Half Moon Bay

by Alice LaPlante

  I’ll tell you, says Alma. Her smile is as warm as ever.

  Jane waits like an obedient child.

  We are disappointed in you.

  Clattering comes from the kitchen as one of the twins drops something. Margaret chooses that moment to come over to the table.

  A bottle of your house red. This is Edward.

  Jane shakes her head. Just water for me, please.

  Three glasses, Edward says, raising three fingers, as if Jane hasn’t spoken. Margaret hasn’t looked at Jane. She nods and disappears behind the counter, returns with a bottle of a local merlot, uncorks it, and offers a splash to Edward. He waves it away and gestures for her to pour. Once Margaret is gone from the table, Jane picks up where the conversation left off.

  You’re disappointed? Jane asks. In me? Despite her intentions to keep her head clear, she drinks her wine. Half the glass is gone before she realizes it. What the hell. She drinks the rest and pours herself another glass.

  Edward and Alma watch her in silence. Neither has touched their wine.

  Perhaps disappointed isn’t strong enough, continues Alma. She is still smiling. Jane feels herself shiver.

  What then? Jane tries to get a grip on herself. She tries to summon a sense of outrage. Who are they to lecture her, a grown woman of forty? But all she feels is shame. They have the right. Everyone has the right. Not for what they believe she’s done, but for her real sins, of which she is all too aware.

  Betrayal, Edward supplies. He’s back to looking at everything but Jane. His glass, Margaret as she begins cleaning tables in preparation for closing. She’s turned up the lights, making everything harsh, even Alma’s dark eyes.

  Jane stands up and, for lack of a better thing to do, wanders around the Bong Wall, reading the various rejections.

  We’re sorry, but you do not fit our requirements for this job.

  We regret to say you were not chosen to be one of the class of 2019.

  Please collect your belongings as soon as possible.

  We must ask you to refrain from contacting your ex-wife in any way, whether in person, by telephone, or electronically.

  Rejection. She’d experienced it before. Multiple times with Angela. But then there were the second chances. Weren’t there always second chances? With her sisters, alliances could shift within a moment, a friend could become an enemy in the blink of an eyelash. But then it could change back equally quickly. Which made Jane into someone who always hopes. A hoper. Also a wiper of boots, a licker of bottoms.

  How would it appear on the Bong Wall? We regret that you no longer fit our requirements as a lover.

  Was that it? Was it the sex? The withdrawing of it? No. Yes.

  But she hadn’t felt that way with Edward and Alma. She’d felt . . . cherished. Valued.

  You’re like a unicorn, a mythical beast with magical powers. Had she imagined Alma saying this?

  The sex was the least of it, she tells herself. And yet she’s suddenly overcome with physical longing. She recalls the morning she woke up, Edward on one side of her, Alma on the other. How warm. How protected. How delighted to have all this without having to pay for it. Hadn’t she paid dearly enough already? Hadn’t she?

  She makes her way back to the table, sits down again. Alma continues as though there had been no interruption.

  Yes, that word works. Betrayal. We were betrayed. How could you not tell us about Berkeley? About the girl.

  I told you what mattered.

  Edward raises his eyebrows but remains silent. He’s letting Alma do the hard work. He lifts his right arm and places it along the back of Alma’s chair. Jane aches to see it. She wants that arm, that hand, close to her. Even now.

  Yes, but you left out a very significant part.

  Can you blame me? With everything going on around here?

  But not to tell us. We really felt that lack of trust.

  Is that all? Jane asks. She has stopped shivering.

  All? Edward addresses her for the first time. In our book, betrayal is pretty serious.

  But you don’t think I’m responsible for all this. Jane waves her hands at the posters on the walls.

  Of course not.

  Jane goes limp with relief. That’s not why you’ve been avoiding me, then?

  No. It was the lack of trust you showed in us. As if we wouldn’t understand.

  Margaret begins stacking the chairs on the table next to theirs.

  Time to wrap up, she tells them.

  Jane remains seated. No one else believes in me, she says. But I really need you two on my side.

