Dead Girl Moon Read online

  That was when she learned that the moon’s far side always faced away from the earth, hidden, secret. Like the fairy tales her mom used to tell, JJ began daydreaming about a place even the astronauts missed. She imagined a castle among the far side’s craters, a palace with spires and banners and crystal and gold. Thereafter she’d always paid special attention to the moon, particularly its dark areas, and she had started naming the different shades and shapes. “Ivory Moon, Tea Cup Moon, Dapple Moon, Cue Ball, Pepper, Buttonshine … things like that.”

  She told Mick, if the moon came out during the day, it was a Ghost Moon and had special power. Then she got quiet and looked at him for a moment or two, searching his face, he believed, to see if he was going to laugh at her. He didn’t. He didn’t know what to think. He also didn’t know what to say. Thanks for telling me?

  “I wanted you to know,” she said finally, “the moon’s like my totem. Gives me energy.”

  Mick wished she hadn’t said that. Thought she was trusting him with too much deep stuff. Thought maybe she was … he didn’t want to go there … having a crush on him? It scared him a little.

  He had to do something. He smiled. Pointed at the sky. “Which moon is this?” he asked, avoiding her eyes.

  13

  IT WAS OBVIOUS to Mick that Grace was also different. Way different. Far more like a woman than a girl. On the times she joined them she kept a distance, listened but didn’t have much to say. Mick kept looking for ways to warm her up. She was pleasant. Nothing more.

  He asked her once if guys like Cassel ever bothered her.

  JJ was with them, smiled.

  Grace shook her head.

  “Not after she kicked Bobby Teague,” JJ said.

  Grace looked down.

  Was she embarrassed by JJ’s comment? Mick couldn’t tell.

  “Bobby got a cheap one. Pretended like he was yawning and brushed her boob with his elbow.”

  Not a term Mick had heard before, but he knew what JJ meant. There were hundreds of ways to cop a feel.

  “Grace kicked him.” JJ grinned and bit her lip. “Hard.”

  Mick shot a look at Grace. Head still down. This story was revealing something, making her uncomfortable. If she’d had a knife, would she have stabbed him?

  “Bobby went down,” JJ said, reaching over to brush Grace’s hair back behind one ear. “Nobody jacks my sister. She’s got a rep,” JJ said, nodding her head to emphasize the point. “So do you.”

  Grace cut her eyes at Mick, but he couldn’t tell if JJ’d told her about his run-in with Cassel.

  “Hey,” Mick said. Hoping for a rise out of Grace. “Nice work. Be my bodyguard?” He winced as soon as he said it. Sounded sexual. Sounded stupid.

  Grace didn’t bail him out. Said, “Talk about somebody else.”

  Watching her, the way she carried herself, the way she measured what she said, her willingness to get violent, Mick had a feeling. Something’s happened to her. He wondered if he’d ever learn what it was.

  14

  GRACE LIKED WORK. Anything was better than that trailer. She and Evelyn talked when things were slow.

  Evelyn said she was leaving this pit as soon as she could. “I got A’s in Speech,” she told Grace, like that was a big accomplishment. “I exercise first thing every morning. I could be on TV or one of those reality shows? I’m thinking Seattle first, but maybe I’ll just go straight to L.A.”

  Right. Grace mostly listened.

  “When you go on full-time, let’s not split tips.” Ev, thinking out loud.

  That was okay with Grace but she wondered why.

  “Just give Cookie and the dish guy five percent each night.”

  Grace nodded.

  “I’m thinking I’m going to charge for dates.”

  Did that mean what Grace thought it meant?

  “Lots of traveling guys want company. I’ll meet them afterward.” She looked around to be sure Cookie wasn’t listening. “Don’t say anything.”

  “What will you charge?”

  “I’m thinking a hundred. Is that too much?”

  Like Grace would know.

  * * *

  A week or so later, Grace could see, as soon as she walked in, that Ev was edgy.

  “What?”

  “Ramona split.”

