The Scarecrow: A Supernatural Thriller (Solom) Page 8

  “Amen,” Katy said.

  Gordon flipped out his cloth napkin with a flourish. Katy had never used cloth napkins in Charlotte, considering them an extravagance, the kind of thing that led to a premium charge at a fancy restaurant. But Gordon had showed her the drawer that held the table linens, and explained how Rebecca had always kept three clean sets of the same off-white color. He didn’t exactly order Katy to lay out cloth napkins with each dinner, but if Rebecca was able to do it, then why shouldn’t Katy? So what if it meant extra laundry and another three minutes of her day wasted?

  “These dumplings look plumb delicious,” Gordon said. He speared a lump of cooked dough with his fork, brought it to his nose, and sniffed. He took a bite.

  Jett picked up a sprig of broccoli with her fingers, tossed it into her mouth, and began chewing noisily. Katy didn’t even think to ask Jett to mind her manners because she was so intent on Gordon’s reaction.

  “Mmm,” Gordon said. “Acceptable. Most acceptable indeed.”

  Acceptable? What in the hell did that mean? That Rebecca’s were better? But all she said was, “I’m glad you like them, dear.”

  “Maybe we should tell him about the scarecrow now,” Jett said.

  “Scarecrow?” Gordon reached for the white wine. Katy would never have dared select a suitable wine. She was a gin girl, at least on her infrequent opportunities to imbibe. Since Jett’s drug problems began, though, Katy had denied herself the dubious pleasure of alcohol. Gordon didn’t seem to care about intoxication. He rarely drank more than a glass or two. To him, it was an affectation, like his pipe, the requisite habit of a tenured scholar.

  “The scarecrow in the barn,” Katy said.

  “Oh, that old thing? What about it?”

  “Yesterday, it was out in the cornfield. Now it’s hanging on the wall.”

  “Maybe Odus Hampton brought it in. He was doing some work for me a few days ago, while you guys were shopping in Windshake.”

  “It was on the wall. Then it was gone yesterday. And it was back again today.” Katy didn’t want to tell the other part, about how the goat had dragged it away, about how she thought it had moved under its own power. And how it must have pieced itself together, climbed the wall, and snagged itself on the hook again.

  “Just like the story you told us,” Jett said. She didn’t seem as enamored of Katy’s dumplings as Gordon was. She worked on the broccoli and her milk, and then dipped into the bowl of cinnamon apple slices that Katy had prepared as a side dish.

  “The Scarecrow Man,” Gordon said, breaking into a grin. His cheeks were flushed from the wine.

  “I saw it, too,” Jett said. “The night I”—she shot a glance at Katy—”freaked out in the barn.”

  Gordon’s eyes narrowed, and Katy saw a hint of cruelty in his face. “You haven’t been messing with drugs, have you? I thought I made it clear to your mother that I wouldn’t tolerate that business in my house. It’s bad enough you have to go around dressed like a prostitute at a funeral.”

  Jett slumped in her chair, jaw tightening. She fingered the studded leather band around her throat as if it were cutting off her oxygen.

  “Gordon, please,” Katy said.

  Gordon sipped his wine. “Rebecca would never have allowed such foolishness, God rest her soul.”

  “Jett’s not doing drugs anymore,” Katy said. “She promised. We both promised.”

  Gordon patted his lips with the cloth napkin, and Katy wondered if she’d have to spray Spot Shot on it later. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I did accept you for better or worse, after all.”

  Katy flashed a pained smile at Jett as if to say, See, I told you he’s not so bad. We all just have to get used to each other. Except part of her was thinking, If Rebecca was so wonderful, why didn’t she bear Gordon a perfect child, one who wasn’t individual and human and as achingly beautiful as Jett?

  She squeezed her own napkin under the table until her fingers hurt. Jett said, “It’s okay, Gordon. No sweat.”

  Gordon didn’t know Jett well enough to detect the sullen defeat in her voice. Gordon raised one eyebrow at Katy in a When is she going to start calling me Dad? expression. Katy wondered when they were going to quit communicating in unspoken words and actually talk to one another. But that was silly, because Gordon wouldn’t even talk to her in bed when the lights were out and her heart was beating hard with expectation. Perhaps Rebecca had suffered the same neglect. The thought brought a sudden smirk to her face.

