"Go and throw up,” I said.
"What?"
"Put your finger down your throat. Get rid of some of it or you'll have a terrible hangover."
"Good idea.” He stumbled into the bathroom and I covered my head with my pillow to drown out his retching. Now I'd be awake for hours. Some vacation.
I was wrong. The next time consciousness found me it was starting to get light, and the wind was down. Then I heard it again, the sound that had waked me. A single sound, repeated at regular intervals like some lonely bird crying. Or a demented human.
I got up and went to the door. Yes: someone wailing, a man, his voice getting ragged now with the repetition, broken by coughing.
"Wake up, Jake.” I shook his shoulder and pulled his covers back. “Something's wrong.” I dragged on my robe. “I'm going to go see. Get up now! I need you."
Gray light flooded the hall from the sunroom opposite. Farley, executive-looking in a monogrammed brown robe, was starting down the stairs. “It's Tang,” he said.
A blast of cold air swept up the staircase: The double front doors stood wide open. Tang's ragged wails came at longer intervals now. Jake, behind me, called, “Wait up!” and the outdoor cold burst over me.
* * * *
Sochi's body lay sprawled on the rain-drenched paving stones with one arm flung out, the flowers in her sodden dress darkly brilliant, the thick two-toned braid had fallen free. Raindrops beaded crystal on her skin. I couldn't believe it, her face was so pale and smooth, drained of color, and I went close and touched her hand and her bare arm. It gave a little but it was cold, cold as the stone. Jake pulled me away.
"Oh, dear God, what has she done now?” Leonor said from the door. “This is terrible."
Farley, muttering, hugged himself tight. “A terrible accident."
"There was no need for this,” Leonor said.
Afterwards I remembered everybody crying. Jake and I hung on to each other, rocking. It was drizzling again, and we moved back under the overhang.
"She didn't do it,” Tang said, his voice raspy. “She wouldn't do it on purpose."
"Evan,” Leonor said. “Someone's got to tell him. Jake, you go. And be gentle."
"She must've been leaning out in the dark to look, and lost her balance,” Farley said. “I asked her last evening if she could see flooding on Noni's Parcel."
"Slippery with the wet, maybe?” Leonor said.
Evan ran out barefoot in his pajamas and knelt beside Sochi. He tried to pick her up and they made him stop, they were actually wrestling with him, and it was all beyond awful. Leonor brought a coat for Evan, and Tang covered Sochi's body with a yellow tarp. Jake and I, sharing the same idea, edged away, out of the ring of grief and fury. We were strangers, we didn't belong here.
We left Farley and Leonor discussing calling the sheriff, if the phone was working—cell phones didn't work up here. Not just Sochi was dead, I realized. The baby, too.
Shut in our room, our little sanctuary, we whispered together, trying to absorb what had happened. “It's only a fifteen- or twenty-foot drop,” I said. “Not enough to kill you, normally. Sochi would know that.” Suddenly the burned bedspread seemed ominous. “Did you by any chance move the heater close to the bed?” I asked Jake.
"Of course not.” He scowled. “That would really be dangerous.” Obviously he thought I'd been careless. I was too numb to argue.
The only other people who'd been up here last night were Tang and Leonor: Farley was watching TV with Sochi.
While Jake was in the shower I heard voices outside. I moved close to the door.
"Remember, you promised me,” Leonor said, her voice low.
"I know what I promised,” Evan snarled. “God, you never let me forget it.” Their voices moved out of range.
I repeated what I'd heard to Jake. He didn't understand it either. Evan had told Jake that Sochi had never wanted to get married, they'd agreed to that right from the start; also, that Evan did not want any kids.
"Maybe the baby wasn't Evan's,” I said.
"Oh, Jesus.” Jake's look of horror sickened me. Was it not an accident? Had he and Evan done something ... ?
By the time we'd both dressed I was pretty well cried out. “How come Evan didn't hear Tang when the rest of us did?” I asked.
"Earplugs. Also he takes sleeping pills."
I couldn't quit thinking about Sochi. Not a good way to get rid of somebody. Maybe it was a heat of passion thing. Or a struggle.
