She lowered herself into the back seat and told the Uber driver her mother’s address. Jessica stared out the window, barely hearing the swooshes and splashes as the driver made his way through the various puddles on the road. She thought about all those months of barely speaking, about all those sessions with Dr. Wyatt where she sat in silence and stared out the window at the mountains. She couldn’t be silent anymore, not when others could possibly be in danger. And they were in danger, she was sure of it. It was time to speak—it was time to be heard.
Jessica had searched for another explanation, but in the end she kept circling back to the same thing. And it was a thing—not a sick bear or a rogue mountain lion. It was a thing. And she knew what it was now. She knew what killed Cameron Jasper, and what killed all those people thirty years ago. If Howie was correct about the rain, it wasn’t going to stop until the monsoons stopped. That left over a month of this . . . slaughter.
Jessica leaned back and let out a long, silent whoosh of air. Daddy, please help me, she thought. It’s Jess, and if I’m right about this, there is about to be such a mess. She stared out the window and listened to the car’s tires as they glided along the wet pavement. Night had fallen.
Chapter 31
Ava Cuthbertson was an elegant woman. She had been an elegant woman many years ago, standing in a sleek, green gown, when a handsome man by the name of Edgar Cuthbertson came over and asked her to dance. She had been Ava Portsmith back then. She was an elegant woman a year later when Edgar had taken a knee and asked for her hand in marriage. And she had been an elegant woman on their wedding day, standing in front of her groom in a gown that was fit for a queen.
Edgar Cuthbertson was a kind man to his wife, and a ruthless man in business. He had climbed the corporate ladder early in life, and by the time he had approached the stunningly beautiful woman in the green evening gown, he was already a wealthy man. He could have had his pick of women in that ballroom on that lovely spring evening, but his eyes were only for Ava. He proposed exactly one year after their first dance, and their wedding had been a blissful one.
Edgar and Ava lived in New York for much of their marriage. They enjoyed the galas and endless parties, him in his best tuxedo and Ava by his side, wearing one luxurious gown after another. They appeared in the papers often: New York City’s most desirable couple. Most desirable, and most wealthy.
Edgar was killed in a traffic accident when returning home from a business venture in upstate New York. His driver skidded on the ice, and the town car was sent tumbling down a snowy embankment. Edgar—not one for safety measures such as seatbelts—was thrown from the vehicle. His body was found the following morning, drifts of snow covering the gore beneath.
The loss of Edgar cut Ava deeply, and she found herself incapable of staying in their brownstone in the city. In fact, she could not bear the thought of living in New York at all. She relocated to a place that she thought was just about as far away as she could get: Arizona. She thought a change in scenery would even further improve things. Ava had had just about as much snow as she could stand.
Ava relocated to Tucson in 1989. She lived in a lovely estate in the central portion of town for many years, however, as Tucson expanded, she found herself once again in a city-type setting that she wanted away from. When Wasp Canyon Estates began construction in 1998, she immediately contacted her broker and real estate agent and sent them on a mission to acquire the most desirable of the estates. She wanted the largest one, with the best view, and with the most acreage. Edgar would have insisted on it.
Ava Cuthbertson’s estate was the closest to the Santa Catalinas, pressed up against the base of the mountain range. Her multi-million dollar home was 9,000 square feet, with an impressive twenty-four acres of land. The house was set almost half a mile back from Wasp Canyon Road. The entrance had a thick, wrought iron fence with a large “C” in the center. The gate was now motorized, but in the early days her driver had to get out of the vehicle and push the gate open manually. She no longer had a driver, so the automatic gate was now of utmost importance.
The years had softened Ava. She no longer felt a need to have staff members or drivers. While Edgar’s investments had kept her a very wealthy woman, she found in her later years that it wasn’t money that she craved—it was companionship. She never remarried. Suitors had tried, but Ava had the heart-sinking suspicion that many were just after her bank account. After so many years she had stopped trying, and now at seventy-two, she doubted there would ever be another opportunity.
