Wings to the Kingdom (Eden Moore 2)

I checked my watch. It wasn’t even suppertime.

I closed the magazine and downed the last of my coffee. The library was only a few blocks away, and I couldn’t think of anything better to do; so I tossed my bag over my shoulder and began to walk. It was an unseasonably nice day, after all—not too hot, not too humid. Plenty of sun, and just enough shade to break up the glare.

The farther you walk away from the river, the emptier downtown looks. Most of the storefronts are a hundred years old or more, and on some blocks fewer than one in four is occupied. But if you keep going past the emptiness, the longer you walk, the brighter the buildings get—at least in patches. Between the stretches of nothing, the odd bank building gleams, and once you get down to the TVA headquarters, the place looks positively civilized again.

Across the street from the library something new was going up where once there had been a parking lot. Construction had eaten a lane on all four sides of the block, and street parking wasn’t what it used to be.

I passed a pair of older men relaxing on the concrete stairs and entered the ugly old building via the squeaky glass door. I parked myself in front of an available monitor, which I luckily didn’t have to clear any porn off of before starting, and began my surfing in earnest.

A few quick searches turned up a handful of old news stories, but nothing that sounded like a promising match for Malachi’s friend.

I tried again, adding the words “Moccasin Bend” to the mix, but again I struck out. A few more combinations led me to someone’s blog, and after scanning a few paragraphs I learned that the author was a volunteer at the Bend.

A candy striper in a psych ward? I kept reading but didn’t learn much more. She filed paperwork and managed activities, occasionally handing out mail or meds. It didn’t sound too complicated, but I wasn’t sure how she’d gone about getting this volunteer position.

Maybe I could go on out there and ask. B

enny wouldn’t be off work until midnight, and Jamie wouldn’t be meeting me until after his date ended—around eleven if he was lucky, around nine-thirty if she was smart.

I checked my watch again. I had time.

I logged off the computer and left the library, happily forming a new plan.

Once I’d tracked down Moccasin Bend in the middle of the night, it was much easier to find the place in broad daylight.

My second impression of the Bend was no better than my first, the sun didn’t do anything at all to improve the premises. Everything was still white and cold in the shadow of the mountain.

The buildings made a perfect ugly box at the end of the thumb-shaped peninsula, each one more or less the same. The compound looked like a neurotic collage of toy blocks, with all of the sharp edges but none of the color or charm. I drove between them slowly, looking up at every building front for clues as to how I might go about getting inside.

The visitors’ parking lot seemed like a good starting point.

I pulled in and settled the Death Nugget into a space, then left it for the nearest and most promising-looking administrative building.

Inside, the floors were intermittently shiny, due to a half-assed wax job on wide, dirty tiles; and the russet orange Naugahyde waiting area chairs were older than I was. A variety of uniformed personnel darted through the main room and through a pair of double doors. Behind a window in the wall an old attendant with a gray bouffant hairdo looked up at me, clearly wondering who I might be and what I might want.

I nodded a greeting. She nodded back, and returned her attention to the computer monitor in front of her.

There was a clipboard on the window shelf, and it clearly held a stack of sign-in sheets for comers and goers. I perused it for information and inspiration. “Can I help you, darlin’?” the attendant asked.

“I’m here to volunteer,” I said.

She brightened, then, looking up from the computer monitor as if all might have suddenly become clear. “Oh, you’re here with the church? The outreach program, I mean?”

“Yes,” I lied, because it was easy. My original plan had been to show up and see what becoming a volunteer involved, but if I could skip that step and fib my way in, so much the better. “I’m here with Kitty’s old church,” I continued, riding the tall tale along its logical track.

It was a safe bet that once upon a time, Kitty’d had a church. Almost everyone around here does, and besides, the woman had committed her crimes in the name of God. It would also be a fair guess that representatives of that church might visit every so often, if only to make sure God hadn’t relayed any further instructions.

The woman in the window scrunched a fold down between her eyes, but it wasn’t an unfriendly one. After all, I came from a church. I must be okay.

“I didn’t realize they were sending anyone today. Usually the church folks come out on Wednesdays or Thursdays. ”

“Well, we heard that Kitty wasn’t doing so well lately, and since I was out this way I thought I’d swing on by and see if I couldn’t cheer her up, if that’s all right with the hospital here. ”

The attendant, whose name tag read PAM, folded her arms and leaned forward, mashing together a ponderous pair of breasts until they nearly climbed out the top of her shirt. “You know, that’s true,” she agreed with a slight air of gossipy concern. “The poor thing’s been all kinds of wound up for the last week or two. We’re not sure what’s gotten into her. They had her in solitary for a while, but they moved her back to a regular room yesterday. This one’s upstairs, though. She insisted, and we got tired of listening to her holler. ”

“Maybe she could use a bit of company…or some prayer,” I added as an afterthought—since I was from a church and all.

“Sure, sure. Bless her heart. ”