Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here.” The words get hung up in my mouth and come out twisted. My brain and my tongue are refusing to work together. “I just—are you sure it was the same guy?”
“Positive. We talked to him that morning when we bought a little suncatcher. A stained glass hummingbird. And I happened to mention that my compass wasn’t working, so this guy pulled one out of his own pocket and gave it to me. We thought that was really generous, so we gave him one of those little cards with a pin.” Candy pauses. “He seemed really nice, you know? We thought he was a trail angel. God. It kills me, thinking about that.” Her voice is soaked in regret. “So I recognized him right off when we saw him in the woods that evening. But he seemed—I don’t know—different than he did earlier. His face was harder. Kind of scary.” She hesitates, and it’s clear she doesn’t like reliving her sister’s last hours. “You still need to know what he looked like?”
“No,” I tell her. “That’s okay. Sorry again for waking you up.” I give her my phone number, and I tell her to call me if she thinks of anything else that might be important.
It’s quiet for a few seconds.
“You didn’t wake me up,” Candy finally says. “I haven’t slept a night since Hannah was taken. I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her before I say goodbye. “I’m really sorry this happened to Hannah. And to you.”
I don’t tell her that she’s wrong. She will sleep again. Her body will shut itself off eventually, but her brain never will, so when she finally does sleep, she’ll still see her sister’s face.
I put the phone back on the little table where it goes, then I sneak back upstairs to stand at the window. I’m listening to the tinkling of Lo’s magic keys swinging from the ceiling, and I can’t stop staring at those three gold angels on my curtains. I keep going over and over and over everything I know now.
Two separate people have reported seeing Daddy in the woods just before a hiker disappeared. How many more would say the same thing if we asked them?
“God, that felt good.” Lo is leaning against the door frame. His hair is wet from the shower and it curls around his ears. Little beads of water are shining on his face and his neck. He comes in and closes the door behind him. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”
I don’t like being dishonest with Lo. It gives me a miserable feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I’m not ready to put my worry into words yet. Saying it out loud would give it more weight than it deserves. My daddy is a good man. I know that. There has to be an explanation for all the weird stuff.
I just need to find out what it is.
Lo spreads the quilt back on my bed and climbs in. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get some sleep.”
I take one more look at the moon hanging over the hills, then I cross the floor and crawl in next to him. Lo’s arms go around me, and he pulls me close. We’re spooned up together like when we were little, and it’s weird how much the same, and how totally different, this feels. He nuzzles my neck with his nose. His breath is warm and his hair is damp against my shoulder. When he whispers, “I love you, Dovie,” my whole body turns to warm honey. I’ve never wanted anything the way I want him.
“I love you, too, Lo.”
But my mind is so full of questions about what Daddy was doing in the woods.
And I’m thinking about that kiss with Xan. He caught me off guard. Unprepared.
But it was nice.
My first kiss.
I should tell Lo about that, but it’s all too much for tonight.
I guess Lo can sense how I’m feeling, because he presses his lips to the back of my head and whispers goodnight before he reaches across my body to turn off the lamp on my bedside table.
It’s the smell of bacon cooking that wakes me up the next morning. I shake Lo awake and we pull on our shoes and head down to the kitchen.
Daddy is at the table and Nana is at the stove. There are already plates set out for me and for Lo, so I guess we weren’t quite as sneaky last night as we thought.
We slide into the chairs opposite Daddy, and Nana comes over to scrape scrambled eggs onto our plates before she brings us strips of crispy bacon to go with them.
“You want coffee, Lowan?” Daddy asks without looking up from the newspaper he’s reading.
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Lo answers, and Daddy slides the coffee pot across the table toward him.
“Dovie tell you we’re hanging a piece up at the lodge this morning? Was planning on picking you up on the way.” Daddy raises one eyebrow at me across the table. “But I see you’re already here.”
“Yes, sir,” Lo answers again. “Came down last night. Dovie told me we had some work to do this mornin’.”
“Figured he might as well stay,” I add, and Daddy grunts before he goes back to reading his paper.
