Double Blind (8 page)

“Then, let’s have some fun,” Sam said. “Laugh a little.”

“I could use that.”

“What about Burt Eagan?” Sam asked. “He seemed interested.”

“I don’t know. I’m too old for the dating game.”

“You’re 35, not dead.”

“It’s awkward, uncomfortable. You know. The guy wears his best shirt and splashes on enough cologne to be flammable. And the girl destroys her hair, trying to make it something that it’s not, and suddenly develops perfect manners, all the while hoping the childish nervousness that causes her giggle too often and laugh too loud, doesn’t settle in her stomach and make her throw up. Not my idea of fun.”

Sam laughed. “You’ve been out of circulation too long. You’re not eighteen. You’re an adult.”

“Is that why last week I cried because the new curtains I bought for the honeymoon suite didn’t match anything in the room?”

Sam smiled. “Honestly, I don’t see how you’ve kept this many balls in the air.”

“It’s had its moments.”

“It’s time you lived a little. Burt is handsome and charming and successful. What have you got to lose?”

“Only what’s left of my sanity,” Alyss laughed.

“See. You’re better already.”

“What about you?” Alyss asked. “Tell me about your new guy.”

“Nathan? He’s a doll. You know he writes for that tabloid, ‘Straight Story.’ He lives in LA and travels a lot so we don’t get to see each other that often.”

“I read his story on the Richard Earl Garrett case. He made him out to be the son of Satan.”

“He may have been Satan himself.”

Alyss raised an eyebrow.

“Garrett seemed to have some kind of power over people,” Sam said.

Alyss looked at Sam as if she had spoken in tongues. “Come on, Sam. Don’t tell me you bought into that stuff.” Alyss laughed. “What has this Nathan guy done to you? Samantha Cody believes in the supernatural?”

The specter of Garrett’s face, haughtily laughing, then surrounded by flames and contorted in pain, formed in her mind. A montage of images from her Garrett infused dreams followed. She pushed these memories aside and shrugged. “You had to be there, I guess.”

“You should’ve brought Nathan with you. I’d love to meet him.”

“He might be able to get away in a couple of days.”

“Where’s he now?

“He’s in upstate New York chasing a story. Probably a three headed alien or something like that.”

Alyss laughed. “I’m sorry. But, knowing you...little Miss Pragmatic...I can’t see you with a tabloid reporter.”

“You should see him. Gorgeous with a capital G.”

“Like Dan,” Alyss said.

“Yeah.”

“Next time,” Alyss said, “I’m going to marry an ugly guy who can cook.”

They laughed.

*

Shelby followed Aspen Creek as it wound upward, through the trees until she came to a place where it tumbled down a stair step of rocks and boulders and into a wide crystalline pool. She had found this place her first day in Gold Creek and had immediately claimed it as her own. No one around, no one to bother her or nag her, no noise except the chirping of birds, the scurrying of squirrels, and the swirling water. And, of course, her music.

She dropped her Elmo pack near the bank and sat down, leaning against a thick spruce trunk. After adjusting her headphones, she pulled a plastic bag from a zippered pocket near Elmo’s ear. Inside lay several neatly rolled joints. She selected one, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

Her mother would shit if she knew what she was doing. And if she knew about the raves back in LA, she’d probably have a seizure.

Her father would be upset, but he’d get over it. Tiffany? Tiffany gave her the bag of joints just before she boarded the plane for her trip here. Tiffany was way cool.

*

Luckily, he had completed refilling his water bottles when he saw her approaching through the trees and had concealed himself behind a boulder near the top of the cascade before she wandered into the clearing. She had not seen him, but from his vantage point, he possessed a clear view of her, and even a hundred or so feet away, he could smell the aroma of the marijuana. He watched as she took several long drags, holding each for a time before exhaling the pale smoke skyward. She then licked a thumb and forefinger, pinched the glow from the roach, and dropped it on the ground next to her. She leaned back against the tree, adjusted her headphones, and closed her eyes.

He couldn’t remember ever having seen her before. And had he, he would definitely remember. She was beautiful, trim, with long legs. Strange, colorful clips tipped what appeared to be half a dozen short pigtails, which sprouted in no discernible pattern from her short jet-black hair. Her head bobbed slightly in time with whatever music she listened to.

