My question was silenced by a sudden jagged flash of lightning and the simultaneous roar of thunder as loud as a dynamite blast. Something like pebbles rattled in the chimney, and a fluorescent wave of blue-white sparks rippled across the floor, across my feet. I felt a jolt. My feet tingled.
Ondine raised her voice above the howling of the storm. "The man who wears a snake will lead you to the truth. You will find the answer by el rio abajo."
For a moment I thought I hadn't heard her right. El rio abajo? The river beneath? Beneath what? It wasn't enough to have psychics, now we had psychic riddles, Spanish psychic riddles, for God's sake.
"What river?" I demanded. A clap of thunder swallowed up my words. "What river?" I yelled.
Suddenly the wind and rain stopped and there was utter silence for the space of a dozen heartbeats. Ondine closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were empty. The light had gone out.
"La Que Sabe has no more to say," she said.
I leaned forward, coldly angry. "Well, that's a hell of a note. Who does La Que Sabe think she is, coming on with a teaser like that and then — "
"She Who Knows will tell you nothing more." Ondine's expression was closed, her voice flat. "The rest you must learn for yourself."
I reached out my hand. "Nothing more?" I snarled. "Well, you tell that bitch — "
I was stopped by a blaze of absolute light, a clap of thunder loud enough to wake the dead, and a long, shud-dery ripping sound that froze us in place. We were released from our paralysis by a splintery crash and the brittle chime of breaking glass. The French doors slammed open. A chill hurricane of pelting rain and pebbly hail. The acrid smell of ozone and burnt wood filled the room.
Sheila jumped to her feet and ran to wrestle with the doors. It took a moment to force them shut. "Get that sofa over here," she yelled. "The latch is broken. The doors won't stay shut."
Her command galvanized us into action. Ondine scrambled out of the way as Ruby and I shoved the futon against the doors.
"It sounded like a limb from the oak tree," Ruby said, her face white. "It must have been fallen onto the garage."
But when the rain stopped and we went outside to survey the damage, we discovered that it wasn't a limb that had fallen, it was the entire tree. Oaks are notoriously shallow-rooted, and this one had been pushed past the limits of its endurance. It had toppled onto Ruby's garage.
"Your insurance will probably cover the garage," Sheila said, "but it's really too bad about the oak. It was a nice tree."
"Actually, the poor thing was half-dead with oak wilt," Ruby replied. "It was going to have to come out anyway. But at least it missed the house and the car." Ruby's Honda was safe. There's no room for it in the garage, so she parks it in the driveway. She gave a rueful laugh. "I guess I should have smudged the garage, huh?"
There wasn't anything left to say. I gave Ruby a hug and said a strained good-bye to Ondine. Together, Sheila and I went out to our cars, parked on the street. The storm had rolled northward, and in the clear lemon-yellow light of the setting sun we surveyed the flotsam of branches, leaves, and loose shingles that littered the street. Ruby's next-door neighbors were out on the sidewalk, peering anxiously up at their roof, while across the street, another neighbor dragged a limb off a brand-new white van. All the damage looked to be pretty minor, compared to Ruby's garage.
"I hope you don't believe that weird stuff Ondine was dishing out," Sheila said. Safely outside, in the cool normality of the street, she had regained her skepticism. "All that nonsense about McQuaid coming home to protect Brian, and that stuff about the snake man. Ridiculous!"
I opened the car door and leaned on it. "It doesn't matter what I believe. McQuaid's not going to come home, whatever La Que Sabe says. He doesn't care whether Jeff is the right man or the wrong man. He's got a job to do and he's doing it."
"Stop calling her La Que Sabe," Sheila said tautly. "it was Ondine, talking in a funny voice. All those special effects, the lightning and thunder and stuff, that was just the storm."
"Was it?"
"You're not suggesting that — "
"I don't know what I'm suggesting," I said. I leaned over and brushed wet leaves off the windshield. "I just wish I knew how Ondine found out about the snake."
"What about the snake?" Sheila asked, and I told her about the rattlesnake tattoo on Jacoby's neck.
"Ruby didn't tell her?"
"Ruby doesn't know." Wearily; I opened the door and got in. "I've had enough excitement for one night. I've got to collect Brian and head for home."
