by Mary Deal
“The guys in the car?” Sara asked.
“Guards. They put a lock-out knob on Tripp's door,” Esmerelda said. “They wanted to string that yellow tape everywhere. I told them I would be having some dignitaries over for dinner tomorrow—well, that's today—so they sent two guards instead.” Esmerelda rolled her eyes. “I want to take them a fresh thermos and something to munch.” She smiled tentatively, which only exemplified her nervous state of mind. “Today I celebrate a special Thanksgiving. They'll release Orson's remains soon and his spirit and I will carry on. I'm removing all evidence that Tripp ever crossed our lives.”
Esmerelda shouldn't be left alone. Sara left a message on Pierce's answering machine that she would stay the night at River Hospice. She would be there in time to help him with their Thanksgiving meal.
Sara rose before dawn from little more than an hour of fitful sleep. In the darkness of Esmerelda's spare bedroom, she made yet another pre-dawn call to Linette and Buck to let them know what happened before they heard it exaggerated through the grapevine. Both were on extension phones and screamed about why she had agreed to participate in such a dangerous scheme. Yet, they were jubilant and thankful she had not been hurt and about having caught the maniac. They wanted to drive over if she needed them. “I'll be fine now,” she said. They would read the details in the newspapers and get together as soon as possible. Sara heard Buck say to Linette as he hung up the phone, “That's not the same Sara we grew up with.”
#
Sara had not meant to do anything special on Thanksgiving Day, just watch the celebrations on TV and zone out while preparing the holiday meal.
Pierce continued to write. She did most of the cooking, thankful for his preoccupation. Still numb, her ankle had swelled and a huge blue bruise covered her upper arm and elbow. She intended not to talk on the phone, seeking solace through distraction. Her cell phone rang anyway and she well knew the number that appeared. “What's up Johanna ? Don't you get a day off?”
“Ha! Don't want it with this case. We've waited too long to nail that deranged loony.”
“How's that going?” Sara clicked the mute button on the remote for Pierce's new kitchen TV.
“Hey, this guy's so slippery,” Johanna said. “He could pick locks with his fingernails, if he'd let 'em grow. We've got him really tucked away,” She sounded tired.
“Is Tripp talking?” Not until that moment did Sara wonder if Tripp was actually the confused boy she recognized, or if it was all an act.
“A psychiatrist saw him. They wanna wait till he calms down. He's on suicide watch.”
“Oh, no. Does that mean Tripp will get out of this with an insanity plea?” Sara asked. “Assigned to a hospital and get out in two years?”
“That's not gonna happen,” Johanna said. “He's too much of a danger to society. Besides, detectives got a solid case of premeditation going.”
“You know why he wore night-vision goggles, don't you?”
“No, hadn't put that together. Why?”
“It's on the tape. So he could see in the dark.” Sara obsessed over trying to piece things together. “Johanna, I think he did away with his victims on New Moon nights.”
“On what?”
“When there's a new moon, it's pitch black out. That's why it's called the dark of the moon. Same when he drugged Pierce and me. A new moon yesterday evening too.”
“You're saying on a New Moon night, he'd have less chance of being seen?”
“Exactly, but he could see through night-vision goggles.” Sara had more to say. “If you hear the tape, it sounds like he also helped his mom kill people. That's where he learned about collecting rocks. She was a killer, too, and had her own collection.”
Johanna's silence on the other end meant she was mentally putting the pieces together. “Sara, you gave us clues that broke the case. Guess we oughta' start by checking to see if any of these others went missing on a New Moon night. Dunno if we can get Tripp to admit to that.”
“You know? Him using the goggles says he premeditated everything.”
“Hey,” Johanna said, sounding more upbeat. “I called to remind you to see a doctor about your injuries. You need to get yourself to Sacramento. It's all set up in Emergency. County's paying for it. You can even go today.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Sara said, but she didn't feel she a needed a doctor.
“You at least need to have your head checked,” Johanna said. “He knocked you hard against the floor. You could have a concussion.”
