by Julia French
Something swished by her head, close enough to brush her cheek. The crook-beaked raven braked and settled on the roof of the Behemoth, cawing a hearty greeting. Outrage replaced her peace. The little Judas was looking for another handout! How could it expect a friendly welcome after betraying them to the enemy? But True had cautioned her not to let on.
In the spirit of pretended friendliness she ducked back into the van, rummaged in the glove compartment and pulled out a package of old soda crackers from Chilli’s Chili Palace. The crackers were heavily salted. Seated in the driver’s seat, she rubbed the salt off one of the crackers with her thumb, reached out the window, and inched it onto the roof of the van. Tiny scritching noises over her head told her that the raven had wandered over to inspect her offering. The bird already knew everything of importance about her, and there was nothing left to learn. Clearly, it had accosted her on the road merely to cadge another meal. After it had eaten it would probably return to its master. What if she were to follow it home?
The bird uttered another imperious caw, and she detected a note of impatience in it. Working quickly, she nipped off a section of dental floss from the container in her purse. She unhooked the novelty glow stick from the Behemoth’s key ring and tied it to one end of the floss, then knotted a generous loop at the other end. The dental floss was waxed and the knots were unstable, but if her hunch was right they would only have to hold together for a short time.
The raven cawed once more. Holding the glow stick and dental floss behind her back, Rachel opened the door of the van and turned to face the bird. At her sudden appearance the raven backed away several steps out of her reach, still keeping its eyes upon the second salt-rubbed cracker she pushed onto the roof. This time she didn’t withdraw her hand, but kept it motionless upon the edge of the cracker.
As she had calculated, greed won over caution. Claws scritching upon the painted metal, the bird moved forward and bowed its head to peck at the cracker. Instantly she brought her other hand up and crammed the miniature lasso over the head of the bird.
Utterly panicked, the raven winged frantically backward from the roof of the van, dragging the dental floss and the glow stick. It flapped vigorously, fighting to gain altitude, but weighed down by the glow stick anchor, it pitched head-first into the bushes by the edge of the road. Hanging upside down upon a bush, swinging from the length of dental floss, the bird eyed Rachel with hate.
Nothing on Earth would have made her touch that evil bird, but it had to be freed. She hurled herself into the Behemoth and gunned the engine and the raven, galvanized with fear, tore the floss loose from the tangle of branches and propelled itself into the woods like an arrow shot from a bow. Rapidly it dwindled to a black speck in the trees, accompanied by a smaller orange dash that was the glow stick. As Rachel had guessed it might, the terrified creature wasn’t fluttering in aimless retreat, but was making a purposeful beeline straight for home.
She threw open the door of the van and plunged into the snowy woods. It was hard to keep her eyes on the black and orange dot and her own feet at the same time. Parallel to her path through the woods, but invisible to her until she was almost upon it, was a snow-covered asphalt road that led to the highway. It was a temptation to leave the cover of the trees and follow the bird from the covered road, but doing so would reveal her presence, as the only footprints on the freshly fallen snow would be her own. Reluctantly she decided to stay within the safety of the trees.
Twice she tripped over dead branches and regained her balance barely in time to prevent a fall. Soon she lost track of time. It could have been five minutes or an hour that she followed the raven.
Once the bird dipped out of sight into the woods and she despaired, but a few seconds later it emerged, skimming over the treetops, and the chase was on. Just as she felt she couldn’t go another step, the bird’s trajectory changed. It circled once, twice, descended for the last time into the trees and was lost to her sight.
Near the point where the raven had disappeared was a stone wall, perhaps the foundation of a ruined barn, but as Rachel drew nearer she saw windows, a roof, and to one side of the stone wall was unmistakably the door of a garage. A house, here in the middle of the woods! She had no doubt that this was the raven’s home. For the first time she thought of what it would be like to encounter the bird’s master. What in the world had possessed her to come here alone?
At the edge of the driveway to the house, tantalizingly close, stood a gray metal mailbox, the domed top caked with snow. There was no name on the side. It was impossible to tell whether the owner of the house was at home or if there was a vehicle in the garage, as there was no light inside the house and the door of the garage was padlocked shut. Could she get to the mailbox without being seen? Almost she turned back, but she hadn’t followed the raven spy for nothing.
Feeling unseen eyes staring at her, she picked her way between two young elm trees and walked quickly to the mailbox. Inside it was a circular advertising a sale on bed linens, a neon green sheet of paper informing registered voters that Archer Morris was the best candidate for county sheriff, and a white envelope. The circular was addressed to Occupant and the green paper bore no address at all. The letter was addressed to Joshua Lambrecht, Route 29541, Maddington, Massachusetts. The return address gave the origin of the letter as Red Ridge, New York, but again there was no name. Rachel put the circular and the neon green campaign notice back in the mailbox and tucked the letter inside her jacket. If this was the wrong place, she could replace the letter in the box and nobody would be the wiser.
