Flaming Tree

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  She felt angry with both of them, yet she knew her anger was strong because she was also remembering her own weakness—something she couldn’t accept. There was always Ruth and Jody to be considered, and she couldn’t for a moment be selfishly free.

  For now she would go back to the inn and escape them all, even though she couldn’t escape herself. She started the car and drove down the hill to Carmel.

  When she’d pulled into the space beside the cottage, Denis came out to talk to her. He saw her state of mind and opened the door on her side, drawing her out of the car.

  “You look as though you need a change,” he said.

  Denis was a relief after all those angry, strong-willed people at the Hammond house. At least he could be quiet and understanding and sensitive to the needs of others. They sat on the bench outside the cottage and he put a companionable hand through the crook of her arm.

  “Do you want to talk about it? Tell me what happened?”

  She remembered the time on the beach when he’d told her he could be a good listener, and she found him that now. It was a relief to pour out an account of her visit with Marisa to Flaming Tree. She told him about her trip with Tyler to pick up the dog—but not everything about that trip. When she described Wolf, Denis looked doubtful.

  “I’m afraid that was wrong. Ruth really is deathly afraid of dogs. And now that she’s helpless and can’t run away, it makes it all the worse.”

  So not even Denis knew that his sister could walk. Soon she must have another visit with Ruth and try to persuade her that what she was doing could help no one. Including herself. But this was something she couldn’t discuss with Denis, though she did tell him of Ruth’s reaction.

  He heard her out sadly. “There’s got to be an end,” he said.

  “She needs to face living again. But I don’t know what will happen when Jody begins to talk—maybe about that time at Point Lobos?”

  “I know he wants desperately to talk. That’s natural enough, but I don’t know if it’s about anything specific.”

  Denis took something from his jacket pocket and Kelsey saw that he held the three small black beads from Nairobi. He stared at them as though the evil little faces hypnotized him.

  “Did you ever find out who left those on your desk?” Kelsey asked.

  Denis started, as though he hadn’t realized that he held the beads in his hand. He put them away at once. “No, I’ve asked questions, but I still don’t know who came into my office and left them there.”

  “Hello!” From across the way Elaine called to them. “You’re just the one I want to see, Kelsey. How are things going?”

  “Up and down,” Kelsey said. “Down right now. So I’ve run away.”

  “I’ve had a phone call from Marisa Marsh and she left a message for you. She’d like you to come to her house whenever you can make the drive.”

  “But I saw her at lunch today,” Kelsey said.

  “I know. She told me she took you out to Flaming Tree. She seems to have made up her mind about something she wasn’t sure of then. So she’s anxious to talk with you again.” Elaine hesitated, and then went on doubtfully, “She seems to have a feeling that you need some sort of help, and that maybe she can give it.”

  “If that’s one of her hunches, she’s right,” Kelsey said. “But I’m not sure I’m up to anything more today.”

  “You’d better go,” Denis said. “I’ll drive you out there, if you like. Then perhaps you’ll have dinner with me afterwards? I’m off duty until this evening.”

  “A good idea,” Elaine said. “Do go along, Kelsey. I think you can trust Marisa.” For an instant Elaine held Kelsey’s eyes, and there was a perception in her own that Kelsey hadn’t expected.

  Denis pulled her up from the bench. “Seeing Marisa will do us both good. Thanks, Elaine.”

  In a few moments they were on their way around the Monterey Peninsula. Perhaps Marisa was the one she could talk to and trust. All the others—even Denis—existed too closely under the shadow of La Casa de la Sombra.

  There could be no real relaxing, no leaning on others, while her own anxiety remained high. She couldn’t rest until the kaleidoscope of shifting colors and emotions that swirled around her began to settle and make sense. In the meantime, it would do no good to run away.

  What she might hope for from Marisa was some clue that would help the pattern to clear. Until it did, she could never be sure of her own role in events that seemed increasingly tragic.

  XIV

  Marisa was waiting for them—engulfed once more in flowing turquoise, with caftan sleeves that made her appear to float on wings. She seemed surprised and not altogether pleased to see that Kelsey had not come alone.

