Devil's Claw

by Valerie Davisson

  Since the wedding was within spitting distance of Pebble Beach, his brother-in-law went along to play golf. The boys were staying with their uncle for the weekend.

  Ages eleven and twelve, both boys were becoming accomplished surfers. They spent the whole day at the beach and were back down there now, giving Purgatory a run. They’d be back by dinner, though. Their BBQ radar was well tuned. As was Purgatory’s. If for any reason they forgot, the dog would drag them home in time.

  “Thomas and Lisa?” he called back over his shoulder.

  “Definitely. They didn’t get to see Amy last time, remember? They were out in Colorado still. They haven’t met Liam yet.”

  Ben went back into the house to pull some more burgers out of the freezer.

  Logan did a last-minute count to make sure she had a place for everyone.

  Bonnie, me and Ben, Amy and Liam, the boys, Rick and Paula, Thomas and Lisa . . .

  Yes, she was good. The picnic table seated twelve.

  Damn! She forgot Ned and Sally.

  No worries—they’d just pull up a couple more chairs. She started scooching some of the place settings over to make room.

  Logan and Ben usually BBQ’d at her place Sunday nights, then finished the evening on the rooftop deck, snuggling under a blanket. But tonight’s dinner had turned into something of a welcome-home/engagement party, so they decided to set up at Ben’s. He had more room. Her side yard and his backyard blended into each other anyway, so there was plenty of room for kids and dogs to play.

  Putting his landscape-architect skills to good use, Ben’s back patio was not only functional, but attractive. Last summer, he and some friends added an attractive L-shaped outdoor kitchen, complete with built-in chopping blocks, large double sink, plenty of storage under the black granite counter, and, Ben’s pride and joy, a generously proportioned gas grill. There was even a small under-the-counter refrigerator. This he kept supplied with five different kinds of mustard, hot sauces, gourmet olives, his favorite IPA, and a selection of nonalcoholic beverages for the kids. Tonight, he’d added a bowl of his famous garlic aioli. He planned on serving that with the steamed artichokes.

  A rice cooker quietly hissed on the counter to the left of the grill. Logan checked the time. Five more minutes. Going back to the house, she grabbed a broad wooden spoon and a stack of deep bowls.

  “I don’t think there’s room for this on the table. How ’bout if we just have everyone fill their bowls up from here?”

  “Good idea,” Ben said. “There’s butter in there, too, if you want to put some out along with the soy sauce.”

  Johnny Cash at full volume let them know Rick and Paula had arrived. Logan looked up from dragging another chair over to the picnic table.

  She raised her eyebrows at Ben. Charlie usually sat in front, but she’d been relegated to the back seat since Paula moved in. The dog didn’t seem to mind, though. On a signal from Rick, Charlie launched herself out of the car and bounded around the corner of the house, looking for Purgatory.

  Off duty, Charlie was in play mode.

  The guests of honor arrived next. Amy still looked thin, but not as pale as a few days ago. A week of sea otter duty, and getting engaged, obviously suited her. With the help of a curling iron, she’d arranged her normally stick-straight hair into long, loose waves, curling around the straps of a blue-and-yellow flowered sundress. With Amy tucked under Liam’s protective arm, they both glowed.

  “I made her take a nap before we came,” Liam said to Logan. Comfortably and conservatively dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, he released Amy only to shake hands as introductions were made.

  After first asking what the doctor would allow in the way of alcoholic beverages, Ben got Amy a tall iced tea. The tropical disease specialist said she was doing well. As long as she didn’t overexert herself and avoided the heat of the day or getting chilled, he wouldn’t need to see her for another two weeks. Liam took her vitals morning and night and kept a record of her food intake and sleep.

  Ben walked Liam over to the grill and showed him where the beer was. He grabbed a Sierra Nevada.

  “I’ll take one of those,” Ben said.

  The two men talked comfortably, periodically checking on the meat thermometer stuck in the tri-tip at the back of the grill. Ben was waiting to add the burgers and dogs until everyone arrived. A huge pot of salted water simmered on one of the two burners to the left. Ben turned up the gas, brought it to a boil, then lowered a large metal basket of cleaned and trimmed artichokes into the water.

