by Colin Kersey
“Did it ever occur to you that she’s just jealous? You have a rare, natural beauty she’ll never have.”
She smiled for a second before frowning again. “What has she got to be jealous of? She can drive, go wherever she wants, get dressed up to meet people, and make friends without worrying what she looks like.” She moved sideways to another rose. “You can’t imagine how stupid it feels to spend a lovely day at a party, all dressed up, and find out afterwards that everyone was laughing at you the entire time because your dress was stained with blood from your period.”
“This happened recently?”
“Well, no,” she said.
“When then?”
“Seventh grade. But Vonda still talks about it like it was yesterday.”
“Okay. I can see we need some basic rules. As your blood brother, I promise I will always tell you if you look foolish.”
She raised her head, her eyes closed. “There’s just one thing I need you to promise me.”
“What’s that,” I asked warily.
The frown was now gone from her pale face, replaced by a look of fear. “Promise you won’t leave me. At least,” she hurried on when I didn’t reply immediately, “promise me you won’t leave without first telling me that you’re going. I couldn’t bear being abandoned again.”
It seemed like a reasonable request, but, as I was learning, reasonable and predictable rarely ate at the same table. In fact, just that morning, I had been teasing my brain with how to solve the problem of an eight-character password—one that might magically open the door to $100 million.
“Don’t worry,” I said. After all, what was one more lie at this point?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I was sitting on the concrete floor of the barn adjusting the blades on the Bull when I heard a noise and looked up to find Vonda watching me. She wore a yellow halter top and cut-off jeans. Her feet were bare, and her toes looked freshly painted a mint green.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just admiring the view.” She studied me over a glass of wine.
It was warm in the barn with no breeze, and I had taken off my shirt. The rich verdure of the trout farm’s grounds had turned a green-gold as the days lengthened and the reluctant rain gave way to entire weeks of sunshine.
I used a crescent wrench to make quarter turn adjustments on one side of a gang of blades. Then I fed a sheet of paper into the blades and turned them by hand to see how evenly they cut. Instead of cutting, however, the blades spun freely.
Frustrated, I wiped a drop of sweat from the end of my nose and sat back. I had been at it for twenty minutes and was not any closer to success. My anxiety over the prospect of losing my job was not helping.
Vonda crouched down on her heels less than five feet away. After another series of adjustments, I tried the piece of paper again. This time, the blades would not turn at all. I crumpled up the paper and threw it aside.
“Like some help?” Vonda held out a hand. “I might be available. For a reasonable price.”
“Be my guest.” I laid the wrench across her palm and she handed me her wine glass.
First, she used the wrench to undo the turns I had just made. Then she walked to the other side of the blades and, crouching again, attempted another adjustment. The fitting was stuck, however, and she strained to turn it.
“Let me,” I offered, but she ignored me, and after several grunts, the fitting gave way.
“Now try,” she said, wiping the damp hair out of her face with the back of her hand leaving a smear of grease on her forehead.
This time, when I turned the mower blades, they sliced the paper neatly.
“Perfect.”
She sipped her wine. “I used to do this for Stu. He ain’t the type for making fine adjustments.”
“The obvious question is then why did you marry him?”
“It might be hard to you to believe, but he was the pick of the litter. In this neck of the woods, it does not get any better than dating the star baseball player in the county. Stu was going to be my ticket to the big time: New York, Chicago, LA and all the rest. The finest restaurants and hotels. Flying first class. Then he fucked up his arm and, just like that, it was all over. Here I am once again, stuck in the middle of bum-fucking-nowhere.”
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You.”
“Why?”
“First of all, you talk like a redneck, but Stu says you’ve got a degree in literature from a university.”
“That ain’t nothing. That’s just how everybody talks—up here, anyway. Talk to any hick farmer and you’ll find out he’s got a degree from a university.”
“Based on the way you adjusted those blades you could make a living as a mechanic. Yet I’ve also seen you dressed up in heels and a short dress like you were going out for a night on Sunset Strip.”
“That’s never going to happen.” She frowned.
“The point is, you’re not exactly easy to categorize.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
I shrugged. “Actually, that’s a good thing. I think. Contradictions look good on you.”
“Glad you think so.” She took another sip of her wine. “Guess you know things will be changing if this place sells. We won’t be needing a maintenance man.”
“So I’ve heard. Stu makes sure I am fully aware of my temporary situation. What will you do?”
“Now ain’t that the question?” Her gaze turned back toward the barn door. “Probably get a divorce, take my money, and move someplace sunny and warm. Find a man whose idea of a good time ain’t drinking beer and shooting squirrels. You know anyone might be interested in the position?”
We smiled at one another. Beads of sweat pearled in the space between her breasts. I forced myself to look away and stood.
“I better get back to work. I’ve still got to replace a few blades on the hammerknifer.”
When I looked over my shoulder, Vonda was bent over to pick up the wrench. With an ass and legs like that, I could see why Stu might feel paranoid. She brought the wrench to me, padding silently in her bare feet on the barn’s concrete floor. Some women walk like they just had sex—slow, loose in the hips, and lovely. Instead of depositing the wrench in my outstretched hand, Vonda placed its cold tip against my bare chest.
