Flaming Tree

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “That’s the tree I took a picture of when it burned,” Marisa said. “That was quite a night. I’ve told you about it. Afterwards, my friends let the dead tree stand guard, and named the house after it.”

  As Kelsey went up the steps she saw the plaque over the door, with letters burned into the wood: FLAMING TREE RANCH. Perhaps there had once been a clearing all around, but now the oak trees grew in too close, darkening the windows, their branches scraping the roof.

  “I’d better tell you a little more before we go inside,” Marisa went on. “Recently, years after my friends moved out, Francesca Fallon bought this place. She wanted isolation, and she got it. She’d planned to work on it, fix everything up. Instead, this is where she died. You needn’t come in if you’d rather not. I’ll just run through quickly and have a look. There can be vandals, even out here.”

  What Kelsey felt was the same disquieting sensation—a feeling that was almost dread—that she’d experienced when she’d held those three beads she’d found on Denis’s desk. Again there was a connection with Francesca Fallon. It was as though a clammy wind had touched her skin—not a clean wind from the sea or the mountains, but something that carried with it the smell of death.

  Marisa watched as though she waited for some reaction. Kelsey braced her shoulders and walked through the door.

  “It’s all right to feel it,” Marisa said when they were in the living room of the house. “I do too. Perhaps it’s only our imagination working overtime because something awful happened here. Or perhaps there’s more—some sensing that we aren’t wise enough to understand.”

  “A warning feeling?” Kelsey asked.

  Marisa gave her a quick look. “Yes—exactly. The vibes here are especially bad.”

  The carpet had been removed and the furniture was covered with sheets. A big fireplace dominated one end of the room, though nothing as grand as the one at La Casa de la Sombra. This one was built of brick, with a carved wood mantel, fluted along the edge.

  All books and ornaments had been removed since Francesca’s death, except for one. A hammered brass mask, fit for a giant, hung over the mantel, regarding the room malevolently through slitted eyes. Francesca seemed to have had an affinity for the ugly and depraved.

  “Maybe that’s what she was like inside,” Marisa mused. “She had a lot of other stuff like that here, but Tyler moved it all out and stored it for the time being.” Marisa went over to a covered sofa. “This is where her body was found.”

  It was best to breathe deeply, to fight the nausea that seemed ready to envelop her. Kelsey spoke in a whisper, not wanting to stir the shadows.

  “Tyler owns this house? I don’t understand.”

  “He owns it because Francesca Fallon left it to him in her will.”

  “But why—if she disliked him so much?”

  “Perhaps that’s why. With her peculiar twist of mind, she might have thought she was insuring her own safety. The place had little value, but her leaving it to him has caused Tyler a lot of trouble and embarrassment. She made the will after that awful broadcast, and she told him what she was doing. In a way, I suppose she was saying, ‘Leave me alone, or you’ll be involved.’ The worst of it was that Tyler came out here to see Francesca the day before she died. Luckily, he was elsewhere at the time of the murder. Ginnie Soong could vouch for that. He’d gone to the hospital in Monterey to take her to lunch and give her Ruth’s invitation to visit their house. Ginnie was busy and couldn’t accept just then, but she vouched for Tyler’s being a long way from the Valley at the time of the murder.”

  “You said Francesca died from a blow to the head?”

  Marisa pointed to a basket of firewood at one end of the hearth. “The police think a chunk of wood from that basket might have been used as a cudgel. Those are pretty sturdy sticks. Wood had been burned in the fireplace, which of course wasn’t unusual. The piece of wood, if used, could have been destroyed as evidence. It seems to have killed her instantly.”

  Kelsey’s knees had begun to feel shaky, and she sat down in a sheeted chair. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Marisa sat opposite and closed her eyes, as if to concentrate. A wind had risen outside, and branches made an eerie scratching against the porch roof.

  “Perhaps it’s because you have a gift,” Marisa said.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I don’t know exactly what I mean either. This place pulls me here—as though it held some answer. I’ve sat where you’re sitting now, and spent an hour or more trying to get something to speak to me. But I can’t make demands, and nothing has happened. Just the same, it’s as though some part of me recognizes that mending for Tyler and Ruth and Jody—perhaps even for Denis—lies here at Flaming Tree.”