  Alma reaches out then and holds out her hand. Jane slowly puts her own into it. Alma clasps it tight. It is a lifeline for Jane. She is nearly weeping with gratitude. She has never felt such relief. Why is their goodwill so important to her? She doesn’t know, but it is.

  That’s why you have to be careful with those who do. Believe in you, I mean, Alma says. You have to treat them well. With respect Even obedience.

  Yes, says Jane.

  Guys, really, you’ve got to go, Margaret tells them.

  Slowly they all get to their feet.

  Edward asks for the check and hands over a twenty-dollar bill. Keep it, he says. Margaret looks pleased.

  He pauses right outside the door. Looking carefully up and down the street, he says in a lower voice.

  We need you to do something for us.

  What? Jane says. She is ready to walk to the ends of the earth, she feels so grateful. She has her world back.

  It’s a little dangerous.

  What? Jane asks again.

  We need to send another strong message to Dunes Resort.

  How can I possibly do anything? Jane says. She points to the car parked on the next block. My constant companions, she says.

  This too will pass, says Alma.

  Yes, says Edward. It’s actually a good thing they’re keeping you in sight all the time.

  How on earth could this be a good thing?

  Sooner or later, the real murderer will strike again. And you’ll be in the clear, Edward says.

  That means hoping for another killing. I can’t do that, Jane says.

  Take my word for it, there will be another. And once it happens, you owe us.

  Jane gets on her motorbike and drives home, closely followed by the police. One of their headlights is out, she notices. She smiles. Her heart is much lighter.

  * * *

  It happens as they predict. A fifth girl goes missing. The oldest yet, ten years old. Megan Hayes. The dentist’s daughter. She left school on Wednesday but never arrived home. Her young friends saw her talking to someone in a silverish or grayish car, of a make they couldn’t identify. Just a car, they said. Jane is at the nursery when the town tsunami alarm goes off.

  Oh no, Jane says. Oh God, please no. She is in the break room eating a sandwich, Adam nearby, as he nearly always is these days. Jane reaches out and grasps his hand. She feels as though she is going to be sick.

  Helen strides into the room. She is pale and has a stricken look on her face. She goes right up to Jane and embraces her.

  I am so sorry, she says.

  Why?

  Because I doubted you. Because I thought it was a possibility.

  Jane doesn’t get it. The siren continues to wail.

  Adam sees Jane’s bewilderment.

  Janey, don’t you understand? This is a terrible thing, a horrible thing . . . but it gets you off the hook, he says. You were here, with us, all day. You finally have an alibi.

  Helen says, The police car zoomed out of here when the siren went off. You’ve lost your tail, Jane.

  Jane puts her hands to her head. Who will it be this time? Poor little girl. Poor parents.

  Adam is checking his smartphone. Yeah, oh man, it’s bad, he says. Dr. Hayes’s kid.

  My dentist, says Helen. Oh my God, I know him. Her. Megan. He brings her to work sometimes. Nice kid.

  Poor thing, says Jane, but her heart, she can�
��t help it, is lightening. She is exonerated. She will no longer be an outcast.

  Then she remembers Edward’s words.

  You owe us.

  Excuse me, Jane says. I have to make a phone call.

  * * *

  Jane is at the nearly completed Dunes Resort. It is 2:00 a.m. It has been one week since Megan Hayes disappeared. Child Number 5. No, that’s not exact enough. Girl Number 5. Daughter Number 5. Megan. Surely those were more accurate descriptions. Despite the horror of what that means, Jane is still grateful to be off the hook, to be greeted by smiles and her name again when she walks into the Safeway, when she gets her coffee at the Three Sisters.

  The fog touches everything with damp fingers, so densely that when Jane walks, a fine mist envelops her face and hands, the only parts of her exposed. The can is heavy in her right hand.

  Go down the beach path, Edward had told her. Climb up the hill. You’ll see that the fence doesn’t go all the way to the edge of the cliff. You’ll find it easy to get around.