Jake was watching me. “Will you stop? We've got no way of knowing what happened. So could you for once in your life just not get involved?” I felt myself getting scared. Jake's reaction was wrong. He was too composed, almost resigned.
As we came out of our room Evan's door opened, as if he'd been waiting for us.
"Listen, you guys,” he said. “Can you stick with me here? Just for a day or two?” He stopped and blew his nose. “Sorry. Sorry about this. Just unbelievable. They're sending a helicopter, my mother talked to somebody. You think I should go with her? Oh shit.” We came together in a three-way hug.
Of course we'd stay, as long as he needed us.
At the bottom of the stairs a flash of yellow brightened the shadowed dining room, Sochi's poncho-covered body laid out on the dining table. How much did Jake know about what happened to her?
The smell of fresh coffee drew Jake into the kitchen. Through the window alongside the front door I saw Farley out on the terrace, scanning the vineyards with his binoculars. I shrugged into a slicker and went out.
"I can't stay away,” I said, looking down at the spot where the body had been.
Farley nodded. “A terrible accident; terrible. The sheriff won't be happy that she's been moved, but Tang absolutely insisted. He would've done it alone."
I couldn't stop the pictures forming in my head. Was it quick? Did Sochi realize? No blood was visible. Maybe it had all washed away. Was her spirit still hanging around, unsatisfied? I waited, still, in case there was any kind of sign. But nothing came.
Farley showed me where part of Noni's Parcel had washed away, leaving a raw brown gouge in the hillside. I wondered who would inherit the land if something happened to Evan. Wasn't that why Sochi had died—because of the baby? Farley was certainly the next of kin.
When I glanced up at the balcony I saw a flash of red between the bottom rail and the concrete floor. I looked away quickly. I knew exactly what it was. Sochi had been wearing a big red clip in her hair; but I didn't remember seeing it down here, where she'd fallen.
I was hot to go and get the clip, but Farley kept on talking. Inside the house Tang shouted once, and Farley shook his head, smiling. “Tang and Sochi both loved to gamble. Stereotype, I know, but as it happens, true for him. She always took him over to Reno for his birthday. For a smart guy he's a terrible gambler—bets his hunches, astrological numbers, high and low temperatures, anything. She always wound up lending him money. He must be into her for thousands by now."
"So then, she could afford it.” Maybe Sochi had struggled with somebody on the balcony, and the clip fell out. There might even be fingerprints.
"And she loved to stick it to him,” Farley said. “'What, you lost again?’ she'd say. ‘Come on, you old gook, where's your Filipino pride? Let's see some of that Oriental cunning.’”
I smiled. So obvious what Farley was doing, even if what he said was true. When I finally got away and up to the balcony, the clip was gone. And if I'd found it—so?
Everybody was at the breakfast table, except for Tang. He leaned against the back wall beside the burbling radio. Two separate mudslides: several people missing. We breakfasted on Froot Loops, Grape-Nuts Flakes, expired toaster waffles, half-thawed onion bagels, and bananas. In spite of everything, I was ravenous.
The phone was working intermittently. Farley gave us direct orders not to answer it. “The reporters will be on us as soon as they hear something."
"They're vultures. Maggots!” Leonor said. “I know all abo
ut that from my time with Tom. You don't dare give them a millimeter."
They slid into reminiscences about Sochi. Running away on her pony when she was ten, headed for the beach thirty miles away because her daddy promised her and couldn't go that day. Hiding her tattoo from her dad. And her flying lessons. “I taught her to play blackjack when she was six years old,” Tang said.
"Ruben,” Evan said, getting up. “We've got to call her dad."
Leonor pushed back her chair, blocking him. “Let somebody else take care of that."
"It's my job, isn't it?"
"You really don't want to do that,” she said. “Too stressful."
"It's my life; remember?” he shouted over his shoulder.
"Hey-hey.” Farley pointed to the radio. “Governor's declared Napa and Sonoma Counties disaster areas. Low-cost loans? Tax relief?"
"I wonder how much she'd had to drink,” Leonor said. “She always liked her nightcap."
"Maybe not now,” I said. “Being as she was pregnant."
