Chapter 26
Chapter
Twenty-Six
The next day, Max and I went into Hooperton to return Emily’s gun.
There was only one place she could have gotten it, Max said, in a tone that meant that anyone who’d lived around here for more than two seconds would know this information, and he was none too thrilled to be included in that a small, sad subset.
The gun shop was located on the other side of town, and we passed through the cute town center to get there. “Did you guys come here much when you were growing up?” I asked him. “Or did you pretty much stick to yourself out in the country?”
“We were in town more than you’d expect.
Church, mostly, back when I was young. Before—everything.
” He stopped talking, not needing to say much more.
Eventually, we turned onto a beautiful street with giant weeping willow trees hanging down almost to the sidewalks, and stately old homes beyond.
Like the Grahams’ but built on a city scale.
“Dad ran an office down here for a while, something tied to the county exchange office, farmers’ coalitions, like that.
It kind of petered out too. Since Carol Ann got sick, we started keeping more to ourselves. ”
His lips tightened. “Carol Ann’s illness changed everything. It was too much, you know? Too much to happen over just one thing.”
“Yeah.” But it wasn’t just one thing, I knew.
Possessions that begin in a place and extend to the people who live there are a layered rot that crops up in unexpected ways.
I also didn’t miss the fact that Max never—not once—referred to Carol Ann’s affliction as possession, but a sickness.
Like he thought she could get better on her own? Wake up recovered from demonic flu?
I twisted my lips, refocusing. “Did you ever figure out exactly what Carol Ann did to trigger everything? What specifically she was trying to do with Joe and the Ouija Board or whatever?”
He winced. “Carol Ann and that fucking board,” he muttered, the phrase sounding like a well-worn epithet.
“No, not exactly. Joe was willing to tell anyone who would listen, but he was half out of his head after he saw what happened to Carol Ann, and none of us took anything he said too seriously. After a while, he didn’t say much at all. Here it is.”
We got out of the car, and I squinted up at the sign above the squat building. “Mills Farm & Fleet?”
“Yep. It’s where all the cool kids hang out.
” He grinned at me, and it was like he held my hand in the soft night again, though we weren’t touching.
“The gun shop is technically a separate entity, but Mills sells all the gun accessories, so it pretty much feels like the same place. And more to the point…”
He narrowed his eyes in the bright sunlight as he surveyed the far end of the parking lot. “Yeah.”
He popped the trunk and took the gun out. “They’ll know about what happened out at the house, or at least the official story, but they won’t mention it, not specifically, and not to my face. They’ll act like they haven’t heard anything—especially because John Bell is here today.”
I blinked. “He is? He went right back to work?”
“Looks like.” Max shrugged. “Not much else he could do, you know? Working is what he does. He picked up retail after we couldn’t keep him out on the farm, though Dad still gives him some kind of stipend, I think. But he works here most days now.”
“And Mrs. Bell?”
“She gardens.” His smile went a little sad. “She and Grandma Kate were pretty much best friends. Now they can’t even speak to each other, really. Everything’s just too terrible.”
Instead of entering the store, Max took me down the sidewalk to a side entrance that I hadn’t even noticed in the sunny glare.
A small placard announcing “Sam Smith Firearms & Training” hung next to the door, with the hours of operation and an official-looking warning about carrying unlicensed weapons.
“This is the place?”
“This is it.” Max pushed the door open into the small space, and I stepped in after him, not knowing what to expect.
The shop wasn’t large. Glass cases dominated the center sections and lined every wall, with an entryway to the right to Mills Farm & Fleet marked above a doorway, so that everyone would be clear when they left the domain of weaponry.
Max walked in with confidence, but it didn’t look like anyone was manning the station.
Before he got three steps, however, a short, no-nonsense-looking man poked his bald head out of the back.
“Can I help you?”
“Max Graham.” Max held up the gun. “I think my aunt, Emily Winslow, might have purchased this from you in the last couple of days, and I wanted to bring it back.”
The man frowned. If he knew who Max was, he didn’t give any indication. Regardless of Max’s statement about the small-town code of ‘betray nothing’, I got the impression that Sam Smith wasn’t the type of man to give away much of anything. “You have a receipt?”
“I don’t. And I don’t so much care about the money.
I just need you to verify that it was purchased here, if you can do that, and for you to log that I brought it back.
