“And?”
“I’m telling you one thing.” Corey leaned forward. His eyes fairly burned into Jason’s. “I am never. Ever. Going to speak to that woman.”
And with that, he brushed past without another word.
Jason watched as Corey got into his car and rumbled down the long gravel driveway to the road. The tires squealed as he took the turn onto the asphalt with speed. As if to get away from the Summer family property as quickly as possible.
# # #
“That went well,” Sonja said dryly.
“It works both ways,” Jason said reproachfully, “I wish you’d tell me—”
“Babe, the subject is closed. Okay?”
Jason closed his eyes and counted to ten. He pulled out his desk chair and sat down in front of the Underwood. “Okay. I’ll drop it. But if you would...”
“Yes?”
“I really would like to hear your ideas on getting me out of the corner I painted myself into here.”
Sonja’s dark expression dissolved in an instant. Smiling, she slipped onto Jason’s lap with a contented sigh. “How am I supposed to stay angry around you?”
“I hope you never figure out a way.” He drew her in close.
“Well…you did say that Leetah couldn’t retreat, surrender, or run away. So she attacks. I don’t have magic or live in a world full of talking wolves and unicorns. But that’s what I’d do.”
“I suppose the whole ‘attacking would be suicide’ thing doesn’t faze you?”
“Well, if there’s no hope, sure. But there’s usually a loophole you can work in here just for Leetah. Make your war story up-close and personal.”
“I like that idea,” Jason said, taking full advantage of his position to let his eyes roam along and down Sonja’s cleavage. He nuzzled the nape of her neck. Her skin felt smooth and warm under his lips.
“Come on now, Jason,” she chided him. “Use the big head for a moment longer. Who’s attacking?”
“Told you, the Emperor’s mercenary troops.”
“Who are usually led by the Emperor’s right-hand minion of evil, Domo-Major John. And doesn’t old Deejay have a serious crush on Leetah?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t say he was leading the mercs in the last chapter.”
“I didn’t see anything saying he wasn’t, either.”
Jason sat up straight.
“You’re right, I didn’t. And if Deejay takes her prisoner in order to win her over to him…” He blinked and looked at her. “Then that takes the story in a whole other direction. Damn, why didn’t I think of it?”
“Sometimes a slightly different perspective is all it takes,” Sonja said, as she got up from his lap.
She primly straightened her blouse and walked through the arched entryway. As she did so, she patted the motto that had been hand-painted at the apex.
Together We Can Do Anything.
“Truer words have rarely been spoken,” Jason said, smiling.
He loaded a blank piece of paper into the Underwood’s carriage, and then started to type. The story took shape again. And the words flowed.
Chapter Four
“Damned fitness harpy.” Jason mumbled, between gasps.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“To the top of the rise,” Sonja said, with a glance over her shoulder.
Jason said nothing but focused on trying not to gasp through his mouth. He had to lengthen his step to keep the trim backside of her white sports bra and black spandex shorts in view. When Sonja reached the summit, she stopped to pull a water bottle from her fanny pack. She unscrewed the top, poured a swallow’s worth into her mouth, and then handed the bottle to Jason.
“Two long sips at most,” she said. Jason nodded as he took his drink. He leaned back against a nearby fence post. She eyed him speculatively. “Not bad. Another couple of months and we’ll get you fully into shape.”
“You do realize that ‘round’ is a shape, right?”
Sonja caught herself grinning. “Oh, stop it. You’re not fat, Jason. You just don’t want to inflate the spare tire any if you can avoid it.”
“Good. Improves my chances at nabbing the part of Ichabod Crane at the Napa Valley playhouse,” Jason replied, with his short bark of a laugh. He handed the bottle back. “Tell me something. What’s a gorgeous woman like you doing with an out-of-shape keyboard jockey like me? Just because I have a beautiful mind?”
“Afraid so. It’s the kind of mind that I’m not going to be leaving anytime soon.” Sonja smiled, ruffled his hair, and then leaned up next to him. “Look at that. Fog’s lifting. Going to be a sunny day after all.”