"They'll be able to tell from the—examination, won't they?” Jake said.
"Alcohol in the blood dissipates,” Leonor said.
"I went up to bed around eleven,” Farley said, “and she went into the kitchen to play cards, right?” he asked Tang.
"Evan and I were shooting pool,” Jake said. “Never saw her after dinner."
"We played five-card stud till one o'clock,” Tang said. “Then she went upstairs. With all of you."
"Maybe it was some kind of wild impulse,” Leonor said. “Even the weather can make people do things. We may never know."
I had an itch in my brain. All of them, even Tang, had some reason to want Sochi gone. I wanted to scream. “I keep seeing her, so clearly,” I said. “In the flowered dress, with her hair piled up, and that big red clip with the curved teeth—come to think of it, I didn't see the clip this morning. I wonder what happened to it."
"I will go look in her room,” Tang said.
"And I'll come and help,” I said.
Farley looked uneasy. “Maybe we shouldn't move anything till the sheriff comes."
"Why not?” Leonor demanded. “This isn't television. We're talking about a tragic accident, after all."
It didn't take long. Sochi's dresser drawers were nearly empty. Underwear, two nightgowns, heavy socks, sunscreen. In the closet, a couple of robes, a down jacket, ski clothes, old aviation and skiing magazines. No red hair clip.
Tang found a dusty suitcase and started packing, over my objections. I asked him about his gambling trips with Sochi, and he turned a red-eyed glare on me. “I don't have to explain anything to you,” he said. “I knew her from a baby.” His voice rose. “She showed me her report cards, every one. I'm like an uncle to her!"
"Hey, hey. Farley just happened to mention—"
"Farley,” Tang sneered. “That's not even his real name.” Which was Frank, from his father, Tomase Francisco. “When he was still in school he didn't like the dirty work; too hard. Had a big, big fight with his father, and changed it to Farley. Went down to Salinas to his mother's brother and raised artichokes. So then Tomase only gave him a little something in his will. Tom, that was Evan's father, got the whole thing.
"And then when Tom takes him back into the winery, what does Frank do? He steals from the company. That's embezzlement."
I looked toward the door, afraid we might be overheard. “Don't worry,” Tang said. “He's sitting on his big butt watching some game and waiting for his next meal. You figure out why old Frank wants it that Sochi would jump?"
Of course. To get rid of the new heir.
Tang closed up the suitcase. “Now I have to burn it all."
"Why?"
"Sometimes the person's spirit gets lonesome for their own things, and comes back looking for them,” Tang said. “As soon as they're burnt, she will have them with her, and she can be at peace."
I suggested he discuss it with Evan, but I don't think he heard me. “She gave him a present,” he said, mostly to himself. “But he didn't want it."
The others were still in the kitchen. “No,” I told them. “We didn't find the clip."
Everyone scattered, and the thumping of the treadmill started overhead. The weather continued showery and uncertain, with rivers of molten silver rushing downhill in the changing light. The green countryside stretching away was like a poultice for my fevered brain.
Toward noon, as I passed the sunroom, I saw through the two layers of glass Leonor, outside on the balcony. It seemed wrong, foolhardy to be in that fearsome spot. She was rubbing her hands back and forth along the iron railing. Wiping away possible fingerprints? The thought was a warning. Leonor was so easy to dislike that I couldn't trust my judgment of her.
Quivering, I walked out to her. “Mind if I join you? The air is so wonderful up here. In spite of everything."
"Of course not. But I warn you, I'm not very good company."
I waited.
"I'm angry,” she said. “I'm just so angry I can't stand myself. That that girl would do such a thing to Evan. Try to burden him with all that guilt."
"Then you don't think it was an accident."
"Absolutely not! It's a very common cause of suicide, you know. Revenge.” Leonor leaned stiff-armed, looking down. “I'm just trying to get it straight in my mind,” she said. “Just between us, I figure she must've been drunk. Or possibly hysterical. Even as a little girl she was strong-willed and impulsive, anybody will tell you that. I wonder now if she mightn't have been bipolar."
