61
Back in my office, I searched online for every Lenore’s Lace ad. All of them were of her. Her face never in view, but she showed off her terrific body draped and wrapped in her sexy lingerie and her unique swirl of tats. So many tats. Over her body lay an epic composition in ink, woven with beautiful and menacing images. From behind vines and flowers and suns and moons and sparkling stars, lay savagery: a fanged beast with bloody claws ripping at a princess, a fairy angel dancing with a shrieking demon, a dragon rising over a hill of flames. A bleeding eye. Lenore had composed a restless, disturbing, oddly hopeful, gruesome baroque symphony.
I enlarged each photo, scrutinizing each compass on her torso, her ass, her upper back, her chest, the inside of a thigh. Each was paired with a series of numbers. Eight in all. I emailed them all to Den.
— Find these locations —
Within minutes, he sent me a list of locations. I ticked off each spot.
Missoula, Montana - where she was born
Emmet, Kansas - Med’s Smoking Guns chapter
Chicago, Illinois - her refuge with Tania
Elk, Nebraska - my Flames of Hell chapter
Los Angeles, California - where she got married and her son was born
Rapid City, South Dakota - where she raised her son
Meager, South Dakota - her business, her home
Pine Needle, South Dakota -
Pine Needle?
Just past Meager, through wheat and sunflower farms, Pine Needle was a small town, much quieter, more rustic and worn than Meager. Although Meager had experienced something of a renewal the past couple of years, new businesses, younger families, Pine Needle remained sleepy, musty.
What the hell was in Pine Needle that warranted the honor of being tatted on her body?
My eyes shuffled over every compass on the photos, back and forth, back and forth. Every single coordinate tat had a compass above it, almost hidden, embedded in the leaves or the flowers or the birds surrounding it. Each compass had a different direction on it. But this compass in Pine Needle was the only one locked on True North. Only this one was on her chest. And the N for North on this compass was different from the others. This N was bolder, thicker, and in blue flames.
I headed for my bike.
It was late October and the sunflower and wheat and soy fields had been cleared, the air seeped with the aroma of resin and earth. The open land was shorn, gone was its former velvety fullness. The thick fabric of reeds no longer billowed in the winds, shuffling their mysterious music at me. This spartan starkness had its own special appeal. Bare essentials. Stubborn and uncompromising.
I parked my bike in front of Drake’s Garden Center, the exact location of these coordinates on the northeastern edge of Pine Needle.
Potted trees, shrubs, fencing samples, oddball garden fountains littered the wide front yard. A small colonial house that was in dire need of a fresh paint job was also on the property and was probably where the owners lived. A truck was parked out front where a fit man with silvery blond hair tucked into a baseball cap, wearing sunglasses, struggled to unload a wheelbarrow from his pickup that was filled with them. Signs advertising roses and perennials and organic seeds stood on either side of the entrance to a large store with long greenhouses attached on the side and a long one in the back. A field of pumpkins was to the left, a wagon filled with hay stood alone before it.
“Hey there!” the man, who must have been in his mid to late sixties, stopped his attempt at unloading and checked me out. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
He wiped a jittery, shaky gloved hand across his sweaty forehead. “Anything I can help you with?”
“How about I help you with those wheelbarrows?” I asked him.
“Would you? That’d be great.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. I shouldn’t be doing this on my own, got a bad back and lately my hands don’t grip the way they used to.”
“I know the feeling,” I said.
“Damnedest thing, getting old.”
“You don’t look so old,” I said.
“I certainly don’t feel old, I can tell you.” He let out a laugh. “The young man who helps me out won’t be coming in until later this afternoon, but I need to unload ‘em now.” He held out a shaky hand. “I’m Steve. Steve Drake.”
I shook it. “Hey Steve. I’m Finger.”
He adjusted his baseball cap, his eyes going to my colors. “Good to meet you, Finger.”
I hoisted myself up on the truck and maneuvered a wheelbarrow out, then another, and another while Steve rolled them inside his store.
He led me through to the interior of the Garden Center. “You looking for anything special today?”
“I am. Just not sure what that is.”
He took off his sunglasses. “A gift?”
“Yeah, a gift.”
“Lady friend?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll set you up. She like to garden?”
“Her garden is very neat and colorful, so yeah, she enjoys it.”
He pointed at flowering plants, orchids, a flower box of oregano, mint, thyme, and chives. “That’s good for a porch or big kitchen window. If she likes to cook, that’s a good choice.”
“Right.”
The garden tools and fertilizer sacks, and bags of soil were all lined up in long rows.
And that’s when I saw them, stacked in wobbly piles. Hand painted flower pots. Another pile of dishes for the pots, trimmed in stripes and zig zags and polka dots. These were the pots and matching dishes Lenore had all over her house and front porch.
My eyes lingered over them, urging them to tell me what they knew.
Steve came up next to me. “You like those, huh?”
“Uh, yeah. They’ve got a certain charm.”
“My wife makes those. There are these over here too—” I followed his hand, gesturing to the left. A shelf of glazed earthenware dessert dishes and coffee mugs. Exactly like the coffee mugs Lenore used at her house.
“I like those. I think I’ll get a set of two of the blue glazed ones.”
“They’re real nice. That blue doesn’t come out that way very often. It’s pretty unique. My wife is good at what she does. I’ll pack them up for you.”
“Thanks.”
I followed Steve to the register by the front door. As he wrapped and packed each mug in butcher paper, I checked out his set up. A dollar bill was framed and hanging on the wall behind him. Next to it was a picture of a much younger Steve with darker long hair, his one hand on a shovel planted in the ground by a young tree, his other arm around a blonde who was holding a baby in her arms. The two of them smiling huge standing in front of their house which seemed fresher. Bright beginnings, big hopes. The all-American dream come true. There were other pictures of Steve and his wife at all different ages—riding horses, bundled up on a snow plow, drinking beers with friends at a bonfire, swimming at a reservoir in the summer.
He rang up the sale, and I handed him bills, picking up his business card from the neat pile at the side of the counter along with cards from other local businesses.
Steve gave me my change. “Hope she likes them.”
“I know she will.” I slid my chained wallet back in my jeans.
He led me outside and handed me a small bouquet of big dark pink flowers. “Take these for your lady friend. Dahlias are always a favorite.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Please. I appreciate your help with those wheelbarrows. Have a good rest of your day.”
“Thanks. You too.”
There was nothing more to see. Unless, of course, Lenore had bodies buried out back in Steve’s vegetable field or under his greenhouses. I’d have to come back at night and do my digging.
It wouldn’t be wise to ask Steve if he knew Lenore. He might think I was after her for no good. He’d taken in my colors when I’d first approached him, that eye-widening thing happened for just a sec, but it happened. I expected it to happen, and I always liked it.
Twenty minutes later I arrived at Lenore’s house. I left the bag with the mugs by her front door.
Years ago, she’d pulled a gun and a knife to protect me and had killed people who were threatening my life. The other night she pulled a gun on me. What the hell was she protecting now? What the hell was in Pine Needle?
I took out my pen and wrote, “Look what I found - F” on the garden center business card, and I tucked it into the dahlias, sliding the ends of the flowers into the bag with the mugs.
I’d set my fuse and looked forward to a spectacular explosion.