Deceived (29 page)

She suspects, Liz thought.

No. She knows.

10:10 a.m.

Mac was cleaning leaves out of the rain gutter when he saw Liz Towne pull into the drive. On his knees, on the roof of the shack, he waited until she got out and said, “Hello, down there.”

“Oh,” she said. “Hi.”

“Nice surprise. Be right down.”

He descended the ladder at the side of the shack and wiped his hands on his jeans. The cooler air this morning felt good on his head.

“Come on in,” he said.

She smiled and nodded. He opened the front door for her and followed her in. He flicked on a light. The day was gray, and he thought there might be more rain coming.

“It’s nice to see you,” Mac said. “How — ”

She turned quickly and faced him. “Mac, I’m just so anxious. Have you got anything to drink?”

“I’ll take a look in the cave,” he said.

“Cave?”

“More cave than refrigerator.”

He went to the kitchen, wishing he had more to offer her. She must have trusted him a great deal to show up here. He did not want to blow that trust.

His refrigerator was, indeed, a picture of desolation. Half a slice of cheddar cheese in plastic. Soggy veggies in the crisper. Jam. Peanut butter. Hot sauce. He could put all those together in a bowl, he thought, and pretty much have all the food groups covered.

He did have Pepsi. “Pepsi all right?” he called.

“That’s fine,” she answered.

He took out two cans and put them on the counter. He got two non-matching glasses from a cupboard and poured the contents of the cans into each. No ice. The ice maker was on the fritz.

When he came back to the living room, he saw Liz looking at the one framed item he had on the wall. A gift from Pastor Jon.

“That’s a prayer from Francis of Assisi,” Mac said.

“Who?” Liz said.

“An early Christian. I don’t know much about him, but I like his prayer.”

“Me too,” Liz said. “ ‘Make me an instrument of thy peace.’ ”

“ ‘Where there is hatred, let me sow love,’ ” Mac said.

Liz read more. “ ‘Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light.’ ”

“ ‘And where there is sadness, joy,’ ” Mac said. “Go on, read the rest.”

“ ‘O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.’ ”

“Amen,” Mac said.

“It’s beautiful,” Liz said.

Mac took it off the nail. “I’d like you to have it,” he said.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Please.” He placed it in her hands. “I’ve got it memorized. Put it up in your house now.”

“I really can’t — ”

“It would mean a lot to me,” Mac said. “Truly.”

Liz looked at the prayer. “Thank you,” she said. “I wanted to ask you something. I’m having some trouble with the investigator who handled Arty’s death. She just got through asking me a lot of questions.”

“What sort of questions?”

“I don’t know, this and that. I just can’t help feeling she thinks I’ve done something wrong. It was an accident, what happened to Arty. Why can’t she accept that?”

“They have a job to do,” Mac said, “and they all do it differently.”

“You mentioned once to me that you’re on parole.”

“Yeah.”

“And that you’re under a parole officer.”

“Yes. A guy named Slezak.”

“They can make life hard on you if they want to, can’t they?”

“Oh yes, they can,” Mac said. “They can search me anytime, anywhere. And Slezak loves his job.”

“I hate to see that happening to you,” Liz said.

“I’ll be all right,” Mac said.

“How do you live with that? I mean, knowing that it could happen at any time?”

Mac thought, She wants to know. She really wants to know. This was a moment he couldn’t blow. He’d blown it enough times in the past.

He picked up his Bible from the coffee table and held it up. “This is the only thing,” he said. “I have to depend on this every day. And I have to pray. Those two things keep me going.”

She looked at the Bible like it was a curio. Mac watched her face, looking for signs. What did she want to know? What could he say that would make a difference?

“Is that all?” she said. “Just read and pray?”

“It’s a start,” Mac said. He sounded to himself like a leaden idiot.

“Arty tried to read his Bible to me. I wouldn’t listen.” She looked down.

He wanted so much to comfort her. He was stumbling this way and that in his mind.
Just get to the point
,
the point of Christianity.
“The Bible says we’ll see our loved ones who have gone on before us.”