Sheila put her hand on the door to keep me from closing it. Her gray eyes were serious. "I don't for a minute believe that there's a dime's worth of truth in any of Ondine's pronouncements, but — " She stopped. "I suppose you've got a gun."
I rolled down the window. "McQuaid left me enough firepower to defend the Alamo, if I wanted to use it. We'll be safe."
"Of course," Sheila said. "You can take care of yourselves." She bent over to look at me through the window. "You and Brian must really rattle around in that big old house out there. How many bedrooms did you say it has?"
"Five." I put the key in the ignition and turned it. "It's almost nine," I said. "I need to get home."
"I've got an idea," Sheila said. "I'm not doing anything evenings for the next few days. Why don't you invite me out until McQuaid gets back? You know, sort of an extended sleepover. Just the two of us and Brian."
I squinted up at her, silhouetted against the last of the light. "Do you have any idea what you're letting yourself in for? Eleven-year-olds are beastly, not to mention their pets. This one has a bassett hound, an iguana, and a tarantula — at least. Lord only knows what else is lurking at the back of his closet.'
"Sounds like my kid brother." Sheila grinned. "Mice in his pockets and lizards up his sleeve. I'll just zip on home and get my toothbrush and something to wear to work tomorrow, then stop at the liquor store and pick up a jug of wine. While McQuaid's away, the girls will play, huh"? What'd'ya say?"
I grinned. "Id say you're one smart cookie."
Chapter Ten
I have presented to view divers forms or plots for Gardens, amongst which it is possible you may find some that may near the matter fit, and shall leave the ingenious Practitioner to their consideration and use.
Leonard Meager
The English Gardener: Or, a Sure
Guide to Young Planters & Gardeners, J 688
The storm that had shot a bolt of lightning down Ruby's chimney and destroyed her garage seemed to have been whimsically aimed at her block. I didn't see any other damage as I drove home, and Arnold's mother reported that it had rained there for only a few minutes. Texas thunderstorms are like that: half of Adams county can be floating away while the other half is on its knees praying for rain. Still, it was an odd coincidence that the storm had been so narrowly concentrated, at the exact moment Ondine was doing her thing.
The stars were out and a sliver of moon was showing in the eastern sky when we got home. It had rained just hard enough to erase the tire marks we'd left when we drove out, and the headlights revealed no footprints or tire marks in the drive. Still, I was cautious when I pulled up in front of the dark house. It didn't take a warning from La Que Sabe and a bolt out of the blue to make me wish that we had installed a security light. The house id isolated. The closest neighbors live on the other side of the ridge, and the lane leading from the county road to the house is a quarter mile long. Nice when you want privacy, a little unsettling if you're concerned about security.
"What are we waiting for?" Brian asked.
"Nothing." There was a misshapen shadow under the willow tree. I opened the glove box, fished out a flashlight, and shined it on Howard Cosell, grumpily aroused and resentful that he hadn't been let in to sleep behind the sofa, away from the fire ants. He lay back down, scorning to bark. So much for our trusty watchdog.
Brian turned to face me, his child's face a blurry triangle in the dark.
"You're not really afraid of that guy with the tattoo snake, are you?"
"Absolutely not," I said firmly. "Lock the door behind me and wait in the car until I call you."
It took a few minutes to search the house, but I felt better when it was done. I had just finished checking the answering machine when Smart Cookie showed up with her clothes and the wine. We were in the kitchen when the phone rang. I grabbed for it, thinking it was McQuaid.
"I just wanted to see that you got home okay," Ruby said.
"Thanks for worrying," I said.
Ruby hesitated. "Uh, China, I know it's hard for you to believe this stuff. But I really think you should take Ondine seriously."
"Maybe so," I said. I was remembering Lyle Biggs and his vision of a grave in a muddy field. And Peggy Simmons and Samuel, and the woman who had been stabbed to death by her boyfriend. The police hadn't taken them seriously — in the beginning. When it was all over, they did.
"Well, that's all I have to say," Ruby said, and hung up. I had just put the phone down when it rang again.
"Everything okay?" McQuaid asked. "Any messages for me?"