Her task wasn’t finished. She had to make sure that Joshua Lambrecht matched the description that True had given. Her reluctant footsteps crunched on a patch of ice, and she moved off the asphalt onto the grassy shoulder of the driveway. After a few more hesitant paces she decided to move back into the woods where she would be less visible, and she worked her way around to the back of the house staying within the perimeter of the trees.
When she could see the back door she had a shock—in the window next to the door there was a light, made hazy by the semi-sheer curtain which covered the glass. However, nothing was moving behind the curtain and there was no noise. If no one was home she could break the lock on the back door and have a quick look inside. Breaking and entering, I must be crazy, she thought as she left the shelter of the woods, but it was the only way to be sure.
She crept across the open space of the back yard and ducked behind a mock orange bush, feeling as if she were playing detective in a children’s mystery novel. Were there any smugglers to foil, any secret codes that she could decipher to save the day? Fighting down a nervous hysteria that threatened to break out in giggles, she focused her attention upon the back steps. The footprints in the snow were small enough to be a woman’s but the shape of the sole was of a man’s shoe. There were some scratch marks that might have been the footprints of a bird, and a larger drag mark that could have come from the glow stick.
Shifting her eyes back to the light inside, she bent down and crept underneath the window, passing under the lilac bush that stood guard over the porch. A shadow crossed the window and she froze, clouds of steam puffing out of her nostrils into the frozen air.
A muffled voice floated out from inside the room. Rachel raised herself just enough to peep over the sill, but still she couldn’t make out the speaker or the listener. She flexed her cramped feet and pushed herself up a bit farther. Now she could see the source of the light, a lamp upon a table. The room looked like a living room.
In the trees behind her, a sudden crack startled her almost out of her skin. Behind her a heavy branch laden with ice and snow had broken loose from one of the trees. It was impossible that whoever was inside hadn’t heard the racket.
She held her breath and crouched down further, but the back door remained shut and there were no other sounds from the room. She raised her head again to peer over the
sill and met the bottomless black eyes of Joshua Lambrecht staring at her from the other side of the glass. His shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, and he cradled something against his hairless chest. The thing sucking contentedly at his nipple was an insane conglomeration of lizard and fly and dog and something else that she would be unable to resolve in any of the nightmares she would have later.
Helpless in the grip of terror, she backed away from the window. One twig of the lilac tree tangled in a strand of her hair and she whipped her head back and forth to free it, not taking her eyes off the awful parody of mother-and-child framed in the lighted window. She saw Joshua’s lips part in a cold, deathlike grimace. He was smiling at her.
Fright and revulsion drove Rachel crashing into the undergrowth, and she ran. Slipping and sliding on the ice-covered ground, she tore through bushes and zigzagged through the trees until she emerged hot and panting onto the road where she had parked the Behemoth. She threw herself into the vehicle, clashed the gears, and roared down the highway as though the lizard-dog-fly thing were at her heels. The miles shot past like lightning.
On the outskirts of Yarwich there was a custard stand closed for the winter. She pulled into the empty parking lot, shut off the engine, and rested her head upon the steering wheel, cursing her stupidity. She would have to confess to True that her clumsy stealth operation had alerted the witch man, and now Joshua knew that they knew. Because of her carelessness, they had lost the advantage of secrecy.
A sharp rap on the window brought her out of her funk. Six inches away from her face a uniformed police officer was mouthing words. He pointed to his badge and motioned for her to open the window. She looked about her, but there was no one else around. She cranked the window down one inch.
“Your license, Miss?”
She handed it to him through the window.
“Are you aware that—”
I was speeding? Yes, sir, I was.
“—a lone woman in this area—”
He wasn’t writing her a ticket for speeding. He was lecturing her on something else.
“—parking in a deserted area like this-a lot of criminal activity around here—”
Rachel had risked more than her own safety today, and in this parking lot she was fine. She kept a humble expression on her face, and when the officer had finished his talk, she bowed her head contritely.
“Thank you, Officer. I’ll be more careful from now on.”
“Be sure that you do.” He handed her back her license, and it was over. Hoping for a few more minutes of alone time, she waited for the policeman to leave, but the squad car hung back and she realized he was waiting for her to go.
The letter she’d stolen might make up for her blunder-maybe. More than anything else, she wanted a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, for those things would make it easier to face True when he raked her over the coals.
Chapter Twenty-Three
There were candles on the table, and flowers. Mark came out of the kitchen balancing a steaming platter of steaks upon one hand and a dish of braised asparagus on the other.
“Rachel, sweetheart, you’re home,” he greeted her, and a chill crept down her spine.
“Mark…you’re early…”
“Since you’ve been out all day I figured you were tired, so I thought I would make supper tonight and give you a chance to relax.” He set the steak platter and the dish of asparagus on the table with a flourish, as though he were expecting applause.
Was Mark being serious or sarcastic? Was this one of his unpredictable mood changes, or something more sinister?
