The Iron Ring

by Matty Dalrymple

  “Yes, that sounds nice. Can you bring me some tea as well?”

  “Yes,” she said, putting on the kettle.

  Owen went to the living room and picked up an old copy of Progress in Neurobiology. He lowered himself into his favorite chair and flipped through a few articles until he came to “Uncertainty and stress: Why it causes diseases and how it is mastered by the brain.”

  “Very helpful,” he muttered, and tossed the magazine onto the table.

  A few minutes later, Ruby came into the living room with a tray and transferred a plate of crumble and a steaming mug onto the table.

  Owen leaned forward, sniffing suspiciously. “What’s that?”

  “Peppermint tea.”

  “Isn’t there any real tea?”

  “That is real tea.”

  Owen drew his brows together. “You do know I’m a medical doctor and am familiar with the effects of various foods on the human body, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  He sighed. “No, thank you. Except for the fake tea, dinner was very nice.”

  “I’m glad you liked it. I’m going to turn in. You can leave those there when you’re done, I’ll get them in the morning.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s quite early.”

  “I need to go over to my sister’s house early tomorrow, but I should be back here in time to make breakfast.”

  “Ruby, please take your time. I know your brother-in-law is doing poorly, and you should spend as much time as you need with him and your sister. I’m more than capable of fixing my own breakfast. And my own lunch, for that matter.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He looked resolute.

  “It shouldn’t be necessary,” she said, “but I appreciate the offer.” She glanced around the room, evidently looking for something that should be wiped down or straightened up.

  “Good night, Ruby. And thank you again for everything.”

  “Good night, Dr. McNally.” She left the room, and he heard her go to the front and back doors, heard the rattle of hardware as she checked the locks, the beep as she set the alarm, then her measured tread on the stairs. For a few minutes there were the sounds of her moving around on the second floor—steps, running water, more steps, then silence. They were soothing sounds. He had to admit that he appreciated having someone else in the house, especially with things so discombobulated.

  He ate the crumble, which was actually quite good, then made a half-hearted attempt to get interested in the “Uncertainty and stress” article. He got to the end of the first page and realized he hadn’t any idea what he had just read.

  He tossed the magazine aside for the second time and went upstairs, stepping over the fourth stair, which squeaked. He went to his office and powered up the monitor, then pulled up his bank account information.

  He had reviewed his account balances and was scanning his stock portfolio when he heard the beep of the alarm announcing a door opening, Andy’s voice—“Wendy, I’m home,” à la Jack Torrance—and another beep as Andy deactivated the alarm.

  Owen pushed himself out of his chair and hurried down the stairs. “Shh—Ruby’s in bed,” he whispered between fast breaths.

  Andy raised his eyebrows and glanced at his watch.

  “She has to get up early to go to her sister’s.”

  “Oops. Sorry about that,” Andy whispered back, looking genuinely contrite. He held up three bottles of beer. “Look what I brought.”

  “You brought a three-pack?”

  “The rest are in my car. I’ll bring you another one tomorrow.”

  They went to the kitchen and Andy popped the caps off two of the bottles and put the third one in the refrigerator. “That’s for Ruby. No cheating.”

  They clinked bottles and sat down at the kitchen table, Owen still a bit out of breath.

  Andy looked at him critically. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay.”

  “No, seriously. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired.”

  Andy waited for more, but Owen was silent. Finally, he said, “Not sure if this is going to make you feel better or worse, but the attorney general’s office called off the Vivantem investigation.”

  Owen put down his beer. “Really? When?”

  “I saw it in the news today. I almost missed it—it was buried on the electronic version of a back page on phillychron.com.”

  “Why did they call it off?”

  “They didn’t say anything specific,” said Andy. “Just general stuff about higher priorities and limited manpower.”

  “Do you believe that? Or do you think Mortensen pulled some strings?”

  Andy sighed. “I don’t know what to think. I figured she burned her house down to destroy evidence, but if she could get the investigation called off, why bother?” He drank. “Maybe she thought the fire would destroy the body in the basement.”

  “It seems like a complicated way to get rid of a body. Plus, she would know that no fire was likely to burn so hot and so completely as to destroy a body, especially one in the basement.”

  “Yeah.” Andy shrugged. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I can’t think of anyone else who would be interested in ending the investigation. Except maybe the Pennsylvania tax payers. There were a lot of complaints when Brashear first announced it.”

  “Yes. That’s probably all it is. But we should err on the side of caution and assume that Louise Mortensen is still a factor.”

  “Seems wise.”

  Owen picked up his beer and took another sip. “I think we did the right thing to send Lizzy away. I think Sedona might have worked if we had done a better job of laying low. And if it had been further away. I realize that Louise Mortensen could probably eventually track us down anywhere, but at some point, if we make it hard enough for her, and if we demonstrate that we aren’t running to the authorities or the media, it won’t be worth her while to continue to chase us.”

