Hard Truth

by Nevada Barr

  She re-read the short message, forwarded a copy to Chief Ranger Knight and took her creaky body back out to her patrol vehicle.

  It was only as she revved the engine to scare away any cats, as was her habit since Piedmont had come to keep her company nearly a decade before, that she realized Hector—Hecuba—the little scaredy cat Beth and she had rescued from the vile boys, hadn’t come to the door to greet her as Piedmont always did, hadn’t made an appearance at all.

  Feeling snubbed, she promised herself a pleasant evening of buying the kitten’s love with bits of tuna. The way to a cat’s heart is long and torturous but through the stomach was a good place to start.

  The e-mail said Proffit hiked out as fast as he could and referred to Anna’s sojourn in the bottom of Tourmaline Gorge as a “few hours”—about the amount of time it would take for a round trip on foot from Picnic Rock to Bear Lake and back. He said he’d told Rita. A lot of things didn’t match up with Rita Perry’s version of the events: told, not left a note; specificity—Rita had insisted she hadn’t known precisely where Anna was or what had happened; the time frame.

  If Rita Perry had left her lying in Tourmaline Gorge twenty hours longer than she had to, Anna would know the reason why. The obvious was that she waited in hopes that Anna would die. Then why come at all? Curiosity? Remorse? Or had she become frightened Robert would tell someone and it would come out that she’d known and not responded? Any of those explanations would work except for one glaring fact. Anna was not dead. Had Rita wanted her dead, instead of levering the rock off her legs she could simply have bashed her head in. As she had not availed herself of the opportunity to crush Anna’s skull, it had to be assumed Rita wanted to keep her alive. Or didn’t want her dead yet. It was possible Rita had left her there overnight because she wanted Anna out of the way for twenty-four hours.

  No. Rita was too sane to rely on the fact that the person she wanted out of the way was going to accidentally get knocked off a big rock and trapped under a boulder at precisely the right moment in time. The other possibility was that Robert Proffit was lying. But then so was Rita, even if only by omission.

  Rita’s quarters were next door to the district ranger station on Bear Lake Road. She shared a snug little two-bedroom house with one of the female research seasonals, a woman in her fifties or sixties whom Anna had met but hadn’t had a chance to get to know.

  The rules of search and seizure forbade Anna from breaking into Rita’s quarters, but if Rita’s roommate invited her in, which she was sure to do, Anna could check out the shared portions of the house where Rita could not be said to have an expectation of privacy. Sort of like a vampire, Anna thought. Once invited in by one dwelling there . . .

  The turn into the ranger station always came as a surprise: a narrow break in the trees, a hairpin drive dropping steeply down to the left. Rita’s car was parked in the gravel pull-out, but then it would be. Parking at Rocky was at a premium, particularly at Bear Lake. Rita would have bummed a ride from another ranger.

  Anna knocked on the door and her half-baked theory was blasted. Rita Perry answered. She must have hiked out a few hours after Anna. Remembering the revels of the previous night, it was surprising she’d not opted to remain at Fern till her lieu days were over.

  The merest flicker of joy warmed the planes of Rita’s handsome face when she saw who stood on her doorstep. Immediately it was quenched as if by a sudden memory of past wrongs or planned betrayals. “You haven’t even showered,” she blurted out.

  “Can you smell me?” Anna asked amiably.

  “Not from here. I mean no. It’s just I know how good it feels. You must have been busy.”

  “I have,” Anna said. “May I come in?”

  “Oh gosh, the place is a mess . . .”

  From their brief acquaintance Anna knew this was an exceedingly un-Rita-like thing to say. Downright unranger-like. In her years in the parks Anna couldn’t recall a single person in the green and gray uttering that phrase regardless of the domestic disaster behind them.

  Before the social interaction could deteriorate further, a cheery round face appeared at Rita’s elbow. Donna, her housemate, was a foot shorter than the law enforcement ranger and at least two decades older. From the ocean of new information Anna had jumped into on coming to Rocky, she miraculously fished out the woman’s name and specialty. “How’s the bighorn sheep census going, Donna?”