“I'll go if I don't feel better after Thanksgiving,” she said. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“That femur I saw on the gravel bar in Snodgrass Slough. Tripp buried his victims close to water. What if that was one of his?”
“I don't know, Sara. Anything's possible. With the number of rocks you say he collected, many remains may never be found.”
#
Sara had prepared too much food. Turkey meat was too rich for Pierce's digestive system. Instead, they roasted the biggest chicken they could find. Over dinner, Pierce said, “I hope Jade's home for good this time. Daphine needs to know something other than a broken family.”
“She's not seeing Fredrik anymore?” Sara asked.
“She'll never have a lasting relationship unless she can get past her hurtful memories.”
Sara knew what that meant. She, too, hadn't had a relationship in decades. Hers with Huxley could have been a meaningful one but he had not been curious enough to return her call. She had been too impulsive with the realization that she could be in jeopardy. Her fear had hit hard and fast at a most inopportune time. She shook her head, didn't want to think about it. “Maybe Jade can help mend the past.”
Daphine had previously admitting to keeping the two-bedroom place because that's where Jade grew up. “She can't afford that house,” Pierce said. “Her landlord in Locke doubled the store rent. She was ready to abandon the house for a studio apartment in order to keep the store. Then Jade showed up.”
Chapter 66
Sara spent the Friday after Thanksgiving reading and editing portions of Pierce's exciting manuscript. She worked nonstop. The phone rang early that evening. She sighed, tempted to let voice mail pick it up. She didn't know how she would spend the rest of the long weekend, but it wouldn't be chatting on the phone.
Again, she recognized the number displayed. “Esmerelda,” she said. “How are you holding together?”
“I'm just fine.” She really did sound that way. “I know you two had turkey yesterday, but how about coming over and helping me wade through my leftovers.”
“We had chicken. I'm stuffed, really. Haven't eaten like that in years.”
“Oh, please come. All the guests are gone and, well, I could use your company.”
Esmerelda had never asked for much. She was a giver that kept giving even when she hurt. Now she asked for a simple thing like company. “When's dinner?”
“Come now. Come as you are. And wait till you see what's going on over here.”
When Sara pulled onto the hospice property, Esmerelda's words rang in her ears. Numerous cars and vans had parked haphazard. Men and women with badges scurried everywhere. A backhoe worked. The lawns, walkways, and drives were an oozing mess of mud. Yellow banner cordoned off flowerbeds around each structure, with the flowers and small boulders already dug out. Officers with cameras went in and out of Tripp's duplex. Because of the way one of the forensic vans had parked, Sara saw in through the rear doors where a growing heap of sealed brown bags was stacked. Two people came around the backside of the far cottages, one with a sniffer dog, and the other with a metal detector. The entire property crawled with activity like a plague of ravenous grasshoppers. The beauty that Tripp took years to create and maintain was gone.
The hospice's Mexican laborers stood and gawked. Then Sara saw something that almost made her chuckle. Fredrik stood watching through the window in the hospice doorway.
Esme
relda came down her stairs. She wore her denim and boots. “It's time for a new face,” she said.
“A backhoe? They don't think bodies are buried here, do they?”
“No, it was my idea. The investigators think you're right. They told me this was probably where Tripp unloaded any dirt left over from burying people. The dirt, his flowers, everything, I want it all removed. Digging helps the investigation anyway. They might find more rocks related to other burials.” She kept looking around, like the activity excited her immensely.
Sara remembered Tripp's sudden appearances several times when she arrived to load the dog cages. “Esmerelda, this may sound strange, but you should find out why Tripp always appeared from behind your garage.”
Esmerelda didn't seem to understand. “Okay, but let's go indoors before it starts raining again. She kept looking around.