  Ned and Sally got there just as Ben and Liam were taking the meat off the grill. Thomas and Lisa apologized for being late. He still did occasional flint-knapping demos at the Otter Festival.

  Bonnie, the last to arrive, came sailing in, still talking on the phone. With a dramatic huff, she firmly turned off her phone. Holding it with two fingers, as if it might bite her at any minute, she dropped it into her purse.

  Ben raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m afraid to ask how your day went,” Logan said.

  Bonnie was having trouble with one of her kids, a volatile teen named Haley. Last week they caught her trying to sneak out of the house, wearing a too-tight top and spray-on shorts. An older-model Mustang screeched away from the curb just as Mike flipped on the lights, catching her in the act. The getaway car belonged to a sixteen-year-old loser named Brent. Since this was a repeat offense, she’d been grounded, her fifteenth birthday party canceled. Ever since, she’d been giving her parents the silent treatment.

  If Haley thought she’d wear them down, she was wrong.

  Mike recruited their neighbor, a retired cop, to keep an eye on her whenever one of them couldn’t be there. She also had to be ready to FaceTime her parents whenever either of them called to check in.

  Modern technology had its advantages.

  “How was my day?” Bonnie repeated. “Well, no one’s in jail or in the hospital. That counts as a great day! Where are you hiding the beer, Ben? I soooo need one!”

  11

  Tuesday, July 7, 2015

  Nothing kept Bonnie down for long. Within minutes she was deep in conversation talking interior design with Paula, who wanted to give Rick’s bachelor pad a makeover and couldn’t have found a more perfect coconspirator. Bonnie lived to decorate. What she didn’t know about fabric, furniture, and paint hadn’t been invented yet.

  With everything on the table, it was time to eat. Both dogs parked themselves at the boys’ feet, knowing they were the softest touches when it came to sneaking food under the table. For the next thirty minutes, everyone ate, talked, and reached for seconds.

  Bonnie’s potato salad was a hit, as was Lisa’s stack of fry bread, kept warm in a thick cotton towel.

  “Where have you been all my life?” Ben moaned, helping himself to another piece. Smothering it with a scoop of Mike’s firehouse chili, which Bonnie brought per his request, he folded it over and took a huge bite.

  “They’re good for dessert, too, Ben,” Lisa tempted. “A little powdered sugar and honey. Mmmm . . .”

  “Oh yeah!” Bonnie chimed in.

  By nine, everyone, including the humans, was stuffed. Looking across the table at Ben, who was listening as Amy repeated the story of the rescued otter pup for Lisa and Thomas, Logan felt a swell of love. Not one to cry, she felt herself tearing up.

  Must be the wine.

  It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long week. A long three years. Logan cleared her throat and blinked before she gave in to sentiment completely.

  Ben’s nephews asked to be excused as soon as they’d inhaled their food. They wanted to play Frisbee with the dogs on the small patch of lawn Ben kept clear for them. Knowing Purgatory’s potentially lethal, gassy response to Polish sausages, of which he’d eaten no less than four, all of the adults readily agreed.

  As the evening wou
nd down, Ben’s nephews went inside to play video games, and strings of solar-powered garden lights twinkled on overhead. Crisscrossed above the patio from the grill to the back door, they softly lit the scene. Perfect.

  Everyone she loved was sitting around this table. Amy was home safe. Getting stronger every day, thanks in large part to Liam. Thomas and Lisa never looked happier. Ben, of course. He’d become a beautiful part of her life. Bonnie. She would work it out with her daughter. She and Mike were great parents.

  Around ten, Liam started making time-to-leave noises, but Amy begged for some music.

  “Just a few more minutes? I haven’t heard them play in ages. I promise to go straight to bed when we get home,” she said.

  Sally shifted Quin, who’d fallen asleep on her mother’s lap, into Lisa’s arms and went inside to get their instruments. Ned had stashed them next to the couch in the den with some toys they’d brought for Quin.

