Bettina shook her head as she packed the pile of clothes into the suitcase. “I doubt that would happen. You’re too clever at getting people to talk to you.”
“Stubborn is more like it. Anyway, this case intrigues me.”
“I have to admit I’m curious to know more about him myself,” Bettina said as she folded a pink sweater. “He sounds interesting.”
Margo turned from the window and watched her mother pack her case. It always amazed her how young the sixty-five-year-old woman managed to look. Margo shared her youthful glow as well as her dark hair and brown eyes. But that was where the similarities in appearance between mother and daughter ended.
Bettina dressed in the latest fashion, had coiffed hair and manicured nails. Margo supposed that sense of style was due to her mother’s Paris upbringing and her continual efforts to Americanize herself after coming as a newlywed to the United States in the 1950s.
Margo never dressed poorly. In fact the price tags of her wardrobe rivaled her mother’s. But she frequented the boutiques that featured the unconventional. She liked unique designs and splashy colors. The natural fabrics ranged from silks to cottons to llama wool. Margo wore no polyesters or nylons.
Mother and daughter, often a study in opposites, were tied by close bonds. They were partners. They’d gone to university together. Trained at different facilities and starting out in different areas, they finally had a practice of their own – Devaull-Devaull. Margo knew Bettina shared her need to help people, and for the same reason. Neither woman wanted to see another person suffer like Margo’s father had.
Margo stretched, pointing her toes and reaching above her head. The action released some of the stress of the long day. She should get up and help her mother, but she didn’t. Bettina enjoyed the task and Margo hated to pack. They’d come to an agreement years ago about letting one do things for the other. Bettina provided a semblance of organization to Margo’s bohemian life-style. Margo provided an outlet for her mother’s troubled soul.
It had always been that way. Ever since she could remember, Margo had been the one who’d had the strength to face her father’s disfigurement, his depression, and ultimately his suicide. Bettina had been too riddled with fear and guilt. Bettina’s confidence developed after Margo had convinced her to attend school and join her in working as a psychologist.
Bettina’s soft voice filtered into Margo’s contemplation. She still had a slight French accent, but in the evening, when she was tired, Margo could hear the traces of it.
“Pardon, maman. I didn’t hear you.”
Bettina smiled and repeated her question. “Did you find out any more information from the V.A.?”
“Not much. His record’s clean and straightforward. His debriefing was standard. No unusual behavior noted. Won a bronze star for bravery and a silver star for saving lives. Nothing to indicate a problem.”
“He’s never been treated by the psychiatric ward at the V.A.?”
“No. Not in private practice either. He came out of the service and went to Stanford to finish his degree in biology. After that, straight into the family business, where he headed the operation after his father died.” Margo tapped her knee as she mentally ticked off the preliminary facts. “He was fine until last fall when he went on vacation and never came back.”
“He’s in his early forties and unmarried. Could be a mid-life crisis.”
Thirty-five and sensitive about the term mid-life crisis herself, Margo considered the possibility. “I’ll keep it in mind. Vinnie suspects his retreat into isolation has something to do with his years in Vietnam. He was shot down in enemy territory.”
“Was he captured – a prisoner?”
Margo saw the flicker of pain flash through her mother’s eyes. It always came when the word prisoner was mentioned. Her husband, a young captain in the Air Force, had been shot down in North Korea, and for two years Bettina hadn’t known if he was alive or dead.
“No. But he was a gunner on a transport helicopter.”
“High-risk position. He saw a lot of combat.”
“Which puts him on the top of the list for posttraumatic stress disorder. Could be he’s having a delayed reaction.”
“You’ll know if he does. You’ve had enough experience in that field.”
“Vinnie Zanelli heard about my work on the CBS News Special last month on the V.A. Fred evidently mentioned my name.”
“I’m not surprised. You know he wants you back at the center.”
Margo nodded.
Bettina folded the last item of clothing and sat on the edge of the water bed. “It’s strange that he won’t allow his mother or friends near. Any ideas about what that could mean?”
“No. Do you?” Margo watched her mother pause to think for a moment. The woman had remarkable intuition.
“I’ll need more input. But I’m sure you’ll be able to help him.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Margo smiled to herself. Her mother thought every accomplishment of Margo’s was outstanding, even if it was only minor. Mothers like that were great for the morale. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep now? I’m leaving early in the morning.”
“Drive carefully and take care.” Bettina stood and walked over to her daughter to place a kiss on her forehead.
“You relax while I’m gone. I don’t want to see that you’ve been to the office.”
Bettina smiled.
Margo shook her head. Her mother was the stabilizing force in their partnership. Both women had the nurturing warmth that encouraged many of their patients to open up and respond. Margo had the determined drive. They made a good team. But Bettina worked too hard. Maybe someday, she hoped, her mother would be able to let go of the past and find additional purpose in her life.
***
It was mid-morning by the time Margo reached Fort Bragg. The drive had been uneventful and the scenery beautiful. The last time Margo had been up in redwood country was when she’d been a student at the University of California at Berkeley ten years earlier, going for picnics on the coast. Nothing had changed.
