THE RITUAL ~ Chapter 6 (cont.)
Vanish Inquisition: Part Two
Welcome to the conclusion of Chapter 6!
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What happened last:
Denise was discovered missing and Mrs. Curson was found dead.
The town is in an uproar…
Vanish Inquisition
Part Two
So, the disappearance of Mrs. Curson found its resolution the very same day. It took some time and organization to get a crew out to Flat Rock to collect her body. Only crazy kids took the steep climb to the little beach where the rock sat. But the men engaged for the retrieval managed as best they could. It wasn’t pleasant. Mrs. Curson had never been a pretty sight when she was alive. But the twisted, bruised and bloody mess she had become caused Charlie Hensen to chug up his breakfast in burning regurgitation. The steep, uneven terrain made toting the hefty woman back up the bluff rough, but doing so while carrying the image of the smashed head—its gory contents splattered and covered with flies—turned the chore into a nightmare: each of them unable to shake the grotesque sight … and worried they may never get it out of their heads again.
Suspicions of murder had been allayed by the coroner’s report of an obscenely high blood-alcohol level and the lack of any signs of struggle at the top of the bluff. With Deputy Hearn’s revelation of the multiple booze bottles lying around the victim’s disheveled house, everything seemed to indicate a distraught psychological state that could easily have turned suicidal in a drunken depression.
But it was still a brutal ending. Even for a woman as bitter as Gretchen Curson.
“Guess she wasn’t as hard-headed as we thought,” Sergeant Phillips said, not realizing the sick irony of his statement.
No one knew if Mrs. Curson had relatives in the country, so it looked like a job for the Good Neighbors: the volunteer group who helped the rare person in town without family. They cooked and cared for those ailing and alone and performed other acts of goodwill and outreach. So, they stepped up to arrange for Gretchen Curson to get a proper burial. Just as they had for Bennie Johnson.
I wonder if anyone will come? Luanne thought. She also wondered what would happen to Pops. She wondered if Mrs. Curson had a will. She fantasized Mrs. Curson had left the restaurant to Luanne. She’d worked there the longest, next to Andy who’d been there forever. But no one could think Andy presented himself as the kind of guy to whom you’d leave something like a restaurant. He was just a cook. A good one, but no head for management. Luanne knew so much more about running the restaurant; what she didn’t know, she’d learn. Besides, no other likely candidate existed. Certainly not that goody-two-shoes A.J.
***
A.J. made her way to Happy Burger. Scott expressed a desire to pick her up, but she insisted she needed to get over her anxiety, which meant she had to not give in to it and remind herself she was perfectly capable of walking to Happy Burger on her own. But her mind whirled, clouded with thoughts that wouldn’t go away.
Poor Mrs. Curson, she thought with sudden empathy. A.J. felt guilty for giving the woman grief at the restaurant. Sure, the battle axe had been pushy as hell, but it was her job, after all, to get the patrons served. Maybe A.J. just didn’t have the personality for customer service. And maybe she took it out on a lonely, bitter woman who lost her husband and had no children. Maybe she had been too hard. Maybe she had been the straw that—
No! Stop thinking like that, girl. It’s not your fault and you don’t need to make yourself feel bad for someone else’s tragedy.
She took a breath and tried to exhale her angst. She couldn’t wait to get to the diner and surround herself with Scott and the boys; planning the search for Denise McFarland would keep A.J. from getting all hung up in negative thoughts about Mrs. Curson.
Poor Denise, A.J. thought. What if she was kidnapped? What if she was dead? A.J. felt unsure about a lot of things, but one thing she felt certain of: she did not want to be around if they found Denise lifeless in the woods. But the police must have combed through the area by now (or would soon enough) and so Scott and his crew would merely be a double-check, anyway. Even so, maybe she could come up with something else she could do. Something safer. Something helpful, but without getting her too close to her own mortality.
A.J.!”
A.J. snapped out of her thoughts and turned to see Mrs. Malbourne standing in the doorway of her shop.
“You got a minute?”
“Sure,” A.J. said.
***
Scott once again found himself worrying about A.J. He knew she prized her confidence and independence and not having a job—even by choice—would diminish those somewhat. And he knew fear was not an emotion she often harbored. Yet here she was, jobless and afraid. That’s why he gave in to her needing to get to Happy Burger on her own. He understood it allowed her the opportunity to prove to herself that she was still strong. Still unafraid. Still okay.
He wanted to tell her he didn’t care if she was jobless and afraid. He wanted to tell her that he loved her just the same; maybe even more now that she allowed herself to show a little vulnerability; that she allowed herself to be ill at ease and admit it. But steeled for: “That’s cool” and “I’ll see you there.”
Sometimes he was a real dork.
“I’ll do better next time” he told himself aloud. Then, he reached for the phone to call Robert and Randy.
***
“Is everything all right?”
Mrs. Malbourne’s smile had faded a bit as A.J. neared and, despite throwing on her best smile, echoes of her pensive expression still hung about. “You look awful serious, there,” Mrs. Malbourne added.
