Deceived

by James Scott Bell

  She smiled. “Tulips are good. What about fuchsias?”

  “Fuchsias? I don’t know foxglove from fuchsias.”

  “Me either,” she said. “I just like saying fuchsias.”

  “It’s good to say fuchsias, that’s for — ”

  He stopped. Because she was crying now. She put her head in her hands. She was shaking. Don’t do this. She couldn’t stop.

  She felt Mac’s arm around her shoulder. She fought back against the tears. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” Mac said.

  “I just . . . I just want to be able to do something to make it different. I want to be able to pull a string and have my dad want to talk to me again. But I can’t.”

  He didn’t say anything and she was glad. Just glad he was next to her now, not trying to talk her out of anything. Just here.

  8:21 p.m.

  Elvis on the wall. She hated Elvis on the wall. What was he doing up there on the wall but making time tick-tock to the rain? He was mocking her in the rain, a rain that was not stopping. The rain that was beating on the roof. It sounded like handfuls of uncooked rice, thrown down, over and over and over. She cursed at Elvis, she told him to shut up and then she went to the wall and pulled him down and threw him on the floor. His legs stopped moving. The clock stopped ticking.

  Saturday

  9:15 a.m.

  Now, Liz thought. Now it is dry, and now is the time, and now I can do this.

  She threw on jeans and a sweatshirt.

  Now is the time, and I will get away with it. They are all against me now, but I will survive. I will —

  A knock at the door stopped her as she was putting on her shoes.

  Another knock. “Mrs. Towne? It’s Detective Moss.”

  Moss!

  Run. You can run out the back. You can —

  — Idiot, be cool. Cool. And if you have to kill her, you will. You will do that before you allow yourself to get taken in and —

  Knock. “Liz, can I talk to you for a moment?”

  Drawing a deep breath, Liz made ready. She could do it in an instant. Her strength was greater than Moss’s.

  She opened the door.

  “I’m sorry for coming over like this,” Moss said. She was all soft and smiley. Dangerous.

  “It’s all right,” Liz said. “What can I do for you?” And then she thought, Why is she working on a Saturday?

  Liz came out and closed the door behind her.

  “How are you doing?” Moss said.

  “I have good days and bad,” Liz said.

  “Understandable. Completely. You look tired.”

  “What exactly are you here for?”

  “Just some information I wanted to give you,” Moss said. “Some things we’ve learned, and I’m hoping maybe you can help us.”

  “Me help you?”

  “If you can. Would you mind trying for me?”

  “I suppose, but I can’t think of how.”

  “I just thought you might like to know that we identified the body that was found near where your husband died. His name is Denton Roberts.”

  Liz waited. Moss waited. Liz shrugged.

  “We think he was in criminal activity. A jet boy, someone who gets away from a crime scene on a very fast motorcycle.”

  “He was a criminal?”

  “He had a prior record, but he’s been quiet for a few years.”

  “What was he doing in the canyon?”

  “We thought he was working, so to speak. A week ago there was a jewelry store robbery at a mall in Glendale. About two million dollars’ worth of stones taken at about three in the morning.”

  “Wasn’t there security?” Liz asked.

  “An alarm tripped, but by the time the security company and cops arrived, the thieves were gone. Outside cameras caught two men on a motorcycle speeding away.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow is right.”

  “Was this man, this man you identified, one of the robbers?”

  “If he was, he didn’t have the take with him. Maybe somebody took it from him.”

  “This is all such a bizarre story,” Liz said.

  “It gets even more bizarre, Mrs. Towne. There’s another connection to this whole thing that is very troubling.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The man who helped you, Mr. Gillespie. Ted Gillespie.”

  Liz was aware that her hands were fisting. She kept her face perfectly calm as she relaxed them. “Yes, how is he?” Liz said.

  “We were wondering when the last time was that you saw him.”

  “Well, let’s see. He came by a couple of days ago, I think it was. He came by to see how I was doing.”

  “Was it two days? That would be Thursday.”

  “Thursday. Yes.”

  “Can you tell me what time?”

  “Can I ask why you’re asking?”

  Moss took a slow breath. “We think something may have happened to him. I tried to reach him and couldn’t. I spoke with his mother, and she hasn’t heard from him.”

  “Something happened to Ted?”

  “If you help me, maybe we can find out.” Moss looked Liz in the eye.

  “I don’t know what else I can say,” Liz said. “He came to my house and just wanted to know how I was doing. He seems like a nice guy.”

  “How long did he stay?”

  “Let me think.” And she did think. She had to make sure any timeline checked out. “I can’t really remember. A while. We talked.”

  “About anything in particular?”

  “No. He did bring me a gift. He brought me a clock. A Winnie the Pooh clock. I thought that was very nice.”

  “Yes,” Moss said. “Very nice.” But the way she said it made Liz think that she wasn’t interested in the clock in the slightest.

  “I don’t know him,” Liz said, “but I got the impression he was, I don’t know, a little lonely.”

