Dead Girl Moon Page 3

  * * *

  At first they would be pretty careful. His dad had a new rule. No more phones. Didn’t trust them. Thought all the companies collaborated with law enforcement. They’d keep scanning for unmarked cars or any sign they were being watched. After a week or two they could probably relax. Mick didn’t know how much he could trust his dad’s promise, so he got to know the neighbors right away.

  JJ, Janice Joplin Stovall, was the first person he met. Ran into her the second night in town when he walked from his shack across the parking area to the river. Sitting on a stump between the willows and the water, she’d been hidden from his sight line. He pushed through branches and there she was, staring up at the moon, her breath making steam. Mick thought she was a boy when he first saw her. He’d never told her that. Short, stiff dark hair, hands tucked in a vest over a black hoodie, dark jeans, high-tops. Mick was thinking halfback or safety, or even a wrestler.

  He stepped toward her, rocks clacking under his weight, and she turned to look at him. She said hi. Girl, he saw then. No makeup. Smile. It struck him. She wasn’t afraid. He knew what he looked like, over two hundred pounds, bushy brown hair, scar on his face. She turned back to moon-gazing. Mick studied the river and they were still for a while.

  She didn’t look at him again after that first time, but she didn’t frown or edge away. Didn’t seem like she minded his interruption. Felt like he was welcome to join her. Eventually they did a couple of those first-time things. Him, Mick Fitzhugh, just moved here, the corner place behind the hardware store. Sophomore this year. Her, JJ. The downriver trailer. High school, fourteen.

  Mick looked at her more closely. Yeah, her face looked young, but something about her seemed older. Maybe her build. Like she lifted or worked out.

  She told him she lived with her uncle and aunt, Gary and Tina. Said Gary repaired TVs and electronic stuff for the hardware and private customers. Said Tina didn’t work. JJ rolled her eyes. Guess there was a story to go with that. Maybe he’d hear more about Tina later. Also said Tina had a ten-year-old son, Jon. Told Mick watch out. Jon was trouble.

  They were quiet again after that. In a couple of minutes she said there was one other person in the trailer. A foster girl that came a few months ago named Grace, a junior.

  Mick nodded, said huh from time to time to let her know he was listening. He didn’t tell her much about himself, wouldn’t say anything that led to questions about his dad or why they moved all the time. Word gets around. His father’d drummed that into him. As for Mick, he didn’t have anything to say worth hearing. He read a lot? He wanted to play ball? That sounded lame. He couldn’t think of something he’d done that he was proud of. He could think of several things he hoped she’d never find out. Him telling her that he was ready to settle down, make this town his home? Too weird. Really, there was nothing to say.

  Before they went back to their places for the night, she pointed at the moon. “This one’s the Snowcone,” she said. Mick didn’t understand. Didn’t know then that she named each one.

  At the edge of the bushes, he checked the parking lot for cops before he left cover. Old habit. Silly, probably, but he was still a little gun-shy. When Mick thought about it he didn’t see how anybody could have followed them here. He knew his dad didn’t ever tell getaway plans. Always used cash. No way to trace them except for the car, and his dad had lifted Montana plates from an abandoned wreck outside of Plains.

  9

  WITHIN DAYS MICK HAD MET everyone in their compound. His front door looked across the flat dirt lot to willows edging the river. The Stovalls’ trailer sat downriver a hundred feet to the right, an old Chevy station wagon with flat tires parked to the side of its porch. Gary and his drunk wife, Tina, their son, Jon, JJ, and Grace, all squeezed in the single-wide. Gary seemed decent enough. Stoned. Did his electronic work on the foldout kitchen table. Kept his jays in a ziplock beside him along with Visine for red-eye. Mick didn’t know then that he made most of his money on weed, selling ounces out of his kitchen.

  Tina was beautiful. Or had been beautiful. Now she wore housecoats, forgot to comb her hair. Slurring and sleepy whenever Mick saw her. Mostly stayed on the living room couch in easy reach of a drink and a small TV. Jon had a short daybed just to the left of the front door. Gary could work and watch him at the same time. Gary tried to keep the kid quiet with meds. Jon learned to cheek them. Made for a daily battle.