  That wasn’t such a shock. Grace thought the girl might be illegal. Mona had a great smile, was real polite, but other than food, didn’t speak much English. “Move? Her folks get a different job?” Grace asked.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think she had a family. She’s just gone. Surprised Cookie. I had to cover her morning. He’ll get somebody else by tomorrow.”

  Grace didn’t think any more about it at the time. She did keep thinking about Ev’s new sideline. Particularly as certain customers seemed to come in regularly to set up a get-together. In this town it was like evening entertainment. Town movie theater usually showed B-grade crap; there were no music clubs except local CW bands in bars on weekends.

  Larry Cassel was a regular. He had wide shoulders and a strong chin and his eyes were an interesting mix of merry and cruel. Evelyn was cool toward him, didn’t smile at him or give him the coy looks she gave potential customers. Grace teased with him but declined offers of dates, at least for the time being. He was a big spender, porterhouse-rare kind of guy, and always left huge tips. He wasn’t as hot as he thought he was, but still.

  Another regular was the new mechanic from the Conoco. Never ordered more than pie and coffee but gave Ev and Grace his undivided attention. If you can smell like a man, he did. Grace liked his heavy beard, hard arms, gentle hands the way he cradled his cup and held his utensils. Where Larry talked a mile a minute, the mechanic had few words and never wasted any. He was too old for Grace … but still.

  The more familiar she got with the school scene the better Grace could see that Cunneen was too dim to serve any purpose but pest control. Problem was, if she used him, then he’d become the pest. Tim Cassel was probably the pick of the crop but he was a boy compared to his older brother and Grace had bigger plans than a high school kid could deliver. The new boy? The mechanic’s son, Mick? Nice enough but clueless. He was right there, thirty yards from the trailer, handy. Grace thought at some point he might be useful. She knew she had his nose but couldn’t return a drop of his interest. JJ liked him. They were like three planets not even orbiting the same sun.

  15

  SOMETIME END OF APRIL, early May, a few weeks before school closed for the summer, Cookie told Grace that Hammond wanted to see her. Pointed to Hammond’s office on the other side of Main in the next block.

  * * *

  Around five, before the dinner crowd, Grace redid her lip gloss, put on a fresh top, and crossed the street. The outside of the Hammond Real Estate and Insurance building was a snappy gray with carefully detailed trim colors. The same style as its neighbors but much better kept. The interior office area was upscale, large plants, sunshine lights, leather chairs, and two desks for the sales representatives. The front door had been unlocked but there was no one working. Grace didn’t know if that was common or if people had been given the evening off. At the back, a glass wall, blinds drawn, with a dark wood door at the far side, Hammond’s nameplate in gold script.

  She knocked.

  He was half sitting against the front of a fancy glass-top desk, smiling, casual.

  She closed the door and stood beside it, not sure what to expect.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said, gesturing to a plush leather couch behind an ornate coffee table to Grace’s right.

  On her left along the far wall a full bar glowed with hidden lighting, mirrored back, liquor and wine bottles standing on the marble shelf, a mixing area beside a variety of glasses on the countertop. Behind him, what appeared to be a large picture window showed an icy blue mountain lake resting between snow-covered peaks. A photograph, she decided. Grace sat, feeling self-conscious, wondering if she should have buttoned her top a little h
igher.

  “Drink?”

  She shook her head. Swear to god, something in his eyes reminded her of home and she hadn’t thought about that for weeks.

  Hammond moved behind his desk and sat in a black mesh captain’s chair that looked space-age but comfortable. “Are you open to the occasional piece of extra work for extra pay?” he asked. “Not waitress money,” he amended. “More, depending on the task.”

  Grace didn’t trust her voice. Hated feeling outclassed. Made every effort to project the face of a businesswoman. She nodded.

  “You’d like to know what I have in mind?” he asked, comfortable, familiar with managing unequal relationships.

  “Yes,” Grace got out, but not as clearly as she wanted.

  “Like a courier,” he said. “While you’re working in the café. Exchanging paper, an envelope, unobtrusively when you deliver their food. Monitoring things there and when you’re over at the motel. Reporting anything unusual to Cookie. Simple, really. Another pair of eyes, another pair of hands. If the work goes well, we might agree to more sophisticated tasks.” He studied her as he spoke.

