Jim Rubart Trilogy

by James L. Rubart

  A short time later Cameron stood on the sidewalk outside the Outland Café and stared at the mountains looming over the town like a guardian. Apparently all roads led to Taylor Stone.

  It was time to find the man and get him to talk.

  CHAPTER 11

  Have you read the online version of the Post today?" Tricia Stone asked on Thursday afternoon as she leaned back from her computer screen and looked at her husband.

  It was a rhetorical question. Taylor had run the Three Peaks Post for eighteen years, and when it arrived each week, he scoured every story, brainstorming out loud how it might have been improved if he were still there. And wishing they'd never developed an online version.

  Tricia tapped her monitor. "Jason Judah just posted an op-ed piece about this video producer from Seattle, Cameron Vaux, coming here to search for the Book of Days. He ends it by inviting people to a town hall meeting tomorrow night. Jason says he has an astounding announcement to make."

  Taylor didn't respond except to shift in his dark brown leather chair and turn a page of his fly-fishing magazine.

  Tricia took off her slipper and tossed it at Taylor. It smacked him in the belly. She crossed her arms and waited till he looked up. "Are you talking to me today?"

  "I'm sorry, hon. I'm more than a little wrapped up in this article. It talks about a way to create makeshift flies from things in the woods."

  It was a lame attempt at covering up. Even though they'd married later in life—three years after her first husband had died—she'd known Taylor since third grade. And after five years of marriage, she knew when he was hiding something.

  "You've never liked talking about Jason's Book of Days religion. Why?"

  Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Anything written about the Book of Days should be on the Weekly World News' Web site, not the Post's. I can't believe what's happened to that paper since I retired." Taylor took off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on his 501 Levis. "I should have stayed on till I hit sixty-five."

  "Maybe they truly are tapping into some mystical knowledge, some spiritual plane we don't know about that shows the past and the future. A lot of Jason's followers believe in the idea, and they're not bad people."

  "A lot of nice people believe in Bigfoot too, and they can show you a great deal more evidence than anyone can show for a book with the past, present, and future recorded between its covers." Taylor put his glasses back on. "It doesn't make Bigfoot real or a book that exists only in the spiritual realm real either."

  Tricia got up from her chair, padded across their hardwood floor to Taylor, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He patted her forearm and picked up his magazine, blocking his face from view.

  Later that night, toward eleven o'clock, just before sleep took her, Tricia felt Taylor slide out from under their goose-down comforter. A floorboard squealed and he stopped. A few moments later their bedroom door opened and closed.

  She eased out of bed, put on her lavender robe, and opened the door a crack. Taylor sat in front of their kitchen computer, his face bathed in the stark light from the monitor.

  She eased across the floor till she saw what he was reading. The online version of the Post. She squinted. No surprise. Taylor was reading Jason's post about the Book of Days.

  Taylor rubbed his face three times, then pressed his knuckles into his lips.

  He'd carried whatever it was for so long. If only he'd tell her.

  The man stared at himself in the mirror, at the lines under his eyes, at the softness of his flesh. Where had the years gone? The late fifties weren't middle age. If they were, he'd live to 120. Life was running out.

  He strode out of the bathroom and onto his deck overlooking Three Peaks. A breeze kissed his hair and he allowed himself a grim smile.

  So close, he was so close to finding the book. He felt it. With it he would set things right. Expose the lies. And then protect it for the rest of his days. And he wouldn't let some punk kid from Seattle sweep in and find the tome while he stood screaming on the sidelines.

  He would watch Cameron. Where he went. Who he talked to. What people would or wouldn't tell him. He would use whatever Cameron discovered to find the Book of Days.

  And then do whatever was necessary.

  CHAPTER 12

  Cameron sat in his hotel room Thursday night chewing on espresso beans, studying his notes of Jessie's words from when she lay dying in the plane.

  "The book is real. I know it is. I saw it."

  But did she mean physically or with what she always called her spiritual eye?

  That was the hard place between the rock. He had no way now of knowing what she meant.

  Peasley, Susan Hillman, the mayor—what was his name?—none of them had said anything that would indicate the book was real, had they?

  But his dad said the book was physical: "I saw it once . . . I even touched it, when I was a kid. Did you know that?"

  Think. Come on. Of course his dad wasn't lucid. His brain was gone. Spinning make-believe. Cameron had no way of knowing if his dad's words were fact or fiction. So his story happened to match up with Jessie's dying visions. So what?

  Cameron walked back to the oak veneer desk and slammed his laptop shut. Then he went down the hall to get a Mountain Dew. "Will this Stone guy give me the answer, Jessie?"

  Cold drink in hand, Cameron trudged back into his room and slumped into the chair next to his window.

  Was his dad thinking straight when he talked about some book he'd seen as a kid? That was the hard place between the rock. He had no way of knowing if his dad's words were fact or fiction. So his story happened to match up with Jessie's dying visions. So what?

  But maybe the book was real. It was possible, wasn't it? Peasley, Susan Hillman . . .

  Cameron bolted upright. Didn't he just have this conversation with himself? A surge of heat pulsed through his body. Stop it. He couldn't let himself go there. "You are not losing it, Cameron. Your mind is fine."