“Daddy says, ‘Never leave a good tool lying around.’”
“What’s your husband say?” I reached for the wrench, but she refused to let it go.
“You don’t fool me, Gray Reynolds.” Vonda smiled. She pressed her pelvis against mine.
“You want everything in life packaged into nice, neat little boxes, but guess what?” she asked softly. “Life doesn’t come that way. It’s messy as hell. People fighting, divorcing, losing their jobs, getting sick, and dying. And…” Her eyes focused on my lips and her voice sounded ragged, as if she were winded. “As surprising as it may sound to you, more than a few of them having sex.”
“You are going to get us both killed. Stu could walk in that door any second.”
“Being scared is part of the fun,” she purred, her eyes closed now. “Makes it more exciting.”
Her hand brushed the front of my jeans where an erection had suddenly made them uncomfortably tight. “I know your secret, Grayson Reynolds.”
I gasped as, for a moment, I thought she had discovered my identity.
“You pretend you’re not human.” She studied me with the slitted eyes of a cat. “But whether you want to or not, it’s just a matter of time until you’re mine.” She turned and padded away silently her bare feet. “Round and round the mulberry bush.” She made a popping noise.
I could not sleep that night. I tossed and turned in the narrow cot, listening to the frogs until I finally surrendered and rose to stand at the railing of the porch. Riding the tractor hour after hour with little to think about, I had occasionally remembered the taste of Vonda’s drunken kiss, the careful way she painted her toes, and how she threw her head back when she laugh
ed. Knowing these were dangerous thoughts, I had pushed them out of my mind. Now, with the memory of the sweat pearled between her breasts and her lips within an inch of my own still fresh, my mind flitted from place to place like the long-legged water bugs that skittered across the surface of the pond where the full moon was reflected.
I glanced up in the direction of the Van de Zilver house. No lights were on. A fish jumped somewhere nearby. Black, concentric circles fanned out from the sound. Normally, it might have been a comforting sound. But tonight, I felt edgy. Like I was the one being fished for. According to Catania, the cartel was out there somewhere plotting their revenge.
I had read that fish continued to feed all night long on bright, moonlit nights, which explained why fishing was often poor the following day. I thought about Moses. I had begun to think of the huge trout as a fellow prisoner. We were both being hunted by people who wanted us dead.
I sighed. It might be time to begin searching for a new place to live and work. Before Virgil sold the farm or Stu’s jealousy erupted. Or before the cartel found me and demanded their pound of flesh. It was also time to focus more energy on solving the mystery of the eight-character password guarding an account in the Cayman Islands that might still hold $100 million in illicit drug money.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I picked Valerie up for the promised picnic on Monday morning of the following week. To my surprise and disappointment, she seemed less than thrilled that she had agreed to come along. Patsy, on the other hand, appeared quite happy as she sat nearest the pickup’s passenger door with her head out the window.
“Will we be home in time for dinner?” Valerie asked. “Daddy doesn’t like it when I’m away from home.”
“Don’t worry. We’re not going that far.”
Because it was a workday for everyone else, traffic on the county road was moderately heavy, and I was forced to follow a slow-moving logging truck. The road was too narrow and winding to pass. While driving, I studied Valerie out of the corner of my eye. Unlike her sister who often wore clothes that displayed her figure to full advantage, Valerie wore mismatched clothes, including a large white sweatshirt, baggy pants, and tennis shoes. Though she wore no makeup, her youthful face glowed in the sunlight like a Rembrandt painting. Her mood, however, was guarded.
“You look nice,” I offered.
She shrugged. “You could be lying, and I wouldn’t know.”
“For what it’s worth, Valerie, I think you look lovely.” I thought it was sad that she did not know how beautiful she was. “You have about the nicest smile I’ve ever seen. Of course, I have only seen this phenomenon once or twice. Lunar eclipses are less rare.”
She smiled briefly before her frown returned. “I appreciate you asking me along, but leaving the house, even for a few hours, is difficult for me. I am always worried someone will mess things up while I am gone. Whenever they borrow a sweater, put the matches back in the wrong drawer, or leave the rabbit hutch unlocked, it drives me crazy.” Her voice hardened. “I used to know where every piece of Momma’s jewelry was. Now, I can’t find more than half of it. Vonda would lose everything we own in about a week if it weren’t for me keeping track of stuff.”
“Sounds like a problem you’re either going to have to learn to live with or get your own place.”
We had driven by several small farms. Now the road opened onto the main highway and I turned east toward the North Cascade Mountains.
“Just out of curiosity, what made you change your mind about coming with me today?”
“Someone tried to discourage me.”
I glanced over at her. She looked like she had just bitten into a lemon. “Who would that be?”
“My sister, of course.”
“Why would Vonda care?”
“You tell me! She normally doesn’t care what I do unless it’s something she’s interested in.”
I winced. On opening day, Vonda had been drunk on her ass, flirting like a horny teenager. More recently, in the barn, she had played the seductress to the hilt, almost as if she had wanted Stu to catch us. Now she was staging a competition with her sister? What would she do next? The question worried me. I did not need Stu looking for any more excuses to get rid of me. Or chop me up into fish food.
