The Foothills of Heaven

9781483504223

PROLOGUE

God damn you, Mac! Katherine screamed at me. Shit!

Her hands found my sides and she pinched me hard. You'll never do this to me again, you bastard! Her beautiful face was twisted in pain.

Ow, she panted. It hurts!

I grinned behind my mask and was glad she couldn't see it, or she'd kill me later. At the moment, she was flat on her back in front of me with her legs spread wide. I knew I should feel compassion but I wanted to laugh out loud.

Here it comes, the young guy said as he leaned down between her legs. Oh, yes, here it is.

I wiped Katherine's face and she bit down on my finger, trying to sever it. When I yelled the nurse looked at me, her eyes pinched into a frown.

Mr. Clay! she reprimanded me. Please!

It's a boy! the young doctor held my new son up in the harsh lights. He was the ugliest baby I'd ever seen.

ONE

Our first day back in the Florida panhandle wasn't a good one. After a year and a half in Las Vegas, the return to tropical humidity was unbearable. To make things worse, the baby wouldn't stop crying and my wife, Katherine, was edgy. We'd made good time until we crossed the Florida line, but after that everything went wrong. Her car overheated just above Pensacola and again as we neared our exit.

What is it? she asked when I closed the hood. I shrugged.

Thermostat, maybe. I'll take a look after we get to the farm. We'd been driving in shifts, and it was nearing the end of mine. We were almost there.

How much farther, Mac?

An hour, maybe, I said. I opened the door and slid back in behind the wheel, then pointed at the temperature gauge. It might help if we turn off the air.

Oh, right, she said, her green eyes red-rimmed from the trip. And what about Tommy?

We'll roll down the windows, I looked back at my son. He'd thrown toys and bottles around the back in the last hour, but had begun settling down. Warm air from the open window revitalized him, and he fought the restraints of his car seat. He'll be fine.

I hope so, Katherine said. I forgot how bad the humidity was.

I glanced over at her, and she smiled. We hadn't slept much in the last week, and she was exhausted.

You'll adjust, I said. Things will settle down once we get moved in.

Our own home, Katherine said. She watched the road. Won't that be nice?

Yeah, I said, and thought about our return. A lot of people died the last time we were in Florida, but this time would be different. I promised myself that I would find something other than P.I. work to keep me occupied.

We'll make a new start, she said.

The needle fell below the red line as we left Interstate 10 for a tree-crowded two lane blacktop. The road meandered south around large cattle farms and fields of peanuts, puny stands of corn and the endless, low green rows of soy beans. Above this flat, green earth the sky was an unblemished blue.

Is that a fire? Katherine asked, pointing to billowing black clouds rising from the earth ahead.

Maybe, I said, slowing down. Everything looked so dry and brittle, and we'd heard about the lack of rain on the radio. Another mile and we could see the thick clouds were nothing more than black dust billowing up behind a large farm tractor.

I was looking down at the temperature gauge when Katherine shouted, Mac! I glanced up and saw a Sheriff's patrol car blocking both lanes just beyond a small rise in the road. I stomped the brake pedal and Katherine slapped the dash. I managed to get the car stopped just a few yards from an unimpressed deputy.

God, Katherine whispered, that was close.

I stared past the patrol car as the deputy sauntered up to my open window. A new, silver-blue Pontiac sat a good way off the highway under a clump of oaks, and an orange and white ambulance had been pulled up to its rear. A cluster of men stood hunched over the open trunk. The car had obviously been torched, but the fire hadn't spread beyond the interior. A fire truck sat in the road ahead.

You'd better be more careful, the short, stocky deputy placed an elbow on the window and leaned down. 'Might hurt somebody. He looked me in the eye, then his casual gaze took in Katherine, the baby, and the debris of travel.

Ma'am, he nodded at her and she smiled. He twitched his short, clipped mustache and the thin, colorless lips below it stretched a fraction of an inch wider. Tom babbled from the back seat. I watched the temperature gauge begin its climb.

Is this going to take long? I asked. I'm having radiator problems.

Yeah? His small brown eyes flicked toward the rising needle. He shifted and his gun belt creaked. Better shut it off. I turned off the ignition.

Ya'll going to Disney?

No, I said.

We're on our way to Red Oak, Katherine said and he raised his eyebrows.

Visiting? Cops always wanted to know everything.