“I guess that’s just something I can’t wrap my head around,” she said. “It seems too good to be true.”

“It’s too good
not
to be true,” Mac said. “I mean, if God promises all good things, then wouldn’t we expect the best to be true?”

She thought about it. “Mac, would you mind terribly if I asked you to make some coffee?”

“Coffee? Sure, I can do that.”

“And while you’re doing that, I’m going to sit here and read this prayer again. Would that be okay?”

“More than okay,” he said. And when he went into the kitchen, he was happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. Happy knowing that at last he was making a real difference to somebody.

Being able to get through to somebody about God. And not just anybody, but the widow of his best friend.

Yes, God is good, he thought, as he pulled out the bag of Canyon Grind Breakfast Blend and started preparing the brew.

11:23 a.m.

Franklin Towne’s doctor was a compact Chinese American named James Chu. He had a comforting face, which Rocky was grateful for.

“You will notice,” he said when Rocky returned to the hospital, “that some of what would be normal movements are off a bit. As when your father tries to bring food to his mouth, his arm may suddenly flex.”

“Can he walk?”

“There does not appear to be any paralysis, but there is hypotonicity in the left leg. A weakness there.”

“Will he get better?”

“The focus now has to be on prevention. I’d like him to stay put for a few days. Do some tests, an echocardiogram, ultrasound.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You can see him now,” Dr. Chu said.

11:26 a.m.

This time Liz ran.

She left Mac’s place with that framed prayer deal, which she tossed in the trunk of her car. She got to the park and started running up the trail.

She did not care that her lungs were burning. She didn’t care who saw her. If anyone tried to talk to her, she would run the other way. She didn’t care.

Keep moving. Don’t stop this time.

She had a bag with her. The kind with a leather strap. A big purse, really.

There was a guy on a dirt bike riding by. He waved at her. She ignored him. She went down rocks and kept going and found the field where she had put the sacks.

The ground was soft and mushy from the rain. Her feet made gooshy sucking sounds as she walked. She almost dove into the hole where she had buried the jewels.

She reached in with her hands through the tangle of weeds and grass. She grabbed the jacket and pulled it free. She opened it up. The sacks were all there. Waiting for her.

Mama
,
I’m doing it. They are not going to stop us now.

She put the sacks in the purse and the purse over her shoulder and headed out of the canyon. Overhead, a helicopter flew by. For a moment she thought it was a police helicopter, tailing her.

But it went on. It had a giant 7 on its side. News helicopter.

Well, no news here. Everything is quiet. Time to get ready to get out.

She passed a couple of kids with their dad, then got to the parking lot and threw the handbag in the trunk.

Then she drove right on through the canyon and out to the 7-Eleven on the other side.

11:30 a.m.

“Dad,” Rocky said, “you remember that time we all went to Magic Mountain?”

Her father looked through her.

“Magic Mountain, out in Valencia?” Rocky said. “Had the great big roller coaster, and you wanted to sit with me on it, ’cause you thought I’d be scared?”

He frowned, but in a way that told her there were gears shifting in there. File cabinets of memory were being opened, photo albums inspected.

“Do you remember going there?” Rocky said.

“Magic Mountain,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Arty was with us.”

“Yes,” Rocky said. “Arty was with us. Do you remember the roller coaster?”

“I think I do,” he said.

“I remember every bit of it,” Rocky said. “I remember when we got on, and you said you were going to sit with me. You held my hand. When they got us in, you put your arm around me. Do you remember that?”

No answer.

“You said, ‘We’re going to ride like the wind.’ ”

No answer.

“Then you said you used to go on a roller coaster when you were a little boy back in Ohio, and that you were scared of it at first, but you learned not to be scared. And you said I could learn not to be scared. Do you remember it, Dad? I want you so much to remember that.”

“I don’t remember that,” he said and turned his head away.

“But it’s true, Dad.”

“My head hurts,” her father said.

“Well it’s going to hurt for a while. You had a stroke.”

