"I'm confused."
"So am I." Ann pinched the bridge of her nose. "But I've been meaning to go there anyway, so the timing worked out. What was I supposed to say?"
"No."
"I tried, Drew."
"Not hard enough apparently."
"He's almost like a brother-in-law. And it has to do with Jessie too. Something I need to find out about her."
Drew nodded. "You're not worried about any emotions that might surface again being around Cameron?"
Ann rolled her eyes and sighed. Yes, she was fully worried. "That was seven years ago." She slammed her laptop shut and stuffed it into her briefcase.
"So you don't have those feelings anymore?"
"No." Ann, you are such a liar.
"I'm only going to say this because you're one of my closest friends. I can tell when you're lying."
"Well, this time you're wrong." She slung her briefcase strap over her shoulder and glared at him. "I'll be fine."
"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't at least tell you to be careful?"
"I'm always careful."
"I know." Drew stood, walked through the doorway, and said over his shoulder, "Be extra careful this time, okay? I don't want you getting hurt."
Neither did she. But it wouldn't be easy.
Hearing Cameron's voice and having the old feelings surge to the surface was bad enough. Now she'd have to be around him for a week or more.
Why had God stuck him back in her life? Even if Cameron caught a clue and realized how she felt, she could never let herself get involved with him.
Add in the possibility that Jessie's book was real, and she had a recipe for severe psychosis. How many times had she teased Jessie about that fantastical story? Probably every day after they ended up together in the Busby's foster home.
Ann strode out of her office, tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks.
She had the feeling this adventure would wrack more nerves than any on-air story she'd ever done.
CHAPTER 6
Cameron rang Arnold Peasley's doorbell as he examined the chipped pea-green paint on the siding determined to get answers. He wouldn't let Arnold shut him down as fast as Kirk Gillum.
Ten seconds later the door swung open and a spry man wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt and an ancient-looking pair of Adidas sweatpants stood in front of him. He held a worn basketball under his arm.
"Arnold Peasley?"
"Yep."
"My name is Cameron—"
"I know precisely who you are." Arnold tapped his foot double-time on the faded hardwood floor in his entryway. "Gillum said you'd be coming by to converse with me about Three Peak's history."
Arnold led Cameron through a six-foot-tall corridor of stacked newspapers bound with twine. Piles of papers lined every wall.
"Quite a collection of newspapers you have there."
"I keep telling myself I should toss 'em, but I consider myself the town's unofficial historian, and a newspaper is the best history you can have. Books have a tendency to filter out all the interesting details." Arnold ran his fingers through his hair three times in rapid succession.
"Don't they have microfiche of all these papers?"
"Oh, probably, but there's nothing like having the real McCoy, you know what I'm saying? I think you do." Arnold stopped in front of two rocking chairs, only a few patches of varnish still on them, sat, and motioned for Cameron to do the same.
A few moments later Arnold smacked the arms of his chair three times and popped back to his feet. He strode toward the kitchen dribbling his basketball. "Come along, Cameron; don't just sit there."
He smiled to himself and followed his host.
"I do know the history around here," Arnold said over his shoulder, "so fire away. What would you like to know?"
Everything. No point in being subtle; he needed answers now. "Before my dad died, he told me about a book with all the days in it. Does that mean anything to you?"
Peasley stood in front of the refrigerator dribbling the basketball. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because I—"
"Can you take the time to explain what the book has to do with finding out about the history of Three Peaks?"
"I'm not—"
"You're not really here to find out the broader history of our town, are you?" Peasley glared at him as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
Cameron sighed. "No, I'm not."
Peasley squinted at him as if he were studying a map, deciding on the best route to his destination. "Since you've come clean with me, I'll be fairly transparent with you. Yes, I know exactly what you're talking about."
"And?" Cameron raised an eyebrow.
"I said fairly transparent. Not fully. There's a couple of people to talk to, but you might want to start with him."
"Him?" Couldn't he get a straight answer from this guy?
"Yes, there's always been rumors that he knows more about the book than the rest of us, but he won't talk about it. Maybe you can get him to open up." Peasley drummed his fingers on the counter.
"All I want to know is what the book is."
"Ah, so disappointing. We were doing well, and there you go lying to me again." Arnold shook his head. "No, no, no, you want to know far more. And if you knew what the book really was, you'd want to know far more than you're imagining right now. You'd want to know it all."
Cameron gritted his teeth. Yes, he wanted to know everything about the book. If he confessed that, would Peasley stop talking like Mr. Cryptic?
Arnold opened his refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher filled with something light brown. "Can I interest your taste buds in something cool and refreshing?"
"Sure." Cameron nodded and swallowed. He'd better choke down at least a little of what looked like well-aged iced tea, or Arnold might stop talking altogether.
Peasley poured two tall glasses and handed one to Cameron. The other he left on the counter. "I grew up around here. I never left."
Cameron took a sip of the tea. Not bad.
"I played guard on the high school basketball team in '68 and '69 you know. You're staring at the Three Peaker who took the assist record to new heights those years."