"Everything's okay," I said. I reported my conversations with Matt and Bubba (leaving out the bit about Jacoby and the knifing in New Braufels). I added the message I'd picked up from the answering machine. "Bubba says that the Brownsville police matched Clark's prints with those in the car. They apparently didn't get them off the steering wheel or the stick shift, though. He said they came from the door."
"The stick was grooved," McQuaid said, "and the wheel had a pebble vinyl cover. Neither would have taken a print." He sighed wearily. "I guess that cinches it, China. Clark's our man. That's not the name he used coming through Immigration, though."
"He must have false documents," I said. The wrong man. Could La Que Sabe be confused because Jeff had assumed a different name? I stopped myself. That was ridiculous. I was acting as though Ondine knew what she was talking about.
"You can get papers in Brownsville as easy as you can get a beer." He was silent for a minute, and I could picture him pulling at his lip and scowling. "I never would've believed it of him, though."
The wrong man. The prints on the gun and the prints on the car were indisputably Jeff*s. What did Ondine know that we didn't? But I couldn't tell McQuaid what she had said. He'd never believe it. I didn't believe it myself—did I?
"What's on your agenda for tomorrow?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
"Checking around. Car rentals, hotels, bars, et cetera." He sounded dispirited and very tired. He gave me the telephone number of the hotel where he was staying. "If you turn up anything I need to know, leave it with the desk. I'll phone the hotel periodically to check for messages."
Maybe La Que Sabe ought to get in touch with McQuaid directly, instead of through me. I pushed aside this slightly crazy thought, and said instead, "You want me to give this number to Matt?"
"I'd rather channel everything through you. Makes for less confusion. You and Brian will be at the shop tomorrow?"
"That's the plan," I replied slowly.
McQuaid's chuckle was sympathetic. "Kid giving you a hard time, honey?"
"No," I said, "Brian's okay. It's just that — "
It was just that my old instincts were kicking in. Whether he was the right man or the wrong man, Jeff needed a lawyer now. He needed somebody to file a petition requiring the prosecution to turn over any exculpatory evidence the police had uncovered. He needed somebody to canvass Rosemary's neighborhood and dig up anything that might suggest other suspects. He needed somebody to start building alternative theories of the case that might be used in court.
I wasn't Jeff s lawyer. But if it weren't for Brian, I wouldn't go to the shop tomorrow. I'd start digging, and when McQuaid brought Jeff back and he hired a lawyer, I'd turn over any information I had found. But I'd promised to take Brian, and I wasn't going back on my word.
"It's just that you don't want to go to the shop tomorrow?" McQuaid asked. "How'd you know?"
He chuckled. "I'm psychic. Are you thinking of taking off lor the day to look into this business?"
"Well, yes," I admitted. "But I'm responsible for Brian."
"I hope you take that responsibility seriously.'' he said. "Jacoby is a snake.
I shivered. The child is in peril. You have much to fear. "I do take it seriously, I said.
"I wish I were home.
"I do, too." I laughed a little, teasing. "But I'm afraid I have to settle for Sheila." "Say again?"
"She s moved in tor a tew days," I explained. To help me detend the home front."
"Not a bad idea," McQuaid replied. We said a lingering good night. ! put the phone down reluctantly, thinking of the way his eyes looked when he wanted me, the way his mouth fell on mine when he kissed me, the wav . . .
I shook myself, went to the kitchen, and pulled out some cold chicken tor sandwiches. Brian took one and went upstairs to bed, having wrangled my promise to make pancakes tor breakfast. Sheila put together a salad, and we made a night of it, drinking and talking at the kitchen table until well after midnight.
The wine and late supper that had seemed like such a good idea on Tuesday night felt like a very bad one on Wednesday morning. I woke with a headache at seven, pulled on denim cutoffs, and groped my way to the kitchen. I brewed a pot of strong peppermint tea and was into my second cup when Sheila came downstairs, wearing a chic black suit with a white blouse and pearls. She looked gorgeously anorexic, irritatingly businesslike, and insufferably alert.
"God," I groaned, "I can't stand to look at you."