  Shivery words. Kelsey had the feeling that the brass mask was watching, listening. Unlike Marisa, she didn’t want the house to speak to her. Every tense nerve in her body seemed to warn of danger in whatever it might tell, if ever the house began to reveal its secrets.

  Marisa went on, her voice playing its musical scale eerily.

  “Something came up on my tape of Francesca’s interview that seemed to draw Tyler in. I’m not sure what it meant, but I never wanted to show that tape to the police. I don’t think it would help, and it might lead to more questions. The radio station doesn’t have a copy. If there was one, perhaps Francesca removed it herself. Kelsey, are you sure you don’t have any—sensing—about this place?”

  “You’re wrong about me. I never have promptings of that kind. Nothing here speaks to me of anything but horror. There’s a stain in the very air.”

  Marisa pounced on that. “Exactly! You do feel it. Perhaps the reason I’ve been doing a lot of reading on the subject of human evil, and even trying to set something down on paper, is because of what happened here.”

  Kelsey made an effort to quiet her inner trembling. “You said Francesca Fallon came down on your ‘goodness’ scale to a low two.”

  “I suppose I did say that, though it sounds presumptuous and judging. The trouble is, if there really are evil people, as some theologians believe, they fool themselves first of all. Rationalization becomes an art, so they are never wrong or guilty. It’s always someone else’s fault. They go through life sure of their own virtues and proper goals. And all the while they’re sowing terrible damage along the way. They are the takers, never the givers.”

  “Was Francesca like that?”

  “I thought so.”

  “Do you really believe that anyone is born that way? I mean that some people are beyond changing?”

  “Jane Norman thinks it may even be partly chemical. There have been studies done with prisoners where a change in diet and the addition of vitamins made them less aggressive. Just the same, I feel there’s more than that. More than can be put under headings like ‘genetic’ or ‘environmental.’ Perhaps the Bible had it right about good and evil, after all. But that’s enough of my current soap box. Will you stay here while I go through the house? Or would you rather wait in the car?”

  Kelsey stood up quickly. It felt better to go outside and escape the strange sense of panic that had begun to possess her in Francesca Fallon’s house.

  On the weed-grown walk, she turned to stare up at the gray frame, with its oak-darkened windows, and then at the gaunt black skeleton of the tree standing guard.

  The memory of Marisa’s photograph of the tree was vivid in her mind. The way the branches had looked, flaming bright along every twig that flared against the sky—this had been caught forever in that marvelous, chilling picture. Now the tree’s blackened, reaching arms revealed only its tragic ending, except for a tiny fluttering of green life in the upper branches. It seemed a symbol of the death that had taken place inside the walls of the house.

  The only thing here that spoke to her was a sense of revulsion—for the deed and for whoever had committed it. Her one urge at the moment was to get away and never return to Flaming Tree Ranch.

  Mar
isa locked the door behind her and joined Kelsey on the walk. “Don’t look like that,” she said at once. “Let what comes, come when it will. Something always gets in the way for me. Perhaps I’m too closely involved with the people. You may see more clearly from the outside.”

  “You really feel there’s a connection with—”

  “There’s a connection. Though who came here, and why, and what happened, I don’t know. Maybe there’s something in me that doesn’t want to know and blocks the way.”

  Kelsey turned toward the car and Marisa came after her.

  “Never mind. We must always come back to Jody’s needs. Let the past alone.”

  “You didn’t want me to let it alone,” Kelsey said. “You brought me here.”

  Marisa didn’t answer. As they drove away, Kelsey looked back, and the words Flaming Tree seemed to burn in her mind. Whatever wickedness Francesca Fallon had kindled could easily flare into another conflagration that might damage everyone—even Jody. If that was the message Marisa had wanted her to receive and guard against, it did no good. Premonition had never played any part in her life, and it wasn’t going to now. Better to let “what comes, come,” as Marisa had said.

  Nevertheless, on the way back through the Valley Kelsey tried to put some sense of this into words. “The only feeling I have is that Francesca’s house is a dangerous place. Is it possible that there may be evil in places, as well as people? Perhaps stamped there by human lives? I only know I never want to go back there. I don’t want to know what happened.”