They watched in silence as the mist cleared, a lacy white stage curtain that dissolved away. The moist brown earth of the unpaved road that ran along the boundaries of the property was unveiled first. The lush greens of the grapevines appeared out of the fog next, neatly arranged in long, swooping lines that led down the slope from the ridge top.
Then, emerging like the mast of a proud ship, was the tower-style turret that formed the corner of Jason Summer’s white and green Victorian. He could just make out the wooden latticework of the porches that wrapped around the outside of his house and the reflecting flash of the bay window. Behind the structure, separated by swathes of lawn and a wide gravel driveway, was a second, larger dwelling. Corey’s car sat parked in the second house’s shadow.
“Have to ask him how that case went the other day,” Jason said, stretching his legs. Sonja followed suit as he added, “He must be checking on Mom. I kind of wish that you’d try to meet her again. She’s not nearly as pig-headed as Corey. I think she’d like you.”
Sonja sighed. “Jason, I brought some chocolate chip cookies over to her last Tuesday, when you went into town. Thought that I could make a good impression if I brought a gift. You know what she asked me?”
“What was that?”
“Which troop of Girl Scouts I was selling for.” Sonja shook her head. “And she couldn’t remember my name only a few seconds after that. I’m sorry, Jason. But her mind is getting worse. It scared me a little.”
“I’m sorry too,” Jason replied. They moved away from the fence and began the long trek down to the houses. “You know I’d never put you in an awkward situation if I could help it. Only in Corey’s case…we’ve always treated each other’s place like common ground. We’ve hardly ever fought over anything.”
“Hardly ever. Until I showed up.” Sonja blew out a breath and picked up the pace to a jog. Jason followed suit.
“Don’t sweat it. Corey will just have to learn to accept you as part of my life. He’ll come around, I know it. Now, if you would just consider trying to speak to—”
“Hold up.” Sonja said, as they rounded the second turn on the way down.
The morning mist and the vineyard’s sprinklers had turned a section of the dirt road into mud. Brown slush had been spread out and churned up by a couple different sets of wheels.
One set of tracks was wide, and relatively shallow. A second was narrow, curving back upon itself. Where the curve bent around, the track was punctuated with four deep rectangular stamps in the earth. A lighter track moved away and back down the slope.
“What is it?” Jason asked.
“Something’s funny here.” Sonja frowned and looked more carefully at the tracks. “This farm road runs between your place and the winery next door.”
“It’s ‘our’ place, babe. But yeah, you really can’t get here from our driveway. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve never seen these smaller tracks. The Ayres only send their ranch hands out here to maintain and prune the vines. And they only come out here on a Dualie. You know, a pickup truck with dual rear wheels.”
“I know what a Dualie is,” Jason interjected. “You’re right, these other tracks were obviously made by a car.”
“Not a good choice of vehicle out here. Easy to get stuck in the mud.”
“That
’s for sure.” Jason walked over to the thinner tracks and followed them to the deep indentations. “The car turned here and then parked for a while, where these depressions are. But why would you want to bring a car along this road, unless you were—”
His voice died in his throat. Jason stood amidst the set of depressions. Right where the car’s driver would have been sitting. The vantage point was set between an opening in the hedges and valley scrub oaks. It had a perfect view through the windows of the houses below.
Jason felt the skin on his arms ripple into goose bumps.
“Someone’s been watching us,” he said quietly. “I wonder for how long.”
“At least a couple hours. Maybe several hours.” Sonja kicked at a thick, wet tuft of grass to Jason’s left. A pile of cigarette butts tumbled out. “I doubt the Ayre hands all smoke the same brand. Or throw them in the exact same spot.”
“Come on,” Jason said. They set off again at a brisk walk. He rubbed the sides of his arms briskly, trying to will his goose bumps to go down. “This is getting pretty fecking creepy.”
“Fecking? Is that a word you just made up for your books?”
