Brambleman Read online

  But their visit to the land of varmints would only last a few days. After that, what could Evangeline do, besides hang around Gresham Elementary School every afternoon? If she did, he could have her arrested for stalking. He had to admit that Evangeline’s power grab would give him time to work on the book. He cleared his throat. “So you take them tonight. I’ll come and get them Wednesday afternoon.”

  “No, we keep ’em all week. Susan can pick Becky and Ben up Sunday. We’ll take ’em to church.”

  Alarm bells sounded in his head. Not the First Church of Varmintville! Evangeline’s Baptist congregation was so primitive the preacher spent more time talking about hell than heaven. Charlie refused to let Ben and Beck set foot in the building. As an adult, Susan had become a Methodist. This tilt toward godlessness still rankled her mother, whose faith placed Catholics in hell, along with those who did not accept Jesus as their personal savior—meaning Jews, Muslims, “them” in general, and Charlie in particular.

  Susan wore a pained expression. “Mom, I’m going with Charlie on this.”

  Charlie didn’t have a chance to put his hands over his ears before Evangeline started screaming. “He ain’t got no rights! Not if he walks out on his family!”

  “Excuse us,” Charlie said, taking Susan by the elbow. “We need to talk.”

  Evangeline followed them to the master bedroom. Charlie closed the door in her face.

  “We need to solve this in like sixty seconds.” Susan glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to meet the lawyers. I told you I’m being deposed.”

  “I know who should be deposed.” Charlie nodded toward the door.

  “OK, what she did is rude and wrong,” Susan whispered.

  “And you know why she did it.”

  “Yes. But I don’t necessarily feel that way. I don’t want to fight. I just want to find something that works. If you could just go along this time, it would really help out.”

  Necessarily? He felt like he was being asked to take a dive in a boxing match. “It can’t happen again.”

  “You know I can’t control her.”

  “Next time she tries this, she can sit here alone all day. Like a vulture.”

  Susan scowled. “I gotta go.”

  “So I’ll pick them up in Cumming Wednesday evening. No sense in you driving up after work.”

  “Or I can,” Susan said. “No sense in you and her being in the same zip code.”

  “Good point. You’re it, then.”

  Then came an awkward moment, since kisses had ended back in July and now their relationship had sunk to an even lower level. Susan grabbed her purse. “Bye.” She walked into the hall just as Beck emerged from her room. She called for Ben, then hugged her children so hard they yelped.

  After glancing around the room he’d painted last summer, Charlie stepped into the hall and braced for serious man-against-mother-in-law action. The door to the garage slammed shut and Evangeline herded the kids toward the kitchen. She began ransacking the place in an attempt to fix breakfast. Charlie stepped in wordlessly, grabbing bowls and boxes.

  “Is that all you got to feed them, cereal?”

  “Save it, Evangeline. If we’re going to get through this—”

  “Where’s the milk?”

  Ben pulled a jug from the refrigerator. Evangeline grabbed it and scrutinized it like she was a lab technician at the Centers for Disease Control. “I can’t believe you give them skim. Children need whole milk to grow. You must buy the groceries. Susan wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “We have rules about TV,” he reminded her.

  “Nothing I can do about that in Cumming,” Evangeline snapped. “We got cable.”

  “So do we, but we hold it to an hour a day.”

  “Movies run more than an hour, everybody knows that.”

  “Average, Evangeline. Average. They can watch a movie every other day.”

  Evangeline’s stiff body language suggested she was not subject to his pronouncements. “Don’t you worry. I know how to make children happy.”

  “That’s wonderful,” he deadpanned. He looked around the kitchen. After an awkward silence, he said, “Well, I’d better go. Kids, I’ll see you Thursday.”

  Beck and Ben hugged him. He noticed they didn’t seem sad to see him go. Then again, they knew Grandma would let them watch cartoons all day. No doubt she’d seize this opportunity to make up for her Charlie-induced time deficit with them, suck out their brains, and mold them into little Cutchinses. Was that the payoff he got for marrying Susan and helping pay her way through college? This truly was an outrage.