  Jett pushed her plate away. “I’ve got homework, folks.”

  “You didn’t finish,” Gordon said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Jett stood, her chair scraping across the floor. The sound cut the silence like a scythe through a tin can. Katy waited to see how the power struggle would play out, praying she wouldn’t have to take sides, mentally exploring a way to broker a peace settlement.

  “You shouldn’t waste what God’s blessing has brought to our table,” Gordon said.

  “I’ll put it in the fridge and she can have it for a snack after school tomorrow,” Katy said.

  “I don’t want it tomorrow,” Jett said.

  “Honey, we’ve all had a long day,” Katy said. “Why don’t you go do your homework and we’ll be up to talk about it later?”

  She knew Gordon wouldn’t join in on the talk. He had rarely been in Jett’s room, apparently considering it some sort of den of iniquity. Rock posters, a black light, a tarantula in a small aquarium, melancholy music playing constantly. No, Gordon hadn’t yet reached out to his stepdaughter, although he expected automatic respect by sole virtue of Jett’s residence under his roof.

  “Sure, Mom. We’ll talk.” Jett left the room and Katy took her first taste of the chicken and dumplings. Too salty. Rebecca’s recipe had called for two tablespoons. Or was it teaspoons? The recipes were handwritten, and Katy could easily have made a mistake.

  “Do you really like them?” Katy asked.

  Gordon was staring out the window at the darkness that had settled on the farm as they ate. The crickets chirped, katydids rubbed their wings together, and moths fluttered against the window screen.

  “They were fine,” Gordon said, absently.

  “Can we get rid of the scarecrow?”

  “The scarecrow?”

  “The one in the barn.”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t like it hanging in the barn. It spooks me.”

  Gordon laughed. “That’s been in the family for years. I put it up for the winter so it doesn’t rot.”

  “I thought you said Odus Hampton put it up.”

  “Yeah. I guess he did.”

  “It’s out there now. I saw it.”

  Gordon reached across the table and took her hand. He smiled, his eyes bright, cheeks crinkling in the manner that had first attracted her. “Let’s forget about the silly scarecrow.”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on Jett.”

  Gordon drew his hand away. “It’s just that I care about her. About both of you. I want you to be happy here.”

  Katy was about to say she would be a lot happier if she didn’t feel the invisible presence of his first wife. But as she opened her mouth, a brittle clatter arose from the kitchen and something shattered on the floor.

  “Sounds like you have some work to do,” Gordon said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When the bus picked up Jett, she walked straight down the aisle between the rows of seats, her gaze fixed on the emergency release latch for the back door. Tommy Wilson let out a wolf whistle, and one of the third-graders was opening his lunch box, filling the air with peanut butter smell. She bit her lip and slid into the empty seat on the second row from the rear. Right in front of Tommy and Grady. She expected Tommy to make a grab as she sat, but he must have been too shocked by her abrupt approach.

  Tommy said, “Hey, Grady, I think she likes me.”

  “In your dreams, man.”

  “No, really. She knows whe
n she’s licked ... all over.” Tommy snickered. Jett could smell it on them, the reason she had ventured into the goonie zone.

  “Why don’t you ask her, then?” Grady taunted. “If you’re so hot, why ain’t she sitting in your lap?”

  Jett didn’t turn. Compared to the inner-city school she had once attended, where fourth-graders sometimes carried switchblades, a Cross Valley High bus offered little to fear. Tommy in his Carhartt jacket with the scuffed elbows was about as threatening as Fozzie from the Muppets.

  “Yeah? Just watch a stud in action.” Tommy leaned over the seat. Jett could feel his breath on her neck, and the smell of pot was thick and potent. “Hey, sweet thing. I dig chicks in black.”

  She waited. Maybe he had been practicing his lines on his sister or something, because they sure were lame. He could have done better hanging out in Internet chat rooms.

