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And Fairgood Makes Three
The bakery was quiet as afternoon melted into evening, and though the sun still hung high in the sky, Gracey could feel quitting time in her bones. She glanced at the clock; six o’clock. She removed her apron, shook her hair free from its scarf, and flipped the ovens off. Stretching her arms over her head, she smiled to herself, ready to close up shop and spend the rest of the evening with a bottle of wine and good company. Tiny was taking herself to a movie in Placerita, so Gracey had invited Simon over for television watching and, with any luck, cuddling.
She blushed at the thought of it.
As she was wiping down the counter, the bell over the front door tinkled, and Gracey looked up to see a smiling Nora Goldman entering the shop, face creased with a thousand wrinkles, hair a fluffy white halo about her head. Mrs. Goldman had to be in her eighties, and she’d been a regular at the bakery since its inception. Gracey grinned at the sight of her.
“Howdy, stranger,” Gracey teased, arms akimbo as she gave the older woman a warm smile. “Haven’t seen you in a while. You been on a diet?”
Mrs. Goldman clucked her teeth, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. “Nothing like that, sweetheart. At my age you have to appreciate all God has to offer and that includes pie! I was out of town for a while, staying with my sister in Austin. Her husband passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gracey said, but Mrs. Goldman waved the sentiment away. “Old people die, that’s just the way it is. Have to make room for the new generation.”
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Gracey admitted, “but when someone you love dies, that’s pretty cold comfort.”
Mrs. Goldman gave a brief nod, then her face brightened. “I need a pie for my granddaughter’s husband,” she said, changing the subject. “I know it’s short notice, but my memory isn’t what he used to be and the anniversary slipped my mind. It’s his birthday, and I happen to know that your chocolate pecan is his favorite. Do you happen to have any?”
Gracey dried her hands, pulled a collapsed rectangle of cardboard off the shelf. “I’ve got some,” she said, manipulating the cardboard into a pie-size box. “I have two; would you like them both?”
Mrs. Goldman shook her head. “One ought to be good enough; my granddaughter is always watching her weight,” she said, disdain flickering across her face. “Shira’s skinny as a willow as it is; what is it with young girls and their silly ideals of beauty these days?”
Gracey, who wore an extra fifteen pounds around her hips and suspected women had long held silly ideas of beauty, could only chuckle. “If she were happy with her weight, she’d find something else to be unhappy with,” Gracey said. “That’s just how we women are.”
Mrs. Goldman shared in the laughter. “That is the truth, though, isn’t it, sweetheart? I could do with a sight fewer wrinkles myself.”
Gracey grinned, pulled the pie from the refrigerator and slid it carefully into the box. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
A small look of embarrassment passed over Mrs. Goldman’s face as she wrung her hands nervously. “Actually, I do have on other request, sweetheart, if it isn’t too much trouble. I normally wouldn’t ask it of you but I have a ladies’ auxiliary meeting today and I’m running late as it is. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind taking the pie over to Shira’s house tonight? If it isn’t too much trouble,” she repeated.
As far as Gracey knew, the Goldmans were the only Jewish family in Love & War, and Mrs. Goldman served on the auxiliary board of Temple Beth Shalom in Fort Stockton, the closest temple but still a good forty minute drive from their town. She glanced up at the clock; it was only a few minutes after six. Simon wasn’t coming over until seven, the house was already clean, and Shira and Aleister Fairgood’s house was only a few minutes from Gracey’s.
“I’ll take it over there right now,” Gracey said as she collected the cash for the pie.
Mrs. Goldman took Gracey’s hand in her own, squeezing softly. “Thank you, dear. Please tell my granddaughter that I expect a phone call this week; it’s been too long since she’s indulged an old woman’s ramblings.”
Like most of the other families in Love & War, the Fairgoods kept a modest property, a lawn more weed than grass, a front porch in a moderate state of disrepair. As Gracey pulled into the driveway, she noted two trucks parked outside the garage. Shira Fairgood worked on and off as a substitute elementary school teacher, and Aleister worked in Placertia as a cable repair man, but it appeared they were both home. Pie in tow, Gracey marched up the porch steps and rang the doorbell.
No one answered.
