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The service was a melancholy affair as a warm spring rain fell outside the chapel at the church, but Bea felt like that was appropriate. The casket, of course, was closed, but she greeted both Mr. and Mrs. Hartley. Pastor K. said a brief few words and both Mae and Gregg were blessedly subdued.

Bea said goodbye to her friends after the service as they weren't feeling like going to the burial, but it had been a while since Bea had spent time with her mother, so she turned on her car's lights and followed the train of cars to the cemetery. The rain had stopped and the grave site was covered by a tent anyway, so other than getting a little mud on her boots, it was alright. Casey's parents were reserved as could be expected, considering they were burying their son.

She'd managed to keep her composure until they lowered the casket into the ground, but memories of her mother's burial came flooding back and she was unable to hold back the tears any longer. All the assurances of the afterlife and that the dead person's soul lived forever didn't help. She left shortly after and walked back to her car where she got out the flowers she'd bought earlier, then walked back to where her mother's headstone stood up stark against the wet ground.

"Hi Mom," she said quietly to the grave. "I brought you some flowers. Damn, I hope you're there somewhere. They just buried Casey. I never really told you about him, did I? I don't know if you, like, know my mind. I hope not. It would be embarrassing. But I think I was in love with him. Well, really I know I was. He was killed by some nut jobs here, but I'd broken up with him before that because he brought drugs and stuff into the Pickaxe. Casey, if you can hear me too... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so hard on you."

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to shut off the shudders that were coming on - a sure prelude to another round of crying. It worked.

"Anyway, Mom, Dad's doing alright I guess. We miss you. I miss you. I've got enough for the lease on the building, inventory and taxes this month. Still can't hire Germ full time, though. Bill's still there, but I keep him out of the store as much as I can. He hasn't done anything for a long time though, so I think it's okay. Sorry I haven't been back more often."

A little while later, she stood up again and brushed the mud off her knees. She looked over to where Casey's grave was. Workmen were taking down the tent and two other men were shoveling more dirt over it, filling it in. Everyone else had left. She took a flower from her mom's bouquet and walked back to where the shovelers were just finishing up.

There was no headstone, so she just dropped the flower over the mound.

"The headstone will be installed next week," said a voice she recognized behind her. She didn't turn around.

"Hi Pastor K. Why are you still here?"

"Oh, I guess I'm like you. I know a lot of people buried here. You cared a lot about Casey, didn't you?"

It was more a statement than a question. Bea just nodded.

"I know I'm supposed to tell you he's in a better place and all that, Bea. But even us religious people don't know for sure of course. I suppose no one alive does. That's why they call it 'faith' I guess."

"Do you have faith? Do you think he's still around... somewhere?"

"I have faith. It's all we have, Bea. Still agnostic I suppose? I don't suppose I could talk you into coming to service some day?"

"I'd feel like a hypocrite, Pastor K."

"We're all hypocrites, Bea. We do the best we can though. I think someday you'll be a regular - but you have to find your own way home first."

Bea turned around to face the diminutive pastor, anger flashing in her eyes.

"I can't believe in your God, Pastor. A decent God wouldn't allow things like this. And don't give me that Mysterious Ways crap. The only God that would allow this doesn't give a shit about us. Surely you know that!"

"We're alive, Bea. He's not, but we are."

"We're just amoebas. Scum on the surface of the earth."

"Now you're just venting. It's okay, Bea. Venting is good sometimes. Did you love him?"

Bea turned back to the grave, imagining the bones underneath it.

"Yes."

"Do you think you just loved an amoeba? We're more than that, Bea. If we weren't, we wouldn't hurt so bad."

"I don't believe in your religion, Pastor Karen, but I'm coming to understand the need for it at least. I'm glad you're here. You help people get over things like this."

"I try to help people cope, Bea, but no one gets over it. Death and religion are inseparable."

"I saw him, Pastor. Down there in the mine. For just a minute, I thought I saw him. I was probably imagining it though."

"Could be. Your mother believed, Bea."

"Didn't do her much good, did it."

"I don't know. She went through a lot, Bea, and not just the illness. She believed, and she loved you and your father an awful lot. I think her faith helped her get through each day."

"Careful, Pastor K. My mom is a touchy subject with me, okay?"

"Okay Bea. But if you ever need to talk... you know where I am."

"Don't hold your breath," Bea said.

As if on cue, the rain began again. Pastor Karen opened her umbrella and handed it to Bea. She took it gratefully, and held it over both their heads as they walked back to where the cars waited.

************

The police finally released their report, detailing the Black Goat cult and their sacrifices. The story rekindled interest in Possum Springs for another month, but the attention on Bea and her friends who had first found the sacrifices waned as the magnitude of the crime was revealed. But even that horrific revelation soon faded from the public eye since all had apparently died in the cave-in and there would be no trial to focus attention on the murders.