  Charlie left Thornbriar with a pounding headache. He hadn’t had any coffee yet, so he stopped at Starbucks to fix his caffeine deficiency. Then he called Susan’s work number from his cellphone.

  “I’m busy, Charlie.”

  “I’ll just take a moment. Have I told you that your mother is a difficult woman?”

  “I believe you mentioned it once or twice. So what’s your point?”

  “You’re making this worse than it needs to be,” he said.

  “I didn’t do this.”

  “Your whole family is already fighting the custody battle.”

  “Don’t be paranoid. Oh, the attorneys are here.”

  When he laughed, she said, “What’s funny? Oh, forget it.”

  “Fine. Bye.” He hung up, vowing that if he came across the Cutchins name in Talton’s book, he’d prominently feature the family’s role in the outrages. Just then, the sun jumped out from behind a cloud and beamed down on him as if to say, You got that right.

  Chapter Four

  Charlie had left Bayard Terrace hoping Angela would accept the situation. After all, she seemed to be warming to him. A little. However, when he returned with milk and bread, he learned that the feud between mother and daughter was far from settled, and his job was still in jeopardy.

  “Angela just left with the contract,” Kathleen said, greeting Charlie at the door. “She’s getting an attorney to break it. Fat lot of good it will do her.” She closed the door behind him and moved to the window, spying on the street from behind a curtain. “I warned her, but she wouldn’t listen. That was a big mistake. She has no idea what she’s getting into.” She shook her head and let go of the curtain. “She said she’d call the police if you don’t leave, so you’re in this, too.”

  No cops. “Maybe I should—”

  “You’re not going anywhere. Get to work.” He looked into the woman’s sky-blue eyes. She seemed equal parts sweet and creepy right then. “I think my daughter hates men,” she added. “She didn’t love her father. What do you think?”

  “I don’t, not about that.” His problem with Angela was her opinion of him, not vice versa. Live and let live, that was his motto. “I wish you two could get along. Maybe try a little diplomacy.”

  Kathleen shook her head. “She didn’t hug me when she left. And I’ll never have grandchildren. She’s fifty years old. I suppose her girlfriend could have some procedure done.”

  “I suppose.”

  Kathleen sighed. “She’s going to have to change her attitude. Or else,” she added in a sinister tone.

  OK. More creepy than sweet. “Or else what?”

  “I’ll put a curse on her, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “A curse? Don’t go medieval on us,” he pleaded, laughing.

  She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Thurwood’s book is my baby, the most important thing in the world, and she’s trying to kill it.”

  “I can take a hint,” he said. “I’ll get to work.”

  “It’s best that you do.”

  “Just don’t put a curse on me.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re immune.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “At least I think you are. Haven’t tested it on you yet.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, Charlie took a break and strolled down to Bay Street Coffeehouse. He was encouraged to see Amazon Woman working the counte
r and delighted when she smiled at him. He sat by the large front window and sipped coffee laced with a double shot of espresso. He gazed out at a thin, beautiful platinum-haired woman in black tights jogging by. No time for that: He was an ascetic with a job to do. The idea that his life had been boiled down to one essential thing brought a peaceful feeling—until he picked up a discarded newspaper from the next table and glanced through the Metro section. A news brief caught his eye:

  Diner Gutted by Flames

  DeKalb County investigators are probing a late night fire Saturday that destroyed a Pancake Hut on Hanover Drive. No injuries were reported.

  Arson investigators believe an incendiary device may have been involved in the 11 p.m. blaze. Pancake Hut waitress Lila Beth Richards reported a “suspicious-looking man with goggles lurking around” just before the fire. Police believe this may be the possible suspect in the fatal shooting of a Forsyth County man at the same location Friday night.

  The Pancake Hut chain is the target of a class-action discrimination lawsuit filed by black customers. Investigators declined to comment on motives in the case.

