by Mary Deal
Just as dawn broke the next morning, she tiptoed to the bathroom so she wouldn't wake anyone. Buck snored loudly from the master bedroom. A light shone under the closed door to the den. Sara couldn't help herself and tapped lightly and waited.
Linette cracked the door and they stood staring at one another. She wore pajamas and had a pencil stuck over her ear.
“I was up working,” Sara said.
Linette snickered behind her hand. “I've seen your light almost every night. We have the same habits.”
“You mean you were…?” Linette's laptop was running and business documents lay spread across the desk.
“Is everyone okay?” Buck asked as he yawned coming up the hallway. He wore only his pajama bottoms. Sara almost laughed. Buck always wore various caps with some sort of Courtland logo on them. Considering that he once said he never bared his body in a bathing suit, as skinny as he was, Sara was sure she was one of the few people who got to see him half-naked. She stifled a smile, wanting to remind that he had forgotten to put on a cap.
“I guess it's not too early for some of Sara's juice,” Linette said.
At least now she knew that her presence was not a disruption in their lives. How patient and kind these people were. How blessed she was. Still, she longed to be back at Talbot House. She needed the use of her commercial grade PC instead of the laptop, which lacked the capacity to fully build the types of programs she created.
#
On one of her early morning trips to retrieve mail at Talbot House, Sara heard a siren and, in the rear view mirror, saw the flashing lights of a patrol car approaching fast. She eased onto the soft shoulder to let it pass. The speed of the patrol car kicked up dust and rocks as it cut across the shoulders as if trying to straighten bends in the road. It was Johanna, tight-lipped and determined looking, keeping her sight riveted on the narrow winding pavement.
When Sara arrived at her property, barely enough room remained to park. New yellow Sheriff's banner secured the area from the back door to the side of the garage. Johanna walked slowly, studying the ground as she unraveled more of the tape, all the way from the south side of the garage to the levee where she attached an end to some shrubs on the driveway ramp.
Sara parked on the levee and hurried downhill toward a group of contractors. “What now?” she asked. The fact that yellow banner was, once again, being strung meant she would be kept out of her home even longer. She felt like screaming.
Some of the construction workers eyed her curiously, signifying something bad had again happened.
Isidoro showed up and then two detectives, leaving their vehicles on the narrow shoulders of the levee. Isidoro set out orange cones to alert traffic.
Johanna came up behind and tapped her shoulder. Sara nearly jumped out of her shoes.
“Sorry,” Johanna said, taking a step backwards and holding up both hands. “Sorry.” She looked toward the garage. “Sara, I told you. Someone's trying to send you a message.”
“Why? What now?”
Johanna saw Isidoro with others peering and pointing at the ground on the other side of the yellow tape. “Watch where you step,” she said, barking the order and pointing.
“Come see this,” Johanna said. The deputy led her into the garage. They peered out the back windows, which were shoulder height. Just below the wall, other deputies began putting down yellow, tented markers.
Sara pressed her forehead against the glass, angled her gaze downward and, repulsed, jumped backward. “Who the hell does this guy think he is?” Below the window lay a hole in the ground the size of a grave. She could only imagine for whom.
Johanna pointed. “See that?”
Sara looked again, this time rising on tiptoes to better see immediately downward. She was stunned by what she had missed. “Who does he think he is?” she asked again, screaming. A dead cat almost the color of the soil lay at the bottom of the excavation.
“He didn't intend to do you in though. At least not last night.”
“Is that a joke?”
“No, look. The hole's only a foot deep.”
The excavation was only the depth of a shovel scoop. “The graves already found were a lot deeper than that,” Sara said.
“This may not be the serial killer's work,” Johanna said. “There's no evidence that any of his victims were stalked before they went missing.”
“This could be someone else?”
“A copycat sicko, maybe, who likes to taunt.”
“How could anyone get away with digging here?”
“Look, it's behind the garage.” Johanna motioned side to side. “Hidden from the levee. There's no one on three sides for miles.”