  “Today we had a regular sheep jam—come in, come in. It gets cold at night. At least it keeps the mosquitoes down.”

  Rita stepped aside to let Anna pass. Anna smiled sweetly. Or what she hoped was sweetly and not that happy grin dogs get when they’re about to catch a particularly noisome cat.

  The place wasn’t a candidate for a Good Housekeeping award but it was no more messy than shared and temporary quarters tended to be. The clutter was of the usual park variety: backpacks, boots, tents, water bottles and sleeping bags.

  One cache of goods was of particular interest to Anna. A bag, pillow and a stuff sack of clothes were neatly pushed against the brick hearth. Beside them were a battered shaving kit, a pair of flip-flops and a Bible.

  The flip-flops were too big for Rita, substantial though her feet were.

  Anna crossed to the hearth and picked up the well-thumbed Bible. It was small, the cover black leather or leatherette, the kind routinely given out at confirmation.

  “Nice Bible. May I?” she said, looking at Rita.

  Rita nodded, defeat or acceptance hard around her mouth.

  Anna flipped open the Bible and read the inscription: “For Robert. Love, Aunt Connie.”

  “It’s Robert Proffit’s.”

  Rita got no points for frankness. Too little and way too late.

  Anna looked pointedly at the oversized flip-flops and the shaving kit.

  “Oh dear,” Donna muttered.

  “Robert was staying with me for a few days,” Rita said, her customary fire and defiance back.

  “We didn’t say anything because seasonals aren’t allowed to have guests,” Donna said all in a rush. “But he was such a nice young man—”

  “Seasonals can have guests if they want,” Anna interrupted, keeping her eyes on Rita. “Just not guests who are suspected of kidnap and murder.”

  “Oh Lord!” Donna gasped.

  “Do you want to come up to the office so we can have a talk?” Anna asked Rita.

  The young woman preceded her out of the house without another word. Walking behind her, Anna couldn’t help but admire her strong, straight back—a back that probably was not aching like a son-of-a-bitch—and wide shoulders. At six feet, she was a head taller than Anna and considerably younger. In a fair fight, there was no doubt she would prevail. Anna never fought fair. On the rare occasions she had resorted to the crude imperative of physical force, she’d fought to win, or at least survive. Tonight she wasn’t much concerned with self-defense. Rita had had her chance.

  With Rita Perry, Anna faced an obstacle significantly greater than mere brute power. The look of the martyr about to die for the faith had returned. Surely Proffit wasn’t whom she was metaphorically willing to burn at the stake for, not after the hijinks Anna had been an aural witness to the previous night, but one never knew. Religion often found justification for appetite.

  Rita unlocked the ranger station and went inside. Anna switched on the overhead light. The sun had gone behind the mountains and twilight in the trees came early. “Have a seat.” She nodded to the Formica-topped folding table in front of a stone fireplace that looked as if it had not been used—or cleaned—since JFK was president.

  Rita did as she was asked. Anna sat across from her, wincing as she lowered herself into the chair.

  “Oooh, ouch! Are you hurting bad?” Rita asked sympathetically. “I can probably get you some Valium. We’ve got an excellent working relationship with our On Call. You’re gonna seize up tonight’s my bet. Second night’s the worst.”

  The sympathy annoyed Anna. Not becaus
e she thought it was feigned; Rita—like Robert Proffit, Anna reminded herself—was ultimately quite believable. Anna believed her but she’d learned the hard way that simply because one believes they see little green men, pink elephants, gray-skinned aliens or angels does not mean these creatures are really there. Personal truth is a subjective thing and Anna had yet to discover any universal truths.

  The reason the sympathy grated was because she wanted it, wanted another human being to say, “There, there, you poor dear. Here’s a Valium, Let me draw you a hot bath and rub your back.” Rita hadn’t gone quite that far but she did offer the emotional warmth and the muscle relaxant.

