Book of Days: A Novel (7 page)

An hour later Cameron checked to make sure his mountain bike was securely mounted on top of his MINI Cooper, then slipped behind the wheel. He tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat on top of a couple of books on Central Oregon history and buckled up.

The backseat was stuffed with his laptop, video camera, clothes, and climbing gear: ropes, carabineers, tapered wedges, SLCDs, harnesses, shoes, and chalk. Always lots of chalk, so he wouldn't slip. Climbing safe meant climbing in control. No emotion, only execution.

Even the adrenaline rush that coursed through him when he climbed wasn't emotion. It was a drug, an endorphin high that buried his pain. A way to keep the loss of Jessie at bay for at least a few hours. And a way to be close to her at the same time.

His mind shifted to Ann. She had finally relented and agreed to meet him, saying she'd been meaning to come to Three Peaks anyway on a personal matter. She would arrive in Three Peaks in a couple days but could only stay for a week at the most. Fine with him. All he needed was a little help.

He fired up his car and headed south on I-5 toward Oregon. Wispy clouds moved across the sky, covering and uncovering a brilliant sun framed by a sapphire sky. That old sixties song nailed it: the bluest skies were in Seattle. He glanced at his dashboard temperature gauge. Seventy-seven degrees. A perfect summer day.

He'd read that depressed people killed themselves more often on sunny days. They were supposed to feel better when the sun was out. When they didn't, any remaining hope died, and so did they.

He'd traveled that road hundreds of times in his imagination. When Jessie died, the idea shoved its way into his mind at least a few times a day.

The blackness had tried to draw him in. It invited him to a place with no pain, no emotions, no longings—nothing but sweet relief from despair, so thick every day felt like he was slogging through waist-high tar.

The past year had been better. His mind said ending his life wasn't the answer, even if his heart continued to argue back.

These days whenever the dark thoughts surfaced, he shoved them underwater till they drowned.

He shouldn't worry about it. If he ever got serious about the idea again, Jessie would probably swoop down from heaven or wherever she was, stop him and say, "How can you think about destroying your life? You have a destiny. One that no other life can fill. Live free, Aragorn."

A king that loses his mind. Yeah, what a great tale that would be.

"Where are you, Jessie? Are you and Dad together? My heart is so barren without the two of you."

Cameron pulled into Three Peaks late that afternoon looking for Dream It, Do It Hardware, the place he'd get his first shot at finding answers.

A hair salon anchored the corner of the first building. Midway down the street was Bronco & Buster's Grill & Saloon and a sporting goods store with rubber canoes out front and a basket of clearance items spread out on the sidewalk.

On the other side was Palino's Pizza, the town hall, and Java Jump Start. At least he'd be able to get a decent caffeine jolt each morning.

At the end of the next block was the Ponderosa Lodge Best Western. He glanced at the name of the hotel on his itinerary. Yep. The Ponderosa would be home for the next two weeks.

Across the street stood the hardware store. He pulled into the parking lot on the side of the building and sat in his car, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. One minute. Two. Probably the place where his journey would end before it started.

Jessie loved her dreams and visions. About God, about life, about all things spiritual.

Maybe the book was just another one of her fantasies.

Maybe his dad's words were the final ramblings of a mind shutting down forever.

Only one way to discover the truth. Start asking questions.

Lots of questions.

As he stepped through the door of Dream It, Do It Hardware, chimes announced his arrival. He scanned the store. No customers. To his right a small fan pushed a faint smell of sawdust and grease into his nostrils.

"How can I be of help to you today?" said a man with thinning, dirty-blond hair. He sat behind a low counter on a tall maple stool and pecked at a computer keyboard with his forefingers. He wore a rumpled blue polo shirt with a
Benjamin Moore
logo and khaki shorts. Cameron guessed the man was in his late fifties, early sixties.

He eased toward the man. "I'm looking for Mayor Kirk Gillum."

"Mind if I tell him who it 'tiz that's searching for him?" The man stepped out from behind the counter, his eyes narrow.

"My name's Cameron Vaux, I'm—"

"Right, we met on the phone. I'm Kirk." He folded his arms across his chest. "You don't look like you sound on the phone, Mr. Vaux. You've got one of those deep radio voices, so I thought you'd be six foot ten or something. Of course, I probably don't look like I sound either. People rarely do." He unfolded his arms and gave Cameron a weak handshake. "I suppose I should offer you a drink."

Kirk moved back around the counter and opened a small refrigerator. "I've got Diet Mountain Dew; that's about it."

"Mountain Dew is fine."

He tossed a can to Cameron who snagged it with one hand.

Kirk stepped back to the counter and leaned forward on his elbows. "You mentioned you're a videographer, right? Will you be doing any filming while you're down here?"

"Probably not."

"Too bad. It would be a real treat to have someone make a documentary about our town," Kirk said.

