Way to go, Wilma. Slap him again for me.
Gabe slid away from his irate mother. “Okay! Okay!” He did his best to erase the poor-me look from his face and almost succeeded. “What do you want to know?”
It’s a start. “What did he say when he took you from the bus barn?”
Gabe inflated his cheeks, evidently engaging his limited memory mechanism. After a moment’s cognition, he put his index finger in the center of his forehead. “He stuck his gun right here and told me get moving.”
“He put you on the back of his bike?”
Gabe nodded. “Gave me his helmet, told me to climb on. If I made any trouble, he promised to blow me away.”
“Anything else?”
Once again, Gabe imitated a blowfish. “When we passed my mom’s scooter, he started cursing like his head was about to explode. Banged his fists on the handlebars. Scared the shit out of me. I thought for sure he was going to stop the bike and kill me.”
Bonnie considered the timing and choreography in this passion play. If Wilma had been just five minutes sooner, she would have interrupted Caleb Webb, caught him in the act of shooting Witherspoon and abducting Gabe. More than likely, Caleb would have shot her as well. Then again, she said Byron had tailed her to the bus barn. If she was right about that, Byron and Deputy Wyatt would have been added to the mix. Who knows what Caleb would have done then, but she didn’t think surrendering would have been an option.
“What about when you reached the house?”
Gabe twirled his right index finger about his ear. “That’s when Cowboy Caleb went really Strangelove. He made me sit on the porch. Tied me to a post. Told me he’d be right back, and if I moved even an inch he’d kill me. He went in the house. About a minute later, the screaming started.”
“Seneca?” Lloyd asked.
“Uh-huh. Sounded like he was killing her. Tell you true, that’s what I thought happened. Surprised the crap out of me when she later shouted through the window.”
Bonnie sighed, picturing the scene inside that nightmare home—Caleb Webb returning with his latest prize, heated words passing between husband and wife, and Caleb in a rage clubbing his young wife over the head.
You son of a bitch, I hope they have an especially hot section of hell waiting for you.
Bonnie tugged at her ear. “You never went in?”
Gabe shook his head. “A good five minutes later, he comes back out, unties me, tells me to sit, then sits down next to me. There were tears in his eyes. I figured he felt bad about killing his wife—like maybe he might let me go.”
Really? thought Bonnie. “And he just waited there on the porch until the police arrived?”
“Never said a word. Just sat there tapping the gun against his knee. When the cops came, he made me stand, like he’d been waiting for them. The rest you know.”
Indeed, like he was waiting for them. Like he was waiting to die.
Bonnie dropped Wilma and Gabe off at the front of the school, where Wilma had left her scooter. As the pair made a wobbly exodus down East Plains Highway, Bonnie checked her Mickey Mouse watch.
Two o’clock, straight up.
“I’m embarrassed to say this, but I’m starving. You up for some lunch?”
Lloyd shook his head. “I’m going home.” He reddened. “I promised Marjorie I’d call this afternoon.”
Bonnie turned a smiling face her friend’s way. “That’s wonderful. Why didn’t you say anything, you sly dog?”
“There was never a good time—what with the superintendent then Gabe Trotter and Caleb Webb.”
Bonnie slapped Lloyd in the belly. “So what’s going on, big guy?”
Lloyd didn’t seem ready to share Bonnie’s elation. His mouth was a tight line. “So far, nothing. She left a message, asked if I would give her a ring.”
“And?”
Lloyd gave her a puzzled look. “And what?”
“How do you feel about talking to her, listening to what she has to say?”
Her friend seemed genuinely lost. Bonnie could actually see the two warring elements of his dilemma tugging at him. Certainly, Marjorie had betrayed his trust, but he’d failed to be there when she needed him.
Grown-up problems are a bitch. That’s for sure.
After a long moment, Lloyd blew out a long breath. “I honestly don’t know. I’m mad at her. Hell, I’m mad at me. And I’m tired of all of it. I guess I’m just ready to hear her voice again, sometime when she’s not singing.”