  Logan crossed the backyard to her place to get her violin. Excited about playing, she almost tripped on a paving stone. Between her place and Ben’s, there was adequate light, but only if she paid attention.

  Safely across both yards, she sat down on one of the chairs Ben had set up. She lifted Bella out of her case and tuned up with Ned and Sally for their impromptu concert.

  “We don’t take requests, only tips!” Ned informed his audience a little too loudly.

  They all knew this was not true, as Ned knew every song ever written and loved the challenge. And if he didn’t know a song, he’d make one up.

  Logan hoped the neighbors liked bluegrass.

  They wowed the crowd with rousing renditions of “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” and “Cumberland Gap,” which showcased Ned’s banjo skills, before settling into his signature song, “Salty Dog Blues,” which he always sang directly to Sally. Knowing the song was coming, Ben brought out a round of real salty dogs: salt-rimmed glasses with a simple blend of fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice and Ketel One. Ben made his with gin but bowed to modern tastes for the vodka version.

  They slowed things down some for the next few songs. Sally’s buttery alto sounded for all the world just like Alison Krauss. When they got to “If I Didn’t Know Any Better,” Logan wished she could sing a love song like that to Ben. The best she could do was close her eyes and pour her soul into playing Bella, hoping the music carried her message to the man she was falling deeper in love with every day.

  Halfway through “Whiskey Lullaby,” an ambulance, red and blue lights flashing and siren blaring, barreled north on PCH, tearing through the light at the base of Killer Hill.

  Several patrol cars followed.

  Paula pulled out her phone. A dispatcher with the Jasper Police Department, she knew just whom to call.

  Rick checked his pager, ready to roll if he was called in. Charlie’s ears pricked up, and she trotted over to sit next to Rick, ramrod straight.

  All eyes were on Paula.

  “Possible explosion and injury on Goldenrod and PCH,” relayed Paula to the group.

  Turning to Logan, Ned asked, “Isn’t that . . . ?”

  “That’s the sea otter center!” said Amy.

  Logan resisted the urge to jump into her car and go find out what was happening. She wanted to go help, but common sense told her she would only be in the way right now.

  Amy also started for the car, but Rick caught her arm and convinced his niece to stay put. He ticked off the reasons.

  “You won’t be able to get anywhere near that center. Not until the injured have been cared for, the scene secured, and the techs complete their work. Definitely not tonight.”

  Amy stood there glaring at him, arms stubbornly folded.

  “You are just like your mother,” Rick said, holding his ground.

  Knowing there was nothing anyone could do right now, Logan funneled her energy into things over which she did have control: packing up instruments, clearing the table, putting leftovers in the refrigerator. Amy let Liam take her home, but only after repeated promises from her uncle and mother that someone would call her as soon as they knew anything.

  Everyone gathered their things and said their goodbyes. Rick promised to call Logan in the morning and let her know what was happening. The best thing any of them could do was to stay home and get some rest.

  Back in her kitchen later that night, Logan looked at the calendar taped on the refrigerator. They were supposed to do their volunteer shifts in the morning. She’d have to call first to see if Gina still wanted them to come in.

  She hated not knowing what was going on—whether Gina and Dennis were OK. And Otter 1. That little animal was definitely having a run of bad luck.

  Maybe the dispatcher made a mistake and no one had been injured.

  12

  Tuesday, July 7, 2015

  Dazed, Gina sat on the edge of the fountain in front, wrapped in a silver shock blanket, and stared at what used to be the entrance to the center.

  Two EMTs, gingerly stepping over broken glass, carried someone on a litter out of a gaping hole. With speed and efficiency, they loaded him into the back of an ambulance.

  A young patrol officer named Drummond walked over. Introducing himself, he began taking down an incident report. He jotted her answers into a small lined notebook, which surprised her. She assumed they only had those in the movies—that they’d have some high-tech replacement by now.

  Gina did her best to answer.

  “Yes, he works here. His name is Dennis—Dennis Radmore.”