  Charlie gulped down the rest of his coffee, quickly returned to Bayard Terrace, and frantically searched the dungeon for his goggles. He was sure he’d brought them back from Optical Shoppe on Saturday. After reading Sunday’s article about the shooting, he’d made a mental note to get rid of them, but now he couldn’t find them. He paced around the basement, afraid that Trouble was framing him for crimes the weird old fellow himself had committed. Clearly, something beyond his understanding was at work: the fight with Susan, Beck’s 911 call, his eviction, the lightning, the shooting, the bus ride, the manuscript, the deal. Rescues and vengeance at random.

  Desperate to figure out what was going on, Charlie hopped into his van, and despite a gnawing fear of getting busted, returned to the scene of the crime. Or crimes. After a twenty-minute drive, he pulled his van into the Pancake Hut’s deserted parking lot and looked into an orange-purple twilight. Lines of yellow tape surrounded the place like it was a poorly wrapped gift. The building had been gutted and charred to cinders; only brick walls remained. He exited the van and stared at the burned-out building, then glanced toward the bus stop and saw a dark patch on the pavement. Logan’s blood. Charlie’s knees buckled and he nearly fell down.

  What should he do? What could he do? Report Trouble to the police? No cops, Trouble had said. We’ll handle this ourselves. Charlie had to face it: Someone—or something—capable of shaking off a lightning strike, then smiting left (diner) and right (dead guy) was more powerful than cops.

  Was he under Trouble’s power now? Was he leaving the laws of man behind? Charlie had to concede something was out there, something that could reasonably be called God—and It knew who he was. It also seemed to go out of Its way to keep him alive and push him underground. Apparently, God had something to say about the affairs of men, and Charlie was part of Its plan. Quite an epiphany for someone who’d spent his life a millimeter away from atheism.

  Charlie ventured past the yellow tape and picked up a shard of blackened glass as a souvenir. There was no point in lingering. He scrambled back to the van and drove off as darkness fell.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, when Charlie returned from a workout and shower at the Decatur Y, Angela’s black Camry was in Kathleen’s driveway. He parked on the street and waited for her to leave, but he grew bored after five minutes and decided to confront his nemesis—or at least say howdy.

  A freckled young strawberry blonde in overalls and an Indigo Girls T-shirt answered the door. She had boyishly short hair and a nose ring along with three small gemstone studs in her left ear, one in her right, and a tattoo on the back of her neck, some kind of elf-rune design. He wished he could see the lower one Kathleen had mentioned, but it seemed rude to ask.

  “You must be the Bogeyman. I’m Hyacinth Vickers. Angela dragged me over for moral support in her fight against the evil witch.” She spoke with a straight face and a twinkle in her eye.

  “Which old witch?”

  “Whichever.”

  Angela was talking on the phone in the dining room. He heard loud chopping coming from the kitchen and shouted, “Hi Kathleen!”

  “Glad you’re back, Charles. Lots of work to do,” Kathleen said, sounding gruff and purposeful.

  Charlie plopped into the green easy chair. Hyacinth returned to the sofa and held up a book: Killers of the Dream, by Lillian Smith. “I found it in the study. She was a lesbian and a friend of Dr. King’s. I learned about her in a graduate women’s studies class at Emory.”

  Grad school? Kathleen had practically accused Angela of child molestation for dating her! Angela didn’t teach at Emory, either. It seemed that she’d done nothing wrong—except to piss off her mother, that is.

  “By the way,” Hyacinth said, “Angela called a history professor at Georgia State. Turns out he knows you … says you’re great and they’re lucky to have you. Name’s Sherrill.”

  Charlie burst out laughing. Angela’s inquisition had led straight to his old Macon Telegraph colleague and drinking buddy, back during his days of imbibing. “Hank Sherrill’s a history professor? I’ll be damned.”

  Angela appeared, wearing a scowl and a red-and-black lumberjack shirt.

  Kathleen followed, beaming triumphantly. “You didn’t say you won a Pulitzer Prize!”

  Charlie stood. “I was just the editor on that series. I didn’t write it.”

  “No, you edited it. I think that settles it, don’t you, Angela? You can take your letter and—”

  “He can’t stay here,” Angela said. “He can work on the book somewhere else.”