On impulse, Bonnie threw her arms around her friend and gave him a hug. “It’s a start,” she whispered in his ear.
She pretended not to notice the glisten in her friend’s eyes when she broke the embrace. Lloyd was a lot of things, but he hadn’t yet evolved into a SNAG, or a Sensitive New Age Guy. Maybe never would. He’d be embarrassed by any mention of tears.
“Well, good luck, cowboy. I’ll be rooting for you.”
“Thanks, Bon. I’ll let you know how it all turns out.”
She left him standing by his truck, still looking a little lost. He’s a big boy. Hopefully, he can figure out what’s best for Lloyd Whittaker without his ego getting in the way.
At the moment, Bonnie had other things on her mind. She also had a phone call to make. To New Jersey.
“Callahan’s Roadkill Diner.”
Bonnie pulled her kitchen phone away from her ear and chuckled. “How’s the possum look for tonight?” she said when she reinserted the device to her head.
“Flat and juicy, ma’am. Just scooped up on Interstate 95 this morning.” Armen sighed. “You got any idea how good it is to hear your sultry tones, Mizz Pinkwater?”
“I had no idea I had sultry tones. But the feeling’s mutual, Mister Mouse.”
Now that she’d connected to Armen, albeit electronically and across a couple of thousand miles, Bonnie felt the day’s tension draining. God, she missed this man.
“Bon?”
“Right here, lover. Just thanking my lucky stars your Armenian mother gave birth to you.”
“Does that mean you’re giving serious consideration to my proposal?”
Proposal?
The question jerked Bonnie out of her euphoria back into reality. Did she really want to leave Colorado forever, even if it meant being with Armen? “I’m definitively up to my elbows in a serious consideration mindset. Can you give me a little more time? I need to finish my gifted and talented class before I can even consider leaving.”
Bonnie winced. Even coming from her own lips, the excuse sounded lame. From the protracted silence at the other end of the line, Armen thought the same.
“Look, Bon, I’m not trying to pressure you in any way. It’s just that I’m committed to staying here with my dad.”
A spike of annoyance washed over Bonnie.
No pressure? In two days, you’ve already put down roots in New Jersey. If I want to be with you, that’s where it has to be. But hell, no pressure.
Before she could put her confused thoughts into even more confused verbiage, Armen broke in.
“I have a surprise for you. Although, maybe I shouldn’t have done it.”
In the space of ten seconds, Bonnie’s befuddled mind ran the gamut of things Armen damn well shouldn’t have done. By the end of that brief space of time, she had him running naked and drunk on the beaches of Atlantic City in the company of bimbos. For good measure, he was sporting a tattoo of Foghorn Leghorn across his right butt cheek.
Snap out of it, Pinkwater. She took an additional ten seconds to steady her vocal cords. “Oh? And what is this surprise?”
“I bought you a plane ticket for Atlantic City.”
The nine words rendered Bonnie momentarily speechless. She knew Armen was only streamlining the possibility of her visiting New Jersey, but she was having trouble wrapping her mind around the presumption of the man. He hadn’t even waited until she gave him her answer before he made this monumental decision on her behalf. Once again, Bonnie’s cerebral cortex wen
t into hyperdrive. She pictured a life where Armen swaggered into restaurants and ordered the wine at meals.
How about my hair, Callahan, or my clothes? Do you approve of those? What next? Are you going to tell me who my friends can be?
“Uh-oh.” The voice that squeaked out of the phone was shaky. “Would it help to mention it’s a round trip ticket?”
Bonnie wasn’t sure she should trust herself to talk to him. Her Imp of the Perverse was screaming, demanding she cut loose with something she damn well knew she’d regret. Swallowing down every scathing remark she’d seen capering across her psyche, she settled for the mundane. “What’s the date of the flight?”
“Bon, I’m sorry. I—”
“What’s the date, Mister Mouse?”
“Sunday. Out of Colorado Springs at one fifty.”
Bonnie inhaled a long deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up the phone and stared at the receiver.
A small, not-so-still voice sounded in her brain. What the hell was that all about? The man was just trying to do you a favor.
