by James Rubart
"I was plowing through a few e-mails and wrapping up a few last-minute details," Ann said.
"You mean you were stalling?"
"You're funny." Ann smiled. "I mean I was wrapping up a few details."
"Anything I can do for you while you're gone?"
She shut down her e-mail. "Yes. You could pray for my trip. I'll need it."
"Excellent suggestion. I'll get started on that as soon as I figure out how that whole prayer thing works." Drew stroked his chin. "When you get back, I've got a stupendously stellar story for you to work on."
"That's the twentieth time you've used that line this year." Ann leaned back in her chair and folded her hands across her dark blue Nike jacket. "And it's only July. You're addicted to alliteration."
"I can't believe I'm giving you three weeks off in a row."
"Sure you can, I've earned it." Ann grinned. "And you love me."
"True. And so do they." Drew stepped inside and pointed at a map of the United States on the far wall of Ann's office. "Did you see the overnights? The TV audience in Miami loves you. As they do in Philadelphia, and San Francisco, and Nashville.
"But they're not so sure about you in Dallas or right here in Portland, Oregon." He walked to the map and circled the cities with his forefinger. "The show has plummeted all the way to number two in its time slot in both markets."
"I still wonder why I got in front of your cameras that first time." Ann shook her head, even though now she couldn't picture herself doing anything else.
"You're finally going to tell me why you agreed? Ever since I've known you, you've never wanted anything to do with the outdoors or thrill seeking, then all of a sudden two years ago, boom, you transform from Ms. Investigative Journalist into Adventure Girl."
"I think you know why." Ann touched the tip of her forefinger to a framed picture on her desk.
"I suppose I do."
"It's the same reason I started rock climbing. It's a way to feel close to the true adventure girl. I think about Jessie with every story I do. She would love to be cohosting the adventures with me. And she'd be better at it."
Ann picked up the photo of her foster sister and clutched it against her chest. "I pretend Jessie's doing the stories with me, laughing, teasing me, pushing me to do even crazier things."
She set the picture back on her desk and swallowed. No more tears. Enough had come a few days back on the anniversary of the crash. "So what's the stellar story you'll have me dying to develop when I get back?"
"Rock climbing. Since you're a pro now, it's time." Drew waved the production schedule in his hand. "I've been producing Adventure Northwest for three years, and we've never done a show on rock climbing."
"I didn't realize that. What a riveting revelation." Ann clicked off her desk lamp.
"That one was better than your last two."
"Thanks. Listen, I'm still pretty new to the whole climbing thing. Maybe we could wait another six months or a year even."
"Nah, you'll be great. Knowing you, I'm sure you're better than you're letting on."
She scooted her leather chair up next to her desk as she watched Drew gaze at The Princess Bride poster on her office wall.
"Still waiting for Wesley, aren't you?"
"Absolutely." Ann flipped her shoulder-length auburn hair behind her shoulders. "Nothing can stop true love."
"Don't you have to find him first?"
"I'm working on that." But she wasn't working on it. Was she supposed to meet someone online? Not a chance. Ask friends to set her up? No. Finding true love wasn't as easy as scripting a movie where the handsome hero suddenly appears.
Drew rapped a rolled-up tube of papers against his palm. "Speaking of romance, I'm going to surreptitiously stick my snout in where it doesn't belong."
"You already did with your stalling comment." Ann folded her arms across her chest.
"Are you seriously going down to Three Peaks to meet Cameron?"
"No. I'm not going there to meet him. He'll just happen to be there at the same time I'm finding out where I came from." Ann raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.
"You sure you want to dig into your family history?"
"Positive."
But she wasn't positive. Why try to find relatives who might not want to be found? Why uncover a past that might be better off buried? Because she had to know if she was completely alone in the world. And the timing of Cameron's call might be God's way of saying it's time.
"You just happen to be going down there at the same time as Cameron? I thought he called and asked you to come." Drew slumped into the chair in front of Ann's desk.
"He did."
"I'm confused."
"So am I." Ann pinched the bridge of her nose. "But I've been meaning to go there anyway, so the timing worked out. What was I supposed to say?"
"No."
"I tried, Drew."
"Not hard enough apparently."
"He's almost like a brother-in-law. And it has to do with Jessie too. Something I need to find out about her."
Drew nodded. "You're not worried about any emotions that might surface again being around Cameron?"
Ann rolled her eyes and sighed. Yes, she was fully worried. "That was seven years ago." She slammed her laptop shut and stuffed it into her briefcase.
"So you don't have those feelings anymore?"
"No." Ann, you are such a liar.
"I'm only going to say this because you're one of my closest friends. I can tell when you're lying."
"Well, this time you're wrong." She slung her briefcase strap over her shoulder and glared at him. "I'll be fine."
"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't at least tell you to be careful?"
"I'm always careful."
"I know." Drew stood, walked through the doorway, and said over his shoulder, "Be extra careful this time, okay? I don't want you getting hurt."
Neither did she. But it wouldn't be easy.
Hearing Cameron's voice and having the old feelings surge to the surface was bad enough. Now she'd have to be around him for a week or more.