Sara was hungry after all. She had not tasted turkey prepared by Esmerelda. She felt able to enjoy a small meal. She opened the refrigerator expecting to see a half eaten turkey with piles of containers with all the trimmings and saw nothing. Not even a sliver of pie sat under cover on the counter. “Oh,” she said, looking up, embarrassed. “Dinner is over at the facility. I should have known.”
“I'm on my way to get it.”
“I'll go with you.”
“Nonsense. Make some juice or get the drinks ready. Ice, whatever.” She disappeared out the door before Sara could object.
Sara looked into the refrigerator for juice mixings and saw nothing, not even sodas, not even inside the freezer. Esmerelda was surely confused by the excitement outside.
Sara looked up and realized that she was standing at the same window, looking out over the same levee, and remembered seeing a sedan slow down and turn into the property. She had made juice on that occasion. She remembered carrying it out to the deck and nearly running into the arms of the man with the wildest blue-topaz eyes.
Come as you are, Esmerelda had said over the phone back then. That evening she danced in sneakers. Come as you are, Esmerelda had said but an hour ago. Now she wore boots, but there would be no dancing, not for a long, long time. Sara put her hand over the cell phone attached to her waistband and stared into the sink. “No juice today,” she said. “No Huxley either.” Her voice cracked. She sighed and wondered how she might call him. She felt like such a fool.
Suddenly, she yanked the phone from her waistband and punched in Huxley's number. The only way she would be a fool is if she couldn't apologize. Surprisingly, for being as busy as he always was. his phone was turned off, but then it was a holiday weekend. Her call transferred to voice mail. She wasn't prepared for that. Now she had to leave her message into empty space.
“Huxley,” she said, faltering. Once she said his name, she had to continue. “I made a big mistake. I'm sure I did. If you knew the whole story, you'd understand, but I don't expect to hear from you again. I just want to apologize for any hurt I may have caused you.” She thumped the phone to end the call and stood perspiring and feeling clammy. The call had to be made. She owed him that much. She simply stood, looking out the window through bleary eyes.
The door opened and closed again. Spry old Esmerelda had made a quick trip. Sara heard footsteps behind her and quickly wiped her eyes.
“Sara,” a male voice said as if needing to be cautious. “Can we try again?”
Sara gasped, spun around, and saw his pleading sad eyes and sallow worried look. She threw herself into Huxley's arms. “Yes!” she said, breathlessly, as her body melted against him.
He wrapped both arms around her. They kissed, one long endearing kiss, to seal the moment forever. Tears ran down her cheeks and wet his face as well.
He held her as tight as breathing would allow. “I couldn't call you back,” he said, whispering, like he was sorry. “Thought maybe you only wanted a sometime relationship, and I didn't want to be anyone's toy.”
“Then how did you—?”
“I called Esme yesterday morning to wish her Happy Thanksgiving before I left for Oregon. She asked about you and me. I sort of told her it wasn't working with us.”
“But you didn't go home to be with your family.”
He pulled back to see her face. “I couldn't, not after hearing what you'd been through.”
“I'm so sorry. I was—”
“You were scared, didn't know much about me. It was Esme who pieced it together.” They still clung together. “You remember what I said that night about not letting you get away?”
“I remember every moment, every word, and every sorrow since,” she said. “You said 'I'm not letting you get away now' and that spooked me so badly.”
He gently clutched the hair at the back of her head. “I didn't mean to frighten you.” He drew in a breath and stared deep into her eyes. “I'm not letting you get away this time, Sara. I don't care what it takes.” They clung tighter still, couldn't get enough of each other.
“We'll have lots of time now,” she said into his shoulder again.
“I knew from the day I first saw you in Sacramento. You're the one.” His voice quivered, choked with hope and relief. “And then it ended so abruptly that night.”
She pulled back and studied his face. Tears ran from his eyes and he wasn't ashamed. She kissed his eyes and tasted his tears. Huxley was serious, the way she wanted things to be between them.
The front door opened and closed.
“Here, you two,” Esmerelda said. They pulled apart slightly. Esmerelda offered bags of food in plastic containers. “This'll hold you over for a while. Hide somewhere and don't come out till the dust settles.”