Bonnie knew nine-tenths of her reaction stemmed from how stressed she’d been in the last few hours. She bore witness to two dead young men and if things didn’t go well, Seneca Webb might not survive the day.
Even with this excuse for letting Armen off the hook, she held on to a bit of residual anger. Goddamn, the man didn’t even ask me. Bonnie pulled a stool over and sat at the breakfast island. Her head ached and more than a little she wanted to call Armen back and just hash out this problem.
She knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t trust herself and her Imp of the Perverse not to flare up again. You are some piece of work, Bonnie Pinkwater.
Hypatia sidled up to Bonnie’s leg and rubbed against it. Absently, she stroked the dog’s soft fur. “Mommy’s all screwed up, sweetie.”
A low growl emanated from the dog. Evidently, the golden retriever disagreed.
“I love you, too. What say you and I go for a walk?”
Bonnie gathered up her fanny pack and by the time she reached the front door had collected two additional dogs: Hopper, the black lab, and Lovelace, the border collie.
Euclid, the black Burmese, merely looked up from his repose on the sofa, as if to say, Knock yourselves out. I’m too comfortable to move.
Without what seemed like conscious thought, Bonnie’s feet aimed for the Bluffs, the high mesa about a half mile behind her home. The dogs, so familiar with the path, scampered ahead.
By the time she’d reached the rim of the mesa, her head was clearing.
One of your better decisions, Pinkwater.
The afternoon had developed into one of those that made people in the rest of the country wish they lived in Colorado. Small clouds punctuated a sky so blue it seemed unreal. A hint of a breeze played in Bonnie’s hair. In the distance, beyond Colorado Springs, Pikes Peak held reign on a horizon to die for.
Purple mountain majesty, indeed, Mizz Bates.
Bonnie hoisted her posterior onto a flat rock overlooking the valley at the base of the Bluffs. The faint discordant cry of a blue jay wafted up from below. On the valley floor, a gray ovoid shape, probably a rabbit, darted between the sprays of yucca.
Despite the picture-perfect setting, Bonnie felt unsettled. She tried to dismiss the butterflies in her belly, telling herself it was just the remnant of how she’d left things with Armen.
She knew better.
Her innards had been trying to tell her something since she’d left Lloyd. The events of the day and the previous days just didn’t mesh.
She had no doubt that the gun Caleb wielded, and more than likely used to kill Moses Witherspoon, was the same pistol that had killed Leo Quinn and Dwight Furby. She wasn’t sure where this certainty came from, but she was certain nonetheless. But therein lay the problem.
What the hell was Caleb doing out on Squirrel Creek Road with a damn nine millimeter?
And that wasn’t the only thing bothering Bonnie.
Logically, assuming Gabe Trotter was telling the truth, when Caleb came upon Leo Quinn, he was already trussed up to a barbed-wire fence, compliments of the idiot trio of Furby, Witherspoon, and Gabe.
Why did Caleb then proceed to kill Leo Quinn?
The immediate answer was that Caleb Webb was a homophobe. Bonnie remembered the young man’s reaction to finding out Jason Dobbs was a homosexual. Webb had just about split a seam. It had been all Seneca could do to settle him down.
“Okay, Caleb killed Leo because he was gay,” Bonnie voiced aloud. “A hate crime. Violence dealt out because of bigotry.” Even as she said it, Bonnie knew there was something she was missing.
Even more troubling, knowing, as Caleb did, that the idiot trio was innocent of the murder, why then did he set out to assassinate Furby and Witherspoon?
Bonnie tugged at her earlobe, her mind in a swirl.
And why in God’s name did Caleb think it important to fold Leo Quinn’s clothes?
CHAPTER 23
GABE TROTTER WAS STANDING OUTSIDE THE MAIN office when Bonnie stepped through the doors of the school.
Her estimation of the young man went up considerably at this evidence of integrity. She gifted him with a smile. “Ah, the prodigal son has returned. Waiting for Principal Whittaker?”
Gabe shook his head. “Already seen him. He’s got me working with the custodians for a couple of days. I’ll be stripping the floors until noon today.”
