Idaho Code

by Joan Opyr

  “Maybe,” I said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Sword-swallowing,” Suzy suggested.

  “Walking on hot coals,” added Brian.

  “Parachuting.”

  “Pie-eating contest.”

  “Hair pie.”

  “That’s enough out of you, Suzy,” I snapped. “You’re starting to sound exactly like my mother.” Suzy laughed. “Give me a call tomorrow night or,” I nodded at Nancy, “you can tell Sylvie. We’ll see—it depends on the action.”

  “Actually,” A. J. said, “what we have in mind is phone-banking, calling up registered voters and asking how they plan to vote on this issue. If they say yes, we ask them to reconsider. If they don’t know, we offer to give them more information. It’s easy, really. Then we’re going to do some canvassing door to door.”

  None of the Faeries had anything to say to this. I looked at Sylvie, and she nodded.

  “If that’s what you’re doing,” I said, “you can count us in.”

  A. J. smiled. As she and Nancy turned to go, she said, “You really need to get some new friends, Bil. You can’t be a fag hag all your life.”

  Sylvie and I both opened our mouths to speak, but Suzy beat us to it.

  “I prefer the term queer peer, myself.”

  “How about fruit bat,” Jeff suggested.

  “Or fruit fly?”

  “Or fruit loop?”

  A. J. and Nancy stalked off. We waited until they were a reasonable distance away before we laughed. Tipper just shook his head.

  “I really should have had you committed when you took up with her. I think you were having a psychotic episode.”

  “You should be nicer to me,” I replied, “considering the fact that I saved you from a smoke-filled kitchen this afternoon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I switched the targets. Your mother actually won. The closest groupings were hers.”

  He paused for a moment and then grinned. “I owe you,” he said.

  “Yes, you do. You and the Faeries can get your asses in gear and help the Lesbian Avengers canvass door to door and run that phone bank.”

  Sylvie and I stayed at the café for some time after the Faeries had left. I longed to go back to her apartment, but she’d promised to spend the night with her mother. She felt that coming to the meeting was her mother’s first tentative step out of the closet, and she wanted to talk to her. When I could no longer resist the evil glares of the café’s wait staff, who wanted to close up shop, I pushed my chair back and bowed to the inevitable.

  I started the truck and turned on the headlights. It was another dark, cloudy night. I kept telling myself that I needed to be more sensitive to other people’s needs, but I didn’t want to go home and sleep in my own bed. Sylvie reached over and tickled the back of my neck.

  “You might not believe this,” she said, “but this isn’t the way I wanted to spend tonight.”

  “I know. Your mother needs you, and besides, you promised.”

  “That doesn’t make it easy.”

  “But tomorrow is Saturday. We’ve got the whole weekend ahead of us.”

  “And Nancy’s going to be up in Spokane until Sunday night. It’ll be just the two of us.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Now tonight is bound to be a living hell. I’ll be forced to sit around with my mother and brother watching championship wrestling, praying for the hours to pass.”

  We were on the highway three or four miles from Kate’s farm, just past Fort Sister’s driveway, when a car pulled out to pass us. I couldn’t see into the interior, and it didn’t have its headlights on. It pulled up parallel to me, but it didn’t pull ahead.

  “Idiot,” I said, slowing down. “What he’s doing, playing chicken?”

  Suddenly, the car swerved into my lane, narrowly missing the side of my truck.

  I slammed on the brakes and went into a skid. We’d been doing about fifty-five, and we were still going at least thirty when the truck jumped the shoulder and went into the ditch. I just had time to yell “Shit!” before we plowed into a tree with cacophony of scraping metal and an ominous hissing sound.

  When I opened my eyes, the hood was buckled up towards the windshield like an old bed sheet. The truck tried to run for a few seconds after impact, and then it knocked twice and died. I closed my eyes again and listened, afraid to look at Sylvie. The hissing sound was definitely mechanical, not human. I guessed it was the radiator. I opened my eyes.

