “You married?” Michelle asked.

  Pink turned toward her, smiling. “Why do you ask?”

  “The ring.” She held her own hand up and spun her diamond ring with her thumb.

  “Yeah, I’m married,” Pink said. “Isabelle.”

  Isabelle? Michelle was certain Isabelle was the woman the sheriff had spoken of, but now doubted her own memory. Wasn’t she dead? “Are you still married to her?”

  “You seem surprised,” Pink said. “That’s who I was talking to on the phone. She’s real sickly. Never gets out of the damn bed anymore.” Pink took his eyes back out the window, clearly not wanting to talk about her.

  “So was Lulu your aunt or something?” Michelle asked.

  “She was my mama’s midwife, and her best friend. That’s where my mama learned all her magic, from Lulu.”

  Michelle pictured Lulu’s sheets swaying in the breeze. Having grown up in the city, Michelle had never hung wash out, always relying on a dryer. Lulu seemed to live simple and die simple, Michelle thought, but nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. Michelle’s mind went back to Pink’s wife, Isabelle, the sheriff saying how she’d disappeared and that everyone believed Pink had killed her. Pink didn’t seem capable of killing anyone, and it was obvious that Isabelle was very much alive. Those realizations perplexed Michelle, eroding her resolve over why she’d driven back to Ardenwood in the first place. She could hear Darcy’s desperate plea for her to come back home.

  She sat up straight in the seat, her breathing strained.

  “You okay, Mrs. Stage?” Pink asked. “You look vexed.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Pink asked about her property. “Some kind of family estate or one of those vacation homes? Lots of folks from Atlanta own up here,” Pink said. “What’s that, a couple hours’ drive? Worth it to get away from that damn humidity down there. I don’t know how you stand it.”

  Michelle wasn’t sure what to tell him; she hadn’t thought it through. “Just a weekend getaway place,” she said. “Up on Souder Hill.”

  When she looked over at Pink, he wore a queer expression. “Souder Hill?” he said, sounding surprised. “Well, ain’t that something. When Isabelle and me were kids, our daddies owned that whole mountain up th
ere.” Pink held a proud but peculiar smile. “They was gonna mine sapphires. Never did though. Not that there wasn’t gems to be had, but they was too lazy to take part in such an enterprise. It was their partner, Jim Beam, who talked them into it.” Pink laughed, looking over at Michelle. She didn’t get it.

  “I owned a cabin up there a few years back. Built it myself. I used to be pretty handy with a hammer and saw. I’m not sure if I could stick two boards together with a nail gun now.”

  Michelle wondered if Cliff had spoken to Darcy. Would he drive up from Atlanta to get her? Did Darcy lie or just take her phone off the hook to avoid confrontation? Darcy did that all the time.

  If Darcy had told him the truth, Cliff could already be on his way. Michelle couldn’t chance getting out of Pink’s Suburban at Lulu’s house for fear Sheriff Fisk might recognize her as the crazy woman who’d been taken away in an ambulance a few days earlier.

  “I know all that property up there,” Pink said. “What road’s your place on?”

  “Hurst Road.”

  Pink seemed to be pondering the information, his eyes straight ahead. “Is your place near Pink Souder Road?” he finally said.

  “Yes.” She wanted to tell Pink they were headed to his cabin, wanted to see his expression when she told him where she lived, still unsure what she hoped to discover.

  “I’m embarrassed to say that road was named after me,” Pink said. “My mama’s idea. Seems like every damn road around here’s named after somebody, but I had nothing to do with it. Which place is yours?”

  “204 Hurst Road.”

  For a few minutes Pink didn’t say anything and Michelle wondered what was wrong, why he suddenly seemed distant. “That’s my old place,” Pink finally said, “the one I was telling you about.”

  Michelle was about to acknowledge that she already knew that but decided not to. “Really?” she said.

  “Can I ask you something, Mrs. Stage?” Pink said, tugging at his ear lobe.

  “Sure,” she said, curious about his new somber tone.

  Pink studied the rearview mirror a second then twisted toward her in the seat. “I know it’s none of my business, but are you in trouble with the law?”