She lived in her 9,000 square foot estate alone; sharing the space only with her purebred Persian she named Tofu. Even though she would never have the companionship of a lover again, she found that having a cat seemed to fill at least some of the void. Ava and Tofu spent most of their time in a very small portion of the house. What once seemed like a glamorous idea to have such a grandiose home now seemed silly to her—an elderly woman with arthritis having to walk for an eternity to get from one end of the house to the other. She spent much of her time in a single wing of the house, the rest sitting quietly and collecting dust.
When things broke around the estate, as they often do in any home, Ava sometimes called on her neighbor, Mr. Jasper. He was a kind man and would often come over to help her with her leaky faucets or broken window shades. Now that he was gone, she supposed she would now have to call a maintenance repair company for such things, and she doubted they would want to humor an old woman and stay for tea and cookies afterward. She had begun to look forward to something trivial breaking around the house—sometimes even setting off to find something that needed fixing in the other wings—just so she could call upon Mr. Jasper and eventually sit on the patio with him and make small talk. She had no romantic feelings toward the man; she just enjoyed the pleasure of his company. Tofu was a lovely cat, but purebred or not he was still unable to engage in conversation with her. Except for the insistent meowing at meal time.
On the night of August 6th, Ava walked aimlessly around the inhabited wing of her house, Tofu padding along beside her. Tofu was as pure white as he was purebred, with bright green eyes and a pink nose. He reminded her of the Fancy Feast cat, which was probably part of the reason she was so taken with him.
“You hungry, my love?” Ava asked, and bent over to pat Tofu on the head. He looked up at her with wide, eager eyes. Ava’s hips hollered in protest as she stood back up. She was counting the days until this rainy season was over, the humidity made her arthritis hurt something awful.
She ambled over to the elaborate kitchen and began preparing dinner for one, as always. Such a big kitchen for so little cooking going on, it really was a shame. She gave Tofu a Salmon Primavera Pâté Feast, from Fancy Feast of course. “There’s your sister,” Ava joked, showing the front of the can to Tofu. He appeared to be much more interested in what was inside of the can than what was glued onto the front of it. She placed the bowl of salmon on the floor, her hips grumbling angrily as she did so, and then started collecting ingredients for her own supper.
After inhaling his food Tofu disappeared, presumably to take a nap. Eating was hard work, after all. Ava brought her dinner—a bowl of soup and half a sandwich—to the dining room table to eat. The newspaper was still lying on the table, the article about Mr. Jasper on the cover. A picture of his handsome, smiling face stared up from the front page. Ava sighed. She missed her friend, which deep down, she had always considered him to be.
After dinner was done, Ava brought her dirty dishes to the sink. Her hands ached with the effort. She washed out the bowl and placed it on her generously sized granite countertop. She was just thinking about making some tea and retiring to the bedroom to read when she heard a thumping noise come from outside. She looked up from the sink and peered into the darkness on the other side of the window. Outside, the storm had passed and the wind had come to almost a complete stop. The mesquite tree opposite the kitchen window was still, the branches barely rustling in the calm that followed the storm. Maybe a small
gust knocked something over, she thought. It seemed unlikely, though—the branches of the mesquite would still be bobbing up and down if there had been any wind.
Another thump, coming from the backyard. Ava was looking at the tree when she heard it, and she was certain that there was no wind this time. Something had been knocked over.
Her large backyard was tastefully decorated, much like the rest of the estate. A flagstone patio stretched out from the base of the house, surrounded by a low adobe wall topped with a wrought iron fence. Small “C’s” for Cuthbertson adorned the iron bars, painstakingly etched into the metal. The wall was not a tall one—more decorative than purposeful. It could not keep out the desert wildlife anymore than it could keep Tofu in. Which was why Tofu was not allowed outside. There were far too many predators out there that would be more than happy to make a Fancy Feast out of her poor Tofu.
