I picked up Sinatra. "Okay, little guy, you have to take a short nap:' He yowled as I latched the cage. "Try to stay out of trouble."
Voices were coming toward the cabin from down the hill, and I stopped moving so I could better hear them.
Angie'd said she hadn't remembered any disagreements here at Green Clover, but I was pretty sure I was hearing one now It was Cordy's voice I distinguished first.
"I told you, that unless you have a search—"
"Ms. Wright, we need you to stay right here," a man said. Peterson. His voice was pitched low and soft. "Be completely silent. We don't want to alert anyone."
"I'll say again, you may not go in the cabins. Dear God!
You've got your gun out! You don't need that to talk to Kitzi."
"I told you to be quiet. I was told she's armed with guns.
Not one. Several. Stay here, you don't want to get hurt"
I didn't want to get hurt, either. It was time I moved. Peterson seemed to be on the path toward the sleeping porch, so I slipped through the party room to the back door. Instead of dashing out, I waited and peeked out the screens. I could see the rock, and the stairs, and the path that led down to the Saloon. Peterson could see the path, too, if he looked in this direction. The path took a bend only about ten feet beyond the door—if I could get to that point, I'd be safe.
I slipped outside as quietly as I could. I turned toward the Saloon and had taken two steps when I heard a soft shuffling on the path below. Someone was coming up this way. Friend or foe? Someone else with a gun? I trusted the sheriff, but not one of Peterson's men.
Because of the bend I couldn't see who it was, but I wasn't willing to chance it. I was hardly breathing. The cabin wasn't safe, the stairs would land me in Peterson's hands sooner rather than later, and crashing through the woods would be noisy. That left the rock. This time there was no hesitation—I ran for it. The voices were closer, so I rolled over the top of it, and landed with an ooph on the other side. I hoped it had been a silent ooph.
There was an old coke can directly in my vision, and some kind of broken bush under my stomach. It hurt, but I didn't budge an inch.
A man's voice came soft and low. "I've got the other door:' I had gotten out just in time "Are you going in?
Now? Okay?'
They were apparently talking on those shoulder radios.
Handy tools, but not as handy as a good pair of ears. Mine.
I heard the back door close, quietly. Peterson and his friends were inside. All those years my family had been in official positions and we'd had dozens, maybe hundreds, of uniformed officers around us, and they'd always seemed. to fall into one of three types: hearty backslappers, obse-quious kiss-ups or, for the most part, just good people doing a job. Come to think of it, there had been one officious moron at the capitol . . . a rude DPS officer I'd met in my later years. I was betting he and Peterson were best buds.
I'd had my eyes closed, listening intently as the men searched the cabin when I realized that this was one of the worst things I could have done. I didn't have any guns. But Peterson said he'd been told that I did. Who would do that?
Why hadn't I just marched up to Peterson, hands in the air, and told him that I wasn't talking with him until I had a lawyer. That would have been the adult thing to do, but I certainly hadn't done it. And I couldn't just walk out now.
That would look really bad. My mother would tell me that one more time, I had acted before I thought.
That wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to dwell on while lying on a bush, so I opened my eyes. A centipede was crawling up over the soda can. Bad things, centipedes. They can bite, or sting, or something. It hurts, that's all I know. I blew air in its direction, and it stopped but didn't go away.
"Beat it," I whispered, "or I'll sic my cat on you."
The centipede took a neutral direction, but kept on going. So did Peterson. He was quick and efficient. He went through the downstairs like Sherman marching through At-lanta. I could hear him checking under beds, moving some chairs, telling one of his men to check behind something else. While he searched, I watched the centipede, who was now six inches from my nose, as intent on me as I was on him. The bush under my stomach seemed to be growing and my neck was getting stiff. Then the back door of the cabin opened. I held my breath, waiting, hoping the steps would turn toward the Saloon and fade away.
They didn't; they came closer. They were on the path, then silent. I was picturing him looking around. I kept thinking, don't look at the rock. Like anyone could miss the great big thing. Of course, who would think to look behind it? The centipede was on the move again, coming closer. I couldn't even hiss at the little creeper for fear that Peterson would hear me.
Then the footsteps hit wood, and Peterson—I was sure it was him—was going up to the second floor. Under cover of his footsteps, I scooted a little to ease the pressure on my back. I was going to have some kind of bruise on my stomach. Maybe some scratches, too, The centipede was on the ground scuttling toward me. I gently moved my arm until I could reach the old soda can. I lifted it up silently and used it to push the centipede back under the rock. My arm was stiff, and when the can scraped against the rock, echoing in my little spot like a truck hitting a freeway barrier, I held my breath.
Nothing happened, and the boots on the steps kept going, across the small landing and inside the cabin.
Slowly, carefully, I inched forward and rolled over onto my side. Ah, relief. Sort of. It didn't help my neck, but my stomach was quite grateful. Voices. I could hear someone say they were heading toward the cabin. It was tinny and probably coming from the microphone on Peterson's shoulder. Then I heard someone else walking up the steps, moving very quickly. An officer with news? Good news? Bad?