  Denis apologized quickly. “I’m only the chauffeur, so pay no attention. Kelsey’s had a bad day, and I thought I’d volunteer to drive her. I’ll sit out on the terrace and commune with the view.”

  For an instant Marisa seemed undecided. Then she smiled at him. “I’m always glad to see you, Denis. And perhaps it’s a good idea for you to hear this too.”

  She led them into the spacious living room with its redwood beams overhead, and hand-carved furniture, some of which had come from Tyler’s workshop. The door to the adjacent studio stood open, and from where she sat Kelsey could glimpse the flying driftwood geese. She remembered that the first time she’d seen them they’d made her spirits soar. Now, when she thought of Tyler, she felt heavy with dread. It was no longer only Jody she wanted to help—his father was there, paramount in her thoughts.

  Marisa had placed a tape recorder on a table, and as they sat down she slipped a cassette into place.

  “Kelsey, I’ve decided that you should hear this tape of the interview Francesca Fallon did with Tyler. I don’t know that it will tell you much, but perhaps there’s something that should be done about it now. I’d like to know what you think.”

  Kelsey had heard enough about the broadcast to feel immediately uneasy, and she tensed against whatever might be coming.

  Before she touched the play button, Marisa spoke to Denis. “Did you hear the interview when it went on the air that day?”

  He shook his head. “I never liked Francesca, and I’m not especially eager to listen to Tyler. I hear him quoted too often as it is. I was in the library at the house when everything was being set up. But when they were ready to start, I went for a walk. I didn’t come back until they were off the air, and by that time things had turned ugly. Savage, you might say. I was just as glad I missed the show.”

  “Then it’s time for you to hear it now,” Marisa told him.

  Denis took the three small beads from his pocket again, and Kelsey was reminded of Bogart’s Captain Queeg rolling steel balls in his fingers. Not a pleasant reminder, and she hoped it didn’t fit Denis.

  The tape purred and for the first time Kelsey heard Francesca Fallon’s voice. It seemed eerie to listen, knowing that she had died only a few days later.

  At the beginning, she seemed gracious enough. She introduced Tyler glowingly, and her voice possessed a pleasant timbre, though sometimes a little too silky, too smooth for the barbs that began to emerge slyly, inserted like glass splinters as the interview continued.

  Tyler’s voice recorded well, as Marisa had said, and the sound of it brought his presence into the room so vitally that Kelsey could see him clearly in her mind as she listened.

  Before long, Francesca’s barbs turned into attacks that darted in and darted away, all with the pretense of lightness and amused laughter. Why on earth had Tyler been willing to do this interview at all, since he knew very well the sort of innuendo that she was likely to indulge in?

  “Tell me,” Francesca said at one point, “about the film you made on Salinas and the farm workers in the area.”

  A certain guardedness came into Tyler’s voice. “What do you want to know about it?”

  “I understand it didn’t succeed as a documentary. The critics were pretty down on it, and you must hav
e lost whatever you put into the project. Do you know what went wrong?”

  Tyler answered carefully, still in control. “Nobody can tell for sure ahead of time what will succeed and what won’t. Besides, I don’t regard Salinas as a failure. I’m not trying for popular success.”

  “Of course not. Naturally, you don’t have to worry about crass things like that the way the rest of us do. I’ve heard you called a genius by some—a few—who claim such films are worth making whether many people care or not.”

  Tyler held his temper and answered quietly. “A documentary ultimately has to make a statement about human beings if it’s to matter, Mrs. Fallon. I think Salinas does that. It’s a story of men and women who succeeded against all sorts of odds. From those Basque shepherds in the beginning to the beet growers and the artichoke fields of today, it’s a story of struggle by individuals who interest me.”

  “You were both director and producer, I understand. Isn’t there a risk in that?”

  “I need to go my own way, and I’m willing to take the responsibility for my judgment. Though of course any film is the work of a number of people.”

  “With you in control, naturally. Who was your cameraman for that film?”