“It’s in the latest email from Muriel, our melancholy Melusine. She said, ‘I don’t know what a fecking 911 is.’ And that has me wondering.”
“Yes, like who in this country doesn’t know that 911 is a phone number.”
“More than that. I’m wondering if her messages are connected to what we just saw back at the last turn.”
Sonja gave him a curious glance. “Both events are a little strange. But I thought we agreed that Muriel could be some loser screwing around on a keyboard somewhere. Those car tracks could be completely unrelated.”
The sound of an automobile coming their way made them pause. The car’s engine made a droning hum like a giant wasp. They exchanged startled glances when they heard the crunch of gravel. The engine came to a stop, and there was a distant chuff of a car door slamming.
“Gravel driveway,” Sonja said. “Someone’s just pulled up to visit your brother’s place. Or yours.”
They rounded the last bend in the farm road. A black sedan sat parked in front of Jason’s porch, not more than a dozen paces from the screen door. The car was some obscure European model, with sharply sloped fenders and an empty, hearse-like cabin. Hanging from the fenders by pairs of polished iron bolts were sets of government plates.
Sonja put her hand on Jason’s arm. “Wait a minute. Don’t go in there. I don’t like this.”
Jason looked at her, startled. Her expression was frozen in fear. Then he heard the sound of voices from inside. His eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Sonja, whoever it is, they’re in my house. Our house. And that ticks me right off.”
He pulled free of Sonja’s grasp. She grimaced and followed in his wake. He threw the door open and turned towards his study.
“Hey, there,” Corey said, “I thought you’d be back soon.”
Jason blinked. His brother stood by one of the bookshelves. A thin, balding man wearing a neatly pressed overcoat sat in Jason’s writing chair.
The pale, skeletal fingers of one of the man’s hands drummed on the desk next to the computer keyboard. The other curled around a silver knob welded to the end of a stout walking stick. The man looked intently at the Mac’s screen.
“Yeah, I’m back,” Jason said, nodding in the stranger’s direction. “And who’s this?”
The man’s coal-black eyes swiveled and looked Jason Summer over like an entomologist appraising a bug pinned under glass. When he spoke, his words were trimmed at the edges with a crisp German accent.
“Mister Summer, I am Henrik Rascher. I am here on behalf of the state government, and…shall we say, other ‘interested parties’.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“If you so choose.”
“What do you want?” Jason’s voice was curt.
“I want you to talk to me, Mister Summer,” Rascher said. A grim smile revealed large, yellowed teeth. “You are going to tell me everything I want to know. Everything, that is, about who you’ve been communicating with.”
Chapter Five
“What are you saying?” Jason asked, with a chill tone in his voice. “I'm in touch with someone I shouldn’t be talking to, is that it?”
“Delicately put, Mr. Summer,” came the reply. Rascher ran a palm across the top of the monitor and idly looked at his dusty fingertips. “Frankly, just the fact that you are communicating with this person in such detail is startling. I believe that the situation requires more study before we take any sort of action.”
Jason took a couple steps into the study. “Well, I believe something, too.”
“What would that be?”
“I believe that you’re sitting in my chair.”
Rascher raised an eyebrow. He grasped the silver handle of his walking stick and haltingly got up. He hobbled over to stand by Jason’s brother, and then gestured with a sweep of one bony hand.
“It is yours again, Mister Summer. I would hate to make you think that you were constrained in any way.”
Jason scowled at that. Sonja put a hand to his shoulder. He shrugged it off and walked over to the vacant chair.
Pointedly, he switched the monitor off. Rascher arched an eyebrow, and then pulled a miniature notepad from inside his overcoat pocket. He uncapped a pen and began to scribble in earnest.
“Jason Summer,” Rascher began, consulting some notes written on the inside cover of his book. “Younger brother to Corey Summer by four years. Father passed on fifteen years ago last month. Cremated and interred on the family grounds, which includes two houses, a freshwater well, and sixteen acres of prime grape-growing acreage here in the Napa Valley. Between this, your brother’s work as an attorney and your success writing books, it seems that you were birthed under a lucky star, no?”
