China Lake (32 page)

A meter maid’s three-wheeled scooter revved up beside the truck. Beneath her motorcycle helmet and aviator shades, the meter maid’s face was pinched. She grabbed her citation book. The woman in the truck started swatting the driver on the shoulder. He fired up the engine and hauled away, leaving the meter maid scrambling to get the tag number.

Jesse met us at Rocky Nook Park. The oaks were thick, leaves dry green, sunlight dappling the ground. Luke was climbing on boulders by a dry creekbed, and I was sitting on a picnic table, throwing acorns at a tree. They cracked against the bark like gunfire. Jesse came toward me slowly, careful with the crutches on uneven ground.

‘‘You and Detective Ramseur didn’t hit it off?’’ he said.

"He’s filing me under K for kook." I flung another acorn. ‘‘I might as well have handed him an alien probe and a map of UFO landing sites.’’

‘‘The folks at China Lake wouldn’t like that. You giving away their secrets.’’

I gave him a look.

‘‘Sorry.’’ He sat down on the table next to me. ‘‘Tell me what you’ve got.’’

I told him about the stolen Botox, and the discussion of biological warfare I’d had with my father. I explained about Jorgensen’s attic and the reasons why people bitten by bats don’t know they’ve been infected until it’s too late. About needing more evidence to connect this rabies outbreak to the Remnant, and about the clacking sound I heard in my head, a big clock winding down to Halloween.

He stared up the dry creek. The breeze stirred the trees, and sunlight shivered gold across his white dress shirt.

‘‘I’ve been thinking about something,’’ he said. ‘‘Rabies used to be called hydrophobia. Correct?’’

‘‘Yes. Because victims have difficulty swallowing. They don’t want liquids.’’

He picked up an acorn, tossed and caught it in his hand. ‘‘Victims also get anxiety, confusion, numbness, weakness.’’

‘‘And death.’’

He tossed the acorn, caught it. A distant light was working in his eyes.

‘‘You know who had all those symptoms?’’ he said. ‘‘Peter Wyoming.’’

I stared at him.

‘‘Think about it. That day we went to Tabitha’s house, he knocked away a tray of iced tea, practically gagging. And in China Lake, when Brian confronted him outside the police station, you said he freaked out because Brian grabbed his arm.’’

I remembered it—Wyoming wrenching free, staring at his flesh in horror.

I said, ‘‘He practically hissed at Brian. . . . He said, ‘You lay hands on me but you’re not even here.’ Brian thought he was high.’’

‘‘It sounds like paresthesia. He could see Brian’s hand but couldn’t feel it touching him. His arm was going numb.’’ He added, ‘‘It’s a subject I know a lot about.’’

I blinked. ‘‘My God.’’

‘‘There’s your connection between rabies and the Remnant.’’

We looked at each other. Alarm and excitement crawled along my skin.

I said, ‘‘You really think . . . ?’’

He nodded.

He tossed and caught the acorn once more, then rifled it up into the trees. It spit through the leaves. Crows burst cawing from the treetop, flying black against the sky.

He said, ‘‘Who’s the guy you talked to at Public Health? I’ll call.’’

My brain snapped into overdrive. Rabies—had Wyoming’s killer set his body afire to destroy evidence of the virus? Had the China Lake coroner saved tissue samples that could be tested? If not, could we convince the authorities to seek an exhumation order? Talk about a mess . . .

‘‘What?’’ I looked at Jesse. He was working himself back onto his feet, had said something I didn’t catch.

He said, ‘‘You really spoke to your dad about germ warfare?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘Dinner at your house must have been a barrel of laughs. Talking cluster bombs and biological attacks and ‘pass the peas.’ ’’

I heard the brass in his voice, and wasn’t in any mood for it, not about my family. I said, ‘‘And where are you eating dinner tonight?’’

He quickly gave me a contrite-schoolboy face, knowing he’d blown it. ‘‘Maybe I’ll just go back to the office now.’’

‘‘Excellent idea. Or maybe you could take up insulting people full-time. Folks would pay you just to shut up.’’

As I drove past the Old Mission church, my brain was still popping, working over my annoyance with Jesse like a hard piece of gum, but mainly thinking about Peter Wyoming. If he had been infected with rabies, had he contracted it accidentally, through some experiment gone wrong? Considering his germ phobia, I couldn’t imagine him working with the virus. What could have happened?

Luke slouched on the passenger seat, kneading his fingers together, staring at contrails streaking the sky.

