The Backwoods Part 10

As late afternoon became evening, Patricia began to feel more at ease herself. At first she'd felt a bit like an outcast in this crowd of seeming strangers, but eventually many of the faces sparked her memories of when she'd last lived here; she was greeted cordially time and time again, even by some whom she didn't remember until names were mentioned. The entirety of the affair was rich with sentimental talk, like, "Dwayne surely will be missed," "What a tragic pa.s.sing," "We'll really miss him," and on and on-things Patricia knew were being said only for Judy to overhear. In the parlor, some older local men spoke more along the lines of the truth: "Judy's so much better off without that lyin', cheatin' p.r.i.c.k," and "Good riddance to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Patricia's city-born cynicism forced a smile.

She kept her own drinking on the light side-she wasn't in the mood, and she didn't want to make a bad impression by getting too tipsy in front of the others. I'm here for my sister, so I don't need to be getting pie-eyed.

But every so often-she couldn't help it-she cast a glance toward Ernie.

Not this again . . .

He had his suit jacket and tie off now, the sleeves of his white dress s.h.i.+rt rolled up over toned, tanned forearms. He'd unb.u.t.toned the s.h.i.+rt a few notches, and she could see his pectorals flexing when he lifted a tray of sandwiches.

Her eyes raked down his body, and suddenly she was imagining him naked, on top of her . . .

I have to stop this! This is crazy!

"You must be Patricia, Judy's sister from Was.h.i.+ngton."

The sudden voice hawked down on her; she flinched as a child might when caught doing something naughty. A very well dressed blond man stood beside her, hard blue eyes, a flirting smile. She'd been so caught off guard musing about Ernie, she was nearly annoyed.

"Yes, I'm Patricia," she said when she recovered. "And you are?"

"Gordon Felps," the man replied. His hand felt cool, strong. His complexion seemed blanched, which only intensified the blue eyes. "I've heard quite a bit about you from your sister. My only regret is the circ.u.mstance I've finally gotten to meet you under."

Felps, Felps. Patricia struggled. Then she remembered. "Oh, you're the construction magnate."

The man chuckled. "I wouldn't call myself a magnate by any means, but I am a builder, yes."

"The luxury condos that are going on up on the river side of the Point." Her lawyer's instincts instantly engaged. "And you'd like to continue building on this side of the Point. My sister mentioned that you'd already made an offer for her property, so you'll need to know that I'm Judy's acting legal counsel for all personal and business matters." A cordial smile as she handed him her business card. "Please feel free to contact me in the future for any inquiries regarding my sister."

Felps wasn't fazed by her polite show of force; if anything he was impressed. He pocketed the card. "I will, thank you-not that I suspect it will be necessary, not at this point. Judy's made her desires clear to me. She doesn't want to sell the family land, and I respect that. Actually I've made several offers, but anything more than five million wouldn't be practical from my standpoint."

Five million? I thought she said one million. . . .

"I fully understand her loyalty to Everd Stanherd and his people. She doesn't want to put them out; regrettably, if I took over the property, I'd have no choice. I'd build an entire community where they're living now."

"The Squatters have always been sort of a surrogate family-they worked for my mother and father when they started the crabbing business in the fifties." But in the back of Patricia's mind, she kept thinking, Five million? Wow . . .

"Of course. I'll have to keep my project on the river side, but I'm sure it will still stimulate the town's growth." He looked around the reception. "Anyway, it's uncouth of me even to be discussing it at such a time-sorry."

"Oh, I'm so glad you two could meet." Judy emerged from the crowd and squeezed between Patricia and Felps, draping an arm around each of their shoulders. "Mr. Felps is the man I was telling you about, the construction man."

"Yes. We were just having a chat," Patricia said.

Judy was obviously in her cups, stooping over a little. But at least the tears had dried. She hugged Patricia harder. "Oh, and it was Gordon who supplied all the liquor for Dwayne's reception. Wasn't that kind of him?"

"Yes, it was." But then Patricia thought, Probably hoping you'd get drunk and sign a bad purchase agreement.

