by Marta Acosta
He frowned. “I shouldn’t have said that. I suppose I’m annoyed because you’re hooking up with Ben.”
“Wrong again, Oliver Desjardins! I haven’t had sex with him and don’t intend to. He’s a friend.” I looked at Oliver confused. “He’s married, and he’s Not Claire. I’m really tired. Can we go now?”
“I know you’re beat, but not just yet. I asked the CHP to leave you here is because Edwin will keep out officials and reporters.” He leaned forward, and now I could gaze in his amber eyes and truly see him, Oliver Desjardins, his own person. “I want you to be very careful of what you tell me about why you were on the mountain. If you need to, um, reshape the story for a personal reason—an important personal reason—I’ll help you.”
“Do you really think it’s possible for me to be careful about what I say?” I laughed for the first time that day, and Oliver smiled, too. I moved to a roomy velvet armchair, curling my legs beneath me. “Dawg O’Donnell called and said he accidentally hit a dog near the Oak Forest Park. He asked me to help him find it.”
And then I told the sheriff everything because I trusted him completely.
He sighed. “So it was Dawg, a guy that would rather make a joke than throw a punch, but it’s consistent with what we know. Sherry Rae died from blunt force trauma to the back of her head. The bullet wounds were post-mortem.”
“Dawg thought Gizmo told me things. He thought I knew about Sherry Rae and the cartel because I’m a dog psychic.”
“If you’re saying it’s your fault, it wasn’t. Dawg profited from the cartel and killed a woman to protect his own interests. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”
“I don’t believe in miracles. I believe in Bertie. I’m alive because of him.”
Oliver stared at me, and I tried to keep eye contact, but I couldn’t. He said, “Sometime, not now, you might want to engage that bright mind of yours into imagining why you mean something in this world, instead of coming up with reasons why you don’t mean anything.”
“It’s not that easy.” Night had fallen and the windowpanes and mirrored the lamps Oliver turned on, so I saw the layered images of inside and out. “People think what they see through glass is true, but glass reflects and refracts light. Everything we see is an illusion, and the human race conspires to pretend there is such a thing as objective reality.”
“Anything else you’d like to add to that?”
“Yes. Dawg was my friend.” Now I could cry, but without energy so the tears rolled down my face. “He was fucked up, but who isn’t, and...I don’t think he would have killed Bertie.”
Oliver got up to bring me a box of tissues. “I knew Dawg dabbled in pharmaceuticals, but half the town has something going on. I can’t lock everyone up.”
“You tried to lock me up.”
“That was just for fun,” he said, with a grin. “ I didn’t know about the money laundering. Heather’s always been a straight arrow and she’s a good mother. There’s no need to drag her and the kids into this mess.”
“How can they not be dragged in?”
“We’ll share the story you told me. Dawg saw an injured dog running by the highway and up a path on Mt. Hale. He called you to help rescue the animal. You and Dawg became separated and didn’t have phone contact because there aren’t signals up there. You heard an explosion and then you smelled smoke. You knew you had to get down the mountain. You can’t remember any details because you’re traumatized. Is that the story you told me?”
I considered the woman who’d have to raise children on her own from now on, the struggles she’d face. “Yes.
“Okay, repeat the story after me.” When I was able to recite the story smoothly, he said, “Jeanne Gallego wants to talk to us. She’ll be here soon. Let me handle it.”
“I’m over letting people handle things for me, Oliver. I’ll talk to her.”
There was a rap at the door and Oliver opened it for Jeanne, who wore a blazer over a silk blouse, tailored jeans, and boots. “I wanted to see how you’re doing, Madeleine.”
“I’ll be better tomorrow.”
“It’s curious that you were caught in the fire.”
While I told her my story, she smiled and occasionally gave a sympathetic “Oh, my!” I knew she didn’t believe one word.
Oliver’s phone buzzed and when he moved away to answer the call, I said to Jeanne, “The mountain is so beautiful. Do you think Sherry Rae knew that?”