At the thought of Tofu, Ava began looking around the kitchen floor. Where was he? Earlier she had stepped outside to water the plants under the awning . . . could Tofu have snuck out when she opened the door? She doubted it; he was never very good at slinking around. A hunter he was not. But he certainly could have gotten out, couldn’t he? She was an old woman with failing eyesight; it certainly was possible he could have snuck past her.
Ava rushed around the countertop, ignoring her aching hips, looking for Tofu as she went. No sign of him on the other side of the counter either. A fresh wave of worry went through her. She tried to remember the last time she saw Tofu, and could only think of when she fed him before making her own supper. Ava got to the sliding glass door and looked out into the night, fear mounting in her chest.
The entire northeast-facing wall of the dining room was floor-to-ceiling windows. The mountains towered over the property, and the dining area offered the best view of Wasp Canyon and the cliff faces on either side. Ava flicked on the patio light and surveyed the yard. The patio was empty, cast in a warm glow from the porch light. No Tofu, just the regular patio furniture and potted plants. Beyond the back wall, the desert was bathed in darkness. Sometimes, on a clear night, she could see all the way to the mountains, covered in cold moonlight with the darkness of the canyon at the center. No moonlight tonight, though—there was still a heavy covering of clouds sluggishly working their way across the night sky.
Ava thought of the predators that came down from the mountain: the coyotes howling in the night, the bobcats creeping about in the underbrush, the mountain lions lying in wait. And a sick bear as well? She couldn’t stand the thought of her Tofu being out there, unaware that he was getting stalked by some carnivore. Ava undid the latch, yanked open the sliding glass door, and ran out into the night. She shut the door behind her by habit, accustomed to always closing the doors to keep Tofu from getting out.
Outside it was suffocatingly muggy, the humidity hanging thick in the air like soup. She could not see beyond the wall of her backyard. Ava looked around, growing more and more frantic by the second. She didn’t think Tofu would have jumped over the wall and ran into the desert, but she couldn’t be sure. She should have brought a flashlight with her.
The sound she heard had come from the left side of the patio, closer to the mountains, so she headed in that direction. The right side of the patio overlooked the city lights of Tucson. It was a breathtaking view, but one she rarely sat out and enjoyed because sitting out alone at night had started to make her feel less and less comfortable as she aged.
Ava headed toward the shadows on the left side of the house. She kept her eyes low to the ground, searching for white fur. “Tofu,” she whispered. She wondered why she was whispering—it’s not like anyone was around to hear her. Her closest neighbor was almost a mile away. “Tofu!” she said louder, although still not at full volume.
She ventured further into the shadows, fear creeping up in her throat and making it hard to swallow. Tofu wasn’t over here, she was certain of it. She turned to head back to the patio and saw one of her flowering pots lying on its side. It was cracked down the middle and soil had spilled out of the top. It was a fairly heavy planter—one she would have had to call on the helping hands of Mr. Jasper to move, if she ever had the desire to do so.
She walked through the spilled soil, missing the smeared paw print that was pressed into the scattered dirt. The print was much larger than a house cat’s and didn’t catch her attention.
Ava got to the center of the patio and looked around, still calling for Tofu in a harsh whisper. She noticed another toppled planter. It had been obscured by the patio table and chairs when she first came out, but now that she was next to the table she could see it clearly. This pot was by far larger than the first. It was made of poured cement and stood at just over three feet tall. Two men were needed to move it into position on the patio, and that was before it was full of gardening soil. Now it was lying on its side, the soil spread out on top of the flagstones.
Ava’s fear was replaced by confusion. What in the name of God could have knocked something like that over? And why? Nothing large enough to knock that pot over would care about the contents inside, which was just dirt and a gardenia bush. The bush was torn out and shredded, white flowers littering the patio.
Ava took a step closer to the planter and the pile of dirt that had been dug out. The flowers obscured what was pressed into the extracted soil. She peered closer, and this time was able to make out the paw print. It was enormous—larger than any she had seen before. She could also see scratches in the dirt, which she realized were claw marks. A fresh wave of fear washed over her. Tofu didn’t do this. If Tofu was out here at one point, he wasn’t anymore.