Large footprints, clearly marked, rimmed the hole. The detectives continued to number them off. One officer got down on his knees and stood several markers in the hollow beside the cat.
“He's toying with the wrong person!” Sara said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I don't think this guy's playing. He's definitely got plans for you.”
Sara turned and walked all the way to the mailbox up on the levee and retrieved her mail. She sat in her SUV and watched as people scurried. Some of the construction workers were sent home. After she calmed, she walked downhill again.
“A couple of the guys and me are gonna keep working,” the contractor said. “Whoever it was didn't get into your house. We've been leaving our tools laying loose in there overnight and nothing's missing.”
Johanna had joined the conversation. “It isn't tools this one's after. How did you guys find that hole back there anyway?”
The contractor seemed embarrassed. “We made a mistake of tearing out both of the bathrooms at the same time,” he said, thumbing backwards toward the house. “One of the men went into the field to relieve himself.” His expression soured. He walked away shaking his head.
“We gotta wait for our lab guys,” Johanna said. “They'll take castings of those strange boot prints.”
“Strange?” Sara asked. “How so?”
“Far as I can tell,” she said, studying the ground. “Looks like someone wore boots way too big, maybe to cover his actual foot size. Only the heel and mid-foot left a good mark on the ground. Some toe marks are way out front.”
“I would think it would be hard to walk in over-sized boots.” Sara recalled that Daphine always had great shoes. Among the items she gave to that poor family with all the kids were shoes, something that Sara was always in need of. Daphine let her decide if she wanted to keep any before donating them. Daphine wore a size larger, but Sara had shoes to grow into.
“Sara, you okay?” Johanna asked.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, shaking her head to dispel yet another forlorn memory. “The boot marks. What about those? I know a little something about shoes that don't fit.”
“Looks like they did get some good toe marks in the overturned dirt. Whoever the boots belong to, he had some monster feet.” Johanna seemed relaxed doing her job, relaxed and overly friendly. Maybe that was her nature.
Maybe Johanna freely talking about evidence was one of the things Isidoro didn't like about her. “I didn't know you're allowed to give out the kinds of information that you do.”
“You the one wearing the boots?” Johanna asked, glancing down at Sara's feet. After a moment, she said, “I think I'd like to find out if ol' Crazy Ike has more than one shovel.”
Buck, the Fire Chief, got wind of everything and disclosed more in private that evening. The area behind her garage would be thoroughly examined and every detail photographed. Molds were made of the footprints and the marks left by the perpetrator's shovel in the damp packed earth. The dirt would be sifted for hairs, clothing fibers, anything. That cat in the open grave indicated the elusive psychopath was still very much active, if this wasn't yet another copy cat crime. “Stay away from your property if the crews aren't around,” Buck said. “Someone means to do you.”
Chapter 40
Late August brought a heat wave, an
d the California State Fair in Sacramento. Sara would wait till the next year to attend. She was just too busy and the Delta offered way too many distracting activities to fit into her schedule.
Hordes of kids ambled about, getting in last minute water skiing and river sports before school began. Wet bathing suits and stringy, dripping hair was the norm. So were calloused feet, from walking barefoot through the summer.
The rivers and streams remained glutted with watercraft. Skiers sometimes couldn't make a good run without being knocked down by someone else's wake. It was the height of the tourist season. Visitors and locals alike wore shorts and tees or as little as possible. Those who didn't stayed mostly indoors. Sara traded the humid heat of the Caribbean for the dry heat of the Delta. She was a sun worshipper any place it chose to beat down. She hadn't lost what she considered a permanent tan. Her hair remained sun-streaked.
Esmerelda's River Hospice anniversary celebration would happen on Saturday. Dignitaries from Delta towns across the valley would honor that grand lady with their presence.
