CHAPTER 16

AT ALMOST midnight Thursday night, Rosemary blinked, yawned, and drove resolutely past her own dark house and up the hill to Kim Runyon’s place. No lights there, either, but more significantly, no truck. She should have called earlier, but after a mostly agreeable fish-and-chips dinner in Arcata with Christy, she’d been eager to get on the road for the winding, hundred-mile drive along the gorge of the Trinity River.

She yawned again, swung into the Runyons’ driveway to turn around, and headed back down the hill. Probably Kim had decided after all to stay at her uncle’s house, or her mother’s. Probably there’d be a message at home.

She stopped in front of the driveway gate, got out to open it and again, after driving through, to close it. Could there be, she wondered, a gate-opener clicker like a garage-door opener, to eliminate all this climbing in and out? Tank, freed at last from the back seat, sped about checking his domain for evidence of invaders and depositing fresh scent on the spots he considered significant.

On her way up the hill she’d noticed that some kind soul had made a first pass at cleaning the paint from her fence. Inside the yard, the motion-sensitive lights had come on and she could see no sign that there had been human invasion of any sort during her absence. Perhaps her life was about to quiet down.

She brought her bag in, and returned to the truck for Tank’s bed and gear. “You’re a good traveler,” she told him as she filled his water dish. “And you were extremely well behaved at the motel. I’ll see that you get a good long run tomorrow.”

Tank’s survey of the interior of the house was perfunctory: no problems, his demeanor said. Nevertheless, Rosemary checked the whole place including the basement, and found nothing at all amiss. There was one phone message: “Rosemary, this is gray. It’s nine A.M. Thursday and I’m about to head to Davis for some consultations, probably won’t be home until late Friday or early Saturday. But if you’re back in town by then, I hope we can get together as usual that evening. And if you’re too tired to cook, let’s make it at my place. Oh, I drove by your house a time or two, but everything seemed quiet. Take care.”

How nice to be missed. But a whole day of peace and solitude would be a blessing. She called Gray’s number and left a message to tell him that Saturday would be fine and she would be happy to cook.

She put her travel things away, checked the kitchen to be sure she had at least coffee beans and milk, and took a quick, hot shower. She was about to fall into bed when she heard engine noise that stopped out front.

As Tank rumbled, she pulled her long robe from the closet, shrugged it on over her nightgown, and headed for the living room. Outside, the lights came on, the gate-bell rang, and the sight of a large, white vehicle brought a pang of fear that abated as she identified the tall figure coming through the gate, fair hair gleaming in the light: not the would-be vandal, Jerry Maldonado, but Gus Angstrom with one of the Trinity County SUVs.

“It’s okay, Tank,” she told the dog as she zipped up her robe. But what business did the sheriff have with her at near-midnight? She took a firm hold on Tank’s collar as she opened the door. “Sheriff Angstrom? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing that concerns you directly, Rosemary. I’ve been doing a little night patrolling, was driving past and saw your lights on. Sorry if I woke you.”

What did that mean, directly? “You didn’t; I hadn’t quite made it to bed yet. Come in,” she said, and pulled the door wider.

“Thanks, I will. Hey there, Tank,” he added, offering a hand to the dog, who sniffed it, gave one dignified tail-wag, and moved away.

“I’ve been out and about the last few nights, and since we haven’t picked up the Maldonado guy yet, I drove by here a couple times.

Anyway, today there was some news I thought you might prefer to hear firsthand. Your neighbor, Eddie Runyon, has been found dead.”

“Oh,” she said on a long exhale. “When you said ‘neighbor’ I was afraid you meant Kim. Not that the truth isn’t bad enough, but…”

“I understand. Kim Ballew is a good girl. She and my son were in the same high-school class, and in this group that liked to go river-rafting. I really hated telling her about this.” He wiped a hand down over his face, and she realized how weary he was.

“Thanks for letting me know. Can I give you a cup of coffee?”

“Ma’am, I am sloshin’ over with coffee. Since I’m heading straight home from here, would you happen to have a beer?”