  Sylvie’s hands gripped the dashboard tightly, and she was breathing like a locomotive.

  “Oh God, honey, are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Just bruised, I think. The seatbelt—thank God for this seatbelt—knocked the wind out of me. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, but I thought you were . . .” I burst into tears. “My poor truck.”

  Sylvie unbuckled herself and slid across the seat as best she could. She put her arms around me and held me tightly.

  “It’s okay. Neither of us is hurt, and that’s the important thing, right?”

  “That bastard ran us off deliberately,” I said. “He didn’t have his fucking lights on. He . . .”

  A terrifying thought occurred to me.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” I said, opening my door and pulling her behind me. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I stepped out of the truck and directly into a two-foot deep hole. I lost my footing and Sylvie, already off balance, nearly fell out of the truck on top of me. She righted herself in time and got out carefully.

  “Help me up,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here quickly.”

  “Why? Bil, what’s . . .”

  I motioned for her to be quiet. I heard a sound up the road from us. A car was turning around on the highway ahead, just around the curve.

  “I’ve twisted my ankle,” I said, grabbing the door handle and pulling myself up. “I can walk on it if you’ll help me, but it’s important that we get away from here as quickly as possible. We’re not far from Tipper’s. We need to make for those trees. Are you ready?”

  She didn’t answer. She must have been afraid because I certainly was.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I know these woods.”

  I hoped I knew them better than the driver of the car coming back down the road. Whoever it was, they were driving slowly. I could hear the tires crunching on the asphalt.

  “Let’s go.”

  We had just reached the tree line when the car drove past. It was too dark to make out the model, and its headlights were still turned off. We moved into the trees, and I turned to look back at the truck. The impact had knocked out my headlights. The taillights, however, glowed red in the dark. I wished I’d had the presence of mind to turn them off.

  The car stopped on the shoulder just above us, and someone stepped out. I caught a glimpse of a crowbar in their hand, which made me think it would be best if we didn’t stick around.

  Sylvie had seen it, too. “Come on,” she whispered. “Quickly and quietly.”

  We made an ungodly amount of noise; it sounded as if we were stepping on every dry twig in the forest. I stopped for a moment and listened for the sound of an engine starting and a car driving away. I didn’t hear it. My ankle was really starting to ache. I motioned for Sylvie to move faster. I thought we were within a quarter of a mile of Tipper’s house.

  After another fifty yards or so, we stopped again. That’s when I heard a twig snap behind us. We’d been followed into the woods.

  “Run,” I whispered to Sylvie.

  “No.” She reached around my waist to get a firmer grip. “Let’s go!”

  No longer even trying to be quiet, we ran for all we were worth. I cast one quick glance over my shoulder and thought I saw the shadow only about twenty yards behind us. I ignored the pain in my ankle and put as much weight as I could on it, praying that the adrenaline rush would produce enough endorphins to get me through. When I finally caught sight of the lights
on the softball diamond, I yelled with all my might.

  “Help!”

  We stumbled into the back fence just behind Jeff, who was backing up for a fly ball.

  “Nice catch,” I said. Then I let go of Sylvie and pitched forward in a dead faint.

  Chapter 29

  I woke up in Tipper’s bed. Sylvie was sitting next to me, crying, and Tipper was standing behind her, patting her on the back. The Captain was pacing furiously up and down the room. When she saw that my eyes were open, she stopped.

  “How do you feel?”

  I was having difficulty focusing. I said, “Like the biggest wimp on earth.”

  “You hit your head,” she said. “You’ve got a big gash on your forehead. Sylvie thinks you hit the windshield, and Suzy thinks you might need stitches.”

  “What would Suzy know about it?” I tried to sit up and instantly regretted it.

  “Lie back down,” Tipper said firmly.

  Sylvie wrapped her arm around my shoulders and eased me onto the pillow.