While Esmerelda directed last minute preparations that Saturday morning, Sara and Daphine passed time inside Esmerelda's house with Mimie and the pups. Daphine stared out the window a lot, always with her back turned, being too quiet. She seemed preoccupied and then suddenly blurted, “I'm giving Fredrik the painting for his birthday.”
Sara caught herself before saying something she might regret. Gifts and generosity were okay, but just because Daphine dated Fredrik a few times didn't seem reason enough. “The one he tried to buy?” Sara asked, knowing her response was lame.
Daphine must have sensed her feelings. “Sara, you've got the wrong impression of him. He was born with the skills to help people in their last days.” She took a breath, looked away, and seemed disappointed.
Back when Sara first saw the painting, she had the idea to split the cost with Daphine and give it to Fredrik. Now knowing the maniac on the loose could be a local person made her feel uneasy about doing so.
Just as they left the house with the dogs to look for Esmerelda, a man wearing a colorful Hawaiian Aloha shirt walked toward the parked cars and climbed into one. He backed up and then drove past them, turning to Sara expressing both surprise and utter dismay.
“Someone you know?” Daphine asked.
“Strange,” she said as her heart beat wildly. ”Saw him a few times in Sacramento. That must have been him driving away the first time we came to see Esmerelda.” Sara remembered his blue-topaz eyes. What could he be doing at the hospice? Excitement rippled through her nervous system. “It's still early. Maybe he'll come back.”
“You got eyes for this guy?” Daphine asked, again smiling, on to something.
“I wouldn't mind meeting a nice guy.”
“One who wears tasteful Aloha shirts?”
Pierce came along for the festivities. He needed to mingle, meet more people. He wouldn't climb the stairs into Esmerelda's house. They found him socializing indoors in the sunroom in the patient facility. Fredrik leaned into the conversation as if needing to glean all he could from what Pierce might say. Soon a staff member appeared and spirited Fredrik away, much to his hesitancy and dismay.
After the visitors toured the grounds, lunch was served. Guests dined under a large tent or under some of the shade trees at picnic tables. Several large electric fans were strategically placed but did little to ward off the heat. Many people carried paper fans marked River Hospice.
“Someone said that Tripp arranged all the decorative floral,” Sara said. “Did you know that?”
“He always works with Esmerelda's caterer,” Daphine said. “Says they're his flowers. Won't let anyone pick 'em.”
The lavishly decorated serving table displayed bouquets and baskets of fruits and blooms. Green stalks with lush leaves lay between the serving dishes. Each eating table contained a centerpiece of a floral basket. Esmerelda trained and brought out the best in her employees, including Tripp. The caterer and not her, however, prepared and served the meal.
They found Esmerelda exiting a patient's room.
“I need your opinion,” Daphine said.
“How so?” Esmerelda asked.
“I want to give Fredrik the painting he once saw in my shop.”
“Not the one he talked about years ago?” Esmerelda asked. “And talks about again, now that you two have renewed friendships?”
“The one and only,” Daphine said nervously. Uncertainty did not fit her personality. “Only, I don't know what you've got planned for his birthday as part of this celebration.”
“I usually give him a round trip ticket to Sweden to see his family.”
“You do?” Sara asked. Her guilt about being overly generous eased somewhat.
“Not this year, though,” Esmerelda said. She had that sparkle in her eyes that said she kept a secret.
“Spill it,” Daphine said.
“I've had a little help from his family,” Esmerelda said. “I've managed to bring his mom and dad and sister here. Should be arriving momentarily.” She glanced toward the end doorway of the facility.
“Oh, my goodness. In that case, my giving him something in front of all these people is not apropos.”
Esmerelda laughed. “Your giving him something is quite all right. But I wonder about that art.” She still smiled. “I've never seen your painting, but the way he describes it, it sounds a little frightful. Not sure how the guests will take it if you present it out on the podium.”
“You're right,” Daphine said. “When can we get him aside for a moment?”
“Probably right now, if you like. The guests are eating. Speeches will start soon as his family arrives and have their meal.”