  As Kathleen fumed silently, Hyacinth bounced up from the couch. Playing Tigger to Angela’s Eeyore, she said, “We have to go if we’re going to meet Mary Alice at five.”

  Angela gave her a warning glance. “Mr. Sherman, I’m not letting you take advantage of my mother. There will be a new contract. You’ll get an agent’s fee if the book gets published. I mean, the book’s finished already. It either works or it doesn’t.”

  “I’m not an agent. I’m an editor. If I was going to take her money, I’d already be gone.” Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw a crow perched in a bare-limbed dogwood by the street. It cocked its head and regarded him with a beady eye. “Anyway, it’s Kathleen’s decision.”

  “It’s good to have him here,” Kathleen said. “He weather-stripped the back door.”

  “She’s not in her right mind,” Angela snapped, pointing at her mother. “She babbles about angels and prayers.”

  Kathleen recoiled, her eyes wide with anger. “I babble? I babble? That’s it for you, Missy.”

  Missy? Before Charlie could utter a conciliatory word, a boil erupted on Angela’s right cheek. Whoa.

  Hyacinth grew wide-eyed. “What are you looking at?” Angela snapped.

  “Your face,” Charlie said. So much for diplomacy. But this was weird.

  Angela reached up and touched her cheek. “A blemish. So what?”

  Yeah, you could call it that. But he’d never seen one erupt so … volcanically. It was gooshy.

  “If you’re not out by tomorrow morning, I’ll begin legal proceedings to have you removed. If that happens, you’ll lose the right to edit the book.”

  No cops. Charlie fought panic and told himself not to act like he was wanted for murder. He took a deep breath and said, “I don’t think this is about me. You two just don’t get along.”

  “I brought a letter from my attorney. It lays out the family position with great clarity.”

  “I never told you how to live!” Kathleen shouted. “I’ll be damned if I let you do that to me!”

  “My God!” Hyacinth cried out, staring at Angela’s forehead.

  “So I’ve got a zit. Big deal.”

  “It’s huge!” Hyacinth said. “And there’s another one! You’re breaking out!”

  Angela shook her head in exasperation. When
she touched her neck, her eyes widened in alarm. Then she felt her forehead. “This is giving me a lot of stress. Please, Mr. Sherman, don’t make this any worse than it has to be.” She rushed to the bathroom. Charlie and Hyacinth exchanged bewildered looks. Kathleen turned away and coughed. Or cackled.

  A minute later, Angela shrieked. By the time she rushed out of the bathroom, more boils had erupted. “Come on,” she snapped to Hyacinth. “I need to see a dermatologist.”

  “You know where I stand,” she told Charlie as she stomped out. Hyacinth trailed behind.

  “Stand? Looks like she’s running.” Kathleen chuckled, peeking out the window. “Running sores. But she brought this on herself. Honor thy father and mother. Ha! Instead, she tries to kill my project. She has no idea what she’s dealing with. You know what I mean.”

  “No, actually. What do you mean?” Charlie asked.

  “I put a plague on her.”

  “A plague?”

  She nodded grimly. “Told you I’d do it. She asked for it. Don’t look at me that way. She’s got to learn. She’ll be OK when she realizes she can’t interfere.”

  Charlie shook his head, unable to accept what he’d just seen and heard. He picked up the envelope Angela had left for him on the coffee table. Inside was a letter from an attorney named Bethany Campbell demanding that he immediately vacate the premises and declaring the agreement he’d signed with Kathleen null and void. “Blah, blah, blah,” he said as he read.

  Kathleen returned to the kitchen, and Charlie went outside to see a crow about a contract, but the bird flew off at his approach.

  * * *

  The next morning—New Year’s Eve—Charlie found it difficult to concentrate on editing due to a draft, so he weather-stripped the study’s window. While he was working, Hyacinth showed up and spoke with Kathleen in the living room. Charlie came out of the study just in time to see money change hands. The redhead gave him a choppy wave, then skedaddled out the door and bounced down the steps.