Nana sits down next to Daddy with her own plate. She’s dumping spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee, but Lo is drinking his black. Like Daddy.
“I’ll never understand why Ira would want the Ozark Howler hangin’ in that pretty lodge,” Nana says, and she clicks her tongue. “Howler’s an omen of death in these hills.”
“The Howler’s a hunter,” Daddy tells her, “and that’s what city people come to these mountains for. To go huntin’.” He forks scrambled eggs into his mouth. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
We finish our breakfast and stack our plates by the sink for Nana, then Daddy, Lo, and me head out to pile into the old pickup, Daddy and me up front and Lowan in the back to make sure the glass doesn’t get bounced around too much.
It takes a few good cranks of the ignition to bring the truck to life, then we’re rumbling down Mud Street. People turn and stare at us as we roll by. We’re like the setup for a bad joke—a witch, a cursed girl, and a stained glass artist walk into a bar—or drive by in a noisy old Ford.
I wonder if whoever tossed that rock through our front window is standing out there watching us. I want to stick my head out the window and scream that they’re all cowards, but instead I stare straight ahead.
We follow Mud Street across the bridge over Lucifer’s Creek, then just before the street ends at the edge of town, we take the dirt road branching off to the left. Daddy’s strong hands grip the steering wheel, and I’m trying not to stare at the scratches up and down his forearms.
The road curves around behind the church and the graveyard, then it narrows and starts up into the hills. It’s only a few minutes before we’re crossing Lucifer’s Creek again, this time at the spot where Brother Turley fell to his death right in front of our eyes the other night.
I glance back at Lo bumping along in the bed of the pickup, and we exchange a look through the back windshield as Daddy eases the truck across the makeshift plank bridge. The water is behaving itself again today, flowing milky blue and serene. You couldn’t even drown a cat in it. The sulfur smell is stronger than ever, though. If the truck had air-conditioning, I’d roll the windows up. But the AC gave up the ghost a long time ago, along with the radio and, based on our jostling, the suspension system.
We pass the ancient money tree with all those dangling bits of green cloth blooming like strange leaves, and then it’s not long before we’re passing the Wilder cabin. Daddy slows down to a crawl so we can wave at Granny Pearl, who’s standing on the front porch. “Headin’ up to the lodge,” Lo shouts at her from the back of the truck where he’s trying his best to hold the wrapped-up Howler steady.
We wind around and follow the switchbacks up and up as the road gets steeper and steeper. Daddy gears down, but the old truck groans and grumbles so much that I’m worried we’ll have to get out and push it.
Finally the road levels off and we see the Moonlight Crag Lodge sign stretching overhead to welcome us. We drive under the sign and Daddy finds a parking spot in the gravel lot behind the building, where the employees park.
Lo hops out to help him unload the Howler, but I’m stuck staring up at the lodge. I spend so much time looking up at it from town that I forget sometimes how huge it really is when you’re standing in its shadow.
“Dovie.” Daddy’s got the tailgate down and he and Lo are gently sliding the carefully wrapped glass out of the truck bed. He’s got it packed in about a hundred layers of cardboard, bubblewrap, and blankets to survive the rough drive up the mountain. “Get the door for us. This thing is heavy.”
I hurry up the steps and pull the chain to raise the big rolling door on the loading dock. It takes me four or five good yanks to get the door all the way up so that Daddy and Lo can get the Howler inside. They lay it on the floor in the maintenance shop, and Daddy pulls out a box knife to strip off the packaging and padding.
Lo and I both gasp when Daddy pulls off the last layer of tissue paper to reveal the Ozark Howler brought to life in black glass.
It looks even bigger than it did when I saw it all laid out on the worktable in the back room of the gallery. Overwhelming and ominous. I kneel down to run my finger over the curling horns on top of its head. The fearsome claws.
“Watch that,” Daddy scolds. “Fingerprints.”
I look up at Lo, but he’s backed away from the Howler like he’s afraid it might get up off the floor and rip his throat out.