  There was an instant of hesitation on Tyler’s part. Then he said coldly, “Denis Langford.”

  “Oh, yes—your wife’s brother. A good idea to keep it in the family. What would you say is the most necessary quality in a cameraman?”

  “He needs to be free of emotional prejudgment—to have an objective lens that allows the shot to reveal itself. He certainly needs a sensitive eye that’s quick enough to catch what can happen in fleeting seconds. Knowing where to turn the camera at the right moment can require a lot of expertise. Then there’s always the problem of trying to be invisible. People who aren’t actors can either freeze when there’s a camera around, or else mug and show off. It’s part of my job to get them to relax and forget the camera, but the man behind the lens plays a big role in that.”

  Kelsey stole a look at Denis, but his eyes were closed and he might have gone to sleep, except that his mouth twitched now and then.

  “Salinas didn’t seem a really dramatic story, in spite of the skill that went into making it,” Francesca put in, the barb stabbing again.

  Tyler said, “The individual struggle is always dramatic. I make films about subjects that seem important to me.”

  “It must be lovely to be independent so that you can do what the rest of us can’t always manage. Your father was a bank president, I understand, and very successful and wealthy.”

  There was another instant of silence on the tape, and Kelsey could imagine Tyler’s stiffening. But dead air was hardly Francesca’s purpose, and she must have recognized ground too dangerous for even her insensitive foot. The tragedy of Tyler’s childhood loomed large in that moment of quiet.

  Francesca went on conversationally. “You know I love tidbits of gossip—everyone does—and an interesting one came my way that I’ve wondered about. Of course you’ve been to Nepenthe?”

  “I’ve been there.” Tyler was curt.

  For a moment Kelsey lost the words on the tape because Denis dropped one of the carved beads, and bent to retrieve it from under a chair.

  “I suppose you’ve met Olga?” Francesca was asking when Kelsey’s attention returned.

  “The fortune-teller at Nepenthe?”

  “Oh, she’s not reading her tarot cards actively anymore. But I ran into her a few months ago when she was up here, and we were reminiscing. Does the date of July 16, 1974, mean anything to you, Mr. Hammond?”

  “Not that I can think of. Should it?”

  “You might ask your mother-in-law about it sometime. Olga and I both happened to be at Nepenthe on that date when Dora Langford came there. Were you married to your wife then, Mr. Hammond?”

  “What are you getting at?” Kelsey could hear anger rising in Tyler’s voice, and she felt angry herself. He didn’t deserve Francesca’s viciousness and public probing.

  Kelsey glanced at Denis, who looked sickened and disgusted, and he spoke over the voices to Marisa. “Must we listen to any more?”

  “Just a bit more.” Marisa had stopped the machine briefly when Denis spoke, but now she touched the button again, and the tape picked up after a slight break.

  “Olga was very sympathetic about you and your family, Mr. Hammond. Whether you’ve troubled to remember that day or not. Some people think she has a talent for prophecy, and she seemed to be saying that still more trouble might be avoided if you took a proper course of action. Not that I believe in all that. When I saw Olga at Nepenthe all those years ago, she seemed to see trouble in my future, and I’ve really done all right.”

  “It can still happen,” Tyler said testily. “Maybe you’d better tell me straight out whatever it is you’re getting at.”

  Francesca turned coy. “Oh, not on the air. Sorry, dear listeners. Mr. Hammond, if you’ll come out to my ranch at Flaming Tree very soon, perhaps I can help you to ward off fate. Or whatever. In private, of course.”

  Marisa stopped the tape abruptly. “No use listening to the rest. It gets even nastier after this. What a witch she was!” She wound the tape back to the beginning and took it out to hand to Kelsey.

  “You’d better give this to Tyler,” she said.

  Kelsey didn’t want to take the tape, and Denis reached for it. “Tyler won’t want to hear any of this again, Marisa,” he said. “Why not just destroy it?”

  Marisa held the cassette back from his hand. “Because there may be something here that Tyler has forgotten. Something he ought to look into again. I’m convinced there are words, hints, on this tape that concern the present.”