Bonnie was surprised Lloyd had started the boy off with only a half day’s penance. “Not too bad. I might have put you to work until five. Mister Whittaker’s growing soft in his old age.”
“He meant to, but I talked him into letting me off early so I could go visit Seneca. It’s the least I could do after she saved my life.”
Even visiting the sick. What next, Master Trotter, do you plan to give alms to the poor?
“Good for you.” Bonnie checked her Mickey Mouse watch. “Well, listen, I have to go. Got a class to teach.”
Gabe stepped aside to let her pass. “Missus P, I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me and my mom. She told me how you were worried about me.”
Your mom was stretching the truth a little bit, dear boy. But what the hell. “You’re welcome. It was all worth it if you get a wiggle on with your life.”
“Funny you should mention that. There’s a parttime custodian job opening up here at the school. I’m thinking of applying.”
Bonnie felt like hugging the boy, but held herself in check. Let’s see how he does with stripping the floors.
She offered her hand for a high five. “Go for it. Make a good impression on Principal Whittaker, and who knows? Now, I really got to go.”
“Settle down, ladies. I thought since this is the last class, we’d do something a little different this time. Give me a hand here.”
Bonnie and her class of thirteen arranged the desks in a circle and sat themselves on top. A circus atmosphere permeated the classroom. Jolly Ranchers all around. Even the usually severe Yoki was giggling.
Admit it, Pinkwater, you love this let’s-have-fun crappola as much as these cuties, maybe more.
“All right, listen up. You decide how much or how little of what I’m about to tell you want to keep as notes, seeing as a portion of my lecture is simply my opinion.”
Normally, this advice would sound a death knell for note taking, but Bonnie felt pretty certain these type-A girls wouldn’t be able to resist saving information. The need for organization was hardwired into their DNA.
Bonnie pointed with her chin at Yoki. “Our resident Kovalevskaya expert has done an excellent job of laying the groundwork for Sophia’s short and impressive life. Revolutionary, mathematician, novelist, Sophia Kovalevskaya crammed a lot of living into her forty-one years. However, I won’t be speaking so much of Sophia’s life as of her untimely death.”
Bonnie leaned forward and fixed her gaze on first one, then another of her charges. By the
time she was finished with this exercise, the silence in the room was so dense you could slice it like cheesecake.
“In order to understand Sophia’s undoing we need to understand her personality. She was Russian through and through. By that I don’t mean she was stolid and stoic, not Sophia.” Bonnie made a fist and shook it. “Sophia Kovalevskaya was passionate, in every sense of the word—her beliefs, her work, both mathematical and literary, and most especially in her love life.”
Several girls whispered, and Bonnie adopted the pose of the patient narrator. Other, supposedly more mature girls policed the room back into quiet.
“As you remember, Sophia married not for love, but for a passport away from her father and into the life she desperately wanted. A life of the mind. A life of the spirit. It needs to be said that although Sophia may not have been in love with Vladimir Kovalevsky, she did appreciate his friendship. For most of their lives together, she would hold that friendship as precious. Once again, for the most part, she stood by him when the things went tragically wrong. Keep in mind she did have a child by Vladimir, her beloved Foufie.”
This time Bonnie fully expected the giggles, which came on cue.
How could you not laugh at a name like Foufie?
Fortunately, her thirteen’s need to hear more outweighed their natural desire to be goofball teenagers. Bonnie hadn’t long to wait.
“Sophia Kovalevskaya was considered, by all who met her, an attractive young woman. Yoki mentioned that Sophia’s mentor, Weierstrass, might have been in love with her. There may have been some truth in that. A friend of Weierstrass, the chemist R. W. Bunsen—”
Hands shot up in the air. Once again, Bonnie expected to be interrupted at this juncture. In fact, she would have been disappointed had she not been. She pointed at Beatrice. “Yes?”
“Is that the guy who—”
“You would think so, but the Bunsen burner was actually perfected by Bunsen’s assistant.”
Irrational Numbers Page 20
