“Jesus, how could she just disappear?”
“The county sheriff talked to everybody who was in town or anywhere near it that day. Nobody saw a thing.”
“No strangers in town, nothing?”
“That’s the most terrifying part of her disappearance, Lucas. If there were no strangers in town that day, then it had to have been one of our own that took her.”
“But surely if one of the townspeople was responsible---”
“The most common theory is that she probably knew whoever took her, and trusted that person. That’s likely why there was no loud scene or ruckus to get anyone’s attention.”
“Okay, so what am I supposed to do? And why, of all the people who might see this girl’s … apparition, was I the one to see her in the desert that night?”
“As to why you saw her, who knows? Maybe you’ve got some special ability to tune in to this type of phenomena. Has anything like this ever happened to you before?”
“No, nothing even close.”
“Well, Lucas, it looks to me like Anne Marie’s spirit will be unable to rest until someone finds her killer. And it appears as though you’ve been chosen as that someone.”
“If the police couldn’t find her killer why would you think I might be able to?”
“Like it or not," she says, "it appears you’ve got abilities that no one else involved in this may have.”
“No one else but you,” I correct her.
She looks decidedly unhappy with the apparent truth of this assertion. She’s quiet while she mulls something over in her mind. “Okay,” she finally admits, “maybe.”
“If I’m in this, then you’re in it, too, Deborah. That’s the deal.”
She ponders for another moment, then says, “Right. I guess I am.”
I notice that Deborah looks not only contemplative, but nervous. “Is there something else, something you’re not telling me?” I ask.
She peeks at me uncertainly and then turns away. “I’ve never told anyone accept you about my abilities,” she says. “My parents taught me to hide what I saw as a child. They felt that, if it became known that I had this unusual ability, people would consider me a freak.”
“Nobody but me knows about this?”
“That’s right. When I saw your aura, it was so dark and ominous, I broke my family’s self-imposed rule not to get involved.”
“I guess I’m glad you did. If it wasn’t for you I’d have nobody to talk to about this.”
“There’s another reason I decided to speak up, Lucas.”
“Yeah?”
Another nervous peek. “I saw Anne Marie that day. I saw her aura. I knew something bad was going to happen, and I did nothing about it.”
“You saw her?”
“Yes,” she says miserably. “Bonnie and the kids had stopped into the pharmacy. I had just returned from my lunch break and I saw them as they were starting their grocery shopping.”
“So you feel … guilty? … responsible? What?”
“I don’t know. Responsible somehow, I guess. If I’d said something I might have saved that girl’s life.”
“No one would have believed you anyway. You know that.”
“Still, I could have tried.”
“Like you did with me?”
“Well, yes.”
“Deborah, I thought you were a total fruit loop. It was connecting the occurrence in the desert with what you said that got me thinking there was something to your warning. Even at that, I wouldn’t have done anything if I hadn’t seen Anne Marie’s picture.” She still looks unconvinced. “Bonnie would have put you down as a raving lunatic. She had nothing else to connect any dire warnings to.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Deborah admits.
“Of course I am.”
Deborah looks at her watch. “Oh, damn,“ she says. “I’m afraid I have to get back to work.”
****
After I drop Deborah back at the post office I return to the garage. There’s a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel like I should be doing something meaningful to further this new cause I’ve taken on, but I’m going to take Deborah’s advice and do nothing about it for the rest of the day. We’ve arranged to talk again tomorrow, after we’ve both had an opportunity to sleep on what’s happened.
In the meantime, I’ve got a poker game to attend.
10
Sonny and I walk up to the hotel together at seven o’clock. With the exception of one guy by the name of Arliss Beckman, I already know everybody here. Arliss is a foreman at the Circle H Ranch. He’s just shy of thirty - a stereotypical cowboy, quiet-spoken, average height, and lean. He’s wearing worn jeans, a checkered shirt with pearl snap buttons, and the obligatory western boots. His straw colored hair falls rakishly across his forehead and he has developed the habit of flicking his head to throw the thick strands up top where they belong. I'm reminded a little of a young Robert Redford.
Besides Beckman, Sonny, and myself, there’s Herb Kripps (Beth’s boss), Mel Hocking (Circle H owner), and, believe it or not, Paco Alvarro.
When I see Paco I want to turn and run but my fears of an awkward confrontation developing prove to be unfounded. He comes up to me and sticks out his hand. “Good to see you again, Lucas.”
I nod my head and shake his hand. “Paco.”
“How ’bout a beer?” he says.
“Sure.”
We walk over to a moveable bar that’s been installed along one wall. Paco pops the cap on a Bud and hands it to me, then angles me off to a corner, out of hearing of the rest of the gang. “I’m a little curious about what happened out at my place today,” he says. “That picture of my daughter made quite an impression on you.”
If you only knew. What the hell can I say to this guy that doesn’t make me appear absurdly irrational? I adopt a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry about that,” I say. “Seeing her picture … and knowing you’d lost her, it just hit me wrong."
Paco squints his eyes and looks mildly skeptical.
"I’m a bit of a sentimentalist," I add by way of convincing postscript. "Things like that always have a powerful effect on me.”