My expression of pleasant interest felt like a cardboard mask. Be fair, I urged myself. Maybe Sochi was given to wild impulses. “Tang is certainly broken up over it,” I said. “Naturally."
"He seemed all right after dinner,” she said. “You may have noticed that he goes off now and then. I kind of suspect some form of dementia, or possibly early Alzheimer's, because of his sudden mood changes. Fine one minute, the next—unbelievable. Like that stunt with your heater."
"What stunt?"
"In your room. Trying to burn up your bed, simple as that.” She smiled, waiting for my reaction.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, we went into your bedroom to get the extra heater so I wouldn't totally congeal last night. When we left I looked back, and saw that he'd moved your lighted heater up against the bed.” She shook her head. “I suppose he's feeling angry at these extra people to take care of. Anyway, I went and moved the heater out of harm's way.” She shrugged. “Or who knows what might've happened."
We shook our heads and exchanged a few clichés about fate that neither of us believed, and Leonor marched off. Did the heater business actually happen that way? Maybe Tang went back again. It sounded crazy; but Leonor wouldn't much care if I believed her. Did she want Tang to seem out of control, and so a major suspect in case Sochi's death was questioned?
Wait a minute. Sochi was still alive then. Was Leonor thinking ahead, already worried that Evan might try some way to get rid of her? Now the craziness was infecting me, too.
The rescue helicopter arrived about two o'clock, the thupa-thupa growing deafening as it settled onto the gravel turnaround out front. The pilot was alone, and disgusted: He was on his way to check out a family of five believed stranded on the other side of Whiskey Creek, and clearly thought the living should preempt the dead. He hustled Sochi into a body bag, and we followed in silence as he and Evan carried her out. He couldn't say when the roads would be open. Expect a visit from the sheriff, he said, when they were.
The house seemed somehow emptier. I wandered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Tang was stirring a big pot of something spicy on the back of the stove. “Chili,” he said. “Another storm coming."
I told Tang about our scorched bedding. “What I can't understand is, Leonor seems to think that you set the heater there on purpose."
"What did she say exactly?"
When I told him how Leonor described him moving the heater, he scowled as if in puzzlement
or disbelief. “I don't know where she got the idea,” I said. “You know how she is. Of course, I figured she was mistaken."
"Oh, yah. I know everything.” Then a smile began and Tang straightened up, starting to look positively pleased. “I'm in charge of it now.” He patted my shoulder. “You go ahead and forget the whole thing."
By late afternoon I was stir-crazy. Jake came down from Evan's room blinking like a disoriented owl, and I dragged him outside for a walk. Everything dripped and gurgled, streams and rivulets carved up the gravel paths and ate away the hillsides, and mud, mud everywhere. The air was intoxicating.
"How's Evan doing?"
He shrugged. “I left him watching cartoons."
"Think we can get out of here tomorrow?"
"No way.” Jake stopped dead and brushed a lock of hair away from my cheek. I started to tell him what I'd found out from Farley, and about Leonor and the heater. I could see him getting furious.
"Always stirring the pot. Why can't you just let it be an accident?"
"Because I don't believe it, and neither do you! You know what they'll say: Evan did it."
"Listen,” he said, “it's a whole lot worse than you think."
We turned and walked a few more steps. “He told me last night,” Jake said. “You know the Calabresi Curse? There really is one. It's in the family. Genetic. Not a virus and not a bacteria—it's this weird element, a prion, that starts to develop at a certain point and trashes your brain. Fatal Familial Insomnia, it's called. FFI."
"Insomnia? Oh, come on—” I was appalled.
"Yes! It kills people."
I walked away from him and then back. “I can't stand this crazy talk."
"You see? That's why Evan never tells anybody. Because of exactly that reaction. First the laugh, total disbelief, and then finally the ‘Oh you poor dumb bastard’ look."
FFI. Evan had explained the whole thing to Jake. Runs in families, may not develop till as late as sixty, once it starts it can kill you in eighteen months. Same type of organism (only it isn't one) as Mad Cow disease, bovine spongiform encephalopathy, but even more rare. Evan even made Jake go on the Internet and see for himself. Jake showed me a printout.
EQMM, Sep-Oct 2006 Page 32