She knocked. When she got no response, she pressed her ear to the door, listening for movement. Nothing. She tried the doorknob and, finding the door unlocked, she pushed it open slowly. “Hello? Y’all home? It’s Gracey Daylittle from Want Some Pie? Bakery. Nora sent me.”
Silence.
Gracey considered her options. Both cars were in the driveway and the front door was unlocked, indicating that the Fairgoods were probably home. Still, if it was Aleister’s birthday, the couple could be engaged in private birthday shenanigans that Gracey sorely wouldn’t want to interrupt; the very thought made her blush.
Door open behind her, Gracey took a tentative step inside. “Shira? Aleister? Y’all here?” Gracey vaguely remembered a daughter, but couldn’t remember her name.
The house was still, and Gracey didn’t want to take the pie home with her. She figured she could leave it in the refrigerator with a note explaining where it had come from. Her mind made up, she pulled the front door closed, waited a heartbeat more for someone to make themselves known. She’d never been in the Fairgood house, and she was keenly aware of her status as an intruder as she tiptoed her way into what she thought must be the kitchen.
As she rounded the corner, she stepped into a brightly lit kitchenette, satisfied with her home navigation skills and almost tripped over Shira Fairgood.
Shira was huddled on the linoleum, knees pulled into her chest, arms wrapped about her legs. Her eyes were wide and unseeing as she rocked back and forth, her lips moving as if to whimper but no sound escaped. Her face was white as a ghost. Gracey set the pie on the floor placed both her hands on Shira’s shoulders, giving her a small shake. “Shira? Shira, honey, are you all right? Look at me.” Gracey placed her fingers under the woman’s chin, turned her head. But Shira’s eyes did not blink, did not move, did not register Gracey’s presence. She was utterly catatonic.
Heart beating wildly in her chest, Gracey jumped to her feet, knowing she had to search. “Aleister?” He or the daughter had to be here somewhere. Even as she pushed herself through the house, she didn’t want to know, oh God, she didn’t want to know whatever had forced Shira into that state of shock. “Aleister? You here?” She ran into the adjacent dining room, into the living room, down the hallway, into the guest bathroom, a child’s bedroom, and finally crossed the threshold into the master bedroom where she drew up short, covered her mouth with both hands and let loose a wild, ear-piercing scream.
Aleister Fairgood was propped up on the bed, head lolling to one side, the front of his clothes saturated with blood.
A black maw just underneath the ridge of his brow sent thin tendrils of white smoke up to the ceiling. His eyes had been burned out of his face.
Gracey turned and vomited on the carpet.
She’d managed to make the necessary phone call and it was only a matter of minutes before an ambulance and the sheriff’s department arrived, perimeters were taped off, and onlookers began amassing. Gracey was sitting on the front porch; someone had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She watched as a couple of paramedics loaded Shira into an ambulance, took her vitals, placed an oxygen mask over her face. She had recovered from her stupefied state and was crying now, nearly hyperventilating. The paramedics were trying to calm her. They were giving her water, drugs. People with notepads were asking questions. Everything was happening in slow motion, underwater.
“Gracey?”
The voice rippled through her, yanking her out of the nightmare. She looked up, saw Simon’s tired, worry-creased face looking down at her. In a moment he was crouching, at her side, and Gracey felt the internal dam break, tears rushing out of her as she pressed herself against Simon, sobbing.
He stroked her hair, her back, saying nothing, letting her cry until she was empty. He wiped her eyes, her nose, held her close to his body. When the sobs subsided, she said, “It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen, Simon. How could anyone do that? How could anyone hurt another human being like that?”
Simon said nothing. He held her for a long time.
A deputy approached, tipped his hat at Gracey. “I’m sorry to bother you after such a traumatic event, ma’am, but I’m gonna have to ask you some questions.”
She had known it was coming, of course. She’d been the one to find the body, the one to report the crime. Still, she didn’t want to relive it, didn’t want to remember any of it. She just wanted to go to sleep, to wake up and find none of this had ever really happened.
“Has anybody seen the daughter? The Fairgoods have a little girl, I think?” Gracey’s stomach rolled with the realization that the little girl would come home to find that her daddy had died. Thank God she hadn’t been the one to find him. Gracey thought she might be sick again.
The deputy nodded. “Somebody’s looking into it,” he said. He looked at Simon, cleared his throat. “Would you mind excusing us for a bit? I need to interview Miss Daylittle in private.”