"Who scored the points?"
"Taylor Stone did, of course, but if I hadn't seen the lanes with my eagle eyes, he wouldn't have gotten the ball. Taylor always mentioned that about me when he was talking to the paper about his record-breaking performances. Always. Good man, Taylor was. We had the most consecutive wins in the history of the town. The '82 team came close to breaking it but didn't quite make it. They missed the record by two games."
Arnold Peasley undoubtedly knew his history. Basketball at least.
"I have pictures of the team from both seasons I played, both seasons—did you know that? And the photographer those years? Whew. Good photos. Action photos."
"Will you tell me anything about the book my dad told me about?"
For the first time since their conversation began, Arnold stopped fidgeting. He turned and stared straight into Cameron's eyes, basketball clasped between his palms. "Maybe later. But I'd start with him, and if you get anything interesting from him, we'd love to hear about it."
"Who is 'him,' Arnold?"
"Taylor Stone, of course." Peasley shook his head. "I was giving you clues the whole time and you didn't pick up on them. Are you going to go see Taylor?"
"I'll think about it. Thanks."
"I probably wouldn't waste my time trying. He most likely won't talk to you. Certainly not about the book."
"You just said I should talk to him."
"I said you should, I didn't say you could. In fact, it's pointless to try and if I were you, I'd head back to Seattle as soon as you can." Arnold bounced his ball o
nce. "Did you play basketball growing up? You're going to love these pictures. C'mon, I'll show them to you. Come along."
Arnold Peasley grabbed his iced tea and clipped back into his living room.
Cameron grabbed his notepad and started writing. Why was Arnold driving him to talk to this Taylor Stone? He didn't think it was Peasley's altruism. And why hadn't Kirk Gillum mentioned the guy?
Ann Banister poked her trip counter on her dashboard on Tuesday evening at five thirty, cranked the volume up on her Maroon 5 CD, and pulled onto I-5 heading south. She should be in Three Peaks in three hours.
Cameron flashed into her mind and she sighed.
Three days wouldn't be enough time to figure out what she would say to him when she saw him. Why did he have to ask her to come? Wasn't it enough to talk on the phone?
"Why am I doing this, God?" She smacked her steering wheel. "I could have said no. I should have said no."
But it was about more than Cameron. Why should she be burdened with only one unpleasant task when she could be weighed down by her mysterious past as well?
Ann glanced at the photo on her passenger seat. "Did you love me, Mom, in the short time we had together? Do I have any aunts or uncles out there thinking about me? Wondering about me? Do I finally get to find out?"
She sighed and stomped on the gas. Fine. Let's go. It was time to uncover the past, face Cameron, see if any of Jessie's story of the Book of Days held any truth, and determine what all three things would tell her about the future. But she didn't have to like any of it.
Ann passed through Marion Forks at seven thirty and flicked on her headlights against the growing dusk. Another forty-five minutes and she'd be there.
The highway was nearly empty. She rubbed the back of her neck. It would be okay. What was the worst that could happen? She'd see Cameron, get over it, confirm that Jessie's tale was another instance of her imagination spinning out of control, find out she had no living relatives, and be done with it. Then head back to Portland to move on with life.
Simple.
Ann closed her eyes for a second. She was tired. Emotionally, physically . . .
What was that—?
No!
A deer stood in the middle of the highway, fifteen yards ahead, eyes wide.
Ann swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic, a horn wailed at her, and she yanked the wheel back to the right. The car on her left passed her by inches at the same time her right bumper clipped the deer's back leg.
She screeched to the side of the road and grabbed her legs in an attempt to keep them from shaking. It didn't work. Ann rubbed her face. "Oh, no, no . . . deep breath now. Get out, see if it's okay. Come on."
It was one of her worst nightmares. Her passion for animals overrode most other things in life.
She fumbled with the release on her seat belt, flipped it back, and stumbled out of her car.
"Please don't be dead."
When she reached the spot where she'd hit the deer, there was no sign of it. No blood, no fur, nothing.
Was the deer all right? She glanced off the road on both sides. "Please let it be okay."
Ann returned to her car and eased back onto the highway. Was this a sign of how much pain she'd have to go through before she was done with Three Peaks, or Three Peaks was done with her?
CHAPTER 7
Cameron looked at the address on Gillum's piece of paper and then gazed at the numbers on the two-story house in front of him. This should be the home of Susan Hillman.
Thirty seconds after the chime of the doorbell faded, Susan opened her door. Her short, tossed brown hair made her look like she'd just come in from a windstorm.
She offered iced tea—must be the official Three Peaks' drink—which Cameron declined explaining he'd had a glass during his last visit. But he did accept two cookies and a glass of milk, making him feel six years old again. They sat outside on her covered redwood front porch and made small talk for a few minutes about the heat of a Three Peaks summer and how long she'd lived in town.
"Fifty-seven winters." A smile played at the corners of her eyes. "But my age and how warm it gets here isn't what you want to know, is it?"
The small-town gossip grapevine must be on overdrive. "No. I'd like to talk about my dad. About his childhood."