  Jane clambers the final few steps to the top of the cliff. She heaves the can up and places it next to the fence. The surf is high, shimmering palely down below. The eight-foot chain-link fence goes nearly to the edge of the cliff and stops. Edward is right. It should be easy to swing herself around, from one side to the other. Easy, that is, for someone with no fear of heights. The cliff is a straight vertical drop of sixty feet. For a brief moment, she would be hanging over a sheer drop onto rocks, her grip on the fence the only thing keeping her from what would be major injuries or even death.

  Jane puts her hands on the fence post. She counts one . . . two . . . three. Then she closes her eyes and swings herself out and around. A heart-stopping moment when her feet can’t find ground, but suddenly she’s safe on the other side. She reaches around for the can, manages to get that onto the other side of the fence with her. There. So far, so good.

  Jane turns to look at Dunes Resort. The frame of the massive building is completed, and the exterior walls of the first floor have been constructed. The crew must be in the process of putting down flagstones surrounding the hotel. Huge pieces of multicolored stone are stacked up to her right, and the surface where they are going to go has been prepared. It’s flat and damp, so damp that Jane has to extricate her shoes with each step with a slight sucking pull downward. The walls of the hotel seem to be made of stone, but that can’t be, not in earthquake country. A more flexible material would be needed. The stone must just be a facade. An illusion.

  Find the equipment, Edward had said. The closer to the building, the better.

  Jane does exactly what she had been told. She has always liked the smell of gasoline; it doesn’t bother her the way it did Rick. He was fastidious, refused to fuel up the car so left it close to empty rather than risk getting gasoline on his hands or clothes.

  Edward had briefed her at the house in Pescadero earlier that evening. Alma had not appeared. Jane had had no idea what would be asked of her. But she was a woman of her word: Edward and Alma had agreed to come back into her life, and she was determined to pay the price of that, whatever it might be.

  Here, Edward had said, handing her a twenty-five-gallon can. It surprised her with its weight. Gasoline, he said. And you’ll need this. He held out a disposable lighter. He’d already made her put on a pair of gloves and lent her a long black windbreaker. Her bright hair was tied back and hidden under a black cap.

  But how will I get there? Jane had asked. I can hardly carry this can on my motorbike.

  You’ll take Alma’s car, Edward said, handing her the keys to the Toyota. Mine is too easily recognizable. If someone happens to see you . . .

  . . . but they won’t, he had quickly added, catching Jane’s alarmed look.

  I just got cleared, she reminds him. The last thing I want is to get back into trouble again.

  You won’t, he reassured her. We’ll tell anyone who asks that you were with us all night.

  So far, it had all gone according to plan. The guard, as Edward had said, was in the trailer at the front of the property. The light spilled out into the darkness, and Jane could see the guard, young, bearded, and wearing a baseball cap, sitting at a desk, looking at a computer screen. He’s supposed to keep moving around the property, but he rarely does, Edward had said. You won’t have any trouble from him.

  Jane walks around to the front of the hotel. The entrance is clearly going to be grand, with two-story columns and huge glass doors. A sea of dirt that will eventually be more flagstones. Trees with their roots wrapped in burlap lined up in a row against the fence.

  Around the corner from the entrance she finds her target: a motley collection of equipment, ranging from small golf carts to bulldozers, to a strange crane-like machine with a pulley and sharp iron jaws. There are perhaps a dozen vehicles in all. The fog wafts between them. Despite her jacket, Jane shivers.

  Jane takes the can and begins pouring the gas over the machinery. She makes sure, as Edward told her, to soak the seats and the tires. She leaves a thick trail of gasoline between each piece of equipment and onto a large pile of two-by-fours stacked next to them. For good measure, she also pours gas on what looks like a generator, a large iron box placed close to the faux stone walls of the hotel.

  She backs away from the equipment, still pouring until she’s back to the front of the hotel. She takes the lighter out of her pocket. She finds she can’t operate it with her gloves on, so she takes her right glove off and flicks the starter. A small blue flame ignites. She bends down and holds it to the wet trail of gasoline. It catches so fast and with such heat that she jumps back. She drops the lighter in surprise. The line of flames snakes rapidly away from her and around the corner. She hears a loud whoosh and a flame shoots up, so high she can see it from where she’s standing. The two-by-fours, she figures. The light is blinding in the midst of the dark and fog.