  Using irritation to stiffen her aching spine, Anna brushed off both sympathy and the offer of drugs. “I’m fine,” she said curtly. “I’d have been better had I not lain on a rock and pointy sticks for twenty-four hours. We’re going to need to go over how you came to rescue me, but first, Robert Proffit. How long has he been living with you?”

  Rita looked offended. “He wasn’t living with me. He was staying with me.”

  Anna hadn’t made the distinction. It was clear Rita wanted the record set straight; she was not having sexual intercourse with Robert. If she worried about her reputation as a good Christian girl, she should keep in mind how thin the cabin walls are, Anna thought sourly. Maybe Rita only needed to clarify that she was not having sex with Proffit to distance herself from him now that he was a fugitive or because she didn’t want that rumor reaching Ray Bleeker. Like all small, isolated communities, national parks were hotbeds of gossip.

  “How long has he been staying with you?” Anna amended.

  “Only a few days. He’s a friend. He needed someplace to go. He was determined to find out what happened to Candace Watson. The obvious place to start was back at the beginning, the area around Odessa Lake.”

  “Okay,” Anna said. “Not informing me Robert was in the park when you knew I wanted to talk to him might have been rude, inconsiderate, stupid or even dangerous, but it wasn’t illegal and it wasn’t against NPS regulations. While I might not like it, I won’t make you suffer for your decision. Now Robert Proffit is wanted for questioning. He’s a suspect in the kidnap of the girls, the possible kidnap-murder of Candace Watson, and knocking me off a rock. You help him again and you are aiding and abetting a fugitive. I will come down on you with both feet. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A few years before, Anna might have been impressed by the “ma’am” but Mississippi had spoiled her. Everybody called her “ma’am” except the very little kids and they called her “Miss Anna,” which delighted her no end.

  “You are a federal law enforcement officer. Your responsibility goes deeper than that of an ordinary citizen. If Proffit calls you, you tell me. If he comes by for his stuff, you tell me. If he writes, sends e-mail or smoke signals, you tell me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Anna relaxed the hard-nosed persona and let the crackle of anger drain from the room. The discovery that Proffit had been living twenty yards from where she parked her patrol car every morning irked her more than she cared to admit. Nobody liked being made a fool of.

  When her rattled nerves settled and Rita Perry recovered from the lecture, Anna began again.

  Rita stuck to her story. Robert hadn’t seen her. He’d left a note. The note said only to tell Anna it was an accident and that he was leaving. No, she didn’t still have the note; she’d thrown it in the trash. Yes, the trash had been taken to the dump.

  Asked the same questions for the second time, Rita acted more affronted than guilty until Anna brought up the bloody backpack.

  Again Anna was struck by the lengths Rita went not to tell an outright lie. Sexual misconduct was evidently the only transgression she felt heinous enough to warrant true dissembling.

  “All I can tell you is that I love this park. I’ve worked here every year since college. This is my park. I wait tables and coach girls’ basketball in Jackson the six months I’m not here, just marking time till my season starts again. I would never ever do anything that might hurt the park. And I would do anything—almost anything—for the park’s welfare.”

  Not an answer to Anna’s question but a good enough little speech, delivered with just the right touch of fanaticism. The environment needed zealots. Anna’s concern was that what Rita might deem to be in the park’s best interest and what truly was might be entirely different things. Maybe Rita thought finding the sliced and diced remains of a local teenager within NPS boundaries would reflect badly on the park and had decided to keep it her little secret.

  Rita was right, of course. It would look bad. Anna sighed. “Think about it. We’ll talk again.” She pushed herself to her feet, careful not to wince or groan lest it elicit another outpouring of debilitating kindness.

  “By the way, do you have Robert’s e-mail address?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Goodnews dot something—not one of the biggies. Not AOL or Yahoo! Slip or slippery. I can get it for you.” Rita was anxious to be of help now that she had been so assiduously of no help for the past hour.

  “Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

  Anna entered her house calling, “Here, kitty, kitty.” Guilt over having forgotten about her new ward when she’d come home the first time, coupled with the need to feel warmth and hear purring, made her anxious to see Hecuba.