  Andy shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s a plan that’s sustainable in the long haul, but getting far away and keeping your head down couldn’t hurt.”

  “If Lizzy can just stay off the grid until I’m better, I can take her somewhere where we can really stay hidden, and I can keep an eye on her until she’s ready to strike out on her own. We could go somewhere nice. Maybe the person who got Lizzy the driver’s license could get her a passport and we could go to Europe. Or Asia. I always wanted to go to Japan.”

  “You think you look big to people here, wait until you get to Tokyo.”

  “Very funny.” Owen took another sip of beer.

  “How long do you think you’d have to hide out? When do you think Lizzy will be ready to strike out on her own?”

  Owen smiled wanly. “She probably thinks she’s ready now, but realistically? A year? Two years?”

  “You’re just going to drop off the grid for two years? What about the class you’re supposed to teach in the fall?”

  “I’ll just tell Steck I can’t do it.”

  Andy raised his eyebrows. “That won’t go over well.”

  “I know. But irritating Steck really isn’t my top concern at the moment.”

  “True.” Andy considered. “So you have enough money socked away to spend a couple of years on a world tour? Hey, if I’m mentioned in your will, maybe I’ll knock you off myself.”

  “The coffers would be pretty depleted by the time the tour was done,” said Owen. “But, hey, I made it once, I can make it again.”

  “Not if you have a reputation for dropping classes and disappearing for years at a time.”

  Owen waved his hand impatiently. “It would work out.” He hesitated. “I’m more concerned about Mom and Dad. And about leaving you to deal with that again.”

  “If Mom and Dad ended up being the only thing I needed to worry about, it would be like a vacation.”

  Owen looked down at his bottle of beer.

  Andy ran his fingers thr
ough his hair. “Jesus, Owen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I really just meant that you shouldn’t worry about that.” He hesitated. “Although, to be perfectly honest, if you disappear for two years, I don’t know that Mom will still be around when you come back.”

  Owen sighed. “I know.”

  They finished their beers in silence. Then Andy said, “Split Ruby’s?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  30

  Lizzy stuck to the backroads, her fingers clenched on the steering wheel, her back muscles seizing with stress. She pulled over periodically to let the faster drivers pass.

  Late in the afternoon, when she had other drivers honk at her three times in less than ten minutes with no idea what transgression she had committed, she decided to call it a day. In any case, the sun was setting, and she was anxious to finish the day’s drive before darkness settled in.

  She pulled to the side of the road and called up directions to the nearest Walmart.

  When she got there, she pulled into a space in the section of parking lot furthest from the entrance and removed some money from its hiding place under the back seats. She dragged herself into the store, got a cart, and began pushing it blearily up and down the aisles.

  She loaded a couple of gallon jugs of water into the cart—once she used up the water, she could refill them at a rest area—then picked up an assortment of fruit and some prepared food that she could eat cold. In the sporting goods section, she found not only a sleeping bag but also a camp toilet that was small enough that it could be used in the back of the van. In housewares, she picked up some garbage bags to use as liners for the toilet, a pillow, and a bucket, washcloth, and towel, figuring that might be her only way to bathe for however long she was on the road.

  She couldn’t think of what else she might need, but that was hardly a problem—the store was open twenty-four hours a day, and she would be a couple of hundred feet from the front door.

  She checked out, wheeled the cart out to the van, unloaded her purchases, took the cart to a cart corral, then returned to the van.

  It was a Dodge Grand Caravan, and the two rows of seats in back folded flat, creating quite a large area for Lizzy’s temporary living quarters. Lizzy pulled her purchases out of their bags, arranged them on the floor, and assessed her supplies.

  She realized two misses right away. If she was going to get any sleep, she would need some sort of mattress. And if she was going to have any privacy, she would need some covering for the windows.

  She climbed out of the van, retrieved the cart from the corral, and returned to the store, practically staggering with exhaustion. She found a display of air mattresses, but did “air mattress” mean she would actually have to blow it up like a balloon? She guessed that a mattress that had a built-in pump would need electricity to run. She avoided having to spend the energy to read the instructions on the boxes by splurging on a foam mattress that folded up into a tiny couch.

  She wasn’t sure what she could do for curtains. She finally picked up a windshield sunshade, an inexpensive bedsheet set, and duct tape.

  To save herself a trip to and from the cart corral, she left the cart in the store and lugged her new purchases out to the van. She slid the sunshade over the windshield, then climbed into the back. She pulled the sheets from their plastic wrapping, but the creativity—and the energy—to fashion curtains out of them was beyond her. At least the sheets had come with a pillowcase she would put to good use very soon.

  She folded out the mattress and unrolled the sleeping bag. She draped the corners of the fitted sheet over the headrests of the driver and passenger seats, creating a tent-like area behind the seats. She stuffed the pillow into the pillowcase and climbed into the sleeping bag. Wafting her flimsy tent over her, she was dimly relieved that she would be pretty much completely hidden from passersby.

