Serpents Rising (18 page)

I
'm sure the flight to Phoenix was fine.

Truth is I missed most of it as I slept from a few minutes after takeoff to the announcement from the cockpit that we were on final approach to Sky Harbor.

Once off the plane, I carried my bag and computer out to the curb, climbed into a cab, and realized that other than wanting to see Kelly, I hadn't really put a lot of thought into my trip — including where I'd be staying.

I decided to place my fate in the hands of a cab driver. Mine was a bulky guy whose breathing told me it had been a few decades since he'd been in shape. Arizona Diamondbacks ball cap, a T-shirt that may have been a tent in a previous life, and the thickest fingers I'd ever seen.

“I have an appointment at the Duke Golf Course. Can you recommend a hotel close to there?”

He turned around — not an easy task — and looked at me; I guessed he was sizing me up, trying to decide if I was Hilton or Motel 6.

“You a golfer?”

“I hack a little but I'm not here to play golf.”

“The Duke. That's Maricopa. Not much for hotels right there. But there's a casino. I've taken some people back to the airport from there. They said the rooms were reasonable during the week and the food was pretty good. You like to gamble?”

“A little. The casino have a pool?”

“I think so. You want me to get on the radio, see if one of the other drivers knows?”

I shook my head. “The casino sounds fine. You know the name? I should call and make sure they have a room.”

“Harrah's, same as the one in Vegas.”

I called, booked a room for ninety-nine dollars plus tax, and forty minutes later I was in a room, which wasn't bad for ninety-nine dollars plus tax. It looked out on a parking lot populated by tall palm trees and expensive cars. I sipped a bottle of complimentary water and watched gamblers making their way into and out of the casino. Mostly into.

I was antsy, impatient, wanting to see Kelly and get on with what I was here to do.

I'd tried her landline twice in the cab, got voicemail both times, didn't leave a message. Tried it again now, same result. I went down to the casino, had lunch, and dropped forty bucks on a dollar slot. I went for a walk, partly to enjoy the heat, partly to escape the endless racket of the casino.

I spent most of my walking time berating myself for not phoning ahead. What if Kelly had gone somewhere — visiting a relative in Connecticut or to the hospital to have Maddie's little brother or sister or off on vacation to Yellowstone — and I was wasting my time in Arizona. I called Cobb on my cell; he picked up on the second ring.

“You better be phoning from the desert or I'm gonna be some pissed,” he growled.

“I just won seventy-five thousand at blackjack and I'm surrounded by scantily clad young ladies, all of whom have expressed an interest in having their way with me.”

“Atta boy.”

I told Cobb about my concern that Kelly was in some other part of the world and that I wouldn't get to see her.

“You really are one of the all-time great glass half empty guys, you know? This is the busiest time of the year on Arizona golf courses, there's no way her husband could get out of town for more than a day. She was probably at the supermarket when you called. Just chill, maybe spend some of that seventy-five big ones and enjoy all those babes that are dying to have you.”

“Got it,” I said. “Anything on Jay?”

“Not yet, but I'm using the process of elimination method. I now know a hell of a lot of places where he isn't.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“And the coroner's report came down. Owen Harkness died from having had his throat cut and twenty-one other stab wounds.”

I wanted to say something but there weren't words that fit right then.

“Cops are working it pretty hard,” Cobb said. “Don't know how they're doing. It's a tough one.”

I found my voice. “And you're okay? I mean you're staying out of the way of whoever killed Owen.”

“Yeah, Mom, I'm looking after myself, eating my veggies and everything.”

“I'm serious.”

There was a pause on the line. “I know you are and I appreciate the concern. Listen, my mother — the
real
one — wouldn't recognize me. So quit worryin'.”

“I'll be back in a couple of days,” I said. “I'll be ready to help if you need me.”

“Right now all you need to do is concentrate on Kelly and your tan.”

“Right.”