“I have indeed.” She headed for the kitchen and he followed. “Let’s see, at the moment there’s Etna Ale. Will that suit?”

“Absolutely.”

She pulled out a bottle and handed it to him. “There’s an opener in the drawer next to the sink, and a glass in the cupboard there if you want one. For myself, I’m going to open a bottle of wine. And I don’t need help,” she added. “You go on into the living room and sit down.”

He obeyed, and when she joined him with a glass of chardonnay in her hand, he was on the couch, legs stretched out onto the ottoman. “So, what can you tell me about Eddie’s death?” she asked, and sat down in the fireside wing chair, tucking her robe primly around her legs.

“Not a whole lot; he’d gone off the road into a steep, brushy canyon, and we found him only this morning. Took a while to get down to him, and longer to get him out.”

“Where was this?”

“On highway Three up in the Scott Mountains. He was coming south, presumably toward home, when it happened.”

Would this make Kim feel better, or worse? “What do you think caused him to go off?”

He shook his head and lifted the bottle of ale for a long swallow. “We won’t know that until we get his truck up, or maybe even until we have the results from the postmortem. From the first survey of the body and the truck, it was probably the impact of the accident that killed him.”

“Can you tell when it happened?”

“Not sure. Maybe late Sunday, maybe early Monday.”

“I saw him leave in a hurry Sunday morning, and when I saw Kim on Monday, she told me he hadn’t come home the night before.”

“You saw him what, drive by fast?”

Rosemary set her glass on the side table and folded her hands in her lap. “Sunday was the morning I got up and found the heap of deer offal in my yard, or rather, Tank found it. At the time I thought it was probably Eddie’s little gift, so I scooped it up and drove up the hill to return it. He got—very upset, and jumped in his truck and drove off.”

He waited, a technique she recognized. “Kim came out as he left, and when I told her what had happened, she said Eddie absolutely couldn’t kill anything and couldn’t stand the sight of blood. She was sure he wouldn’t have left the stuff, and as you know, I found out later she was right.”

“Oh, yeah, that trick was your niece’s, the skinny kid I met Tuesday evening.”

“Christabel Mendes.”

“Right. You notice what time was it when Runyon took off on Sunday?”

“Midmorning. Kim will recall the exact time, because she had well-baby and prenatal appointments in town that morning and without the truck, had no way to get there.”

“And I bet you took her there,” he said, and had another swallow of ale.

“I—it wasn’t Kim’s fault that Eddie drove off in a huff,” she said.

“Not really yours, either. That guy was a walking bundle of grievances, most of ’em unjustified—as far as a normal person could see, anyhow. Did you send the niece on her way?”

“I drove her back to Arcata; that’s where I’ve been. And that was not merely an act of kindness; she was a real help in my effort—successful, I think—to convince her relatives that they’d be wise to leave me alone.”

“You want to watch out with that one or she’ll have you adopting her, too,” he said with a grin.

Rosemary was startled by a little twinge of…something. At least the urge to grin back. it had been a long time since she’d sat around in her nightgown talking to an attractive man. “Do you know where Kim Runyon has gone?”

Responding to her cool tone, he dropped his legs from the ottoman and straightened. “She told me I could reach her for the next day or two at her uncle’s. Gave me that number, and her mother’s as well. My guess is, she’ll be back here before long.”

“I hope so. I like Kim,” Rosemary said.

“Me, too. I told her to be sure to call me if there was anything I could do to help. And in my opinion,” he said as set the empty bottle aside and got to his feet, “You’re likely to have many more chances there to be helpful.”

“I’ll try to respond like a normal person,” she said crisply, and he grinned again.

She followed him to the door, and opened it. He gave her a nod and a good-bye salute and stepped out; she closed the door, turned the lock, and heard him say, “Good,” before setting off down the steps. As his footsteps faded, she remembered that she hadn’t asked him whether there was anything new about Michelle Morgan.

