Mystery Walk

resident of the state insane asylum in Tuscaloosa.' He glanced at Billy, his lined face tight and tired. 'She . . . saw something, in that house in Mobile. Or did she? Well, she likes to fingerpaint and comb her hair all day long now, and what she saw that pushed her over the edge is a moot point, isn't it?'

'What did she see?'

Mirakle took out his wallet and opened it to the photograph of the young man in the service uniform. He slid it across the table to Billy. 'Kenneth was his name. Korea. He was killed by mortar fire on . . . oh, what's the date? I carried the exact day in my head for so long! Well, it was in August of 1951. I seem to remember that it happened on a Wednesday. I was always told that he favored me. Do you think so?'

'In the eyes, yes.'

Mirakle took the wallet back and put it away. 'Wednesday in August. How hot and final that sounds! Our only child. I watched Ellen slowly fall into the bourbon bottle, a tradition I have since clung to wholeheartedly. Is there such a thing as ever really letting a dead child go? Over a year after the burial, Ellen was taking a basket of clothes up the stairs in our house, and right at the top of the stairs stood Kenneth. She said she could smell the pomade in his hair, and he looked at her and said, 'You worry too much, Ma.' It was something he used to say to her all the time, to tease her. Then she blinked and he wasn't there. When I got home, I found she'd been walking up and down those stairs all day hoping she could trigger whatever it had been that had made her see him. But, of course . . .' He looked up at Billy, who'd been listening intently, and then shifted uneasily in his chair 'I stay in that house for most of the winter, in between seasons. Sometimes I think I'm being watched; sometimes I can imagine Ken calling me, his voice echoing through the hallway. I would sell that house and move away, but . . . what if Ken is still there, trying to reach me, but I can't see him?'

'Is that why you want me to go to Mobile with you? To find out if your son is still in that house?'

'Yes. I have to know, one way or the other.'

Billy was pondering the request when three women, laughing and talking, came in out of the dust. One of them was a lean black girl, the second was a coarse-looking redhead—but the third young woman was a walking vision. One glance and he was riveted; it was the girl whose picture he'd admired outside the Jungle Love sideshow!

She had a smooth, sensual stride, and she wore a pair of blue jeans that looked spray-painted on. Her green T-shirt read I'm a Virgin (This Is a Very Old T-Shirt) and she wore an orange CAT cap over loose blond curls. Billy looked up into her face as she passed the table, and saw greenish gold eyes under blond brows; her aroma lingered like the smell of wheatstraw on a July morning. She carried herself with proud sexuality, and seemed to know that every man in the place was drooling. She was obviously used to being watched. Several roustabouts whistled as the three women went to the counter to order their food.

'Ah, youth!' Even Dr. Mirakle had tried to suck in his gut. 'I presume those ladies are dancers in that exhibition down the midway?'

'Yes sir.' Billy hadn't been inside yet. Usually after a day's work it was all he could do to fall onto his cot at the back of the Ghost Show tent.

The three women got their food and sat at a nearby table. Billy couldn't keep his eyes off the one in the CAT cap. He watched as she ate her hot dog with a rather sloppy abandon, talking and laughing with her friends. Her beautiful eyes, he noticed, kept sliding toward two guys at another table. They were staring at her with a silent hunger, just as Billy was.

'She's got ten years on you, if a day,' Dr. Mirakle said quietly. 'If your tongue hangs down any farther you could sweep the floor with it.'

There was something about her that set a fire burning in Billy. He didn't even hear Dr Mirakle. She suddenly glanced over in his direction, her eyes almost luminous, and Billy felt a shiver of excitement. She held his gaze for only a second, but it was long enough for wild fantasies to start germinating in his brain.

'I would guess that your . . . uh . . . love life has been rather limited,' Dr. Mirakle said. 'You're almost eighteen and I have no right throwing in my two cents, but I did promise your mother I'd look after you. So here's my advice, and take it or leave it: Some women are Wedgwood, and some are Tupperware. That is the latter variety. Billy? Are you listening to me?'

'I'm going to get some more coffee.' He took his cup to the counter for a refill, passing right by her table.

'Live and learn, son,' Dr. Mirakle said grimly.

Billy got his fresh cup of coffee and came back by the table again. He was so nervous he was about to shake it out of the cup, but he was determined to say something to the girl. Something witty, something that would break the ice. He stood a few feet away from them for a moment, trying to conjure up words that would impress her; then he stepped toward her, and she looked up quizzically at him, her gaze sharpening.

'Hi there,' he said. 'Haven't we met somewhere before?'

'Take a hike,' she said, as the other two giggled.

And suddenly a flask was thrust under her nose. 'Drink?' Dr. Mirakle asked. 'J.W. Dant, finest bourbon in the land.'

She looked at them both suspiciously, then sniffed at the flask. 'Why not?' She took a drink and passed it around the table.

'Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Reginald Mirakle, and this is my right-hand man, Mr. Billy Creekmore. What Mr. Creekmore meant to offer you lovely ladies is an open invitation to visit the Ghost Show at your convenience.'

'The Ghost Show?' the redhead asked. 'What kind of crap is that?'

'You mean that funky little tent on the midway? Yeah, I've seen it.' The blonde stretched, her unfettered breasts swelling against her shirt. 'What do you do, tell fortunes?'

'Better than that, fair lady. We probe into the world of spirits and speak to the dead.'

She laughed. There were more lines in her face than Billy had thought, but he found her beautiful and sexually magnetic! 'Forget it! I've got enough hassles with the living to screw around with the dead!'

'I . . . I've seen your picture,' Billy said, finally finding his voice. 'Out in front of the show.'

Again, she seemed to pull away from him. 'Are you the bastard who's been stealin' my pictures?'

'No.'

'Better not be. They cost a lot of money.'

'Well . . . it's not me, but I can understand why. I . . . think you're really pretty.'

She gave him the faintest hint of a smile. 'Why, thank you.'

'I mean it. I really think you're pretty.' He might have gone on like that, had Dr Mirakle not nudged him in the ribs.

'Are you an Indian, kid?' she asked.

'Part Indian. Choctaw.'

'Choctaw,' she repeated, and her smile was a little brighter 'You look like an Indian. I'm part French'—the other women hooted—'and part Irish. My name's Santha Tully. Those two bitches across the table don't have names, 'cause they were hatched from buzzard eggs.'

'Are you all dancers?'

'We're entertainers,' the redhead told him.

'I've been wanting to see the show, but the sign says you have to be twenty-one to get in.'

'How old are you?'

'Almost eighteen. Practically.'

She gave him a quick appraisal. He was a nice-looking boy, she thought. Really nice, with those strange dark hazel eyes and curly hair. He reminded her, in a way, of Chalky Davis. Chalky's eyes had been dark brown, but this boy was taller than Chalky had been. The news of Chalky's death—murder, she'd heard —still disturbed her, though they hadn't slept together but two or three times. Santha wondered if this boy was involved in any of the creepy things that had been happening to her in the last few weeks; somebody had put a half-dozen dead roses on the steps of her trailer, and she had heard strange noises late at night as if someone were prowling around. That's why she didn't like to sleep alone. One night last week, she could've sworn that somebody had been inside her trailer and gone through her costumes.

But this boy's eyes were friendly. She saw in them the unmistakable sheen of desire. 'Come see the show, both of you. Tell the old bat out front that Santha sent you. Okay?'