  Cameron stood at the window and recited long passages of Henry David Thoreau he had memorized in college. After reeling off the top-ten grossing concerts of the last year, he launched into naming the places Jessie and he had gone on their first five hiking trips together. He made it to number two.

  Cameron raked his fingernails across his head, as if he could dig the memories out of some hidden chamber in his mind. A groan escaped his lips as he pressed his head against the glass and gritted his teeth. Think!

  Just after midnight he gave up and wiped the cold sweat off his forehead. He'd tossed on a rocklike mattress every night since getting to Three Peaks. He'd read that lack of REM sleep could have a devastating effect on memory. That had to be it. Had to.

  He flopped down on his bed, yanked the covers over his body, and let exhaustion carry him away.

  The dream started almost immediately.

  Three Years, Two Month Earlier

  A hint of barbecued salmon lingered in the air long after Jessie and Cameron had cooked and eaten their dinner in Wilmot Park on the north shore of Lake Chelan. The lake turned from gray to black as the last light of day faded from the sky, light ripples the only movement on the water. The first star broke out of the dusky twilight and neither of them spoke till three more had appeared.

  Cameron pulled Jessie against his chest. "It seems ridiculous to believe we're the only beings in this universe, don't you think?"

  "Does it matter?"

  Cameron frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Does it matter if we are or we aren't? Isn't the deeper question if we'll go on once this existence is over?"

  "You're thinking it's time for a little God-talk?" Cameron stroked her hair. "Lay it on me."

  Jessie's breathing settled into a steady rhythm, and Cameron consciously caused his pace to join hers. It was a way to
feel as one. Neither spoke.

  She finally turned her head slightly and broke the silence. "You know how you always said you couldn't live without me?"

  Cameron kissed her forehead. "True."

  "You can." She took two long breaths. "You will."

  "Uh-oh. This is where you tell me you've fallen in love with your old high school tennis coach and you're about to leave."

  Jessie didn't laugh. "You'll make it without me." She gazed up at him, eyes sad.

  "I'm not going anywhere, sweetie, and neither are you."

  "Okay." Jessie buried her head in his chest. "I want to believe that."

  "Why wouldn't you?" He leaned over and looked into her eyes.

  She closed them and pressed her lips together. "It's just that sometimes I get scared."

  "Of what?"

  "Being separated."

  "No fear, we're going to be together for a long, long time." He squeezed her tight. "That tennis coach isn't nearly as handsome as me."

  Again, Jessie didn't laugh. "It's still years away. I'm not going to think about it."

  What was she talking about? "What's years away?"

  "Death."

  A heaviness fell on Cameron as if a backpack full of stones had been thrown on his shoulders. She was serious. Death? "What's going on with you?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Then why are you talking like this?"

  "I just want to be with you for a long, long time," Jessie said.

  "It'll be decades at least."

  "Okay." She nuzzled in tighter.

  He stroked her hair again. "I love you, Jess."

  "Always, Cam-Ram. Always and forever."

  The melancholy tone in her voice echoed in his mind for the rest of their vacation.

  Cameron woke early on Friday with images of Jessie in his mind.

  Had he dreamed about her? Yes. They'd been somewhere together. Near a lake? On vacation? The last images slipped from his mind like sand through his fingers. He gritted his teeth.

  He had to find the book. See if it could—

  No.

  Cameron threw on his biking shorts and ignored the thoughts galloping through his mind regarding the Book of Days. Not today. At least for a few hours.

  Twenty minutes later he panted out a rhythm in concert with the spinning pedals of his Novara road bike up the McKenzie Highway. He glanced at his odometer, then his watch. Another hour and he'd reach the summit of McKenzie Pass. A perfect distance for pushing his lungs and muscles to the breaking point.

  Which is exactly the point his head was at.

  When he reached the Dee Wright Observatory, he stopped and sucked in big gulps of air. The site offered a panoramic view of the Cascade Mountain Range as far north as Mount Hood.

  Beautiful, but it didn't ease the squeezing feeling in his stomach.

  Cameron got back on his bike and headed back, quads burning, lungs burning, mind burning, as he glanced at the cars rushing past him in the right lane.

  No one would guess.

  It would be so easy to swerve in front of one of them. In seconds it would be over and he would be free. His heart rate kicked into another gear.

  No way. Knock it off.

  But what choices did he have?

  Slowly lose his mind like his dad had? No thank you. Keep digging for fantasies here in Three Peaks and continue to get nowhere? Sorry. Follow Jason? A questionable plan at best. Option number four, please.

  Find out more about Taylor Stone? Definitely.

  As soon as he got back to his car, he pulled up Safari on his iPhone and went to www.whitepages.com.

  She would know Taylor Stone.

  Cameron dialed Susan Hillman's number as he sat at a red light at the north end of Three Peaks and stared out the window at a banner hanging over the street. "Meet You in the Park!"

  The banner promoted the sixty-ninth annual Three Peaks Jazz Festival. It boasted itself as the Biggest Little Jazz Festival in the World. Might be worth going to.

