Friday

4 days until the end of all time

I didn’t need to be told it was Winnie. Something had been nudging me in that direction from the first glimpse of the shadow on the photo. I might not have the power of a Crystalline or any of her friends, but I’d had a sinking feeling that hadn’t left me. It had to do with symbolism—Marjory under that particular tree.

After the body—or what was left of a body—was removed from the grave and taken to the lab at Grayling, a very tarnished gold ring was found on one of the fingers. Later that morning, Officer Winston called to tell me there was an inscription on the ring.

“‘Winnie—Love of my Life—Charlie,’” Winston said, his voice reading off the words with military precision. “Not much doubt as to who she was.”

I agreed there was no doubt at all. Winnie Otis had been dead all along. If only we could follow the trail backward, to when she went missing, find out who passed the word she ran off with a tractor
salesman. But it was too late for that. If Aunt Cecily didn’t know, there was no one else. Maybe Marjory—too late. Maybe the brothers.

“You’d better get back to Arnold Otis before he leaves town,” I said. “Ask him who started the rumor about his mother running off. Did you ask him what he was talking about when he said he ‘knew’? And who’s the ‘they’ he thought were involved?”

His voice got stiff. “I’ve done all of that, Emily … Ms. Kincaid …”

“Call me Emily, please.” I think I rolled my eyes, a bad habit I’d had since childhood when dealing with blockheads.

“I’ve already spoken to him. Well, that aide who protects him. He said Mr. Otis was too broken up at learning his mother was dead. He wouldn’t come to the phone. Through the aide, I asked our questions and he said he had no idea who first said she’d run away, nor who had claimed it was with a tractor salesman. He thought it came from the police—when she was reported missing. Lucky says they have a missing person’s report—filed a month or more after she was gone. There’s only a notation that the case was closed. Nothing else. A dead end.”

“So, what he said there at Deward, did he mean Brother Righteous? Was that what he was talking about? About him being involved? Or maybe Reverend Fritch?”

“The aide said he was insisting the Reverend Fritch’s group had something to do with Marjory’s death. He’s got to take care of something first, before he’ll say anything more—but after he’s done what he has to do—he’ll be happy to talk to us.”

“Does he know that Brother Righteous is a mute? I mean, the man can hardly take care of himself, let alone …”

There was a pause from the other end of the phone. “I … eh
… didn’t know that myself. I was going to go out to where that group is camped … eh … you think maybe we could go together? I mean, you seem to have some knowledge …”

We agreed to meet that evening, six-thirty at the campground. It was the earliest Winston said he could get over from Gaylord.

And that was that. Now I knew why Marjory was afraid to go to Deward. She had to have known her mother was buried there. Maybe Winnie’s body even explained why Marjory was killed—to cover up her mother’s murder. But why so many years later? And why, unless she killed her, had she never told anyone? Too many questions. My head hurt, but the questions wouldn’t stop.

Why had Dolly and those cult members come out? Why was Brother Righteous, or Sister Sally, interested? There had to be a connection between Marjory, Winnie, and the Reverend Fritch. Did Arnold know what that connection was? If so, why hadn’t he told us? Lord, how I wished I could put everyone in a room together, throw out accusations, and have somebody confess. Life could be so much easier if I could write it instead of live it.

I called Bill with the story of the exhumation of Winnie Otis. “Two murders,” I said, and filled him in on Winnie’s body being found next to where her daughter had lain.

“A lot going on. Think you can handle it?”

“Think so,” I lied, and hung up.

Jackson called. Since I wasn’t doing manuscript pages for him, he didn’t call as often. I was almost to the point of missing him. At least he didn’t bring me dead bodies and old tragedies. Well, some—all those Chaucer people on their pilgrimage.

“I’d like to take you out for a drink on Sunday.” He had a slight touch of hesitance in his voice. “To make up for Bill’s dinner party …”

“Have you asked Bill?”

“No. I thought maybe we could just talk, the two of us, have a quiet drink together …”

“Talk about what?”

“Just … you know … talk.”

“Ok. Where? When?”

“In town. Maybe the Blue Tractor. Eighth and Union.”

I almost groaned. Of course it would be me taking the long drive.

“Five o’clock?”

I hung up. I had a date.

Later, in town, the vestibule at EATS was packed with people. I thought there must be a line again, maybe the End Timers back for a nearly last supper. But these were townspeople. They crowded the small space, standing with their backs turned to the door.

I gave Gloria, who stood among the rest of the Leetsvillians, a confused look. She made a face and pointed to the wall where one of Eugenia’s genealogy papers fluttered.