  The kitten wasn’t downstairs. Her food and water bowls were still full. Bedroom and bath were on the second floor and the bath was calling her nearly as forcefully as the need to reconnect with feline kind. Nearly. Shucking clothes as she went upstairs, Anna talked kitty-cat nonsense to lure the little beast out from wherever she’d hidden. Entering the bedroom, she switched on the overhead light.

  Her bed was a charnel house. Burns and blood and bile were smeared over half the coverlet. In the middle of the mess were the charred remains of a kitten-sized corpse, bits of black fur in pathetic patches between burns so deep, bone showed through.

  Sorrow so heavy she could not stand under the weight of it settled on Anna. Keeping her back to the carnage, she sat on the corner of the bed and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t cry. The misery of knowing anyone could destroy so perfect a life was too great for the release of tears. A part of her knew she should be afraid. This taker of beauty and lives might still be in the house. Fear did not move her. Surely cruelty that great would leave a palpable miasma of evil behind.

  She might have stayed paralyzed on the edge of the defiled coverlet for some time had not something reached out from beneath the bed and grabbed her ankle.

  eighteen

  Gwen wasn’t happy, Heath could tell, but her aunt had steeled herself to say nothing, and she appreciated it. Gwen had wanted her to find a new interest in life. She simply hadn’t bargained on that interest being a damaged child who brought with her ghosts with sharp sticks and a commune lorded over by a patriarch who was far from reassuring.

  Though retired, Dr. Littleton still delivered babies for a chosen few. Many of the babies she’d delivered were now having babies of their own and wanted no one but her to preside over their introduction to the world. She’d been called back to Boulder to attend just such an event and she had to go.

  Heath had to stay. She’d dropped her aunt off at her condominium in the center of the small, booming city and driven the RV back to the glamorous outpost of Rollin’ Roost.

  When she’d told Gwen she planned to stay on at the RV park for a while, her aunt had asked her what good she thought she could do. Heath hadn’t been able to articulate an answer. She just had to be here. Rather like her grandfather, who attended all weddings, funerals, bar mitzvahs and ball games, she believed in the value of showing up, of being there, being seen to support, to celebrate, to participate in the events of other people’s lives. Heath had chosen to show up. The limpet knew she was here. For the moment that was good enough.

  But for bits and scraps of time, Heath hadn’t been alone sinc
e she’d fallen. Always there were nurses, therapists, her aunt—someone within call who would be coming by to prod, poke or check on her. Sitting outside the RV, beside the scarred picnic table, watching the light fade over the eastern plains, no help, hindrance, company or annoyance near but for Wiley, who was more entranced by the possibility of a crepuscular jackrabbit than the needs of his mistress, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

  Good, she decided. Good, and good and scared.

  Sitting outside alone had taken an act of courage. The frightened woman who’d come to replace the valiant climber when Heath lost the use of her legs, urged her to cower indoors behind locks. Anger rather than courage lent her the impetus to come out. She was damned if she would let one visitation by voices armed with rocks and sticks rob her of this peculiar joy.

  Sticks and stones. She better than most knew they might break bones.

  Like a badly cut film, the memory of the night she’d been attacked played through her mind. The fire. The crawling on her belly like a reptile. Hiding under the RV. Smashing Ranger Pigeon’s foot with a rock.

  The last image made her laugh out loud. Despite herself, Anna Pigeon was growing on her. Pigeon was a flinty sort, not given to warm fuzzies. Heath wasn’t used to that; she had grown up with a mother and an aunt from the South. Still and all, she had come to rather like the fact that Anna treated her without deference. Around the feisty ranger, Heath had come to feel like a perfectly good specimen of humanity who happened to travel by chair rather than a vague embarrassment to the belegged and ambulatory race of bipeds.

  The sound of tires leaving the hum of the pavement for the crunch of gravel brought her out of her musings. Wiley went on alert, rabbits forgotten in the promise of bigger game. The car, lights blinding Heath to make and model, drove past the one other occupant of the scabrous camp and came toward her site. Wiley took up his position at her right knee.