  “In a former life,” Tipper continued, “Suzy was an emergency room nurse. He’s older than he looks. He says you’re to lie down and wait for an ambulance.”

  “No ambulance.”

  “Bil . . .” Sylvie began.

  “Call Ruth,” I said, closing my eyes because the room had begun to spin. “She can come look at me. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I don’t want to leave here.”

  I was suddenly filled with terror at the thought of leaving Fort Sister. I wanted to stay with Captain Schwartz and her armory of guns.

  “And I don’t want you to go anywhere, either,” I added to Sylvie.

  She squeezed my hand and kissed me on the top of my head. “I’m here, Bil. I won’t go anywhere.”

  Tipper left the room, and I heard him consulting with Suzy out in the hallway. I strained to hear what they were saying. Tipper came back into the room and walked to the edge of the bed.

  “Suzy says that you’re a jackass, but he thinks you’ll be okay. You’ve had a whack on the head, but he doesn’t think you’re concussed. He’s butterflied your cut, which should hold you for now. Do you two want to tell us what happened?”

  I looked at Sylvie. She said, “Some nut ran us off the road. He didn’t have his lights on, and he swerved into our lane. We crashed into a tree on the edge of your property.”

  Captain Schwartz turned to Tipper and said in an accusing tone, “I told you I heard tires screeching on the highway.”

  “Mama,” Tipper said, “I will never doubt your bionic hearing again.” Then he turned to me. “I’m sorry, Bil. We got up a game to decompress after the town meeting. It got pretty noisy, and then Suzy insisted on having a disco soundtrack blaring out across the field. Mama heard you yell for help, but I didn’t know you were there until you stumbled out of the woods.”

  His eyes filled with tears.

  “It’s okay. We’re both okay.”

  He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose loudly. “Why were you yelling for help?”

  Sylvie answered him. “Because the person who ran us off the road decided to finish the job with a crowbar. He chased us through the woods.”

  “Someone from that debate tonight? Someone followed you?”

  I didn’t think it was anyone from the meeting. The Reverend Jones might want to stone me, but if he were going to kill anyone, he’d probably start with Suzy. I looked at Sylvie, whose expression was inscrutable.

  “I don’t know who it was,” I said.

  The look I’d given Sylvie was not lost on Tipper. “Damn it, Bil—you’re running around playing private detective, not watching whose toes you might be stepping on, and now you’ve got someone mad enough to want to kill you. I might just kill you myself if you keep it up. If you know something, take it to the sheriff. Those pages from the telephone book . . .”

  The Captain was still in the room, so I cut in quickly, “Ixnay, you idiot.”

  He glared at me.

  Captain Schwartz leaned over the other side of the bed and laid a large, cool hand on my cheek. “I hope Suzy’s right that you’re not concussed. Your sister needs to check you out. Why would someone want to kill you?”

  “I . . .”

  “She’s been sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. No pun intended,” he added, lifting an eyebrow. “She’s been asking questions about our recent murder, and I expect she might have asked one question too many.”

  “Why are you . . .” the Captain began. Then she looked at Sylvie and smiled. “I sent Cedar Tree and Jane to fetch your mother, Sylvie. She should be here any minute now. I’ve also called your mother, Bil.”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  The sounds of a great consternation rose up the staircase, and my mother swept into the room, followed closely by Kate.

  “Bil!” she wailed, sailing over to my bedside.

  “Come on, Tipper,” said the Captain. “Let’s go downstairs and call Ruth.”

  They closed the door, and my mother felt me up and down for contusions and bruises, creating many new ones in the process.

  “Knock it off, Emma. Ruth will be here soon.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some bastard tried to kill us,” I said. “Ran us off the road and then chased us down with a crowbar. We made it here just in time to keep from getting our heads bashed in.”

  “But why would anyone want to . . . that goddamn meeting! I got a phone call from your grandmother, and I told her I hoped she was happy. She was shocked to death, but I said you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Did you get a look at him? Have you called the sheriff?”