“We inherited Dad’s land,” Jason acknowledged, “plus a pile of unpaid debts we keep at bay by leasing the land to the Ayre’s winery. And if you know all this about us, you must know that our mother is in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s. So it’s not like we’re cruising along easy street.”
“Easy street!” Rascher laughed. “That is part of what I love about America. Everyone has such creative sayings. I like it. Almost as much as ‘putting your money where your mouth should be’.”
“Oh, this fellow is a barrel of laughs,” Sonja said flatly.
Jason scowled.
“Then how about this Americanism: Cut to the chase. You didn’t come here to talk about my family. You came because of me.”
“True, true. Well, Mr. Summer, it is hard to know where to ‘cut’ to, in your case. You have an interesting past. I wish I were as much a wunderkind as you when I was younger. Though you appear to have used your knowledge in some, how to say it — ‘checkered’ ways. Vandalism and auto theft, for starters.”
“My juvenile records are sealed. Good luck using them for anything official.”
“Undergraduate at Harvey Mudd University, immediate acceptance afterwards to graduate school at Caltech,” Rascher continued, without missing a beat. “Pursuing your doctorate in Physics. But you never finished your degree. Would you care to talk about why?”
“I had…” Jason hesitated. He chose his words slowly, carefully. “I had a breakdown. Due to stress. I was in the hospital for a while. I’d always wanted to write, but after a little brush with mortality, I figured that I’d better get cracking or I’d lose my chance. Sonja and I decided to come back here so I could do that.”
“Yes, I was going to ask about that next.” Rascher said. He focused on his little book, continuing to write notes. “First name of ‘Sonia’ has an odd spelling to it. It has a ‘J’ in it, no? And why the last name of ‘Leetah’?”
“Your turn under the hot lights, babe,” Jason said to Sonja.
Corey traded the quickest of glances with Rascher.
“Yes, it’s spelled with a ‘J’,” Sonja said frostily. “
My family is Czech. That’s why it’s spelled that way. And my last name is Leto. Jason based ‘Leetah’ off of it for the title character in Mage of the Rose.”
Rascher raised his gaze and said nothing for a second or two. His eyes roamed up and down, and then the corner of his mouth quirked upward in a kind of grin. Sonja crossed her arm protectively over her sports bra to cover her breasts.
Jason leaned forward and snapped his fingers loudly.
“Hey, pal. Eyes off my girlfriend. Go be a letch somewhere else.”
Rascher’s bushy eyebrows knitted together in a scowl. He went back to furiously scribbling in his notebook.
“This is all very fascinating,” Sonja said, “but it’s not making me feel very comfortable. I’ll be in the tower room when you’re done.”
“Shouldn’t be long. See you upstairs in a bit,” Jason said. Sonja nodded, though she didn’t turn around as she exited the room. She felt for the banister with one hand and then took the stairs up. Rascher gazed at the stairway, a carefully bland expression on his face, until Jason added, “And it had better not be long.”
“I have not gotten to half the questions that I need you to answer,” Rascher objected. “So perhaps it is good that you are comfortable in that seat, since it is imperative that you tell me what I want.”
“Guess it is a good thing,” Jason said. Under his breath, he added, “Whatever you say. Jawohl, mein Führer.”
Rascher shut his notebook with a snap.
“I do not think you understand the gravity of the situation you are in, Mister Summer,” Rascher said sharply, “I am here only by special request. Let me make myself perfectly clear: Given who you have been talking to recently, your freedom is at stake.”
“Then I guess I need to be clear, too. Maybe you can make Sonja uncomfortable enough to leave, but that kind of shit doesn’t work on me.”
“Yes, about Sonja,” Rascher said, watching Jason closely, “you and she appear to be very close. Would you be concerned if…heaven forbid…something should happen to her?”
I Got Some Bad Muse For You Page 5