Liz’s voice, coming back at her, was cool and measured. “Rocky, I know what Arty’s wishes were, and he did not want to have a big deal made over his death.”
“He talked about death to you?”
“Oh, we did talk about it.”
“It was the topic of conversation how many times?”
“Rocky, why are you talking to me this way?”
All right, pull back, Rocky told herself. Maybe Liz, for all her standoffishness, was really grieving. Give her some slack, but don’t let her run all over things.
“Look, Liz, I just want to make sure the family is involved.”
“You will be. I’m going to get with Pastor Jon and talk about it.”
“But why rush it? Why does it have to be Wednesday?”
“I need closure, Rocky. And all his friends are right here.”
Rocky sighed. “Where’s the funeral going to be?”
“I have to talk to Pastor Jon.”
“I’ll talk to Pastor Jon, too, then.”
“Please, Rocky, I’m really hurting here. I don’t want anything to come between us, especially now.”
Right.
“Arty wouldn’t have wanted that,” Liz said.
“I just thought in planning this whole thing, we could — ”
“Pastor will handle everything. And I promise to keep you in the loop.”
“Well, thanks, I — ”
“I prayed this morning that God would bring us all closer together.”
“You did what?”
“Rocky, yesterday I accepted the Lord Jesus as my Savior. Just like Arty wanted me to. It’s a feeling like starting all over again. I’d like that to be true for us. For us to be sisters.”
That thought went down like a dry cracker. Rocky started to think maybe she was being a jerk. That wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.
Arty wanted them to like each other. Rocky wanted to but just couldn’t.
Then, when Arty got religion, he thought that might make things better. As if he could be the center that pulled two opposites together.
Didn’t quite work that way.
I’m sorry, Arty. Really sorry.
“And now,” Liz said, “I just want to live right and make Arty proud of me. I know he’s with the Lord now, and I want him . . .” Her voice trailed off into what sounded like tears.
“Okay,” Rocky said.
She heard a sniff.
“Sorry I was a little short with you,” Rocky said. “Now’s not the time.”
“Thank you, Rocky. I know the Lord is going to work this all out for both of us.”
Fat chance.
After the phone conversation, Rocky followed the Eastern music into the kitchen. Geena was doing some interpretive dance, barefoot.
“Join me?” Geena said, swaying like a flag in a stiff breeze.
“I’ll pass,” Rocky said. “You have any Milanos?” A bag of cookies and an old movie on TV were just the ticket.
“I don’t think so,” Geena said. She danced over to a cupboard and flung it open. “I have some saltines.”
Just my luck, Rocky thought. And the only old movie was on TCM, some 1940s navy movie. It looked like a comedy. The info display said it was Bring on the Girls starring somebody named Sonny Tufts.
Who?
Oh, and Veronica Lake. Fine. Rocky always liked Veronica Lake. She had that hairdo.
Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad way to kill some time. “Hey, Geena,” Rocky called. “Do you at least have some Cheez Whiz?”
8:32 p.m.
Tomorrow, Liz thought. Tomorrow, I’ll go get the sacks.
Don’t be seen. Figure out your story first.
You went out to the canyon to pray. Pray over where Arty had fallen. You went out there to spend some time alone with God.
She shivered. The house wasn’t cold. She had the heat on.
But she was cold. Even after the drink. The bottle of Beam was half full. Well, go for it. Whatever.
It would help her sleep. She hadn’t slept too well last night.
Of course you didn’t, just some nerves. Relax.
Mama, don’t worry, I’m going to relax. And then I’ ll come see you.
I’ ll come. . .
The phone rang. Liz almost jumped out of the chair.
Should I answer?
It rang again.
Better answer. If I don’t answer, somebody might want to stop on by.
“Hello.”
“Liz, it’s Mac.”
“Oh hi, Mac.”
“How you doing?”
“Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Just tired.”
“You had a big day yesterday.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I wanted to read you something,” Mac said. “A little encouragement.”
“Why?”
“Well, you kind of seemed upset in the parking lot.”
“Oh, that. I was just . . . overwhelmed.”
“I know. I know just how you felt.”
“You do?
“Do you have a Bible?”
“Arty has one.”
“Can you get it?”
“Now?”
“Now,” he said. “I want you to read something with me.”
If she had to, she had to. She put the phone down, got up, and went to the bedroom. Arty actually had three Bibles. That annoyed her. Why not just one big one and be done with it?
He kept one on his bedside table, and it was still there. Red leatherette cover. She reached for it and then stopped. Like her hand would burn if she touched it.
Crazy, she thought. Don’t give it that power.
She picked up the Bible. Nothing happened to her hands. She went back to the phone.
“Got it,” she said.
“Okay,” Mac said. “Open it to about the middle, and look at the top for the book of Psalms.”
“Psalms?”
“It’ll be printed at the top of the page.”