The steps were awfully light as they went up the stairs, and the old door squeaked open.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" It was Lynn, and she sounded mad.
"Who are you?"
"Lynn Donaldson. Now, one more time, what are you doing with my stuff?"
I'd have been enjoying this if I didn't need a good stretch, and if the centipede hadn't been intent on finding me again.
"What do you call this thing?" Peterson asked.
"I call it art in the hands of a barbarian."
It took me a minute to get it, but then I had to grin. My, Lynn was feisty today.
I didn't hear what Peterson said next, but Lynn said,
"You're twelve hours too late. That's when she was here going through my things, just about like you're doing."
"She was? Katherine Camden. Damn." There was some growl to the words. "How do you know? Did she take anything?"
"I know because I caught her—just like I caught you. As for taking anything, yes, at least one bead, maybe more.
Why don't you arrest her?"
He growled something else, and I didn't catch the words, but Lynn laughed. It was the kind of laugh that could goad someone to murder . .
"If you see her," Peterson snapped, "I want to know first thing."
"Ooh, yes, sir," Lynn cooed.
The old door opened, banged shut, and Peterson thun-dered down the stairs, paused for a minute, then spoke to someone else. I missed the first of it, but then the words came loud and clear.
"I don't care what it takes—just find her, now."
Twenty-two
"Sleepy Time Sleepy
Time Oh, it's that sleepy
time
When we can close our eyes
And drift off to the skies
Sleepy time at camp
Sleepy Time at camp
Good night!
Zzzz—zzzz
Green Clover camp song
Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." I opened my eyes to find Nate Wright peering at me over the top of the rock.
For just a moment I wasn't sure where I was. Then I knew.
"Are you Prince Charming?" I asked.
"Prince Elano. I played Elano in the Downey Children's Th
eatre production one year."
That man was an amazement. I rolled a bit and had to stifle a groan. I was going to try to get up, but it seemed beyond me. I stayed down.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
"I came up here to scout the camp, and I heard you."
"I talked in my sleep?"
"Snored. Delicately."
"I don't snore."
"Then I guess you hiccupped." He leaned over to view my position a little better. "Maybe I should help you out."
"Good idea. Has Peterson given up his search for me?
Or moved it elsewhere?"
Nate leaned over, and I gave him an arm. He lifted, and I lunged, and between the two of us, I got to a standing position behind the rock.
"Okay," he said. "When I lift, put your foot on the rock and come on out."
"I think I can do this myself."
He looked me in the eye, and I swear his were twinkling like some hero in an old movie. "I'd rather assist. It gives me a chance to hold your hand."
Now what woman in her right mind could resist that? I gave him my hand, and I was up and over in no time. I dusted my clothes off and looked up at the sky, as if I could tell time by the position of the sun. I can't, so I looked at my watch. I'd been asleep for well over an hour.
"Thanks for your help," I said.
"Care to sit on my private box seat?" He gestured to the rock. Well, maybe it was his, although I'd always considered it mine.
I looked at him. "I have an awful lot to get accom-plished. If it's safe for me to come out."
"Maybe you'd better sit down."
"I hate it when I sleep through important events."
He gestured again to the rock, and after I sat, he climbed up beside rne. His arm brushed mine causing a tingle that zipped through my whole body. "Things have been happening," he said. "Officer Peterson has gone, and he took all the other officials. We're more or less on our own."
"On the surface that sounds like good news. What's the bad part?"
"He has gone to interview a man who was having an affair with May-Feather. Ronald Fairfield."
I almost fell off the rock. "How do you know? How did he find out? Where is Beth? I need to get to her. How's she taking it?" I took in a big breath of air, which is something I should have done first. "Okay. How is Beth?
And where is she?"
"She left and said she was going home. She seemed to be pretty calm, under the circumstances. She started looking for her daughter, but Shannan was gone. Luckily about the same time we discovered your car was missing. We assumed the two of you were off somewhere together. Obviously, that's not so."
"No, she's with a friend, but she does have my car.
Poor Beth, I'd better get over to her house." I was off the rock.
"That's not the plan." He reached out to take my arm
"Beth wants you to stay here and take care of Shannan."
"But Shannan isn't here and doesn't need taking care of.
Beth does. She shouldn't be alone."
"She's not," he said. "She's going to be with her husband."
I gave him a pitying look. "I call her husband Mo-Ron, and if I know him, he won't talk to Peterson. Instead, he'll start screaming for a lawyer, and the police will end up having to resort to warrants and whatever else they do.
Maybe they'll take him to the police station!' I liked that idea. "Actually, this could be a great thing. Maybe they won't bring him back. Except it's not good for Beth!'
"She asked us to tell everyone that she could deal with her husband's situation better ... if it was only the two of them." He touched my arm, again. "I think it's a husband and wife thing."
She didn't want me there.
And after a moment, I realized she was right. Mo-Ron and I don't get along fabulously during the best of times., Alpha people don't, I suppose.
I leaned back up against the rock, suddenly a woman without a mission. "So how do we know that Peterson is interviewing Ron? Did Ron call here?"
"No, not as far as I know. Cordy overheard Peterson on the phone; then she told Beth."
