“This Bricker’s Bowl, where the Backmans live—since you know Blessed’s identity, did you call the local sheriff?”
Ethan turned a chicken breast, slathered on more barbecue sauce, he said, “Yeah, I called Sheriff Cole, for all the good it did me. He aked me straight off if I could identify Blessed Backman as the man responsible for all the trouble, and of course I couldn’t. I never saw him without his mask. I asked him to e-mail me a photo of Blessed and Cole said yeah, yeah, sure, he’d do that. When I told him about what Autumn saw, he sort of chuckled and said it was a private cemetery, no law against shuffling bodies around, now, was there? Of course, in this case, it sounded like the little girl dreamed it all. Sure, he’d go talk to Miz Shepherd, blah, blah. I wished I could have reached his throat through the phone.”
Savich said thoughtfully, “I’m thinking Sherlock and I should pay a visit to Bricker’s Bowl. I followed up on some Web research Sherlock told me about. I found a mention of what may be the Backmans in a blog by a group that calls themselves Children of Twilight. They traced the IP address of the server to northern Georgia, near Bricker’s Bowl. The blog claimed to be written by a Caldicot Whistler, who wrote with the snake-oil charm of a charismatic cult leader. It mentioned only their first names—Blessed, Grace, and Shepherd, as disciples who had developed the powers of mind under Whistler’s guidance. A cult requires money. I want to find out where the money’s coming from.”
Ethan knew where all the money came from, supposedly, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to tell Savich that Theodore Backman was a slot-machine whisperer.
Finally, Ethan couldn’t stand it. As he brushed barbecue sauce on the ribs and flipped the onions, he said, “Did Autumn really suddenly appear in your head one night and talk to you?”
Savich nodded as he carefully turned over the tinfoiled potatoes buried in the coals. He looked at Ethan. “It surprised me but good. At the time I was racing Lance in the Alps, both exciting and scary, since my bike was maybe three inches from a cliff, when there she was, right in front of me. I tell you, at first I thought I’d crashed my bike right over that cliff. I remember it was midnight on the dot.”
“She ... just appeared? Like that?” He snapped his fingers. “In your head?”
Savich smiled at him. “Yes. Her voice was clear as a bell, but I couldn’t see her clearly. I asked her to bring her head up so I could see her face. She’s a precious little girl, all that dark brown hair, her blue eyes and the line of freckles across her nose; she’s the image of her mother. She’ll be as beautiful as her mother someday. It’s quite a gift she’s got.”
“But that means you’ve got it too,” Ethan said, and he felt weirded out all the way to his boots saying such a thing. “Has this happened to you before?”
“Yes, several times. Once we were chasing a killer as dangerous as Blessed, called Tammy Tuttle. She was a horror, and if Blessed is anything like her, we’ll have to focus on him like a target on a shooting range. Look, I know getting your mind around what Autumn can do is tough. But it isn’t as important now—getting Blessed is.”
“Fair enough,” Ethan said.
Savich nodded as he turned the zucchini and squash slices and the mound of onion rings on the tinfoil, all coated lightly with olive oil. The smells were incredible, and he breathed in deeply. “I love summer,” he said. “Even when it’s so hot in Washington you feel like you’re frying, there’s something in the air, something sweet and alive.
“You’ve got a nice setup here. You use the grill a lot?”
“At least twice a week in the summer. Friends I haven’t seen all winter show up.”
“Well, I suppose smells this good travel fast.”
Ethan fidgeted with the bottle of barbecue sauce. “But you were surprised when she suddenly popped up, right?”
“Sure. Look, Sheriff—”
“Call me Ethan.”
Savich grinned, which didn’t make him look like any less of an ass-kicker. “Ethan. The last sheriff who asked me to call him by his first name was Dougie.”
“Did you ask him why his parents hated him?”
Savich laughed. “He was sporting bib overalls at the time, his gun belted on top.”
Throughout the afternoon Ethan’s deputies were in and out, drink-ing a couple of gallons of iced tea Sherlock and Joanna made, with Autumn’s help, all of them eager to meet the two feds and trying not to act impressed or intimidated. When Glenda came into the kitchen with Larch just before dinner, Joanna walked right up to her, studied her face, and said, “I’m sorry I hit you, but I had to.”
Glenda nodded. “I know. You had to get him out of me, so you’re forgiven. Thank you.”
Ethan introduced Savich and Sherlock. Savich said as he shook Glenda’s hand, “You knew someone was there, in your head?”
Glenda frowned. Her head still ached, although the pain pills Dr. Spitz had given her had reduced it to a dull throb. She knew what she’d said had sounded like she’d been taken over by an alien. The pain in her head spiked, and she closed her eyes.
“Here,” Joanna said, “drink some iced tea and relax. Stop thinking about it.”
Glenda drank, took a few slow, light breaths.
Ethan said, “That’s right, try to throttle down, Glen. Take it easy, don’t think so hard about it. Look, when Blessed put the whammy on Ox, he still hasn’t remembered.”
Thankfully the pain eased off again.
“I can’t believe Jeff let you come over.”
“He didn’t want to, but I told him it was my job and I didn’t want to get fired.” She gave Ethan a big grin and looked over at a big rope bone in the corner of the living room, chewed to grimy bits by Big Louie. “You’re right, I don’t remember, but the thing is, Ethan, I do know I wasn’t there inside my head until Joanna hit me in the jaw. Her first punch didn’t knock me out, but I remember the lightning slap of pain, and shaking my head, and for a moment I felt something inside my head slip, like a slippery hand losing its grip on a doorknob, off balance and trying hard to regain control.”
She clammed up and looked terrified. “I can’t believe I said that, I’m crazy, aren’t I?”
“If you’re crazy,” Ethan said matter-of-factly, “then we all are.”
His words did the trick. Glenda’s eyes cleared. “It’s true. He was there, inside me, but I didn’t know it, not until she hit me. Thank God you hit me again, Joanna. That second whack must have knocked him right out of me. I don’t remember anything until I woke staring up at Ethan’s face.”
Larch said, “You scared the crap out of me, Glen. Would you look that mouse. What did Jeff say?”
“He thought it was cute once I convinced him I wasn’t going to croak.”
32
ETHAN SAID TO SHERLOCK and Savich, “Jeff Bauer, Glenda’s husband, is a ranger with the Glenwood District, a real hardnose—I’ve seen him stare down a bear that was stealing food. He and Glen have only been married—what? Six months? He’s one of the many out looking for Blessed. I’m surprised he isn’t here hovering.”
Glenda smiled. “I told him I was okay, but you know Jeff. Don’t be surprised, Ethan, if he comes charging in here any time now. He did freak when I called him, since he knew about what happened to Ox. He came running over to Dr. Spitz’s.”
Savich said, “Glenda, at any point, did you hear Blessed speaking in your head, telling you what to do?”
She shook her head. “It was like I was gone, or buried so deep I might as well have been gone. I was only there after Joanna hit me that first time. And there was Big Louie biting my leg, and then Autumn was hitting me in the back with a pan.” Glenda patted Autumn’s cheek. “You and your mom mounted a full-blown attack on him. Really, thank you. You too, Big Louie.” She leaned down and scratched behind Big Louie’s ears.
Sherlock felt her own shoulders tighten at the overflowing tension she heard in Glenda’s voice, even as she’d tried to joke about what had happened to her. She asked Ethan, “Where did Big Louie get his name?”
