Granted, that wasn’t a very brisk pace, but everyone’s business should have been open. Fiji opened the Inquiring Mind right on time, but she watched out her front window anxiously to see if the Midnight Pawn CLOSED sign would flip over to OPEN.
The pawnshop never opened that Tuesday, though. The CLOSED sign stayed up all day.
When she walked down to Gas N Go to get some milk, Fiji discovered Shawn Lovell was having a banner day. Some of the law enforcement officers were stopping in to top up their vehicles with gas and to get cold water and snacks. When Fiji went to the counter with her purchase, Creek was working the cash register while Shawn ran the credit cards and stocked the shelves.
“Connor at school?” Fiji asked Creek.
“Yeah, he needs to be busy, and he doesn’t need to miss any classes,” the girl said. “For once, we could use him here.”
“Hey, Fiji,” called Shawn. “You doing okay after yesterday?”
“Yeah. At least you’re doing good, huh?”
Shawn shrugged as he tucked some more bags of peanuts into a clip-type dispenser. “I guess so.” He didn’t seem happy about this rush of business. He seemed exhausted and worried. “Be better when Connor gets here. It’s almost time for the bus.”
Fiji glanced over at the desk in the corner that Shawn had put there. It was a place for Connor to do his homework. Shawn didn’t even trust the fourteen-year-old to do his homework in his own home, a small house to the north of the gas station, on the Davy highway. Shawn Lovell was not a man long on trust, Fiji thought, not for the first time. The Lovells kept their history to themselves, and everyone in Midnight respected that.
Carrying her bag of milk, Fiji decided to walk a little farther, down to the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon. It was open. To her surprise, there was a woman she didn’t know sitting in Chuy’s special chair getting a mani-pedi.
Fiji had planned to have an idle conversation with Joe, whom she knew a little better than Chuy, who was more reserved. But just as she came in and Chuy told her where Joe was, another customer came in, a rancher’s wife from Marthasville way, and she was there to buy a picture frame she’d admired the previous week.
Next, Fiji crossed the road to Home Cookin. Madonna was sitting at the counter working a crossword puzzle while Grady napped.
“Hey,” said Madonna, without much enthusiasm. “Too late for lunch, but I got some leftovers I can sell you.”
“I just wanted to see how you all were doing,” Fiji said, knowing as she said it that she sounded weak. She had never dropped into Home Cookin between mealtimes before, and she’d never set foot in the double-wide trailer set up behind the restaurant. “Teacher working today?”
“Yeah, he’s working about six miles east. Helping a retired postal worker rebuild his front steps. That means Teacher’s doing it while the old man sits watching and talking.” Madonna looked longingly at her crossword, and Fiji took the hint and left.
The Rev was not in the chapel. Fiji found him behind the fence in the pet cemetery. It was a place that fascinated her, partly because it was one of the few concealed places in Midnight. The wooden fence, the planks pointed at the top, was at least six and a half feet tall and painted an immaculate white.
The Rev had left the trees in place, so it was peaceful inside. Fiji didn’t know how long it had been since the Rev had established the cemetery, but she estimated it was about half full of graves.
Some were marked with crosses, some with Stars of David, others with pentagrams. There was a cat statue on one little rectangle, a dog’s leash mounted on a forked stick on another, and an actual small headstone carved with “Tonks.” There were pictures on frames sticking up out of the dirt marking some graves. Some were marked only by mounds.
“What are you doing today?” she asked. The old man was standing at an especially large monument in the middle of the “occupied” area.
“It’s bless the graves day,” he said.
“Oh . . . appropriate,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it.”
But she watched for a few minutes, the plastic bag with the milk hanging from her hand, while the Rev moved slowly from grave to grave, praying for each departed soul. This ritual, which he performed monthly, often took him two days. Seeing he was absorbed in his task, she eased out of the gate without further comment.
She looked across the street at Midnight Pawn. She glimpsed Bobo’s face at the window of his apartment. But he did not raise his hand or acknowledge her in any way, so she trudged back to her house, the milk banging against her leg.
After dark that night, Fiji saw that the pawnshop lights were on, and she walked over to the store. She needed some company. She was too wired up to read or to watch television.
Lemuel was at his post. Fiji was not at all surprised to find that Olivia had come up from her apartment to keep him company. There was a customer, too. Lemuel appeared to be striking a bargain with a strange, hunched man.
The most interesting people come in at night, Fiji thought. She stepped past the men to sit by Olivia in the two chairs that matched a breakfast table.
“I could kick myself now that I know about Aubrey,” Olivia muttered to Fiji, as Lemuel and the hunched man agreed on terms. “I should have investigated her, when it became obvious that she didn’t fit in.”
Fiji didn’t ask any questions about what qualified Olivia to investigate or how she would have gone about such a thing. If you were going to live in Midnight, there were some subjects you didn’t delve into. “When were you sure you didn’t like her?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager to know the answer.
“After she’d been here a couple of weeks,” Olivia replied without hesitation.
Fiji suppressed a triumphant smile. Her spell had been effective, maybe! Though if it had really worked, if Olivia had understood Aubrey’s true nature as Fiji had hoped everyone would do, Aubrey’s true nature hadn’t seemed quite as repulsive to Olivia (or anyone else) as Fiji had hoped. For a moment, Fiji didn’t think well of herself. If it required a spell for Aubrey’s true nature to become apparent . . . didn’t that mean her false one was pretty damn good? In fact, close to being true? Was Fiji’s spell-casting only an exhibition of sour grapes? What if her own true character was open to everyone’s interpretation? Thinking of her many failings and weaknesses, Fiji shrank from the idea.
“What can we do to help Bobo?” she said.