Simon looked to Gracey. “Will you be all right?”
She gave a wordless nod, her eyes full of gratitude. He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be just over there if you need me.”
She watched him walk away, and when he was out of earshot, the deputy cleared his throat again, ready to get down to business. Gracey returned her attention to him reluctantly. “I need you to start at the beginning. Why were you over to the Fairgood place?”
With quivering voice and frequent pauses to steady her nerves, Gracey recounted the events leading up the discovery of the body: Mrs. Goldman buying the pie. Gracey making the delivery. Finding Shira in shock on the floor. Finding the body sitting up in the bed.
“Does Mrs. Goldman frequently ask you to do favors for her?”
The question caught Gracey off guard. “No,” she admitted. “This was the first time.”
“Did you think the request was odd?”
Gracey shook her head. “Mrs. Goldman is old,” she said, as though that itself were plenty explanation.
The deputy seemed to think a moment, scratching his head. Then, “You didn’t see nobody suspicious around here, did you? Anybody shouldn’t have had no business here?”
Gracey shrugged. “I didn’t notice anything out of place, but then I wasn’t looking.”
The deputy tried again. “You didn’t see a … strange lookin’ fella, about yea tall, dresses in a funny costume? Has some sort of a…skin problem?”
The image the deputy painted formed perfectly in Gracey’s mind’s eye. The Prime of Darkness. Gracey’s eyes flew open even as her heart sank. Why would the deputy ask about the demon? Had he been implicated in some way? Was it possible he’d been involved? She recalled her conversation with Lakmei in the graveyard, the angel’s assertion that the demon hadn’t been involved in the recent death of Buddy Heffman.
Had probably not been involved.
“No,” Gracey said, surprised at how level her voice came out. “Certainly not.”
The deputy snapped his notebook shut, pulled a card from his front shirt pocket. “If you think of anything else you let me know. Don’t matter if you think it’s important; you let me decide.” His smug grin made Gracey’s skin crawl. She closed her fingers around the card, certain she wouldn’t have need of it.
“One last thing, Miss Daylittle,” he said. “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell nobody what you saw in there. After what happened with Rubio Bautista, we don’t need no serial killer hysteria going around. Got it?”
The words rang through her, stilled her to the core. Rubio Bautista. Serial killer. The deputy hadn’t mentioned Buddy Heffman, but after seeing with her own eyes a reality frighteningly similar to the rumors about Buddy’s demise, Gracey began to link these deaths in her mind. Rubio Bautista. Buddy Heffman. Aleister Fairgood. Three men murdered. Why? What was the common thread?
As the deputy walked away, Gracey’s mind filled with questions. Why had he asked about the Prime of Darkness? It wouldn’t be the first time the demon had been implicated in a crime; Gracey knew first-hand that Darkness was capable of murder. But she didn’t think he had anything to do with this. He couldn’t.
Could he?
Simon appeared by her side again, and Gracey pushed all the thoughts of Darkness out of her mind. The magician took Gracey’s hand, entwined his fingers with hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get you home,” he said. “You probably need the rest.”
Overwhelming gratitude flooded her, and once again Gracey felt on the verge of breakdown. She looked into Simon’s eyes and saw her own sadness reflected back at her, and her heart skipped a beat. Two. As Simon helped her to her feet, Gracey was amazed at the depth of the magician’s empathy, that he could feel such grief on her behalf. Her own mother hadn’t been able to do that, had pushed Gracey out when she’d needed her the most. Thinking of her mother, and how much more caring Simon was, Gracey’s heart swelled and she had to bite back her tears. She clung to the magician like a child as he led her down the road towards home.
April 14th, 2010
I wonder about Simon and his empathy. I have a feeling he knows more than he is letting on.
The one thing I can’t figure yet is why haven’t any of the people with special abilities sensed where this disruption / evil spirit is coming from?
Really enjoying the story — I get so excited when I see an update in my reader.
April 15th, 2010
I wonder how the sun can be high in the sky at six o’clock pm.
April 15th, 2010
It’s spring in the desert. The sun holds on until late
@WA_Side: Thanks!
December 16th, 2011
You have some good thoughts! Maybe we ought to consider about trying this myself.