by Tom Clancy
Julia had talked to her for a half hour or so, and then gone out to the grocery to buy some microwave popcorn and other snacks for the game.
She felt her eyelids grow heavy now and lowered them, visualizing its wild final inning. Funny, she thought. Until Craig came along she’d cared nothing for pro sports. Baseball in particular. A bunch of guys packing their cheeks with sunflower seeds, tobacco, and bubble gum as they stood around tugging at their jockstraps. Then she’d watched some games with him during the ’98 season and gotten interested. The following year hooked her. Funny, really funny, how her appreciation for what went on around the diamond had outlasted her marriage. But it was something positive to carry away from it. And she believed a plus was a plus, worth taking wherever you could.
Last night’s game had been one of those simple, fun charges to Julia’s battery that helped make it a little easier to be philosophical… especially since her favorite team had snatched the win by a hair. Scoreless going into the ninth, Seattle’s pitcher throwing a no-hitter. Then a lazy single at the top of the inning, followed by a crushing line drive that led to a one-run ribbie. That had seemed to be the whole ball game right there, but a two-out solo homer by the M’s at the bottom of ninth tied it. Then three more shutout extra innings by both teams. Finally, the bottom of the thirteenth, bases loaded, the winning run bunted in on a one-out, two-strike count.
Julia smiled dozily to herself. Poor Rob. He would be driving to the Fairwinds right now with the bill of his yellow-and-green baseball cap pulled down low over his face to hide his dejection…
She felt a cold, wet nose prod her hand and slitted open her eyes. Jack and Jill stood at the bedside, fixated on her. Jack was blowing air out his nostrils, a plaintive murring snuffle, as though he wanted to dispel any chance of her settling into a deeper doze until the clock bleeped again.
“Uh-uh,” she said in a groggy voice. “Get out of town.”
Jack paused in his noisemaking, but they continued to stare.
“Can’t you guys bring me something to eat for a change?”
Jack’s ears whirligigged, his head cocked in seeming perplexity. Meanwhile Jill did an antsy little tap dance with her forepaws and rested her snout on the edge of the bed. Then both began to whine in an annoying, sour duet.
“Miserable, rotten creatures.” Julia sighed, gave each of them an affectionate bop on the nose with a fingertip. “Better feed you two before the neighbors hear that God-awful routine and accuse me of animal abuse.”
She shuffled out of bed toward the kitchen, put up her coffee as the dogs inhaled their food, and then went into her little exercise room. This was her off day from running, and it could not have fallen on a better one. To judge by the chill of her house and leaden sky outside her window, it was going to be another drab gray morning; classic northern California rainy season weather.
Julia did fifteen minutes of stretches at the freestanding ballet bar she’d owned since high school, another fifteen of light weight lifts. Then she showered, downed a breakfast of coffee and banana yogurt, and walked the beasts. By seven o’clock she was in her Honda 4×4 and headed out toward Pescadero.
Julia’s drive to the rescue center took under an hour, good time. But traffic was thin at that time of morning, especially headed westbound into the country. Approaching the electric company station across the blacktop, she noticed some road cones arranged around its painted land divider, and then spotted a couple of PG&E vehicles outside the green metal shed — a hatchback in front with its flashers blinking, and a large van pulled halfway behind the shed on its concrete apron. Several workmen stood nearby in hard hats, coveralls, and orange safety vests. One was balanced high on a roadside utility pole, and another two were out in the blacktop by the cones.
This was, Julia realized, the first time she’d actually seen anyone at the station, which she’d assumed was either a storehouse or routing center of some kind.
She tapped her brakes and was waved forward by a worker with a SLOW sign in his hand. He glanced into her window as she rolled past, offered her a smile, and she returned it, suddenly remembering the guy who’d stopped by the center last weekend. Barry Hume… or maybe the name was Hughes. Yeah, that was it. Barry Hughes. He’d mentioned he was a utility man with PG&E and had noticed the center whenever he was in the area. Julia crunched her forehead. Had he ever called Rob for an appointment? She hadn’t checked, although he’d really seemed to take a shine to Viv.
