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“Smooth,” she said. “They should send you to the Middle East to see if you can work your magic there. Is he even speaking to you?”
“He’ll get over it. ”
“I guess. Before that happened, he was opening up about his dreams and all that. He’s a mess, Val, but at least he’s seeing a doc, and he’s able to discuss it with me. He said that when the season is over he’s going to take Sarah and the kids to the islands for a long vacation. ”
“At least that sounds hopeful rather than crazy. ” She sighed. “Everyone’s under a lot of pressure right now. Mark is still acting like a jerk and Connie spends half the day crying. I’m embarrassed to say it, but they’re both starting to get on my nerves. I’d rather be alone here than have to babysit them. I do have my own stuff to deal with right now. ”
“I know you do, babe. Which is why I have something planned for tonight. ”
“Tonight? I told you that I had a Growers Association meeting tonight. I won’t be getting home until after eight. ”
“Eight’s good. ”
“What’s the plan? And don’t tell me there’s a Twilight Zone marathon on—”
“Nope, but it is a secret. You go to your meeting and I’ll see you at home. ”
After she’d hung up, Crow folded his phone and laid it on his chest as he stared at the ceiling, thinking about Terry and Weinstock, Mark and Connie. And Val. Always about Val.
Ubel Griswold sends his regards. It popped into his head like a firecracker and he jumped, sitting up so fast that his cat tumbled to the floor and howled in surprise and fury and his cell phone bounced off the floor and then skittered under the couch. All at once the immense reality of what he was planning to do on Friday hit him like a fist. Friday morning—just three days from now—he was going to be going down the long slope from the Passion Pit, deep into the darkness of Dark Hollow, and through the woods to try and find the house of Ubel Griswold. On Friday the 13th.
“Jesus Christ,” he said.
Chapter 21
(1)
Crow went back in to the store and worked for a few hours while Mike sat behind the counter and finished his homework, a paper on Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. Crow used the time to make a battery of phone calls related to the big Halloween celebration. He called the Dead In Drive-in to make sure all of the films had been ordered, and then called Ken Foree, the star of the original Dawn of the Dead, and went over the itinerary for the presentation he’d be giving. Then he called Brinke Stevens and chatted amiably with the “scream queen” about the talk she would be giving after the screening of a couple of her films. Then he made a conference call to his two webmasters, David Kramer and Geoff Strauss, to remind them to post only PG-13 versions of Brinke Stevens’s publicity shots on the Hayride’s Web site—not the versions the two of them had downloaded and e-mailed to him. They were crushed, but Crow reminded them that the Hayride was a family attraction, after all.
He made a call to Pittsburgh and talked with Tom Savini, and went over the budget for the makeup effects workshop he was giving at the college. Savini was going to have the workshop students do full-on monster makeup so that the whole class would look like flesh-eating zombies. The materials were expensive, but every seat had already been booked and he asked Savini to consider doing a second workshop the following day. Pine Deep was going to own Halloween, no doubt of that.
When he was done with his calls, he ordered pizza delivery and when it arrived, Mike saved his file, shut down his laptop, and the two of them taunted each other with science fiction trivia while they plowed through double-pepperoni, onion rings, and large Cokes. Customers came and went, waited on by both of them, their mouths puffed out like chipmunks around big bites of pizza.
Munching the last onion ring, Crow strolled outside for some air. Corn Hill was crammed with cars as Tuesday afternoon faded into evening and the after-work crowd mingled with a fresh tide of tourists. There was laughter everywhere and music coming from at least three bars, the happy sounds spilling out into the street. It was dark, but the street was alight with neon and the glow from hundreds of store windows. Crow leaned against the wall by his door and watched the crowd as he chewed. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number for Saul Weinstock. It was answered on the third ring.
“Crow! I’m so glad you finally called. ”
/> “I tried earlier but you were in a meeting, and then I got busy at the store. So, what’s the big thing you want to tell me? You’re acting very weird these days. ”
“A lot of things are very weird these days,” Weinstock said softly.
“Oh good, you’re being even more cryptic. ”
“Look, I need to run a few things by you. Can you come over tomorrow?”
“Can’t…I’m taking a reporter down into Dark Hollow tomorrow. He’s doing a story on the Reaper Murders and I—”
“You’re what?”
Crow explained, but Weinstock replied with a huge sigh. “You’re a moron sometimes, Crow. Jesus H. Christ. Look, I need to see you. Soon. ”
“Okay. How about tomorrow night?”
“‘Night’?” Weinstock echoed. “No, I don’t think that would be good. Can you meet me at my office Saturday morning? Say, nine?”
“Sure. ”
“Good. And, Crow…be careful down there. I mean it…really careful. ” With that he hung up.
