The Mural

by Michael Mallory

  This just gets better and better, Dani thought, closing Jack’s door behind her as she heading back out to the parking lot to retrieve her garment bag. She hurried back to her room, where she peeled of her clothes, which were still from yesterday, and put on the fresh ones. Then she went into the bathroom to try and do something with her now-white hair.

  Then she screamed.

  On the mirror, directly across from the shower, were words written in bright red block lettering. She shoved the corner of the towel into her mouth to keep from screaming any more as she read: Gonna die, you white-haired dogfucker!

  She was also sure that she did not have to touch them to know that they were written in paint.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The sun streaming through the dirty windshield of the old station wagon awakened Elley even more than her sudden need to go to the bathroom. She had spent the entire night in the station wagon, which was surprisingly comfortable. No wonder so many children had been conceived in old vehicles like this one. You could damn near have a threesome in it.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was almost nine. She had slept far later than usual, but it wasn’t like she had to go into the office anymore. With her gone and Blaise dead, there might not even be an office anymore. She opened the door of the truck and found the morning a bit more bracing than she had been expecting, and dashed to the outhouse she knew was fifty yards or so behind the double-wide trailer. It was a reeking, fly-infested one-seater located past the apple trees, the strawberry plants and the thriving marijuana crop. Directly behind it was a rusted wire fence, which at one time probably protected the outhouse and the pot garden both, but now seemed redundant. It looked like nobody had been back here in years. That was fine with her; that way it would be a long time before the body was found. If it was ever found at all.

  She stepped into the dark outhouse and seated herself, replaying the events of the night before in her mind like a film. After ditching the Lexus with the spare idiot in the trunk, Elley stood out on the shoulder of the highway until dark, trying to hitch a ride. She gave up counting the vehicles that zipped past her, some dangerously closely, before the old Buick Sport wagon squealed to a halt. The driver, a skinny one-time hippie with a white Z.Z. Top beard and a pony-tail held in place with a tie-dyed headband, which almost matched his threadbare vest, leaned over and rolled down the passenger side window. “Need a lift, ma’am?” he asked her.

  Smiling, Elley got in and pulled the door closed, which took both hands.

  The guy introduced himself as Zephyr and said he was the last local member of an old commune that had been tucked away in the woods of Big Sur since the Summer of Love. “You might not know it now, but I was quite something back then,” he told her. The way the guy was talking about sex to a virtual stranger, Elley figured he probably hadn’t actually had any of the two-person variety since Reagan was president. In between descriptions of his earlier love life, Elley had asked the guy what his profession was, to which Zephyr reacted as though it were the funniest question he had ever heard. “I guess you could say I’m a master herbalist,” he replied, still giggling.

  Right.

  It had taken very little suggestiveness to get the guy to take her to his disgustingly filthy trailer stashed back in the woods. The place was illuminated by lanterns; in fact, there was no evidence of any electricity. The kitchen area had a small oven and fridge, but the presence of a battered ice cooler and a greasy hibachi strongly indicated the appliances were not being used. “Facility’s outside, if you need it,” the guy had told her, which is how she learned about the outhouse.

  After pouring her a glass of cheap white wine, Zephyr pulled out the biggest bong Elley had ever seen and stuffed with about a pound of home-grown shag, and proceeded to get so stoned that his eyes began to move independently of each other, like a chameleon’s. “You’re fiiiiine,” he drawled, appreciatively. Elley responded by smiling at him and slipping off her blouse, then her bra, which brought the old hippie’s eyes back into focus. When he finally made a wobbly lunge for her, it took no effort at all to knock him to the floor, then take the wine bottle and bring it down hard on the back of his head.

  He was still alive but unconscious. Skinny as he was, Elley had little difficulty dragging Zephyr outside, where she dumped him on the dirt and shot him in twice in the head. She didn’t want to leave blood stains on the inside of the trailer. Out here in the dirt, there was a good chance they would be absorbed by the forgiving earth.