Why had God stuck him back in her life? Even if Cameron caught a clue and realized how she felt, she could never let herself get involved with him.
Add in the possibility that Jessie's book was real, and she had a recipe for severe psychosis. How many times had she teased Jessie about that fantastical story? Probably every day after they ended up together in the Busby's foster home.
Ann strode out of her office, tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks.
She had the feeling this adventure would wrack more nerves than any on-air story she'd ever done.
CHAPTER 6
Cameron rang Arnold Peasley's doorbell as he examined the chipped pea-green paint on the siding determined to get answers. He wouldn't let Arnold shut him down as fast as Kirk Gillum.
Ten seconds later the door swung open and a spry man wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt and an ancient-looking pair of Adidas sweatpants stood in front of him. He held a worn basketball under his arm.
"Arnold Peasley?"
"Yep."
"My name is Cameron—"
"I know precisely who you are." Arnold tapped his foot double-time on the faded hardwood floor in his entryway. "Gillum said you'd be coming by to converse with me about Three Peak's history."
Arnold led Cameron through a six-foot-tall corridor of stacked newspapers bound with twine. Piles of papers lined every wall.
"Quite a collection of newspapers you have there."
"I keep telling myself I should toss 'em, but I consider myself the town's unofficial historian, and a newspaper is the best history you can have. Books have a tendency to filter out all the interesting details." Arnold ran his fingers through his hair three times in rapid succession.
"Don't they have microfiche of all these papers?"
"Oh, probably, but there's nothing like having the real McCoy, you know what I'm saying? I think you do." Arnold stopped in fr
ont of two rocking chairs, only a few patches of varnish still on them, sat, and motioned for Cameron to do the same.
A few moments later Arnold smacked the arms of his chair three times and popped back to his feet. He strode toward the kitchen dribbling his basketball. "Come along, Cameron; don't just sit there."
He smiled to himself and followed his host.
"I do know the history around here," Arnold said over his shoulder, "so fire away. What would you like to know?"
Everything. No point in being subtle; he needed answers now. "Before my dad died, he told me about a book with all the days in it. Does that mean anything to you?"
Peasley stood in front of the refrigerator dribbling the basketball. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because I—"
"Can you take the time to explain what the book has to do with finding out about the history of Three Peaks?"
"I'm not—"
"You're not really here to find out the broader history of our town, are you?" Peasley glared at him as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
Cameron sighed. "No, I'm not."
Peasley squinted at him as if he were studying a map, deciding on the best route to his destination. "Since you've come clean with me, I'll be fairly transparent with you. Yes, I know exactly what you're talking about."
"And?" Cameron raised an eyebrow.
"I said fairly transparent. Not fully. There's a couple of people to talk to, but you might want to start with him."
"Him?" Couldn't he get a straight answer from this guy?
"Yes, there's always been rumors that he knows more about the book than the rest of us, but he won't talk about it. Maybe you can get him to open up." Peasley drummed his fingers on the counter.
"All I want to know is what the book is."
"Ah, so disappointing. We were doing well, and there you go lying to me again." Arnold shook his head. "No, no, no, you want to know far more. And if you knew what the book really was, you'd want to know far more than you're imagining right now. You'd want to know it all."
Cameron gritted his teeth. Yes, he wanted to know everything about the book. If he confessed that, would Peasley stop talking like Mr. Cryptic?
Arnold opened his refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher filled with something light brown. "Can I interest your taste buds in something cool and refreshing?"
"Sure." Cameron nodded and swallowed. He'd better choke down at least a little of what looked like well-aged iced tea, or Arnold might stop talking altogether.
Peasley poured two tall glasses and handed one to Cameron. The other he left on the counter. "I grew up around here. I never left."
Cameron took a sip of the tea. Not bad.
"I played guard on the high school basketball team in '68 and '69 you know. You're staring at the Three Peaker who took the assist record to new heights those years."
"Who scored the points?"
"Taylor Stone did, of course, but if I hadn't seen the lanes with my eagle eyes, he wouldn't have gotten the ball. Taylor always mentioned that about me when he was talking to the paper about his record-breaking performances. Always. Good man, Taylor was. We had the most consecutive wins in the history of the town. The '82 team came close to breaking it but didn't quite make it. They missed the record by two games."
Arnold Peasley undoubtedly knew his history. Basketball at least.
"I have pictures of the team from both seasons I played, both seasons—did you know that? And the photographer those years? Whew. Good photos. Action photos."
"Will you tell me anything about the book my dad told me about?"
For the first time since their conversation began, Arnold stopped fidgeting. He turned and stared straight into Cameron's eyes, basketball clasped between his palms. "Maybe later. But I'd start with him, and if you get anything interesting from him, we'd love to hear about it."
"Who is 'him,' Arnold?"
"Taylor Stone, of course." Peasley shook his head. "I was giving you clues the whole time and you didn't pick up on them. Are you going to go see Taylor?"
"I'll think about it. Thanks."
"I probably wouldn't waste my time trying. He most likely won't talk to you. Certainly not about the book."
