Dawn was just beginning to color the horizon when I crept downstairs and saw that the Christmas lights were already on. Chase was up and had already shaved. I peeked into Patrick’s room to discover his bed was empty and he was gone.
“Chase, where’s Patrick?” I asked.
“He isn’t up yet,” Chase answered.
“Yes he is. He isn’t in bed.”
Chase looked alarmed. To think Patrick was up and we hadn’t heard him was hard to believe. Chase was like me and prided himself in being aware of what was going on around him at all times. We checked the downstairs. I checked the bathroom, then the forbidden backyard. I climbed the stairs to the attic where Rusty was still sleeping. There were a dozen nooks and crannies up there but Patrick wasn’t in any of them. I checked the balcony overlooking the pool, opened the doors and stepped out. The ladder was still on the balcony.
“Rusty, wake up,” I said worriedly. “It’s morning and I can’t find Patrick.”
“What? Where could he be? A kid on Christmas morning heads for the tree. It’s a rule. The tree is a kid magnet.”
“I still can’t find him. I’ve checked the house and the backyard.”
“Did you check Cody’s room? Mom and Dad’s? Maybe he got scared and they took him in?”
Rusty checked his brother’s room first but Cody hadn’t seen Patrick and the bike was still there. Bill and Bev were next but they hadn’t seen or heard from Patrick either. We had six adults searching a small house for one boy and we all came up empty. Chase and I then did what came naturally. We headed outside and looked at the ground, cursing the cement and grass. The first hint was easy enough to find.
“Chase, look, the flower bed has been dug into. Tonight?”
“No, yesterday. The tracks are shoes and Patrick’s shoes are by his bed. Patrick did it, but why? What would he want with a pail of dirt?”
We walked a large circle around the house looking for soil dropped on the sidewalk or in the grass. Then we searched the backyard again, but I wasn’t expecting to find him back there. He knew the rules. Chase and I both ruled out the backyard. The adults ruled out the house. It was nearly light outside, but still no sign of Patrick.
“Come on Cassidy, we have one hint. Missing dirt. It’s got to be out front somewhere. Our missing clue has to be this way.”
We made wider and wider circles, ending all the way down the hill almost in Mrs. Rathburn’s roses. We turned and looked back up the hill. A big silly grin crept across Chase’s face and I knew he’d found Patrick. At least he was smiling. That was a good sign. I followed his gaze and it became obvious why we hadn’t been able to find him. Patrick was up on the roof!
“I don’t believe it,” I said. “How did he get up there?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out. However he did it, it was sneaky and smart and I want to find out.”
We rushed into the house.
“He’s on the roof!” I announced to everyone.
Rusty rushed down from the attic. “How could he be on the roof? We’d have heard him up there last night. He had no way up.”
“We saw him up there. Got a ladder?”
We retrieved a ladder from the garage and Rusty climbed up. The adults stood in silence on the ground below. He approached Patrick cautiously, not wanting to scare him and have him tumble off.
“He’s just sleeping,” Rusty called down. “Hey Pat, what are you doing on the roof, buddy? Be careful. Don’t fall. What are you doing way up here?”
Pat sat up sleepily. “Aw, I missed it!” he said sounding disappointed. He got up and Rusty held his hand as he went to the chimney and examined the area. I saw a smile cross Rusty’s face. I knew this was going to be good. Patrick’s eyes got big. “Santa’s magic!” he exclaimed. “He doesn’t leave footprints! Did Santa come?”
“Of course he came. If you were downstairs, like you should be, you’d see all the presents.”
“He came and he doesn’t leave footprints. That means he’s magic.”
We couldn’t disagree with the logic of it. Now how had he gotten up there?
Rusty started down the ladder and then had Patrick follow him so Rusty could catch him if he fell. There was no need for Rusty’s precautions, especially after we found out how he’d gotten up there. Jesse must never hear about this, I thought when he showed us what he did. I couldn’t believe he could do it, but he showed us how it was done and how the plan had failed.
The attic rope ladder, with hooks on both ends, was to be used to escape the attic in the event of a fire. Patrick had snuck through the attic to the balcony in stocking feet. He had hooked the ladder as high as he could reach and then pulled up the bottom of it. He then climbed half the ladder and hooked the other end even higher. He alternated ends of the ladder until he hooked it to the eves of the house and finally pulled himself over and onto the roof. Yup, Jesse would definitely kill me. Patrick brought up the bucket of dirt and spread it on the roof around the chimney, just to be able to track Santa Claus. He did it with Rusty and I sleeping just underfoot and we hadn’t heard a thing. He was going to pull the ladder up and go down the easy way but he dropped the end. Being stuck on the roof hadn’t scared him, it had simply created a new opportunity. Now he could actually catch Santa Claus in the act! Only problem being that Santa only arrives once kids are sleeping, so he must have come to our house about four a.m.
“Patrick,” I scolded, “you know better than to go up on the roof! You could have fallen off.”
“You said not to go in the backyard and I didn’t. I only went over it a little.”
“When you got stuck in the tree, I told you to keep your feet on the ground unless you were told otherwise.”
“Oh, yeah. But I told you I was going to track Santa Claus this Christmas. I told you and you said it was a good idea!”
I looked at Rusty. “Did I do that?”
“You sure did. But that was when you thought he was spending Christmas at his house.” Oh the joys of eating my own words.
