Dead Dry Page 6

  “Off Highway 85?” I asked.

  Julia said, “I can draw you a map. Give Gilda my heartfelt howdy, will ya?”

  “What’s the phone number at the ranch?” asked Michele.

  Julia said, “There is no phone at the ranch. Ol’ Afton honest-to-gosh went off the grid. Doesn’t even drive a car anymore. No electric power, except from solar cells and windmills. Everything bona fide, certified au naturel, ‘with no obligation,’ as he put it, ‘to the man.’ He isn’t even sure bicycles are above suspicion.”

  “How does he get around?” Michele asked, slipping into Julia’s present tense.

  “He mooches. Hitchhikes. Catches rides. He thinks it’s more saintly. Thought it was more saintly.”

  “Then there’s no way to get hold of this Gilda without actually going to the ranch.”

  Julia said, “She has a cell phone. God knows where she gets the battery recharged.”

  “So you are in touch with Gilda,” Michele said.

  I was beginning to read Michele’s tricks. She had a way of keeping people talking, either by asking leading questions, or just by saying things so innocuous that there seemed no reason not to answer her. And she asked some questions over again, in different ways.

  “No, she’s in touch with me,” Julia said. “It seems she had a hard time keeping track of him, too.” She pushed a hand against her face. “Well, I’d better fold it up here and go tell … the kids.” Her lips writhed, and a tear slid down to her chin.

  It was time to get Michele out of there quick while Julia looked more pitiable than hostile. I reached toward the phone. “Is there someone I can call, Julia? I don’t like to leave you alone.”

  Michele turned to me. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes, out the door with you,” I said.

  “We’re leaving?”

  “Yes, we are. You need me to find this Gilda person, and it’s getting late. Julia, is Tina Wentworth still around?”

  Julia’s lips quivered and her voice came out a half-octave high. “She’s right downstairs. Boy, won’t this be a surprise for her. She was going to take the kids this weekend so I could go to a conference.” She sniffed. “In Utah.”

  Michele pounced, “So you knew he wouldn’t be showing up this weekend.”

  Julia’s face turned dark with anger. “I quit depending on him for anything! Do you need semaphores or something, or should I write that out in Braille?”

  Michele said, “And you were going to Utah, you say?”

  “Is this one of those fucking ‘I should have my lawyer present’ pieces of crap?”

  “Just checking a few facts,” said Michele.

  “Well, then, don’t get excited, honey! I’ve got an alibi for the ages: I go from this office to the kids’ school and pick them up. I am then home with them until the next morning—every morning—until I drop them at school, at which point I come straight back here. There are people all up and down this hallway that can vouch for me. Now get out of my life!”

  “Julia, draw us that map!” I cried in a last ditch effort to keep her out of trouble. I grabbed the Rolodex next to Julia’s phone and found Tina’s number, dialed, explained what was going on, and begged her to hurry.

  Julia obeyed me. She plopped heavily into her swivel chair and began to draw, holding the pencil in a very tight grip, accomplishing what geologists do best: rendering information into graphical language, preparing a quick, concise map that would direct us to Afton McWain’s ill-gotten ranch.

  As she worked, her tears dried. Work is the cure-all; just screw the brain into the socket and the world goes away.

  As Julia shoved the map toward us, she muttered, “You’ll want to get a move on. They’re working on the highway; it’s Friday, so every moron and his brother is heading out early for the mountains to get out of this heat, and the traffic’s even worse than you’ll remember.”

  Michele looked like she was opening her mouth to ask another question, so I cut in and changed the subject. “I haven’t even asked after the kids.”

  “They’re fine, or at least they are until they get your news, Hansen.”

  Wincing, I jumped in with another question before Michele could get on her again. “Working on anything interesting?” I asked.

  “Sure, work’s just all sunshine and happiness.” Julia’s jaws clenched rhythmically with rage. “I switched to ground water. I gave up trying to make a buck at oil and gas two wars and an economic slump ago. The price was in the shitter so long.”