"It's not my fault," she said apologetically. "It's my metabolism. I'm one of those people who function well in the mornings." She flicked back her smooth ash blond hair. "I meet with the campus patrol unit at eight sharp every Wednesday morning."
"I'll bet they love you for it," I said. "The bananas are on top of the refrigerator." I paused while she found them. "I've been thinking about Curtis Robbins."
"What about him?" She poured Grapenuts into a bowl.
"If Jeff Clark didn't do it-"
"Don't tell me you're buying that bullfeathers we heard last night. Where do you keep the knives?"
"Top drawer on the left." I paused. "I'm just considering other theories that might fit the facts. How thoroughly did Bubba check out Robbins's alibi?"
She sliced banana on top of the cereal. "He interviewed the sister."
"What else did he do? Did he talk to the sister's neighbors? Did he check out Robbins's movements? What about other suspects? Did he talk to people who knew Rosemary to see if she had any enemies? A former client, maybe, who had a grudge?"
Sheila poured milk on her cereal. "I don't think he spent a lot of time on the ex-husband. The gun turned up, and he dropped Robbins in favor of Clark. The PSPD doesn't have a lot of extra manpower, you know." She perched on a stool and began to eat. "Why are you ask-ing.'
"Does anybody know whether Robbins knew Jeff Clark?" I poured her tea and pushed the honey jar down the counter where she could reach it. "Lily Box saw Robbins at the hotel, and Rosemary claimed he was there to see her. But what if he came to see Clark, not Rosemary? What if he was in Clark's office, alone, and happened to see Big Chuck's gun in the case? What if — "
I was stopped by the ringing of the telephone. Still engaged with what ifs, I answered tersely. But I was jolted into sudden awareness by a man's hard, raspy voice.
"I got a message for yer ol' man, Miz McQuaid."
"I'm not Mrs. McQuaid," I said. "I'm — "
The voice sliced me off, sharp as high-carbon steel. "I don' give a shit who you are, sugar. You live with the bastard, don' you? You tell that motherfucker I'm gonna get that kid of his."
My fingers tightened on the receiver. "Who is this?" I whispered. But it wasn't a real question. I knew.
His chuckle was harshly sardonic. "Ain't he tol' you 'bout his ol' buddy, the jailbird? Well, it don' matter none. He'll know who I am. You hang 'round the ph
one, baby, at home an' at that cutesy little store of yours. I'm gonna wanna hear yer sweet voice again. You tell him now, you mind?" The connection was broken.
"China!" Sheila stood, staring. "Was that — ?"
I was clenching the phone. Carefully, so my hands didn't shake, I replaced it in the cradle. "The man with the snake." My stomach was churning. I felt sick.
"Hey," Brian said from the doorway, "where's my pancakes?"
Chapter Eleven
Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
William Shakespeare Henry IV, Part I
"Brian might not even be safe at the shop," Sheila said, after I'd sent the boy upstairs to get dressed and related Jacoby's threat. "The guy sounds dangerous."
"I don't have a lot of options," I said, getting out the pancake mix. We have scratch pancakes on weekends; today was the utility version. I thought about the woman Jacoby had knifed in New Braunfels, and shivered.
Sheila took her bowl to the sink and rinsed it out. "How about if I take Brian to the campus? I can't do it tomorrow, because I have to go to Austin. But today would be fine."
"I can't ask you to take the responsibility." I added milk to the mix, broke in an egg, and began to beat it as if I were whipping up on Jake Jacoby. We might be in the middle of a crisis, but there would be pancakes.
"Why can't you?" She grinned. "If the kid gets in my face, I'll stick him with Maxine Marney, one of our patrol officers. She's a weight-lifting champion. Brian steps out of line, Maxine will settle his hash. And pity poor Jacoby, if he tries to muscle in on her territory. She's probably more dangerous than he is."
Maxine Marney had given me a ticket and a lecture when I'd failed to yield to a pedestrian on a campus street. I still remembered those steely eyes. "That might work," I said.
She went to the door and raised her voice. "Get into those clothes on the double, kid. You're going to the campus cop shop."
I heard a muffled "Oh, boy!" I wiped my hands on my cutoffs and gave her a grateful look. "I don't know how to-"
Rosemary Remembered - China Bayles 04 Page 13