She lay the Bible on her lap and opened it. It freaked her out a little. Like something might pop out at her. Like a hand grabbing her throat.
Only pages. “I see Proverbs,” she said.
“Flip a little to your left, and you’ll find Psalms.”
She did. There it was, just like he said.
“Okay,” she said.
“Now follow the numbers till you get to Psalm 51.”
She did, and dark memories of Sunday school floated back. That was the last time she had looked in a Bible.
She flipped to the Psalm numbered 51. “I’m there,” she said.
“Now look for the verse numbered 17.”
Liz ran her finger down the page and stopped on 17. “Okay.”
“You see it?” Mac said.
“Yes.”
“It says, ‘The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.’ ”
“What’s that mean?”
“What it means,” Mac said, “is that you showed a brokenness of spirit yesterday, and that is what God wants. He is going to heal you and hold you up always.”
Liz shuddered.
“So you just go to bed with this Scripture in your mind,” Mac said. “Good night.”
“’Night.”
Liz hung up the phone and closed her eyes. Just gather yourself, take it easy, day by day. Everything will flow.
She looked down at the open Bible. Her eyes fell on some words. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are proved right when you speak and justified when you judge.
Liz almost screamed. She pushed the Bible off her lap. It fell to the floor, pages down. Liz just stared at it, like it could, at any moment, turn over and crawl back at her.
Tuesday
9:23 a.m.
“Thanks for seeing me, Mrs. Towne,” Detective Moss said. Thanks? Liz was t
ired and didn’t want to do this. Not now, not ever. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? It was over.
Funeral tomorrow. That was all they needed to know.
But the woman detective had this bulldog look about her. Arrogant. Even with all her surface politeness. She stood at the door like she had a right to be here.
You can do this, Liz told herself, then said, “Can we make this fast? I have so many things I have to see to.”
“Of course. Inside or out?”
“Oh, would you mind out here?” Liz said. “The house is a mess.”
“I’m sure you’re awfully worn out,” Moss said.
Liz motioned to a couple of white plastic patio chairs, coated with a thin veneer of dust. That was one thing you could count on in Pack Canyon. Dust and dirt and everything muddy when it rained.
They sat. The detective held nothing in her hands. It was just like she wanted to have a friendly conversation. But Liz knew about those. She knew how cops and sheriffs talked to you when they wanted something, like when they tried to get her to rat out her own mother.
You had to be careful with the law. They were silver-tongued snakes.
“I just want to say again how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“Is your head all right?”
Liz had put a fresh Band-Aid on her forehead five minutes earlier. It actually hurt, but she said, “Fine.”
“Good, good. You need to take care of yourself now. Anything you need?”
“I’ve got some good people looking out for me.”
“Oh? Family?”
“Sort of. My church.”
“Ah. What church is that?”
“The community church. Just up the road.”
“Little white one? Across from the market?”
Liz nodded.
“Your husband, he was an active member of that church, wasn’t he?”
How did she know that? She’d been talking to people. “That’s right.”
“You didn’t attend with him?”
“No, not then. Now I do. I mean, now I’m a member.”
“I hope that didn’t cause any friction in the marriage. It sometimes does.”
“Not really,” Liz said. “But anyway, that’s all taken care of now.”
“Taken care of?”
“Arty was leading me to God. I went to church yesterday. Because I knew that’s what Arty would want me to do. And I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior.”
Moss did not saying anything. Her face was impassive. Then she nodded. “Religion is quite a comfort at times like this, isn’t it?”
“Is there anything else you need to know?”
“Oh, just a couple of things. Just to wrap things up, you know, get the old file off the desk.”
“You have a file?”
“Every accidental death requires some attention. Oh, yes, and I got a call from the coroner’s office. They already released your husband’s body to a mortuary.”
“Yes?”
“Things are moving very quickly.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Like what?” Moss said.
Playing possum, this one was. “Wasn’t there supposed to be an autopsy?”
“Right,” Moss said. “There was. That was fast, too. I got the verbal on it. Accidental death. I’m very sorry, again.”
Liz tried not to look relieved. Toby had apparently come through.
“I would like to ask you just one more thing, if I may,” Moss said. “When you were out hiking with your husband, did you see anyone else out there?”
“No. It was pretty quiet.”
“Didn’t hear anything?”
“Like what?”
“Odd sounds. Sounds that shouldn’t be in nature.”
“Not that I remember.”
The detective knew about the biker body. Liz was sure of that now. They had found the man and wanted to see if she knew anything. Liz felt her pulse pounding in her neck and was sure Moss could see it, like little fists popping out under her skin. She took a breath and composed herself.
“So you didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary?” Moss said.
“No. Nothing. I was on a nice hike with my husband who is — ” Liz put a little catch in her throat, then lowered her head.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Towne. I know how fresh this is. I promise I won’t be much longer.”
You’ d better not be, or I’ ll be calling your superiors. “Go ahead.”