A picture of Cate, the odd old lady Eugenia had taken under her wing, hung above the cigarette machine. A nice, if grainy, picture, from an era when she was young, but recognizable—well dressed, hair swept up into what looked like a chignon. I blinked a few times, not getting it. I turned back to Gloria. She nudged me with her elbow and said, “Read it, Emily. You’ll never believe …”

I read the neat typing beneath the old photograph.

Catherine Thomas, it read.

I knew the name. I’d seen it recently …

Dolly’s grandmother.

The news knocked me back into people standing behind me. Gloria put a hand on my arm. “Eugenia knew all along. She found her through genealogical research. Remember, she told Dolly she was going to do it? They’ve just been waiting for the right time. With Dolly, that never seemed to happen.”

“For God’s sakes, Gloria,” I was disgusted with all of them. “The woman’s been here for a couple of weeks.”

“They were waiting. And now, with this cult business she’s got herself into … well … ask Eugenia. Never was the perfect moment.”

“And this is? And the right way? Somebody’s going to go running out there and tell Dolly, and then the crap will hit the fan …”

Gloria nodded. “Nobody’s got nerve enough to be the one to break the news. She’ll probably have to walk in here herself …”

“And?”

“Well, I don’t know …”

“Sure you do. She’d tear down this whole place, board by board. That’s what she’ll do.”

Gloria shrugged. People around us added comments, about Dolly, about Cate, and even about Eugenia and her patience and how she’d been taking care of Dolly’s grandmother.

“Personally,” Flora Coy, beside me, said, looking up through her thick glasses. “I think somebody better tell Dolly soon. Not a lot of time left to any of us, you know. With the world about to end and all.”

“Oh, Flora, not you! You don’t believe that preacher,” I groaned.

“Ernie Henry and some of the others say we gotta be out there Tuesday, just in case.”

“Like you would miss it, if you didn’t show up?”

She clucked at me. “Now Emily. This isn’t the time for blasphemy. You know for certain we’ve got any more than a few days left to live? You got an answer? If you do, I’ll just stay to home and take care of my birds.”

I had to shake my head—but very slowly, more exhausted than done in by her argument. No answer. Common sense wasn’t enough, not in the face of this enormous uncertainty.

“Well, there, you see?” she said. “I’ll be out there Tuesday morning. Same as you, I’ll bet.”

Others around us turned and nodded.

“Somebody’s got to tell Dolly,” I groused, hoping for a volunteer.

“Nobody’s seen her in days,” Gloria said.

“Yeah,” Jocko Whitney, owner of the discount food store, said. “Heard she was there when they found Winnie Otis in Deward. And, you know what else? Heard there wasn’t a magic stone buried after all.”

“And sure as hell no treasure,” Jake Anderson, the tall, thin owner of The Skunk Saloon, added, disgust at a lost opportunity thick in his voice.

I worked my way through the marveling crowd into the restaurant. Eugenia, behind her glass counter, handy flyswatter in her hand, looked hard at me. I would save her for later. It was Cate I wanted to see.

The old woman sat in her usual place. Her black, lace-gloved hands were wrapped around a white coffee cup. Her wild hair sported a kind of tiara—a few bright stones winking out from her head of white hair. Cate saw me coming. She gave a weary nod. I didn’t know if it was a “yes,” telling me what hung in the vestibule was true, or if it was an attempt to hide.

I sat down without asking, ordered the meatloaf from Cindy, the only waitress actually working, and let out a deep sigh.

“Is it true?” I asked.

She nodded. “Eugenia found me. Since Delores was little and they took her away, I didn’t know what happened to her. My daughter, well, what I told you was the truth. I don’t even know if Audrey’s alive or dead. But here’s my granddaughter. If I’d known Audrey was going to throw her away, the way she did, I’d have taken her myself. I’d have been glad to have Delores. Couldn’t get Audrey to say a word about her. I guessed maybe the baby was with her, there in France. Like maybe they took in her and the child. Still, I should have tried … something.”

I nodded, completely out of pity for anyone. All I could think of was Dolly hearing this news. No preparation. Just that she had a family—at last.

“Eugenia shouldn’t have done it this way.” I lifted my chin toward the vestibule and the people trickling in. “You should have gone to her.”

Cate shook her head. “Whatever’s happened to Delores, it’s changed who she might have been. Eugenia says any way we tell her there’s going to be an uproar.”

There was truth in that statement. Uproar was what we were going to get.

I finished my plate of meatloaf, set in front of me in a record four minutes’ time, persuaded Cate to come with me, and headed over to Dolly’s house.

The little white house had the look of being empty. It had that dark-window, old-newspapers-on-the-stoop look that signaled no one was home.

I could only think of one other place to go. Since I was meeting Officer Winston there anyway, it seemed the place I was meant to be. Cate and I were off to the campground.