"Treat?"

"The wonderful things about a small town outweigh the downsides, without question, but one of those downsides is wheelbarrows full of monotony. Three Peaks is great for tourists, but sometimes we locals like a little shot of excitement. Having a film crew here would be kinda fun."

Cameron took a swig of Mountain Dew. "Sorry to disappoint you, but maybe someday."

"No problem. So you want some history on Three Peaks, huh?"

Kirk didn't wait for Cameron to answer. "Like I said when you called from Seattle, I'm not much of a historian, but a few folks around here can tell you everything, from the highest and lowest temperatures for the past fifty years to who won the Doggie Dash ten summers back. I've already told them you'd be coming."

Kirk yanked a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to Cameron. On it were three names with addresses and phone numbers.

"They're looking forward to meeting you. First is Arnold Peasley. He's a little off center—most folks around here would say he's certifiably peculiar—but he knows his history like I know nuts and bolts.

"Next is Laura Moon. She was the mayor here before me and owns the crystals store in town. She runs the local theater and writes her own plays sometimes. Her plays are about as exciting as bird-watching, but we like her too much to complain."

"I know some people who really enjoy birding."

"Sorry to hear that." Kirk almost smiled. "Just kidding."

He tapped the next name on the list. "Then we've got Susan Hillman, the best of the bunch. She works at the library, so she can point you to the history books. She's a rock, solid as they come, and is one of the keenest observers of people you'll ever meet. A little whacked out when it comes to her spiritual beliefs, but we overlook that as best we can."

"Thanks, I appreciate all the help."

"No problem, young Cameron." Kirk attempted another smile. "Anything else you want to know before we say good-bye?"

Should he tell this guy the real reason he was here? Kirk Gillum wasn't exactly heating up the hardware store with his warmth. But what could it hurt?

"I want to talk about my dad."

"Your dad?"

"He lived here till he was nine."

Kirk rubbed his chin. "Interesting. It is indeed a small world. Is this the first time you've visited Three Peaks?"

Cameron nodded. "First time."

"And you wanted to see where he spent his early years? Is that what this history thing is about?"

"That and hopefully a little bit more."

"More?" Kirk leaned back and folded his arms again.

"My dad died eight years ago, but before he did, he said something strange. His mind was gone at the time so I didn't pay much attention then. But some recent . . . circumstances have made me think again about what he said and take it a little more seriously."

"And what did he say?" Kirk titled his head.

"That I needed to find the day's book. I have to find out if it exists."

"The day's book? Hmm . . . ?" Kirk squeezed the tip of his tongue between his lips and looked like he'd taken a bite of lemon pie without any sugar.

"Does that mean anything to you?"

The mayor stared at him with a condescending smile. "Don't take this the wrong way, Cameron, but why in the world would you want to go searching for something like that? Trust me, leave it alone."

"So it does mean something to you."

"Of course it means something to me, or I wouldn't have suggested you drop it." Kirk stood and strolled toward the front door of the store. "But since I'm one of the friendliest people you'll meet in this town, young Cameron, I'll say it again. You might consider just leaving it alone."

Cameron planted his hands on his hips. "Mind telling me why?"

"You are a free citizen and can do whatever you want within the confines of the law." Kirk pushed open the front door. "But I do hate to see anyone in my town, especially a fine new friend, waste his time chasing down some fairy tale that is none of his business when he could be out doing so many other interesting things." He motioned through the door toward Cameron's car. "Thanks for coming by."

Cameron took the not-so-subtle hint and walked out. He climbed into his car and fell back in his seat.

Until that moment, he hadn't given his dad's and Jessie's words more than a fifty-fifty chance of having any validity. No longer.

A fairy tale? Not to Kirk it wasn't. So what was this book?

Cameron pulled Gillum's list out of his pocket. Time to meet quirky Arnold Peasley.

CHAPTER 5

What are you still doing here?"

Ann Banister looked up from her desk to find Drew Silster standing in the doorway of her office, arms spread to both sides of the door frame, his eyes twinkling behind his squared-off glasses. Good boss. Good friend.

"I was plowing through a few e-mails and wrapping up a few last-minute details," Ann said.

"You mean you were stalling?"

"You're funny." Ann smiled. "I mean I was wrapping up a few details."

"Anything I can do for you while you're gone?"

She shut down her e-mail. "Yes. You could pray for my trip. I'll need it."

"Excellent suggestion. I'll get started on that as soon as I figure out how that whole prayer thing works." Drew stroked his chin. "When you get back, I've got a stupendously stellar story for you to work on."

"That's the twentieth time you've used that line this year." Ann leaned back in her chair and folded her hands across her dark blue Nike jacket. "And it's only July. You're addicted to alliteration."

"I can't believe I'm giving you three weeks off in a row."