Daddy gets out a pair of gloves and slips them on, then he tosses another pair to Lo, and Lo somehow catches them without ever taking his eyes off the Howler.
“Ready?” Daddy asks, and Lo nods and slides his gloves on, but he doesn’t move until I get up and go give him a little nudge. Then he steps back toward the Howler and, on the count of three, they gingerly lift it off the ground. “Get the doors, Dovie. Movin’ him out to the main lobby.”
It takes us forever to make our way out of the maintenance areas at the back of the building, down the first-floor hallway, and finally to the big lobby in the front. I’ve always loved this place, with its thick, luxurious carpets and dark wood and huge stone fireplaces. The leather couches and the soft light of Daddy’s stained glass lamps make the huge space inviting and cozy. There are vases of wildflowers everywhere. A regal-looking mountain lion presides over one corner, and a dozen geese are suspended in flight from the high ceilings.
And, of course, those three-story, floor-to-ceiling windows at the front practically bring the mountains right inside. It’s like that view—the trees and the grass and the panorama looking out over the crag and across to the hills on the other side of the valley—was painted just for Ira and his guests. It really must be the most beautiful place in all of Arkansas.
In the whole world, maybe.
Daddy points up toward a beam that runs from one wall to the other over our heads. Ira’s guys have already hung the chains from the beam; now it’s our job to hang the Howler. Two ladders sit in the middle of the big room, one under each of the chains.
Hanging a piece this big is a delicate operation. Daddy goes over all the logistics. He’ll take one side of the Howler and climb one of the ladders, while I take the other side of the piece up the other ladder. Lo will be on the ground helping to lift the glass off the floor and keep it from swinging. Then once we’ve got it clear, Lo will come up the ladder behind me to help lift my side so I can fasten it to the chains when we get to the top of the ladder.
I’ve hung glass with Daddy lots of times before, but nothing this big or this heavy. The height doesn’t scare me, but I’m always nervous about dropping a piece. Especially one that took as long to make as this one.
Once we’re all into position, Daddy gives me a pair of gloves and we start to inch up the ladders one step at a time, staying even with each other as we gently lift the Howler off the floor with Lo’s help.
“Slow and steady,” Daddy reminds us. “Don’t let it swing.”
The higher we climb, the more weight we’re holding, and the more I’m struggling to keep my side even with Daddy’s. My arms ache and my shoulders burn. I’m grateful when the Howler is completely off the ground and Lo can come up to help me. He uses his gloved hands to support my half of the Howler from below me on the ladder, and that makes it a lot easier to keep climbing.
It seems like it takes hours to reach the top of the ladder, and I’m so relieved when Daddy and I each get our sides attached to the swinging chains suspended from the beam. “Got it,” he says, and we all climb back down to the ground.
The three of us stand between the ladders and look up toward the beast we’ve hung. With the light from those windows hitting it, those glowing red eyes look wild and alive. It’s beautiful. And terrible.
When I glance over at Lo, his face is pale. “I don’t like it, Dovie,” he whispers. “It scares me.”
“Would you look at that?” None of us heard Ira come up behind us, but there he is. With those tousled red curls and his dancing blue eyes, and that enormous grin on his face, he looks like a kid who’s come downstairs to a brand-new bike on Christmas morning. “You’re amazing, Del! She’s beautiful!” He’s clapping Daddy on the back, whistling long and low. “It’s a showstopper.” The guests scattered around the lobby are already murmuring their approval and snapping pics of it on their phones.
Daddy nods, but he’s staring at that Howler, like Lo and me. It’s as though he didn’t quite see it himself, until it was hung.
“That’s what this place needed,” Ira says. “The finishing touch.”
“Um, Mr.Langdon?” A guy with ironed jeans and a too-new-looking pair of hunting boots is trying to get Ira’s attention. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“I already got you on the schedule for tonight.” Ira gives the man a friendly wink. “We’re huntin’ hogs. Razorbacks.”