He said, ‘‘I don’t want you and Jesse to get broken up.’’

I turned to him, taken aback.

‘‘Don’t fight with him. I don’t like it.’’

‘‘Luke, Jesse and I aren’t going to—’’

‘‘I mean it.’’

‘‘I love Jesse, Luke. We . . .’’ I rubbed my fingers across my forehead.

As if flak had started bursting in the air ahead, all at once I saw it. Jesse had given me shelter, and I was being so testy that he didn’t even want to come home. The guilt light pinged on, and I saw, like a heads-up display, my own stupidity.

I said, ‘‘Get my phone out of my purse and dial Jesse’s cell.’’

But when he handed me the phone, Jesse’s number just rang and rang.

Back at the house Luke kicked the soccer ball to me on the beach, and I berated myself. How could I make up to Jesse? Vintage wine, a month in Tahiti, lewd sexual acts? I was brushing the sand off Luke’s feet when I heard a car pull up.

‘‘There’s Jesse,’’ I said. Maybe an erotic circus routine—a high-wire, the splits. Or fantasy. Naughty nurse. Girl gladiator. ‘‘Let’s see what he wants for dinner.’’

But it wasn’t Jesse. Looking through the slender panes of glass that flanked the front door, I saw a rusting station wagon held together by faded bumper stickers. QUESTION AUTHORITY. GET OIL OUT. It was empty, no sign of a driver. A small ball of anxiety congealed in my gut. I called Luke in from the beach and locked the plate-glass doors behind him. I looked out the front windows again and saw a woman emerge from the garage. She was wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat above a denim skirt and Birkenstocks. It was Anita Krebs, the owner of Beowulf’s.

I stepped outside. ‘‘Anita?’’

She raised a hand and kept walking toward the ancient station wagon. ‘‘Sorry to bother you. I can see that Jesse isn’t here. I’ll be on my way.’’

‘‘Did you need something from the garage?’’

She waved dismissively. ‘‘It’ll keep. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’’

Something was going on. But I said, ‘‘What happened to Beowulf’s was appalling. I’m so sorry.’’

She stopped. Beneath the white skullcap of hair, her aged face wore a hardpan look. ‘‘They’re Brown Shirts. Taliban. They want God to be a sharp, hard rock in your shoe.’’ She crossed her arms. ‘‘Well, they won’t win.’’

‘‘Amen.’’

She snorted. ‘‘You should free yourself from that kind of language.’’ She took off her straw hat. ‘‘Priscilla Gaul’s attorney has filed a lien on the insurance proceeds from the fire. So that I won’t even be able to rebuild the bookstore.’’

‘‘Jesse knows?’’

‘‘Yes. He says it’s a strategy to force me to settle with Priscilla out of court.’’

‘‘Kicking you while you’re down.’’

‘‘It does feel that way.’’ Momentarily the feistiness faded from her eyes. ‘‘They’re all I have left, Evan.’’

‘‘Who?’’

She glanced toward the garage. ‘‘Pip and Oliver. With Beowulf’s gone, I—’’

‘‘Oh, no.’’ I started toward the garage door.

‘‘You must understand. I have nowhere else to take them.’’

‘‘No. You cannot leave your ferrets here.’’

I strode into the garage and flipped on the light. A scuffling sound came from under a tarp in the far corner.

Anita followed me. ‘‘It’s this rabies scare—people are skittish. Even though they’ve been vaccinated, nobody will give them refuge.’’

I flung off the tarp. There sat an animal carrier, and inside it two small faces staring out at me. They were weasel-shaped, colored like Siamese cats, pale bodies with dark paws and faces. Their ebony eyes were alert.

‘‘Hello, boys,’’ I said. ‘‘Having a tough day?’’

‘‘There’s no alternative. My God, people are running over Chihuahuas with riding mowers. Out there, these two would be at the mercy of the mob.’’ She made clucking sounds at the ferrets. Her tough visage warmed, her eyes crinkling. ‘‘This is a case of necessity. And necessity is a legal defense.’’

‘‘That’ll never fly.’’

‘‘I’m afraid you have no choice.’’ Briskly she turned and headed for her car.

‘‘Anita, you can’t do this to Jesse.’’ I grabbed the carrier and ran after her. The ferrets slid and banged against the sides of the cage.

She got in the car and started the engine. ‘‘I left their litter box and food in the garage. Let them out to play—they’re delightful scamps. But do watch out; they can open cabinet doors.’’

I said, ‘‘I’ll turn them in.’’