"It was nothing, Judy," Felps said. "For the short time I've been here, you and Dwayne have been good friends, and my heart goes out to you now in this sad time. I hope it goes without saying, but if you need anything-anything at all-just ask."

"Thank you, Gordon." Another tear now; then she looked glitter-eyed to Patricia. "He's such a sweet man."

He may be a con man, but I don't know how sweet he is, Patricia thought. She was just being protective, of course. Felps was probably a fine person and a legitimate businessman, but since lawyers tended to despise businessmen, and vice versa, she supposed her guarded reaction was normal.

Felps stood his ground in spite of the sudden discomfort. Judy was close to drunk now, and she was a sloppy drunk. Was she clutching Felps so hard on purpose? Was she deliberately pressing her left breast against him, or was she just unaware of it in her inebriation? The stooped pose lowered the vee of her black dress, showing a depth of cleavage. Could my sister possibly have a crush on this guy? came Patricia's off-key thought. Judy's bosom was almost as formidable as Patricia's. She watched Felps's eyes, hoping to catch them straying to the cleavage . . . but it never happened.

Then Patricia berated herself. My head has been in the gutter since the minute I came back here. I'd better straighten up.

"I've got to visit the ladies' room, but you two keep chatting," Judy slurred next. She gave Patricia a kiss on the cheek, then a squeezy hug to Felps, and she was gone.

"I'd better get going myself," Felps said, glancing at his watch. "Early day tomorrow. But it was very nice meeting you."

"You, too."

Interesting, she thought after he'd left. He could be the greatest guy in the world, but . . . I don't think I like him.

It was just more attorney cynicism, but what did it matter? When she looked back into the dining room to see if Ernie was still there, all she caught a glimpse of was his back as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Was she suddenly obsessed with him? Had returning here sparked some until-recently-dormant middle-aged biological clock? We weren't even high school sweethearts, she reminded herself. He wanted to be but I didn't. Was some fossil of regret inching out of her soul?

Ridiculous, she dismissed the thought. Even in her darkest and most personal hours, she knew she'd found total happiness-as well as s.e.xual satisfaction-with Byron. When she'd called him on her cell phone just before the services, simply hearing his voice had sparked a few s.e.xual wires. Her nipples had hardened even as she related her very dull goings-on thus far. I don't know what this Ernie thing is, but it's stupid and nonsensical, so I'm going to put it out of my mind, she determined.

"Howdy, Patricia. My condolences, a' course. Sorry it took me so long to welcome ya back to town."

Another startlement as she'd been musing. It was Chief Sutter who'd approached her. She'd always thought of him as a cliched country-b.u.mpkin-type chief, complete with the suspenders and big belly, but she'd always remembered him as a considerate man who very much cared about the residents he was employed to protect. She remembered how gentle, how caring he'd been in the aftermath of the rape, as well as the delicacy with which he'd handled her during the grueling but necessary questioning.

She smiled warmly, shaking his hand. "Chief Sutter. I'm happy to see you. In fact, I waved yesterday when I was coming into town."

He winked. "The Qwik-Mart. Yeah, Trey 'n' I caught a glimpse of ya in that s.h.i.+ny new car of yours. Judy's always tellin' me how well things are going for you 'n' your husband up in D.C. We're all so happy for ya."

It was just small talk, but Patricia appreciated it, and it truly was good to see him. "Thanks, Chief, and I hope things are going well for you, too." She quickly glanced around. "Where is your deputy, by the way? I know I saw him at the service."

"He had to go back out on patrol, but he sends his condolences as well." Suddenly something like concern touched the chief's face, and she noticed that he was holding a dark plastic bag with some official-looking seal on it. "But if I could trouble ya for just a minute? Could you take this and see that Judy gets it when the time is right?" He held up the bag. "It's from the country police lab, and they're done with it now."

"What is it?"

"Dwayne's personal effects, stuff he had on him when his body was found. They released it me today, but it ain't really appropriate to give it to Judy just yet."