While we were investigating Patrick’s night time adventures, Bev began baking cinnamon rolls and their scent from the oven brought everybody into the house. Patrick entered the living room and stood in awe before the ten foot tall Christmas tree. Adorned with twinkling lights and sparkling ornaments, it had been totally decked out in his honor. With a kid finally in Bev and Bill’s home for Christmas, they had spared no expense to please him. Patrick’s stocking had been filled with candy and had little toys poking out from the top. We had a kid who thought Santa was magic. It truly was Christmas!
Everybody staked out a corner of the living room. The coffee table was shoved aside and Chase appointed himself as the official gift-hander-outer. He crawled around under the tree, reading tags and then handing out the gifts. He helped Patrick with heavily taped packages, then handed his pocketknife around to anyone who needed to cut tape. At first I felt sorry for Chase, but he watched over Patrick’s shoulder and his eyes crinkled with joy when he saw the familiar, simple things that kids enjoy. He also approved when Pat opened the adult-sized field guide to animal tracks. After opening the book and leafing through the pages, Pat stopped at the section on canines. He examined the dog track and the coyote track and read.
“Now do you think you can tell the difference?” Chase asked him.
“Sometimes. I can tell a coyote from a little dog or from a big dog, but I don’t know if I could tell the difference between a coyote and a medium sized dog.”
“A lot depends on where you see the track. If it looks like a medium sized dog track and it’s in the middle of the desert, it’s probably a coyote. If it’s near a house, it’s probably a dog.”
“It sounds easy when they say to look at the size of the middle toes, but out in the dirt the tracks get smeared around and it’s hard to tell if the middle toes are bigger than the other toes or not.”
“I know. That’ll come with time and practice.”
“Cassidy, he can’t possibly read that book.” Bev said.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s only important that he wants to discover what’s inside. If he wants to learn, he’ll figure out how. Oh my, Cody, umm, thank you. Rusty’s going to like this.”
“What is it?” Bev asked.
“It’s something really cute! That Rusty will like.” Get the hint?
“Oh, look!” Patrick shouted with delight. “Aunt Cassidy! Santa did bring me rollerblades! Look out Mrs. Rathburn!”
“You’re not starting out on the hill. You’ll practice close to the house first,” I warned him.
“Cody, do you have rollerblades?” Patrick asked.
“Of course. You can’t be a cool dude without a bike, a skateboard and rollerblades.”
“How do you skate on them?”
“You balance and try not to wobble, just like the bike, except the balance is different.”
The pile of wrapping paper, boxes and ribbons gradually grew and finally fell over.
“Rusty, where in the world did you find these?” Cody asked, holding up the three records.
“I didn’t. Cassidy found them.”
“Okay, it’s story time and you’re going to get a kick out of this,” I started. “I had to go to a funeral. It was for one of my ten sixty-fives and I was really down in the dumps. Punching bag at the station kind of down in the dumps, but I couldn’t do the punching bag because I was wearing a little black dress and all I got was hoots and hollers from the guys there.” All the guys looked at each other, wondering if the others got the same mental picture they did. I smiled to myself and continued speaking. “So Rusty sent me to the antique mall to look for records except I didn’t know what I was looking for. All the workers there had names from old songs. The two women working there were Miss Molly and Rhonda, and the guy who showed me where the record booth was said his name was Henery. Henery left me alone to look and I didn’t even know where to start. So then I flagged down Rhonda. ‘Help me Rhonda!’ is what I said, and they thought that was so funny. Then they launched into this really weird conversation that I took completely seriously. One of them said they had too much to dream that night and I agreed, saying me too, not even aware they were speaking in lyrics from an old song. It kind of went down hill from there, and I was feeling blonder by the minute, but it definitely got my mind off the funeral. You’ll have to show me your collection so next time I’ll know what to look for.”
“‘Cause you still haven’t found what you’re looking for?” Cody asked, laughing at me.
“I don’t know but I was hoping to find out. If these records don’t fit into your collection, let me know and I’ll try again.”
“No! This is great! You’ll have to show me where you got them next time I visit.”
“You better not go there. They had boxes and boxes of old records. I barely started looking through them. Right after that was when I ran into Stan the High Way Man. It was an interesting day.”
“Yeah, then we went to a Christmas party at the Schroeder’s house. Great party,” Rusty said with a wink.
“Pat, what do you have there?” Bev asked.
“It’s binoculars,” Pat said as he unwound the strap and fiddled with the knob. “They help you see things that are far away. If you look in these little holes and turn this little knob you can see things far away!”
“Why would Santa Claus bring you binoculars?”
“Because he knows I like to look at birds. I have a list!”
“He added five or six birds to his list when he was at our place, and he learned how to use Rusty’s binoculars. I wonder how Santa knew you needed a pair of binoculars, though.”
“‘Cause he’s smart!” Patrick said, sure that Santa knew everything now.
Books, Lego blocks, coloring books, markers, rollerblades… once everything had been opened and stacked up we sat back to admire the plunder.
“I have one more thing for you Cass, but it’s not a Christmas present because I know you don’t want to use it. But I want you to have one. I would have just left it at home, but I knew the guys would want to see it, maybe try it out.” Rusty left the house and went out to the Explorer and brought in a rifle in a case. He took it out, removed the trigger lock and handed it to me. “It’s not loaded. I chose that particular gun because it was small and lightweight, but big enough to pack some real firepower. You’ll need some heavy ammunition if you need to take down a mountain lion. Your 9mm just won’t do it.” He didn’t mention stalkers, kidnappers or apprehensions because he knew better. I checked the magazine to make sure it wasn’t loaded, then sighted down the rifle. I hefted it. I could actually hike with this rifle. Not that I couldn’t hike with any rifle. Anybody who hikes armed will tell you there are rifles you can hike with and rifles that turn into a pain in the ass. This one was carefully chosen with the trail in mind, with ease of use, with minimum size and maximum stopping power. A gun a small person like me could use. It would take some practice and getting used to. I was used to the guns at the ranch, the military issue, and the standard police weapons. Although I was able to shoot almost anything, I’d be comfortable once the rifle became more natural to me. Then I’d be able to aim and fire without hesitation.