  “What gave you that impression?”

  “I don’t know, he just seemed sad. He’s a very nice guy, though. I think he means well.”

  “You just talked?”

  “Just talked. About his work a little. He’s into computers.”

  “Did he say where he was going after he left?”

  Liz shook her head.

  “He just drove off?”

  Trick question. What if there was a witness in Moss’s back pocket? “No. I drove my car, too. He followed me. I was trying to show him how to get out of the canyon on the valley side.”

  “He followed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How far?”

  “Only till we got to Topanga.”

  “Then he went off on his own?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And where did you go after that?”

  “Well, I got on the freeway and drove into Hollywood.”

  “Hollywood? What was going on there?”

  “Are these questions really necessary?”

  Moss said, “It’s just helping me to talk all this through.”

  “But you said something happened to Ted. Why does it matter where I was after I saw him?”

  “Sometimes going through a whole time period jogs the memory. It’s just the way the mind works.”

  Liz paused. “It’s just so stressful, this whole thing. I feel terrible that something may have happened to Ted. He was just trying to be helpful.”

  “And in Hollywood, what did you do?” Moss said.

  Liz closed her eyes and brought up images of Hollywood. “I wanted to go to the center, at Hollywood and Highland. And shop.”

  “What time did you get there?”

  “I wasn’t really watching the time. And I really don’t think I can help you anymore. I just don’t know what I can say. I’m very sad he might be in some trouble.”

  Moss nodded. “And you’ve been finding some solace in your time of loss?”

  “Oh yes,” Liz said, relieved. The conversation was just abou
t over. “The people at Pack Canyon Community Church are just so loving and kind. It’s been a real blessing.”

  “Well, that does it, I guess. If you happen to hear from Mr. Gillespie, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will.”

  Moss put her hand out. Liz shook it. Moss held a beat longer than Liz would have. Then she left.

  She suspects, Liz thought.

  No. She knows.

  10:10 a.m.

  Mac was cleaning leaves out of the rain gutter when he saw Liz Towne pull into the drive. On his knees, on the roof of the shack, he waited until she got out and said, “Hello, down there.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Hi.”

  “Nice surprise. Be right down.”

  He descended the ladder at the side of the shack and wiped his hands on his jeans. The cooler air this morning felt good on his head.

  “Come on in,” he said.

  She smiled and nodded. He opened the front door for her and followed her in. He flicked on a light. The day was gray, and he thought there might be more rain coming.

  “It’s nice to see you,” Mac said. “How — ”

  She turned quickly and faced him. “Mac, I’m just so anxious. Have you got anything to drink?”

  “I’ll take a look in the cave,” he said.

  “Cave?”

  “More cave than refrigerator.”

  He went to the kitchen, wishing he had more to offer her. She must have trusted him a great deal to show up here. He did not want to blow that trust.

  His refrigerator was, indeed, a picture of desolation. Half a slice of cheddar cheese in plastic. Soggy veggies in the crisper. Jam. Peanut butter. Hot sauce. He could put all those together in a bowl, he thought, and pretty much have all the food groups covered.

  He did have Pepsi. “Pepsi all right?” he called.

  “That’s fine,” she answered.

  He took out two cans and put them on the counter. He got two non-matching glasses from a cupboard and poured the contents of the cans into each. No ice. The ice maker was on the fritz.

  When he came back to the living room, he saw Liz looking at the one framed item he had on the wall. A gift from Pastor Jon.

  “That’s a prayer from Francis of Assisi,” Mac said.

  “Who?” Liz said.

  “An early Christian. I don’t know much about him, but I like his prayer.”

  “Me too,” Liz said. “ ‘Make me an instrument of thy peace.’ ”

  “ ‘Where there is hatred, let me sow love,’ ” Mac said.

  Liz read more. “ ‘Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light.’ ”

  “ ‘And where there is sadness, joy,’ ” Mac said. “Go on, read the rest.”

  “ ‘O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.’ ”

  “Amen,” Mac said.

  “It’s beautiful,” Liz said.

  Mac took it off the nail. “I’d like you to have it,” he said.

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “Please.” He placed it in her hands. “I’ve got it memorized. Put it up in your house now.”

  “I really can’t — ”

  “It would mean a lot to me,” Mac said. “Truly.”

  Liz looked at the prayer. “Thank you,” she said. “I wanted to ask you something. I’m having some trouble with the investigator who handled Arty’s death. She just got through asking me a lot of questions.”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “I don’t know, this and that. I just can’t help feeling she thinks I’ve done something wrong. It was an accident, what happened to Arty. Why can’t she accept that?”

  “They have a job to do,” Mac said, “and they all do it differently.”

  “You mentioned once to me that you’re on parole.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that you’re under a parole officer.”

  “Yes. A guy named Slezak.”

  “They can make life hard on you if they want to, can’t they?”

  “Oh yes, they can,” Mac said. “They can search me anytime, anywhere. And Slezak loves his job.”

  “I hate to see that happening to you,” Liz said.

