Long Black Curl by Alex Bledsoe Page A

she wants to step down and live here quietly, that’s perfectly fine with me. I might even keep her on as an advisor. I’m just saying, I’ll be coming for what I want, and if anyone gets in my way, no matter how old or young they are, they’ll have to deal with the consequences.”
    â€œYou are a vile woman, Bo-Kate Wisby,” Peggy said. “Vile. It’s the only word for it.”
    â€œYeah, well, sticks and stones, Miss Peggy. You know ‘Bonnie Annie,’ right? I’ll steal my father’s gold and my mother’s money, just like the song says. But I don’t need a sea captain; I’ll make myself a lady.”
    â€œNot if somebody stops you.”
    Now she laughed outright. “There’s not a person in this town, in this valley, who can stop me. Not you, and for sure not that creepy-ass little girl. I’ll see you soon, Miss Peggy.” She turned and strode out of the lobby.
    *   *   *
    Peggy Goins stared down at the baggy with the severed fingers. The skin was cut clean, with the ends of the bones visible in the stump. Blood pooled in one corner of the bag. One finger lay nail-up, while the other displayed its pad. The distinctive fingerprint whorls were crisscrossed by tiny scars, and blocked in places by calluses from more years of banjo playing that anyone could imagine.
    How many times had she, girl and woman, heard those fingers in action? The old man was a vicious, lying, perverted bastard, but he could make a banjo ring out like the bells of Christian heaven. Now, even if his other fingers remained, that sound was gone; no more would he create notes and chords only he could play.
    Softly, she sang,
    As I was a-walking down by St. James’ Hospital,
    I was a-walking down by there one day,
    What should I spy but one of my comrades
    All wrapped up in flannel though warm was the day.
    She snatched a tissue from the nearby box and draped it over the bag of fingers like a burial shroud. Something essential had just died, permanently and irrevocably. It was like losing the rain. And it left a vacuum into which the awful Bo-Kate Wisby hoped to step.
    She had to call someone. Mandalay was the obvious choice, but something stopped her. It wasn’t like Mandalay wouldn’t know what had happened on her own, anyway. That girl knew everything. Instead she pulled up Bliss Overbay’s number on the speed dial, but hesitated at the last moment. She couldn’t go around spreading a panic.
    So she went to the door to her apartment and hollered, “Marshall? Come on out here, and be quick about it, you hear me?”
    Her husband emerged, yawning from his afternoon nap. “What’s wrong?”
    She told him. And then she showed him the fingers.
    *   *   *
    As Bo-Kate climbed back into the SUV, Nigel looked up from the game on his phone and said, “So, are we staying here at the Bobcat Arms?”
    â€œNo, I told you. We’re staying at my family’s house.”
    â€œI’ve seen pictures of houses in Appalachia. I’m not sure I know outhouse etiquette.” He paused, then added, “So how did it go?”
    â€œDelightfully. I left her speechless.”
    â€œYou showed her the fingers, didn’t you?”
    â€œDidn’t just show them. I left them with her. Now everyone in the county will know I ain’t fooling.”
    â€œWon’t the police come looking for you, then? I mean, I know this is the hills and all, but isn’t taking body parts, even excess ones, frowned upon?”
    â€œYou just trust me, Nigel. What I’ve got in mind for this dump will blow your mind as much as it will theirs.” She pointed down the highway. “Onward, sir. Our castle awaits.”
    *   *   *
    Bliss Overbay awoke on her couch. She was confused for a moment, as the dream she’d just been experiencing was so vivid.
    She’d been in an airplane, the