“I know. They told me. I’m really mad at that.”

“You’ve always been a fighter. I know you’re not going to give up now.”

He didn’t say anything. His eyes glazed over for a moment, then cleared.

“But you can’t fight this one alone,” Rocky said. “You’re going to need a little help.”

“I don’t need any help.”

“That’s not what the doctor says.”

“Doctors. They know less than you think we do.
They
do. Ahh.” He waved his hand in the air.

“I’m willing to go with the docs on this one, Dad. Will you let me take you home? I’ll get you settled, and then we can talk about what to do next, huh?”

“I don’t want any fuss made,” he said.

“It’s no fuss,” Rocky said. “It’s what we do.”

“We?”

“Family. You know, the people who’re supposed to look out for each other? It’s the latest thing, been in all the papers.”

He didn’t say anything. He seemed to be looking into a long, dark hallway, wondering which way to turn.

“I’m not going to be around much longer,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Rocky said.

“I mean, I’ll probably be going to be . . . going
to
check out soon.”

“That’s pretty silly talk.”

“I don’t want to die, it’s just in the cards. And I have to say . . .”

1:41 p.m.

It was Slezak.

And Mac was calm. It would be all right. No matter what, it would pass.
Let him beat me with a stick if he wants to.

“I sure hope you don’t mind that I dropped by,” Slezak said.

“I know you’re just doing your job,” Mac said.

Slezak nodded. “Taking the easy approach, huh?

“Nothing wrong with that,” Mac said. “Life seems to go a little smoother if you remember that we’re all neighbors underneath.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Slezak said. “Is that some Bible spouting?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“So you’re still hanging in with that Bible and church stuff? Well, at least it’s keeping you off the street.”

“I don’t have any intention of going back on the street,” Mac said.

“Then you won’t mind while I take my usual look around,” Slezak said. “Because I just know you are aching to file a report on me, aren’t you?”

“No,” Mac said. “I will accept anything that comes my way.”

“You ought to be on TV. One of those self-help shows. All right, have a seat while I look around. This shouldn’t take long.”

No, Mac thought, it shouldn’t. And as Slezak went through the bathroom and kitchen, Mac noticed his head wasn’t hurting.

Pray for him. That’s what he should have been doing all along. Pray for your enemies, right? Pray for those who are against you. Something like that. Jesus said it. You’re a Chris tian, then behave like it.

Mac silently prayed for Gordon Slezak.

Until Slezak moved the bureau that was sitting in the living room. He didn’t go through the drawers, just moved the thing away from the wall.

Mac watched and waited. Slezak’s only reward would be some dust. He hoped that wouldn’t make the PO frustrated. He started praying for him again.

Slezak bent down and picked something up.

Slezak’s back was toward him, so Mac couldn’t see what Slezak was doing. He appeared to be looking at something.

He spent a long moment looking at this thing. Mac didn’t dare ask him what he’d found. He’d find out soon enough.

Slezak put whatever was in his hands in his coat pocket. Then slowly turned around.

His face had changed. It no longer had a diabolical smile. He didn’t look the way he usually did when he had nothing on Mac.

Slezak looked hard and serious. “Get up,” he said. “And turn around.”

“Why?” Mac said.

Slezak pulled his gun. “Get up and put your hands behind your back.”

“What’s going on? I have a right to — ”

“Now,” Slezak said.

2:15 p.m.

“I need to go away for a while,” Liz said.

Pastor Jon, on the line, said, “Taking a trip?”

“Yes, just need to get away. Thought I’d go up north, Oregon maybe, visit family.”

“Well, I think that’s a good idea. Is there anything we can do for you while you’re gone?”

“Oh no, really, nothing — ”

“We’ll be praying for you.”

No
,
don’t do that. Do not do that. I don’t know what you think you’re
praying to
,
but I don’t want to hear it.

“Thank you,” Liz said. “I appreciate it.”

She hung up and felt now she had a small window. To leave. To get out. To keep moving.

3:12 p.m.