  Grace pressed her knees more tightly together. Wanted to ask, Why me?

  Hammond anticipated her question. “Ramona used to handle these duties until she had to move on. Cookie tells me you’re the next best candidate.” He brushed something off his slacks. “Sound good?”

  Grace knew she was being invited to join Hammond’s underground network. It was an easy decision. She’d have a bigger stash when she took off again. Plus, she might learn things that could be worth even more down the line when she was ready to leave. “Good,” she said.

  “Cookie’ll tell you what I want,” Hammond said, putting his hands behind his head, grinning like perhaps his wants could be interesting and fun.

  “Good,” Grace said again, annoyed with herself for not managing a more sophisticated response. She stood quickly and left before anything else had a chance to happen.

  16

  THE “COURIER” WORK WAS TOO EASY. Grace didn’t understand why Cookie didn’t do it himself. Wondered if this was illegal, was she being set up to take a fall? In the last two weeks she’d also been given local people to keep reports on, another snap, and she wondered why Hammond hadn’t recruited Evelyn to do that work. She’d been here longer. Nevertheless Grace was making more money, even part-time, than she’d thought possible. Don’t kick a gift horse.

  * * *

  Cookie stopped her before she could pick up table four’s meat loaf order. Was she ready for something a little different?

  Sure.

  He told her to bring a dress to work, heels, makeup. Get fixed up and go out with a man after her shift ended tomorrow.

  Okay, but that created a problem. No dress, no heels, no makeup. Didn’t want to admit that to Cookie. Curious to be part of another level of Hammond’s operation.

  Thought about it during the afternoon. Thrift store? Judging from its window display, she doubted that Rags to Riches had anything suitable. Tina? Tina had put on thirty pounds but she probably used to be about Grace’s size. Would she still have any outfits? Should she ask or just look? What was that rule? Don’t ask for permission; do what you want and ask for forgiveness?

  Gary and Tina pretty much stayed in the central room all the time. He rarely left the trailer, she never, so how would Grace search their bedroom? Maybe she could catch him when he was distracted with Jon, whisper with a little beg in her voice. Ask if she could go in their bedroom and look through some of Tina’s old makeup to wear for a work picture tomorrow.

  * * *

  Gary and Tina were in their usual places, Jon at Gary’s feet. JJ was at the river. Gary said yes, said don’t bother Tina, said she wouldn’t mind.

  In their bedroom, Grace was repelled by the wad of clothes, mostly underwear, on the floor on Tina’s side of the bed. Went to their closet first. Gary’s shirts, one pair of khakis hung cuffs on top. Mostly Tina’s slips and housecoats. Way on the side, a couple of rayon dresses. She held up the black one with orange and yellow flowers. Probably short enough. Pretty deep V in the neck but it could work. She brought it closer, smelled it. The front was musty but not too bad. Smelled the armpits. Ancient deodorant, a little white crust on the inside. It would do. Searched the bottom of the closet, gagged over more dirty clothes, but found a pair of medium heels, gray, no, black but covered in dust.

  Next to the dresser. Nothing usable. End table on Tina’s side. Top drawer had a cellophane pack of tissues, half-empty bottle of face cleanser, Q-tips. Grace guessed Tina had trouble standing to do this stuff in the bathroom. The vibrator under the ratty washcloth surprised her. Tina seemed too spaced for sex. Bottom drawer, old movie magazines, a tangled mess of necklaces that the woman had probably given up on. So where? Bathroom? Theirs was across from the bed, set off by a folding door. Medicine cabinet had maybe thirty over-the-counter med bottles and some scripts in Jon’s name. Scissors, tweezers, rusted bobby pins.

  Finally, between the toilet and the wall, a plastic container holding a pile of ancient makeup: dried and cracked tubs of base, broken eyeliners, tubes of lipstick mostly in garish colors that only zombies would wear. Grace was able to salvage a dark eyebrow pencil and a soft red lip gloss that looked unused.