  “What do you say?” Tommy’s voice fell into a low, murmuring rhythm. “You know you want it. Can’t keep away, can you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she said without turning.

  “She talked to you, dude,” Grady said to his pal.

  “Shut up.” Tommy moved closer, and now his breath was on her ear. “Want some of what I got?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Tommy said nothing, although he was panting audibly now.

  “Seven grams will do,” she said. Her father had told her the fifty dollars was for her personal use. This was about as personal as it got.

  “Grams? Do what?”

  “Or do you sell it by the quarter-ounce up here? I don’t know if the metric system has hit the sticks yet.”

  “You ain’t right, girl.”

  “Come on, let’s not play games. You’ve reeked of marijuana since the first day I walked into school. The only reason the teachers can’t smell it is because they’re probably smoking it themselves.”

  “Hey, big-city bitch, don’t get so high and mighty. Just because you talk all fancy and got black stockings don’t mean you can—”

  Jett turned and put her face close to his, their noses almost touching. “Listen, redneck. Next time you lay a hand on me, I’ll take your fingers and shove them one by one up your asshole until you’re tickling your own tonsils.”

  Grady shrank into the corner, shooting a glance at the driver twenty rows up. Tommy blinked but didn’t back away. A kindergartner was crying in the front of the bus. Trees whizzed by beyond the windows, and leaves skirled along the gravel road in the draft of the bus’s wake.

  “I’ve got money and I need grass,” she said. “You’ve got grass and you need money.”

  “I don’t mess with that shit.”

  “Like hell. What’s that you were smoking this morning, goat turds?”

  Grady giggled and Tommy elbowed him in the ribs. “What if I could get some? I want something more than money.”

  “Like what?”

  Tommy ran his tongue over his lips like a poisoned rat at a water puddle. “Some of your sweet stuff.”

  Jett tucked a strand of dyed hair behind her ear. “Fine. Bring it on. But there’s something you ought to know.”

  Tommy’s eyes widened, and Grady leaned toward her, too, not believing his good buddy was going to score. “What’s that?” Tommy said, in a dry croak.

  “I’ve got AIDS. So any time.”

  Tommy went pale. Jett faced the front, smiling to herself. The rumor would make the rounds, and by Christmas break some teacher or other would probably call her mom. It might even get as far as the school board. She’d probably be asked to take a blood test by next semester. With any luck, it would lead an indefinite suspension until the matter was cleared up.

  But by tomorrow, she would have a bag of pot, even if Tommy delivered it wearing rubber gloves and a surgical mask. The good times would roll, and all her problems would go up in smoke.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Katy had gone back to bed after seeing off Jett. She lay under the covers, half asleep, trying to free the stolen sheet from Gordon’s clutches. This was Friday, and Gordon’s only class was in the afternoon. They had taken to sleeping late that day, especially as the mornings had grown chillier. Katy felt a bit decadent, having been a chronic early riser during her banking career. She still wasn’t sure if she missed working or not.

  Gordon snorted and rolled over against her. His body warmth was comforting and she let herself roll against him into the curved middle of the mattress. Rebecca’s weight had helped make the depression in the mattress, from her two thousand nights of lying here. But Rebecca was gone and now this space was hers.

  Katy wriggled her rear against his thigh, hoping to elicit a response. She was rewarded when one of his hands slid across her waist. It was the most intimate he had been in weeks. She wriggled some more and his hand slid up to her breast. She wished she had removed her bra. She’d always slept in the buff but Gordon had acted like that was a dirty habit. He wore pajamas, rumpled cotton that didn’t flatter him. The pajamas made him look like a nursing home inmate.

  Gordon squeezed her breast and her nipple hardened. She snuggled closer, hoping he would turn so she could feel his arousal. She twisted her neck and kissed his cheek. He smelled masculine, like wood smoke and metal. His hand worked her flesh in small circles.

  “Gordon,” she whispered, and a moan escaped her lips.

  She didn’t want to move away from his hand but a tiny spark had taken hold in the center of her body. She lifted herself up on her elbow so that she was nearly over him. Even asleep, his body revealed evidence of his lust. His erection tented the blankets.

