The nurse was gathering breakfast dishes when Sheriff Boggs stepped into the hospital room. He declined the extra chair and politely asked Wendy how she was feeling. In return he got her radiant smile. “Thank you for saving us, sir.”
“They holding the big lug in the nursery?”
“Yep. Only for a couple days, though. He didn’t get too banged up when Jack Meechum dragged me up the hillside.”
“Meechum show up?” Hickey asked.
“Nope. I got a dozen boys out there, see if they can find the body before it gets shredded. Not a chance he lasted through the night. He would’ve had to come back to the cabin or bust into another, and we’ve checked every place five miles around.”
“He could’ve circled back to the road.”
“I don’t believe he could. Roy got on the radio at Lewellen’s place. We had cruisers on the road before he could’ve got there. I figure he ran scared up into the wilderness. He’s not gonna find a road in eighty miles that way. If he don’t freeze, and wolves or a cat don’t get him, there’s nothing out there but crags to fall off of and arroyos—step in one of those, some hiker’ll sight him mid-August or so. By then he’ll look like Jolly Roger.”
“Who’s Jolly Roger?” Wendy asked.
“A skeleton.” Hickey kissed his finger and touched her forehead. “Like Meechum’s gonna be soon enough, either way. They can stick murder one on him, for the beachcomber.”
“Murder one, they’ll kill him, won’t they?” Wendy asked.
“Yep.”
“Poor man.”
“I got a better name for him,” the sheriff said.
Letting her head fall back, Wendy closed her eyes. Hickey sat stroking her arm. When Claire arrived, after she greeted and kissed Wendy, the sheriff offered his hand, then pulled the extra chair close to Hickey’s and seated her.
Though she’d sat with the Hickeys from midnight to dawn, Claire looked fresh and animated as though she’d just returned from a voyage in the tropics. She wore her hair up, a touch of eye shadow, a bright cotton skirt with a cashmere sweater. She rummaged in her purse, extracted a telegram, and handed it to Hickey. “There was a note on your door. I stopped by Western Union.”
TOM. I GOT THE NEWS FROM WASHOE COUNTY SHERIFFS. THANK GOD. CYNTHIA SKIPPED OUT. DITCHED THE SISTER. TOOK HER SON AND DISAPPEARED. LAUREL’S DAMNED MAD. BRING THE KID FOR A VISIT, I’LL TEACH HIM TO WATERSKI. RUSTY.
Hickey blew a sigh, folded the telegram, and stuffed it into his pocket. Claire was petting Wendy’s cheek. The sheriff stood, pardoned himself, and left. Hickey sat facing the women. “I got a problem.”
“Leo,” Claire murmured. The second it was out, she winced at her indiscretion.
Wendy stiffened up. “Leo’s in a jam?”
“Naw. Don’t worry, babe. I’m talking about Cynthia. See, when Meechum torched the Sousa place, he was doing the job for her. Now that he’s a goner, providing they don’t catch him alive, I can pin the whole rap on him if I want to. Or I can stick Cynthia with her rightful share.”
“Why would you want to save her, after she burnt up a guy?” Claire asked.
“She’s nuts. A purebred loon. But maybe she’s only nuts about her family. Only nuts enough to kill them anyway.” He gave her the story in brief, how the feud between sisters had begun with rivalry and escalated on account of mutual fear. “Look, either Cynthia’s gonna kill Laurel or vice versa. Maybe today, maybe in twenty years, but someday. I’d make book on it.”
“Well, then,” Claire speculated, “if Cynthia goes to prison, it might save her. Or her sister.”
“I think it’d kill her,” Hickey said.
Wendy let go of Claire’s hand, lifted Tom’s, stared at the palm, and caressed it. “Do you think she’d hurt anybody besides her sister?”
“People get in the way,” Hickey said. “Like Johnny Sousa. This beachcomber. Meechum. You don’t just kill somebody clean. Every murder I’ve seen, it’s like a pileup on the highway.”
Claire nodded adamantly. “True. In a sense, she killed two people sure, maybe three, if Meechum’s dead, or—” She caught herself before mentioning Leo. “And that doesn’t count all she put Wendy through.”
Wendy reached behind her head, straightened the pillow, and propped herself up. “I’m okay. And she’s got a little boy, like Clifford. Who’d watch her boy if she goes to prison? Say, maybe we could keep him.”
“Whoa. Not a chance I’m getting you or Clifford mixed up with that family. It’d be the kiss of death.”
Wendy nodded pensively. “Anyhow, her boy needs his mama.”
Hickey stared at his wife in awe, at the arch of her brows and her eyelashes slightly flicking. It seemed he could know her a million years and find a hundred new features to love every day: a turn of her mind, a tone of voice, a soft place or blemish of her skin. “Sousa wasn’t supposed to be in the house. That part was kind of accidental. Anyway, Sousa was no choirboy.”
“Right,” Claire said. “And you can’t really pin Meechum’s killing the beachcomber on Cynthia.”
Hickey wrapped his fingers around Wendy’s hand, picked it up, and kissed the vein of her wrist. “Let’s leave the boy with his mama.”
“Okay. I think that’s best.”
“You know, darling, as long as you’re around, I don’t need a conscience. You do a way better job.”
“Don’t be silly.” She reached around his neck and pulled herself close. Hickey rubbed her back for a long time, until Claire stood and touched his shoulder and excused herself, with a promise to return that evening.
“You know what I want?” Hickey said.
“Tell me.”
“To hold you.”
With a smile that turned to a grimace, she eased herself toward the wall. Hickey slipped in beside her, tunneled his arm under her neck, and flopped his head back onto the side of her pillow. He cocked his head so their cheeks touched.” “Babe, are you sure the freaks didn’t hurt you?” You’re not just saying that so I won’t sneak into the jail and mutilate them?”
“I’m sure, all right. Except when Jack Meechum dragged me up the hillside. That hurt a little. And Tersh whopped me once. Only once, though. I was singing a song he didn’t like. But they couldn’t hurt me bad, even if they wanted. On account of the angels.”
“Yeah, how about those angels? What’d they look like?”
“I only saw Zeke, but I think there was a whole gang.”
“What’d Zeke look like?”
“Oh, big. Way taller than you. It was hard to see him because he was mostly made of light, I think. I didn’t see wings, but maybe that’s because he had a floppy shirt that came way down. He either had hair like a girl’s or he was wearing a funny hat. I think he was a redhead. That’s about all I saw.”
“Did he talk?”
“Nope. Didn’t make a sound.”
Hickey’s free hand had crept over and rubbed her belly. “You’re okay, sweetheart? Honest?”
“Honest. Well, I’m sore, that’s for sure.”
“You’re not worried, about nightmares or anything?”
“Not about anything. Truly. Because nothing terrible’s gonna happen, not to you or Clifford or me. Not ever. That’s God’s promise, Tom.”
The past thirty years, Hickey’d gotten teary a few times, but if he’d sobbed in that time, he’d deleted the memory. Now he sobbed freely, and liked it. Afterward, he lay still, listening to her breathe ever more shallowly until she drifted away. Then he slipped out from under the covers, patted the wrinkles from his trousers, grabbed his coat, and walked out to the hall and down to the nursery window.
There were only two babies. Hickey stared at Clifford, who lay facedown, his head cocked the other way. From the back, he looked strong, as though any second he might do pushups. Hickey didn’t need to see his face, he remembered it so vividly. A long head with puffy cheeks, ruddy skin. The kid might become a heartthrob, especially if he kept the dark hair that set off his eyes. They were blue as the shallows along Agate Bay.