  It was the automatic release of his bowls at the moment of death that had given her the idea of where to deposit the body. Taking her slacks off so she wouldn’t get anything nasty on them, she laboriously dragged him to the outhouse, her path illuminated by a couple of dim solar-powered lawn lights, threw open the door, and hoisted Zephyr’s torso up, wrestling his head into the hole. Then she went around and picked up his legs, and shoved. His thin body disappeared through the seat of outhouse with no trouble and splashed satisfyingly into the filth pit below. There was just enough residual light to see a half-full sack of quicklime, which she poured in on top of the old hippie. Reclaiming her slacks, she went back inside where she washed her hands and her legs, for good measure, as thoroughly as his ridiculous hand-pump sink would allow. She started to dress again, then thought, screw it; there was no one here, no one to see her. She decided to slide off her panties, too. Now stark naked and feeling freer than she had in decades, Elley went through the dump and carefully wiped her prints off of everything she had touched inside, taking special care with the wine bottle. Looking around at the dump of a trailer, she decided it was probably better to spend the night in the station wagon. Picking up her clothes and shaking them violently, so as to force out any bugs that might have settled in, she got dressed again and then headed out for the vehicle.

  That was last night. It was now a chill morning, even colder inside the outhouse. When she was finished she reached for the roll of toilet paper, which was the ultra-soft, cottony kind. For some reason that made her laugh.

  Elley picked a handful of apples on her way back to the station wagon, and then started the old wreck up and headed down the washboard road the stretched from the secluded encampment to the road that in turn led to the highway. She had tried to turn on the radio, but nothing came out. It appeared to be dead as a Zephyr. Glancing down, she saw some bare wires hanging down loosely. That was probably why the radio didn’t work. Instinctively, she grabbed the ends of the wires, forcing them together, and felt the zap of a minor electric charge. Even so, she held on, and a moment later was rewarded.

  I see you have arranged for your transportation, Big Sur purred over the radio. You are remarkable resourceful.

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” she replied with a laugh.

  * * * * * * *

  As soon as Dani Lindstrom came into the restaurant, Jack knew that something was wrong. Her face was almost as white as her hair. “You okay?” he asked as she slid into the booth where Althea was finishing off a poached egg, Robynn was pouring more syrup on what was left of her pancakes, and Jack still had one half of a ham, egg and cheese breakfast croissant.

  “Something strange happened to me in my room,” Dani replied.

  “Strange things have been happening to all of us, dear,” Althea said, taking a dainty sip of coffee.

  “What happened?” Robynn asked, innocently.

  “Oh, uh, it was kind of funny, really,” Dani said, brightening her voice for the benefit of the child. “I, uh, set the remote on the edge of the bed, and while I was in the bathroom it fell off, hitting the ‘On’ button and the TV came on. I thought the TV came on by itself, and it scared me a little.”

  Robynn seemed satisfied with the answer, but Jack knew she was covering for something else. “That show that was on the television when it came on,” he said, “was it anything like that thing I showed you on my laptop?”

  Dani nodded.

  “Did you leave it? I mean, leave it on
, the TV.”

  Dani nodded. “I put the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob so none of the staff would come in.”

  A waitress reappeared at the table, refilled Althea’s coffee cup and took Dani’s order for a cheese and avocado omelet, then went away again. After it came, the only conversation at the table was between Jack, Althea and Robynn, and it centered on Robynn’s recitations of cartoon shows that she had seen over the last couple of days. If being abducted by Marcus Broarty had affected her young psyche, she wasn’t showing it. Even being separated from her mother did not seem to be bothering Robynn. The girl’s only complaint was that Jack was not allowing her to use the motel pool.

  “You know,” Althea said, “I feel like I’ve been cooped up inside the room too long. Instead of the pool, maybe we should all go to the beach.”

  “Oooohh, can I, Daddy?” Robynn squealed.