IT was near noon Friday when Rosemary and Tank trailed back along the upper end of Willow Road, moving much more slowly than when they’d trekked out more than an hour earlier. Mind set on food and drink and a shower as she passed the Runyons’ place, Rosemary caught with just the edge of her glance a vehicle that looked like the Ford truck Kim had borrowed from her uncle.

She paused for a better look, and a moment’s thought. She hadn’t noticed the truck there when they went by earlier; but it was tucked close to the far side of the house, so she might have missed it. There was no sign of movement about the building, no visible lights. Maybe they were sleeping, she and Tyler, or at least resting. Best to leave the condolence call for later.

But when she opened her gate, she found Kim Runyon in her familiar spot on the porch steps, one hand jiggling the stroller that held the sleeping Tyler. “Hi, Rosemary. Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to see a friendly face.”

“Kim, I’m so sorry.” Rosemary stooped to put a consoling arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. “Excuse the state I’m in, all sweaty and dusty. Please come inside and make yourself comfortable while I clean up a bit.”

Fifteen minutes later, she moved quietly through the hall to the kitchen, to set a package down on a kitchen chair and shift a flat pink box from counter to table. A peek into the living room revealed Kim sitting slumped on the couch, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Tyler, who lay on the floor sucking his thumb, and Tank, curled nearby. “What on earth is wrong with me? I should have left Tank outside.”

“Actually, it was kind of weird,” Kim said softly. “Tyler woke up when I put him down there, and started to cry, which he’s been doing for, like, three days. And your dog came and licked his face.”

“I think he’s responsive to misery,” Rosemary said. “And Tyler certainly radiates misery, poor little guy. Kim, pick him up and come into the kitchen. I did some shopping in town earlier this morning, and there are a couple of things I’d intended to bring over to you, assuming you came back here.”

“This is where I live.” Kim pronounced each word as a separate entity as she bent to pick up her son. “Come on, little kid, let’s see what Aunt Rosemary has for us. Oh, lovely, from Luna,” she said when she spotted the pink box. “Whatever it is, let’s eat it right now.”

Rosemary folded back the top of the box to reveal a ring of inter-locking pastry rounds. “It’s the famous Luna Coffee Ring, with raisins, but no nuts,” she said. “My boys were not crazy about nuts at Tyler’s age.”

“You had boys?”

“Two of them, grown now.” Rosemary broke off pieces of pastry to put on separate paper plates. “There you go. Coffee? or milk? incidentally, you left Tyler’s sippy-cup here.”

“No more coffee for me, not for about a week,” said Kim. “Or maybe ever.”

Tyler ate one piece of pastry and most of another, and when he finally gave up, his face looked rounder and much happier. “Wipe his hands off,” Rosemary instructed, “and I’ll show him what i got for him today.”

What she pulled from the bag was a furry, cinnamon-colored stuffed bear with floppy legs, pink-lined ears, and a silly grin in its big face. Tyler took one look, said, “Mine!” and reached out with both arms. “Bear can be a friend for Barney,” Rosemary said to Tyler, and to Kim, “If you like, you could put him down for a nap on my bed.”

KIM came in from the bedroom fifteen minutes later, her face tearstained. “I had to lie down with him for a while,” she said, and sank back onto the couch. “He’s been missing his daddy since Sunday, and now I have to help him understand that daddy won’t be coming back ever.”

You, and he, will understand it, over time. Accepting it is something else entirely. This hard-won belief, Rosemary realized, wouldn’t be of much use to Kim just now. “Perhaps your priest can help.”

“Priest? Oh my god no! I don’t go to any church, and Eddie’s family is the hardest-shell kind of Baptist, when they’re sober. I need to keep Tyler as far away from them as possible.”

“Have you told them?” Rosemary helped herself to a stray bit of pastry and considered making coffee. Or tea, maybe. How did the old line go? Tea, the drink that cheers but does not inebriate. Too bad. Nevertheless, she got up to put on the teakettle.

“I called his dad, in hayfork. Got Harry’s current girlfriend or wife or whatever, and she said she’d tell him when he got back home today or tomorrow. I doubt he’ll be real broken up over it.”

Rosemary remembered Eddie’s more attentive relative. “Have you talked to Steve yet?”