  Katy moaned and let her fingers slide between the buttons of his pajama top. Gordon grunted in his sleep and put his hand over hers. Katy nuzzled his neck and Gordon’s eyes flickered.

  “Rebecca,” he said in a hoarse, low whisper.

  Katy froze. Maybe he was dreaming that she was Rebecca, and that was the reason for his response. He’d barely touched Katy, had not even slipped her some tongue when they kissed, had left her to masturbate on their wedding night. But here he was as hard as Pittsburgh steel and as hot as Costa Rica, and it was his dead wife that was doing it for him.

  Not Katy.

  But Katy was so desperate for affection and contact that a cynical part of her took over. She would screw him no matter who she had to be. There was more than one way to consummate a marriage.

  “Yes, darling,” Katy said, not knowing where the endearment came from. She’d never said “darling” in her life. But she was slipping into a role, and the deception fueled her lust. If Rebecca was what Gordon wanted, then Katy would give her to him, and fulfill her own desires in the bargain.

  She pressed her lips to his and Gordon’s tongue probed her mouth. She was fully on him now, kicking the blankets away, pressing her chest against his. Gordon’s arms went around her back and stroked her hair. She raised one leg and straddled him. She rocked gently back and forth, savoring his saliva, breathing wildly through her nose.

  Gordon lifted himself, thrusting against her. He pulled his mouth free and gasped. “Yes,” he said.

  His hands came down to her bra strap and he deftly unhooked it. He peeled the bra away and flung it off the bed. She reached between their bodies for the waistband of his pajamas, wanting to unbutton them. Instead, her fingers found the fly and slid into the little pocket toward the heat beneath.

  “Oh, honey,” he whispered, and Katy no longer cared if he was talking to her or to Rebecca. The ache in her loins was taking over, and she probably would have ridden him if he had called her Catherine the Great.

  “Mmmm,” she said, not sure what sort of language to use. Mark liked dirty talk, and they’d often ranted themselves into a frenzy as they worked toward what were almost always simultaneous orgasms. She blushed for thinking of Mark, but her cheeks were already warm and pink and she decided that was no worse than Gordon’s little fantasy. Besides, her brain wasn’t the organ doing her thinking at the moment.

&nb
sp; She fumbled for the waistband of his briefs. Gordon’s hands enclosed her breasts, kneading them with a gentle firmness that suggested experience. While he’d been chaste with Katy, he certainly was no virgin.

  She was panting, her heart galloping, and a strand of drool hung from her lower lip. Gordon’s other hand continued to work her breasts, then his mouth enveloped her left nipple. She opened her eyes and saw the dark tangles of his hair and the slight bald spot at the top of his skull as he eased himself inside her.

  Katy fought an urge to mash herself down onto him. This was their first time, and it should be slow. As much as she hated to break the contact of his tongue on her nipple, she tilted his head back to look him in the eyes.

  “Gordon,” she said, and the word came from low in her throat, like the growl of an animal.

  His eyes remained closed, though his eyelids fluttered as if he were asleep and experiencing the rapid eye movements associated with dreaming. Her hips quivered of their own accord, and she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer.

  “Rebecca,” he said, lifting his hips off the bed and pushing deep.

  Katy almost hesitated. This was too weird. The only way she could get laid was to pretend to be dead. Or, more precisely, be someone who had died. Her rival. The woman she hated.

  But another part of her saw it as revenge, as if she were seducing Gordon into cheating on Rebecca. She knew how crazy that sounded, but lust made people crazy anyway, and if she were going off the deep end she wanted to go with a bang.

  Katy impaled herself on his hardness and felt the burning length of it drive inside her. She rose again and settled, letting it slide even more deeply.

  “Rebecca,” he repeated.

  “Yes, darling, I’m here,” she said, shivering in anticipation and an odd sensation that she might have recognized as fear if she weren’t so far gone. She scarcely recognized her own voice.

  Gordon’s hands went around her waist and lifted her, then let her fall back down. They gained speed, working toward a frantic pace, Gordon grunting, his lips peeled back and teeth clenched, his eyes still closed.