“Christmas day is a lousy time to go to the firing range. Every guy that got a new gun is there trying it out,” Chase said. “Later maybe we can drive to my place. There’s plenty of room to shoot out there, and I can show Patrick some tracks, too.”
A trip to Chase’s place? That sounded interesting. What kind of a place would Chase choose to live in? Then I started wondering if it would be safe to bring Patrick there.
It was a wonderful day, watching Patrick trying to learn how to rollerblade without wobbling, watching Cody skate circles around him. He was able to skate backwards while holding Patrick’s hands. Cabrillo Court was well used that day. The little Kentaro girl received a new scooter and the Mason’s oldest child had a new tricycle. Mrs. Rathburn sat in her front yard, daring anybody to attempt the hill on their first day riding on shaky wheels. She was wearing a brand new robe with slippers on her feet and sitting in a well worn patio chair holding a steaming cup of coffee.
“Your nephew is a scallywag,” she told me. “He tries things before he should. He’s going to get into a lot of trouble if you don’t keep a close watch on him.”
“He’s a good kid, though. I didn’t really know him that well until he visited us a few weeks ago. Now I’m going to miss him when he goes home.”
“How long until I can quit worrying about the little ruffian?”
“Wednesday morning.”
“That’s just one of them though. I bet a dozen kids got wheels for Christmas. Happens every year.”
“I know what you need. You could use one of those inflatable Christmas lawn ornaments. At least it would make a soft landing spot.”
“Can’t do that. Those things cost a fortune. Plus, the kids would think I was getting soft. Can’t let them think that.”
At least my suggestion was worth a try. As I walked back up the hill I noticed two cars parked on the street. Inside the cars teenagers watched the activity on the street. Normally a kid in a car using a cell phone was a common everyday thing to see in any neighborhood, but for some reason it didn’t feel right to me. These teenagers didn’t seem to be just talking to friends. They appeared to have their own agenda. I wondered if they were looking for a house to break into and felt grateful that Patrick was safe with Rusty and Cody. When I reached the top of the hill I saw Patrick skating by himself, still mighty wobbly, but improving. At least now he was able to balance on his own. Cody had traded in his rollerblades for the red bike and was riding circles around Patrick.
“Cody!” The Kentaro girl called out. “Do a wheelie! Do a wheelie!”
Cody popped his front tire into the air and rode around for a bit on one wheel. The little girl jumped up and down clapping with excitement.
Later we drove to Chase’s house to try out the rifle. Considering the number of cops involved, we decided to bring more firepower, so Bill dug out his rifles and Chase assured everyone that he had a couple more rifles at his house. We packed our ear protection and added at least one cinnamon roll apiece before heading out.
Chase lived outside the city limits and he was right, he had plenty of space for target practice.
“Are you sure it’s really legal to shoot out here?” Rusty asked. Just because Chase was a retired cop didn’t mean he didn’t stretch the law a bit if nobody was going to notice.
“Sign says no hunting. Doesn’t say anything about target practice.”
“Those are your signs,” Rusty pointed out.
“Yeah, well they mean it.”
Chase’s place looked like a country western song gone bad. It was an old tan mobile home parked out in the desert. I wondered if the trailer was trying to disappear into the flat desert land surrounding it. It had skirting at some point in time, but many of the panels had fallen off and many were missing completely. An Indian dream catcher swayed in the breeze. Other Indian artifacts were visible around the property. An old wooden table held some pieces of pottery, several arrowheads, a motorcycle helmet, and a cat bowl with a water dish. Approaching the trailer, the sorriest looking cat I’d ever seen crawled out from under the mobile home and began pitifully meowing at Chase. He got a box of cat food and poured out a portion for the cat. Chase poked the reservoir bottle attached to the water dish and it gurgled, indicating the bottle was still half full. He reached out to pet the cat but it hissed and batted at his hand.
“Ornery critter. I think he’s still mad at me for having him fixed. Hasn’t talked to me since. That was seven years ago.”
“What happened to his eye?” Patrick asked.
“Rattlesnake,” Chase answered simply.
“What’s his name?” Patrick asked.
“He doesn’t have one. He’s just a cat. He didn’t name me, so why should I name him?”
“You had to tell them a name at the vet,” Patrick pointed out.
“They just wrote down Cat.”
“Hey, Cat,” Patrick said. The cat hissed and backed away.
“I wouldn’t touch him,” Chase advised. “Not if you value your hand. Darn critter only lives out of orneriness. When I leave on searches I fill the dish. After that, he lives on mice. He never comes in the house. He’s just a tough old cat. Can’t do nothing with him except let him stay.”
He dug around beside the mobile home and brought out a stack of what looked like signs. He tossed them into a rack on top of his Baja Bug, then drove out away from his home. He placed each sign out in the desert and stapled a target to each one. It looked as though he did this often.
Bev disappeared into the mobile home. I was almost curious enough to follow her, but it didn’t feel right just walking into Chase’s home while he was off doing something else. Why not, I asked myself, he walks into your house when you’re not home, but that still didn’t make it right for me. I’d wait for an invitation of some kind.