"Oh, of course."

"Just his wedding band, watch, wallet 'n' all."

Patricia opened the bag and looked inside. "Did the crime lab find anything in the way of evidence?"

"Unfortunately, no. And there's some cash in there too, just so ya know. A goodly amount."

Watch, wallet, gold wedding band? Patricia thought, thinking it odd. She opened the wallet, saw some cash, but also noted five hundred-dollar bills in the bottom of the bag. "That's strange, isn't it, Chief?"

"You mean that whoever killed him didn't take his valuables and the cash? Yes, it is. A' course, anyone's first guess is that Dwayne was murdered, ya know, on account . . ."

"On account of him losing his head, sure," she finished.

"Right. But, uh, the cause of the decapitation itself was officially labeled as 'undetermined.' In other words, the coroner wasn't convinced it was a murder. Could've been a fluke accident, who knows?"

Patricia withheld an overt frown. Instead she asked, "Is it true that no one ever found . . ."

"Dwayne's head? Yeah, that is true, I'm afraid."

Patricia doubted it was an accident, but the point wasn't worth belaboring. Oh, well. An "undetermined" decapitation. "I'll put this in a safe place, Chief," she a.s.sured him, "and show it to Judy when the time is right."

"Thanks much, Patricia. And thanks for comin' all this way. It means an awful lot to Judy." He shook her hand again. "But I'd best get along now. I'm sure I'll be seein' ya again before you leave."

"I hope so, Chief. Good-bye for now."

Chief Sutter wended off through the crowd. I guess I'll put this in the den, Patricia concluded of the bag, but in her mind it kept occurring to her that the only thing stranger than the notion of the decapitation's being an accident was Chief Sutter's sudden uneasiness when talking about it at all.

Like something bothered him more than the obvious facts. Dwayne's death was indeed a mystery, but . . .

It's almost like the chief knows more than he's telling, she thought. she looked into the living room and was content to see Judy on the couch, surrounded by friends. She's getting drunk again, but she's more than ent.i.tled to do that today. Then she slipped off down the hall and switched on the light in the small den that Judy used for an office.

The room seemed sterile with its wall of file cabinets. Company records, I'm sure. On the wall over the desk hung Judy's very first incorporation certificate and her business license that had been changed over since their parents' deaths.

A picture on the other wall left her morose-a shot of her father, long ago, hauling bushels of crabs off a small trawler. I'll bet that was taken before I was born. Her father, though spry and muscular in the photo, still had the same cold, humorless look in his eyes she'd always known him for.

Then something else on the wall-an old poster-utterly depressed her.

COME JOIN US ALL!.

THE FIRST ANNUAL AGAN'S POINT CRAB FESTIVAL!

MONDAY SEPTEMBER 6.

NOON TIL EIGHT AT BOWEN'S FIELD!

Patricia turned away, a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach. Bowen's Field, my G.o.d . . .

And suddenly that everlasting look in her father's eyes seemed more accusory and disgusted than cold.

Next thing she knew she was standing in a daze. The images in her mind began to tumble backward, pulling at her. . . .

She'd been thinking about it all day at school. It didn't seem like her. She didn't know why. Skinny-dipping?

It was a big deal back in eleventh grade, and Agan's Point and some other nearby towns hosted a number of suitable ponds and small lakes. Patricia was constantly being invited by her friends, yet the invitations had never threatened her s.e.xually because it was only her circle of female friends always asking her to go. Boys went too sometimes, but from what she'd heard nothing much ever went on. Safety in numbers. She supposed it was all harmless and normal. It was something sixteen-year-olds did on Sat.u.r.day nights.

But Patricia never went.

She wasn't inhibited, nor self-conscious about her body. If anything she felt the opposite. Not only had good grades allowed her to skip a grade, it seemed that her body had all but skipped adolescence and hastened toward womanhood faster than the others'. Many times, in the showers after gym cla.s.s, she felt certain some of the other girls spied her naked body and full bare bosom with strained envy. It was fine with her. "What are you afraid of?" one girl had asked in objection. "Patti, in Agan's Point we skinny-dip every weekend, so don't be a prude. If I had your body, I'd show it off every chance I could!