“Sherry Rae enjoyed the outdoors, but lived for skyscrapers, big cities, and making deals. I used to tell her that if she slept under the stars for ten consecutive nights, it would forever change her conception of the world.”
Oliver joined us and said, “The fire’s twenty-percent contained, and let’s pray the wind dies down. The chief won’t send trucks up there, but the blasts created fire breaks.”
“Has anyone else...” I began. “Is anyone trapped there?”
“No one knows.”
I thought of Rafael, the friendly, laughing man who’d sold weed at the Ring-A-Bell parking lot and called me mamacita. “It’s a terrible way to die.”
“So is being blown up by an IED,” Olly said. “The mountain is officially off-limits until it’s cleared of explosives.”
Jeanne said, “Oliver, since you’re here, do you have any other news about Sherry Rae’s murder?”
“I don’t think we’ll never know the whole story, Jeanne. Whoever did it is probably long gone.”
“I understand.”
“Jeanne,” I said. “Dawg said you were trying to pay the cartel to leave so you could petition for Mt. Hale.”
Oliver grabbed my arm, and said, “Maddie!”
Jeanne’s smile remained serene. “Dr. Whitney, it’s a violation of federal law to negotiate with foreign or domestic cartels.”
“Does federal law apply to your nation?”
She smiled. “The topic of sovereignty is complex and highly debated.”
“It doesn’t matter because I hope you get the land and restore it. If you do, I’ll find a team to help you clear it.”
“I don’t comment on hypotheticals, but I appreciate your offer, Dr. Whitney. Please accept the robe as a gift.”
“Call me Maddie. My doctorate is only in criminology.”
“That must be very useful in conjunction with your psychic abilities when you’re working with Sheriff Desjardins,” she said and winked.
“Just a second!” I went to my hoodie and took out the CD. I wiped the grime off the disc and put it back in its case. “It’s a mix of songs about light and wind. It saved me. I hope you like it.”
WEARING THE ROBE AND matching terry slippers, I went with Oliver and Bertie to his patrol car. The air was warm and smoky.
Oliver said. “You can sit in the front if you like, but there are news vans outside the casino property.”
Bertie and I got in back, and I slouched to hide. “I remember the last time I was in the backseat.”
“Try not to run away and break into houses tonight.” Oliver waved to the parking attendant and drove out the entrance of the lot as people ran toward the car, shouting our names. “I should have known then...”
“Known what?”
“Nothing.”
“What will happen to Gizmo? He’ll be lost without Dawg.”
“I have to break the news to his wife. I’m not looking forward to it. Stick to the story, and it will make life easier for her and his kids.”
“Kenzie won’t believe I went to Mt. Hale.”
“Maddie, if people didn’t let themselves believe lies, life would be unbearable. You can sit up now.”
“I’m too tired.”
“I didn’t know you studied criminology.”
“It was as good as any other subject and I could channel my obsessiveness into the minutia. Then I housesat for my thesis director and he had a pair of neurotic boxers. I trained them and found my calling.”
“I’m glad you’re not in law enforcement.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Could I stop you?”
“No. Is the cartel really called Los Tres Chuckies because of Chuck Norris, Chuck Taylors, and Chuckie the movie?”
Ollie laughed so hard he coughed. Finally, he said, “It was founded by three guys who were all named Carlos. Carlos, Charles, Chuck, the three Chuckies. Who told you that crazy story?”
“I am going to kill Jaison.”
“A word of advice: don’t inform a member of law enforcement that you’re plotting a murder. We’re here.”
I sat up at looked at the house where I’d spent my early years, the rooms full of my childhood frustration and rage, and wondered why we’d really come back. My lovely sister stood on the front steps with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her eyes wide, and Jaison was beside her, an arm over her shoulders. As soon as the car stopped, she ran forward.
Oliver unlocked the door and she opened it, crying, “Maddie!”
“Hey, baby.” I managed to swing my legs out of the car, but couldn’t make them do anything else.