“Cass?” It was Rusty, calling me to try my hand with the rifle.
He produced a loaded clip from his pocket.
“Is there a strap for it?” I asked.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d want to mess with it.”
“If I have to mess with it on the trail then I want to practice with it. I want to feel how all the pieces work together. I don’t want to be able to shoot it perfectly and then get tangled in the strap when it counts.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Let me take a few shots with your rifle so I can compare the new rifle to one I am familiar with.”
Rusty handed me his service rifle and I took my time squeezing off five shots. Then I took my time with the new rifle. My accuracy was not as good with the new rifle. That was partly due to my unfamiliarity with the weapon and partly because of the shorter barrel.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Cody asked.
“On the ranch. Then it became more refined in the Marines. I graduated from sniper school. That’s where I got a lot of experience with the bigger guns. I had lots of practice in reserve academy, too. After all that time shooting, it comes pretty naturally.”
“Yeah,” added Patrick. “She had a BB gun when she was a little kid. I wish my mom would let me have a BB gun.”
“Stay behind the shooters, Patrick. You know better than that.”
“Can I shoot too?” Patrick asked.
“If your mom and dad say it’s okay, and if you let Uncle Rusty help you, then you can shoot, too.”
“Oh boy!” he said, and ran off with my cell phone to call his parents. I could see the wheels turning, Pat knew them well and realized only his dad would grant permission. Problem was how to speak to his dad alone without involving his mom? The ranch. Call the ranch office and then Old Frank would find James.
“All right! Hi, Steve! I hafta ask my dad a question…. Yeah, I know. I’ll call her as soon as we get home again… We’re shooting… I hafta ask my dad if I can shoot, too… Merry Christmas.” There was a long pause. “Daddy? Aunt Cassidy says I have to ask before I can shoot a gun. I knew Mom would say no, but can I shoot the gun, too? Please? It’s safe. Aunt Cassidy and Uncle Rusty both know all about shooting. I’m obeying the rules… I don’t know, what’s a caliber?… Okay.” He handed the phone to Rusty.
“Merry Christmas, James… Cassidy’s shooting forty-five’s right now… I know. If you let Patrick shoot we’ll hunt down a twenty-two… Yeah, I’ll be right there with him… No problem… You got it. We’ll see you Wednesday evening. Two days. Thanks. If Jesse says anything, I’ll back you up. Enjoy the rest of your holiday. Bye.” He closed the phone and pocketed it. “Chase, do you have a twenty-two hiding in that rat trap of yours?”
“A twenty-two?”
“Yipee!” Patrick said, jumping up and down.
“I think so, but it’s got to be a hundred years old. I haven’t shot one since I was a teenager.”
“Told you he was old,” Patrick whispered loudly to Cody. I glanced towards Chase hoping he hadn’t heard.
“Can we look it over and make sure it’s safe?” Rusty asked.
Patrick received a very limited shooting lesson. It took some searching to find the twenty-two and then even more searching to find bullets for it. Rusty dusted the weapon off, did a quick cleaning job on it then looked over the bullets.
“How old are these things?” he asked Chase.
Chase just shrugged.
Rusty squeezed off two shots, hoping for the best. He led Patrick away from the group where he could instruct easier. I saw him demonstrating how a rifle kicked and how to hold it right up against his shoulder so it would just push him, not hammer him when the shot went off. He demonstrated how to site along the barrel, match up the point and the V, then how to squeeze off a shot without jerking. Rusty further explained what would happen if he didn’t do it right. When it was finally time for Patrick to actually shoot the weapon Rusty knelt behind him helping him to stand steady. It was awkward for Patrick and took him a while to line up the site correctly. I knew it would take several years of practice before shooting a gun became more natural to him. Jesse would limit his use of firearms. Jesse wasn’t against them and had also shot a twenty-two when she was Patrick’s age. She knew the family and the ranch hands would all teach Patrick correctly, but to her, it was always too soon. He was growing up too quickly… So it would take a while for shooting to come naturally to Pat.
“Hold your fire!” Rusty yelled over the din of the other guns. He waited for all firing to stop before he ran out to the target and brought it in close for Patrick. “Okay!” he yelled, giving everyone permission to shoot again. “Now, line it up carefully.”
I watched as Patrick aimed, squeezed, closed his eyes and fired.
“Keep your eye on the target,” Rusty instructed.
“The noise scares me.”
“Closing your eyes won’t stop the noise. You have to see where you are shooting. It’s important. Be alert when you shoot. Closing your eyes leaves you less prepared for your next shot. Always be ready for whatever you decide to do next, whether it’s to take another shot or not. Always be alert and careful. Never point a gun at a person.”
“You do.”
“If you become a policeman, you will be taught exactly when you can point your gun at a person and when you can’t. For now, never point a gun at anyone. Policemen are trained not to point a gun at a person during practice, and that’s what we are doing, just practicing.”
Bang! Thunk. Bang! Thunk. I heard my bullets hit wood. I didn’t have a good feel for it because the rifle felt light to me. I was shooting high because I expected more weight. It was going to take practice to gain accuracy. I could defend myself with the rifle now, but that wasn’t good enough for me. There were times I needed to hit exactly where I wanted. It was important for me to be able to hit what I was aiming for. When it really counted, inches mattered a great deal. I always took my shooting seriously.
Bev came out with a bag of trash. Cody ran to help his mom.