  “It’s back up now, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Most of the gang jumped back on the bandwagon, but I’m sticking with ground water. It’s more important. Besides, it’s all just getting juice out of rocks.” She grabbed the map back again, affixed a north arrow to it, and spun it around for me to read.

  She’d labeled the essential cities and towns “D” for Denver, “CR” for Castle Rock, and “S” for Sedalia, had put highway numbers inside of circles—Interstate 25 south to the cutoff to U.S. Highway 85 to Sedalia, then southwest onto state Route 67—and now tapped her finger to point out important secondary roads. “This is Rampart Acres Trail, or some such, and this gravel goat track is Castle View Estates Boulevard, some horny developer’s wet dream.”

  She had marked the drainages—Jarre Creek, Plum Creek, Indian Creek—although I didn’t need such detail. She knew she didn’t even have to put in the Interstate or 85—I could have found my way to Sedalia with no map in a driving blizzard—but as one geologist making a map for another, there was a certain pride and communion to be addressed. She had even drawn a little X labeled RANCH and had made a small notation which read, TURN AT THE BARKING DOG.

  I heard Tina approaching down the hallway. I gave Julia a quick squeeze and whispered an apology into her ear. “Sorry. It was the best I could do.”

  “I know you,” was all she said in reply. Having run out of something to do, she was beginning to contract into a smaller version of herself.

  Tina hove into view. “Jesus, Em! What’s with the pilot’s uniform?”

  “Long story,” I said, giving Tina a quick hug. “I’ll check in later this evening, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, Em. We know you. Always off somewhere.” She elbowed me affectionately out of the way and put her arms around Julia.

  To Michele, I said, “Where’s your car?”

  “Down Tremont, past Sixteenth Street.”

  “Let’s get moving.” I grabbed the sheriff’s detective by the shoulder and pulled. “You’ve worn out your welcome. This woman needs comfort more than she needs a cop, and I need to be back in Denver by dinnertime.”

  SIX

  RAY DRIBBLED THE BASKETBALL HARD, DRIPPING WITH sweat, grinding with inwardly-directed anger. How could he have slipped so far off his program that he could make such an ass of himself around Em? And worse yet, around that friend of hers. Who was he? More importantly, Ray wondered, who is he to Em? No! I don’t want to know! I’m done with that!

  He pounded the ball up and down the court four more times, working his body until it began to relax out of simple fatigue. Then he stood at the foul line, bouncing the ball rhythmically, four bounces with his right hand, four with his left, his eyes on the basket, focus, focus.

  He lifted the ball into two hands, flexed his knees, and rose up. Feeling his body extend, he rotated the ball and pushed off with his right hand, sending the sphere into perfect flight. It crested the rim, arced, and slipped through, touching nothing but net. Thus redeemed, Ray fell into a softer, more liquid transit of the court, feeling the ball rise up under his hand, arriving exactly where it belonged, sending the pleasure of physical poetry through every muscle and nerve and into his soul. As he moved, he recited the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous inside his head, one for each transit of the court, saying each as it appeared in the book and then modifying it as he went:

  Step One: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable. I admit that I am
powerless over Em Hansen, that my life with her had become unmanageable.

  Bounce, bounce, bounce—shoot! Another perfect basket.

  Step Two: Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity. I’ve never had any problem with that one, Ray assured himself. Heavenly Father has always been with me. I shall let him guide me. I feel his sanity growing within me.

  Bounce, bounce, bounce—shoot! A little rim, but it went in.

  Step Three: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him. No problem. Done that. Now do it again … and again.

  Bounce, shoot! Nothing but net.

  Step Four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

  Here Ray began to lose his rhythm. He couldn’t understand where he was going wrong. I’ve worked the Steps twice. I’ve made amends to Em. I’ve admitted that I can’t carry the woes of the world single-handedly … Bounce, shoot! The ball skidded off the backboard and bounced chaotically out of his control.