“Right.” He hung up and I resumed my walk, spent ten minutes circling the parking lot, and another ten admiring a baby blue '57 T-Bird convertible. Nice car but not nice enough to erase the picture of Owen Harkness that had imprinted itself into my memory.

I found a vacant lawn chair next to the pool, pulled out my cell phone, and dialled Kelly's number again. Three rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi Kelly. It's Adam Cullen calling. How ya doin'?”
My god
,
I sound like Joey on
Friends.
She'll think I'm hitting on her.

“Oh … Adam … uh, hi.”

“Listen, Kelly, I was hoping I could talk to you. It'll only take a few minutes. There are a couple of things I was wanting to ask you about.”

“Uh, yeah, I … guess so.”

“Great. How about I pick up some coffee, bring it over, or if you'd rather —”

“Wait, you mean you're here? In Arizona?”

“Oh yeah, I guess I didn't mention that. I'm just down for … a … conference … a newspaper thing in … uh … Mesa and I thought since I was here anyway I could just, you know, stop by or meet you somewhere if that's better.”

“No, I just put the baby down. I guess you could stop by for a few minutes. Do you know where I live?”

“Well, only roughly. Maybe just give me the address and I'm sure the cabbie can find it.” I'm not sure why I lied to her. Maybe I thought if I seemed overanxious she might just clam up. I also had no idea how far it was from Mesa to Maricopa and hoped I wouldn't have to kill time for too long to make my lie at least somewhat believable.

She recited the address and hung up. I waited what I thought was a decent amount of time, went out to the front of the casino, grabbed a taxi for the ten minute ride to Kelly's house. Small fare. Small tip. Pissed off cab driver.

I walked up the sidewalk to a hacienda-style terra­cotta house with a parched looking front lawn. Except for the grass, everything about the place told me that the life of a golf pro was pretty good. The house was a nice size and the garage was about the size of the house Donna and I had lived in.

I was reaching for the bell when the door opened. One of the three most beautiful women I had ever seen — the other two work in movies — looked at me and said, “I was waiting for you; the baby.” She nodded toward the doorbell.

“Oh … sorry.”

“Come in.” A half smile. Not warm and fuzzy but not hostile either. I stepped inside and she closed the door behind me, then gestured toward the living room, which led off to the right. “Please sit down.”

I sat in a stuffed chair that was comfortable in the extreme and cast a quick look around the room. Nicely done. Where lots of places have too much furniture, too much
stuff
, this living room was tastefully understated. Not sparse but whoever decorated wasn't afraid of empty space here and there. Southwest décor but again not overdone. Lots of earth colours; moss green and tan were dominant. A couple of desert landscapes that fit the room perfectly. There was nothing inside the home that belied the initial impression I'd gotten from the exterior.

“I made coffee. Would you like some?”

“Thank you. Coffee would be great.”

Kelly smiled again, a little bigger this time, nodded, and went off to the kitchen. I glanced around again, noted that the only deviation from the perfectly decorated room was a large framed photograph of a golfer teeing off at what looked like a pretty cool golf course. I guessed it was Wes Nolan in action. Hard to tell, but from where I sat he appeared to be a good-looking guy. Surprise, surprise.

Kelly was back a couple of minutes later with two mugs of coffee on a tray with milk and sugar containers and spoons. As I doctored my coffee, she took hers and sat on a leather chesterfield opposite me. Brown leather with a longhorn skull etched into the cushions. Well, maybe not
etched
.

She held her coffee mug in both hands. “I have to say I'm kind of surprised to see you,” she said. “I thought we'd pretty well discussed everything I'd remembered about Donna from school so …”

“I know and I'm sure you're right, but …” I swallowed, looked at the floor, then back up at her. “Kelly, I was wondering, or maybe hoping, that there might have been something you
didn't
say, maybe you didn't want to make me feel bad or say something about Donna that you felt uncomfortable saying. I don't know, I just thought if we met face to face, maybe you'd feel differently.”

There was a long silence, broken only by sounds of the baby over one of those child monitors. One soft gurgling sound, then silence, and sleep once again.