  She had a vague thought that she should open one of the water jugs and brush her teeth, but the effort seemed laughably excessive, and she was asleep a minute later.

  31

  Lizzy came groggily awake, woken by the chime of an incoming text. As she fumbled for the text app, she noticed the time. She had slept for almost twelve hours.

  Good morning … interesting news, Ruby texted.

  Lizzy opened the link to a short article on phillychron.com announcing the cancellation of the attorney general’s Vivantem investigation.

  Wow! She scanned the article again. I guess that’s good news right?

  I hope so

  Not surprised, she texted back to Ruby, everyone thought it was crazy to begin with

  If AG isn’t interested in LM anymore, came the response, maybe LM won’t be interested in us anymore

  I hope so

  Still best for you to stay away for now I think

  I agree

  They exchanged updates on Uncle Owen’s condition—he had fixed himself coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in Ruby’s absence that morning, and his mood seemed much improved as a result—then signed off.

  She felt relieved at the news about the cancellation of the investigation—not only because it might mean they were in less danger, but also because it eliminated a distraction from discharging her promise to Philip.

  She pushed aside the sheet and sat up. She was not as stiff as she had expected to be, thanks to the mattress. She was also not as cold as she had been afraid she might be. Not only was the weather comparatively warm—it had gotten down only to the high forties the night before—but she was also still completely dressed. She had not even taken her boots off before she fell asleep.

  She had taken the camp toilet out of its box and was reading the instructions for setting it up when she realized she couldn’t very well use it before she had some curtains rigged up. She did notice, however, that the instructions referenced special bags that could be used with the toilet—and would no doubt work better than the garbage bags she had bought. She’d see if the store carried the special bags and return the garbage bags if they did. She put the box of garbage bags in her knapsack and clambered out of the van.

  The morning was bright, and cars wended their way up and down the aisles while customers trundled carts from the store to their cars.

  The security guard at the entrance—gray-haired, pot-bellied, and shifting as if his feet hurt—gave her a look as she walked past him on her way to the restroom, and she realized that her haircut, which had seemed fun and fashionable in Sedona, likely gave a whole different impression here in this rural community. If she was going to elude Louise Mortensen and whatever allies she had been able to rally, her goal should be to leave no impression at all. She needed to figure out what to do with her hair.

  After she had used the bathroom and brushed her teeth, she went to the hat section. A winter hat would look odd in March, as would the straw hats that were already on offer. She perused the selection and spotted an alternative. The tag identified it as a cadet cap. It was light beige, with a pretty vine pattern embroidered onto it. She tried it on and checked herself out in the mirror. It covered most of her hair. Plus, she liked the look of it. Jaunty, her mother would have called it.

  She went to the sporting goods section and found the liners for the camp toilet. She started toward the customer service desk, pulling out the box of garbage bags, but then realized that she hadn’t brought the receipt in with her, and she didn’t feel like making yet another trip to and from the van for the amount of money she’d get back for the bags. They’d probably come in handy anyway.

  She put them back in her knapsack and turned toward the check-out lines.

  She paid for the cap and toilet liners and declined the plastic shopping bag. On her way to the exit, she snapped the price tag off the cap and was putting it on when she heard a rough voice behind her.

  “Miss?”

  She sighed as she turned around to face the security guard. She should have waited until she was outside before putting the cap on.

  “
I paid for it,” she said, holding out the receipt.

  “Yeah, I saw,” he said. “Can I take a look in your knapsack?”

  “Why?” she asked, taken aback.

  “Do you have a problem with showing me what’s in your knapsack?”

  His name tag read Wilson. She wondered whether it was his first name or his last name. “Well, yeah,” she said. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it shook a bit with nerves, and with anger. “I don’t think you can just walk up to me and tell me to show you what’s in my knapsack without giving me a reason why.” She wasn’t sure this was true, but it seemed like a reasonable position to take.

  “I’m not telling you to show me what’s in your knapsack. I’m asking you if I can take a look in it.”

  It’s pretty much the same thing was on the tip of Lizzy’s tongue, but she bit it back. The last thing Uncle Owen needed was to get a call from some podunk town telling him that his goddaughter was being held on suspicion of shoplifting. And that must be why the security guard wanted to look in her knapsack, right?

  She sighed, unzipped her knapsack, and held it out for his inspection.

  He peered in without touching it.

  “Where did you get the garbage bags?”

  “From here.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I bought them yesterday,” she said.

  “Why are you carrying them around in your knapsack?”

  “I was going to return them.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t have the receipt with me.”

  Wilson looked smug. “You don’t, eh?”

  “It’s in the van.”

  “Why don’t we go take a look.”

  She was again tempted to protest, but she gritted her teeth, turned, and stomped out of the store, followed by Wilson. As they crossed the parking lot, Wilson continued his questioning, puffing slightly.

  “You say you bought the bags yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then came back this morning to buy a hat?”

  “Yes.”