She shook her head. “He never called me back.”

“You said he worked in private security?” At Kim’s nod, she pushed on. “Where?”

“Modoc County. Some politician-rancher up by the county seat, Alturas. I never heard the guy’s name, but Eddie would know— would’ve known.” Another pause. “He went up there to see Steve a few months ago. Like I told you the other day, those two always kept in close touch. Rosemary, have you got a beer?”

“I have water on for tea.” As she spoke, the kettle whistled, and she got up to prepare the pot.

“Oh. yeah, okay. I probably wouldn’t stop with one beer.”

“True. I didn’t, or with two, or three. But I wasn’t pregnant.”

“Lucky you. As my mother would say.” The grim edge in Kim’s voice sent a tingle down Rosemary’s spine as she returned to her seat.

“My mother thinks Eddie’s death gives me a chance for a ‘fresh start.’ She thinks now I’ll get my ass in gear and buy some sexy underwear or something and go find me a lawyer or an accountant. Or an insurance salesman? An, I don’t know, airline pilot? College professor?” Kim’s voice climbed several notes higher with each new suggestion. Rosemary kept her own mouth shut, simply reaching across the table to lay her hands on Kim’s clenched fists.

“Sorry.” Kim relaxed her fists, returned Rosemary’s grip briefly, and sat back in her chair. “Tea would be good. I need to get myself together before Tyler wakes up.”

“Sheriff Angstrom came by last night to tell me about Eddie’s death. Have you heard anything further about the details?”

Kim shook her head. “They figure the postmortem for tomorrow; today they were planning to winch the truck up for a better look. I told the sheriff that there’s no way Eddie would have been speeding or driving carelessly.”

“He was…rather upset when he drove off, Kim.”

She shook her head. “When he was planning to go to the police academy, he took one of those driving courses. You know, slalom runs, stand-on-your-nose stops, three-point turns. Full control of the car, he loved that. Not many things in his life Eddie could control, but he could control that truck.” She sighed. “I told the sheriff somebody else must have been on the road, came around a curve on the wrong side or off a side road without looking, something like that. And ran into Eddie, and then took off.”

“Sheriff Angstrom strikes me as a competent man. I’m sure they’ll look into that possibility.” She set teapot and cups on the table. “Sugar? Milk? Oh, you like cream,” she said.

“And you don’t have any, so I’ll have to make do with milk,” Kim said with the ghost of a smile.

“True. Kim, I believe I’ve settled my personal family problems. I don’t expect any more vandals, or nasty phone calls. So if you do decide to stay on here on Willow Lane, I’m nearby and reasonably sane at the moment, for emergencies or brief baby-tending stints.” Rosemary had a moment of disbelief as she heard these words come from her mouth. “Of course, you’d surely get more help at your mother’s.”

“All I’d get from my mother is grief, and I have enough of that on my own.” She had a sip of tea, and reached for another piece of pastry, which she ate with careful attention.

“My mother,” she said finally, “tells me I’d be out of my mind to go on with this pregnancy. She says I need to concentrate on the kid I have and on getting my head straight. She says I still have at least a month to have a safe, legal abortion, and I’d be crazy not to do that.”

Rosemary could see the logic of this.

“So what would you do?” Kim asked suddenly. “What would you tell your daughter to do?”

“I’m not going to answer the first question, Kim. I’d like to think, though,” she added, “that if I had a daughter, I’d tell her that decision was hers to make, and I’d accept it.”

“Well, since my mother can’t see it like that, what I’m going to do is stay out of her way and take care of myself and Tyler and see what happens. And I’m really glad you’re here, but I promise not to be a burden in your life. Okay?”

“Absolutely.”

A wail sounded from the bedroom, and Tank, who’d been dozing in front of the refrigerator, lifted his head and gave a whine.

“Thanks for the tea,” Kim said as she got to her feet. “I’d better get him before he gets completely wound up, and take him home.”

“Can I give you a ride? it’s getting chilly.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve got the stroller, and warm jackets for both of us.”