  “If you will shut up,” I said slowly and carefully, “I’ll answer all of your questions. First, we don’t know that it was someone from the meeting. It might have been someone closer to home.”

  “Why . . .” she began, and then stopped.

  Kate cast a quick glance from Sylvie to me. She said, “Two sheriff’s deputies were waiting for me when I got home tonight. They had some more questions about the man who died. I misidentified his body, but I think you already know that.”

  I looked at Emma, who was staring resolutely at her toes. Kate continued.

  “The autopsy made it clear that he wasn’t your father. I haven’t been charged with anything, though I think that might just be a matter of time. I told them it was a mistake, but why should they believe me? I have every reason to lie.”

  She walked over and stood beside her daughter, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. Sylvie looked up at her and waited. The blood had drained from Kate’s face, and she swayed a little, as if she were going to be sick. Sylvie reached out and took her mother’s hand, though she made no other move to comfort her. No one said anything for at least a minute.

  Then, Kate spoke to Sylvie. “How much do you remember?”

  Sylvie didn’t answer. She looked past her mother at me.

  I said, “She woke up and saw you through the kitchen door. Both of you. She watched you bury his body in the backyard.”

  Kate said, “Oh.”

  My mother said nothing. She had a curious expression on her face. Sylvie waited.

  “I planned to leave him,” Kate said. “I planned to leave on the fifth. I knew he’d be gone for at least five days, and that would give me time to get you out of the state. I had enough money, and I had a college friend who lived in California. Actually, Emma knew her better than I did—she was an attorney in family law. She worked with battered women, and she’d arranged Emma’s adoption of Sam. We were going to leave on Wednesday morning, the day after your father left for Spokane. But there was a problem, something went wrong with his motorcycle.”

  “I knocked it over,” Sylvie said. “It bent something on the engine.”

  “The clamp holding the throttle cable,” my mother said. I looked at her, bemused. She shrugged. “It was nothing, easily fixed.”

  Kate wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “He was enraged. I thou
ght you were in bed asleep, but I heard him yelling at you, and I knew. When I came out the back door, he was holding you in the air by your neck, choking you. I tried to pull his hands off. He wouldn’t let go. Then, he dropped you. I thought you were dead, but when I got to you, you were still breathing. I carried you into the house and laid you on the kitchen table. He followed me in. I’d put the dog down that morning, and the gun was still out. I wanted to kill him.”

  “It wasn’t premeditated,” I said. “You could have pleaded self-defense. You had the evidence.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” she said. “Men who beat their wives and children still get custody, even now. I didn’t have a chance in a court of law and he knew it—he knew. We’d been married for just over a year when I met someone, a woman. I would have left with her, but I couldn’t.”

  “You were pregnant,” Sylvie said, her voice expressionless. “Did he rape you?”

  Kate closed her eyes. “No, not then. I married Burt to please my parents. I know my mother suspected I was a lesbian; she hinted at it once or twice. My marriage shut her up. After that, what could she say?”

  “Why didn’t you have an abortion?”

  “Because I didn’t want one. Sylvie,” Kate took her daughter by the arms and turned to face her, “I wanted you. I don’t regret the choices I made because I have you.”

  She didn’t go on. Sylvie was crying silently now, still holding her mother’s hand. They didn’t look quite real to me.

  “Emma,” I began, “maybe we should . . .”

  Emma blinked once and then spoke. “Kate called me when she was sure he was dead. We talked about what to do. Although he’d beaten her severely, the loaded rifle made it look like premeditated murder. She might have taken her chances in court, but Sylvie needed her mother. And so I told your father the only lie I’ve ever told him. I said that Sylvie was sick, and that I was going over to keep Kate company. When I got there, we stripped him naked and buried him. I burned his clothes in the barbecue pit out back, all except for his shoes. Kate put those in the trunk of her car, and we dropped them in the river in Spokane. We had four days before he was due back to clean up the mess and work out a story.”