Death Qualified Part 28

He held her hand and studied her face in the unsteady, nickering glow from a distant streetlight.

"You're not mad at me? Really not?"

"Really not," she said.

"I thought you would be."

"I know, but you see, I'm not one of your funny little squiggles with a plus or minus sign, or an equal sign be fore or after me. Or, G.o.d forbid, x times the square root of minus one anywhere in my equation."

He laughed and pulled her hard against his chest and then kissed her.

"I'm learning more about people these days than I knew there was to know. When will I see you again?"

That was new. Neither of them ever asked the other that particular question. Just as neither ever said I love you.

He had to go first there, too, she had decided. She told him about dive's invitation to dinner on Sunday.

"And later? Your place or mine?"

She definitely was not ready to keep him overnight in her father's house. The decision was instantaneous.

"Yours," she said, laughing. They kissed again, and she got into her car and left him standing in the drizzle as she drove away.

The drizzle became rain briefly, then drizzle again, then the moon was sailing through streaky clouds, and the drizzle came back. She even saw some stars for a short time when the city lights were well behind her and the countryside closed in dark and mysterious, as if the world ended where the light from her high beams got lost in the trees on both sides of the road.

For long stretches she was alone on the road. An occasional car pa.s.sed her, a truck, another car or a cl.u.s.ter of traffic, some came opposite her, vanished with twinkling red taillights.

"Okay," she muttered at one time, to herself, the rain, the oncoming lights, or nothing.

"Okay." She was thinking of Mike Dinesen, and their non commitment to each other, their denial of the future, not through words, but the lack of words. Neither of them wanted the future wrapped in plain brown paper; neither was willing to be the trailing spouse while the other achieved fame and fortune.

He would be in Oregon through this year, and then where? He had no idea, was unconcerned. For three summers he had been in Austin, Texas, working with people he spoke of with a touch of awe. G.o.ds, she had decided.

She could not imagine anything short of a G.o.d inspiring him with awe. All over the country people were willing to kill for tenure, but he had shrugged it off, not caring that the university here had given it to him in spite of his lack of enthusiasm. There were other offers pending; she knew so little of his field that she could not tell if they were important, and he seemed to treat them all the same way interesting, but not compelling.

Up ahead she could see the lights of a covered bridge, the last landmark before the road twisted and turned as it followed the sh.o.r.eline of the reservoir. Ten, twelve more miles, then a hot bath, a boring book, and sleep. Her eyes burned with fatigue.

The road made a Y at the bridge, the right lane aimed at the bridge; she made the left turn, went under an overpa.s.s, and suddenly her car was out of control as the winds.h.i.+eld seemed to explode, not throwing gla.s.s--it was tempered and didn't do that but cracks ran through it, gla.s.s shattered and dropped out, and the car careened dizzily from the right lane to the left, grazed a rocky formation was flung back to the right lane and sideways into a tree, then another. She was jerked from one side to the other, thrown against the steering wheel, then snapped back sharply as she fought to control the car. And then it sc.r.a.ped a tree again, and this time both right wheels were off the road, dragging. The car turned halfway around and finally came to a stop. She had a cramp in her foot from pressing on the brake.

After that her memory played games with her. She was sitting in the car, dazed, afraid to move, twenty feet above the reservoir, and then she was driving again, with rain in her face, but there was no memory connecting one event to the other. She was parked on the shoulder, blinded by a red film in her eye, then driving again, just as before, without memory of stopping or starting. Driving, stop ping, driving again, she continued through Turner's Point where there were a few lights still on; she did not even consider stopping. She found herself on the private road without any recollection of arriving there.

Now she found herself leaning against the front door of her father's house, as if a giant hand had plucked her from the car and propped her there. When the door opened, she fell.

Frank took her to the hospital, where they kept her over night for observation but they did not let her sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, someone came along and made her open them again, to do this or that, submit to this or that new procedure or test. By Friday afternoon she was so tired she wanted to cry; when Frank came to take her home, she warned him that she intended to sleep for twenty-four hours and not to be alarmed, and if he valued his head, not to try to wake her up because she would have the head of anyone who did.

"Did you watch the video in court?" she asked as a nurse's aide wheeled her down the corridor toward the elevator.

"Yes. Just what you expected."

She groaned.

He left her to get his car, and took her home. She went to bed and slept.

When she woke up, the light beyond her windows was twilight; she did not know if it was morning or evening light. She dressed, moving very cautiously, every muscle aching. She felt her head gingerly; there was still a lump, not as bad as it had been, she could actually touch it without flinching. Progress, she muttered, and started downstairs.

Then she heard voices from the kitchen. Frank had company.

At the door she paused again, but they all jumped up, and her father hurried to her side.

"How are you? How do you feel?"

"Like someone who got in the way of stampeding elephants.

Not too bad."

Mike was there, on the other side of the table; she remembered that he had been in her hospital room most of the day, whenever that day was. He grinned at her and sat down again. And the sheriff, Tony's sheriff was how she thought of him, Bernard Gray, had been at the table having coffee; he was on his feet now.

"Ah, Ms. Holloway, good to see you up and about."

She nodded at him and regretted moving her head that way. She took the fourth chair, and Frank put coffee down in front of her.

"Hungry?"

"Ravenous," she said, surprised.

"What day is it?"

"Sat.u.r.day," her father said.

"Four in the afternoon."

Already? Two days of the mini-vacation gone.

"d.a.m.n," she muttered.

Sheriff Gray had come to report that there was nothing to report and to see if she had anything to add to what she had said in the hospital. She didn't, and he left again after a few minutes.

"So," she said after the sheriff was gone, "tell me what they're thinking. And about my car. And what happened in court."