  “Twenty-six—no, maybe twenty-seven. He’s my assistant. I’ll have to check his exact age. I have his records inside, in my office.”

  “No. No family. Well, he has a sister in Idaho, but I don’t know her name, or where she is or how to locate her. They’re estranged. Both parents are deceased.”

  She felt like she was beginning to babble. Maybe she was.

  Officer Drummond excused himself for a minute to give this information to the ambulance driver as she hopped in the front seat and buckled in. Her partner nodded that he got it. Within seconds, the emergency vehicle went wailing toward PCH, kicking up gravel and dust. Lights flashing, it turned north.

  “Where are they taking him?”

  “Hoag Hospital. They have a surgeon waiting. They said you did an excellent job of first aid. It’s because of you he’s alive.”

  Gina nodded. She was a vet. If she couldn’t apply pressure to a wound and dial 911, she should turn in her license.

  “Now, Ms. Richards, I need to ask you a few more questions. I need you to start at the beginning. Tell me everything you can remember. Where were you? Did you hear anything?”

  Ignoring his question, Gina asked one of her own, “When can I go to the hospital? He’s just a kid. He’ll need someone there when he wakes up.”

  “I understand your concern, but this won’t take long.”

  Gina’s mind cleared a bit. Officer Drummond probably didn’t think anyone aged twenty-seven qualified as being a kid—he couldn’t be older than twenty-nine himself—but to each his own.

  “OK,” she said, refocusing, “but I’m doing this inside. I’ve got an orphaned sea otter in there, a wild animal, and she can’t be left alone this long.”

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t let you in the building until the crime-scene team completes their—”

  “Well, they’ll just have to work around me,” Gina said, standing up, her natural personality asserting itself. “My office is on the second level where the otter tank is, and nothing happened on that level. We can talk there.”

  Officer Drummond agreed to conduct the interview in her office, as long as they used the employee entrance on the left side of the building, away from the break-in. Still, he gave her some booties before they went in, just in case, saying you never knew how far the crime scene reached.

  As they walked past the
front of the building and around to the side, Gina saw the damage up close. Both large entry doors, and a good part of the window wall on each side, had been completely blown out, as if the building had been peeled back by a giant can opener. She could see through to where she’d discovered Dennis. When she’d rushed up from the lab, looking for him, he’d been out cold on the floor just past the elevator, lying facedown on the polished concrete, not moving. Blood still pooled on the floor.

  She looked away.

  That’s when she ran back down to get her bag and called 911.

  Although it went against her grain, for the next twenty minutes, Gina focused on the officer’s questions. Maybe if she answered them thoroughly enough now, they’d leave sooner.

  After Officer Drummond cleared the lab and both offices, Gina checked on the pup, donning the poncho and mask. Otter 1 was fine, although indignant at being left alone for so long. Gina fixed her a shake, let her swim some, then pulled up another chair for the officer while she hauled out the pup and began to vigorously towel dry her fur. She should have made him wear the Darth Vader suit, too, but she doubted Otter 1 would ever see him again, and he wasn’t going to interact with the animal.

  Grooming Otter 1 calmed Gina as well as the young animal. She managed to tell the officer what little she knew.

  Her “otter mom” shift had ended at 8:00 p.m., when Dennis took over. She had set her alarm for 4:00 a.m. She planned on sleeping at the center for the next few days, until Otter 1 was settled in. There was a cot in her office.

  Exhausted from the intensive rescue efforts of the last twenty-four-hours, she was out like a light the minute her head hit the pillow. At some point after that—she wasn’t sure of the exact time—something jolted her out of a deep sleep.

  While her disoriented brain tried to make some sense of what woke her—probably just a small earthquake, they’d had several recently—she went to see if Otter 1 was all right.

  Otter 1 was OK, but Dennis wasn’t with her, so Gina took the emergency stairs up to the main floor to find him. She thought the elevator might be jammed if it was an earthquake that had awakened her. She was halfway up the stairs when she felt and heard the second explosion.