Hot, Shot, and Bothered

by Nora McFarland

  “You don’t understand.” I didn’t want to open this can of worms, but there was no way out now. “I was her alibi.”

  He did a double take. “You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

  “When I was almost nineteen, I came up here at the start of the summer to live in Bud’s mobile home by the lake. Jessica was a year younger than me and had just finished high school. She’d been working with a group of environmentalists called Green Seed to stop development, but her dad didn’t approve. I agreed to say she was with me so he wouldn’t find out she was still helping them.” I left out the part where Jessica was paying me to lie, but I was hoping to get out of this conversation with Rod’s respect still intact.

  “But why do you think you owe her? If anything, it should be the other way around.”

  I rubbed my head. I must have looked really upset because Rod put his arm around me. He was warm and strong in a way that felt, well, dependable. I know that’s not a sexy word, but maybe it should be.

  “Jessica had my back once.” I leaned my head against his chest. “I did something bad and she could have gotten herself out of trouble by turning me in, but she kept her mouth shut.”

  “What did you do?”

  “It’s not important. It was just a stupid prank that . . . it was stupid.”

  Rod pulled me closer, but didn’t say anything.

  “But someone saw me doing it,” I continued. “And since Jessica and I were supposed to be together at the time, we both got hauled in by the police. Jessica was a minor and her dad gave them permission to interview her for as long as they wanted.”

  I flashed again to waiting at the old Elizabeth police station while they questioned Jessica in the back. Even from across the lobby, I could smell the Old Spice on Jessica’s father as he waited too. I remember thinking he’d probably doused himself in the stuff to cover up some other smell, such as beer or cigarettes.

  I pulled back and looked at Rod. “Jessica could have told the truth. I even confessed to her about the prank after the fact.” Bragged was more like it. “But when the police questioned her, Jessica refused to say anything at all. Finally they had to let us both go.”

  I took a breath. I was in danger of losing control. “And to make matters worse, now it looks like her family and the police always assumed she was guilty because she wouldn’t talk.”

  “I understand why you feel like you owe her.” Rod kept his voice level and calm. “But you’re having an emotional reaction. You practically took Fitzgerald’s head off in there.”

  “You’re right, I’m angry, and Fitzgerald isn’t the only one who makes me feel that way.”

  Rod patiently waited for me to continue.

  “I’m not an environmentalist, but I admire Jessica. She stood up to her family, her friends—basically, this entire community—all because she believed in something. That takes guts.”

  I pulled away and turned so I was facing him. “Jessica may have been a little weird and awkward, but she was strong, and now that she’s dead and can’t defend herself, all these jerks are remaking her as weak and pathetic. It’s like, it’s not enough that she’s dead, they have to take away the best thing about her, the thing she probably cared most about.”

  The alarm on my cell phone began ringing. “It’s one fifteen. We have to go if we’re going to make the briefing.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  I nodded. “Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.” I shut off the phone and then stood. “When we get back to headquarters, I’m going to find the L.A. shooter and ask him about the mad scientist and his minions. The protests thirteen years ago were about a lizard so maybe his research is connected to the nonprofit Jessica works for.”

  Rod followed me up and dusted off his pants. “I think the mad scientist was pretty clear that it’s a salamander, not a lizard.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He smiled. “I understand you want to find out what happened to Jessica, but promise me that if we see the mayor at headquarters, you won’t treat her like you treated her husband.”

  “If you promise me that you’ll ask her questions about the drowning.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I promise too.”

  He gave me a good-bye kiss—the kind that makes dependable seem sexy—and then we left in our own vehicles.

  When we parted, I fully intended to meet Rod at headquarters. But as I drove, I kept thinking about Jessica’s death. I couldn’t see any motive for the Fitzgeralds to murder their childhood friend. They even had alibis—still unconfirmed, but why offer them if they weren’t going to hold up?

  Slim could tell me where to find the mad scientist and his minions, but since he’d needed a ride-along to interview them in the first place, there was little chance of my being able to interview them. Arnaldo Bedolla hadn’t returned my calls, and I couldn’t reasonably leave any more messages on his cell. I could always track down his diving partner, Pukey the Kid, but since his family also lived on the other side of Mt. Terrill and were busy trying to evacuate their ranch, I’d need an escort to see him too.

  Tracking down the McClellan family was probably just a matter of speaking with enough locals. If any members of the family still lived here and were angry about the protests thirteen years ago, it would have to be common knowledge. Lastly, someone was going to need to go down to Venice and ask questions about Jessica’s life there, if only to discover the truth about her shoulder.

  That’ when I passed the turnoff for Search and Rescue. Seeing the dirt road leading down to the lake reminded me that the police had never searched Road’s End.

  By the time I reached the turnoff for Elizabeth, I didn’t even consider stopping. Using the speakerphone and the speed dial, I tried Rod’s cell several times during the drive. Between my bad reception and his bad reception, the best I could do was leave a message.

  “Hi, it’s Lilly. I’m making a stop. I’ll catch up with you at headquarters. Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal and I don’t have anything to do during the briefing anyway. . . . Okay, so, see you soon.”