  Marisa drove in silence for several miles before she spoke again. When they were nearing Carmel Highlands she said quietly, “The choice not to know may not be yours to make, Kelsey.”

  XIII

  Kelsey went directly to Jody’s room when she returned, and stopped in surprise in the doorway. Tyler had set up a portable videotape recorder and was filming Jody as Ginnie sat talking to him. The boy, held upright in his chair, appeared to watch as though his eyes were really tracking. Kelsey noted the tiny lapel microphone clipped to his shirt.

  When Tyler pressed the pause control and looked around at Kelsey, he seemed different—much more alive and interested than she’d seen him since Tor House.

  “I’ve taken your suggestion,” he said. “Do you suppose you can get Jody to say something?”

  Kelsey sat down in the chair Ginnie vacated, feeling pleased that for once Tyler had listened. As she took Jody’s hand, removing the soft cloth around which his fingers were always curled, she could feel his tension. Probably his father had been brusque again. Not because he meant to be, but due to his own uncertain state whenever he was near Jody. Grieving fathers could have more trouble being natural than mothers did.

  Jody was looking at her now, and Kelsey spoke to him. “Who am I, Jody? What’s my name?”

  He made the sound that was like “Elly,” and Kelsey stroked his arm to his fingertips, coaxing him to relax.

  “That’s good, Jody. Now I’m going to ask you something else. Would you like me to push you out of your chair?” She smiled, and Jody managed a grimace that was almost a smile in return. He said his best word softly, “No.”

  Often patients who were learning to talk again had so little confidence that they didn’t want to speak loudly. With his father there, Jody was uncertain, and she needed to reassure him.

  “You’re doing fine, Jody, but I didn’t quite hear that. Can you tell me again?”

  This time his “No!” was louder.

  She patted him in praise. “Of course you don’t want to be pushed out of your chair. That was silly, wasn’t it? Now I’m going to ask you another question, and this time I’d like you to think about the answer first. If it’s ‘yes,’ don’t say ‘hai,’ even if it’s easier. You almost managed ‘yes’ once before, and I think you can. Here’s the question. Would you like to taste a tiny bit of mashed banana? Ginnie can fix you some if you’ll say you want it.”

  Jody’s struggle was visible. The muscles of his throat tightened, his straightened arms turned inward, and his fists clenched. Then once more he made a hissing sound, blown between his teeth.

  Kelsey hugged him. “That’s almost it, Jody. We’ll keep working on it so you won’t have to say ‘no’ all the time. Ginnie?”

  Ginnie had already stepped into the adjacent kitchen. “One taste of mashed banana coming up.”

  “You see how you can make things happen, Jody?” Kelsey said. She didn’t look at the camera or at Tyler. What occurred now was between her and Jody and Ginnie, yet at the same time Jody must understand his father’s purpose and sympathy.

  “Every day you’ll learn something new, and you’ll remember all you used to be able to say. Your father will catch some of this on videotape, along with the sound—so you can watch how you’re improving.”

  “Kelsey’s right,” Tyler agreed. “Ginnie’s already making notes, but this is even better.”

  She’d never heard Tyler sound this relaxed with his son since she’d been here, and she smiled at him warmly. Perhaps a little too warmly, because her own emotions were too strongly involved. There was always this awareness of him that she didn’t want to feel, and couldn’t accept.

  She spoke quickly again to Jody.

  “You are going to talk properly. You know that, don’t you, Jody?”

  With a convulsive effort, Jody managed the hissing sound, and Kelsey gave him another hug. “We’ll get that track from your brain to your tongue retrained. Sometimes it can even happen suddenly. Keep thinking the words, and someday they’ll come.”

  She stepped aside to let Ginnie present her spoon with a bit of mashed banana on the tip. “Open up, Jody,” Ginnie said. After a second of hesitation, he permitted the spoon tip to enter his mouth and took the tiny portion on his tongue. At once he made a face, but this time he didn’t spit the food out. All tastes could seem strange and unpleasant to him now, and he must be persuaded to tolerate them, until his taste buds too were reeducated.

