Forty-One

“I wasn’t sure how many days had passed,” Brian told me that evening in the hospital. “Time just seemed to blur. That damned Xanax was knocking me out, so I slept most of the time, unless I could manage to fake swallowing the pills. The day I left...that was yesterday, although it seems like a long time ago. I knew it was afternoon, because they’d brought me breakfast and lunch.”

“So when you were ready, you picked the lock.” I leaned back in the chair, feeling tired but wanting to hear the rest of my brother’s story.

He nodded. “I listened. The house was usually quiet after lunch. I’d at least figured that out. I don’t know why. Maybe they were all out doing whatever they did with their pot crop. Or maybe they were taking siestas. Hell, I didn’t know. But I was ready to go. I stuffed the food I’d saved and the water bottle in my pocket and I stuck the spring into the lock, moving it around the way you taught me. Once I got the door open, I found out the back door leading out of the house wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even closed all the way.”

“They got careless.”

Brian nodded. “Maybe they figured I wouldn’t try to get away. I listened and I didn’t hear anyone. So I eased out that back door and headed for the trees. Every step I took, I expected to hear a gun and feel a bullet in my back.”

“You were lucky to get away. I don’t know how much longer Rick could have kept Tony from killing you.”

Brian reached for the water and took a sip, then lay back against the pillow. “I had a good idea where I was. By coincidence, I’d been thinking about going hiking at Armstrong Redwoods, so I’d studied the map. I knew if I could get to Fife Creek I could follow it into the park.”

“I knew you wouldn’t go down Redwood Creek. That’s the first place they would look. So you went cross-country, looking for Fife Creek.”

“Yeah. I figured if I found the creek and hiked downstream, eventually I’d find a trail. I’m not sure how far I was from the park when I started, though. The terrain was rough. And it got cold up there once the sun went down. I spent the night in a little cave I found, then started hiking again in the morning.” He smiled. “I didn’t have very much to eat. I was rationing out the stuff I’d saved. And looking for mushrooms. It’s a good thing I had been studying edible mushrooms, because I found some. I hadn’t found the creek, though. I knew if I kept heading west, I would run into it. I was still looking for the creek when I saw you.”

He looked exhausted, as though telling the tale had taken more out of him. I leaned over and took his hand. “You’re found now. I’d better let you sleep. I’ll be back in the morning.”

——

I was there the next day when Griffin and Harris interviewed Brian. As Griffin hoped, Brian was able to identify Scott Cruz as the man who had fired the shot that killed Harry Vann. I didn’t know what happened to the aluminum briefcase full of money that Rick Newman stole, the money that had precipitated the whole sorry episode. The cash presumably belonged to Lowell Rhine’s client, but getting it back was Rhine’s problem, not mine.

The doctors let Brian go home late Saturday afternoon. He’d made a quick recovery once he was properly fed and hydrated, and the Xanax was out of his system. The concussion he’d sustained was minor. The doctors did recommend some counseling, and I told my brother he should consider it. He might have some leftover stress due to being held prisoner for a week.

Brian didn’t commit to the counseling, talking instead about how he was looking forward to starting his new job, getting on with his life as soon as possible. He seemed resilient, ready to leave the whole horrible incident behind and get on with his life, as though nothing had happened.

But it had happened. It might come back to haunt him later on. I concurred with the need for counseling for several reasons. As much as Brian wanted to get back to normal, I wasn’t sure Sheila had made her peace with the changes in their lives, the changes that had led to the problems they were experiencing.

It was up to the two of them to figure out how to patch the holes in their marriage.

Brian went home, and so did my parents, leaving Aunt Caro’s home on Sunday afternoon. Mom went back to Monterey, Dad went back to Castro Valley—and I went home to Oakland, but just for one night.

On Monday, I drove up to Bodega Bay, to spend a few days with Dan at his friends’ house overlooking the bay. Our trip to Lassen had been cut short, but we enjoyed those few days walking along the beach looking at the ocean.

Before I went to the coast, however, I went to Occidental.

It was midafternoon when I detoured off Highway 12 onto Bohemian Highway, and drove along the winding two-lane road that led through the redwoods to Occidental. When I reached the town, I parked in front of Hestia Gallery and went inside. Dad’s birthday was coming up and I’d decided to get him the watercolor of the hummingbird that I’d seen there earlier.

The painting was still there. I took it off the wall. Then I heard someone say my name. I turned. It was Willow. She was dressed in purple as usual, with a lavender scarf holding back her dark hair.

“You found Brian,” she said.

“I did. And your brother. I’m sorry you won’t have clear title to the land.”

She made a face. Then she shrugged. “Who knows how that’s going to turn out? It looks like Rick’s going to be in jail for a while. I’ve hired a lawyer to deal with it. I’ve got more important things to do, like my pottery.” She paused. “I’m really glad Brian is all right, and home with his family. I like him a lot. Probably more than I should. I won’t be seeing him again.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

Willow nodded, then looked critically at the watercolor I was holding. “That’s really lovely. The artist does good work.”

“It’s a birthday present for my father,” I said. “He’s a birder. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m sure he will, too. But you should get something for yourself.”

“Maybe I will.”

I watched as Willow went outside and got into her car. As she drove off, I turned and walked back to the cash register, setting the watercolor on the glass surface near the cash register.

Then I stepped over to the shelves displaying Willow’s pottery. I picked up the asymmetrical green platter I liked so much and carried it to the counter.