  Three rings. Four.

  "Hi, Cameron. Nice to hear from you."

  Cameron pulled his cell phone away from his ear and stared at it for a second. "How'd you know it was me?"

  "Even out here in the sticks, we have this nifty little invention called caller ID."

  Cameron smiled and thumped his head with two fingers. "You probably have microwaves and cable TV too."

  "What can I do for you?"

  The light turned green and he stomped on the gas a little too hard. Slow down. He needed to relax. "I've had some intriguing conversations with someone named Jason Judah."

  "Ah yes. Interesting man."

  "You know him?"

  "In a town our size you know everyone. I've known Jason since grade school, but my guess is you didn't call up to get a deeper understanding of the man."

  "True." Cameron braced his yellow notepad against his steering wheel and scratched Susan Hillman and the date at the top. No point in forgetting anything.

  "Jason says I should talk to a man named Taylor Stone who knows a lot about the Book of Days that he's not telling."

  "That's Jason's opinion." Susan laughed.

  "So you know him?"

  "Taylor? Very well. He ran the Three Peaks Post for almost twenty years. I think it's an excellent idea that you meet him."

  "Okay."

  "I'm curious, have you figured out why this Book of Days is so important to you?"

  Cameron hesitated. As much as trusting Jason seemed like foolishness, trusting Susan seemed like great wisdom. "Yeah. Because of . . . I need to find it for my dad, and for my late wife, and also for me." He pulled into the parking lot of the Best Western and killed the engine.

  The crackle of the connection was the only sound.

  "And why is that? Why do you need to find it for yourself?"

  Cameron paused a long time before saying, "Because I'm afraid I'm losing . . ." He didn't finish and didn't know what words to use to fill the silence.

  "Did your dad say who wrote his book?"

  "No, Jason says God did."

  "What do you think?"

  "I'm not sure if I believe in God."

  "That doesn't prevent Him from believing in you."

  Cameron smiled. "Thanks, Susan. I'll be by for another peanut butter cookie soon."

  "I'll hold you to that. Now, here's Taylor's phone number and address. Ready?"

  Cameron said good-bye, hung up, and stared at the information scrawled on his yellow notepad. Another dead end? Or a highway to answers?

  After a quick shower he studied his notes and his eyes stopped on the verse Jason had told him to look up.

  Why not?

  He strode to his laptop and Googled Bible and Psalm 139:16. Strange. His heart rate accelerated as the verse popped up on screen.

  "Your eyes saw me when I was formless; all my days were written in Your book and planned before a single one of them began." (Psalm 139:16)

  Impossible. That couldn't be the book they'd asked him to find. Bible tale, urban legend, a Noah's ark-type story dressed up in New Age clothes.

  Cameron went to the bathroom, doused his hands with water, and slicked back his hair. He walked back to his laptop, hunched over the monitor, and stared at the verse again as he massaged a double knot in his right shoulder.

  . . . were written in your book . . .

  Could it be real? Little chance. It felt like Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, searching for cinematic artifacts. But this wasn't a movie. So what did Little Boss and Jessie see all those years ago?

  Cameron went to his window and stared at the tourists sauntering up and down Main Street, the sun flashing against their cameras as they snapped pictures ever
y few seconds trying to capture a memory.

  Susan's words about meeting Taylor Stone played in his mind: "I think it's an excellent idea." She knew more than she'd told him. He'd heard it in her voice.

  Time to find Taylor Stone. Now.

  CHAPTER 13

  There was no answer on Taylor's phone, and no one there when Cameron stopped by the man's house. He caught a break when he dropped in at the Three Peaks Post and chatted with the receptionist.

  "You're looking to find Taylor?" The young redhead set down her nail polish and pointed to a county map on the wall behind her. "I know where he is most days from May through September, and since it's July I should know where he is. And I do." She tapped her pen on the counter making little black dots someone would have to wipe off. "You wanna know too?"

  "Yes." Cameron forced himself to be patient. The ache in his gut said every moment counted, and while he could force himself to be light on the outside, it wasn't an easy weight to carry.

  "On the river." The receptionist made a motion of casting a line, then reeling in a fish. "They tell me he's very good at it."

  "Any idea which one?"

  "Sure." She stepped over a stack of papers and tapped a tiny blue squiggle on the map on the wall. "Either the Metolius or Squaw Cre—I mean, Whychus Creek. It used to be Squaw Creek, but a lot of people still think of it as Squaw Creek 'cause we called it that for a long time, know what I mean?"

  "Sure. Any idea which one he favors?"

  "Well, there's great fly-fishing on both of them, but the fish are smaller on Whychus Creek and this time of the year the water level there is dropping, but of course it's more private there and Taylor likes his privacy, so all things considered, I'd—"

  "So you think he'd be on Whychus Creek, then?"

  "If I were in your shoes, that's the one I'd try first. But you never can know for sure till you start searching, know what I mean?"

  "Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it."

  Later as Cameron hiked from the trailhead past thundering Chush Falls to the stretch of the creek where the fish would be running, he mulled over what he would do if Stone turned out to be a dead end. No idea.