“Take care, Kim. And call me if you get any news from Sheriff Angstrom.”

“Will do.”

THE call came much later, as Rosemary sat by the fireplace with a book in her lap. Startled out of her half doze, she dropped the book as she got up to go to the phone, now back on her desk since the “anonymous caller” had been defused.

“Rosemary, it wasn’t Eddie’s fault!”

“It…what?”

“Some asshole, probably drunk, smashed into him and knocked him off the road. They found a big dent and a long smear of blue paint on the driver’s-side door of his truck. So he didn’t just lose control, and he didn’t die mad at himself for doing something stupid one more time.”

“I see. Thank you, Kim.”

“That’s okay. I just wanted you to know. Good night,” she said, and hung up.

 

1995

DAD EXPECTS you to come home, Brianna. He wanted you to petition to have your exams early and come as soon as possible, but I convinced him to wait until the semester’s over.” David Conroy stood trim and straight-backed in the living room of her small Tucson apartment, fine cotton shirt in a white-on-white stripe tucked neatly into denim pants that were definitely not Levi’s. And shiny black slip-on shoes instead of boots, she noted. Over the past three years her brother Davy had morphed into David Conroy, Esquire.

“I know. I got a phone message from Sammie and an e-mail from Himself. You want a beer?” Without waiting for an answer, Brianna ambled into the apartment’s tiny kitchen and got two bottles from the fridge.

“Sit down, sit down,” she told him, and waited until he’d settled into a wooden armchair before handing him one of the bottles. “Sorry, no clean glasses. I called and left a message with Sammie’s secretary, or assistant, or whatever he is.” She pulled a tall stool out from the room-divider island and perched there. “Told her to explain to B.D. that I had plans of my own for the summer. For my life.”

“Right, and he wants you to change them.” David tipped up the long-necked bottle, took a sip, wiped his mouth and then his forehead. “Brianna, doesn’t this dump have air-conditioning?”

“This dump—which I like—is old, brother Dave, and in Tucson that means swamp cooler. Won’t hurt you to sweat a little.”

He took another swallow, as if for lubrication. “Listen, Bree. He is dead serious about this. He doesn’t like that you’re living out here in the boonies instead of in the dorm or in town, or that you’ve usually got some guy hanging around who presumably buys you booze and…” he lifted his head and sniffed loudly “…and pot? Or that you don’t seem to be headed for a degree program. Are you even officially a senior?”

“I could be, after the summer. If I wanted to.” She had a drink from her bottle, then fixed a hard gaze on him. “I’m an adult, I can live where I want and with any guy or guys or even woman I like. And how the hell does he know about my courses or what I’m doing?”

“Don’t be stupid. He knows.” David sat forward in his chair, beer bottle cradled between his knees, eyes meeting Brianna’s. “I don’t think you fully understand the importance of what’s happened. Congressman Walter Mulligan—you’ve met him—has prostate cancer, and he’s resigning. He’s suggested Dad as the best person from Congressional District Two to finish out his current, and eighth, term in the House of Representatives, and the governor has agreed to appoint him. So Dad is giving up his California Senate seat and will now have a year-and-a-half head start on what he’s been planning to run for anyway. And in the U.S. Congress, you don’t term out.”

“So Mr. Mulligan’s death is Dad’s good luck.”

“He’s not dead,” said David sharply. “He may well survive. But he wants to concentrate on doing that. Anyway, Dad’s not kidding, Bree. He wants you cleaned up and squared-away, he wants you with him, in Washington, helping him set up a real home there. Brian Conroy’s bright, beautiful, talented daughter, that’s what he wants. And he’s going to get it, I promise you.”

“I did that number three years ago, and I told him I wouldn’t do it again. Politics makes me puke. Anyway, I’m going to the woods this summer, on a firefighting crew.”

“Bree, please. Don’t make it hard on everybody.”

Himself, he meant. Even his pilot’s license, his law degree, and his beautiful, M.B.A.-equipped fiancée couldn’t keep Dave Conroy’s knees from shaking whenever Brian Conroy bellowed. “What about your Karen?” she asked. “She’s better-looking than me, and a whole lot smoother.”