  Control. That’s what it always comes down to.

  Ray retrieved the ball and dribbled it up and down the court two more times before he gave up, broke for the bench where he had left his gym bag. He dug out his cell phone and dialed.

  “Hey there, Ray,” Ray’s Al-Anon sponsor answered.

  His lungs still working like a bellows, Ray gasped. “I saw Em this morning. I behaved badly.”

  “Mm-hm. What happened?”

  “I had to get her for a job. She was sleeping in her truck again. Like I told you. I messed up and told her that I knew she did this sometimes.”

  “Wild woman. So what’s the deal? You’re embarrassed that you care about her? That you watch over her like an angel?” The man laughed cheerfully, trying to loosen Ray up. “Of course, we did talk about how this was a bit codependent, Ray.”

  “I know, I know. But I just check on her.”

  Another laugh. “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to check on her. I’d surely appreciate it if God sent someone to look after me if I was doing anything that foolish.”

  “Well, she’s not really that foolish or reckless,” Ray argued. “She doesn’t live in such a bad neighborhood, and she’s inside a fenced yard, and in fact you’d have to look into the truck to even know she’s there.”

  “So what’s really the problem, then?”

  Ray paused. “She knows I was watching.”

  “Right. So let’s cut to the chase. What really gets hurt when she knows you care about her?”

  Ray was quiet for a moment. A drop of sweat accumulated on his nose and dripped into the cell phone. “I suppose it’s my self-esteem.”

  “Right. Why?”

  Ray’s jaw muscles bunched. “Because I’m afraid she doesn’t care about me as much.”

  “Once again, louder, please? I couldn’t quite hear that.”

  “I’m afraid she doesn’t care about me as much as I care about her.”

  “And maybe she doesn’t. But who does care about you?”

  “God does.”

  “And do you care about you?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Good. What else happened?” The sponsor chuckled kindly. “I’m guessing you aren’t telling me everything, Ray.”

  Ray squeezed his eyes shut. He counted his heartbeats, which had almost recovered to resting pace. Ten … eleven … twelve. “There was another guy visiting her.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’ve seen him before a couple of times. Around town. They play tennis together. I … I jumped to the conclusion that he’d been there all night. But now I realize that he probably hadn’t.” Ray wanted to swallow the words he had just spoken, make them and the story they told not exist. He still struggled against clamming up whenever he got upset. “There was only one small camp mat in the truck, so she must have slept alone, but she got mad at me, made it sound different.”

  “Ray, why are you focusing on her? Come on, focus on you.”

  Ray straightened up, realizing that he had been bent over, facing the ground as if in shame. He now gazed up at the wide blue sky, beseeching God to rain mercy upon him. “I’ve gotten too lonely again.”

  “Right. The old bugaboo. Too tired, too hungry, or too lonely. So, which of your old friends haven’t you looked up lately? And what other young women have caught your eye? Come on, I know you, you like to hide behind this caring you have for Em.”

  “Right.” What other women … The image of the ginger-haired Salt Lake County detective floated into his mind. What was her name? “Well, there was one …”

  “And meanwhile, give your mom a call. How’s Ava?”

  Ray suddenly grinned. “Now, don’t go on about my mother. I know where you’re going with that one. You want to know her better yourself!”

  The sponsor chuckled. “You’re so right. What a lovely person she is.”

  Ray’s grin widened further. “Now, don’t get your hopes up. She’s picky. No one’s ever been able to measure up to my father.”

  “It’s too bad he died. Such a woman should not be alone.”

  “She’s not alone. She has all of us kids, half a dozen grandkids, and half a dozen hounds like you howling at her back door.”

  “Really? The grandkids howl at her back door?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Okay, then. What are you going to do about this thing with Em?”

  Ray sighed. “I’m going to work my steps.”