“Well, it’s the strangest thing. Really, a terrible coincidence. Not very far from where your husband fell, we found a corpse.”
“A corpse?”
“Yes.”
“How awful. Who was it?”
“We’re looking into that. It was a man on a motorcycle. I wonder how he got there. That’s why I wanted to know if you heard anything. It was a Harley, so it would have been hard to miss.”
Liz shook her head. “It was as quiet as always out there.”
“It’s just very strange. It could have just been a guy out for a ride, he got a little careless and went over off the path. It’s happened to some kids on bicycles around here. But never something fatal.”
“I can hardly believe it.”
“Oh, and there was one other thing. His motorcycle had a couple of saddlebags on it that were empty. Not that that means anything, of course, but it’s just so doggone strange. You never know, you know? You stay in a job long enough.”
Liz nodded. A hot, dry wind blew across her face. It felt like the fever she had when she was twelve that sent her to the hospital. She remembered almost fainting because of it. But later she thought it made her stronger, because she never got that sick again. She refused to.
“I’m sorry, Detective. We didn’t see or hear anything. It was just supposed to be a nice walk. That’s . . . all . . .”
“I understand. Thanks for your time.”
“No problem,” Liz said. Sweet relief. But she kept herself from showing it and stood up.
Moss stood and started for the steps, paused, turned around. “Just one other thing. Do you have Arty’s cell phone?”
“What?” Liz said.
“Do you have it in the house?”
“Um, I don’t know. Maybe it’s at his office.”
“Oh,” Moss said. “Was he still working at, what was it?”
“RumbleTV.”
“That’s it. Do you have the address?”
Liz rubbed her right eye with the heel of her hand. “No, he hadn’t been there for a while. I’m just so upset. Do you mind?”
“No, of course not,” Moss said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you so soon.”
Meaning what? You’ ll disturb me later?
At the foot of the stairs, Moss turned. “You’ll look for that cell phone, won’t you?”
“But why?”
“I don’t know exactly. I just like to clean things up.”
I’ll bet you do, Liz thought.
10:35 a.m.
How do you not look conspicuous?
Mac wasn’t any good at this, sneaking around. And he felt dirty. Was this deception? Would Jesus approve?
He had to get it right this time. Quit letting God down. Stick to the true.
He was parked in his pickup across from the school. He had a map of California open on the steering wheel, but he was not studying the map. He was looking across at the school yard, looking for his daughter.
Was this like a lie? To pretend to be studying a map? It was a dodge, in case someone thought a battered Chevy pickup with a guy behind the wheel just sitting there didn’t look right.
He was even ready to tell a cop or security guard that he was on his way to Ojai and wondered what the right way was.
And that would be a lie.
The children were out playing kickball. This was supposed to be Aurora’s school, at least it was the last time he’d ever gotten any useful information from his ex-wife. This was the sch
ool she had picked for their daughter to attend.
Of course, all he knew about Aurora was that she had red hair. And right now he didn’t see any girl that fit that description.
A teacher or an aide, a woman, came to the chain-link fence and looked directly at him.
He quickly turned his eyes to the map, even moved it a little as if studying.
Lord, help me. If this is wrong, I won’t to do it. But I need to see her. Can you at least let me see her?
The woman was still there. She looked back at the kids, then at Mac.
Headache coming.
He was almost watching himself now as he crumpled the map in his hands. Made it into a wadded ball and threw it against the windshield.
It ricocheted off the glass, hit the passenger seat, rolled harmlessly to the floor.
God.
Please.
He fired up the truck and drove on.
10:48 a.m.
“Hi,” Rocky said into the phone. “Is Mr. Militi in?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Roxanne Towne.”
“Just a second.”
Rocky looked at Geena, who was smiling and holding up crossed fingers. “Go ahead and vibrate if you want to,” Rocky told her. “If you want to spin like a top, I won’t stop you. Remember the Tasmanian Devil on — ”
“This is Ermano.”
“Oh, hi, Mr. Militi. This is Roxanne Towne.”
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering — ”
“Oh, yes! Yesterday. Here in the lounge. You want to know, I know.”
“Yes — ”
“You got good pipes, you do.”
“Thank you — ”
“And that’s my job, you know. Pipes. You got ’em.”
“Thanks, I — ”
“You got some style, too. Maybe not as distinct yet. But you keep working.”
“I will work my heart out, Mr. Militi.”
“You do that, and sometime down the road, eh?”
Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. “I can bring them in for you. I do a whole Cole Porter slate — ”
“I just don’t think it’s the right fit for the club at this moment in time.”
“Right fit?”
“You know, being around as you are, each club’s got a personality . . .”
Yeah, like yours is the Mafia, she thought. Then she told herself it was unfair. It was her face. Too distracting for the customers.
“So I want to wish you all the luck in the world, kid,” Militi said. “Truly.”
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