A little curious whether he might be among the crew at the station, Julia looked back into her rearview, but didn’t see him outside. Of course he could be in the shed or the van, she thought… not that it was of particular importance either way.
As Julia reached the wooden sign for the rescue center, it occurred to her that it might be important to find out about any trouble with the local power lines. The clouds had become more threatening after she’d left home, and she had even run into some patchy sprinkles farther east. A heavy fall downpour looked like a sure thing this morning, and since whatever work was being done on the lines probably would have to be suspended once it started, it wouldn’t have hurt her to ask the workers what was going on.
Julia considered pulling over, then scratched the notion. She had already hit her right turn signal and started up the drive, and saw no point bothering them right now.
Besides, if the lights at the shop didn’t come on when she flicked the switch, she supposed it would be all the answer she needed.
* * *
In the false PG&E van’s front passenger seat, Siegfried Kuhl waited for the Passport to swing in between the low tree limbs partially overgrowing the bottom of the drive. Then he glanced at his wristwatch.
It was four minutes to eight.
He counted down to himself, heard a few droplets of rain patter against the windshield in the silence.
At precisely eight o’clock he turned to Ciras. Seated behind the steering wheel, he made no more sound than the three Shutzhunds in the rear of the van.
“Confirm that the work on the line has been done,” Kuhl said, and tilted his chin toward the utility pole on the opposite roadside, its cables running straight over the treetops to their target.
Ciras reached for his dashboard handset and radioed up. After a moment he gave Kuhl a nod.
Kuhl looked satisfied.
“We proceed,” he said.
* * *
Rob Howell glanced at his dash clock and groaned in total disgust. A quarter after eight, damn!
He’d done it again, only worse.
His Camaro’s speedometer needle quivering over the eighty mph mark, Rob shot home from San Gregario Beach along California 84, bearing south-southwest through fog and drizzle, trying to gobble some highway miles without getting nailed by the staties. Under the best driving conditions he would have to lighten up on the gas pedal around La Honda, where the road really started to loop-de-loop, then slow his pace to a virtual crawl as he turned onto the even twistier local routes… and he had a hunch the weather would soon become a problem. Slated over with rain clouds, the sky looked about ready to spill its waterlogged guts and compound the hazardously poor visibility with a slick, wet blacktop.
Rob frowned, his face sullen under the bill of his Oakland A’s baseball cap. There was no question he’d started out the day on tenuous ground, not from the moment he’d read yesterday’s indecent game score on ESPN and abandoned any chance of falling back asleep. But he didn’t have any idea how he could have forgotten the weekly payroll ledger. How he could’ve been so careless. And what was more bothersome was that he wasn’t sure where it might be.
When he’d finished preparing the ledger on his home computer late the previous afternoon, Rob had copied his entries to a recordable CD, made a paper backup, then slipped both into an accordion folder, which had in turn gone into his briefcase on its chair by the door. That had been about four o’clock, four-thirty. Then, a short while before game time, say six o’clock, he’d pulled the folder j
ust to give the printout a quick eyeball, and compare it with his updated employee list to be certain there hadn’t been any omissions… and that was where his recollection developed a few critical gaps.
Rob had been trying to mentally retrace his steps ever since he reached the Fairview at seven-thirty this morning, sat down at his desk to transfer the entries onto the hotel’s computer, and been dismayed to realize it was missing from his briefcase. He could remember browsing through it on the living room couch, where he had intended to settle in for the A’s-Mariner’s playoff seed duel. But then Cynthia turned in early — she had been fighting off a head cold for the past week — and he’d decided to keep her company and watch the game on their bedroom TV set. At some point in between, Rob needed to give the baby a feeding and had gone to warm up her formula under the hot-water tap. He distinctly recalled that he’d meant to bring the folder with him, re-deposit it inside his briefcase on his way to the kitchen sink… but might he have inadvertently carried the folder into the kitchen with him?