But Patricia would have none of that. Showing off wasn't her nature. She hadn't even come close to having s.e.x yet-it was something she'd save for the right man. Most of the other girls seemed a lot less choosy, and even this young, Patricia saw that as a pitfall. She wanted to go to college, forge a career, while most of the local girls rushed to get married right after high school and start having kids. Not me, she resolved. These girls would wind up living here their whole lives and never even know what opportunities might be waiting for them out in the rest of the world. Patricia was determined not to miss out on what was out there simply to have a routine life in the place she was born.

As for s.e.x . . .

She'd never had it, nor had she ever noticed in herself any trace of the s.e.x drive that seemed to propel everyone else. She'd dated a few boys, but only once got past French-kissing. One twelfth grader she'd kind of liked from her geography cla.s.s had gotten her bra off one night at the old Palmer's drive-in, but the film-something about killer worms-had grossed her out more than scared her. He'd clumsily groped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and sucked her nipples for a few minutes, then evidently spent himself in his pants. He'd also tried to rub between her legs but was only rubbing just below her navel. She hoped he did better in high school geography than he did in female geography. In other words, this excursion left her uninterested. The local boy she'd most been expected to date seriously was Ernie, but when she was asked about the prospect, her response was always akin to: "Ernie's been my friend since first grade! He's like a brother! I could never date him!" Only later, just before she graduated, had she learned how badly he'd pined for a romance. She simply wasn't interested in Ernie-or in any boy, for that matter. Even when friends described their experiences "doing it" (and the fabulous multiple o.r.g.a.s.ms that always resulted), her response was typically a frown. Masturbation seemed ridiculous, at least from the descriptions she'd heard. What if someone saw me? And what could possibly be that great about it anyway? When she'd been younger-fourteen or so-she remembered leaving volleyball practice-and being late-so she'd cut home through the woods, where she'd accidentally happened upon a boy from Hodge's Hardware Store coupling naked with one of the Squatter girls. So that's what s.e.x is, she presumed, unshocked and unimpressed. The boy's fastidious performance of lovemaking had lasted about three minutes, whereupon he'd re-dressed quickly and left. But the Squatter girl remained, one hand alternately kneading her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the other playing with her s.e.x. Her body had flexed, her back curling backward in a noisy finish that only left Patricia amused and absolutely convinced she had no need to do this to herself. Why? If I made all that noise, my parents would hear!

Ultimately, by the end of the eleventh grade she found all the talk of boys and dating and junior proms and sock hops-and s.e.x-to be annoying. I guess I'm just different from everyone else, she concluded, and didn't feel at all unusual about it. In not being s.e.xual, she never once thought she might be missing out on anything. But what she wouldn't miss out on was life, her career, the future. s.e.x would have to wait.

It was right before school would let out for summer-for some reason she remembered that-and she recalled nothing s.e.xual about her motive, the business about skinny-dipping. She and Judy had gone to a late double feature at the town theater. She'd asked several friends to join them, but, alas, they were all going on to another skinny-dipping party. She and Judy had both pa.s.sed on the invite-electing instead to go see Star Wars, which everyone was talking about-but regrettably they were forced to sit through some grueling first feature about an Egyptian cannibal in the catering business. Patricia found the schlocky farce hilarious in its bad production, but Judy had left halfway through, too revolted by the hokey violence and fake blood that looked like house paint. Star Wars was fun, though, and exciting. However, while walking home . . .

. . . Patricia got to thinking.

Maybe I'll try it, she dared herself. In case I ever decide to do it with my friends, I'll know what it's like. It wasn't s.e.x she was considering; it was merely skinny-dipping.

I'll try it alone first, see if I like it.

But where? Everyone else was out at the lake in Luntville. I know, she thought. She saw the sign right there as she walked along Point Road: BOWEN'S FIELD.