  “I’ll be all right,” Mac said.

  “How do you live with that? I mean, knowing that it could happen at any time?”

  Mac thought, She wants to know. She really wants to know. This was a moment he couldn’t blow. He’d blown it enough times in the past.

  He picked up his Bible from the coffee table and held it up. “This is the only thing,” he said. “I have to depend on this every day. And I have to pray. Those two things keep me going.”

  She looked at the Bible like it was a curio. Mac watched her face, looking for signs. What did she want to know? What could he say that would make a difference?

  “Is that all?” she said. “Just read and pray?”

  “It’s a start,” Mac said. He sounded to himself like a leaden idiot.

  “Arty tried to read his Bible to me. I wouldn’t listen.” She looked down.

  He wanted so much to comfort her. He was stumbling this way and that in his mind. Just get to the point, the point of Christianity. “The Bible says we’ll see our loved ones who have gone on before us.”

  “I guess that’s just something I can’t wrap my head around,” she said. “It seems too good to be true.”

  “It’s too good not to be true,” Mac said. “I mean, if God promises all good things, then wouldn’t we expect the best to be true?”

  She thought about it. “Mac, would you mind terribly if I asked you to make some coffee?”

  “Coffee? Sure, I can do that.”

  “And while you’re doing that, I’m going to sit here and read this prayer again. Would that be okay?”

  “More than okay,” he said. And when he went into the kitchen, he was happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. Happy knowing that at last he was making a real difference to somebody.

  Being able to get through to somebody about God. And not just anybody, but the widow of his best friend.

  Yes, God is good, he thought, as he pulled out the bag of Canyon Grind Breakfast Blend and started preparing the brew.

  11:23 a.m.

  Franklin Towne’s doctor was a compact Chinese American named James Chu. He had a comforting face, which Rocky was grateful for.

  “You will notice,” he said when Rocky returned to the hospital, “that some of what would be normal movements are off a bit. As when your father tries to bring food to his mouth, his arm may suddenly flex.”

  “Can he walk?”

  “There does not appear to be any paralysis, but there is hypotonicity in the left leg. A weakness there.”

  “Will he get better?”

  “The focus now has to be on prevention. I’d like him to stay put for a few days. Do some tests, an echocardiogram, ultrasound.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “You can see him now,” Dr. Chu said.

  11:26 a.m.

  This time Liz ran.

  She left Mac’s place with that framed prayer deal, which she tossed in the trunk of her car. She got to the park and started running up the trail.

  She did not care that her lungs were burning. She didn’t care who saw her. If anyone tried to talk to her, she would run the other way. She didn’t care.

  Keep moving. Don’t stop this time.

  She had a bag with her. The kind with a leather strap. A big purse, really.

  There was a guy on a dirt bike riding by. He waved at her. She ignored him. She went down rocks and kept going and found the field where she had put the sacks.

  The ground was soft and mushy from the rain. Her feet made gooshy sucking sounds as she walk
ed. She almost dove into the hole where she had buried the jewels.

  She reached in with her hands through the tangle of weeds and grass. She grabbed the jacket and pulled it free. She opened it up. The sacks were all there. Waiting for her.

  Mama, I’m doing it. They are not going to stop us now.

  She put the sacks in the purse and the purse over her shoulder and headed out of the canyon. Overhead, a helicopter flew by. For a moment she thought it was a police helicopter, tailing her.

  But it went on. It had a giant 7 on its side. News helicopter.

  Well, no news here. Everything is quiet. Time to get ready to get out.

  She passed a couple of kids with their dad, then got to the parking lot and threw the handbag in the trunk.

  Then she drove right on through the canyon and out to the 7-Eleven on the other side.

  11:30 a.m.

  “Dad,” Rocky said, “you remember that time we all went to Magic Mountain?”

  Her father looked through her.

  “Magic Mountain, out in Valencia?” Rocky said. “Had the great big roller coaster, and you wanted to sit with me on it, ’cause you thought I’d be scared?”

  He frowned, but in a way that told her there were gears shifting in there. File cabinets of memory were being opened, photo albums inspected.

  “Do you remember going there?” Rocky said.

  “Magic Mountain,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah. Arty was with us.”

  “Yes,” Rocky said. “Arty was with us. Do you remember the roller coaster?”

  “I think I do,” he said.

  “I remember every bit of it,” Rocky said. “I remember when we got on, and you said you were going to sit with me. You held my hand. When they got us in, you put your arm around me. Do you remember that?”

  No answer.

  “You said, ‘We’re going to ride like the wind.’ ”

  No answer.

  “Then you said you used to go on a roller coaster when you were a little boy back in Ohio, and that you were scared of it at first, but you learned not to be scared. And you said I could learn not to be scared. Do you remember it, Dad? I want you so much to remember that.”

  “I don’t remember that,” he said and turned his head away.

  “But it’s true, Dad.”

  “My head hurts,” her father said.

  “Well it’s going to hurt for a while. You had a stroke.”