  “Move it around in your mouth,” Ginnie said. “Your tongue works. So get used to how it tastes and try to chew. Then you can swallow it.” She stroked his throat gently until he swallowed.

  Kelsey looked around at Tyler. “I hope you realize what an accomplishment this is?”

  “I’ve got it on film with all the sounds,” Tyler said. “How about more banana, Jody?”

  Ginnie spooned more in without waiting for Jody’s agreement. This time he opened his mouth more readily.

  Tyler switched off the camera. “That’s enough for now. Let him eat in peace, if he will. Where did you go with Marisa, Kelsey?”

  “We had lunch in the Barnyard—at the Thunder-bird Bookstore.” She hesitated, and then decided that he might as well know the rest. “After that, Marisa drove us out to Flaming Tree Ranch. She had the key you gave her, and she wanted to check the house.”

  He stood quite still, about to take the camera off the tripod. “Do you know what happened there?”

  “Yes. Marisa told me. I didn’t like the place—there’s an awful feeling about it. If houses are ever haunted, I think that one is.”

  “Swallow, Jody,” Ginnie said. “It’s all right—you aren’t going to choke. Just let it go down easily.”

  Jody’s face had turned red as he coughed and sputtered. Ginnie soothed him until the food went down and he quieted. But his eyes still looked wide and frightened from the near choking. He wasn’t used to eating, and there would be episodes like this until he learned again.

  Nevertheless, Kelsey thought, this had been more like a struggle to talk than a choking spell. And he couldn’t manage talking and eating at the same time. Just the same, she felt encouraged. A good part of recovery was motivation. When Dr. Norman’s nutritional treatment had time to take hold, everything might speed up. The very fact that Jody wanted so much to talk meant that he would keep trying.

  “He’ll be all right now,” Kelsey told Tyler, remembering how he’d reacted at Tor House when Jody had had tro
uble.

  Now, at least, Tyler said nothing as he removed his equipment from the room. When he’d placed the camera, videocassette recorder, and tripod in the hall, he spoke again to Kelsey.

  “I’d like to talk with you for a minute, Kelsey.”

  Again she had stopped being “Mrs. Stewart,” but with Tyler Hammond one never knew how long such progress would last. She followed him to his big airy office, where the view of pines and ocean seemed part of the room.

  “Sit down, please,” he said.

  She took the chair across from his desk, bracing herself, but his words followed an unexpected course.

  “Why did Marisa drive you to Flaming Tree?” he asked. “Whatever possessed her to take you there, of all places?”

  “Why not? We were in that direction in the Valley, and Marisa said she looked through the house for you once in a while. So we might as well stop.”

  “What exactly did she tell you about the place?”

  His tone of voice had hardened, and once more Kelsey felt an urge to provoke and challenge this arrogant man. She hated it that he could get under her skin so easily.

  “Marisa said Francesca Fallon was murdered there. She told me the house had been hers, and now belonged to you.”

  “Francesca was an abominable woman! What else did Marisa say?”

  “That Francesca left the Flaming Tree to you in her will. Perhaps as a—a sort of provocation. Marisa didn’t understand why.”

  Suddenly Tyler looked so dejected that her need to challenge him evaporated. “I don’t need to know any of this. My concern is with Jody.”

  He went on as though he thought aloud. “I suppose it was Francesca’s way of threatening me—embarrassing me. You probably know from Marisa that I went to see her at the ranch the day before she died. After we’d talked, she told me she meant to write a will that afternoon and leave everything she owned to me. Not that she had much. She said if anything happened to her, it would look bad for me, so it was a precaution. I laughed at her. I suppose she thought, in her idiotic way, that she was protecting herself. From me! She saw too many television shows! There wasn’t enough involved to make anyone think I was out for what she’d left me. And her blackmail notion was pretty foolish too, because I wouldn’t stand for it. I’m not even sure what it was and I didn’t want to know. Though it did upset Ruth that she singled me out in her will. How could I explain that? Of course that may have been what Francesca had in mind—to embarrass me in any way she could. If she’d lived, she would probably have publicized the will.”