  “Good man. Let go and let God. You okay now? I gotta get back to work. My job, I mean—not The Work.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Ray switched off his phone and turned his attention back to the basketball court. He lifted the ball, aimed, and watched with satisfaction as it lifted off from his fingers almost like a cloud and fell noiselessly through the net. Now all I have to do is figure out how to do that with Em, he decided, as he recovered the ball, palmed it, and pounded it back down the court.

  SEVEN

  AS I STALKED DOWN THE SIDEWALK, I HEARD MICHELE say from somewhere behind me, “I suppose you thought my questioning a bit callous,” she said.

  “Yes.” I didn’t slow down.

  “I’m sorry. It has to be done. I’ve been through a special training. We learn to repeat a question three different ways, just to make sure.” Her voice came from closer behind me. She was catching up.

  I slowed down a little. “I suppose.”

  “And Julia’s a friend of yours. Not to put too fine a point on it, when you’re busy hugging people, you don’t watch for their reactions to information.”

  I stopped and waited until she caught up with me.

  She said, “It’s a good system. We’re taught to be polite and considerate, so that the subject gains confidence in us, and that way if they have something on their chest, well then, they’ll spill it.”

  “You mean like maybe a confession to murder. You want to know why I was in such a hurry to get out of there? Because I wanted you out of there. It wasn’t fair to put her through that much pressure. Because I know Julia. I’ve known her for twenty-two years. I know her well enough to know that she shoots her mouth off, but that’s all she does. I have never, ever seen her get physical. Never!”

  “Well, then, just for the record, your friend passed the test.”

  “The test,” I hissed. “What am I doing, helping you administer sainthood tests to friends who have already walked through hell?”

  Michele’s tone remained as even as ever. “I mean I don’t think she knew anything about Dr. McWain’s murder before we arrived.”

  I stood there on the sidewalk on Tremont Street watching pigeons peck at bits of junk food that had been dropped by passing humans. “I could have told you that. Remember, I spoke to her earlier to make sure she’d be there. I would have noticed.” I felt like a Judas, even though I hadn’t actually gotten Julia into trouble. I hoped.

  Michele said, “Anyway, in the future, I’d su
re like it if you let me do the questioning.”

  “Fine. I’ll dial this Gilda creature. But you talk to her.”

  “Thank you.”

  I started walking again. “Find out whether we can even find her before we go running all the way down there.”

  Michele stopped to dig her cell phone out of the small shoulder bag she was carrying. “As long as we’re putting things on the record, why are you really coming with me?”

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Okay, fine!” I shouted. “I had to … get out of there. And get you out of there before you tore my friend apart!”

  “Just as long as we’re clear on that. I’m glad of your company. We’re both public employees, just doing our job.”

  I said, “Maybe I can match the clays we found on Afton’s boots. It’s probably from the dooryard of that ranch, don’t you think?”

  “You’re the expert on that.”

  Why was I deferring to her? I read off the phone number Julia had written on the margin of the map, and Michele punched it into her cell phone. I leaned close so I could hear. After just a few rings, a connection was made, and a soft female voice came out of the tiny speaker. Background noise—some honking country and western music—poured out around it.

  “Hello,” Michele said. “Is this Gilda? Hi, my name is Michele Aldrich, and I have a message for you regarding Dr. McWain. I’ll be passing through Castle Rock in a little while. Could I stop off and give it to you?”

  Ooo, I thought. Smooth as a baby’s butt.

  The voice on the cell phone was too soft to make out, but Michele was apparently asked to provide more information. “I’m sorry, you’re brea—ing u—,” she replied, making herself sound like a bad connection. “Ca—you—peat that?”

  The voice on the phone grew louder. “Who did you say you were?”

  “Mi—Al—rich,” she replied. “I’m just in fr——alt La——ity. Where can I fi—you?”

  I made a mental note not to mess with Michele Aldrich, not ever.