The giant redwoods stood like sentinels guarding the forest. Moss hung from trees, and ferns covered the forest floor. On the coast, the fog drifted in and out of the thick groves, creating a fairyland of misty magic.
Margo checked into the inn only to find a disappointing message from Vinnie Zanelli. Emergency in Portland. Keys to Bronco and map enclosed. Supplies for Zane in back. Go on up. Will meet you back here Sunday morning.
Margo glanced from the note to the clerk. “Do you know anything about this? Did Mr. Zanelli explain?”
“He checked in yesterday afternoon and then chartered a plan after he’d been here an hour. Said to give you this note.”
Margo thanked the clerk and went to her room to unpack and change. After putting on the purple jeans and pink sweater, she sat down on the bed.
She should wait until Vinnie returned, but the idea of wasting a whole day bothered her. Already, in only one hour, she was edgy and restless, picturing the piles of folders on her desk that she should have brought with her.
Why waste this time? She could do as Vinnie suggested and drive out there. She could introduce herself, get acquainted. Besides, Zane was expecting them today. He might worry if no one showed up. Furthermore, she might get a better reaction alone. She’d definitely have more freedom to confront the man without his brother causing inhibited responses.
Margo walked downstairs to eat lunch. It might be a while before she returned for dinner. She entered the restaurant, sat down, and looked at the selection of “oldies but goodies” music in the jukebox on her table. One of her favorite songs, “Forever Friends,” began to play from another table and she hummed along while she waited for her order.
There were several people in the restaurant. With their long hair and casual attire, she guessed them to be locals. Margo felt as if she’d stepped back in time to the early seventies. She’d noticed the feeling earlier wh
ile driving north through the small resort towns in the redwoods. It was as if the Pacific Northwest had locked into that time frame and stayed. Maybe Zane had come here to do that – step back in time.
After she finished her salmon omelet, she found the clerk at the desk. “Can you tell me how to find this road?” she asked, pointing to the map Vinnie had drawn for her.
The clerk was close to Margo’s thirty-five years, but, unlike Margo, she was slightly overweight. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that had seen better days, no makeup and straight hair, she looked as if she spent a great deal of time outdoors.
Margo didn’t fail to notice that the woman had, in a few seconds, inspected every piece of Margo’s clothing, eyeing her with the curiosity of a gossip.
For a brief moment Margo wondered what it was like living here. Would she look so casual and earthy living on the retreat she wanted to develop? She’d miss the opera, the restaurants, and the hum of the city here, no doubt.
The clerk looked up with sudden concern in her eyes. “This is the Zanelli place, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. I need directions to the turnoff for their property.”
Disbelief registered in her face. “You’re going there?”
“I plan to drive out this afternoon. I can make it to the place and back, can’t I?” At least she knew that mountain roads, especially unpaved tracks, could be slow. But she’d hoped it could be done in an afternoon.
The young woman leaned over to peer around Margo and out the door where the Bronco was parked. “You alone?”
“Yes.” Margo shifted, impatient now with the delay. If the road was bad she needed to get started. “Can you give me some directions, like any landmarks to look for so I’ll be sure and turn on the right road?”
“I wouldn’t go. We used to go to the beach on that property. But no more.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” Margo studied the apprehensive look in the woman’s eye.
“There’s a man lives there. They say he’s a Zanelli, but I don’t know how he could be one of them.”
Margo didn’t say anything, but quirked her brow as she waited for the rest of the information she knew was coming.
“The Zanellis are rich. Live in Frisco. But that dude out there’s strange.”
“What do you mean?”
“He came into town once. He acted real weird.”
“You mean he ties one on? Parties?”
“I wish that was all it was.” The clerk shook her head and pointed to the restaurant Margo had just eaten in. “He was in there having a hamburger. Then all of a sudden he jumps up, grabs a chair, and smashes it over the jukebox. Luckily my boys were here. They scared him off.”
“Did you press charges?”
“Naw. He paid for the damage. It only broke the chair.”
“Was he drunk? On drugs?” Many of the vets she treated had bouts of violence and often they were induced by an overdose of alcohol or drugs.
“He was straight as I am now.” The woman held up her hand as if swearing to the truth. “That’s what makes it so creepy. The look in his eyes was enough to send you to your grave.”
“Did he hurt anyone?”
“No. Thank goodness. There weren’t any other customers.”
“Does he do this often?” This was something Vinnie hadn’t mentioned when he’d discussed his brother. According to Vinnie, Zane was disturbed but peaceful.
“Just the one time he came to town.”
Margo stuffed the map into her purse and frowned. “You mean he’s only come to Fort Bragg once? Maybe he’s gone to other restaurants.”
“Everybody knows who he is,” she insisted. “We’re a small town and we watch out for each other. We don’t want no crazies around here.”
Margo could understand, but this news left her in a quandary. Maybe she shouldn’t go see Zane alone. Then again, this woman could be exaggerating. Stories of unusual events, especially if they involved strangers, were always blown out of proportion. Maybe they weren’t referring to the same person. Quickly Margo rummaged through her purse and found the photos Vinnie had given her.
“Is this the man you’re talking about?”