“Long ago, Vonda looked out for me,” Valerie said. “Once, when we were kids, she beat up a couple of bigger girls at Lake Cavanaugh who had stolen my towel and were making fun of me. But she always acted jealous if I got something and she didn’t. If I got a hat, she had to have one, too. Or if I got invited somewhere, a birthday party or whatever, she would get snippy unless she was invited.
“So, going along with me today was purely the result of sibling rivalry?”
She sighed. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Vonda’s remark maybe helped me overcome my other concerns.”
As we neared the mountains, the two-lane road began to climb in winding stretches between tall fir trees, but there was still no sign of our destination, the Skagit River. We continued several miles further east until road and river finally met. My only previous encounter with the river had been when crossing its broad, flat expanse on the freeway overpass in Mt. Vernon. This was another river entirely. Swollen with run-off from the nearby mountains and squeezed within a narrow channel lined by glacier-scribed boulders, it thundered with a cold, white fury. The noise was clearly audible through the pickup’s passenger window where Patsy began to whine and then bark.
“Wow. I’d forgotten how thrilling the river sounded,” Valerie said.
“When was the last time you were up here?”
“Not since Momma died.”
We drove the next few miles while listening to the river and not saying much. I found a place to pull off the highway and drove down a rocky, narrow track that made the Toyota’s springs shriek their displeasure.
“This should do it.” I grabbed the knapsack with the lunch Valerie had packed. I took her hand, and we followed a well-traveled footpath, Patsy on one side of Valerie and me on the other. Heide’s hand had been smooth and cool, even on hot days. While smaller, Valerie’s hand was rough and sweaty.
There were few trees on this side of the river, but the rocks, pieces of driftwood washed up by winter storms, and uneven terrain made the walk difficult for Valerie. It would be easy for her to twist an ankle, or fall, so we proceeded slowly.
“I didn’t realize how difficult the walk would be,” I said.
“My mother once made Vonda take me with her on a double date. The poor guys did not have a clue what to do with me. Vonda and them talked like I wasn’t even there.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult your life has been.”
“How much further?” she asked.
By the time we reached the river, I was hungry and ready to sit down for a rest. I halted before a massive erratic. Its flat top promised a dramatic view of the river and a lovely spot for a picnic. A narrow ledge wound its way to the top. A child with normal eyesight could have scaled it easily, but for Valerie, climbing could prove hazardous.
Patsy barked, eager to continue.
“What’s wrong?” Valerie asked over the restless, rushing sound of the river. ”Why did you stop?”
“I was looking for a good place to picnic, but I don’t think this will work.”
She withdrew her hand from mine and took a hesitant step forward, then another. She found the rock with her hand and explored its grainy surface with her fingers. “Were you thinking of climbing this? How high is it?”
“Maybe fifteen feet. Too high,” I added.
“I can feel a large groove. I bet we can climb it.”
“Forget it. Even if you could make it to the top, what about Patsy?”
“Show Gray how you can climb the rock, okay girl?” Valerie unhooked the dog’s harness. Patsy wagged her tail as if she understood her master perfectly, then placed both paws on the rock. She barked once.
“That’s right,” Valerie coaxed.
“Climb the rock.”
Patsy started up, using the narrow ledge formed by the crack. Before I could stop her, Valerie followed, crouching low and using both hands to feel her way.
“Are you sure about this?” I imagined a broken arm or twisted knee, but there was no stopping them. All I could do was watch, grimace when she faltered, and follow with the picnic lunch.
Valerie was not a fast climber. Each step or handhold had to be searched out by touch, inch by hesitating inch. Two-thirds of the way up, she paused, and I saw that she had taken a wrong turn. Instead of following the widest part of the crack, she had taken a smaller fissure that had eventually petered out. I was about to direct her back to the proper route when the lip of rock she was standing on suddenly gave way and she lost her footing. A cry escaped her throat. She clung to the rock only by her fingers.
“Wait!” Having been blamed by the family for injuring her hand, I could well imagine their fury if she fell and broke her ankle or leg. “Don’t move until I reach you.”
Patsy whined from the top of the rock.
Valerie’s right foot found a tiny depression and she continued to cling to the rock face, while with her left foot and hand, she explored the rock’s surface.
“Where’s the ledge?” she cried.
“Nine o’clock,” I yelled. Damn. Did she even know what a clock face looks like?
Evidently, she did. She found the ledge again with the fingers of her left hand and slowly began to pull herself up. By the time I was able to reach her, she had regained her footing and was making slow if steady progress.
Though the distance covered was less than thirty feet, we were both sweating when we reached the top. There was a smear of blood on Valerie’s chin where she had scraped it and when she grinned, her teeth were bloody.
“What took you so long?” she said.
“You’re amazing. Not very bright, but amazing.”
“Patsy’s amazing.” She patted the dog’s head. “I’m just obstinate. Besides, getting up wasn’t so bad.” For just the second or third time since I had known her, her violet eyes were open wide and gleamed as if lit by an inner light. “Getting down is the hard part.”