"Car's a real mess. Two new doors, front end, right and left needs replacing, winds.h.i.+eld. It'll take some bickering with the insurance company. I say call it totaled and get a new one." He had gone into the other part of the kitchen and was stirring eggs as he talked. He looked at the eggs in the bowl, not at her.

"Miracle that you could walk away from it."

"I'm tougher than a heap of metal and gla.s.s. Just goes to show," she said, but she remembered the careening car, and she had to agree that it was something of amir acle that she had not ended up in the reservoir. Mike covered her hand with his and squeezed it slightly. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had not even sent flowers, she thought. But he had spent most of the day in the hospital, and now here he was again.

"How long have you been hanging around?" she asked softly.

"Not too long," he said.

From the stove Frank said, "He got here at noon. I sent him packing twice, but he does a good yo- yo act." He dumped the eggs into a hot skillet and stirred them.

"The Brandywine video was a good show. Real dragon lady with a brain, the worst kind."

About the accident, he went on, nothing had been found on the overpa.s.s where someone had tossed a twelve-pound rock down at her car. Could have been a kid, a transient, an enemy. Only thing it could not be was an accident, although it was less certain if she had been a particular target, or just any automobile that happened by at the right time. No way of knowing that.

Frank brought the scrambled eggs and toast, poured more coffee, and sat down.

"What have you been doing out here all day?" she asked Mike then.

He told her that he had met Nell and her children and had gone home with them to show Travis a couple of neat programs he could play with. She ate as if food were going out of style, she realized, but that didn't deter her; she b.u.t.tered another slice of toast and listened. This evening there was a meeting going on at the grange, and probably a fight would start in town. They were debating the spotted owl issue again.

"Bet Nell and Clive will pa.s.s on this one," Frank said.

He explained to Mike: "He used to cruise, estimate timber, for one of the big companies in the valley, and part of his job, I guess, was to report on the owls if he came across any. Some folks say the company fudged the reports, and Nell accused him of doctoring the numbers. It's like the Civil War, dividing families, friends, making just about everyone sore, no matter which side they come down on."

"She told me she'd see us at his house tomorrow, if you're up and able to go," Mike said to Barbara.

"So at least they're speaking. She said the kids were going home with their grandparents this afternoon, coming back tomorrow night. Give them all a little break, and let the parents check on the farm. It's been tough on all of them.

She's really scared." He seemed to regret that remark; instantly he went on to say that the problem with the spotted owl controversy was what they called it, the spotted owl controversy.

"If they called it destruction of a forest ecosystem, or wildlife habitat, or something like that, they'd win over more people. But it's hard to convince people they should care more for an owl than for a human being and jobs. The environmentalists were outmaneuvered, and it's too late now to change. It'll be called the spotted owl fight, no matter what's really at risk."

"You think that's going to hold you until dinner?" Frank asked when he removed her plate a few minutes later.

"Depends. What time's dinner, and what's for dinner?"

"Good G.o.d!"

"I brought a few things out with me," Mike said.

"Just in case I got invited to spend the night or something."

Frank snorted.

"He asked how many bedrooms we have, and if he could park in one of them for the next couple of

days!"

Mike nodded.

"I don't have to be in cla.s.s until ten Monday morning."

And that was the extent of his manipulative ability, Barbara thought. He would come right out and ask, and then admit it. She wondered if Clive had come out and asked Nell's in-laws to go away and take the kids with them for at least one night. And if he would admit it if he had. She doubted that he would admit to anything of the sort.

The phone rang, surprising her when her own answering machine took the call. Her father had always said he refused to have such a thing in his house.

"Reporters," he growled.

"You made all the news." They listened as the voice floated around them, a local radio station wanting her to call back at her convenience. There were several more similar calls that afternoon, but at six it was Bailey Novell's voice on the machine, and Barbara took his call.

"Heard you got whacked, kiddo," he said.

"Tough.

You okay?" She a.s.sured him that she was, and he went on, "Right. Got that info you wanted about the car, and a couple of other things. You receiving callers?"

"Hang on a second," she said, and covered the mouthpiece.

"Dinner?" Prank nodded, and she invited the detective to join them at six-thirty.

As much as she wanted to, she knew better than to ask for any details, or to ask the most important question until she saw him. Was Brandywine sniffing the bait yet?

TWENTY-TWO.

"she's interested," bailey said cheerfully a little later.

Frank handed him a gla.s.s filled to the brim with mostly scotch. How such a little man could drink so much with no apparent effects was a mystery to Barbara. Funny metabolism she had decided a long time ago, but was no more satisfied with that explanation now than she had been then. And he ran marathons! A single ice cube looked lonesome in the drink; the trickle of melting water was not enough to change the color.

"We're holding all conferences in the kitchen," Frank said.

"Because I'm cooking Shoot."

Bailey cast a speculative glance at Mike, whom he had just met.

"He's one of the gang," Barbara said. Mike looked so much at home in that kitchen that it was as if he always had been there, had always been part of the gang.

Bailey shrugged.

"If you say so. I got the tracker, Roy Whitehorse, to call her, and he played it just fine. He heard she was looking for something and he had found something, only not papers. Then he clammed up. She wanted a number, and thirty seconds later called him back.

Cagey. Wanted to make sure the call was coming from Redmond, where he lives, not from this side of the mountain. Anyway, he wouldn't say another word, and she said very little, very, very little. She'll be in touch."

Mike was looking totally bewildered. Barbara grinned at him.

"We need to get her in the state to serve the sub poena. And she did lose something. She'll find out that her testimony was presented and think she's in the clear by now. I hope. Go on," she said, turning back to Bailey.

He consulted his notes.

"This Kendricks pulled a vanis.h.i.+ng act back in 1982, and not a trace of him turned up again until he walked into that Denver store back in June and bought the computer with cash."