We're moving there, Katherine shifted in the seat. From Las Vegas. Her dark features looked washed out, and her thick auburn hair was disheveled from sleeping against the door. I saw the men lean down together and lift something from the trunk of the Pontiac, and the deputy turned his face in that direction. Katherine whispered, Jesus.

Even from that distance it was easy to see how terribly the man in the trunk had died. His limp body hung over the men's hands as they lowered him onto a large black bag, but in that instant his bare chest was exposed to us. He wore grey dress pants and shiny black shoes, but was shirtless.

In the center of that wide, pale chest was a gaping hole; large, bloody and deep. Dark stripes of blood lined his left pec and wound around under his arm. I felt a tightness in my throat. A thin young man in civilian clothes kept taking pictures as the others pulled the sides of the plastic bag around the dead man and zipped it closed.

Sorry you had to see that, ma'am.

What the hell happened to him? I asked as the men lifted the heavy bag. It sagged in the middle.

Murdered, the deputy said. Somebody cut out his heart…like a ritual thing, or something.

Who was he? Katherine asked.

We're not really sure, he said as he watched the men carry the bag toward the back door of the ambulance. Salesman from up north, I think.

Did you catch them? I said.

No. But we think we know who it was. He waited, but I didn't ask. He pushed himself upright, then leaned down until his face framed the open window.

Devil worshipers. They're taking over the state, the preacher says.

Out here? Katherine found her voice.

Yes, Ma'am. All over these woods. This is the second one. They killed Mr. Pilcher just two weeks ago over in Jackson county. The men lifted the bag into the back of the ambulance, and closed its doors. A thick-necked man struggled in behind the wheel and backed away from the car.

Killed Mr. Pilcher just like that. he flicked a finger toward the departing ambulance.

The two men died exactly the same way?

I guess, the deputy waved at the knot of men. Mr. Pilcher was burned pretty bad. This time we got lucky, though, because the fire truck was heading home from a woods fire just north of here. It's so darned dry now, there's always a fire somewhere. They drove by and saw the car starting to burn. Must've just missed seeing who did it. Anyhow, they put the fire out and found the guy in the trunk. Then they called us.

The killer set both of them on fire? I asked.

They're big on fires, he said. 'Been burning churches all over the state, too.

The same group?

Yeah. The fire truck was cranked and pulled from the roadway. One of the men shouted at the deputy and he straightened again, waved toward them and turned to walk away. Ya'll be careful.

Thanks, I said as I cranked the car, put it in gear and drove past the lingering knot of men. They watched us go.

Check your thermostat! the deputy shouted as we passed. I waved out the open window. Tommy started to cry and Katherine turned in the seat, reached back and unhooked him. She pulled a bottle of cool water from his bag and held him to her breast, whispering to him as he drank. I turned my attention to the road. The image of the dead man would stay with me for a long time. I hated death.

I thought this was what we wanted to leave behind, Katherine said. This was why we left Las Vegas.

It's everywhere, Kate, I cupped a hand into the wind and directed it to my sweating face. Even here, I guess.

TWO

Being a new mother at thirty-six was no big deal in Las Vegas, but Katherine's grown daughter had driven over from Tallahassee and it reminded her of the tremendous gap in the ages of her two children. Candace, her only other child, had been born when Katherine was fifteen years old. During the year and a half we'd been away from Candace, Katherine had been lost without her.

God, look at him! Candace shouted as she held our son Thomas at arm's length. He's so much bigger than he was in the picture!

Be careful, Katherine said.

I have a little brother!

Don't hold him like that.

God, Mom.

This consenting adult who had not only built a case for keeping our accidental baby but, after he was born, decided to quit work and return to rural Florida with me to raise him, had spent the day treating me as though I'd ravaged her in her sleep, tied her down for nine months and personally delivered Thomas with salad tongs. Now, in the kitchen with her daughter Candace looking on, Katherine was depressed and defensive and I kept a low profile.

I'm going out to bury the cat, I said.

Fine. Katherine's back was to me as she unwrapped dishes at the sink.

What? Candy said to her mother as I stepped out into the oppressive heat. What did he mean, 'bury the cat?'

