Mortal Crimes 2

by Various Authors

  He peered out. “What, you mean, a hospital?”

  “You tell me.”

  “It’s not that bad. I think I hit the worst.”

  Meggie glanced up at the sky, with the sun rising from behind the mountains to the east. They were still in the shadow of the range, but the sunlight was spreading across the valley floor and would soon be overhead. A wide, sagebrush-strewn plain stretched thirty or forty miles to the west, unbroken by any towns or other signs of human civilization. A second, smaller range lifted its dry, brown shoulders above the valley floor on the opposite side. No clouds, no pollution, just a view that stretched forever. A single contrail split the blue dome like a smear of white frosting.

  “The thing is,” Meggie began, worried he would protest. “I don’t think you’re fit to rappel into the cave. Sorry, that’s the way I see it.”

  Duperre looked disgusted. “No, I can’t go down. HalfOrc, either.”

  “Not your fault. We’ll scrub the descent.”

  “Damn it!”

  “No way,” Kaitlyn said from where she was standing with Benjamin in front of the bumper. She came around and he followed. “It’s totally not your fault,” she said to Duperre, “and I’m not blaming you for anything, but we came a long way to explore that cave.”

  Duperre lifted his head from the pack and squinted at her. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You’ve got everything you need right here,” Kaitlyn said. “Including a second GPS. We’ll hike up to the cave. It’ll take a bit to get set up. If you guys feel better in the next half-hour or so, come find us. Otherwise, we’ll be back tonight.”

  “That’s fair enough,” Duperre said. “We can be sick here just as easily as back at the motel.”

  HalfOrc made puking sounds from the bushes, followed by another string of expletives.

  “The trip plan has five people,” Meggie protested.

  Kaitlyn shrugged. “We already amended the plan once. We can do it again.”

  “That was different,” Meggie said. “That was adding a person, figuring out the logistics. This is a question of safety.”

  “Three people can make a safe descent,” Duperre said. “If there’s an experienced trip leader.”

  “I’m experienced,” Kaitlyn said. “I’ve done twenty-seven descents, led six times.”

  “We’ll stay behind and serve duty as surface watch,” Duperre said.

  Meggie didn’t like it. “Three people is the minimum. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. It’s desert. There’s a hike, there might be rattlesnakes.”

  “Stop worrying,” Kaitlyn said. She put her hands on her hips with an impatient look. “These two will be waiting at the truck if anything goes wrong.”

  “They’re sick, they’re in no shape to—”

  “They’ll be fine in a couple of hours, I’m sure,” Kaitlyn said.

  “Oh, really? And how do you know that?”

  Kaitlyn’s face darkened. “What is that supposed to mean? You think I had something to do with this?”

  “I don’t know, did you?”

  “Come on, Meggie,” Benjamin said. “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t,” Duperre said. “It was that crappy diner food.”

  “Whatever, I don’t like it. Come on, Duperre. Help me out here. She wasn’t even a part of the plans twelve hours ago, and now she’s the trip leader?”

  The older man looked uncertain. He also looked like he was working up to puke again and was in no shape to make this kind of decision. He glanced at Benjamin as he lifted himself and shifted to the edge of the truck.

  “Your call, man,” Duperre said. “You’re the tie breaker.”

  No, don’t put it in his hands.

  Duperre leaned over the edge and barfed up a little. Then he was wracked with several rounds of dry heaves, before he finally eased back down with a groan.

  “We’ll do it tomorrow,” Meggie told Benjamin. “We had a buffer day in case the weather turned crappy or something.”

  He frowned. “That would have us driving half the night to Vegas so we could catch our flight on Sunday morning.”

  Kaitlyn put her hand on his arm. “And I don’t even have that option. I’ve got to go back tomorrow.”

  “You do?” he asked. “You never said that. I don’t know. Maybe Meggie is right. Sometimes you have to cancel. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “You know you’ll be sorry if we don’t give it a shot.”

  Meggie stared in frustration as Kaitlyn quite blatantly manipulated him. You couldn’t blame Duperre for giving in—he didn’t know Kaitlyn except online. But didn’t Benjamin know by now his cousin’s true character?

