THEN
On that hot day in Phoenix, the woman who had answered the door at 2911 Roy Rogers Road appeared to be about the same age as Webb’s mother. Her brown hair was shoulder length. She had faint laugh lines around her eyes. And a puzzled look on her face. Chances were, Webb guessed, teenaged guys with long hair didn’t knock on this door very often.
She glanced at the taxi that was driving away, then back at Webb. She remained standing in the doorway, an obvious clue that she wasn’t prepared to invite him inside.
“I’d like to talk to Mr. Jake Rundell,” Webb said. “I have a note from him asking me to stop by. I was given the security code to get in here and told I didn’t need to call ahead.”
It felt good to be in the shade of the house. In the short walk from the street up to the door, he’d begun panting in the heat.
The woman sagged a little, holding on to the frame of the doorway. She took a breath to steady herself, then spoke slowly. “His funeral was a couple of days ago.”
Webb felt himself sag too. Jake Rundell was dead?
If Jake Rundell was dead, now what? Nothing in his grandfather’s letter could help him. “You’re obviously not selling anything,” she said. “Otherwise I’d tell you that this community has strict rules against going door to door. But you came in a taxi.”
“Flew in from Toronto,” Webb said. “This morning. My grandfather sent me.”
“He’s too old to travel himself?”
“His funeral was a little over a week ago,” Webb said. “At the reading of his will, he left me a note saying he owed Jake Rundell a favor and I was supposed to help.”
Webb pulled the small key out of his pocket. “I was given this too.”
The woman straightened, as if someone had given her a small electric shock.
“You’re Jim Webb?” She stepped back. “Please, come inside. Shut the door behind you.”
Webb followed her to the living room. Tiled floors. Leather furniture. A huge sliding glass door at the back that showed the brown mountains in the background.
“I’m Jana Rundell,” she said, pointing to a chair for Webb to sit in. “The rest of the family has already flown back to their own homes. I’ve stayed behind to begin getting the house ready for sale.”
She moved to the kitchen, which was on the other side of the counter that divided it from the living room. She returned holding a handwritten note and an envelope.
“Here’s what it says,” Jana told him, reading from the note. “‘When Jim Webb shows up with a key, hand him the envelope.’”
Webb took the envelope and opened it. All that was written on it was another address. He read it out loud and gave Jana a questioning look.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Your father didn’t say anything else?” Webb asked.
“My father?”
“Jake.”
She laughed. “Jake had his eighty-eighth birthday a month ago. He was my grandfather.”
“David McLean was ninety-two,” Webb said. “He was my grandfather. My mom is about your age. I keep forgetting not everybody had children as late in life as my grandfather.”
“David McLean?” Jana said. “Hang on.”
She walked out of the open area into what was probably a bedroom. When she came back she handed Webb a black-and-white picture in a frame.
It showed four young men in air-force uniforms. Webb instantly recognized his own grandfather.
Jana leaned over Webb, pointing. “There’s my grandfather, Jake. He talked a lot about David McLean. Said there was nobody like him, ever.”
“The other two?” Webb asked.
“Harlowe Gavin and Ray Daley. They look like brothers, don’t they? Twins, almost. Grandpa Jake said that, in training camp, Harlowe would take a duty shift for Ray so that Ray could go into town and chase girls, and the commanding officers couldn’t tell the difference.”
“Long time ago,” Webb said, seeing the life and vitality in the young men’s faces. It made him sad all over again, knowing his grandpa was gone.
“World War Two,” Jana answered. “But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
Neither spoke. The air-conditioning unit kicked in and a wave of cool air washed over Webb.
“So—”
“So—”
“You first,” Jana said.
“My grandfather sent me here to help Jake,” Webb said. “He didn’t know that Jake was dying.” Webb paused. “Or maybe he did. I know he wanted me here as fast as possible.”
“Why?” Jana asked.
“I expected Jake Rundell to tell me,” Webb answered. He tossed the key into the air and caught it again, leaving his palm open. “But I guess since he knew the end was coming for him, he left me an address instead.”
Both of them stared at the key.
“If it helps,” Jana said, “I can drive you there.”