I was sure Katherine would explain. The day had started off bad, and wasn't getting better. I'd found a dead kitten in the yard when we arrived; a soft, yellow thing at the end of a speckled trail of blood. Before I could bury it, before we'd even carried the first load of stuff into our new home, a carload of church women raced up the drive, invited us to fellowship with them on Sunday, and blamed the dead cat on the 'Satan Worshipers' next door. I thought it more likely that it died under the rubber tires of a religious zealot cruising for converts.

They hold animal sacrifices, a tall, thin woman with jet black hair said to Katherine. She pointed toward the western boundary of our new land where a bunch of secluded radicals were building a private school. And they paint their children with the blood.

Satanism is getting a stronger hold on this world, another said. You be sure to keep an eye on your baby.

Katherine's eyes took in the line of thick brush and small oaks along the property line before she turned away from the women. She whipped Thomas around until he fell into the saddle of her hip, and walked inside. I followed her and, eventually, the women got back in their car and drove away.

THREE

I hadn't done any private investigating since we'd left Florida a year and a half earlier and had no desire to do it again. Not that I wouldn't - it was the only thing I knew how to do. My body had healed from the abuse I'd put it through but left me with aches and pains that kept reminding me that it wouldn't go through that again. I didn't even want to know who killed the kitten. I just wanted to bury it.

Candy walked out as I was tamping down a little gray circle of dirt over the dead animal. She held Tommy against her side and his tiny hand pushed at her crimson and gold tee shirt, flattening her breast. What's wrong with Mom?

Just tired, I guess. I didn't tell her about seeing the dead man.

No, she nuzzled Tommy's wispy hair with her nose. It's something else, Mac. I think it's this place. It's spooky.

Maybe so, I said, hefting the shovel and looking down at the small grave.

It is, Mac. Mom's scared being back here.

You think so? I glanced at the front door.

Trust me. Candace shifted Tom from one arm to the other. Mom spent her whole life protecting me. She's always been strong, you know?

Yes, I said, I know.

I think it's been too hard on her, Mac. She wants you to take over. Tom started twisting around in her arms, and pushing at her neck with balled fists. I don't mean forever. She just needs some rest.

She'll have time to rest now, I said.

Not with those people over there, she whispered.

We don't know anything about them, really, I said. It's all just gossip.

I hope so.

We saw a dead man today.

Oh? she said. Where?

I told her the story as she squinted up at me. She shook her head and looked back at the front door of the trailer. Maybe that's it.

I think so.

Candace and I stood quietly for a moment, then she put the palm of her hand on Tommy's cheek. It was a bright pink.

He probably needs to go back inside, I said. She nodded.

Think about Mom, okay? Candy said. I want her to stay here.

Okay, I said.

I've missed her. Candy walked back into the house.

'This place', as Candy called it, had once belonged to my friends, Mel and Torrea Shiver. The 140 acre farm had been their world since they'd retired so many years before. Mel had died here less than two years ago, defending his home against men who had been sent to kill Katherine and Candy. I had arrived too late to save him. Now, with Mel and Torrea both dead, Katherine and I had come back here to stay.

I looked from the new, small grave to the scene of the crime; a dark smudge of dried blood on the sandy yard, and a line of little black dots.

The nearly straight path those droplets of kitten blood made was like a dotted line running diagonally across our double-rutted drive, fading as it reached the gate. I wandered along beside it, stepping over two places where tire tracks obliterated the trail, picking it up again as it blended into the deep orange clay of the road.

It cut back into a row of thick, dusty brush at the steep shoulders of the clay road, but when I stepped back and bent down to peer into a low bush the blast of a truck horn lifted me off the ground. The driver braked hard and his truck disappeared in a cloud of dust. He backed up until his window was in line with my face.

You God-damned punks gonna worship the devil out here, you ought'a at least stay out of the God-damned road! he was almost incoherent in his anger. An older man, his face creased and reddish-brown, he worked at reining in his temper. I waited.

Why don't you people just go away. he said.

I'm not one of them, I placed an emphasis on the last word. My name is McDonald Clay.

Who's your daddy? It was the defining question of the rural South, a lineage check more accurate than the study of DNA.

I'm not from here, I said. I had grown up in the orange groves of central Florida, near Orlando.

I didn't think so.

My wife and I are going to be living in Mel Shiver's place. We just drove in from Las Vegas.

Yeah? The man's eyes narrowed with recognition. His hands never loosened their grip on the wheel. I know who you are now.

Mel was my friend.

Shit, he said caustically, Mel Shiver died because of you.

