The Never-Open Desert Diner (25 page)

“Now
that
sounds like a threat.”

“Strange it sounds that way to you. All I remember saying is that nothing will happen. Nothing at all. Sometime in the future.”

When Dunphy came back in, Welper and I were sitting quietly. He paused at the door and took in the silence and the two of us. “Looks like I missed something important.”

“Nothing at all,” I said.

Welper was busy trying to stare me down.

Dunphy said, “We'll start looking for your son-in-law tomorrow.”

Welper thanked the captain. “Mr. Jones was just telling me he thought he could be of assistance in locating my son-in-law.”

“Is that true?”

“I can show search and rescue the general area where I last saw him. It might not help, but it's a place to start.”

“Can you make a map?”

I told him it would be better if I could just show them. The captain said he understood. “Be here tomorrow by ten.”

Welper stood. “One more thing,” he said, “I'd like to take a look inside Mr. Jones's truck and trailer.”

“You'll need a warrant for that. Unless Mr. Jones has no objection.”

I did object. For a moment I didn't know why. “No,” I said.

My answer didn't sit well with Dunphy. “That's your right, Mr. Jones. Mr. Welper here will make a few calls, and a judge will sign a warrant. It will take some time. Meanwhile, your truck and trailer will stay in our impound lot. The warrant will take even less time if I think we need one. I'm beginning to think it would be a good idea.”

There was only a small chance they wouldn't find Duncan's remains wrapped up with the ice cream. If they did find it, all I had to do was tell the truth. Not so good for Fergus. Under the circumstances, I had no choice. I might have had to tell the truth anyway. I hadn't had much time to consider what I was going to do with the body that wouldn't lead to Fergus going to jail, which was where he belonged.

“Go ahead. I don't have anything to hide,” I said. Probably what everyone who has something to hide says.

The corridor was empty. The three of us walked out into the dimly lit impound lot. The wind had died down. The damp air was charged with electricity. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck move as if insects were crawling under my skin. A bolt of lightning flashed to the south under rolling fists of dense clouds. A few seconds later came the thunder. I lifted the sliding door, exposing the empty trailer. Several bursts of lightning splintered the dark horizon. Dunphy paid no attention. He aimed his flashlight into the trailer. Welper and I looked out toward the lightning. Maybe he was thinking of Josh. I was imagining Claire again, and Walt. It was going to be one hell of a night out on 117.

Dunphy hoisted himself up into the trailer. “I don't see anything. It looks empty to me.”

Welper struggled to get a meaty leg high enough for a foothold up into the trailer. “Give me a hand.”

I thought about giving him a hand with my foot. Dunphy flashed the beam in Welper's face. “Stay where you are.”

Welper insisted he was coming up. Dunphy repeated his order. Welper got a foothold and stood waist-high against the open door searching for a way to pull himself the rest of the way up. Dunphy nudged him back down to the ground with the toe of a boot.

Welper hit the ground and dropped to one knee. “I'm coming up,” he insisted. He was the dumbest smart guy I'd ever met. “Don't make me go over your head, Captain.”

I couldn't believe my ears, but Dunphy did. “You've already been over my head,” he said. “I'll be damned if I'll have you up my ass.” Welper put his fingers on the edge of the trailer floor right where Dunphy's boot heel could find them. He swore as he jumped backward and stayed where he was.

The two of us watched as Dunphy's flashlight beam bounced around the walls and floor of the trailer. It seemed as if he might stop and not go any further. I began to think that would be the end of it. The beam found the chrome handle that opened the small door to the refrigerator unit at the far end of the trailer. He opened the door and squeezed himself through. He was inside for a few minutes. I thought I heard him moving around in the cramped compartment. He came out carrying something.

“What's that?” Welper asked.

Dunphy tossed a half-gallon carton of butter brickle ice cream up and down in his left hand. “Butter brickle ice cream. My wife loves this stuff. Can I buy this from you, Ben?”

I told him he could have it.

“No gifts,” he said. “It might be construed as a bribe.”

“Ten dollars,” I said, and put out my palm.

“Bullshit,” he replied. “I'll give you five.”

He hopped down from the trailer and handed the ice cream to Welper while he extracted five dollars from his wallet. Welper stared at the ice cream and continued to hold the carton while Dunphy went through the cubbyholes and glove box in my cab. He was thorough. He checked under the seats and above the visors. “We're done here.”

“Can I go now?” I asked.