The woman studied the photos for a minute and handed them back. “That’s him all right.”
She shifted to glance around the room before leaning close to Margo. “That’s another thing about him. He seems all right – good looking in fact. But I sense he’s dangerous. You watch out for him.”
Perhaps she should wait until tomorrow to go. On the other hand, Vinnie surely wouldn’t have suggested she go alone if he thought there’d be a problem.
Margo discarded the notion. The woman was enjoying the tale far too much. Excitement glittered in her eyes. Small communities often found a need for someone to project their forbidden impulses onto. An outsider, a man to be feared, yet needed. She thought of the book by Faulkner she’d just read and smiled. Exaggeration. That’s all it was.
“I have to go out there. I have a load of supplies that need to be delivered.”
The clerk shook her head. “You’re making a mistake, lady.”
“Look. When I come back this afternoon, I’ll check in with you. If you don’t hear from me by nightfall, you call the sheriff.”
“Sure will.”
Margo thanked her and headed outside. She unlocked the Bronco and climbed behind the wheel. About to stuff the photos inside her purse, Margo paused instead to take another look. The first picture showed Vinnie looking at his brother, admiration on his face. His brother, tall and dark-haired, was staring directly at the camera. Margo could almost feel the laughter coming from those blue eyes. The woman at the inn was right about one thing. He was good looking.
She slid the second photo from under the first. Vinnie’s brother stared at her again and the difference was shocking. There was still that charm, but it was coupled with an air of danger. Dressed in Marine Corps fatigues, he slouched against the nose of the helicopter. His eyes looked haunted and there were lines etched in the tanned skin. War did that to a man. Hadn’t her father…?
Margo closed her mind to the memory and quickly shoved the photos into her bag. She didn’t want to think of her father and she didn’t want to think of any problems in meeting Zane. It would all work out.
The engine roared to life as Margo set the gears and headed north.
Chapter 2
The high heels of Margo’s boots echoed as she walked across the uneven planks of the porch. She knocked.
Nothing happened.
She listened for sounds within the rustic A-frame cabin.
“Anybody home?”
No answer.
Where was Zanelli? Vinnie had assured her that he’d told his brother they were coming. She turned and scanned the edge of the woods. An eerie silence settled around her. Odd shapes took form in the dark shadows of the redwood forest. Margo shook off the uneasiness and tamped her growing irritation. She wasn’t going to be able to interview Zane if she couldn’t find him.
Suddenly, a shrill cry cut through the stillness. Margo stiffened. The cry echoed again and chills raced down her spine. It sounded like an animal in pain. She’d never heard the sound before but sensed it with bloodcurdling certainty. It came from the rear of the cabin.
Margo tore down the porch steps and rounded the corner of the building. As she neared the back of the cabin, she noticed there were several other buildings. One looked like a barn and the other two apparently were sheds. She ran around the last corner and heard a scuffling noise. When a large bulk loomed in front of her, she skidded to a stop and froze.
She stared, wide-eyed and alert.
A tall man stood looking at her. Blood dripped from the knife he held poised over the fawn in his arms. There was dried blood on his beard, his sleeveless T-shirt, and tattered jeans.
Was it Zane?
She knew the tales of war – how men had become crazed killers. She’d brought many veterans through their nightmares with the
rapy, but she’d never witnessed the act. Was Vinnie really aware of what was going on up here? Her stomach clenched. She braced herself for fight or flight.
His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear his words. The fawn struggled and the man’s muscles flexed to still the movement. Then she heard words, quiet but urgent.
“Get over here quick. She’s hurt.”
It took seconds for Margo’s body to function. Warily, she walked toward the man. His arms tightened around the struggling deer. The blood that squirted on Margo brought her to her senses. “How can I help?” she asked as her control slipped in place.
“There’s nylon thread cutting into her leg.” His voice was calm and direct. His glance was assessing, yet slightly hostile. Did he realize what she’d been thinking? “Can you cut it loose while I hold her still?”
Margo saw where nylon fishing line had tangled around the limb. Quickly she grabbed the knife held out to her. He knelt on the grass. She followed. Her fingers touched the warm flesh of the injured animal and Margo geared into action.
“Hold her now while I get the point under this knot,” she ordered. “Steady.” She carefully cut the tangled mess. It broke free. “I think I’ve got it,” she told him.
“Feel along her leg. There could be more.”
She burrowed her fingers into the soft skin. The fawn jerked. The man tightened his hold.
“I found another. It’s caught up higher.” She looked into his eyes and saw not only concern, but also control. Injured limbs and blood were obviously not new to him. “Let me see if I can get my fingers under it before I use the knife. That way I won’t cut her again.”
“She’s not cut from the knife. The line blocked off her circulation. She was trying to chew it off.”
That explained the ragged edges of the injury. Margo’s heart contracted. She hated to see any living creature suffer. “How did it happen?”
“No doubt some fisherman left this in the stream.” Disgust edged his tone. The deer moved and he changed his voice to a soothing murmur that even Margo responded to. “The fawn probably went for a drink and got tangled in it. She must’ve fled or tried to free herself. The movement tied the knots tighter.”
Love's Miracles Page 2