He swept his unruly beard aside and rested his chin on one thick forearm. He imagined them sitting together beneath the tree, talking, laughing, holding hands, kissing, making love. He imagined that they were in love, had a life, a future together.

He knew none of it was true. None of it could ever be true. Not after what he had done.

Judging from the angle of the shadows, it was well after five and he had things to do before darkness arrived in a couple of hours. He took one last look at her, storing her image in his mind, and picked up his backpack, now stuffed with refilled water bottles.

Before he could take a step, he saw her yank off the headphones and stand. He ducked. Had she seen him? He held his breath and listened for her scream or the patter of her running feet, but all he heard was the sound of the water rushing over the rocks.

He carefully peered around the boulder. She stood facing the pool as if studying it. She slipped off her shirt and unhooked her bra, dropping both to the ground behind her. She stepped out of her shorts and then her black bikini panties.

His heart fluttered in his chest. She was incredible. Her skin had been lightly toasted by the sun. Her breasts were small, firm with erect nipples, and her long legs joined at a soft brown triangle. A colorful tattoo circled her navel.

She stepped into the water, ankle deep, knee deep, shivering, arms wrapped across her chest, and hesitated as if the coldness would drive her back to shore. With a soft squeal, she stretched out on the water and gracefully stroked to the middle of the pool. Rolling to her back, she kicked to the other side, where she turned and backstroked across the pool once again.

He leaned on the boulder, transfixed, watching her every move. Her long, lean body glided back and forth, and then she stood beneath a small cascade, letting the water flow over her head and breasts. Finally, she climbed out of the water, shivering, and dried herself with a towel she pulled from her backpack. She dressed and then relit the joint. After taking two long hits, she flicked the remnant into the water and reseated the headphones. She snatched up her backpack, stuffed the towel inside, and disappeared through the trees.

He waited, listening, hoping she would return. She didn’t. Finally, he trudged up the slope, turned eastward, and followed a trail that led deeper into the forest.

*

After discussing the men in and out of their lives, Sam and Alyss turned to other topics--books, movies, clothes, food, and old memories. Sam heard Shelby’s footsteps before she rounded the corner of the porch and climbed the steps.

Alyss looked up. “Your hair’s wet. What happened?”

“Nothing. I went for a swim.”

Concern knitted Alyss’ brow. “Where?”

“There’s a neat pond about a half mile from here. Up in the trees.”

“I thought I told you not to wonder too far.”

“A half mile? That’s far? Besides, nobody knows about this place.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s not exactly on the beaten path.”

Alyss sighed. “Go dry your hair before you catch a cold or something.”

“I will, mother,” Shelby said and charged through the door into the house.

A car came up the winding gravel drive and stopped. A young couple stepped out. Alyss’ first guests had arrived.

Sam found Kurt and Debbie Kendall to be a cute couple. Both had short, trimmed blonde hair, pert little yuppie noses, blue eyes, and flawless smiles. They looked like a People Magazine cover photo of the latest Hollywood power couple, but with a more innocent glint in their eyes.

As she and Alyss helped with their bags, they learned the couple had spoken their vows the previous afternoon before Debbie’s minister in the Denver suburb of Littleton, then presided over a reception for 400 people that continued until well past midnight. After sleeping late this morning, they drove the 300 plus miles to Gold Creek. Giddy from excitement and fatigue, they giggled and
ohhed
and
ahhed
over the Honeymoon Suite.

While the Kendalls settled in, Alyss retreated to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Sam offered to help, but Alyss said there was little left to do, so Sam decided to go for a run.

“Maybe I can shake out some of the kinks,” she said, massaging her neck.

She slipped on a pair of black Spandex knee length shorts, a sports bra, a tee shirt, and laced up her tattered New Balance running shoes. Time to buy a new pair, but running shoes, like old jeans, are difficult to part with.