“For a full trash bag there’s not much here,” he commented.
“It’s all fast food wrappers and take out boxes,” she said with disapproval. I began to see why Chase showed up at the Michaels’ house so regularly. It was probably the only home cooked food he ever ate.
I heard the click of an empty chamber. “Sorry, Pat, that’s all there is. Your dad said you could only shoot the twenty-two. We have to obey the rules. Next time we will call before we go shooting and pick up the ammo we need. Today we have to just use what we have on hand and none of the stores are open. Now remember to stay behind the people who are shooting.”
“Hey, Patrick, you want to go find some tracks? I know a place to track animals and you can ride in my Bug.”
“Can I, Aunt Cassidy?”
“You know how quick he gets into trouble?” I asked Chase.
“I know. I’ll watch him. Unless he takes off in the Bug, there’s nothing out there for him to get into. The Bug’s not automatic, so I doubt he can even start it.” They got into the Bug with Chase asking, “Have you ever seen a javelina?”
“Cassidy?” Bev called from the steps of the mobile home. “Can you help me a second?”
Chase’s living room looked like forty years worth of bachelorhood. It was still cluttered even after Bev had removed all the fast food wrappers and take out boxes. After looking at it more closely I decided it was an organized clutter which made me wonder if Bev had something to do with it.
“What are you trying to do?” I asked.
“Can you empty the dishwasher while I wash pots and pans? Then we’ll fill it up again.”
“Sure. How can he live like this?”
It took me a while to figure out where to put things. His cupboards were empty. Every dish had been used, so I just guessed where everything went. I thought about where would be handiest and just started stacking.
“I get out here a couple of times a year and it’s always just like this. When he sees it all straightened up he starts cooking again. Nothing fancy, but stews and things he can use for leftovers. Once everything is a mess, the job looks too big and he opts for take out. I’ll strip his bed and take a bag full of laundry home, too.”
“Doesn’t he get upset having his home invaded and rearranged?”
“He was embarrassed the first time, but he knows he can’t stop me. I don’t want to shoot, and I need something to do, so now he just lets me work.”
“He’s always so neat at my house.”
“He’s respectful, but that’s what he is. He isn’t a homemaker, but he’s good at what he does. You’re lucky to have him on your side. He loves Patrick, too. I hope your family doesn’t mind.”
“Doesn’t mind?”
“If he keeps tabs on him. Chase keeps tabs on you. Did you know that? He talks to Lou Strickland and gets stories from the station. He knows more than you think he does and he also knows what not to talk about. I can see through his stories though, and know you’ve had some rough times. I know when he told me about your honeymoon something else had happened, and I know when he says you are fine, it means you are fine, for now, again. I don’t know what you did on your honeymoon, but thank you. Thank you for watching out for Rusty.”
“Why would you think I was watching out for Rusty? He’s the big, strong detective. I’m…”
“Wise in the ways of the woods. I know you went to the woods. Rusty is comfortable in the wilderness. He can get along, but he isn’t woods wise. You can’t fool me.”
“We watch out for each other.”
“Did you know the difference between you two even shows up in pictures?”
“So I’ve been told. I’ve got a photographer friend trying to figure out what it is about my stalking that shows up in pictures. He wants to try and sell pictures of me stalking.”
“Pictures of Rusty in the woods say, ‘Isn’t this great? I’m out in the woods having a great time.’ Pictures of you say, ‘Isn’t this great? I’m out in the woods having a great time. See the deer behind me? I know you can’t, but he’s there. And there’s a mouse trying to decide if he wants to check out my shoe. I’d point out the raccoon, but I’d scare him away.’”
“Bev, that’s silly. A picture can’t do that.”
“Maybe not, but you do.”
“What I know about the woods, Rusty knows about the city. He watches out for me in the city and I watch out for him in the woods.”
“There, if we run this second batch and empty it Chase ought to be set for a while.”
She began stacking up magazines and books in the living room. In her sorting she uncovered a moose hide on the floor. A moose hide rug. What other surprises were underfoot?
“He’s going to burn this place down one day,” Bev commented. “To think he put a wood burning stove in this tinderbox. Where does he even find wood when there’s not a stick of wood within ten miles?”
I started looking at the pictures on the walls. I’d never thought of Chase as the sentimental type. There were old black and white pictures of him when he was a kid. In the background I frequently saw a white man and also an Indian man. The white man appeared to always look indifferent, or possibly he didn’t want to be photographed. The Indian always seemed focused, either on Chase or something very close by. He was relaxed in a tense manner. I wondered if that was what people saw in me when I was in the woods.
We stripped the bed and gathered up the clothes that were obviously dirty. Things hung in the closet, so I knew Chase would have something to wear despite the growing piles that Bev had sacked up. We put fresh sheets on the bed from a tiny linen closet in the hall. The sheets were threadbare and the towels had holes.
“You’re going to wash all this? It’s going to take you a week.”
“It’s okay. It’s about the only thing I can do for Chase. I think of it like a Christmas present, a gift of time. I doubt if he ever sorts it when he does his own laundry. The only thing he pays close attention to is his uniform. If you’ve never seen him in uniform, it is always spotless.”
“Actually I have, he was one of my teachers at academy. I barely recognized him the first time I saw him out of uniform.”
“Was academy hard for you? I’ve seen big strapping men say it was like hell.”
“It was challenging, in odd ways.”
“What do you mean, odd ways?”