Bea didn't know any of the members well, and she was glad of that. Angus apparently knew one of them as a former co-worker at the Video Outpost II, but they'd never been friendly.

Spring had begun to turn towards summer when a man walked into the Pickaxe that Bea recognized immediately. This time, however, he wasn't posing as a customer, nor did he attempt to surreptitiously record her inventory on his phone. Instead he walked up to the counter.

"Hello Bea, do you remember me?"

Germ wasn't there that day, but Mae was in the warehouse cleaning up after a recent delivery.

"Mister video. Here to finish the job?"

The old gator smiled. "Oh Bea, we finished that ages ago. We know all about your business. Things have really picked up since the mine thing, haven't they?"

It was true enough. Though the mine was well sealed now, there were plenty of caves in the area too and spelunking in the area had really picked up. She had taken advantage of the renewed interest by stocking a wide variety of climbing and caving hardware and becoming familiar with their use. She cringed now, thinking back to. the amateurish methods they had used back then, and how lucky they'd been not to have hurt themselves.

"We're doing alright. What do you want Mr. Video?"

"The name is Brown. Hamilton Brown. I work for a competitor of yours, MISS Santello."

The guy had done his homework.

"I see. And why shouldn't I kick you out again right now, Mr. Brown?"

He reached into his jacket and brought forth a manila envelope.

"We want to buy you out, Bea."

Bea looked at the envelope. It was thick with papers.

"Not much of a competitor if you just buy out the competition."

"Look through those papers tonight before you reject our offer out of hand. We've already bought the land out by the Interstate. Groundbreaking will commence soon. As soon as the news hits, this offer will be rescinded."

Bea's eyes opened wide. "Home Badger."

Mr. Brown nodded. "Bea, we will put you out of business and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You know it already. But we have a proposal for you. An absurdly lucrative proposal, given your revenue. But we do our research too. Somehow, even as young as you are, you've amassed quite a lot of good will here in Possum Springs. Especially after finding those kids' bodies. Good will is a valuable and very tangible thing. We're willing to pay for it."

"So, what's your angle, Mr. Brown? You just want to buy the Pickaxe, and shut it down?"

"There are those who had intended something like that. But they've been overruled. No, Bea. We want to buy the Pickaxe and keep it open - as an extension of the new mega-store Home Badger. We'll even keep the name. 'The Ol' Pickaxe - Your Neighborhood Store, by Home Badger'. You may not have noticed, but the downtown area here is going through something of a renaissance. We'd like to be a part of that."

"I already am a part of that," Bea said, sliding the envelope back. "I'll take my chances, thanks."

"Bea," said Mr. Brown, sliding the envelope back again. "Please, take a look. We're not your enemy - or at least we don't have to be. We can be your partner, if you'll consider it. Bea, it may take a year or two, but eventually your business is going to fade as your customers begin to abandon you. You could keep the doors open, but your profits will dwindle even more. You're barely making ends meet now, and that's with... shall we say... questionable employment practices. It will only get worse. Please, consider it. Talk it over with your father."

Bea's natural reaction was to fight it. But time had tamed her tendencies to snap judgments.

She looked at the old gator. Underneath his polished exterior, his eyes looked bright.

"Do you get a bonus if I agree, Mr. Brown?"

"Of course I do. But that doesn't mean it's not a good deal. I think you'll agree when you read the details. You'll want to hire a lawyer to go over the fine print, but I'm confident there's nothing in there that you'll be opposed to."

"It's not my store, you know," Bea said, but she took the envelope and put it on a shelf under the counter.

"No, but it might as well be. Your father isn't well. You've done very good by him, but he's not getting better. He needs help, Bea. Professional help. And not by your Dr. Hanks. This could provide that help."

"At the cost of the business he worked all his life to build," Bea responded, but without much heat. She wasn't so sure.

"Read the offer, Bea. It's only the first two pages that covers all the major points."

"The devil is in the details though."

"That's what lawyers are for, but I don't think you'll find any devils in here. You know what we want, Bea. We're willing to pay handsomely for it. What we really want is your goodwill. We don't want the people in and around Possum Springs to see us as big-city interlopers. We want to be your partner. But yes, we would own the Pickaxe."

"Get out of my store, Mr. Brown."

He nodded and produced a card. It had only his name and a phone number printed on it, but the background color was the unmistakable hue of the Home Badger. She took it and slid it in with the other papers in the envelope as he left.

Mae came in from the back.

"Who was that?"

Bea looked up from the envelope. When she'd opened it to insert the card, she'd seen a number on the first page. A very, very large number.

"Huh? Oh. That's Mr. Brown. Nothing important."