  “Okay,” he said. “I guess we can.”

  “Oh, come on,” Meggie said.

  He gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, Megs. Don’t be mad.”

  Even then Meggie knew she should balk. If she refused to go down, Benjamin and Kaitlyn would have no choice but to scrub. They could either try again tomorrow or not. Duperre and HalfOrc would think she was overreacting, but what did that matter?

  When Meggie was eleven, she had gone to Six Flags as part of a classmate’s birthday party. Because her uncle and aunt were unmotivated to help her develop a social life, she’d had few opportunities to make friends among her peers, and so she was terrified of standing out. She had climbed into one of those swing carousels that spun a bunch of kids fifty feet above the ground, when she discovered that the buckle of her harness wouldn’t latch. It was supposed to hold her in her seat, but it was broken.

  The teenage employee who was supposed to go around checking the harnesses started two swings beyond her as he went around the circle, and in his laziness, stopped just short on the other side. She was going to point out the broken buckle when he came, but then realized in fear when he turned his back that he was never going to check to make sure she was secured. Meggie opened her mouth to yell for him to look at her swing before he flipped the lever and started the ride, but her voice died in her throat. There were girls all around her and they would laugh. And besides, it was probably her fault, not the swing at all.

  I’m going to die of embarrassment, she thought. I don’t want to look like an idiot, so I’m going to get flung fifty feet in the air and get killed.

  She struggled in terror with the buckle as the ride picked up speed. Even then, as she passed the bored kid at the controls, she could have screamed for help, but didn’t. At the last moment, the harness latched.

  Here she was, a dozen years later, and nothing had changed. She was about to die of embarrassment. Not that she truly believed that Kaitlyn had poisoned Duperre and HalfOrc, but she might have. Why not? That was her style. And it was doubtful that Kaitlyn would pull a stunt 200 feet underground, but she might. That was the terrifying thing. Meggie was convinced that Kaitlyn had a shorted circuit in her moral GPS. The little internal computer that said, hey, don’t push someone off a cliff because you don’t like her screwing your cousin.

  But Meggie had been backed into a corner. And she didn’t speak up. Instead, she laced her boots, slathered sunblock, and strapped on her pack. Then she followed Benjamin and Kaitlyn up the hillside and away from the two sick men at the truck.

  And hiked toward the cave in the desert.

  Chapter Eight

  Eric woke up in the new facility on his first morning and completely forgot about looking for the pretty lady. Everything was so new and wonderful here in Colin … Colina … Foggy Hill. That’s what Wes said the Spanish name meant. It had a swimming pool and parrots in the trees and eleven different kinds of breakfast cereal. He counted. Eleven!

  It was only when he was walking back to his table with a third bowl of cereal that he remembered. He happened to glance to one side, at the wheelchair team, sitting around a big table on the veranda. They were eating outdoors. You couldn’t do that in Vermont most of the year. Not when there was snow. Heck, no!

  Then Eric stared at the wheelchair people, his m
outh open, wondering. They were all ages, young and old, with their heads slumping on their chests while aides spooned food into their mouths. Some had head restraints. One woman wore a string of pearls around her neck, and another old lady wore big diamond rings.

  “Come on, Eric,” an aide said. “Nothing to look at. Some of the residents are low functioning. You’ll have to get used to it.”

  “Riverwood had wheelchair people too,” he said. “That’s in Vermont. It’s the Green Mountain State.”

  “Okay. Go sit down.”

  He kept staring. There was something about these seven or eight residents that reminded him of something.

  “I mean it,” the woman said. “Go sit down and eat your chocolate crispies.”

  “Cocoa Puffs,” Eric corrected. “Chocolate crispies are fake and yucky. They turn to mush in the milk.”

  His eyes drifted around the circle and then he saw her, a pretty blond lady.

  Oh!

