Midnight Crossroad

8

The next day, the Midnighters assembled behind Midnight Pawn in the residents’ parking lot. When Manfred came out of his house, wearing a light jacket over his T-shirt and with a small backpack over his shoulders, he counted in his head: Olivia, Chuy, Joe, Creek, a boy he hadn’t met, Bobo, Fiji, the Rev, and Teacher from the diner.

“All right, guys ’n’ gals!” Bobo called. “It’s the first Annual Picnic Day! Madonna’s coming over with her truck, so if there’s something you can’t carry, we’ll load it in. We got tables, and some people have already put stadium chairs in there. You can stow your food, too.”

Rasta yipped and looked excited, and everyone laughed. Manfred went over to Creek to meet the kid, who had to be her younger brother. For a fourteen-year-old, he shook hands in a very adult way.

“I’m Connor,” he said. He had dark hair like his sister’s and a smooth oval face like hers. He was already as tall as Creek, and Manfred figured that in the very near future he’d be taller than Manfred himself.

“Where’s your dad?” Manfred asked. “Did he have to mind the store today?”

Creek smiled at him. She didn’t seem to suspect he was prolonging the conversation just to look at her. “Someone had to,” she said. “This is like a treat to us. No working the cash register or stocking shelves! And Connor got to come because there was a teacher in-service training day.”

Looking at her light blue eyes, Manfred felt a decade older than Creek, rather than four years.

“We’ve got a great day for a picnic,” he said, since he had to say something.

Creek raised an eyebrow, a skill Manfred envied.

“Okay,” he admitted, “trite. But true.”

“I love going up to the river,” Connor said. The boy actually looked excited at this mild outing. Living in Midnight must be excruciatingly dull for a kid his age, Manfred thought.

It was a glowing day in the earliest part of fall. The sun was bright but mild, and the wind was brisk. The sky spread above them, dotted with only the occasional small cloud to better set off its brilliant blue.

“I think Bobo wants you,” Creek said, nodding to indicate that Manfred should turn around. Bobo was waiting patiently, and when he saw he had Manfred’s attention, he beckoned. Manfred went over to him, smiling. But he felt his face settle into serious lines when he saw how anxious his landlord was.

“Hey,” Bobo said by way of greeting. His hands were tucked in his back pockets, and he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Manfred, let me ask you something personal. And no offense, for real. Are you truly psychic?”

“Sometimes,” Manfred answered honestly. “Mostly it’s guesswork or psychology, but I have times when I get true readings.”

“Then I wonder if you’d come by someday, maybe check out some of Aubrey’s stuff? Maybe you could get an idea of what happened to her?”

Manfred felt he’d stepped off a cliff. Finally he said, “Sure, Bobo. I’ll try. I wish I could guarantee a result . . .”

“No, man, I understand. Just do your best. That’s all I can ask. Ah, maybe I could knock something off next month’s rent . . .”

“No. Absolutely not. I’ll be glad to help,” Manfred said, looking up into his landlord’s face. He was a little surprised to find that he meant it—he actually wanted to help Bobo. “Though let me warn you, touch psychometry is not my strength.” Bobo looked blank. “That’s holding inanimate objects to get a reading on them,” Manfred explained. “So, I’ll come over tomorrow. Ah . . . by the way. There was a detective by yesterday.”

“Teacher told me she came by his place, too. I didn’t talk to her. She came to the shop door, but I figured since I didn’t know her and it was my day off, I didn’t have to answer the door.”

Manfred was dying to ask Bobo if he’d seen what had happened to the detective, but he didn’t think it would be right. Maybe Bobo had stayed at his window to watch Shoshanna’s progress, maybe he hadn’t. It seemed like tattling, to bring up what Fiji had done.

“Just call me when you’re ready,” Manfred said, after an awkward pause. “I’ll do my best for you.” That having been settled, the two men drifted apart as quickly as they could, as if something about the conversation had been embarrassing. Manfred figured it had probably made Bobo uneasy to reveal the depth of his sorrow at Aubrey’s departure, and Manfred knew it had made him uneasy to recognize Bobo’s grief and need.

Figuring it was time to get over his trepidation, Manfred had a casual conversation with Fiji, who seemed as artless and pleasant as ever. Manfred wondered if he’d had some kind of strange delusion the day before, but he decided it was impossible. Fiji had really frozen Shoshanna Whitlock. And Manfred couldn’t forget the detective—the self-proclaimed detective—running from the wedding chapel as if the minions of hell were behind her. He glanced over at the Rev, who stood a little apart, dressed exactly as usual in a threadbare black suit and bolo tie. There’s kind of an invisible cocoon around the old man, he thought. The only people who approached him were Connor and Creek, who talked to him with apparent ease. The Rev answered them with a few words, but to Manfred’s eyes his affection for the two seemed obvious.

Madonna drove Teacher’s truck into the little parking lot, and everyone cheered. She waved through the windshield. She didn’t look particularly excited or enthusiastic, but Manfred was learning that was not the Madonna way. The only time she smiled with any predictability was when she looked at the baby. This morning Grady was in his car seat next to her, and the truck bed was loosely packed with picnic things. Manfred added a few boxes of cookies from the Davy Kroger. Some of the other walkers added their contributions.

Bobo called, “All right! Let’s go! Next stop, the Cold Rock.” He slapped the hood of the truck, made a “forward ho” motion, and off they set.

Manfred expected Madonna to go back out the parking lot to the left, to get on the Davy highway and go north. He assumed there was a track that ran parallel to the river, and she could access it off the highway. But Madonna simply drove out of the parking area, veered right past the abandoned building to the rear of the pawnshop, and then bumped across the landscape: mostly bare dirt, dotted with patches of grass, cactus, clumps of bushes and trees, with plenty of space between. Every now and then she had to navigate around an outcropping of rock bursting through the thin soil as though it were trying to break free.

The walkers left the parking lot heading due north, but almost immediately they began veering northeast to the Río Roca Fría.

“Where are we having the picnic?” Manfred asked Fiji.

“We’re setting up by the Cold Rock itself,” she said. “You’ll be able to see it in just a few minutes.”

Manfred, naturally quick on his feet, began to walk at a brisk pace, his light backpack slowing him down not at all. In a few seconds, he was walking right behind Bobo. After days spent at the computer, he realized that he was glad to get out in the brisk air, glad to stretch his legs.

Since the truck was acting as pack mule, no one had to carry much. A bottle of water apiece, some sunscreen. Joe Strong had strapped on a special carrier for Rasta, who was sure to get tired before they reached their destination. At the moment the little dog was dashing around on his retractable leash, full of excitement.

“You didn’t bring Mr. Snuggly?” Joe called over his shoulder to Fiji.

“He told me he wanted to stay at home and guard the place,” Fiji called back, and there was a smattering of laughter.

Soon Manfred was far ahead of them both.