“Well, you have to remember I’d already been through Marine boot camp and sniper school. Then my husband passed away and I took to the woods. I ran for a long time and trouble tagged along wherever I went. I’d spent days without food in the mountains. I’d had drug dealers chase me through the woods. I knew academy was coming up, so I trained for it. The hard part was trying to act like a real officer. I’m not the action hero type. So many people get into academy because they have this glorified vision of what they will be like as an officer. That wasn’t me. I was just there so I would be allowed to track. All the drills on capture and arrest were what the other cadets thrived on and what I dreaded. I was the odd man out all the time. Physically it was demanding. Academically it was challenging. That was where I worked the hardest, trying to pass the tests. I never was one to sit around studying books and writing reports.”
“You don’t like writing?”
“No, not usually. I can do it, if it’s important. I’ve really applied myself to a few police reports, trying to make sure everything is told just so. But in general I don’t write much.”
“That’s too bad. I think the stories of your adventures would be fascinating reading.”
“You do? There’s no way I could do that. I wrote a ten page term paper in high school and thought it was going to kill me. Besides, who would believe all the crazy things that have happened to me?”
“There’s a difference between researching a term paper and writing about your personal experiences. You have such a lively imagination. I bet you could do it.”
“Well, thank you,” I said, a little embarrassed. “I appreciate your faith in me.”
“Okay,” she said with a relieved sigh, “dishes done, laundry packaged up, floor found. What else can we do before the guys are ready to go?”
“I don’t want to look in his bathroom,” I said, knowing it needed a good cleaning without even going in there. “Does he even own any cleanser or 409? Windex?”
“I’m sure he keeps it somewhere, even if he doesn’t use it. I’ll tackle the toilet if you’ll do the shower, first one finished can take on the sink.”
Bev found three different bottles of cleaning fluids and a scrub brush under the kitchen sink. I was hoping for a cleanser with bleach in it. She cleaned the toilet while I scrubbed the shower. Later she dust mopped all the gray hair off the floor. When Bev finished the sink I was still scrubbing in the shower.
“Is there room for two in there?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” I answered truthfully. It was barely a one man shower.
“Well, take these old paper towels out to the trash and see what the guys are up to. I don’t hear shooting anymore. See how much time we have left.”
Bill, Cody and Rusty were talking and sitting at an ancient picnic table in back of the mobile home.
“What job did Mom recruit you for?” Cody asked.
“Dishes, we’re working on the bathroom now.”
“Oh, man, I hope nothing eats her alive. It’s spooky in there.”
“Bev wants to know how long we’ll be here. She’s wondering if there’s enough time to tackle another job.”
“Right now we’re just waiting for Chase and Patrick to get back,” Bill answered. “How long they are gone depends on what they found to track.”
“Why are you wearing your vest?” Rusty asked me.
“I thought I better get used to moving in it. I’m most likely to need it when I am scouting and that’s when I have to move smoothly. I need to be able to shoot in it. I didn’t count on doing dishes or scrubbing showers in it.”
“Typical American housewife, washing dishes in a bulletproof vest,” Rusty quipped. “You think that rifle will work for you?”
“Yeah! I need to spend some time at the firing range getting used to the weight. I can tell you spent a long time looking for just the right one. A gun like that isn’t easy to find. Thank you.”
“I like the service rifle better,” Cody added.
“It’s what I’m used to,” I admitted, “but I don’t hike with one because it is too bulky. If you weighed a hundred fifteen pounds and had to carry a thirty-pound pack and a rifle all day, you might appreciate a rifle that packs well. Chase told me to bring my gear. Strap on that pack and a rifle then see which one you end up with in three or four miles.”
Cody went to the back of the Explorer and pulled out my pack.
“You track in this getup?”
“Yeah, in winter add snowshoes and three layers of clothes to it. I need to get back in there and help Bev. She has her hands full.”
Bev had taken my place and was still cleaning the shower. Once she finished we mopped the kitchen and bathroom floors. She was tired and tempted to quit, but we still had one job to tackle. The refrigerator. I took a peek and found a mess of more takeout boxes. Using a trash bag I removed the ones that were growing science experiments. The vegetable bins were the worst. I just dumped them out and washed them, nothing worth saving in there.
“Well, it isn’t perfect, but there’s more space anyway,” I said as I joined Bev and the guys.
“I don’t expect Chase to be much longer. He’s probably noticed the shooting has stopped,” Bill said.
Patrick came back very excited.
“Aunt Cassidy! I tracked javelina! They are little pigs and they live in the desert. There was a bunch of them! And I found out that snakes do leave tracks but the track we saw was old. It looked like a hose had gotten pulled through the dirt.”
“That’s great, Pat! I’ve never seen javelina tracks before.”
“They look like tiny round deer tracks.”
“I’ll have to remember that. Did you check javelina off in your tracks book?”
“No, but I better when we get home. I can check off javelina, mule deer and mountain lion! I would check off the snake but we don’t know what kind it was.” We all piled into the Explorer and Chase’s Bug and drove back to the Michaels’ house. Patrick had been bitten by the dune buggy bug and wanted to ride with Chase in the Bug. I thought it would wear off once he was back on the ranch.
As we pulled onto Hudson Street I had an uncomfortable feeling that we were being watched. Half asleep teenagers, parked in cars, perked up one by one as we drove to the house and parked.
“Rusty?”
“Yeah?”
“Take a short walk with me,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to show you something.”
As we walked, I quietly pointed out cars to him.
“Look at the red Honda and the silver Acura.” We walked a block down the street and nonchalantly passed the two cars, trying to look like a couple out for a stroll. We crossed the street and walked back, passing the house. “Now look at the little black car across the street and the red one on this side. We didn’t pass them on the way in so I don’t know the makes.”