She took my arm and hefted me upright. She held me tight. “I was so worried!”
“Kenzie, if I don’t go to bed right now, you’ll have to carry me there.”
“Let her sleep,” Oliver said. “Jaison, could you stay at the gate and keep the media out?”
“Especially Abel Myklebust,” I said. “Oliver, arrest him if he tries to trespass, but Sasha Seabrook can come in if she wants to lie down and cuddle with me.”
“She’s babbling,” Oliver said, and Jaison said, “I’ll keep them all out and I’ve got just the Rottweiler to help.”
Kenzie kept her arms around me, making the brief walk to my room clumsy. She turned down my blankets and I crawled in, robe and all.
“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” she asked as she tucked the blankets around me.
“Probably, but I’m too tired to care.” I patted the side of the bed. When Bertie tried to jump, he fell back. I dragged my comforter and pillows to the floor so I could be beside him.
“Maddie...” Kenzie said
I wrapped the comforter over us and I was asleep before I heard the rest of her sentence.
Chapter 22
I OPENED MY EYES AND found myself on my bedroom floor. I recalled Bertie being too tired to jump on the bed, and then I recalled everything else. For the moment, I enjoyed the warmth of the comforter, the dustless rows of books 1” from the edge of the shelves, the soothing gray walls, and the faint scent of Meyers Lemon Soap.
I reached out for Bertie and put my hand on his noble head. He wagged his tail and my heart filled with joy. He wanted to start the day so I stood, examined my new injuries, and stretched my sore limbs.
“How you doing, Bertie?” I rubbed him all over, careful of his sensitive spots. “This time, you’re really going to rest until you recover.”
We went to the kitchen and Kenzie was sitting at the table. Her eyes were red and shadowed, and she said, “Dawg,” just that, “Dawg.”
“I’m sorry, Kenz. I should have kept him away from the mountain.”
“You should never have gone with him when everyone knows how dangerous it is.”
“I had to. He was so desperate.”
“Oh, Maddie,” she said, and came to me, putting her arms around me. Her small body shook as she sobbed and I thought I should be grieving, too, but my feelings where too tangled.
She released me. “Christopher’s coming and I already told Mom and Georgie. I left a message for Ben. Sasha and other reporters are calling non-stop. You’ll be happy to know that I cussed Abel Myklebust out when he got pushy about an interview.”
“Good on you, Kenz! What about the fire?”
“It might not be out for days, but it’s contained.”
“Oh. I’m going to feed the dogs.”
She looked at me with a puzzled expression, so I added, “They don’t know what’s going on. They only know I’m supposed to be there.” I left Bertie inside with his favorite treat, an antler prong, and went outside .
The dawn sky had a thick smoggy haze turning rich vermillion and tangerine at the edge of the sun coming over the mountains. My truck was in its usual spot; Kenzie must have given Olly the extra key, because he was the only one who knew where the truck had been parked.
I finished my tasks and then took the dogs for a run. I felt weak and barely made it to the pond. I sat on a boulder, coughing in the smoky air. The dogs leaped into the water, splashing, and paddling, and when I called them out, they rolled in the grasses, reveling in sensation.
On our way back, I saw Ben’s Forester driving down the lane. He was dressed for work, in a white shirt and slacks, and came to meet me saying, “Are you all right?”
“I’m glad you’re here! I have a few more scrapes and bruises, but Bertie had it harder. Would you take a look—a test-run as our concierge vet?”
“I think Bertie has earned free care for life,” he said. “I saw the story on the news late last night, and wanted to call, but Ava said to let you rest.”
“Smart woman. I passed out the moment I went horizontal.” I smiled, admiring him standing in the green field, big and handsome and kind. “Bertie’s inside. I think we have stale donuts.”
“Those are the best for dunking. I felt pretty damn special, Jaison letting me in while the reporters are kept away by your hellhounds.”
“Has he been there all night?”