‘‘No, you won’t.’’

She was backing up now, with me running alongside the car. The carrier bumped against my thigh. From within it came squeaks and clawing sounds.

‘‘If you turn them in they’ll be destroyed,’’ she said, ‘‘and you won’t let that happen.’’

Flooring the station wagon, she accelerated backward up the driveway, zigzagging out of sight. I set down the carrier and stood there, breathing hard.

Maybe when I’m seventy, I’ll learn to be that ruthless.

Luke came running up the driveway. ‘‘Who was that?’’

‘‘A lady Jesse and I know.’’

He crouched down in front of the carrier. ‘‘Whoa.’’

‘‘Don’t touch them. Keep your fingers away from the bars.’’

He curled his hands against his chest. ‘‘What are they? Are they ours?’’

I picked up the carrier. ‘‘They’re trouble. And they’re all ours.’’

Sunset was pink and soft that evening, the light giving the ocean a vast silver sheen. I didn’t know how I was going to tell Jesse about his two new houseguests, eating kitten food in their carrier in the kitchen. I had decided I couldn’t leave them in the garage, where it would get cold overnight. Feeding them had unnerved me—open the cage door, shove the food and water inside, yank my hand back before they gnaw it down to bloody bone—even though Pip and Oliver had squeaked and leaped happily inside the carrier. They looked Disney-cute, and I didn’t trust them for a second.

About seven thirty Luke was on the living room floor playing with his LEGO men. On the driveway headlights flared, shining through the slim windows along the front door. But from the sound of the engine I could tell that it wasn’t Jesse. The bell rang. Outside, a woman stood under the porch light. I saw a slender curve of pale arm, sleeveless white cotton shirt, and green cargo pants. Auburn coils of hair.

It was Tabitha. My heart started pounding.

Through the door she said, ‘‘I need to talk to you. Please. It’s important.’’

What was she doing here? Was this a new attempt to grab Luke? I looked beyond her, to the edges of the darkness where the porch light faded, trying to see whether anybody else was out there. It was impossible to tell.

She squinted at me through the narrow windows along the door. She was shivering and looked drawn.

‘‘I’m leaving the Remnant,’’ she said.

I didn’t move.

‘‘I’m quitting the church. I need help.’’

A thousand thoughts were pinging through my brain, and most of them were telling me this was a trick.

‘‘For the love of God, I’m desperate.’’ She tilted her head back and shut her eyes. ‘‘Please.’’

Luke stopped making explosion sounds. ‘‘Is that my mom?’’

‘‘Yeah, tiger. I’m going to talk to her for a minute. Everything’s okay.’’

He was crouching on the floor with his LEGO men in his hands, as still as crystal. I told him to keep playing and stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door shut.

I said, ‘‘How did you find me here?’’

‘‘You weren’t at home. I figured you’d be with Jesse.’’

‘‘He isn’t listed in the phone book. Who told you where he lived?’’

‘‘I called all the Blackburns in the book until I got his parents. I said I was FedEx trying to make a delivery, and his mother told me.’’

I clenched and unclenched my hands. Jesse would have to speak to his mother, presuming he could catch her when she was sober.

She said, ‘‘Nobody else knows I’m here. Truly. Evan,
please
.’’

She was haggard. Her eyes had a black brilliance, but it was a gambler’s gleam, the shine that comes from betting everything on one last spin of the wheel.

I said, ‘‘You have two minutes.’’

‘‘The Remnant is a house of lies. I know that now,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve been a fool. Everything that’s happened . . . I’m sorry for it. Truly, totally sorry.’’

The door swung open behind me. Luke stood in the doorway, hand on the knob. ‘‘Mommy?’’

‘‘Hi, sweet pea.’’

My stomach gripped. I waited for the Mama Minx act, for her to offer him a saccharine smile and soft words. But to my astonishment she looked abject.

She said, ‘‘How are you doing, honey?’’

He shrugged. ‘‘Okay.’’ He walked out onto the porch. ‘‘How are you doing?’’

‘‘Not so hot.’’

The moment stretched. She looked anguished, but I didn’t care. I put my arm around Luke’s shoulder. He gave her a bold, unfathomable stare.

He said, ‘‘We have ferrets in the house.’’

‘‘Really. How weird,’’ she said. ‘‘Usually you get mice, or maybe possums.’’

‘‘Their names are Pip and Oliver, but Aunt Evvie won’t let me touch them.’’

She looked bewildered. ‘‘She’s right. They’re probably filthy.’’