“Your trouble radar going off?”
“No, not yet, more like caution radar. I wonder if a uniform could discourage them. Have there been any break-ins on this street?”
“I don’t know, but it would be easy enough to find out.”
We went into the house and Rusty talked to Bill who then picked up the phone. An hour later the doorbell rang and an officer entered the living room.
“First kid said he was waiting for a friend. While I was talking to him two cars quietly drove away. The second kid said he was trying to find Pizzaro Street and so he’d pulled over to call someone for directions. I bet if I go out there they’ll both be gone.”
“And I bet a few hours later four more will be back,” I added. “There were cars posted out there yesterday too.”
“I’ll drive by in a few hours and see. You say there were four of them?”
“Yeah, all sitting quietly, watching the street, trying not to stand out.”
The officer looked at me like, ‘Why am I talking to you when there’s a detective and a cop handy?’ So I backed off. I went upstairs and caught Patrick checking off animals in his tracking book.
“I can’t find javelina,” he said, puzzled.
“Look in the j’s. If it isn’t there, look up peccary. It’s the same animal, but it has two different names.”
He thumbed through the index then turned to the right page.
“Here it is. I have to ask Chase a question.” He ran downstairs and a quick discussion about wild pigs occurred, then he returned and placed a check next to collared peccary.
“Aunt Cassidy, why do you answer my questions?”
“Because that’s how you learn stuff.”
“Then how come my mom won’t answer my questions?”
“It’s not that she won’t. It’s because moms get busy and because your questions are often about things your mom doesn’t know about. She can’t answer very well if she doesn’t know the answer.”
“Then, why does she want me to read baby books like at school?”
“It’s because she doesn’t know how smart you are. She thinks six year olds are supposed to be just so smart and so she only expects you to be as smart as other kids your age.”
That started him thinking. “You mean I’m smarter than other six-year-old kids?”
“Yes, Patrick, you are very intelligent. You learn things easily and very quickly. You think like a much older kid. Only problem is, your age will never match your intelligence. You will always want to do more than you are allowed to do because your mind will figure things out before you are old enough to do them.”
“Mom and dad know I’m smart.”
“Of course they do, but they don’t know how smart you really are. They expect you to be a typical first grader. That’s why they can’t understand why you’re bored at school. Does your mom know you can twirl a rope and jump in and out of it?”
“I don’t think so. She uses my practice time to do crafts.”
“Does your dad?”
“He’s usually at work.”
“Does your mom know you can read the bird book?”
“Sort of, but she thinks it’s dumb so she doesn’t pay attention.”
“Do they realize you can make a ball return for a pool table?”
“No, I don’t have toys like that at home.”
“What do you have at home that interests you, that would show your mom and dad how smart you are?”
“Nothing. What interests me doesn’t interest them, so they think it’s dumb.”
“We’ve got to do something to get them out of that mindset. Just because you like something different doesn’t mean it’s dumb. If they knew how smart you were, they would encourage you to learn and I think they would let you do more around the ranch. Only problem is, they worry about you doing things that are dangerous, like driving the truck. I’m afraid that little stunt you pulled at Thanksgiving made them think you do stuff without thinking. They couldn’t get past it to see how smart you were for knowing how the truck worked. So you have to choose the way you use that brain of yours very carefully. Don’t do things that can hurt you. A truck is a dangerous thing in the hands of a six-year-old. Choose smarter things to do that show your parents that you can think like a big kid. That way they will be more likely to let you do big kid things. For Christmas you got a kit to help you make a birdfeeder. Your dad will have to help you build it, but don’t let him help too much. You read the directions out loud to show him that you can read well. Try to put it together with as little help as possible. I bet it will surprise him just how much you can do on your own. Once he sees that you are able to make a birdfeeder, maybe he will find other interesting projects for you to build.”
“Chase gave me a project to do at home. He said I should watch for any signs of people or animals around the house. He told me to watch for tracks and scat. I had to ask him what scat was and then I had to ask him why I should be interested in animal poop. Once he explained, it made sense to me. He said to watch for feathers or hairs in the weeds or overturned rocks and crushed or nibbled plants. And he told me to ask myself questions about everything I see so maybe I can figure out what animals came in the yard. He said it might sound boring, but the closer I look, the more I will see. He said I’d be surprised what animals really come there that I don’t know about.”
“And he’s right, but you will have to be patient. It is a learning process. Once you find one thing, it will get you thinking about other possibilities. You won’t see lots of sign at first, but as you learn to recognize it you’ll start seeing more and more. It gets to be very interesting after it clicks, and then you will start seeing all kinds of things you didn’t know to look for before.”
“Can we do that here? Can you show me?”
“We can try, but I really need to help Mrs. Michaels with dinner pretty soon.”
We went out in the front yard and started poking around in the flowerbeds.
“We are looking for anything that looks like it is from an animal or a man. Oh, look! Something has been digging in the flowerbed! What do you think it was? The dirt is disturbed here. There are little tracks. Come look!”
He bent over the spot. “That’s just me,” he said with disappointment.
“So we identified one thing that has been in the yard. One small boy. Keep looking. Maybe we can find more.”
A long shadow appeared over us.
“What are you doing?” Rusty asked, amused. It didn’t seem strange to him to find his wife crawling around in the flowerbeds. He was just curious what we were up to.
“Tracking, small scale.”