Could be, he guessed. Either that, or he’d set it down on the coffee table before getting up. What he did remember — or believed he remembered — was that it hadn’t been in his hand when he’d entered the nursery with Laurie’s bottle, eliminating at least one room as a strong possibility.
Rob produced a long sigh. The drizzle had gotten heavier, and in fact was now closer to a light but steady rain, smudging the road ahead between occasional sweeps of his windshield wipers. He switched them from INTERMITTENT to SLOW and eased off the accelerator before pulling his cellular phone from its visor clip to try his wife again. These days he could barely walk and chew gum at the same time; was he kidding himself trying to simultaneously drive and play detective? But he needed either the CD/R or printout to input his payroll data into the hotel’s computer, and it had to be done by tonight. The staff’s paychecks were cut by an outside payroll service, and unless Rob electronically transmitted the information so its processors had it waiting in their system first thing Monday morning, nobody at the hotel would get squared away on time next week… and he would be the person to blame.
Ah, what I’d give for a home Internet connection, he thought. It hardly seemed an excesive wish. With cash being as tight as it had been since the baby came along, however, anything besides bare bones necessities was out of the question at the Howell abode, and probably would be for a while yet.
Rob was positive he’d feel a whole lot better knowing the folder’s whereabouts, but he’d left the hotel in such an agitated rush that he hadn’t even thought to call Cynth first. And although he’d been trying to reach her on his cell since eight o’clock or so, she hadn’t picked up yet.
He put the phone to his ear and redialed the call, his steering wheel in a one-handed grip. Still no answer. He wondered where Cynth was. She wouldn’t take the baby out of the house in this crummy weather, especially since she wasn’t feeling well, except maybe to go up to the kennels and check on the greys. But she always brought her cordless with her when she did that.
Rob frowned again, hoping his forgetfulness hadn’t gotten contagious.
After a minute’s consideration he decided to phone the gift shop. Julia would be at work by now and could track down his wife for him. She had a full plate practically running the shelter single-handedly and Rob didn’t like imposing his personal business on her, but he could not imagine a better case for an exception.
He called, listened. The phone at the other end rang. And rang some more. Thinking he might have punched in a wrong number, Rob disconnected, and reentered it. More unanswered ringing. How could there be nobody at either place? He wasn’t the type who was quick to worry, but this did invite a bit of concern. All Rob could figure was that both Julia and his wife were out back with the dogs. For what reason, he didn’t know. He just hoped some sort of emergency hadn’t cropped up that required their combined attention.
Rob pressed END, flipped the phone shut, and laid it on the passenger seat beside him. His hands at six and nine again, he gave his engine more gas despite the intensifying rain. The misplaced ledger had suddenly dropped down the ladder in priority, and indeed had almost entirely slipped out of his mind.
He was too busy wondering what the hell was going on at home.
* * *
Cynthia Howell was preparing the baby’s cereal when she happened to see the accordion folder on the kitchen phone stand.
A box of Gerber’s Wheat with Apples and Bananas in one hand, a small pot of warmed up formula in the other, she stood staring at the folder with sudden distress. Hadn’t Rob been working on the payroll ledger before the ball game? She believed so. And if that folder contained what she thought it did…
“Glumph owwp mooie!” Laurie blurted from her high-chair, slapping the food tray with a tiny palm.
Cynthia turned to her, sniffling. Her head felt fat with congestion, and she only hoped the cold germs she’d been carrying around the past few days wouldn’t jump to Laurie.
“When Daddy finds out what he left behind,” she said, “I’ve got an inkling he’s going to have pretty much the same comment.”
“Blehhk!”
“You bet.” Cynthia said. “That, too.”