Susan nodded.
"His name was Boscoe Vaux and he lived here till he was nine."
Susan laughed. "Well, fancy that." She leaned back in her chair till it bumped into the planter behind her filled with blue Larkspur. "I remember him."
"You what?" Cameron jerked his head and squinted. "You remember my dad?"
"Isn't that funny? I haven't mulled over the memory of Little Boss for ages. And you're his son. He was one of my closest friends in those days. Fascinating." Susan ran her hands through her hair. "God has a sense of humor, yes? Little Boss and I shared the same paint set in first and second grade."
"Little Boss?"
"That's what we called him, due to his being named after your grandfather, who of course was Big Boss." She smiled again. "Boscoe wasn't the best name for a little boy to have. I think he appreciated being called something different." She shook her head. "That takes me back a few years. If Little Boss went two minutes without laughing that was a long time. And what a great smile. Everyone loved him. So tell me, how is your father?"
"He passed away eight years ago." The familiar ache settled in his stomach as an image of his dad and him standing on West Seattle's Alki Beach filled his mind. Cameron missed that grin and the hearty laughter that always accompanied it.
"Oh, Cameron, my heart hurts for you." Susan blinked and covered her mouth. "So young."
"Thanks." They sat in silence for a minute, and it seemed to fill a dark corner of his heart with light, if only slightly. "My dad said when he was a kid, he saw a book that showed him the past and the future. Do you know anything about that?"
Susan stared into Cameron's eyes, then looked down and smoothed her forest green shorts. "I haven't thought about that for years, but I do remember a few things. Wow. Funny how it's stayed with me." She tilted her head back and scanned the ceiling, as if she would find what to say etched on its surface.
"Boscoe and Big Boss were involved in this group called Indian Guides, and they'd go on all these hikes and adventures together. Every Monday morning at lunchtime in the school's orange cafeteria, Little Boss would report what they'd done and where they'd gone.
"Well, after one of their weekend hikes, he started acting all closed up and wouldn't talk to me or anyone else. After a few weeks of that I finally asked him, 'Why are you being so quiet all of a sudden?' or something like that. He poked his straw up and down in his chocolate milk and said, 'I know when I'm going to die.'
"It was a strange thing to say coming from a nine-year-old kid, and I didn't know how to respond. Then he said, 'When I grow up I'm going to have a son and I know things about him too.' I laughed but Little Boss just kept staring at his milk carton.
"I asked him where he saw these things, but all he would say is, 'I don't know if I could find it again. Maybe I dreamed it all up.'"
"We never talked about it after that. Back then I thought he was making up stories, but over the years I've often wondered what he saw. Looking back with an adult's perspective, he certainly believed he saw this book you're looking for."
Cameron shuddered. His dad had seen something. Maybe he was just a kid, but what he saw had changed him. "I have to find that book."
"Why is this book so important to you, Cameron?"
"My dad said I needed to find it to understand."
"Understand what?"
"What would happen to me. Or what is happening to me. What he thinks he saw."
"And what is that?"
Cameron stared at Susan Hillman. Wisps o
f her brown hair hung over her eyes. This was a woman it would be easy to slide into friendship with, a woman he'd be tempted to spill his guts to. "I'm not sure."
"I see." And by the way she looked at him, it seemed Susan truly did see.
"Are you hoping that if you find this book Little Boss spoke of, it will give your life meaning?"
"No." Cameron held his breath and looked away, as if turning could deflect the question. How could he tell her he had to find the book because he was scared he was losing his mind and he was hoping his dad was right and the book would cure him?
How could he describe losing his memories of Jessie and tell how he would try anything to get them back? How he was terrified of ending up like his dad, talking about nothing and everything mixed up into a mess the best linguists in the world couldn't decipher? How he'd promised his father he'd search for a book that probably only existed in his dad's mind and Jessie's imagination?
Susan looked at him with compassion. "I had a son about your age. Are you thirty-four? Thirty-five?"
"Thirty-three." Cameron shifted in his seat. "Had?"
Susan nodded as she brushed back her hair. "I'd like to offer you a stone."
Interesting. Susan understood loss but didn't want to talk about it. Part of him didn't want to talk about Dad and Jessie, but she had a choice. He didn't. "Offer a what?"
She reached over and opened an old dark mahogany cabinet sitting next to the front door and brought out a bowl made of stained glass. It was full of rocks, all polished to a brilliant shine.
"This one is pretty." Susan picked a piece of jade. "I found it myself. I let it scuttle around in the polisher with all that fine sand working on it, rubbing off the rough spots, for three straight weeks." She handed him the bowl and he set it on his knees.
"You know more about the book, don't you? Will you tell me what it is?"
"Pick a stone, Cameron. To keep." Susan grabbed the edge of the dish and rattled the stones inside it.
He settled on a flat stone the color of crème brûlée streaked with black lines. Peppered along the lines were tiny red specks, connecting them, making it look like constellations of another world.
Jim Rubart Trilogy Page 38