A.J. shrugged it off.
“Oh, I was just thinking. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Come on inside a minute.”
She held the door and A.J. came forward and entered the shop. Mrs. Malbourne let the door close.
“How are you liking your new haircut?”
“Oh, it’s great!” A.J. said. “I like it a lot.”
“I’m glad.”
A.J. felt a little awkward, not knowing why Mrs. Malbourne had called her over. She looked around. The place was empty.
“Where is everybody?” she asked.
“That’s what I was going to ask you.”
A.J. looked back at Mrs. Malbourne. She realized suddenly that the streets had seemed a little less crowded as she walked. And she realized that perhaps Mrs. Malbourne hadn’t heard the news.
“Did you hear about Mrs. Curson?”
“Who?”
***
Robert and Randy hung at Robert’s place ever since they got back from the police station. The police had not allowed them to join the retrieval expedition and Robert secretly felt relieved. Not that he’d ever want anyone to know. It would ruin his tough-guy image. And he normally wasn’t squeamish. But then, he’d never seen a dead body before; especially one with a smashed head.
He and Randy decided to shoot hoops in the backyard while they tried to figure out who might have offed the woman. The problem wasn’t finding a suspect. Hell, thought Robert: everybody hated her. But who would actually push her off the bluff? And what was she doing there, anyway?
They hadn’t solved a single riddle when the phone rang and Scott told them about the meeting at Happy Burger. Randy headed home to shower and Robert went inside to do the same.
***
A.J. explained about the disappearances. Mrs. Malbourne listened, her brow furrowing with concern.
“Oh, my,” she said when A.J. finished. “I didn’t know either one of them. It must be hard for you.”
Mrs. Malbourne’s words—or maybe her tone—triggered a sudden lump in A.J.’s throat. She felt like she might burst into tears.
Like hell I am!
A.J. swallowed the lump and tried to look nonchalant.
“I didn’t know Denise all that well. And Mrs. Curson was…” A.J. didn’t know what she wanted to say. And something about using the past tense verb felt like putting nails in the woman’s coffin.
“Listen,” Mrs. Malbourne started. “May I be candid with you?”
“Sure,” A.J. said, unsure.
“Billy Eikerman told me about your quitting the diner down the road.”
Billy Eikerman. The little, tattling twerp. A.J. always hated that kid. Always sticking his nose in other people’s business. And always the first to spread gossip around. Or rumors. If you heard something scandalous you just couldn’t believe, chances were good if you followed the chain of who-told-who, it ended at Billy Eikerman. A.J. threw on the nonchalance again.
“Oh, that,” she said. “I guess I wasn’t meant to be a waitress.”
“Well,” Mrs. Malbourne tried. “Do you think you might be more interested in being a barber’s assistant?”
A.J. did a doubletake. She suddenly remembered her bright idea for Mrs. Malbourne to get some help and how it suddenly somehow got turned around into making A.J. feel like she had been asking for a job. But now she wondered if it might not be such a bad idea.
Mrs. Malbourne continued: “I thought about what you said and I think it would be a great idea to have an extra pair of hands. In fact, let me see your hands.”
A.J. held out her hands, feeling very foolish. Mrs. Malbourne looked them over.
“Do you give yourself manicures?”
“Heck, yea. You don’t think I’d pay for something like that?”
Mrs. Malbourne looked up at her.
A.J. thought: Great … see if you can get your other foot in your mouth, now!
Mrs. Malbourne just smiled. “Lots of ladies gladly pay for exactly that. And if you can do as nice a job on others as you do on yourself, you can make a nice little living.”
A.J. never in a million years would have thought of making a living at such a nothing, girlie thing. Manicures were the only “girlie” thing she knew. It was the only “girlie” thing her mother had taught her, though she might have taught much more if she hadn’t died before A.J. reached puberty.
“Of course,” Mrs. Malbourne continued, “You would still have to cashier and clean up after the clients when I finish.”
A.J. looked at the woman.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Mrs. Malbourne smiled again.
“You could start tomorrow, if you like.”
It was crazy. But it was just crazy enough to work. And A.J. liked the unspoken challenge. She returned Mrs. Malbourne’s grin.
“You’re on!”
***
Alex tied his shoes. The right shoelace snapped off in his hands.
“Shit,” he muttered.
He’d have to stop off at the store and get a new pair of laces. And he’d have to wear his sweaty running shoes. He looked at the clock.
And I’m already late, he thought. Could this day get any worse?
***
Back on route to Happy Burger, A.J. couldn’t help but beam with an unstoppable smile. This day had taken an unexpectedly upbeat turn. She went from jobless to employed in a matter of minutes. And Mrs. Malbourne would make a great boss. Not to mention what kind of money A.J. might make doing manicures. Which would be on top of whatever Mrs. Malbourne paid her for the rest of her duties.