“His pretty girlfriend was keeping him company.” Ben got his medical bag and we went into the kitchen, where my sister was slumped and yawning in a chair.
“Kenzie, I’m drinking coffee today. I feel the need for caffeination.”
“God help us all. Hi, Ben, Maddie told me your proposal. We haven’t had a chance to discuss it yet, but we’re definitely interested.”
Ben examined Bertie, gave me a bottle of painkillers, and ate two donuts. I drank a mug of sugary coffee and my nerves began to tingle. I wanted to talk about Dawg, but didn’t know how to bring him up. Finally Ben said, “Poor Doug. I didn’t get to know him well, but he seemed nice.”
“He is. Was.”
“I know you were friends.”
I glanced at my sister. “We never did anything outside work but...he loved music. He loved partying. He never should have won the damn lottery.” Because if he hadn’t won big once, he wouldn’t have believed he’d win big again.
“That had nothing to do with yesterday, Maddie,” Kenzie said.
“Everything has something to do with everything else.”
Before she could respond, Jaison came to the house with the Rotties. Heidi II snapped at Bertie, and I had to drag her away, which took me out of my musing and threw me right into living in the now.
I WANTED TO HIDE FOR the rest of the day, but Sasha Seabrook came to interview me. Bertie lay down by my feet as I recited the story I’d practiced. Sasha wore a serious expression and nodded as she listened.
“Dr. Whitney, Fire Chief Lunts and Sheriff’s Captain Desjardins stated that Douglas O’Donnell is presumed to be dead, and hazardous conditions prevent search efforts for rescue or, well, recovery. Do you believe he’s dead? Have you had any messages?”
“I only know that I couldn’t have survived the fire without help getting out. I can’t really talk about Douglas now.”
“It must have been very traumatic,” she said, and put her manicured hand softly on my arm and I endured it without flinching or making faces. “Is there anything else you’d like to share?”
I glanced out the window at the gray sky. “Only that people should never be asked to leave their pets behind in times of a crisis, like natural disasters. Our pets are loyal to us no matter what the situation and we should aspire to be as loyal in return.”
“Dr. Whitney, will you be writing a book about your experiences as an animal psychic?”
I blinked too much while trying to think of a response. “If people would like advice on choosing or training a dog,
they can visit the Whitney Canine Rehabilitation website, read my columns and watch my videos. If someone wants to adopt a pet, I hope they’ll go to their local animal shelter where fantastic animals are just waiting for a good home.”
As the cameraman put away his gear and I removed my microphone, Sasha said, “Now we’re off-air, I wanted to say I’m really sorry.” She gazed at me with her clear blue eyes and shook her head. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like wondering and hoping your friend is still alive.”
“I think it’s better not to hope against unlikely possibilities.”
“Do you? I always hope, and I think you do, too—at least with dogs. Thanks for letting me have the exclusive.”
“You’re the only one I’m comfortable with. We’re practically old friends now.”
“We are, aren’t we, Maddie! Can I call you Maddie?”
“You better.”
“I talked to my producer and pitched a regular feature about pets. He’s thinking about it since my segments with you are really popular even with non-pet-owning viewers.”
“Really? Because I have a few physical, uhm, tics...”
“Oh, polls show that our viewers like your tics. They make you approachable and quirky. They don’t want someone who’s psychic and beautiful and heroic and perfect. Boring!”
“You polled my tics? Seriously? And you don’t have to suck up to me with superlatives.”
“We poll everything, Maddie, and we suck up to everyone.” She grinned. “Let me take you out for lunch sometime. Whenever you want to have a glass of wine and talk, call me. I’ll tell you about my humiliating efforts to become famous and you’ll swear to me that getting a dog will catapult my career. So lunch sometime?”
“Yes, and thanks for asking.” And even though this was one of my rote expressions, I really meant it.
BEFORE I COULD EVEN change out of my interview clothes, my mother called.
“Hi, Mom.” I slipped off Kenzie’s shoes and threw them in my closet.