  JJ and Grace shared the bedroom off the living room; Gary and Tina had the one on the other side of the kitchen. One big happy mega-baked family, except JJ didn’t use and if Grace did, she hid it.

  Left from Mick’s front door, directly across the lot from the Stovalls, was Ms. Crabtree’s double-wide. Her trailer had an elevated deck where you could see the black water of the Clark Fork and the tree-covered mountains beyond. She told Mick to call her Dovey and invited him in for a cookie. She looked older than rock. Said she’d been Sanders County clerk since the early seventies. She was easy to talk to, soft-spoken, unhurried. Said she’d thought about sending some banana bread over but didn’t want to intrude. Asked what Mick’s dad did, and accepted “mechanic” without more questions. Mick could tell by the way she looked at him, her steadiness, she would be a hard lady to fool. Must have seen a lot over the years.

  * * *

  Grace Herick, he’d run into after school. Nice! She was sharp-faced, with dry straw-colored hair, and some freckles. Not pretty, exactly, but she looked you right in the eye like she was daring you to give her any grief. Didn’t smile much. Had a don’t-tread-on-me attitude with sarcasm or a mini-smirk that made it seem like she could be wicked. He tried not to stare or get caught staring, but the more he looked the more attractive she seemed. Her gray eyes? Her lean strength? Something. She moved right … From the start, Mick wanted to get on her good side. And he could relate. She was more guarded than he was.

  10

  A COUPLE OF WEEKS after they moved in, his father asked if Mick had seen a red Chrysler hanging around. The kind with the big wheels. That was a new one. The other times they’d just watched for police-type vehicles.

  “Why do you care about a car like that?” They were walking up to Skinny’s, the burger place on Main, for dinner.

  “Nothing really. Jerk-off on that construction back in McCall has one. Thinks I owe him money.”

  “Do you?”

  “Don’t owe anybody anything.” He coughed and spit in the weeds. “No problem. Just asking.”

  His dad was getting edgier all the time. Jumpy. Mick thought it was the pills. His father called it medicine but he never saw a doctor. When he drank on top of it, he got mean. Mick had asked him to stop a while ago. The man said no. Said it kept him alert.

  * * *

  Around that same time Mick ran into some trouble. Grace never joined them, but JJ and Mick had gotten a little better acquainted walking to school together in the mornings. They also had the same third-period keyboard class. He kept his book in her locker since it was nearby. They were side by side, putting their texts on the shelf, when JJ fell into him.

  “Hey, Lezbo, got yourself a new bitch?”

  Mick untangled to find a guy with long brown hair and a letter jacket facing them. Close beside him a kid that looked like a lineman. Mick didn’t know either one.

  JJ turned to the guy. She’d kept hold of her book, and the way she was gripping it, Mick thought she might fling it. She was beet red; angry or embarrassed, Mick couldn’t tell which.

  “Don’t worry,” the guy said. “I won’t tell your secret.”

  Mick punched him hard in the sternum, knocked him back a foot.

  His face showed a second of pain before it morphed to hate. The goon beside him started for Mick but the kid with long hair grabbed his arm, stopped him. “I’m Tim Cassel,” he said. “Don’t tell me your name. I won’t remember it.” He made a show of looking Mick over carefully. “Nice scar,” he said. He cut his eyes to JJ. “Hope you and your pussy find love.” He waited then, Mick
thought, to see if either of them would move. When they didn’t, he wheeled and strode off with his buddy. Over his shoulder, said, “Be seeing you.”

  Mick was vibrating.

  JJ got his attention. “Don’t,” she said. “His dad runs the Highway Patrol in this county. He’s got an older brother puts people in the hospital.” She touched Mick’s arm for a sec. “Let it go,” she said. “That guy doesn’t matter.” She put her book in the locker and left without another word.

  Next morning on the way to class JJ thanked him. “I’m like an outsider,” she said. “Too young to do the Bachelorette thing. Guys in this school want to date up.” She was walking carefully to avoid the patches of ice on the sidewalk. “Plus I’m not the sexy type most guys like, so I’m pretty much invisible, except to creeps.”

  Mick glanced at her to let her know he’d heard.

  “Basically, Tina’s out of it, Gary’s either working or corralling Jon. Nobody but you and Grace talk to me. That dyke crap from Cassel? You were there for me. Appreciate it.”