“Aunt Cassidy, look,” Patrick said.
“Ooo, what is it?” I asked, fascinated with his find.
“It’s fur of some kind.”
“Okay, what did Chase say to do next?”
“Ask myself questions.”
“So what is your first question?”
“What kind of fur is it?”
“And?”
“It’s dog or cat fur.”
“How do you know?”
“I think it’s cat fur because cats are more likely to be in flower beds. Dogs like to be out in the open where they can see people.”
“Good thinking, but how can we learn more?”
“It’s long and a little wavy.”
“What color?”
“Gray.”
“Long, a little wavy, gray. I bet Cody would know if a neighbor has a gray Persian cat. Go ask him and see if you’re right.”
“Cassidy, you’re nuts,” Rusty said in a teasing voice.
“Why? I’m just showing him how to teach himself. It could save his sanity if Jesse doesn’t ease up a bit. Plus it’ll teach him new ways to look at things. It’ll come in very handy later for tracking.”
A small black car cruised by. The young driver watched as he passed. I felt a little bit silly laying in the yard looking under a bush.
“It is a cat,” Patrick said when he returned. “His name is Smoky and he lives across the street.”
“Can you find any cat tracks in the dirt?”
Sandy drove up and eyed us warily as she went into the house. She greeted everybody inside and then came back out front.
“What are you doing?” she asked, appalled that her sister-in-law would be caught crawling around in the dirt.
“Tracking. Small scale,” I repeated for her. “Small scale neighborhood tracking that kids can do to teach themselves more.”
“And you want kids to do this… why?” she asked.
“It teaches them to be observant. It gets them thinking about the world around them. It’s good for them.”
“He’s going to get filthy down there crawling around in the dirt.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Patrick bent over the ground and followed the flowerbed.
“The cat came from the grass and he went in the flower bed. Then he scratched around in the dirt and after he was through he rubbed up against the bush. That’s where we first saw sign. The fur in the bush. Then he followed the front of the flowerbed and went back into the grass again. How do you follow a cat in the grass?”
“It’s pretty tough. I think the hints in the flowerbed are the most information we can get from this cat. But you did pretty well! Tell me, how can you tell a cat track from a dog track.”
“No claws.”
“Right, anything else?”
“Most dogs are bigger than cats.”
“True. Some dogs are smaller than cats, too, but most dogs are larger.”
“And cat tracks are rounder and more… the toes are closer together. Dog’s feet are longer and the toes spread out more when they walk.”
“Right. Good job!”
“Is there a reason he needs to know that?” Sandy asked.
“If he’s going to be a tracker he needs to build up a library of tracks in his brain. And there are hundreds of variations for each type of track. Weather tears them down. The actions of people or animals vary a lot. So it’s not just a track to memorize. There’s a wide array of tracks and actions and variations and quirks for each kind of animal. The sooner he gets started, the more he can learn.”
“Patrick, do you want to be a tracker when you grow up?” Sandy asked him.
“I can’t,” he said sadly.
“Why not?” Sandy asked.
“Because my mom says I need a real job and tracking doesn’t pay anything.”
“Don’t let that stop you,” I told him. “Learn everything you can. Anything you are interested in, learn as much as possible about it. I don’t care if it’s birds or tracks or cars or outer space. Just pack that brain full of information. The more learning you do, the easier it will be to learn more. Stay curious and search for your own answers and you will always be smart. Intelligent people find a way to make their brains work for them.”
“You track, but you don’t get paid for it.”
“That’s true, but if I had a job I would still track. I track to help find people. Finding people is more important to me than a job. Especially after Carl Cranston. It’s even more important that I do my very best. Because sometimes… sometimes even my very best isn’t good enough.” Oh, shoot, I’d done it again. I waited, willing the sharp pang of guilt and sorrow away, but it wasn’t working. I looked to Rusty. Why did I allow myself to become emotional over one mistake? It wasn’t a mistake, Cass. The old argument started again in my head and this time I couldn’t stop it.
“Can you watch Patrick for a bit?” I asked, and then headed for the house. I ran up to the attic, pulled up the stairs and threw myself down on the mattress Rusty and I had been using as a bed. Comforters floofed up around me as I landed and settled back down in disarray. No tears, please, don’t cry, Cass, just wait and it’ll go away. Just wait. I heard a noise and tried to ignore it, but it walked over to the mattress and sat down beside our bed on the floor. It was my brother-in-law.
“Cody, please, go away.”
“Okay, when you really want me to go away tell me again. In the meantime, tell me what happened.”
“Nothing. Nothing happened. I was just reminded of something upsetting and I needed a time out.”
“You’re one tough cookie. What did you do this time? Last time I saw you like this you’d killed somebody.”
Cody’s words were too close to the truth for me. “Would you please just think a little before you say things like that?”
“Cassidy, you didn’t.”
My emotions were battling it out inside me. I was still wearing my vest which was rubbing and making me feel uncomfortable but I couldn’t change with Cody in the room. I couldn’t talk about the Cranston search without making things worse and I refused to cry in front of him. I needed some space. Pushing the stairs back down slowly so I wouldn’t hit anybody, I grabbed my purse in case I needed my cell phone or some money. I didn’t know where I was heading but I was going somewhere, then I took off out the front door again. Cody followed. I ran.
“Cassidy, I’m sorry,” he called as he ran after me. I cut across the street and suddenly a car pulled out. I jumped, trying to get out of the way, but it hit my leg and sent me sprawling across the hood. Two guys jumped out, stuffed me in the backseat and drove away.