Thomas Wolfe was too timid. You can't go anywhere again. Suddenly, I wished we'd never left that big shining city where nobody knew me.

Mac? Katherine called from the front door. Are you all right?

Yeah, I answered over my shoulder, grateful for an excuse to leave. I headed back into the yard and heard the old man drive away.

What were you doing? she asked and I remembered. I almost got run over because I was investigating the death of a cat.

Just looking around, I grumbled, hands in pockets. I had embarrassed myself, so I did the natural thing. I got mad at her. Is that okay with you?

Katherine gave me a hard look and went back inside.

Okay, so we were both on edge. It felt strange to be back in Florida, sad to be in Torrea's empty home. We were treading on ghosts and bad memories. A terrible battle had taken place on this piece of ground.

I hung my hands on the edges of my pockets and surveyed the familiar expanse of land, brown now because of the drought. We'd known that it would take weeks to get our things in order and move, and we'd have our hands full afterward, so we sold Mel's fifty-two head of cattle to his old friend, Peter Kinsall. He'd been tending them for Torrea since Mel died and called us after her death to assure us that they'd be taken care of.

They're gonna wind up with pink-eye, he'd said over the phone. I can't get down there enough to take care of them.

Would you be interested in buying them, Mr. Kinsall?

Well, I could.

But, do you want them?

Yeah, he said slowly, thoughtfully. Sure.

I told him to come up with a fair price and send us a check. He thanked me, and said he'd take care of it. Just a week later we had a check large enough to handle our moving expenses, and Mel's friend had the cattle rounded up and loaded into cattle trailers. The broad land looked strange without them.

Brittle pasture grass, now rangy and empty of the cattle, grew wild in thickets of blackberries and turned a deep green the closer it came to the river. A stand of tall oaks lined the steep bank and dark, shiny magnolias elbowed their way between, sinking deep roots through the river's black dirt to drink from its sparkling water.

Beyond the boat landing, deep in the hardwood growth, was a gentle S-curve where the river swung around a limestone mound and formed a small, half-moon inlet. Past that, on the western boundary of our land, were the people the women in the car had called Satan worship ers.

I stood on a flat, high piece of land surrounded by pecan trees. The Shivers' home had once spread out under these trees, but it had been burned to the ground on that bloody day Mel died. The charred remains had been removed but the ground under it was still barren, a gray rectangle bordered by gardenias and camellias, each in rebirth after the fire. Memories of a day this land saw so much death. The double-wide trailer Torrea had left us stood to the east of the old site, away from an old cypress barn and huge, dented watering trough. The trailer's front door was in line with the drive.

I hoped we could start again here, Katherine and me, and erase the darkness that remained from that black day. For the first time in my life, I had a family.

I put the shovel away and brought in a load of supplies, then stood and watched mother and daughter from the door. Candy's auburn hair was a shade or two lighter than her mother's, eyes a little more golden-brown than green. Just months away from her twenty-first birthday, Candace Furay was becoming strong. It hadn't been easy for her, and Katherine had missed her terribly. Old wounds. I watched the two of them for signs of residual damage left over from the days when they'd been hunted ruthlessly, surrounded by death. Together again, they were healing quickly.

I've just been so busy, Candace was in the middle of a conversation with Katherine. Besides, there's really nobody special. I still go out with Donald, but it's no big deal.

Can you stay with us tonight?

Sure, Candace said. But I'll have to leave early tomorrow.

Thomas squirmed in Candy's lap while Katherine continued unloaded boxes and bags. Mother and daughter were amazingly similar, not just in their long legs and wide shoulders, but in the grace of their movements.

They were both dark, a Spanish sepia inherited from Katherine's mother; but there were differences, too. Kate's cheeks were smooth where her daughter's were full and round, and Candy's face lacked her mother's intensity.

Candy looked up when I came in, nodded toward her mother and grimaced. I dropped the boxes onto the cushions of a puffy green and white couch and pointed an index finger at my chest.

I stepped up behind Katherine and touched her shoulder. She shrugged away. I touched again, holding her this time until she leaned back and pressed her cheek against mine.

Sorry, I said and put my arms around her waist. Thomas slurped at his bottle. Cold air whistled up from the floor vents and turned the back of my damp shirt to ice as we stood together, rocking slightly to the music on the radio. Candy cleared