Daphine went to retrieve the painting. In Fredrik's room, he pulled at his shirtsleeves and checked his collar, leaving the neck of his shirt open. Esmerelda's rules about a dress code were lax. It was just too hot. Yet, Fredrik dressed to impress, or maybe, he was thankful to wear something other than a white smock on his birthday, and expensive clothes at that. His eyes gleamed when he saw the masculine gift-wrappings. He knew he was about to receive one of Daphine's art pieces. “I'm already thrilled,” he said, accepting the gift.
He knew by feeling the wrapper to position the face outwards before he tore off the cover. Esmerelda's eyes opened wide when she saw the painting. “Oh, dear!” she said, but held her composure, not to spoil Fredrik's enjoyment of something only he could love.
Fredrik balanced the framed canvas upright on the floor in front of himself, as if hesitating to turn it around to see. When he did, he almost let go of it. “I'm speechless,” he said. He immediately walked to the fireplace, lifted the old painting down, and hung Fleeing Hell. “Now my collection is complete.” His enjoyment was genuine. He hugged Daphine. “Just don't go painting any more irresistible scenes. I don't have any more space.” Then his look became sullen. Wish my family could have come. Can't imagine why their plans changed at the last minute.”
“I'm sure you'll have a chance to get things straight with them, “Esmerelda said, hiding her smile from Fredrik.
If Daphine wanted to get closer to this man, she had just made a giant leap. When she and Sara were alone again, Sara whispered behind her hand, “You want to get married again, Daph?”
“Not sure. Too much like starting over.”
“But why not? Everyone's into recycling.” Sara ducked before Daphine's slap connected with her shoulder.
Fredrik's family arrived. He nearly fainted at seeing them climb out of the car. Once everyone met and got his or her elation and tears under control, Daphine spent time socializing with the sister. It appeared his parents were enthralled with her too. Fredrik introduced Pierce and must have disclosed some of Pierce's history. Fredrik's family huddled in conversation with Daphine and Pierce as if their group were the only people present. The crowd of more than a hundred attendees finally settled down. Sara cornered Esmerelda, which was something she had been trying to do for a while.
“Who was that man wearing the Aloha shirt?”
“Why, that's Huxley Keane,” Esmerelda said, seeming distracted. “From Halsey, Oregon. Old money. World traveler. He's off to Asia again, before their winter sets in.”
That meant Sara would not see him again for weeks, maybe months. She felt a bit of disappointment. “He goes to Asia a lot?”
“He's with a group. Looking for his brother, an MIA in Vietnam.”
The idea struck like lightning. Esmerelda would know of such a group. Maybe Huxley was helping Esmerelda search for her daughter too. They would be searching for any war remains. Sara wanted to ask questions, find out more about Betty, but Esmerelda never once volunteered anything about her daughter. Sara decided not to intrude but said, “That's a huge undertaking,” She again hoped her remarks didn't sound nonchalant. She wished she could master the art of small talk.
“It's quite hectic, I'm sure,” Esmerelda said. “I wish he could meet someone to make his life more pleasurable.”
“He's single?” Sara asked, and then realized her response was too quick, too exaggerated and eager.
Fredrik came up behind and took Esmerelda's elbow. “Speeches are about to begin,” he said.
As she allowed herself to be dragged away, Esmerelda looked back over her shoulders with a curious sparkle in her eyes that Sara couldn't interpret at that moment. Sara felt like she might collapse. Huxley was single and that thought made her heart beat wildly. Until she regained her composure, she watched Esmerelda being congenial with her guests. Watching her joyfully interact was like seeing a rainbow with its vibrant colors, soon realizing there was a double rainbow, even a hint of a third.
The dogs began whining. Sara went to find Daphine. “I'm taking the pups overnight to get them out of Esmerelda's hair.”
“Good luck keeping them at the Alden's.”
“I'll stay in Walnut Grove. Fredrik can take you home, can't he?”