Somehow I manage to return his gaze without wavering and he seems to accept this explanation as genuine. He gives me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Let’s play some poker,” he says.
At midnight the game starts to break up. These guys are all working folk and tomorrow’s a regular day.
Herb turns out to be the big winner - up about two hundred. Arliss and me lose about eighty each; everybody else just exchanges lunch money.
I’ve been given a bit of a lesson here tonight. These guys play surprisingly well; but, if I’m honest about it, Paco’s presence has thrown my concentration a bit.
Next time I’ll do better.
****
A couple of tune-ups and an oil change are all that are on my slate for the next morning. I’m finishing up about lunchtime when Sonny calls me to the phone. “It’s your girlfriend,” he says, winking dramatically.
“Hi,” I say, expecting to hear Beth's voice.
“Hello, Lucas. It’s Deborah.”
“Oh, Deborah. How are you?” I give Sonny the old one-fingered salute. He stands there, leering at me.
“I’m fine. You?”
“All right, I guess.”
“Have you thought any more about … things?” she asks.
“Some. No new ideas, though, I’m afraid.”
“There’s one thing that occurred to me last night,” she says. “It might be something worth looking into.”
“Okay.” I’m conscious of not saying too much with Sonny’s big ears hanging on my every word.
“Would you like to meet at my place? I’m off at five.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
When I hang up, Sonny’s leer widens even further.
“She’s no Beth,” he says, “but she ain’t all that bad.”
“It’s not like
that, Sonny.”
“Mm hmm,” is accompanied by his usual cackle.
****
I decide, even though it’s just a short walk home for her, I’ll pick Deborah up outside the general store after work.
I give her a little honk as she exits the side door and she comes over to the Jeep. “Hi, Lucas,” she says, smiling. Once again, I notice how pretty her face is, particularly when she smiles. She’s dressed in her usual unglamorous style, almost like she’s got something under the frumpy clothes that she doesn’t want the world to see. I’m imagining all kinds of wonderful things might be possible if she ever makes an effort.
“Hop in,” I say, throwing open the passenger door for her. I turn the Jeep around and point it in the direction of her house. It takes us all of thirty seconds to make the trip. When we pull up to her place, Harold spots us and comes tripping down the walk to see what’s up.
“Would you like to join Harold and me for supper?” Deborah asks before Harold gets there. “We could talk after we eat.”
I’m momentarily assailed by a pang of conscience as I wonder what Beth might think of my little tryst with the lovely Deborah. “That’d be nice,” I say.
So much for conscience.
Dinner is nothing fancy but Deborah does something really notable with a tuna casserole and, by my standards at least, the meal is a fair cut above average.
Victor has spent the entire meal parked at my feet. Every once in a while he rouses himself from his slumber to check if I’m still there.
My attempts to engage Harold in conversation meet with no success whatever and as soon as he’s wolfed down his meal he’s gone. Victor registers his departure and goes back to snoozing.
Despite Deborah’s protestations, I help her with the cleanup. As we’re standing at the sink, washing and drying dishes, I ask her about what she’d mentioned on the phone.
She walks to the entrance into the dining room and glances around before saying anything. When she returns she says, “I just wanted to make sure Harold wasn’t still around and listening in. He’s a little funny about some things. Anyway, what I thought might be worth looking in to, in light of what’s happened with you, is what a psychic had to say during the investigation into Anne Marie’s disappearance.”
“A psychic?” I say, somewhat less than enthusiastically.
Deborah notes my reaction. “Keep an open mind, Lucas. She came forward when the sheriff’s department was running into a brick wall with the investigation.”
“So what did she have to say?”
“I wasn’t privy to the details, of course, but I recall there was considerable credence given to her suggestions at the time.”
“But nothing came of it, I gather.”
“Right. She obviously wasn’t able to come up with anything concrete. Just the same, she’s apparently highly respected for her telepathic abilities by law enforcement agencies. She’s been credited with successes in a number of other criminal investigations.”
“Mmm,” is all I can muster.
“She apparently had some very strong vibes about the case,” Deborah insists. “I think it would be worthwhile talking to her.”
“Where does she live?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. But we could ask Sergeant Yates. He’s the Kern County Sheriff’s department officer in charge of this area.”
“And how do we contact Sergeant Yates?”
“He works out of the Tehachapi sub-station.”
“Okay, Deborah, if you really think there’s something to be gained by it, I suppose we should give it a try.”
“We have nothing to lose, Lucas,” she says.
She’s right, we have nothing to lose. But I can’t help but wonder, as I wipe dry an oversized salad bowl, just what it is I really hope to gain from this strange undertaking I have made it my business to pursue.
11
Two days later I’m listening to the hammering pistons in a thirty-year-old Chevy, thinking I’m looking at some major work here, when a Kern County Sheriff’s car pulls up to the shop. A guy of above average height, with a bit of middle-age spread around the gut, climbs out of the white Crown Vic, adjusting his hat. He has penetrating eyes, a graying mustache, and, of course, he’s wearing a customary uniform consisting of tan shirt with dark green tie and matching pants. There’s also a very large gun riding high on his hip.
