Shadow Man by James D. Doss

Author:James D. Doss
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2005-06-24T04:00:00+00:00

33

A Meaningful Conversation with Mr. Desoto

Daisy paused to gaze at what remained of St. Cuthbert’s. It seemed smaller and more modest than when she was a child. Most of the stained-glass windows had been broken, the milky-white statue of the Virgin was spotted with lichens and moss. Scattered around the image were a few scruffy little rosebushes that seemed determined to survive. For a bright moment, the harsh work of Time faded. She was nine again, and Momma and Daddy were here, and little brother Tom-Tom. The tot was running after something that only the very young treasure. A dusty moth, perhaps, or a grasshopper. Salty tears filled her eyes, her heart ached as if it might fracture and break. She was startled when someone touched her.

“What is it, dear?” Louise-Marie patted her arm.

“Oh, nothing.” Daisy brushed a sleeve across her face. “Just got some grit in my eye.” She nodded to indicate the dirt driveway beside the abandoned church building. “We can follow that back to Mr. DeSoto’s house.”

Sidewinder watched until he understood the plan, then doggedly led the way.

A picket fence that had once enclosed the church property was mostly rotted away; a riotous party of tumbleweeds, kin-nikinnick, and chokecherry had come to stay. As they passed the ancient cemetery, it became apparent that there were not many relatives left in Garcia’s Crossing to tend the graves. Only the larger headstones were visible above the undergrowth. A few marble vaults—mute testimony of more prosperous times—were covered by a dismal species of waxy-gray vines.

To catch up with her companion, Louise-Marie took a few quick steps. “I never did like walking past graveyards. Even in the broad daylight.”

The Ute woman held her silence until they were past the burial ground. When their destination was in sight, Daisy paused, leaned on her oak staff.

A rusted-out Chevrolet van was parked near a tumble-down shed, a low-slung, expensive-looking sedan was sheltered in the sparse shade of a Russian olive. The DeSoto house was a long, narrow, peak-roofed structure. Having cracked in the heat of many summers, the stucco walls resembled the bottom of a sun-baked stream. The front entrance faced the back of the church. There was no porch. A pine board on a pair of cinder blocks served as a step. On each side of the door, small windows with almost-closed yellow shades suggested suspicious little half-lidded eyes set on a broad, stupid face. A robin strutted about in the dusty yard, evidently hoping to discover an earthworm that had little enough sense to be in this place.

Now past the cemetery, Louise-Marie had eased her pace and fallen a few paces behind the bold Ute woman. “Before we just walk up and knock on the door, I think we ought to have us a plan.”

Daisy was about to respond when something warm and furry rustled in the brush beside the lane, then bounded off toward a cluster of sage.

In hopes of a cottontail lunch, Sidewinder tore off after the insolent white flag.

Louise-Marie watched the chase, shuddered.

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