  I hung up. See you soon? Had that sounded as lame as I thought? Should I have said I love you? It was against the no-public-displays-of-affection-on-the-job rule, but I felt guilty.

  I slowed several miles before the Forest Service airstrip where the governor had landed. I found the dirt road and passed two mobile-home parks and a few private residences. At the end of the road I stopped at the final property.

  I got out and jumped up the few steps to the mobile home’s covered patio. I banged on the door and rang the bell at the same time. Finally I heard footsteps.

  “I’m not leaving,” the old man yelled from inside. “I’ve got a shotgun and this is my property and you can’t make me evacuate.”

  “Mr. King? It’s Lilly Hawkins. I was here earlier today with Leanore Drucker.”

  The door opened. Mr. King wore boxer shorts and a soiled undershirt. He hadn’t been lying about the gun. “From the TV?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I saw myself on the news at five.” His face lit up. “That was something. Folks were calling me all night saying how they saw me on TV.” He paused. “Is that why you’re back? You want to ask me some more questions?”

  “No. This time I need a favor.”

  “Sure. You name it.”

  I pointed toward the lake. “I need to use your boat.”

  TEN

  Friday, 1:35 a.m.

  You know why they called it Road’s End?”

  I carefully stepped into the motorboat. I was momentarily thrown by the odd sensation of the floor moving, but I managed to keep my footing. “No.”

  Mr. King was already at the rear of the small utility boat. He had the cover up on the engine and was putting the key in. “Back before they flooded this valley in the fifties, there were houses and trees and things where the lake is now. Cars had a habit of driving off the side of a steep hill
there. Folks started calling it Road’s End, meaning, your road was coming to an end if you drove up there.”

  He checked something, then closed the cover. “After they flooded the valley, the top of that hill became an island in the middle of the lake. Folks started rowing out there for picnics and things. Everyone forgot how it got its name.”

  “That’s a great story.” I felt a sudden desire to double-check the clasps on my life jacket. “Maybe Leanore can use it in one of her pieces.”

  “I didn’t tell you that so I could be on TV again.” He paused, then smiled. “But I sure wouldn’t mind being on TV again.”

  I cautiously sat on the shelf at the front of the boat. “I’ve been doing this job for almost six years, and everyone wants to be on television. It’s human nature.”

  “I like sharing our history too. It makes me feel good to get the stories out there.”

  I had an idea. “Do you remember the protests thirteen years ago?”

  “Sure. Went on for over a year.”

  “Was anyone ever violent?”

  “I wouldn’t say violent, but Loys McClellan was sure angry. Finally they came up with some kind of compromise where he’d sell for a nature preserve. He agreed, but wanted to keep the land where he’d built his own house. It was in a beautiful spot called Bonny Hazel, after the hazelnut trees.”

  I remembered the support officer saying something similar when I’d talked to her at the police station.

  He laughed. “It’s hard for an old fart to leave the house he loves—I’m living proof—but the environmental folks said all or nothing and McClellan finally agreed.”

  Mr. King paused to take a ragged breath. “There’s a bunch of students living there now, studying the nature preserve. They’ve probably trashed the place.”

  My head jerked up. “Wait, are they the ones who’ve been on TV all night? The scientist and the blond girl who said the fire-fighters had to save her no matter what?”

  “I don’t know if it’s the same ones, but I hate that girl on TV.” He had to pause to take another labored breath. “I got an e-mail from a friend so I got on the Facebook and liked a page saying how I didn’t like her.”

  “Does Green Seed still own the house?” He looked confused so I said, “Green Seed is the group that was protesting. They own the nature preserve now.”

  “I guess. In the end they got all of McClellan’s land.”

  If Green Seed was sponsoring the mad scientist’s research, then naturally Jessica would be visiting him and his minions—it was probably even part of her job.

  “Whatever happened to the McClellans?” I said. “Do any of them still live here?”

  “I heard Loys McClellan moved to Santa Barbara or some place like that. I don’t know what happened to his kids. They’d probably be middle-aged by now.”

  I was absorbed in my thoughts and didn’t notice right away when Mr. King took out an inhaler and breathed in a blast of medicine.

  “I’m sorry.” I stood and took the few steps to the rear. “You should get out of the smoke.”

  “I’m okay.” While he took a moment to normalize his breathing, I stood in front of the engine. It had a backup starter cord in case the battery died. I reached down with my left arm and pulled. I barely got the cord halfway.

  “You don’t have to do that. This engine is one of the new ones with a battery.” He pumped the primer, then hit the ignition switch. The small engine roared to life.

  I raised my voice so I could be heard. “I just wanted to see how hard it would be for a right-handed person to start an old pullcord engine with their left arm.”

  “Just about impossible, but you might get lucky if you tried enough times.” Mr. King climbed onto the dock. He looked up the dirt path to his mobile home. “If the smoke weren’t riling up my asthma so bad, I’d come with you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve made this trip before.” I looked out onto the lake. The lights from Tilly Heights on the opposite shore looked gauzy and muted. Above the mountain, the belly of the smoke was lit with an orange glow from the fire on the other side. The lake itself was a black hole, without any signs of life.