  The guard, she remembers. She’s been standing paralyzed for at least a minute, watching the flames grow higher and louder. There’s an additional roar as each piece of equipment catches on fire. Get out of there before it’s hot enough for the gas tanks to explode, Edward had said.

  Jane hears shouting. A bobbing light is coming at her from the direction of the guard’s trailer. She turns and starts running away, only to remember that she’d left the gas can, her right glove, and the lighter behind. She returns and in a panic can’t locate them at first, even though the scene is now bright as day. She can now see the figure of the guard clearly as he races toward her. She thanks Edward for her dark clothing and her hat as she retrieves the items, and runs back the way she came. Out around the huge building, to the edge of the cliff, and swinging around the fence, going too fast to be afraid. She keeps running until she reaches the clump of bushes where she’d parked the car. After a false start she manages to get it going and is off as Edward had instructed, not north on Route 1, the direction that the fire trucks would come from, but south to San Gregorio and then east on 84 and through the rough back roads to Pescadero until she arrives back at their house.

  It is now nearly 3:30 a.m., but she is exhilarated rather than tired. She has proven herself, has she not?

  The gate to the house is locked, so she has to push the button at the entrance and wait for someone—Edward or Alma—to buzz her in. The gates close after her. She hears the click of the automatic lock. She supposes it would stop the police from making any surprise visits.

  She pulls up and parks behind the Mercedes. The house is dark, but as Jane hurries up to the front door, it opens and she is pulled inside by Edward. He closes the door quickly behind her.

  How did it go?

  Okay, I think, Jane says. I didn’t stick around to check. But I did hear some spectacular explosions as I drove away.

  Good, good, says Edward, but his attention is clearly elsewhere. She is disappointed. She did this for him, them. Shouldn’t she be rewarded? Jane realizes she is waiting for approval and affection. She thought this meeting would prov
ide more satisfaction than she is getting.

  As if sensing this, Edward pulls her to him. He holds her tightly, his cheek against her hair. What would we do without you, he says rather than asks. Alma appears out of the dark of the hallway.

  Is it done? she asks. Jane is startled by her appearance. She looks as though she has been crying. Even in the dim light, Jane can see the wet tracks down her cheeks. Her hair is disheveled.

  She passed, says Edward, not letting Jane go. She absorbs the warmth after the chill of the November night. Thinking she sees something in Alma’s face, Jane makes an attempt to disengage herself, but Edward prevents her. Stay, he says, holding her closer.

  Edward. Jane is startled by Alma’s tone. Steely angry. Whatever troubles she is experiencing, whatever the source of her tears, they aren’t making her weak. Quite the contrary.

  Alma, just give me a minute.

  Edward, it’s time.

  I don’t think so.

  She’s one of us. She’s proven it.

  Not yet.

  What else do I need to prove? Jane is angry. She pushes Edward away. Look what I’ve just done for you. It was a huge risk. I could have gotten caught.

  But you didn’t. This is Alma, an edge to her voice.

  No.

  So don’t whine. Jane recoils from Alma’s harshness.

  Alma says to Edward, We have to talk.

  Alma turns and goes back into the darkness. Edward looks at Jane, and shrugs, and follows Alma. Stay here, he says over his shoulder.

  For a moment Jane does as she is told. Then she thinks, Fuck it. She can just see movement up ahead in the dark. She is tired of being treated like a child. She follows Edward out of the room, perhaps ten feet behind him. She wants to hear what they will be saying. About her. It’s about her. She follows Edward through a door. It leads down a corridor to yet another hallway, one she had never before seen. But the hall is empty. Numerous doors. But only one has a faint light shining from under it. Alma opens it. It leads to a flight of stairs going down. Jane can hear a faint boom boom boom, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic beat, as of a distant muffled drum.

  Jane pauses, then starts down the carpeted stairs, taking care to hold on to the handrail so she doesn’t trip.