  She looked like her picture, just like Wes showed him. Eric stirred himself to motion. When he walked by, her eyes followed. He felt a funny sort of feeling. Like she was a puppy and he wanted to pick her up and hug her and pet her. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her she was going to be okay. In fact, he was muttering it to himself.

  “You’re okay. I’m here to help. My name is Eric and I’m from Vermont.”

  He realized what he was doing and angrily told himself to cool it. He sat down and crunched his cereal in silence, thinking furiously, but not doing a good job at it. In a minute, the cereal was gone.

  Remember, he told himself as he went back to the counter, this time for a bowl of Captain Crunch. Sherlock Holmes.

  Investigate, watch and observe. Elementary. For a moment he forgot he wasn’t very smart.

  He stood at the cereal counter so long that the aide from his team came to find him. “Come on Eric, you’ve had enough cereal. That’s your fourth bowl already.”

  “But only my second bowl of Captain Crunch!”

  The man reached out a hand to take away the bowl, but Eric wouldn’t let go. “No! Two bowls of Cocoa Puffs and two of Captain Crunch!” People turned to look at him.

  Then he remembered, Sherlock Holmes! “Oh, yeah. I had enough.” He gave up the bowl and looked at the lady again as he walked back. He had to get to her with Wes’s phone. Too many people here. What would Sherlock do?

  Careful, careful, just like he promised Wes and Becca. He must wait until they stopped watching him all the time before he found the lady. Eric could play by the rules, he could show he was what they called RELIABLE. That’s what they always wanted. Like back at the group home. If you weren’t reliable, they came into the bathroom and watched while you took a shower, to make sure you were using soap. If you weren’t reliable, they took away your privileges.

  So Eric was reliable. And soon they let him walk around the grounds of Foggy Hill. He looked for the pretty lady.

  *

  He found her on the second day, sitting with the other residents of her team in the butterfly garden. Some of them watched the butterflies, while others closed their eyes or squinted away from the sun. An aide sat on a bench a few feet away with an open magazine on her lap, but her eyes were closed. Asleep.

  The butterfly garden was pretty. There were lots of flowers and bushes and stuff, and a net above his head like a giant tent you could see through. That way the butterflies wouldn’t fly away. Hundreds, zillions of them fluttered around, making him look this way and that. The prettiest were as big as his hand and blue. Shiny like metal. Eric wished he had a butterfly book so someone could tell him what they were called.

  The pretty lady spotted him and turned her eyes in his direction. She didn’t say anything.

  “Hi, pretty lady,” he said. “My name is Eric. What’s your name?”

  She kept watching him, but didn’t move and didn’t answer. This confused him, but then he remembered what Wes told him. Oh yeah, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t talk. That’s why they had to help her.

  “You look like a Disney princess,” he said. “What’s your favorite? I like all of them. Some have dark hair. There’s one Chinese lady—I like her. She fights the Huns and pretends she’s a boy. Ariel has a fish tail! I like WALL-E. He isn’t a princess, he’s a robot.”

  She didn’t say anything and he felt stupid. Worse, a few of the other residents looked at him. A bald man in a wheelchair muttered something in Spanish.

  “I’m not from Costa Rica,” Eric said, feeling testy. The man was making fun of him, he knew it. “I don’t speak that, I speak American.”

  “He said you should go look for your team,” another resident said. She talked with a funny accent. “Meggie can’t answer you.”

  “Who is Meggie? Oh, Meggie!”

  Excited, Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out Wes’s cell phone. He turned it on. It glowed up at him, but he stared, confused. In a moment it went dark and still he looked at it. What? What was he supposed to do? Frustration bubbled up inside him and he ran his fingers through his hair. Several long seconds passed and he pulled at the roots until his scalp hurt.

  Most of the time Eric was happy and cheerful. He wasn’t like his friend Bruce, who got kicked out of the group home because he broke all the plates. And he was pretty smart compared to some of the people at Riverwood.

  But he wasn’t fooled. He knew what he was. He’d known for a long time. Sometimes, he could almost understand. Things would be there—conversations, stories, movies—and he would listen and stare and almost, almost grasp it.

  “I’m a dumb-dumb,” he muttered. “A stupid dumb-dumb.”