  “Well—”

  “With three of us watching her, I’m sure nothing could happen,” Althea said.

  “What’s gonna happen?” Robynn asked.

  “Oh, you know, punkin, if you go into water that’s too deep or something.”

  “I won’t,” she replied.

  “Okay, that works for me,” Jack said. As Dani was finishing eating he placed his credit card down on the table for the waitress and waved off efforts by both women to contribute. Once the bill was paid the group got up and left the restaurant, but only made it to the front desk before they were stopped. “Mrs. Kinchloe?” said the young male clerk, “something came for you FedEx.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Althea said, picking up the large envelope. “Do I have to sign for it or anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s that?” Jack asked.

  “I called my grandson and asked him to find something for me and send it down. I need to change before we go to the beach, I’ll just be a minute.”

  “You brought a swimsuit with you?” Jack asked.

  “Oh, heavens no, I’m not going into the water, but I still need to change,” the old woman responded. “I’ve been wearing the same things for days now.” She headed toward her room.

  Dani followed Jack and Robynn into their room while Jack cut the tags out of the brand-new blue and yellow swimsuit he had bought for Robynn at the Tide Pool’s expensive mini-boutique. She rushed to the bathroom to change, but Jack stopped her. “Hold on just a second, punkin,” he said, going into the bathroom himself and coming out a moment later. “Okay, go ahead and change. If you need any help, punkin, just let us know.”

  “’Kay,” the call came back.

  Dani handed Jack her room key. “Would you please check out my bathroom now?” she asked. “I don’t know if I can face it again.” Jack nodded. He knew from experience it would take several minutes for Robynn to get changed, so he went over to Dani’s room and let himself in. Stepping into the bathroom, he glanced at the mirror and felt chilled. Quickly leaving the room, he went back to his own, finding Dani sitting tensely on the corner of the bed, and Robynn still in the bathroom, humming happily. “Are the words still there?” Dani asked

  “There were words, yes,” Jack said. “I wiped them off.”

  “You look shaken.”

  “Dani, what did the words say to you?”

  “Something like, ‘You will die, you...you white-haired dogfucker.’ Isn’t that what you wiped away?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Are you going to tell me what they said?”

  “Not right now.” Jack did not want to explain that the message on the glass had read, You know, Romeo, she’s got herpes, right? That wasn’t even the worst part: it had been written in Elley’s handwriting.

  Neither spoke until the ringing of Jack’s cell phone broke the silence. Answering it, Jack heard: “Hey, Jack, it’s Cree. We got something. Your wife drives a silver 2010 Lexus, right?”

  “That’s right, why? Did you find her?”

  “No, just the car. It was at the bottom of a cliff about forty-five miles up the highway from here. It apparently crashed through a guard rail at the highway level and plummeted down to sea level, about two-hundred feet below.”

  “Good god! Was she inside?”

  “There doesn’t seem to be a trace of her anywhere, only her name on the registration. Your other friend wasn’t so lucky though.”

  “You mean Marc?”

  “He was down at the crash site, too, at least what was left of him,” Creeley said. “Seems he rode the car all the way down and then was thrown about forty feet on impact. He landed on the rocks. His wrists were cuffed together, but, well, only one arm was still attached to his body. The staties think he was locked in the trunk when it went over.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “According to Carl, you found evidence that she was at the police station, indicating that she was the one who pistol whipped me, and implying that she sprung Broarty. That, at least theoretically, puts the two of them together. But there’s a bigger problem up on the coast highway, right where the Lexus went through the rail. It was to do with the skid marks.”

  “What about the skid marks?”

  “There aren’t any. The car didn’t brake before it hit the rail, there’s no trail of lain-down rubber. It was sent over deliberately.”

  “And you think Elley....”

  “We need to find your wife, Jack. We need her for questioning if nothing else. If you see her or hear from her, you contact Carl or me immediately. Understood?”