  Meaning Francesca’s death? Kelsey wondered. But Tyler had been cleared, and she’d believed what he himself had told her.

  Marisa went on, puzzling aloud. “Why should Olga have brought that past date up with Francesca—or Francesca with her? What was Olga hinting at in her prophecy—if you want to call it that? It might be a good idea for Tyler to track Olga down and find out.”

  “Find out what?” Kelsey asked.

  “Perhaps why Dora Langford went to Nepenthe on the date Francesca mentions on the tape.”

  “How can that possibly have anything to do with now?” Denis asked.

  Marisa shrugged. “I don’t know. The vibes seem all wrong, and I believe Tyler ought to see Olga. Give him the tape, Kelsey, and let him decide.”

  “Why me? Why don’t you give it to him yourself?”

  “Because, my dear”—Marisa’s smile was unsettling—“you are the one who has an inside track with Tyler right now. Maybe you’re the one he trusts. He’s started to get very nervous about my—hunches. He thinks you are sensible, though fervent, and that you’ve placed Jody’s health above anything else. So he might listen to you and go to Nepenthe.”

  “I doubt that. I’m not going to urge him, but I’ll think about this.” Kelsey took the tape reluctantly and put it in her purse. “What is Nepenthe?”

  Marisa’s face brightened. “It’s one of my favorite spots in the area It’s down the Big Sur coast. A truly mystical place. I knew Olga rather well at one time. She used her first name alone because her last name was—for us—unpronounceable Russian. In her way, she became quite famous locally, and everyone used to go to her for readings. I suspect she was rather good—what they call a ‘sensitive.’”

  Denis disagreed. “She was good at picking up bits of information and feeding them back to the gullible. She never had what you have, Marisa.”

  “I’m not sure you’re right,” Marisa said. “Of course she’s getting on in years now, and she doesn’t work on a regular basis anymore. Big Sur is the name for that whole coast area, but I understand she has a house in the tiny post office location also known as Big Sur.”

  “Nepenthe is only a restaurant,” Denis said to Kelsey, dismissing it.

  Marisa shook her head. “It’s more than that. Nepenthe is
a Greek word that means ‘no sorrow.’ The phoenix is the symbol they’ve adopted—the bird that rises from the fire and renews itself eternally. Lolly and Bill Fassett built the place years ago. They brought in a student of Frank Lloyd Wright to design the big redwood and adobe building so that it fits into that spectacular spot on the mountain. When the fog clears, there’s a stunning view of mountains and ocean.”

  Marisa sounded almost dreamy, and Denis called her back by holding out the three carved beads from Francesca’s necklace. “What do you know about these, Marisa?”

  She took the beads from him, examined them with a shudder, and returned them as though she found their touch abhorrent.

  “Francesca’s bad luck?”

  “Because of some sort of African curse.” Denis sounded impatient. “She always bragged about getting those beads in Nairobi, and claimed they kept her safe from harm.”

  “Francesca bragged about a lot of things,” Marisa said. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think she was ever in Africa in her life. It was Olga who gave her those beads one time when she came to Nepenthe. Olga told her she needed protection unless she changed her ways, and the luck would hold as long as the necklace was intact. That’s why Francesca went completely to pieces when she broke the chain during the interview with Tyler. She wanted to have the beads restrung immediately, but she knew how many there were, and that three were still missing. So she waited. That gave Olga’s dark prophecy time to come true.”

  “God!” Denis threw the beads on a table beside the recorder and let them roll haphazardly. “Tyler, and most of all my sister, don’t need to be upset with this kind of mumbo jumbo. Don’t go spooky on us, Marisa.”

  She watched him sadly. “You’re concerned because Dora was there that day, aren’t you? I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I only meant for Kelsey to hear the tape—not you.”

  “Well, she’s heard it, and if she’s as smart as I think she is, she’ll erase it so no one else will ever listen to Francesca’s nastiness again. Kelsey, if you’re ready to leave, we can have dinner in Carmel. I need to be back at the inn by eight.”