F. Wilson - Secret Circles

Tim was sounding testy.

“But where‟s the rest of him?”

“If I knew that, do you think I‟d be here jawboning with you?”

Something in Tim‟s tone made Jack glance up at him. He realized he looked exhausted.

“I was only asking.”

Tim puffed out his cheeks. “Sorry, Jack. Not much sleep since he disappeared. Johnson‟s on my circuit and I feel kind of responsible.”

“You‟ll find him.” Jack wished he could believe it.

“I‟ve got a feeling that if we do, it will be by accident. All this damn rain washes away trace evidence. And check out that sneak—looks like it‟s been there for days. Chances of the lab boys getting something off it are slim to none.”

“What about the circus?”

Tim shook his head. “They‟ve been as cooperative as can be. We‟ve been all over the grounds, the tents, the trailers—nothing.”

“Did you know that a kid disappeared at one of their stops in Michigan?” Tim stared at him.

“What? Where did you hear that?”

Jack told him what the canvas boss had said.

“Well, he didn‟t tell us anything about it. Damn. Tomorrow‟s their last night. Then they pack up and head to their next stop. I‟d better check into this.” He pulled out a notebook. “Did this guy happen to say where in Michigan?”

Jack shook his head. “No. Just Michigan.”

As he watched Tim write, he said, “What about the Klenke house?”

Tim shook his head. “First place we looked. Been back twice. Nothing. But I gotta tell you, the second day I was in there, boy, did it stink. The first and third day, fine. But the second—awful.

Could almost make you believe the stories about it being haunted.” When he finished jotting he looked up. “How‟s med school treating your sister?”

“She loves it.”

“Smartest girl I ever knew.” He grinned. “I guess I should be calling her a „woman‟ these days.

Tell her I was asking for her.”

“Sure.”

Jack realized Deputy Tim still had a thing for Kate. They‟d dated for almost a year, then stopped. No big breakup. They were still friends and talked now and then. He wondered what happened to them.

Tim started walking back toward the group. “Gotta go play mother hen. I know you three can find your way back, but I don‟t know about the rest. Don‟t want someone else turning up lost.

Remember: Mum‟s the word.”

Jack was turning to follow him when he saw a figure lurking in the trees, staring at him.

3

Jack froze, remembering the incident in the Vivinos‟ yard last night, but no stink stung his nose and this looked like a kid.

Then he recognized him … that tall, skinny piney kid who‟d got in Jake Shuett‟s face. Had a weird name.

Coffin … Levi Coffin.

“Levi!” Jack called as the kid turned away.

The kid kept going so Jack started after him.

“Levi, wait up!”

Levi stopped and turned to face him. His expression was flat, his mismatched eyes cold.

“What you want?”

“Just wanted to talk. I‟m—”

“I know who you are.” His accent sounded almost Southern. “What you wanna talk to an

„inbred‟ for?”

“Hey, no fair.” Jack stopped before him. “That wasn‟t me. Never was, never will be.”

“You sit with him. You get your laughs on us?”

“Come on. Lighten up. Can‟t always choose who sits at your table. You know that.”

“Yeah, truth in that. What you want?”

“Just wondering if you were in the search. I didn‟t see you.”

“Been doin‟ our own search.”

That was heartening. No one knew these woods better than a piney.

“And?”

“He ain‟t around.”

That shook Jack. “He‟s not in the Pines at all ?”

“Not in this end. Least not as far as we can tell. Someone or something might‟ve got him and carried him off, but he ain‟t here now.”

“Some thing ? You mean, like a big stinky bear or—”

“Stink.” Levi‟s eyes widened and he leaned closer. “What you know about stink?”

Jack told him about the hulking silhouette Weezy, Eddie, and he had seen in the Pines last month.

“You know what it is?”

Levi shook his head. “No one does, but when we smell it, we run. You smell it again, you do the same—like the hounds of hell ‟re after you.”

Jack thought about the odor in the Vivinos‟ yard. Had something come after Sally?

Taking a shot in the dark, Jack pointed toward the east and said, “Is it connected to that pyramid out there?”

Levi followed his point, then smiled. “Figured it‟d be only a matter of time before you and your girlfriend tumbled onto that.”

“She‟s not my girlfriend, and how do you know—?”

“We spot you two now and again. Saw you and her messin‟ with Jed Jameson‟s traps. You might wanna be careful about that. He‟s real mean.”

Jack already knew that.

“But what about the pyramid? What is it—or what was it?”

Levi shrugged. “No one knows. But Saree says stay away, so we do. You might wanna do the same.”

“Who‟s Saree?”

“One of us.”

By the way Levi said “us,” Jack had a feeling he wasn‟t talking about pineys in general, or family. More like something much closer even than family.

“I don‟t understand.”

Levi smiled and turned away. “And you never will. Stay in your town and leave the Pines to us.

You‟ve got your place and we‟ve got ours. Best to keep it that way. Especially to night.”

“But—”

He waved a hand without looking back. Jack got the message: conversation over.

He watched him disappear into the trees.

Especially tonight … The equinox. He and Weezy had plans for a little trip into the Pines to night. Maybe the smart thing to do would be to call it off.

Fat chance.

4

“Hey, Walt!”

On his way down Quakerton Road toward USED, Jack spotted Walt

rolling a mower over the lawn of the VFW post on the other side of the street. He veered his bike in that direction.

He skidded to a stop before the post—really a converted ranch house. The sign over the door read: VETERANS OF FOREIGN WARS—JOHNSON MEMORIAL POST. He stood his

bike on the sidewalk and walked over.

Walt looked up from the mower. His eyes held their usual glassy look from his applejack.

The neck of a pint bottle poked up from one of the pockets of his fatigue jacket.

“Hey, Jack. Saw you at the search.” He scratched his beard with leather-gloved fingers and shook his shaggy head. “Shame we didn‟t find that poor kid. People found a lot of stuff, but most of it was junk. Maybe something will give them a clue, but it doesn‟t look good.”

“Our group found a kid‟s sneaker, but who knows …” Jack let the subject drift off as he checked out the post‟s ragged grass, badly in need of cutting. “That still looks pretty wet.”

“Yeah, I know, but I gotta get it done today because they‟re talking about more rain tomorrow, and tomorrow night‟s the smoker.”

Right. The fourth Thursday of every month was smoker night. Boys’ night out Dad liked to call it, with emphasis on the first word. He never went. He‟d tried it and didn‟t like it. Not his cup of tea, as he liked to say.

Jack knew what went on: cigars and cards and drinking and porno films. He didn‟t think it would be his cup of tea—especially the cigar part—but he‟d sure like to try it once. He‟d heard about porno films, talked to some kids who‟d seen some, but had never seen one himself. He was curious.

The smoker … a whole bunch of the area‟s vets, from up Tabernacle way down to Shamong, would be here tomorrow night.