  He wanted to tell Creeley about the messages painted in the bathrooms, but could not bring himself to. He had absolutely no proof it was actually Elley’s doing.

  But if not hers, then whose?

  “Believe me, Cree, I will.” Jack cut off the call and dropped the cell phone on the bed, just as Robynn burst through the bathroom door, resplendent in her new swimsuit.

  “I love it, Daddy!” she said, holding her arms out and posing. “I just wish Mommy could come to the beach with us.”

  “Yeah...that’d be great, all right,” Jack said, fighting back nausea.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  They was no way they could all fit into Jack’s truck, so Dani offered to drive to the beach. “Any idea where we’re going?” she asked, pulling out of the motel parking lot.

  “There’s a place called Moonstone Beach,” Althea said. “I used to go there when I was young.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Not far from here,” she said, vaguely.

  “I think I recall seeing an exit sign for it on the highway,” Jack offered. “Just get onto the One, and we’ll find it.”

  “Okay,” Dani said.

  A couple of miles up Highway 1, the sign for Moonstone Beach appeared. From the back seat, Althea Kinchloe started to sob.

  “Althea, are you all right?” Jack said, turning back.

  “Oh, yes, good heavens, I’m just a foolish old woman, is all,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’ve been reading this journal and it’s bringing back so many memories. So many happy ones.”

  “That’s what you got in the mail from your grandson?”

  “Yes, the one Howard wrote when we were young. I never realized it at the time, but he wrote like a poet.”

  “He must have been a special man,” Dani said.

  “I’m realizing now that he wasn’t really a man at all,” Althea said softly. “He was a boy, a child. We both were. He was all of twenty-five-years old when he was killed in the war. That’s no age at all. My grandson Tim, who sent me this, is thirty-three, eight years older than Howard was, and yet I still think of Tim as a boy.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “He was impetuous, Howard was. But then, so was I. We were two impetuous children.”

  “I like Howard,” Robynn said.

  “What, dear?” Althea said.

  “Howard. He’s nice. He loves you, Noni.”

  “Well, he loved me, a long time ago.”

  “He still loves you. He told me so.”

  J
ack turned back and exchanged glances with Althea, who looked shaken. “Punkin,” he said, “what do you mean he told you so?”

  “I saw him last night, when I was asleep.”

  “Oh...oh dear,” Althea muttered.

  “He said he would have talked to you, Noni, but you weren’t asleep.”

  The old woman put her face in her hands to hide her tears.

  “Robynn, did Howard say anything in particular?” Jack asked.

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on Oyster Cracker, whom she was making dance. “He said to tell Noni that eye-dine will make the words come out.”

  “Do you know what that means?” Jack asked the old woman.

  “Oh, lord,” Althea said, looking up. “It refers to invisible ink. Howard sent me a letter once in invisible ink, so my father wouldn’t find it and read it. Running the pages through an iodine solution makes the letters appear.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Robynn said. “Howard told me that he wrote part of a book in invis’ble ink ’cause he was afraid people would think he was loony if they read it. What’s loony, Daddy?”

  “It means crazy.”

  “Howard didn’t act crazy. He was real nice.”

  “The last part of this journal has empty pages,” Althea said. “They must contain the invisible writing.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Robynn answered.

  “Good heavens,” the old woman uttered. “I knew Howard always carried some sort of secret around with him, something that had happened to him in his past that he never divulged to anyone, even me. He was quite sensitive about it, so I stopped trying to find out what it was. Maybe that is what he wants me know. Where can we get iodine?”

  “Any pharmacy should have it,” Dani said.

  “There’s at least one in Glenowen,” Jack said. “Let’s turn around.”

  “Daddy, you promised we’d go to the beach!”

  “I know, honey, but—”

  “You promised!”

  “Jack, look there,” Dani said. She had taken the Moonstone Beach exit, which led to an outer beach road that ran past a string of hotels and beachwear shops...and one drug store.