He told me to wait a minute and turned his attention to Welper. “Mr. Welper, be here tomorrow morning at nine to fill out a missing-person report on Mr. Arrons. If you're not here or you don't fill out a report, wherever he is, that's where he'll stay until you do.”

Welper walked away, still holding the carton of ice cream. After a few steps, he turned and threw the carton at Dunphy. It missed and bounced harmlessly off a tire.

It was an amusing little tantrum. “Isn't that an attempted assault on a police officer?” I said.

“Technically,” Dunphy said. “But what self-respecting lawman could write that up without laughing?”

I climbed into the cab and told Captain Dunphy I would be back at ten as promised.

“You and I need to talk about Duncan Lacey.” He let what he'd said sink in. “But not tonight.”

“You saw him?”

“Both halves.”

It was a wash as to what shocked me more, the news that he knew who was in the makeshift body bag or his decision not to mention it. Dunphy hadn't used Duncan's real name. It was possible he didn't know of his past.

“Why didn't you say anything?” I asked.

Dunphy started to leave, then changed his mind and came back. “Not tonight. It looks like an accident to me. He's not going anywhere, is he?”

I shook my head in reply.

“Good. I'm a one-shitstorm-at-a-time guy.” He reached into his lapel pocket and handed me his card. “Just in case you think of something you've forgotten to tell me.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or you could save me the phone call and tell me now.” He waited for me to talk. When I didn't, he bent over and picked up the carton of ice cream. “This stuff is an aphrodisiac to Mormon women. Especially my wife.”

His footsteps on the gravel echoed across the quiet impound lot.

T
he gates of the transfer station were locked. My pickup was inside. I cursed the company for refusing to give me the code. A long-haul rig pulled up behind me. The driver figured out I didn't have the code and opened the gate. I followed him in and parked in my usual spot. I debated about what to do with the keys to my truck
—
take them with me or leave them in the ignition for the leasing company. They might not come tomorrow, but they could come any time.

It only took a few minutes to grab my personal belongings from the cab and stuff them into a plastic bag. I put the keys over the visor and left the door unlocked. No sense making their job harder. Duncan's frozen body would be my parting gift. I'd ask Captain Dunphy what he wanted me to do when I saw him next. I climbed into my pickup and watched in my rearview mirror as my red brake lights reflected against the galvanized gate closing behind me. I turned onto the frontage road and headed for home, which wouldn't be home for much longer.

The porch light of my duplex was on. I looked up and down the street to see if I could tell which parked car belonged to Welper or the Chinese contingent. I made a fist with my right hand and opened the door with my left. The light from the porch sliced across my dark living room until it came to rest on a pair of pink Converse All-Stars dangling from the footrest of my recliner. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. On cue, Ginny unleashed a loud sleeping snort. Her breathing returned to normal. So did mine.

Once again she was asleep with her dress hiked up and her hands cradling her round belly. I knelt next to the chair in the dark and fought the impulse to touch her hair. I rested my head on the arm of the chair.

I woke with her warm hand on my face. Still half asleep, she said, “Jesus, Ben, does your face feel as bad as it looks?”

“About the same,” I answered. “Where have you been, kid? Your friend Miranda dropped by. She was worried about you.”

“How about you?”

“Didn't give it a second thought. Where were you?”

She reached down and picked up something off the floor on the other side of the chair. “Saving your ass, old man. Turn on a light, you perv.”

She was holding what looked like my blanket, carefully folded and shrink-wrapped in clear plastic. I asked her if it was my blanket. “You didn't have it dry-cleaned, did you?”

“No. You don't dry-clean eighty-five thousand dollars.”

On a wild hunch Ginny had driven to Salt Lake City after watching an episode of
Antiques Roadshow
. She took the blanket with her. “It's what they call a ‘pre-contact' Indian blanket. They're really rare. Jesus, I never thought there was so much to know about blankets. Yours was made in the Southwest before the indigenous people had contact with white men. The first person I showed it to
—
I thought she was going to faint. She started crying.”

“Was she sure?”

“She wanted to run some tests and show it to some other experts. I refused to let it out of my sight. I swear, Ben, you'd think they were having a community orgasm. She put me up in a hotel. A nice one. With room service.” She added, “And a minibar!”

“Wow,” I said.