A.J. stopped in her tracks. We didn’t even talk about money! A.J. thought for a moment. How could she have let such an important detail slip her mind? Well, she thought, if the pay’s no good, I’ll just tell her I made a mistake.
A.J. started walking again, her smile returning in full. She had every confidence Mrs. Malbourne would offer a very generous wage. It would be the start of something great. And A.J., in her own roundabout way, had made it happen. A sense of pride warmed her up.
You go, girl, she told herself.
***
“It was gross, man. There was blood and brains and stuff everywhere.”
Robert clearly relished making the sighting of Mrs. Curson into the most dramatic thing he could come up with, while turning himself and Randy into undaunted heroes of sorts for finding and reporting it. Randy recognized the hyperbole in Robert’s account but admired and enjoyed it too much to really care to correct him. It sounded better the way he told it. Things often sounded better the way Robert told them.
The brutality and volatility of life that Mrs. Curson’s sudden death evoked hung about in surreal contrast to the Boys’ immediate surroundings, Scott noticed. The cookie-cutter, fast-food restaurant glowed unnaturally; the artificial light bounced off the bright plastic, immovable chairs and tables and the whiter-than-white floor. This is why Scott hated the place: it tried so hard to be Mac Donalds. But it was just a crappy Happy Burger.
A.J. came in ready to burst with her exciting news, but as she neared the table and heard the conversation, she was immediately drawn back into the present dramas of Mrs. Curson’s death and Denise McFarland’s disappearance. A.J.’s getting a job seemed suddenly petty and insignificant in comparison. So, she joined the group and settled in with a mere exchange of salutations that passed as nothing more than a minor hiccup in the conversation at hand.
“We were gonna bring the body back ourselves, but we figured the police might find some clues and stuff at the scene, ya know.”
“Yeah,” Randy added. “You’re never supposed to alter a crime scene.”
“But there wasn’t really a crime,” Alex pointed out. “Aside from suicide, I mean. And so, there’s no one to catch.”
“Well, it’s a little late to catch Mrs. Curson,” Robert said with a shameless grin, letting the double entendre hang in the air between them all. All he got for his wit was a handful of stink eye.
“But we might be able to catch Denise,” A.J. finally said. “Or whoever’s taken her.”
“If someone’s taken her,” Scott reminded the group … and, especially A.J. He wanted to keep her clear on the idea that nothing bad might be going on at all. Cliché as it was, he wanted to protect her from ever feeling afraid. A.J. looked at him, hearing his words and nodded. He hoped her nod resulted from agreeing with him rather than just patronizing him. He felt the uncertainty: another one of those moments when he suddenly realized he didn’t know her as well as he wished he did.
He hated those moments.
“So? What are we gonna do?” Robert asked. “Just trudge around aimlessly in the woods looking for clues?”
“I figure we start at the edge of the woods closest to Denise’s house. The woods would be the perfect place for some crazy person to hide in.
“Or hide a body,” Robert added.
Scott flashed him a look that said: Keep your big, fat mouth shut. Then he dared a glance at A.J. Her eyes stared down at the table, but he could tell she had heard Robert and felt disquieted. He decided to go with the contingency plan he came up with just for her.
“A.J.,” he said. She looked up. The uneasy look in her eyes almost derailed him. But he went on as planned: “I want you to surf the web and dig up every newspaper and periodical you can find and see if there have been any recent unsolved crimes within, say, fifty to a hundred miles. And if there have been any other accounts of missing persons or people who escaped from any institutions or something. Anything you can think of. Brainstorm. Maybe we’ll find something no one else has caught.”
He had come up with the idea for several reasons. First off, maybe she’d really find something that would prove to be a useful lead for the police. But more importantly, he wanted A.J. somewhere inside and safe from kidnappers, killers, bodies … anything ugly. And third, he thought she’d buy the potential value of the task so that she wouldn’t take offense thinking he was giving her “safe work” instead of letting her rummage through the woods with the guys.
She just looked at him. He swallowed a tiny lump, worried she could see right through him. Because if she could, he was fucked. But, in reality, she was considering his idea, thinking it through, and deciding that it sounded like a good idea.
“Okay,” she said. “But you know I won’t be able to access any of my dad’s stuff.”
Scott hadn’t even thought of it. No doubt A.J.’s father had his computer linked up to the police station and all those files. But Scott could tell from A.J.’s words that she had no access codes to those files. And rightly so. That would be a breach of security.
But what a shame.
“That’s okay, Scott said. “Most of what we’re looking for should be in the public record, anyway.”
“Okay. You want me to get started on it right away?”
“Don’t see why not. You’ll search the information highway and we’ll search the backwoods.” He turned to the Brothers. “You guys ready?”
“Yeah,” Randy responded like a knee-jerk.
“Hell, yeah,” Robert emphasized.
Scott looked at Alex. “Alex?”
Alex sighed with half a shrug. “That’s why we’re here,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
“Okay,” Scott said. “Let’s do it.”
And so, it began.
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Bad idea guys! Bad idea!