“You Mr. Tunney?” he asks, approaching me.
“Bet your bullets, Officer.”
“Sergeant Yates. Darrell Yates.” He sticks out his hand and we shake.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
“I got a call yesterday from a lady by the name of Deborah Miller. She was wondering if I might give her the name of a woman who assisted my department with an investigation into a young girls disappearance here about a year ago. The woman she was asking about claims to have telepathic abilities, clairvoyance, that kind of thing. When I asked Miss Miller why she wanted to get in touch with this woman, your name came up.”
“Right.” Way to go, Deborah.
“Mind telling me why you’re interested in this woman?”
Ad lib time. “It’s nothing really, Sergeant. Just uh ... curiosity.”
He stares at me, waiting for me to continue.
“I’ve got a minor interest in the supernatural,” I explain, “and Deborah mentioned she’d heard of this woman that helped out the police on occasion. Supposed to be quite gifted. I asked Deborah her name and she couldn’t recall. I guess she took it upon herself to ask you. Hope it hasn’t been a bother.”
Yates studies his shoes for a minute, then gives me one of those Clint Eastwood looks that reads like ‘you wouldn’t shit me now, would ya, boy?’ “That’s it, huh?” he says.
“Yeah, that’s it. Yup.”
He sucks his teeth, kind of like he’s disgusted with me. “Her name’s Thelma Paige, lives down in Indio. Nice lady. Say hello to her for me if you’re talking to her.”
“I’ll do that. And thanks, Sergeant.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says. He returns to his car, giving me a courtly nod as he drives off.
Beth stops by the shop around quitting time. She asks me if I know anybody who might like to join a girl for a drink.
This time Sonny doesn’t even get a mention.
Also this time we actually go over to the hotel for a drink.
The guy who tends the bar and who, incidentally, also owns the hotel, is Big Joe Henley. The Big Joe handle is a bit of a misnomer. Several of the guys I’ve met in town so far are just as big as Joe, but he sports a very large and bushy black beard that makes him appear bigger than he really is. He’s a friendly guy and he greets everybody who walks in by name, including Beth and me.
There are eight other people in the bar at the moment, not including Big Joe. The only other woman, besides Beth, is Bonnie Alvarro. She and Paco are occupying a table off in the corner by themselves.
They pay us no attention when we walk in. If I had to guess, I’d say Paco is pretty well lit. He’s in animated conversation with Bonnie and it doesn’t look particularly congenial.
I steer Beth to the bar and we park ourselves on stools so our backs are to the Alvarros.
“Got something against tables?” Beth asks. She’s wearing a skirt that comes to mid-thigh when she’s standing. Perched up on the stool, it’s riding high enough to get the attention of blind guys in neighboring time zones. She’s obviously finding it a bit difficult to maintain her modesty.
I signal Big Joe for two beers and whisper to Beth that I don’t want to get too comfortable.
“How come?” she says.
“There’s a couple in the corner I’d like to avoid if possible. Mind if we drink up quick and split?”
She looks at me with a coy expression. “What have you got in mind when we leave?”
I look down at the tempting sight of her very shapely thighs. “Oh, I’ll think of something,” I say.
"You're pretty sure of yo
urself, aren't you?"
In reality, nothing could be farther from the truth. But I decide to play it confident. I leer lasciviously at her and follow that up with a knowing nod of my head.
Her eyebrows flicker upward and she smiles.
I’m a lucky guy.
Back at the garage we’re greeted by Victor. I never know for certain when I leave whether or not Victor is in the shop. I’ve taken to leaving my door open so he can pretty much come and go as he pleases. He’s standing in the middle of the room when we arrive and he looks like he just woke up. There have been no further episodes of his getting sick but I give the place a quick check anyway.
There’s a suspicious looking damp spot on my pillow and an indentation that looks like it’s been made by his head. The thought of sharing a pillow with Victor’s drooling mug puts a bit of a sour note on the proceedings. Beth has come to the same conclusion because she looks at me and says, “My place?”
I nod my concurrence.
Beth’s place is a small basement suite she rents from an elderly couple who live upstairs. She has her own entrance, it’s close to the diner, and the rent is reasonable, but the landlords are nosy and intolerant of even the tiniest bit of noise. For that reason we’ve opted until now to use my place for our get togethers. When we pull up to her house an old man is looking out the front room window and watches as we walk around the side of the building. His scrutiny has dampened my ardor even more effectively than Victor’s drool. I imagine the old man kneeling upstairs with his ear to the vents.
“Know what?” I say as Beth inserts her key in the lock. She looks at me like she knows the problem. “I think I’ll make it an early night and head home.”
She doesn’t bother trying to talk me out of leaving. “Sorry,” she says.
“No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I give her a kiss on the cheek and then we lock lips for a minute or so.
“Night, sweets,” she says with a wistful look.
It’s still early so I decide to stop by Deborah’s on the way home. When she answers her door she looks surprised to see me, but happily so, I think. “Lucas. I was just calling you on the phone and suddenly, here you are.”
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