Ava wasn’t sure which she noticed first: the smell or the sound. Maybe they happened at the exact same time—but she supposed it didn’t really matter anyway. A rancid smell filled her nostrils, permeating her sinuses and making her head swell. At the same time—or slightly before or after—she heard a growl. It rumbled like oncoming thunder, although she thought the storms were done for the night. Not thunder, she thought. She could feel the growl resonating in her chest. Ava was facing the back wall, and the sound came from directly behind her—on the patio, between her and the house. The light on the patio dimmed as whatever it was moved in front of the porch light. Its shadow stretched across the flagstones, the top swallowed by the darkness of the desert.
She turned slowly. Ava could feel her chest tightening up and her breathing cease. She suspected she was having a heart attack. When she turned around, all she could see was a very large silhouette. The animal was blocking the porch light, and there was no light coming from behind Ava to reveal the creature’s facial features. All she could tell was that it was large—much larger than the animals she usually saw coming from the canyon. And something about its posture and the shape of its head led her to believe that it wasn’t a bear, after all. There was no fur illuminated by the patio light—just rough, gray skin.
Ava opened her mouth to scream but never had the opportunity. It launched at her, its full weight colliding with her fragile, arthritic frame. She heard crunches in her hips and spine as she hit the flagstone—her bones breaking, no doubt. Her face was pointed toward the brightly lit kitchen. In the window, on the inside of the glass, was Tofu. His back was arched, his fur on end, and he was hissing at whatever was on top of her. He was inside all along, she thought.
Teeth sunk into Ava’s throat and the taste of copper filled her mouth. Blood ran down her throat and filled her lungs, and she could feel herself drowning in it. Ribs snapped and warm liquid poured down the front of her robe. The weight of the thing on top of her was immense. The entire time she stared at Tofu, and thought, I wish Edgar was here. Before long, there was blackness. Ava hoped that Edgar was waiting for her once the blackness cleared.
Chapter 32
Claire arrived at the Cleary house shortly after five the following afternoon. She held a grocery bag in one hand and her Coach purse in the other. The grocery bag had Junior Mints and popcorn on top and a bottle
of wine hidden underneath. No need to upset Mrs. Cleary anymore than she already was. Claire knocked on the door and waited. She used to be able to walk right in, but ever since Mr. C passed away Mrs. Cleary started locking the doors.
“Good afternoon, Claire,” Andrea said as she opened the door. She stepped to the side, allowing Claire space to come in with her bags. “How are you today?”
“Doing just fine, Mrs. C. How are you doing?” Claire smiled at Andrea. She knew she would never be loved by Mrs. Cleary, but she could tell Andrea was making an effort and that she should do the same.
“Just fine, just fine,” Andrea answered. She looked distracted. “Please,” she gestured to the kitchen, “come on in.”
Claire felt nervous. She didn’t want to unpack her grocery bag in front of Mrs. Cleary. Pulling out a bottle of wine was just going to upset her, which was why Claire hid the bottle underneath her snack purchases. She knew Mrs. Cleary was planning to go to her book club tonight, and Claire could just see her fretting the entire time she was there—imagining her injured daughter getting drunk with that crazy friend of hers. She might even come home early because of it. The fact that Jessica was a 24-year-old woman didn’t seem to calm Mrs. Cleary’s worries one bit.
Claire gently set the grocery bag down on the counter. She made no move to unpack it. Andrea looked frazzled, often glancing down the hallway in the direction of Jessica’s room. “Is everything ok, Mrs. C?” Claire asked. “Where’s Jessica?”
“Oh, she’s in her room,” Andrea said, distracted. She looked down the hallway again. “She brought all this stuff home from the library last night and has spent most of the day in her room with the door shut. Whenever I come in to check on her, she turns the pages over so I can’t see what she is looking at.” Andrea sighed.
Claire glanced down the hallway. She could tell from the way the hall was lit that Jessica’s door was shut. Jessica probably didn’t even know she was here yet. “I’m sure everything is just fine, Mrs. C.”
Wasp Canyon Page 13