  He felt guilty saying it. “Wes told me not to say that,” he told the lady. “It’s bad for you. That’s called SELF-ESTEEM.”

  Then he remembered one of the other things his brother told him and shut up. “When you’re in there, you can’t talk out loud, Ruk,” Wes had said. “You have to talk inside your head. Always inside your head.”

  Eric promised, of course he had. But he forgot. He always forgot.

  “Find the pretty lady,” Wes said before they brought him to this place to go on a secret spy mission. “This is her picture. Her name is—” And here Eric’s memory went hazy, together with the other things Wes told him. Lots of important stuff, Eric was sure. “When you find her, take out my phone and—”

  And what? It was important. He remembered the gleam in his brother’s eyes and the way Becca squeezed his hand and told him … something. Something important.

  Eric put away the cell phone. He could call his brother later. Right now, he had to think like Sherlock Holmes.

  He was almost distracted again by the butterflies that swirled around his head like blue and green and gold leaves falling from a tree, then he remembered, and looked back at the pretty lady. She still wasn’t moving. Why not? Had he figured that part out yet?

  “Wait,” he said. “I think they told me your name. Um, I think it starts with an M, like Mr. Incredible. Mary? No.” Eric tugged at his ear.

  “I told you,” the woman who’d spoken to him earlier said. She had big eyebrows and really skinny nostrils. “Her name is Meggie, and she can’t talk at all.”

  “Please be quiet. I’m talking to the pretty lady. Meggie. Oh, yeah.” He looked back to Meggie. “I am supposed to do something. Do you remember? I can’t, I’m a stupid dumb-dumb. That’s what everyone knows. Not my brother. He says I’m smart like Sherlock Holmes. He and Becca got married. She’s pretty, like you. She has a baby growing in her belly.”

  Meggie’s eyes had been drifting away. Eric knew that look. When people were bored and only pretending to listen. But when he mentioned Becca’s baby, her eyes whipped around again.

  “Do you like babies?” he asked. “Me too!”

  Eric stared at her for a long moment, trying to think. Why couldn’t he remember what he was supposed to do? If something happened, he could remember. Like in the Scarlet Band, when Sherlock Holmes found that a death add
er was biting people. But when someone told him something, it didn’t stick. Wes told him something. Becca told him something. What?

  The lady still wouldn’t talk to him, was only staring and tapping one finger impatiently, and Eric felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you and your friends. Sorry.”

  He turned away and was through the door and out of the butterfly garden before he remembered that she wasn’t talking because she couldn’t talk. Not because he was bothering her. He laughed in relief. Wait until Wes came on visit day. He would tell his brother all about the pretty lady. Or maybe he could call with Wes’s phone. Find his brother’s name in the list and push the call button. He turned it on.

  The phone wasn’t working. That was strange. Oh yeah, Wes said he couldn’t make phone calls up here in the mountains. It was only good if he wanted to take pictures or a movie.

  *

  Late at night, when Eric was in bed, thinking about bats and wondering if they could get into his room through the shutters (Costa Rica had lots of bats), he started to worry. Not about bats—he liked bats. So did Batman. Batman had a bat cave.

  Why was he worried? Foggy Hill was nice. There was yummy food in this place. Lots of birds in the trees. A movie room with all sorts of cartoons. A therapist who read to him any story he wanted from the library. They had Robin Hood. It had really good pictures, too.

  But then he remembered. Undercover. Secret. Sherlock Holmes. The pretty lady he was supposed to help. He had talked to her in the butterfly garden and didn’t do anything.

  “Oh, I made a big mistake. A honking mistake.”

  “Quiet in there,” an aide said from the hallway. “It’s bedtime.”

  Eric spoke to himself in a lower voice. “I was supposed to say something to the pretty lady. But she didn’t talk. She didn’t answer.” He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the slowly swishing ceiling fan, just visible from the light in the hallway that crept between the cracks in the door planks. A gecko crawled across the ceiling, then ran into another gecko and they chirped at each other before one ran away.