  That was the most open she’d been with him. Felt like an honor.

  Starting that day, guys Mick didn’t know began calling him Zip or Zipper. He didn’t get it and then he did. The scar. From time to time somebody would trip him in the halls or shove him on the stairs. They were good at it. Sneaky. Mick never saw for sure who it was.

  He brought his souvenir bat to school and stuck it in his locker. Last year his dad had asked him, made him, help with a couple of jobs. In a warehouse theft, the two of them got in a pretty big fight with a burly security guy. Mick learned. Helps to have something besides your fists. Thinking about it, he hoped he never got in that kind of situation again. On the other hand, he’d be ready if Cassel decided to bring it. Turned out it wasn’t Cassel and he wasn’t ready.

  11

  MICK EDGED INTO CLASSES the rest of the winter, bore down in the spring hoping to finish sophomore year with a B average. Tried track that spring, shot and discus, but didn’t do either well enough to earn a letter. Did get to see the lineman, Cunneen, in action. The big kid lifted more weight than anyone else in the training room and his effort and strength paid off. He usually won the shot at meets, won or placed in the discus. The other guys deferred to him, gave him a lot of room, tried to make him happy. The king and his court.

  He generally ignored Mick, referred to him as The Zip, and was only civil when coaches were present. At the end of most practices Cunneen was joined by Tim and an older man, clearly an ex-jock, for what looked to Mick like football drills. The three of them laughing, chumming around, made Mick jealous. If he played well enough to start next year, maybe somebody would pay that kind of attention to him.

  JJ played school softball. Okay bat, great glove, and big enough to block the plate. No wonder he’d thought she was a guy. Mick was surprised how aggressive she could be on the field, given how quiet she was in class. Not your ordinary girl, this JJ. She was good, but they gave the MVP to a blond junior pitcher. Grace and Mick met at JJ’s games when his own practices didn’t interfere.

  When JJ had no game, Mick loved walking home after track practice. Low sun on the nearby mountains. The fresh breeze off the river carrying the scent of new hay from ranches east of town. He’d be showered, clean, tired from the strength machines and the three-mile jog that coaches demanded from most of the weight men. Home, he was thinking. Portage makes a good home. He didn’t hear the car pull up beside him, didn’t notice until the doors closed.

  Three guys joined him on the sidewalk. Looked a little old for high school. Had probably been jocks a year or two ago. Now they looked a little softer, like maybe they drank more than they played.

  The smallest one stepped in front of him. “Hear you got a big mouth.”

  Mick didn’t say anything.

  “Think you’re tough.” The little guy kicked for Mick’s nuts.

  Mick caught his foot. Lifted and the guy toppled. Mick didn’t see the punch that got him in the neck or the foot that jammed him behind the knee. He was down and getting hurt. Couldn’t pick up the blows, covered up while they kicked him. It didn’t last long. At least he didn’t think so. A boot to the back of the head made him woozy.

  When he got to his knees, blood dripped on the sidewalk. Nose or lip, Mick couldn’t tell which. The sore knee made it hard to stand. Took him a minute. He was stiff but he could walk. Slow at first, then better. By the time he reached the studio, he was good enough. He washed up, fixed his mouth with superglue, butterfly-bandaged the gash on his forehead. Couldn’t fix the black eye.

  He left his dad a note saying he’d gone to the library. Didn’t want to hear the words of wisdom. “Wait till they’re not looking and bash their heads in.” Not much help, really, if you wanted to keep living in this town. Was this payback for punching Tim Cassel? For not kowtowing to Cunneen? Or was it just another kind of initiation to a small cowboy town where new people paid dues, one way or the other.

  It didn’t matter. Mick healed quick. After that, the school year moved along without major trouble. No cops in the yard. No red car. No more fights. No sign that hell might break through the earth’s crust and melt Mick’s life. Well, one thing. Early May. Quickly forgotten.

  Getting ready to leave for school Mick heard loud voices. Never a good sign. He eased out of his place, located the argument on Dovey’s porch. A black Lincoln Town Car sat just to the side of her steps and a large man with a blond crew cut was pointing his finger at Dovey and shouting. Mick’s first thought was some kind of shakedown. Dovey? Loan? Gambling debts? Not likely. But what then? Who could be trying to lean on this woman and why? The car had no logo, no insignia, the guy was wearing dark pants and a blue shirt. No clues there.