David shook his head. “She’s not tough like you. She’s not ranch-bred. And she’s not the flesh-of-his-flesh, bone-of-his-bone daughter.”

Brianna tossed her hair back and tipped the beer bottle. “Well that’s just too fuckin’ bad, Davy. I’ve got a couple dollars left in the bank, and I’ll just go out waitressing or something for a few weeks, until June fifteenth and my birthday.”

David took a sip from his bottle, grimaced, and set the bottle carefully down on the floor beside his chair. “Beer is not my favorite drink. Um, I don’t think you should count on that money. Not right away, anyway.”

“Bullshit. It’s mine, from my grandmother, on my twenty-first birthday. He can’t do anything about that.”

Her brother ran a smoothing hand over his already smooth and well-barbered head, still not meeting her eyes. “Brianna, he’s on the banking committee, among others. And he knows every important Republican in the state and quite a few Democrats. Believe me, if he wanted to hold that money back—or if he wanted to, well, borrow it for his own use—he could do it.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying that’s what he did?”

“I, um, believe so. But I’m sure he regards it as temporary, a loan. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually. Especially if you help him out as he’s asking.”

On her feet now, Brianna Conroy felt rage sweep up from her toes. It sent tremors to her knees, twisted a knife in her gut, expanded her lungs until she thought her ribs would crack. Her skin was suddenly clammy, and she had only to look at Dave’s face to know that all color must have drained from hers.

“Bree!” he leaped to his feet, knocking over the half-full beer bottle.

She blew out held-in breath, made white-knuckled fists of her hands, and pressed them together beneath her chin. Dave said, “Bree?” again and put his hands on her shoulders. She flung her arms wide to break his grip, and he stumbled back and nearly fell.

“Just leave me alone for a minute.” She took a deep breath and another, swallowed hard against the bile rising in the back of her throat. Okay. She’d figured this might, just might, very long odds against but might happen. “Okay. There was a hundred thousand to start, I know that. And it was invested, for ten years.”

“Very conservatively.”

“Right. So I figure it should amount to, oh, maybe two hundred and fifty thousand dollars by now.”

“I have no way of knowing that.”

“I bet you can find out, Davy. Tell you what, I’ll make it easy and settle for a flat two hundred K. By my birthday.”

Dave was back in lawyer mode now, smooth-faced and solemn. “Brianna, that’s not possible.”

“It had better be. Because if I don’t get it, I will see my father in court.”

“That wouldn’t be smart, Bree. It would cost you a bundle that you don’t have, and given B.D.’s status and your uneven history—”

“I was picked up only once, for possession of marijuana. And it didn’t stick.”

?Nevertheless—”

“Besides,” she said, “I’m not talking about charging him with violating the will.”

“Then what?”

She smiled a grim, tight smile. “Guess.”

He goggled at her, and then his mouth dropped. “Sexual abuse? You wouldn’t do that. Besides, it’s not true.”

“Do you know that, Davy? You with your books and your inhaler and your tendency to get out of the house and away every chance you had?”

“I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t care what you believe. Or even what’s true. I just want my money, and my freedom.”

“No one will believe it.”

“Wanna bet?”

His shoulders slumped. “Brianna, you can’t do this to him. He loves you.”

“Yeah? Well, he doesn’t own me, not anymore. I’ll get my money, one way or another. Then I’m out of here, for good. No more Conroy-family-name-and-reputation shit, Daddy’s little girl. Just, like, Mary Jones, free woman. You tell him that for me.”

David’s grimace held an edge of fear. “He won’t believe it. He’ll never believe you’d do this to him.”

“You’ll have to make him believe.”

He simply shook his head.

She thought this over for a moment, stretching her arms out before her and staring idly, then more intently at hands just like her father’s, big and square with crooked little fingers. Except her left one was more sharply bent, and stiff, from having been crushed in a car door when she was sixteen. “Okay. I’ll make it easy for you, Davy. I’ll send him a message he’ll have to take seriously.”