  I sat down so I could hold the throttle with my right hand. “I’m not scared,” I lied. “I’ve got a life jacket on and I’ll be very careful.”

  He knelt down and unhooked the boat from where it was tied to the dock. He tossed the rope in the boat and I turned the throttle.

  A mounted light lit the area directly in front of the boat. I also used the light from the shorelines to judge my location and navigate my way. I went slowly.

  After what felt like an eternity, but was probably ten minutes, something appeared ahead of me. I stopped the engine and allowed momentum to take the boat forward. The silence that replaced the roaring motor made me uneasy, so I glanced at the lights on the shore to remind myself I wasn’t entirely alone. As I got closer, the rocky outline of Road’s End appeared.

  I neared the island and grabbed a protruding rock in an attempt to slow the boat. After several tries I succeeded, then tied off the line to one of the many informal rings hammered into the island. I retrieved a flashlight from the emergency kit and turned off the boat’s light. If I ran down the power, I’d never make it back to shore in the dark.

  A low, flat rock protruded near the tie-off and I was able to climb safely onto it. How difficult would it have been if I’d been drinking? Was it really so hard to believe Jessica had slipped and fallen in the water? Maybe Byrdie Fitzgerald had started the boat for her before she left and was afraid to admit it.

  But even drunk, the Jessica I’d known would never have come without a life jacket. The bulky weight of the one I wore was a hindrance, but it also guaranteed I wouldn’t end up in a mesh body bag.

  I scrambled over a few more rocks, then lowered myself onto a large stretch of relatively flat ground. Road’s End is only about thirty yards long. It’s a mixture of dirt and rocks. People use it for fishing and sunbathing, but its real attraction is as a make-out spot. Some of the larger rocks give cover for couples wanting privacy. I appeared to be in one of the recesses because I couldn’t see either shoreline. Everything was black outside the weak beam of the flashlight. I raised my free hand toward my face, but couldn’t see it. The only sound came from my own quick breaths, interrupted by the occasional gentle thud as the current pushed the nearby boat into the island.

  This kind of situation makes a person afraid. I don’t mean rational fear, such as being afraid a wild animal might be hiding in the dark. I mean irrational fear, such as being afraid the monster from Alien is hiding in the dark.

  I shone the flashlight in every direction, trying to reassure myself. Nothing appeared but rocks and warning signs advising water safety. Then something caught the light in the distance to my left. It was all the way on the other end of the island. I guessed a wet rock was simply reflecting back the light, but decided to check it out anyway. I walked carefully and kept the flashlight shining on the ground as I navigated the uneven surface. I’d gone two-thirds of the way before I glanced ahead and got a good look at what I was walking toward.

  I forgot about being careful and ran the rest of the way.

  A grocery bag sat on the ground. Something heavy inside kept the flimsy plastic from blowing away. I pulled apart the opening at the top. A six-pack of beer and two bottles of wine were inside. Was it possible? Had Jessica really come out here drinking and fallen in the water?

  I reached into the plastic bag to make sure I’d seen everything. My hand touched the bottle of wine and I froze. It was cold.

  It had been over twenty-four hours since Jessica’s death. The wine should have been as warm as the air going in and out of my lungs.

  I jerked the flashlight back toward the darkness of the island. Nothing but rocks and dirt. I swung in the other direction, toward the lake and the lights of the shore.

  I didn’t have time to scream. The man was steps from me. So close, the light only revealed his legs a
nd the end of the boat oar as he raised it. I dove. The wood missed me. I heard it splinter on a nearby rock.

  I jumped up to run, but the flashlight had broken and I couldn’t see. I heard a noise on my right and stepped back. A pair of powerful hands seized me. I shoved and tore—anything to break free— but he was too strong. He threw me back on the ground. I clawed the darkness and made contact. I dug in my nails. He cried out and then a fist smashed into my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. When I’d finished gasping for air, his hands were already ripping at my shirt.

  I screamed, but it had no effect on him. I would have given anything for the Mace I kept in my gear bag. All at once he stood up. His strong hands dragged me back toward the lake. That’s when I realized he hadn’t been trying to remove my clothes, just the life vest.

  He stopped, pulled back, then thrust me forward. I fell headfirst into nothing. The ground simply wasn’t there. I can’t describe the terror. I waited to hit rocks, dirt, anything except what I knew was coming at the end of the fall—water.

  I broke the surface. The shock and cold stung like needles. I kicked. I tore. A thick blanket of water trapped me. I opened my eyes, but saw only black. What direction was up? My lungs ached. How much longer could I hold my breath?

  A light came on. I saw the surface above me and recognized the underside of a boat. How could I have sunk so far? I turned upright and swam toward the surface. The current held me. I tried harder and got nowhere.

  Above me, the boat’s engine started. It shot away. The light left with it, but not before I saw how close I was to the submerged part of the island. Instead of continuing to struggle upward, I reached over to the rocks. I pulled my legs into a squat and launched myself.

  I broke the surface coughing. I started to sink again, but reached out for the island and found a rock. Some part of me was vaguely aware of the boat and its light speeding away in the distance, but it hardly registered. All I wanted to do for the rest of my life was breathe.