Ira takes the newbies out himself sometimes. Can’t turn a damn city boy loose in the hills with a gun , he always says. And now that I’m looking at this guy, I know he’s right. It wouldn’t be safe for anyone. He’s too nervous. Too jumpy.
He’d probably blow somebody’s head off.
“That’s the thing.” The man blinks a couple of times. “I don’t wanna go. I changed my mind.”
Ira looks concerned. “Everything okay?”
The man shakes his head. “I can’t do it. I been thinkin’ about it, and I’m just not ready. I can’t.” The poor guy looks like he’s about to have a panic attack. “This was a mistake.” He’s rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. “I’ve never even held a gun before.”
“Whoa, now. Why don’t you go relax?” Ira hits him with a trademark smile. Warm and genuine. “Ask the bartender for a little top-shelf whiskey to settle your nerves.” He pats the panicky guest on the back. “I bet you’ll feel different come sundown.”
“You think so?” The man sounds skeptical.
“You came all this way to try your hand at huntin’, didn’t you?” Daddy says, and the guest stares at him. “You’re in real good hands here.” He jerks his head in Ira’s direction. “Me and this guy used to run these hills all the time trackin’ hogs. Folks around these parts used to call him the Ghost of the Ozarks.”
“See?” Ira beams at Daddy before he turns back to his guest. “What’d I tell ya? Nothin’ to worry about.”
“Yeah.” The man pulls himself up a little taller. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight, then.” The guy gives Ira a grateful smile before he walks away looking embarrassed.
“Thanks for that, Del.” Ira rolls his eyes. “Sometimes these city guys come up here with big ideas about being some mighty hunter, and then all of a sudden they got cold feet. They’re feelin’ bad for shootin’ Bambi’s mama or what have you.” He gives Daddy a long look. “You wanna come with us tonight, Del? Been a long time since you and me was in the woods together.”
Daddy looks like he wants to say yes, but he shakes his head. “I got stuff to do tonight.”
Ira nods. “Another night, then.” He slaps me and Lo on the back and he looks up at the Howler again. “Thanks for helpin’ get ’er hung, you two.” He looks back at Daddy. “Y’all go on down and get you some lunch in the restaurant. On me.”
When Ira leaves, we head on down to the restaurant. The three of us order bison cheeseburgers and sweet potato fries with truffle oil, and we eat them on the deck as we look out at Moonlight Crag, the bare rock outcropping that juts out over the valley, giving the lodge its name. We catch sight of the nervous hunter at the bar, and he raises his glass of whiskey to us.
Daddy finishes up his lunch faster than Lo and I do, and he tells us he’s gonna take a walk before we head down the mountain. “Meet me at the truck in twenty minutes,” he tells us.
I’m picking at my fries, and Lo tells me he’s gonna head inside to use the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daddy making his way out toward the edge of the crag. He stands there, with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking down at Lucifer’s Creek below him. His shoulders are slumped, and he looks old and tired.
And lonely.
When the waiter comes back to take our plates, I get up and take the steps leading from the overlook deck down to the grass, then I move out to the crag where Daddy’s standing.
“Hey,” I say, and Daddy glances back over his shoulder.
“Hey, Bird.”
“What’re you doing out here?” I ask him, and Daddy shrugs and looks back out at the view.
“Thinkin’ about your mama, I guess.” He sighs and I see his shoulders sag a little more. “This is where I asked her to marry me. Right here on the crag. We’d come up here camping, the four of us. Me and Ira and Lucy and Claire.” He looks back at me again. “Course, the lodge wasn’t here then. Nothin’ was here. Ira was camping full time, livin’ rough in a cave down under the bluff.” He jerks his head toward the woods and smiles. “The four of us had a lot of fun there. Called it our hideaway.” Daddy laughs a little, then he looks back over his shoulder at the lodge and gives his head a little shake. “Can you imagine goin’ from livin’ in a cave to livin’ in this place?” He turns to take in the valley again. “Prettiest spot in Arkansas. It was beautiful up here that night I proposed to your mama. Stars out everywhere you looked. Close enough to touch.”