"You just said I should talk to him."
"I said you should, I didn't say you could. In fact, it's pointless to try and if I were you, I'd head back to Seattle as soon as you can." Arnold bounced his ball once. "Did you play basketball growing up? You're going to love these pictures. C'mon, I'll show them to you. Come along."
Arnold Peasley grabbed his iced tea and clipped back into his living room.
Cameron grabbed his notepad and started writing. Why was Arnold driving him to talk to this Taylor Stone? He didn't think it was Peasley's altruism. And why hadn't Kirk Gillum mentioned the guy?
Ann Banister poked her trip counter on her dashboard on Tuesday evening at five thirty, cranked the volume up on her Maroon 5 CD, and pulled onto I-5 heading south. She should be in Three Peaks in three hours.
Cameron flashed into her mind and she sighed.
Three days wouldn't be enough time to figure out what she would say to him when she saw him. Why did he have to ask her to come? Wasn't it enough to talk on the phone?
"Why am I doing this, God?" She smacked her steering wheel. "I could have said no. I should have said no."
But it was about more than Cameron. Why should she be burdened with only one unpleasant task when she could be weighed down by her mysterious past as well?
Ann glanced at the photo on her passenger seat. "Did you love me, Mom, in the short time we had together? Do I have any aunts or uncles out there thinking about me? Wondering about me? Do I finally get to find out?"
She sighed and stomped on the gas. Fine. Let's go. It was time to uncover the past, face Cameron, see if any of Jessie's story of the Book of Days held any truth, and determine what all three things would tell her about the future. But she didn't have to like any of it.
Ann passed through Marion Forks at seven thirty and flicked on her headlights against the growing dusk. Another forty-five minutes and she'd be there.
The highway was nearly empty. She rubbed the back of her neck. It would be okay. What was the worst that could happen? She'd see Cameron, get over it, confirm that Jessie's tale was another instance of her imagination spinning out of control, find out she had no living relatives, and be done with it. Then head back to Portland to move on with life.
Simple.
Ann closed her eyes for a second. She was tired. Emotionally, physically . . .
What was that—?
No!
A deer stood in the middle of the highway, fifteen yards ahead, eyes wide.
Ann swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic, a horn wailed at her, and she yanked the wheel back to the right. The car on her left passed her by inches at the same time her right bumper clipped the deer's back leg.
She screeched to the side of the road and grabbed her legs in an attempt to keep them from shaking. It didn't work. Ann rubbed her face. "Oh, no, no . . . deep breath now. Get out, see if it's okay. Come on."
It was one of her worst nightmares. Her passion for animals overrode most other things in life.
She fumbled with the release on her seat belt, flipped it back, and stumbled out of her car.
"Please don't be dead."
When she reached the spot where she'd hit the deer, there was no sign of it. No blood, no fur, nothing.
Was the deer all right? She glanced off the road on both sides. "Please let it be okay."
Ann returned to her car and eased back onto the highway. Was this a sign of how much pain she'd have to go through before she was done with Three Peaks, or Three Peaks was done with her?
CHAPTER 7
Cameron looked at the address on Gillum's piece of paper and then gazed at the numbers on the two-story house in front of him. This should be the home of Susan Hillman.
Thirty seconds after the chime of the doorbell
faded, Susan opened her door. Her short, tossed brown hair made her look like she'd just come in from a windstorm.
She offered iced tea—must be the official Three Peaks' drink—which Cameron declined explaining he'd had a glass during his last visit. But he did accept two cookies and a glass of milk, making him feel six years old again. They sat outside on her covered redwood front porch and made small talk for a few minutes about the heat of a Three Peaks summer and how long she'd lived in town.
"Fifty-seven winters." A smile played at the corners of her eyes. "But my age and how warm it gets here isn't what you want to know, is it?"
The small-town gossip grapevine must be on overdrive. "No. I'd like to talk about my dad. About his childhood."
Susan nodded.
"His name was Boscoe Vaux and he lived here till he was nine."
Susan laughed. "Well, fancy that." She leaned back in her chair till it bumped into the planter behind her filled with blue Larkspur. "I remember him."
"You what?" Cameron jerked his head and squinted. "You remember my dad?"
"Isn't that funny? I haven't mulled over the memory of Little Boss for ages. And you're his son. He was one of my closest friends in those days. Fascinating." Susan ran her hands through her hair. "God has a sense of humor, yes? Little Boss and I shared the same paint set in first and second grade."
"Little Boss?"
"That's what we called him, due to his being named after your grandfather, who of course was Big Boss." She smiled again. "Boscoe wasn't the best name for a little boy to have. I think he appreciated being called something different." She shook her head. "That takes me back a few years. If Little Boss went two minutes without laughing that was a long time. And what a great smile. Everyone loved him. So tell me, how is your father?"
"He passed away eight years ago." The familiar ache settled in his stomach as an image of his dad and him standing on West Seattle's Alki Beach filled his mind. Cameron missed that grin and the hearty laughter that always accompanied it.
"Oh, Cameron, my heart hurts for you." Susan blinked and covered her mouth. "So young."