“I caught a ride from Patty next door,” she said. “Patty was going into Boston to visit her cousin Brooke and she asked me to keep her company. I wanted some fresh air and it sounded like a fun trip…I haven’t been to Boston in ages…” She trailed off as she saw Mark wasn’t listening. He was busy filling both their plates with food. Characteristically, he had decided what she wanted to eat and how much of it.
He motioned for her to sit down. “Dig in before it gets cold.”
She worked her way out of her coat, draped it over the back of the chair, and sat down. Mark was already cutting into his steak. A spot of warmth began to spread between her breasts, but there was nothing she could do but stay.
“I have some news for you,” Mark announced around a mouthful of meat.
She picked up her fork and prodded the steak on her plate. “Is it good news, or bad?”
“I’ll tell you after dinner, okay? There’s no sense in spoiling a good meal.”
The rich, salty smell of the steaks was tantalizing and the asparagus shone temptingly in the satiny cream, but it was impossible for Rachel to enjoy the food. She picked uneasily at her meal, wondering what Mark’s news could be. By the time Mark had finished his steak, she had managed to down only three bites and had picked over her asparagus with her fork so that it looked as though she’d eaten some of it.
Mark whisked his empty plate and the plate with her uneaten food into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine. He poured her glass first and handed it to her with an exaggerated flourish that suggested she should be awestruck by his chivalry.
“For my lovely lady. Here’s to us! We deserve it, don’t you think?”
She obediently clinked her glass against his. Inside, she was bewildered. Was this dinner some sort of apology for hitting her? Didn’t he realize their situation had gone way beyond apologies?
He took a sip of wine. “Honey,” he began.
Immediately she was all ears.
“We haven’t been getting along lately. We’ve been arguing too much and getting on each other’s nerves.”
She couldn’t think of a suitable reply.
“It might be a good idea if we had some time apart.”
She couldn’t have heard him correctly. The fresh air, the excitement this afternoon, and the wine all must have gone to her head.
“This morning my boss asked me to fly to our Schenectady office and perform an audit. I’ll be gone for two months.”
The news finally registered upon her brain. “You’re going out of town.”
“Don’t worry, it’s only a temporary transfer, but it’ll be a chance for us to get away from each other for a while and when I come home we can start fresh. Doesn’t that sound good to you, baby?” He reached across the table and smoothed the hair back from her forehead, a gesture she had once found endearing. “It’ll be a new beginning for us.”
He was going away for two months. Rachel’s reply was heartfelt and sincere. “That sounds wonderful, honey.”
Mark stood up and moved closer to her. Immediately she understood the flowers and the candles.
“How about a kiss?” He stood behind her chair and hugged her from behind, putting his cheek against hers. The smell of his body enveloped her and she felt she was smothering. She wanted to kick and flail her arms. What she did was pull out of his embrace, get up, and put the length of the table between them. Mark’s face reddened with anger and humiliation. “Darling, I have to take the five o’clock flight tomorrow morning,” he spoke through clenched teeth.
“Have a good trip, Mark.” Her knees were shaking but her mind was clear. If he took another step toward her she would lock herself in the bathroom until he left for Schenectady. She could sleep in the bathtub if she had to.
“This is our last night together for two months. Don’t you want to give me something to remember you by?”
“Please, Mark, I’m just not ready. We’ve been fighting so much lately and we both need some time apart. You said so yourself.” Rachel tried to keep the pleading note out of her voice, failed, and realized that maybe pleading was what he wanted to hear. “After you’re back we can start over, be like we used to be, like you said. It’s only two months.”
Mark�
�s hands gripped the back of the chair that she had been sitting in as though he would tear it apart.
She chattered on. “Remember the weekend we spent in Atlantic City, dear? After you come back we can go there again.”
He let go of the chair. “It’ll be February, cold and nasty.”
“That won’t matter to us, will it? We won’t even notice. You’re right, a second honeymoon is exactly what we need. Who cares what the weather will be, when we’re in love?”
His shoulders slumped as though the energy had gone out of him. “You won’t change your mind while I’m gone? I don’t want to get my hopes up for nothing. You know how you are, Rachel, always changing your mind.”
“I won’t change my mind about Atlantic City,” she promised. “You have to get up early if you’re going to catch the five o’clock flight. You should get some rest. I’ll clean up in here.”
“I think I’ll go to bed.” Mark passed a hand across his forehead, and she pitied him. He didn’t know what was happening to their marriage and he would never understand. How sad to go through life like that, having concrete knowledge about everyday things that he could see and touch, but clueless about intangible things like love and respect. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you change your mind about that send-off,” he told her, and Rachel’s pity crumpled in upon itself and vanished.
“Good night, Mark.” She kept her voice level to conceal her relief. Two months without Mark was a miracle she couldn’t have foreseen or planned, and she would use every minute of it to complete her escape.
* * * *
“Done.” The man in the brown corduroy coat held out his hand, and Mark counted out four hundred-dollar bills. “Don’t forget the rest of it afterwards.”
“She’d better not know you’re checking up on her.”
“Your wife won’t know a thing. If you don’t mind my asking, is this a divorce case? Because if I testify in court, that’s extra.”