I took a sip of the coffee. “I know it's tough remembering and —”

“It's not tough remembering.” There was a sudden coldness in her voice that hadn't been there before. Not on the phone. Not today.

“I'm not sure I understand.'

“I didn't tell you because I'm sure there's no connection between what happened to us and Donna's death.”

“What happened to you …” I repeated, “as in you and Donna?”

“There were others.”

“So the note; you did remember it.”

“Not that specific note. But I know what she … what
we
were talking about.”

I had to set the coffee mug down. My hand was shaking so hard I was afraid I'd spill on the carpet.

“What was it that happened, Kelly?”

“I told you, it has nothing to do with the fire and … everything. I'm sure of that.”

I nodded, waited. This time the silence went on a long time. Kelly was looking in the direction of the monitor's speaker, her eyes filled with tears, one solitary tear trickling down her cheek.

I said, “I'm sorry, Kelly, if it's something painful, I really am, but I need you to tell me.”

She didn't answer, the tear falling from her cheek to the carpet, replaced by another. She didn't say anything for what felt like a long time.

“We were … abused.”

As much as I thought I was ready to hear whatever Kelly said, as much as those words and others had stamped their sound into my mind so many times in the last few days, when I actually heard the words spoken by someone, I wasn't ready.

This was Donna we were talking about. My Donna. This couldn't be true. This stuff happened to other people. Not to me, not to the woman I had been married to.

The tears came harder now. When she spoke again, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“There was a teacher at school, our social studies teacher, he was only there for one year. We all liked him as a teacher. He seemed really nice, like he cared about us as students, and as people.

“He had a way of making us all feel special. He was really good-looking, smart, and he let us know we were his equals, his … soulmates. I know how lame that sounds, and you're probably thinking that a girl who was pretty and a cheerleader …”

She stopped again and this time fished a Kleenex out of a pocket, dabbed at eyes and nose.

“I'd just been dumped by a guy, no, not just a guy — the totally coolest guy in the school. Athlete, popular, hot, a complete cliché, and I was nuts about him. We were the ‘wonder couple'; oh my God I can't believe I was actually proud of that title back then …” A little half smile through the tears.

“He was the first guy I ever … went to bed with. I was pathetic, thinking we'd get married, kids … Jesus. And then it was, ‘yeah, listen Babe, I think we both need to grow, you know? See other people,
fuck
other people.' Those were his words. I thought I was going to die.

“And then along came the new teacher in the school. I think the term they always use is ‘vulnerable,' and I guess that was me. He knew what buttons to push, made me think he was in love with me and that I was in love with him. Ridiculous, I know, but I remember thinking
how about that, Joel Carloni, high school superstar. I'm not with some high school kid any more, I'm with a man
.”

A bitter laugh. The tears were gone now, replaced by anger.

“You know something,” she looked at me, “you're the first person I've talked to about this since the cops.”

“I appreciate it, Kelly. I know this has to be difficult.”

“Not as bad as losing your wife in a fire.”

I didn't answer.

“I wasn't kidding before,” she said. “This guy was a jerk and a predator. But he wasn't a killer. I've thought about it a lot since you phoned me the first time and I know that to be true.”

I nodded. Noncommittal. “What happened with this guy and Donna?”

“I don't know the details, and I'm not just saying that to spare you. It was after he'd moved on from me. He'd get tired of us after a couple of months and he'd get rid of one girl and make his move on another. Donna said he never got her into bed with him and I believed her. He did some stuff to her, touched her and stuff, but not … that.” Her voice grew still quieter. “Not what he did with me. And the others.”

I fought to keep my voice steady. “How many were there?”

She sipped her coffee for the first time, set the mug down, then looked at it. “There were four of us. At least that's how many we knew about. One night Donna told me about what was going on and I told her it had happened to me too. Eventually we figured out that there were two others. Don't ask me how we knew. And the four of us became some kind of sick club. The victims-of-a-teacher club.”