  Now, how to get the stuff out past Gary and Tina?

  Grace pushed her black jeans down, wrapped the dress around her waist and pulled the jeans over it. Opened the bedroom window, pitched the shoes out. Carried the liner and lipstick and flashed them at Gary on the way across the trailer, mouthed thank you. He smiled, stuck his thumb up, none the wiser.

  Grace hung the dress in her closet, hoping the wrinkles would fade. Opened her bedroom window and went out to get the heels and toss them inside before JJ came back. She’d pack them to work tomorrow, try them on there.

  * * *

  Even in the pantry, the outfit looked pretty good. Not a style Grace had ever worn before. Drapey, kind of sexy. Grace solved the deep neckline with a safety pin. At closing, Cookie had her put on the outfit and get a ride with Larry Cassel to a local bar a block north of Main. He’d let her out and she’d walk around to the side parking lot. A guy in an older model Cadillac would flash his lights and she would get in. The man would probably start kissing her. As soon as he got grabby, Grace would scream and Larry Cassel would walk up and knock on the window. Ask the guy what was going on. Ask Grace how old she was. Grace would say … what?

  “Tell him fifteen,” Cookie said, not realizing how close he was to the truth.

  Larry would threaten a citizen’s arrest and Grace would jump from the car and hustle back to the street, where Cookie would pick her up and drive her home. Pay for five minutes’ work? Three hundred dollars.

  17

  WHEN SCHOOL ENDED, Grace started a new work rhythm. Go to the motel at one, clean rooms for a couple of hours, take a break and go to the café for evening shift, four to closing. Usually got a day or two off mid-week. That left late evenings to go out a little on her own, mornings to sleep late after JJ went to work. Good time to make some alliances. Build a little backup if she came to need it.

  She began with Tim Cassel. Away from school he acted a little more mature. Plus, he had a cool Mustang convertible, enough money for burgers and beer, and a hard body that Grace considered acceptable. From a distance. Which wasn’t easy. The boy didn’t like no for an answer.

  Next, she edged a little closer to Larry Cassel, who, contrary to his reputation, had been surprisingly thoughtful and, by Grace’s standards, was practically rich. The Lincoln was cushy and if it was the night before one of her days off, they sometimes tooled all the way to an Indian casino on Kalispell Lake for a midnight dinner and gambling. She could see he wanted her, but he seemed willing to wait. The statutory thing again.

  Fitz Fitzhugh was all sweat and business. If his tips hadn’t been so extravagant she would never have given him a try. Weird, right? Mick’s father. Fitz had a way of looking at her like
he knew her, like he could see what kind of person she was under that actress smile. He took her out in the country, turned up the car radio and taught her basic swing dancing. He was rough, and his kisses felt like sandpaper, but he always stopped when she asked. He drank a boatload of hard liquor. Grace thought the pills he took kept him upright. He offered some to her but she was afraid to try them.

  The second time he went out with her he really surprised her.

  “Want to shoot a pistol?”

  That was a new one. They were south of town on a wooded ridge that overlooked the Clark Fork and the power plant. Grace looked at him to see if he was serious. Should have known. He was always pretty serious. Raised her eyebrows.

  He bit his lip as if reconsidering, but wound up reaching over into the backseat, to his leather jacket, and bringing out a folded brown paper sack. “This one’s too big for you,” he said, unwrapping a dark square-shaped handgun. “Got a .32 in the back’s more your size.”

  Grace nodded. “Sure.” Could be fun.

  He set his pint of bourbon on the roof of the car, opened the trunk, lifted the spare tire, and pulled out a smaller package. Like a miniature copy of the first, but silvery with black grips. Returned to the trunk and came out with a six-pack of empty longnecks. “Targets,” he said. “Nobody close. People who hear’ll think coyotes.”

  Grace set her beer on the hood and accepted the gun. Easy to grip but way heavier than it looked.

  “Pistol,” he said, “revolver’s the kind you can see the bullets.” He reached up and touched her chin. “Just as soon you kept this between us,” he said. “Not even Mick. What we do is private. You okay with that?”