  Dovey’s eyes shifted to Mick as he walked toward her. The man caught that and turned. Mick hadn’t recognized him from behind, but this was the guy who’d been doing football drills with Cassel and Cunneen after track. The ex-jock. He reminded Mick of a TV sports announcer: handsome, strong features, white teeth, cold blue eyes. Mick had to make himself keep walking.

  “That’s far enough, pal, none of your business.” The man seemed to grow larger as he spoke, as if he could puff up intentionally.

  Mick guessed the guy was around six four, two forty or fifty. Bigger and harder than anyone Mick had confronted. He continued walking to the edge of the car. “I need to talk with Ms. Crabtree,” Mick said. “It can’t wait.”

  The man turned back to Dovey. “That list is my job. Court order if I need to.” He moved down the steps, quick, agile, got in his car and drove away without another glance at Mick.

  Mick had to move to keep the fender from hitting him. When he made it to the porch he could see Dovey’s face dark with anger, jaw set. He waited for her to speak. When she didn’t he asked. “Who’s that?”

  “Larry Cassel. Lieutenant Cassel’s older son.” She shook her head as if to shake away the annoyance. “Long story. The end of it’s he’s the new Tri-County building inspector. Don’t ask how he got that with no contractor’s license or building experience. He wants a list of construction projects going back five years but he won’t get it from me. News travels. He’s already reviewing old projects asking for new fees. Cardwell’s going to have to bring the state in like he used to with Hammond’s father.”

  “He’s Tim’s brother?” Mick said.

  “Yes, six or seven years older and stay out of it. He threatens but he won’t hurt me.” Her face softened. “I appreciate you coming over to make sure.” She smiled. “How about a brownie?”

  12

  BEST TIMES MICK HAD WERE OUT at JJ’s river spot. Fine May evenings, shirtsleeve weather, at least a couple of times a week. Grace was at work. It was just the two of them, talking, teasing, her watching the sky, him the water. Gradually, JJ opened up. Told him about her real mom.

  JJ found out her mother used to be wild in high school. Partied a lot till she got pregnant and her guy walked out. After she had JJ she got real depre
ssed and never seemed to pull out of it. Stayed single. Worked, but never left the house, evenings or weekends. Only thing her mom did was read and watch TV. The woman filled JJ’s head with fairy tales about princesses and knights, Snow White and Disney stuff, right up until she died of quick-hitting cancer. Five weeks and she was gone. JJ got shipped to the Stovalls, her mom’s sister, Tina.

  On one of those river nights, JJ swore Mick to secrecy. He imagined rape or something with Gary. Wrong. JJ wanted to talk about the moon. As soon as she said “moon,” Mick thought, Great, she’s crazy. Tina’s crazy. Jon’ s crazy. It’s rubbed off.

  During the time he’d known her he’d seen some strange things. Nobody looked at the moon as much as she did. Mick mentioned it to Grace. Grace made that motion, circling her ear with her finger. “I love her,” Grace said. “She’s my homegirl, but she’s nuts. La-la land. Baseball or boonies, no in-between.”

  Mick had seen JJ walk down the main street, the highway, at night looking at the sky, totally distracted. Not even aware of cars or the possibility of being hit. She’d look out the window in class and not hear the teacher call her name. No way was she stupid. But she was … what? A little disconnected sometimes? Lost in space? When she started talking about the moon, Mick realized it was true. She could get lost in space. Literally.

  That particular evening, JJ began by looking at him, right at him. “When you stood up for me with Cassel I felt … thought maybe you’d understand.”

  Mick never did. Not really, but he listened.

  JJ told him that after she came to live with the Stovalls, she’d only left Portage once, years ago, and that was on a trip to Missoula with Gary. That time he’d finished his business early and took her to the city’s planetarium for a treat. It was the only real museum-type place she’d ever seen. When the lights went out, the projected sky was black with little dots of light for the constellations. Nebulae reminded her of finger paintings, but the moon … the moon they showed was huge and white. Glowed like magic.