” The man’s frown only deepened, but Max put the gun on the table.
“I also need to know if she bought ammunition. It’s not loaded now, and it doesn’t look like it’s been shot, but… ” He let that trail off.
The guy looked at the gun, then back up at Max.
His eyes had sharpened a little with curiosity, and I took more notice of him now.
He tasted of gasoline and gunpowder, open fields and baked-in heat.
He was as much a piece of the ground as the dried-out summer harvest, and he was only human.
Not much happened in Hooperton, and apparently the ‘don’t betray anything’ rule wasn’t airtight.
“Emily Winslow is your aunt? She doesn’t look much older than you. ”
Max grimaced. “Yeah, she’s not. She’s also unstable, which you would have no way of knowing, but I would appreciate it if you’d take the gun back.
Lock it up in a box for all I care or call the cops and have them impound it.
But she shouldn’t have bought it. And if she comes back looking for it, you can call the cops then, too, for any charge you can think of. ”
The guy nodded, his lips tugging into a smile that could also be a frown if needed. “Her ID checked out. Didn’t have any reason to expect she might be trouble.”
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem at all. Happens.” He squinted at Max again. “So, it wasn’t the fellow’s birthday last week?”
Max stopped. “What?”
“The guy she got this for. She said it was a present, that he’d eat it up.”
Max froze. “When did she buy this gun, exactly? I thought it was yesterday?”
“Oh, heck, no. Hang on.” The guy turned around and checked his computer. “Week ago, today. Why?” He took in our faces. “Why’s that relevant?”
“Well—no one had a birthday. Like I said, she’s a little around the bend.” He stared at the gun. “It hasn’t been shot, right?”
The man looked at him funny, but obligingly picked up the gun, looked at the barrel, and opened the chamber. Empty. “Nope,” he said. “It’s as clean as it was when it left here. She didn’t buy ammo—said she had plenty of that herself.”
“Right. Well, good. Thank you.”
Max practically pushed me out of the gun shop and into the main area of Mills Farm & Fleet. I felt queasy, my legs barely seeming to function, and yet I had the worst urge to laugh, like Emily hadn’t said something to a complete stranger sick enough to make me want to puke.
“I can’t…” That’s all Max could say. Just those two words.
I let him wander, and we made it to the tack section of the store quickly. The entire place smelled like leather and warmth, and I felt the tightness in my body ease. Max seemed to relax too, and then a familiar face came around the corner—and, thankfully, broke into a weary smile. Mr. Bell.
“Max, hey. How are you doing? How’s your dad holding up?”
“Mr. Bell, I’m glad you’re here.” He and Mr. Bell shook hands, and the man’s easy smile didn’t waver.
“Well, I’m always here these days. Beats working with Mother and her damned potted plants, I will tell you that.
I swear she’d stick me in a ceramic vase if I didn’t keep two steps ahead of her.
” He turned to me, his grin still easy. I found myself liking him instinctively.
“John Bell. Used to work out at Max’s farm, hope to again one day soon. ”
“Hi, I’m Delia.” I shook his hand, reassured by its weight and solidity. “I’m a friend of Max’s.”
“Mr. Bell…” Max hesitated. “I asked Delia out here because she’s done some work with situations like—well, like Carol Ann’s and, well, now Joe’s too, I guess. I know you’re working…”
“Ah-yup.” Mr. Bell looked around. The place was deserted except for us. “It’s okay. I can talk. I’ll let you know if my number gets called.” He cocked a glance at me. “You know his story better’n I do, though. Why do you need it from me?”
“I tend to remember things a little differently,” Max said. “It’d be a big help to get a perspective that’s not mine. I don’t mean to trouble you. I know it’s got to be a shock.”
“Oh, well, no,” Mr. Bell said, surprising me. He stared down at the ground for a long minute, then glanced up at Max again before nodding at me. “Poor Joe hadn’t really been with us for a long while. Much as it hurts me to say it, he’s at peace now. I truly believe that.”
Max sighed, then rubbed his hand over his forehead. “I have to think you’re right,” he finally offered.
John Bell nodded again, then clasped his hands together with the air of a man who’d told this story too many times, in too many places.
“Joe loved Carol Ann from the time they were babies, you know?” he began. “She was the dominant one, the show-off. He worshipped her.”