She pulled her back-up piece, a small .25 caliber Berretta, from her suitcase, ejected the clip, inspected it, and snapped it back into position. She debated whether to take it with her or not. Taking it seemed foolish, even wimpy. Yet, there was a killer loose. Deciding to play it safe, she slipped the weapon into her fanny pack, which she fastened around her waist.

Flashing a wave at Alyss, she headed out the door, down the winding gravel drive, and then veered eastward onto a trail that cut diagonally across the meadow and deeper into the valley. Soon the knots in her back and shoulders released their grip, her legs relaxed, and she settled into a comfortable pace.

She ran easily, each foot accepting the ground, not challenging it, gliding along as if she knew the trail. As she ascended a gentle rise in the meadow, two ribbon-like waterfalls, which cascaded down the gray peaks, came into view. The one nearest her made its dramatic final plunge into a pool and lifted a misty cloud into the surrounding trees. Two crows soared overhead, loudly arguing with one another.

She mentally compared the dry, monotonous bleakness of the desert trails she ran near Mercer’s Corner with the majestic beauty around her. The peaceful meadow, the snow-capped peaks, the shimmering Aspen leaves, the graceful blue green spruces, and the crystalline waterfalls seemed almost unreal, as if this much beauty could not collect in one place.

She inhaled deeply. The air was crisp and clean and laced with a faint hint of pine. Not like home. There, on hot, windy days, she would tie a bandana over her nose and mouth to protect her lungs from the swirling dust. Her boss, Sheriff Charlie Walker, often teased her about looking like a bank robber.

Maybe Gold Creek wouldn’t be a bad place to live. Of course, the air was a little thinner up here. She slowed her pace and wiped sweat from her face with the hem of her tee shirt.

She continued to follow the trail, which cut through knee-deep grasses dotted with blue lupine, raspberry and lemon colored Indian paintbrush, and purple polemonium, before meandering upward toward a grove of aspens, which hugged the base of the mountains. She settled into a comfortable stride, losing herself in thought. The rhythm of her breathing melded with the soft pat-pat-pat of her footfalls.

*

He followed her progress from deep in the trees, her form visible in flashes through rifts in the thick foliage. He moved higher, mounting a rock outcropping, and pushed a sagging spruce branch aside. Now, with an unobstructed view, he saw her more clearly. Her body was tight, athletic, and he marveled at her grace. Strong, lithe, she seemed to run without effort, her strawberry-blonde ponytail bouncing behind her in rhythm with each stride.

Who was she? Where had she come from? He knew everyone in town, or at least at one time he had, but had never seen her. Or the young swimmer he had seen earlier. He settled back into the shadows and watched her glide up the meadow’s slope toward the forest.

*

By the time Sam reached the trees, the sun had dipped behind the peaks to the west, casting the entire valley in deepening shadows. She continued along the path, winding her way through a grove of white barked aspens. Their apple green canopies fluttered in the breeze and threw a protective shroud over their saplings, which, though slim and delicate, stood as straight as their parents.

The trail continued upward into the thicker spruces. Ahead, she heard the muted rumble of waterfall, a sound that grew louder with each stride, and then she saw glimpses of it through the trees. The trail swept around a cluster of pines before opening into a small clearing at the fall’s edge. She stopped.

Before her, the water swirled and tumbled over a rocky ledge, and then fell a hundred feet or more in a thick column toward a clear pool. The ground beneath her throbbed with the water’s power and its bracing spray cooled her skin. Sweat and mist collected on her brow and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

After taking a few deep breaths, she continued along the trail, which climbed the steep slope, paralleling the swirling waters for a short distance, before turning to the west, toward home. She had been running for 45 minutes and guessed another 30 minutes would bring her back to the Aspen Creek Inn.

Just before the trail turned back into the trees, she caught a glimpse of a broad rocky ledge that cantilevered over the falls, a hundred feet above her. She veered off the trail and trudged upward through the spruces.

As she stepped from the trees and onto the flat ledge, the valley opened before her in a panorama that literally took her breath away. The valley floor was a blanket of rich green and to the west the sun gilded the edges of the peaks and painted the sky a golden peach. She looked down on the rumbling waterfall as it plunged into the mist-shrouded pool she had seen earlier. From the pool, a broad creek emerged and wound its way toward town.