She checked the time on the wall clock and frowned. It was a few minutes past eight. Rob had told her he liked to do the payroll the first thing after he got to the hotel on Sundays, get it out of the way to make sure the checks weren’t late, and she was surprised he hadn’t given her a frantic call by now. But it could be something else had come up that took precedence. Or maybe she was being too quick with her conclusions. This might be a different folder than the one she’d seen him poring over last night. Or he could have removed the disk and printout from it before he started out this morning, transferring it to a different one for some reason.
Cynthia poured the cereal into the bowl, added a little formula, and stirred them together.
“Pleoww!” Laurie said.
“I know, peapod. Breakfast’s coming. Just be patient with me another second.” Cynthia set the spoon down on a folded towel. The cereal was a tad too hot and really needed to sit anyway. “I’d better see what kind of upset to expect from Dad.”
She went over to the phone stand, picked up the folder, hastily examined its contents, and felt her optimism of last resort evaporate all at once. The CD and printout were inside. Rob had, in fact, forgotten the payroll ledger here at home.
Cynthia reached into a pocket for a tissue and blew her nose. She decided she’d better not postpone informing Rob of her unhappy discovery. The sooner he knew, the sooner he could start back for the folder, or figure out if there was some less inconvenient alternative. As far as she knew, though, he wouldn’t be able to get his work done without it.
She read the Fairview’s phone number off the bulletin board above the stand, lifted the receiver… and to her mild surprise got no dial tone. She frowned, pushed down the disconnect button, released it, and again heard only dead silence in the earpiece.
Perfect, Cynthia thought. Just perfect.
She tapped the button a few more times without any better result, then noticed the keypad lights were out and inspected the phone wire to make sure Laurie hadn’t crawled under the stand and messed with it, pulling or loosening the plugs from their jacks. Everything looked to be in place.
“Spo flig?” Laurie cooed behind her in a tone that genuinely sounded as if she understood the problem and wondered what they were going to do to solve it… although Cynthia had to admit her maternal pride tended to exaggerate the kid’s natural gifts from time to time.
“Wish I knew,” she said stuffily, and considered a moment. A few minutes ago she’d heard Julia driving uphill to the center. After feeding Laurie she could take a walk over there, see whether the problem with the telephone was confined to the house. If it was affecting the entire property, and the business phone was down, too, then they would be able to report the trouble using Julia’s cell phone.
&nb
sp; Cynthia reached into her house robe for another tissue and blew her nose again. That sounded to her like a plan.
She moved to the window. It was a dark and gloomy morning, and it occurred to her that she might have to get Laurie’s slicker out of the closet before they left the house. Also let the dogs in from the outdoor pen. Better find out if the rain had started yet.
Even before Cynthia pushed aside the curtain she could hear patters of moisture against the glass. But now something else caught her interest downhill. Two PG&E vehicles were entering the drive. A utility van first and then a station wagon. She watched them approach slowly, the van heading up toward the rescue center, the wagon turning in toward her house.
Cynthia glanced briefly over at the electric range on which she’d prepared Laurie’s formula. The indicator light for a hot burner pad was still on, telling her there had been no interruption in electrical power. Nevertheless, she had a hunch her questions about the phone outage were about to be answered.
She stayed at the window long enough to watch the station wagon come to a halt and a uniformed worker get out. Then she started toward her front door, hefting Laurie off her seat along the way.
The baby nestled against her shoulder, Cynthia opened the door just as the worker reached it, and was met by yet another of the young — albeit already eventful — day’s surprises.
* * *
“Top a’ the mornin’, laddies and lassies,” Julia said, amusing herself with an atrocious cartoon leprechaun’s accent. “Shall ye all do your morning toilet, mayhap have yourselves a wee bit of a workout afterward?”
Thirty pairs of keen, curious dog eyes looked at her from gated stalls to the left and right. Before she’d let herself get too settled in at the shop, Julia had decided to step out the back door to the kennels and let the rescues into their exercise yard, knowing they wouldn’t budge once it started to rain. Greys were as obsessive about keeping their living areas clean as they were balky about getting wet, and she didn’t want them bursting at the seams if the bad weather were to arrive and persist throughout the day.