29

While Ida was patrolling the east end of town, she made a swing out to Kelby Oliver’s house. Creepy, the house, sitting across the road from the cornfield like it did, the birds weren’t flying. Why not? They’d eaten everything? Somebody removed the body? Leaving her car on the gravel driveway, she trudged across the dirt road to the edge of the field, determined to go in and see what was there. After only a few steps of squeezing along between stalks, her resolve weakened. The huge stalks towered over her. The smell of corn, the dust kicked up by her footsteps, and the heat were stifling.

When she’d first come here, she’d read an article in the local paper about cornfields made into mazes. Apparently, they were intricate and beautiful, but what was the point? Only someone in a low-flying plane could see them. Parties were held where people could go in and try to find their way out. Mostly, guides had to round them up and bring them out. How embarrassing would that be? She could see the headline: HAMPSTEAD’S NEWEST COP LOST IN ALIEN CORN. Under the pervasive scent of corn lay a heavy smell of decay. She looked up at the endless blue sky. Something somewhere inside the field had drawn the carrion birds, but she wasn’t going to find out anything standing here.

Fighting her way past the leaves or fronds or whatever they were called, she got back to the dirt road and immediately felt that itchy feeling between her shoulder blades of being watched. Looking around, she realized how isolated this house was. Trees—she had no idea what kind—grew across the rear. The grass had died from the heat. She wiped the sweat off her face with a handkerchief and stuck it in her pocket.

Shielding her eyes, she looked at the buildings behind the barn. She went to the house, climbed the porch steps, and rapped on the door. No answer. Kelby wasn’t home, or wasn’t coming to the door. The edginess of wanting to help somebody who doesn’t want your help left Ida frustrated. She walked to the back and looked in the screen porch. Two wicker chairs, a small table, and an old wooden rocker. The screen door was unlatched.

Taking in a breath of hot sticky air, she followed the flagstone path to the barn. A glance over her shoulder, and she rolled the big door open. Dust suspended in the air. A car. Honda, newish. Smiley face drawn in the dust on the rear window. She memorized the license plate number. The air smelled musty, like old hay. Not that she knew what old hay smelled like. The loft held bales of it. Who owned this place before Kelby moved in? She’d ask Osey.

Outside, she squinted in the bright sunshine, and followed the path past a tractor shed, chicken coop, another small shed, and came to an octagonal silo—crumbling wood and maybe forty feet high. Sometimes, according to Osey, when farmers sold out, they simply left the grain inside. She wondered if grain left in this one had drawn the big blackbirds. He also told her rats got in to eat the grain and snakes got in to eat the rats. She decided to leave the snakes and rats and grain to their own business and get back to hers.

A smell of decay was everywhere, elusive. The wind, blowing strong, scattered the scent to the corners of everywhere, and made getting a fix on it impossible. On the far side of the silo, she found it, the source of the smell. Animal carcass, probably a calf from the size, covered with squirming maggots. The path continued to a grove of trees. It angled down the slope to a creek with an old wooden bridge. Trickling water, one of those sounds that erased words from your mind, flowed under the bridge. She made her way down the bank and squatted on a large boulder.

The sound of a car broke the spell. Jumping up, she clambered up the bank and ran along the path. Just as she rounded the corner toward the front of the house, she saw the car disappear down the drive and turn right onto the road. She sprinted toward the road, but she was too late to get more than a glimpse of the driver. Male, dark hair. The car was black, Honda or Camry maybe. How long had she sat by the creek soothing her spirit?

When she went back to the patrol car, she spotted the bouquet on the porch and trotted up the steps. A dozen red roses in a vase with a big, red bow. Boyfriend? Kelby’s problem? The reason she was so terrified? A small white envelope was stuck in the bow. Open the card and see who sent the flowers. What could it hurt? Nobody would know. Her evil twin urged her to see what the card said. She looked at it, sighed, and rose to her feet. Okay, she was going to leave it alone, but she had noticed the name of the florist. No harm in finding out who bought the roses.

She parked at Angelo’s Newspapers and Magazines and went in to get something cold to drink. From the refrigerated case, she pulled a Coke and took it to the counter.

“Miss Ida. Sweet as apple cida.” Angelo, midsixties with cropped gray hair, came from the back.

“If you don’t stop calling me that I might have to arrest you.”

“For you it is free.”

Ida dropped a five on the counter. “Forget it. You think I want to go through life beholden to the likes of you?”

“Aw, if only…” He placed his hand on his heart, took the bill, dropped it in the cash drawer, and handed her the change. “So, what’s up, Miss Ida?”

“Just thirsty.” She popped the tab and took a sip.

“Naw. I know you, you got questions on your mind. What is it this time?”

Actually, she had come in just for a Coke, but as long as he expected questions. “You know Kelby Oliver? She’s not been here long.”

“Sure I know her. She was just here. Stopped in on her way home from work. Nice lady.”

“You say that about all the ladies.”

“And why not?” He smiled. “It’s true.” He gave Ida a shrewd look. “And why are you asking about her? Is she in trouble?”

Ida shrugged. “She’s new in town. Just wondered about her. Cops, you know. Always wondering.”

“Oh, sure, of course. Yeah, you wonder.” He made a soft snort. “I used to deliver her newspapers when she first moved here. San Francisco Chronicle and Oakland Tribune. Told us to just leave them on her porch. Wouldn’t even open the door. Thought that was kind of strange, but people have their ways.”

“You ever see anybody with her?”

“Nope. Never even saw her till she started working over there for Dr. Farley. She’s started stopping in and buying the papers now. She in any trouble?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“You’re not the first person to ask about her.”

“Who else was asking?”

“Some man. Wanted to know her name, where she lived.”

“You tell him?”

“Why would I talk about my customers?”

“What’d he look like?” I knew it, Ida thought. Kelby is in some kind of trouble. This man is trying to find her. The description was so vague it could have been any male. Late forties, thin, tired.

Ida wanted to call Kelby’s sister and see what the sister knew. What could it hurt to just call and talk? Maybe ask why Kelby didn’t wear glasses when she obviously had a vision problem, find out why she was so terrified.