Mattie set the grocery sack down on the porch, then turned and went back into the house. Pink followed, still perturbed by her accusation. Mattie was kneeling at the fireplace wiggling a stone from the hearth when Pink entered the room.
“Don’t just stand there, Pink. Help me.”
He came over and squatted down next to her.
“Pull that stone out,” she said.
Pink gripped his fingertips around the rock and toggled it by the edges until it pulled free. Mattie reached inside the vacated hole and withdrew a small ornate silver container that looked to Pink like a ring box.
Mattie looked over at Pink then pushed off the hearth to get to her feet.
“What’s that?” Pink asked.
“Lulu’s umbilical cord. Now lock up, Pink, and don’t forget Burrito’s food.”
His mother grabbed the bags off the back porch on her way out, glancing over at Michelle before driving off.
“Was that your mother?” Michelle asked.
Pink climbed in behind the wheel. “Yeah. Sorry for the drama,” he said, turning the key. “Let’s go have a look at that property of yours.”
Chapter 12
Michelle tried to remember what Sheriff Fisk had said about Lulu when he’d shared the Pink Souder story. Pink adjusted the air conditioner and sat a few minutes with the engine running, as if deep in thought. Michelle felt strangely calm, the most at ease she’d been since taking Darcy’s car. Maybe it was the dog, she thought, giving him a kiss on top of his head. Pink backed out of Lulu’s driveway, talking on his cell phone, telling someone about Lulu’s death.
“Yes. Burrito’s right here,” he said, the phone pressed to his cheek. “He’s going to Mama’s house. Yes, I’ll open a window if I stop for lunch. Yes. Yes, I said I would. Yes, I’ll bring you soup. Tomato. I thought you liked tomato? Okay, no tomato. Chicken noodle if they have it. Okay.”
When Pink clapped his phone shut, he sighed and threw it onto the seat. Before he could pull away, a neighbor came up to the window and rapped on the glass.
“Oh, hell’s bells, what have we got now?” Pink said, rolling down the window. “Hi, Helen.”
“Sorry about Lulu,” Helen said. “She looked out of sorts these past few weeks. I thought maybe she’d fix herself a little something to pull out of it.”
“No magic stronger than death, Helen,” Pink said.
“When’s the funeral?” Helen asked.
“Christ, Helen, I ain’t sure Emerson’s got her to the damn morgue, yet.”
Helen glared at Pink, and then turned from the car. Pink hit the button for the electric window. “Damn busybody,” Pink said. “People who don’t know about Wiccans think magic can stop a damn runaway freight train. Lulu was a witch, like my mama. But ain’t no besoms or candles gonna stop death.”
“A witch?” Michelle said. “Your mother’s a witch?” She remembered now that Sheriff Fisk had mentioned that to her at the cabin. Even so, it felt strange Pink offering the information so casually. And his mother hadn’t appeared . . . otherworldly.
Pink looked over at her. “Wiccans aren’t like Halloween goblins or anything. It’s like a religion or something, you know.”
“What’s a besom?” she asked.
“A small broom,” Pink said, spraying dirt and rock as he pulled from the driveway. “Supposed to ward off evil spirits and whatnot,” Pink said, scratching under his chin as if he needed a shave.
Michelle checked Pink’s finger for a wedding ring and saw a gold band cutting into his chubby knuckle.
“You married?” Michelle asked.
Pink turned toward her, smiling. “Why do you ask?”
“The ring.” She held her own hand up and spun her diamond ring with her thumb.
“Yeah, I’m married,” Pink said. “Isabelle.”
Isabelle? Michelle was certain Isabelle was the woman the sheriff had spoken of, but now doubted her own memory. Wasn’t she dead? “Are you still married to her?”
“You seem surprised,” Pink said. “That’s who I was talking to on the phone. She’s real sickly. Never gets out of the damn bed anymore.” Pink took his eyes back out the window, clearly not wanting to talk about her.
“So was Lulu your aunt or something?” Michelle asked.
“She was my mama’s midwife, and her best friend. That’s where my mama learned all her magic, from Lulu.”
Michelle pictured Lulu’s sheets swaying in the breeze. Having grown up in the city, Michelle had never hung wash out, always relying on a dryer. Lulu seemed to live simple and die simple, Michelle thought, but nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. Michelle’s mind went back to Pink’s wife, Isabelle, the sheriff saying how she’d disappeared and that everyone believed Pink had killed her. Pink didn’t seem capable of killing anyone, and it was obvious that Isabelle was very much alive. Those realizations perplexed Michelle, eroding her resolve over why she’d driven back to Ardenwood in the first place. She could hear Darcy’s desperate plea for her to come back home.
She sat up straight in the seat, her breathing strained.
“You okay, Mrs. Stage?” Pink asked. “You look vexed.”
“No, I’m fine.”
Pink asked about her property. “Some kind of family estate or one of those vacation homes? Lots of folks from Atlanta own up here,” Pink said. “What’s that, a couple hours’ drive? Worth it to get away from that damn humidity down there. I don’t know how you stand it.”
Michelle wasn’t sure what to tell him; she hadn’t thought it through. “Just a weekend getaway place,” she said. “Up on Souder Hill.”
When she looked over at Pink, he wore a queer expression. “Souder Hill?” he said, sounding surprised. “Well, ain’t that something. When Isabelle and me were kids, our daddies owned that whole mountain up there.” Pink held a proud but peculiar smile. “They was gonna mine sapphires. Never did though. Not that there wasn’t gems to be had, but they was too lazy to take part in such an enterprise. It was their partner, Jim Beam, who talked them into it.” Pink laughed, looking over at Michelle. She didn’t get it.
“I owned a cabin up there a few years back. Built it myself. I used to be pretty handy with a hammer and saw. I’m not sure if I could stick two boards together with a nail gun now.”
Michelle wondered if Cliff had spoken to Darcy. Would he drive up from Atlanta to get her? Did Darcy lie or just take her phone off the hook to avoid confrontation? Darcy did that all the time.