Sara needed to express her heartfelt thanks. “Esmerelda….”
“Go, girl,” Esmerelda said, nodding toward the door. “Get outa' here.”
Chapter 67
After more than a week of intense teamwork, Talbot House stood poised to admit the world. The new banister spindles arrived in the nick of time. The railing that gave way when Sara fell merely pulled out of the wall. It was easily secured.
Huxley had stayed. “I'm as much a part of this as you are,” he said when Sara playfully accused him of wanting to be the boss. Their love and lovemaking nourished them.
He looked better than ever. His dark blue slacks and sports jacket set off a blue-green shirt left open at the throat. His looked Gucci all the way down to his shoes, but Sara wasn't sure about the loafers without socks, especially in cool weather. She wore stilettos and a red midi-length silk dress that Esmerelda helped pick out during one of their shopping sprees.
Esmerelda's chandeliers sparkled like stars from heaven. In the parlor, the tall Christmas tree, weighted down under myriad decorations, competed for attention. Pine branches scented the air throughout the floors. Decorated professionally, the house stood readied for the first OTF social. It hadn't rained for a week. The strong late afternoon sun beamed through the bird and floral stained glass windows and made them twinkle.
Beni Noa, wearing a beautiful new Aloha shirt and black slacks, kept the fireplace burning in the sitting room. Pierce came early with Daphine. He stoked the fireplace with Beni, glad to be helpful with the party in any way possible. He had an abundance of determination and mixed well in crowds. Sara wasn't concerned about him feeling left out.
“Our two detective board members are out by the gazebo,” Huxley said.
“And Esmerelda's attorney… uh, our attorney, just went to freshen her face,” Sara said.
Out at the gazebo, the blue, white, and gold OTF logo flag waved below the Stars and Stripes and the California Bear.
A three-piece chamber ensemble entertained from the windowed alcove of the sitting room. Comfortable chairs waited everywhere. Tantalizing odors of Zoki's oriental foods drifted through the house. Tiny eating tables and chairs waited throughout the first floor. With his food, people could eat a casual but full dinner while they sat, stood, or wandered the grounds. Guests could walk through the rooms anywhere they wished, from the basement to the attic. T
he kitchen, dining room, and master bedroom were the only rooms containing permanent furniture, and sparse at that.
Sara was sure that Huxley instigated Daphine's offer for a silent auction of some of her numerous art pieces.
“It's awful what Jade did to her,” he said.
Daphine neurotically made last minute switches of some art pieces from one room to another. She motioned for Pierce to stand back and check that each picture hung evenly. Her attire was fairly casual; a dressy floral capri with matching top. Something about the way Daphine presented herself labeled her as an artist secure in her image.
“Jade came home only to convince herself that she did the right thing by staying in China,” Sara said. “The least she could have done was send a complimentary wedding announcement before the big event.”
Huxley shook his head. “And not come home after the fact and leave again without so much as a hug and a kiss.”
Sara hurt for Daphine, who once again, smothered her feelings behind the busyness of her creativity.
Framed art pieces hung throughout the first floor. Tiny tables standing beneath each held bid sheets, free self-adhesive OTF logo decals, and OTF mission statements.
“Daphine's magnificent art should have been known around the world by now,” Sara said. “She lacked the funds to promote herself.”
Sara's cell phone rang. Her business manager sounded overly excited. “Why haven't you sent back the contract?” he asked. He was home-based in New York, the better of two referrals her Caribbean bank manager recommended. He had flown to Puerto Rico to meet her.
“Contract? What contract?”
“Sara, the company's buying your two kids' games. They also want to sign you on as a game designer.”
“Me? Oh my… oh my!” She took Huxley's hand to steady herself.
“Soon as you send that contract back,” her manager said, “there'll be a whopping check coming your way.”
“Already?” Sara asked. “I'm in the middle of a big event.”
“I can hear some of it in the background.”