There was a pond there, and the field itself was almost entirely surrounded by woods.

Perfect.

Her parents were at the fire hall tonight-bingo-and would be home late. The heat and humidity were sky-rocketing as the summer deepened; Patricia was sticky with sweat just minutes after leaving the cool movie theater. A late-night dip in the pond is just what I need.

She cut through more woods, her sandals snapping twigs. Peepers cheeped like parrots, and she had to walk slowly, keeping her eyes on the ground for toads. Then the woods broke, and there she was. . . .

The clearing opened, ringed by tall trees. The moon was just edging over the tallest oaks. Bowen's Field was a little-used munic.i.p.al lot: mainly county softball games and holiday gatherings. Picnic grounds with tables and grills dotted the area, and off to one side was the pond.

Patricia looked around guardedly. No one around. She felt satisfied. She walked off to the trees, then thought nothing of skimming out of her shorts and top. A moment of hesitation; then the rest came off, panties and bra dropped atop the sandals. And one last look around . . .

Everyone else is skinny-dipping in Luntville, and I'm skinny-dipping here. . . . Simple. There was no need to be self-conscious or embarra.s.sed-she was a logical girl. So she shrugged her bare shoulders, then, and walked nude across the field. See? No big deal. She giggled. When she looked down at herself, the only shock was how white she was. She was fair-skinned; she didn't tan well. Her natural hue touched over by the moonlight made her look ghostly.

The warm air caressed her skin as she moved on. Another giggle: I'm walking naked in public! The night's heat licked up and down her body.

Cicadas buzzed in their unique drone. The pond lay flat and still before her, a solid black mirror with the moon's reflection floating on top. Mud squished up through her toes when she stepped in, first to her ankles, then to her knees. She lifted her foot and took the next step, which should've brought her hip-deep, but- Splunk!

-she dropped into a surprise gully deeper than she was tall. She sprang back to the surface, laughing, then began to dog-paddle around. Where the night's heat had felt heavy on her skin, the cool water felt absolutely luxurious. A sudden liberty swept her as she let the water devour her: No one knows I'm here; I'm totally alone. She liked that feeling, a forbidden independence-being naked and by herself, as though the world existed solely for her, and she were its only inhabitant. The moon looked down, a luminous voyeur. Her flesh felt buoyant; cool water rushed between her legs and over her stomach and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She smiled to herself, kicking out farther, totally tranquil in the water.

Patricia was at peace. . . .

It was some sort of a sack, canvas, or maybe several layers of burlap; she'd never figured out what it was exactly. And she never saw it coming.

He must've been in the water the whole time. Waiting? But that was impossible, because no one knew she was out here. She'd told no one she'd be skinny-dipping tonight; in fact, she hadn't even made the decision until after leaving the theater. Nevertheless, as she'd turned to come back closer to the pond's edge, a heavy, wet sack was pulled over her head from behind and tightened immediately by a drawstring. It couldn't have been more effective. . . .

It smothered her scream.

A strong arm girded her neck. Her attacker was b.r.e.a.s.t.stroking back to sh.o.r.e, Patricia in tow, but as he did so his hand plowed into her most private area as though it were a squeeze ball. Fingers tried to wriggle in. Each time she attempted to suck in a breath and bolt out a scream, the wet sack sucked against her lips, and all she could do was wheeze. And when they reached the edge and her ankles began to kick through mud- Thwack!

-a fist hard as a stone knocked her unconscious. Deathlike blackness filled her mind. Was she dead? No, but as her consciousness began to trickle back, her previous terror had been supplanted by an all-encompa.s.sing nausea. She opened her eyes but couldn't see. It wasn't the sack; instead, the only thing she could figure was that a wide strip of tape had been pasted over her eyes. When she tried to move, her wrists and ankles rose . . . but only an inch.

She'd been tied down.

More of her senses began to fall back into place. Her eyes had been taped but her mouth hadn't, and just as she sucked in a deep, deep breath to try another scream, a palm slapped across her lips.