“She asked about you. I told her what I knew. Hope you don't mind. I would have phoned
—
if you had a phone. Eighty-five thousand is what she'll pay. She said she wanted to be fair. There's a chance it would bring more at auction. If you don't sell it to her, or decide not to sell it at all, then she'd like to be reimbursed for the hotel and the testing and maybe a little extra. Pretty cool, huh? But you'll have to pay taxes when and if you sell it.”

“Yeah, kid,” I said, “pretty cool. Even after taxes.”

“Now for some bad news. I did a profit-and-loss statement, factored in your accounts receivable. A whole bunch of neat stuff. It's all on an Excel spreadsheet on my computer. Basically, if you keep driving 117 without making some serious changes, your blanket money will be gone in a year and you'll be right back to square one. On the upside, I think I'll get an A in my class.”

“I'm proud of you,” I said. “You already have an A from me.”

“I thought you'd be happier,” she said.

“I am happy,” I said, wondering if what she had told me could actually be true. “I'm tired, Ginny. Most of all I'm happy you're okay.”

“You mind if I sleep here tonight?”

What could I say to the pregnant teenager who seemed to have come to my rescue? I wanted to tell Claire. I wanted Claire to meet Ginny. I wanted us all to have dinner at the house in Desert Home, even Walt. I wanted to buy Claire her own cello. I wanted Ginny to have enough money to get herself and the baby properly settled. I wanted to sleep. I wanted everything to be exactly as it was, because it had become better.

“Go to sleep,” I said. “If you go into labor, do it quietly.”

Ginny yawned and smiled. “Asshole.” She closed her eyes and stuck out her weaponized tongue at me. “Ben, would you do me and yourself a favor? Take a damn shower. You stink. Pregnant women are really sensitive to smells. But you'd stink to me even if I weren't.”

“Right now, Mom,” I said.

“That's a lot of money, Ben. You could start over, if you wanted.”

“Maybe,” I answered. “Except when people like me start over they usually just start over doing the same damn thing.”

She was asleep again.

Everything had changed and still stayed the same. At the top of the list was Claire. All the rest was gravy. I pulled an old green army blanket off my bed and covered Ginny, vaguely wondering if I could be covering her with thousands of dollars. On my way to shower my eyes fell on my old percolator
—
five thousand; the antique La-Z-Boy recliner
—
two thousand; plywood chest of drawers
—
a thousand. I was just another millionaire laughing under the hot water.

I couldn't sleep. The clock on my bedside glowed minutes past midnight. Did my mother know what she had wrapped around me? Was it the only gift she had to give me? Did she even care? Was it even hers to give? More thunder coughed in the distance. All at once rain began to fall. It beat the roof and sides of my duplex and splashed down the gutters into the alleyway. Dennis was on his way. Walt was in his bed. Claire was clutching a pillow and thinking of me. Lightning cracked nearby. My window shade threw off a bright yellow like firelight.

My thoughts came to a halt with Josh and refused to move on. It wasn't until that second that it occurred to me I might have killed Josh by leading him out into the desert and abandoning him there. The caretaker at the dig site had seen a fire. A signal fire? 117 was due south from where I'd left him. Maybe not even ten miles. A mentally impaired Cub Scout could have found his way to 117 from there. Sunset west. Sunrise east. But he wasn't even a Cub Scout. He wasn't a reality television producer or even an insurance investigator. Josh was simply a luthier trying to impress a father-in-law who wasn't worth the effort.

The prospect of Josh running afoul of a cadre of cello mercenaries seemed a better end than what I could imagine in the desert. He quickly became the thorn in my new paradise. I had no choice. How soon I acted might make all the difference, if he was out there at all, and if I could find him in the darkness. If serious harm had come to Josh in the desert, it would tarnish all my good fortune.

I dressed and drove straight back to highway patrol headquarters and called Captain Dunphy. It was after one in the morning. The dispatcher was the only person there. Dunphy listened and advised me to wait until morning. He knew I would ignore his advice. “I'd hoped when you called you'd have more to say. Tell the dispatcher to radio Trooper Smith and have him meet you at Walt's diner. You need to have someone with you.”

“Why?”

“If you find him, you'll need a credible witness as to his condition and the circumstances, especially if he's dead. If he is dead, I don't want one grain of sand out of place. And then there's the probability you might run into unfriendlies. You want to do that alone?”

I didn't, not even with Andy, or Walt. “You worried about me, Coach?”

“On 117? Not much. But don't disregard my instructions about partnering up with Trooper Smith. He knows that area pretty well. Not like you, though. And he needs the overtime.”

He hung up.