"How long ago did Beth leave?"
"About an hour. When you sleep, it's serious business."
"It's serious stress. Some people turn to drink or heavy drugs. Me, I just sleep." I rubbed my neck and winced. "I don't believe I'm built for sleeping on the ground, though."
"How about if I rub your neck? Just five minutes and you'll feel better. There's nothing you have to do right now, since Peterson is gone, and I'm told I'm very good with my hands:" He said it so innocently I didn't dare make a comment.
"Well . .
"Here, sit up here."
I sat on the rock facing off to the side, and he gently rubbed my neck. "Is this the spot?" he asked.
With Nate Wright, darn near any spot was the right one, but I didn't say that. "Yes. Feels good."
"And you are very tense:' His hand slid gently along the top of my right shoulder, and I almost melted into the granite rock.
"Of course I'm tense," I said, trying not to sound it.
"My best friend is in trouble, and I can't help. I just wish I knew who killed May. It would solve everything." We were silent while I let a hundred things roll through my brain, and Nate gently massaged my neck. The moves were great for my stiff body, but it wasn't helping my brain a bit. He did have good hands.
Then I remembered his argument with May Feather.
"Nate, we need to clear something up, and as good as the massage is, I have to be looking at you while we talk."
He stopped rubbing and said, " 'When duty whispers low, thou must, the youth replies, "I can." ' Youth being a relative term."
I turned to face him. "You had a disagreement with May Feather on Thursday!' I said, and his upper lip did an Elvis-like twitch. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but that's beside the point. I'd like to know what it was about."
The twitch disappeared as his ears turned red. "Are you sure we couldn't just skip this? I'd like to buy you dinner next week—"
"That sounds grand, but I could be in jail next week. Or you could. Or Beth. I'm not asking for your marital history!' Now where did that come from? "I just want to know why you were arguing with May!'
He took in a big breath and looked me square in the eye.
"It's the stupidest thing in the world, and I want you to know that I'm not happy admitting it."
"You found me snoring behind a rock—how much worse could it be?"
"Worse," he said. "Here goes. May pulled her trailer in and ran over three new trees that I had just planted. In light of what's happened since then, it doesn't seem very important, but at the time I was mad." His voice became earnest.
"Have you ever heard of the Weeping Cherry? Also known as the Kiku Shidare?" I shook my head, and he went on with some enthusiasm. "They're amazing. It's a weeping tree with double pink flowers that can be over an inch wide.
I thought they would be a great way to greet people at the entrance of the camp, so I ordered three, and put them in the ground two days ago." His voice ran down. "It seems so inconsequential."
"Most everything does in light of murder," I said. "But she broke them off?"
"Yes. And she wouldn't move the trailer. That's what really made me mad."
"Why wouldn't she?"
"I'm sure I was being 'high-handed' as my ex-wife used to say. That's when May decided she was too busy and that she'd get to it when she was good and ready." He shook his head. "I don't think either of us could call it our finest hour." He let out a breath. "Happy now?"
"No. Dam." At least that was one puzzle solved; I didn't figure Nate had killed May because of a couple of trees. I gave him a thorough look. "You didn't kill her, did you?"
He put his hands up. "I did not," and then he frowned.
"You know, I'd lie to you if I did. Miss Camden, you're a bit naive."
"Maybe, but not innocent." After saying it, and watching one of his eyebrows go up, I could fee
l myself flushing. I went on faster than I might normally have.
"How do you feel about gardenias?"
"I like them all, but which variety in particular?"
"Never mind, you've answered my question." I wondered if he'd like the ones my grandfather and I had raised in the conservatory, and then I felt guilty. "None of this is helping protect Beth and her family. We have some serious thinking to do."
"I have a question for you, before we finish this adult version of Truth or Dare," he said.
"I don't know if I'll answer?'
He smiled slightly. "Then come up with a dare." The smiled disappeared as he plunged ahead. "Are you avoid-ing kb?"
"No. Why in the world would you ask that?"
"Because he thinks you are."
"What an egotist. I hadn't thought of him at all. In case he doesn't realize it, you might remind him that I've been busy with a few other things that have been going on around here."
"He wanted to take you out to dinner tonight."
"Tell him I won't be hungry, but thanks for the offer."
Nate raised an eyebrow. "I think that's a message you'll have to deliver in person."
I remembered too late that Nate was Jeb's brother. "I'm sorry_ I've had so much on my mind."
"You two have a history."
I nodded. "I like that. We do have a history. Past tense, which is why we won't be dining together." I added,
'That's not really important; what I'm concerned with is Peterson."
"You should be. His intention was to charge you and Shannan with obstructing justice or some such. He was going to take you both to the sheriff's department and put you in a cell until you told him the truth about something. I never did find out what, but he was dead serious."
"I sent Shannan away on gut instinct."
"It was a good instinct."
Shannan was having to face enough right now with her father's affair and May's death. She didn't need any more upset, and she surely didn't need to be in a jail cell somewhere. What she'd done, and said, to Peterson had come out of fear. Maybe if he'd been kinder and more understanding she'd have told the truth.
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