Daddy hardly ever talks to me about Mama, so I figure I better take advantage of this opportunity. “Why’d you say that the other day?” I ask him. “About not knowing if she ever left Lucifer’s Creek.”
“Dovie, there are things we’ve never talked about, but you’re getting to be grown, and I guess it’s time I told you the truth.”
“What haven’t you told me?”
“I tried to find your mama in those years right after she left us. Contacted everyone she ever knew—put out feelers all over the country—talked to every sheriff’s department from here to Maine and all the way out to California—and there was never a goddamn sign of her. She didn’t take nothin’ but her wallet. No clothes. No photos. Nothin’.” He shakes his head. “Nobody leaves town like that.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s dead,” I argue.
Daddy’s quiet for a long time. He’s staring down into the valley. The silence goes on so long I decide he’s finished with the conversation. He’s gonna clam up now.
But then he takes a long, slow breath and blows it out.
“Truth is, I seen her, Bird. Just once. A little while back. But it was enough to convince me she was gone.”
“You saw Mama?”
“I saw her ghost.”
Frustration bubbles up inside me and turns to anger. Why does everyone keep telling me things that I know full well aren’t so?
They’re worse than lies. They’re flat-out impossible.
“Daddy. No. That’s not—”
“Now, listen.” His voice is sharp. “I’m only gonna tell this once. I know that sounds wild, and that’s why I didn’t say nothin’ to you at the time. I didn’t tell Fern or anyone. But it’s the truth, Dovie. I was comin’ home late one night, a few months back, and I saw Lucy plain as anything, standing next to those flowers of hers. The ones she planted in the yard.”
“I don’t believe that,” I tell him, and Daddy shrugs. “I’m not tryin’ to be disrespectful or anything. I just don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I can’t make you believe me. I wouldn’t have believed it either. I only saw her for a second, but it was enough to convince me she was gone.” His voice softens and he looks back over his shoulder at me. “You ever hear of anybody seein’ the ghost of a living person?”
I think about Lo, and how I see his ghost every time I look at him these days.
“Are you sayin’ somebody from Lucifer’s Creek killed her?” I’ve never even considered the possibility of that before. In my mind, I’ve always pictured my mama strolling by the Seine in Paris or raking in crisp twenty-dollar bills as a tarot card reader down in New Orleans.
I’ve never pictured her as a pile of bones buried somewhere in these dark hills. But Daddy nods. “I do.”
The grief of losing her hits me fresh, and I suddenly want to drop to my knees and sob like Xan sobbed for Riley the other day at the trail shelter.
I don’t ever remember crying for my mama like that.
“Why?” It feels like my insides are all twisted up. “Why would anybody hurt Mama?”
“I don’t know, Bird. I’m hopin’ if I can find her, maybe I can figure out the answer to that.”
“If you can find her?”
“I been out lookin’ for her lately. Tryin’ to find her bones.” He gives me a sad look. “I don’t have any gift for that, like you do. But I keep on lookin’.”
“That’s why you’ve been out nights wanderin’ the hills, isn’t it?”
He nods. “Been out combin’ through the woods most nights since I seen her.”
That explains why I ran into him the other night. It explains the scratches on his arms, and why he was seen on the night Riley disappeared and again on the night Hannah vanished.
It explains everything, and I’m almost dizzy with relief.
Daddy’s not a murderer.
He’s been walking these hills searching for his love.
“What are you gonna do if you find her?” I ask him.
“I’m gonna mark the spot with a white rose for love and remembrance. That was your mama’s favorite flower.” He kicks at a loose rock and sends it rolling off the edge of the crag into the deep valley below us. “Then I’m gonna bring her home to rest.”
“Nana thinks Mama left a white rose in the yard the other night.”
“Maybe she did, Bird. I know it sounds impossible, but the older I get, the less I know. I’m not gonna say what is or isn’t possible. Not anymore. That ain’t my job.” He gives me a pointed look. “And it ain’t yours either.”