by Nevada Barr
“Maybe somebody saw a mouse,” Anna said in a more normal voice.
“Maybe Heckle and Jeckle are watching old horror movies,” Jenny suggested.
The faint ticking of insects and the hush of dry wind over arid soil went uninterrupted. Jenny’s stomach began to unclench. “Cougars sometimes scream. They can sound just like a woman,” she said to Anna, still and alert at her side.
Anna shook her head, a movement that caught the trickle of light from her bedroom window. It occurred to Jenny that Anna might have heard a lot of screams in her life, screams produced by actors and, in the dense hive of apartments that made up New York City, the screams of whichever of a multitude of neighbors happened to be feuding at any given moment.
The barely audible sound track of the desert night ticked away another minute, then two. “I guess whatever it was is either all the way dead or gone,” Jenny said. Then a short sharp cry, followed by the sound of a heavy object striking a solid surface, shattered the calm.
“The Candors,” Anna said and ran down the two steps of their porch, over and up the two to their duplex.
“Wait,” Jenny called, but Anna was already banging on the screen door. As Jenny ran the short distance in her bare feet to stand by her diminutive noisy housemate, she wondered where Jim was. Probably with Libby. Even in the national parks you could never find a cop when you needed one.
“Regis! Bethy! Are you all right?” Anna called, pounded again. Silence seeped from behind the closed door. The desert music had ceased.
Trying not to be obvious, Jenny insinuated herself between Anna and the door. “Let me,” she said and raised her fist to knock.
The porch light came on, blinding in its sudden assault on their eyes. From the door came the unmistakable sound of a dead bolt being thrown. Jenny’s duplex had only the key lock in the doorknob. The dead bolt must have been either Regis’s or Bethy’s innovation.
Behind the screen the door opened halfway. Regis, shirtless but wearing shorts with cargo pockets, stared out at them.
“Hey, Regis,” Jenny said, feeling both foolish and righteous. “We thought we heard something.”
Regis said nothing. His face was devoid of emotion. In Jenny’s psyche, foolishness was beginning to get the upper hand. It easily could have been a cougar or the death throes of an unfortunate rabbit in a fortunate fox’s jaws.
Anna stepped up next to her. A show of solidarity. Though she didn’t think it necessary, Jenny was honored. “Regis, we heard two screams. They came from your place,” Anna said. “Are you both okay?”
There wasn’t a tremor in her voice. It was as solid as granite and as implacable. Given that voice, Anna Pigeon organizing groups of artists—a skill Jenny equated with herding cats—seemed suddenly plausible.
“We’re fine,” Regis said coldly. “Thanks for checking.” He started to close the door.
“Is Bethy okay?” Anna demanded.
“Bethy is fine. Good night.”
Before he could make his escape Anna said, “Let me see her.”
Regis went very still. “She slipped on the rug by the kitchen sink and hit her head on the corner of the table. She’s embarrassed because she’s such a klutz, but she’s fine.” His voice had warmed significantly. He smiled ruefully and shrugged. The understanding husband.
“I want to see her,” Anna insisted.
Discomfort boiled inside Jenny, acute, but hard to define, containing as it did elements of insecurity, bad manners, guilt, and genuine concern for both Anna and Bethy. The curse of girls who’ve been raised right. For a second Jenny thought Regis was going to slam the door in their faces. Then what would they do?
Try to track down Jim Levitt.
Blowing out a gust of air so vehemently Jenny felt it through the wire mesh, Regis gave in. “Bethy!” he called over his shoulder. “Get out here so the Misses Marple can see I haven’t murdered you.”
Snuffling and shuffling heralded the woman’s arrival. Regis stepped away from the door and guided Bethy into the place he’d been standing. Light from the porch did more to illuminate Anna and Jenny than the person behind the screen, but Bethy was moving easily and on her own; that was to the good.
“Bethy,” Anna said. “What happened?”
“I’m such a klutz,” Bethy apologized. “I slipped on the bathroom rug and hit my head.” She smiled and raised two fingers to her right cheekbone. “Smack in the eye. I’m gonna have a big ol’ shiner for sure.”
“We’ll be twins,” Anna said. Jenny was startled at the depth of kindness in her voice, especially considering Anna’s black eye had been given her by Bethy’s aborted pass on Lover’s Leap.
“Do you want to come over? Have a glass of wine and a bag of ice?” Anna had taken on a coaxing tone Jenny’d never heard before. How Bethy resisted it was a mystery.
“Regis will get me some ice,” Bethy said. Awkwardly, she smiled. “I’m okay. Really. I’m just such a klutz.”
It was clear she wasn’t coming out.
“Holler if you need anything,” Anna said. “We’ll be listening for you.”
Jenny expected this last was said as much for Regis’s benefit as Bethy’s.
The door snicked shut. The porch light winked out. “Well,” Anna said after a moment of standing in the dark.
“Yeah,” Jenny agreed. “I guess that’s that.” Together they turned and trailed back to their own duplex.
Without turning on a light or speaking a word, they flopped on their respective ends of the couch, feet up on the coffee table.
“Slipped on the kitchen rug,” Anna said flatly.
“Slipped on the bathroom rug,” Jenny said. Deeply disappointed in Regis, she added, “I can’t believe it. He was smacking her around!”
“Is this the first time?” Anna asked doubtfully.
“First time I’ve ever gotten wind of it,” Jenny said. “I’ll tell Jim, of course. I have to, but I doubt it will do any good. It’s not like Bethy called for help or we saw anything.”
“Bethy the klutz slipped on a rug and hit her head on the way down,” Anna said in the tone one might use reading a headstone.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Do you think she told him about trying to kiss me?”
“Maybe she did. Maybe she wanted to make him jealous. Or turn him on,” Jenny added acidly.
“I guess we should try to be nicer to her.”
“I think we are plenty nice to her already,” Jenny said.
FORTY-SEVEN
Anna and Jenny spent the next three days and nights on the lake, where they neither saw nor heard from their neighbors. For that, Anna was glad. The Candors exuded what, in her college days, had been referred to as bad vibes, an underlying sickness or misery that oozed out around the edges of conversations and interactions.
Apart, they were less toxic than they were together. When Anna and Bethy exercised, and the times they had gone canyoneering with Jim and then Jenny, Bethy seemed almost free of whatever darkness the two of them spawned at home. Since finding out Regis beat Bethy at least once—and battered wives were seldom beaten but once—Anna had made the decision to be available to Bethy Candor. Not to befriend her. Friendship built on pity had a tendency to go sour. The balance of power was too out of whack.
Being available sidestepped that pitfall. Being available was simply a matter of putting aside one’s own considerations for a time. When her lieu days came around, and Jenny headed out with Jim to potty-train the masses, Anna decided if Bethy approached her to work out she would be open-minded, if not open-hearted.
Anna didn’t have to make good on her best intentions. Bethy and Regis evidently decided Dangling Rope wasn’t the heaven it had once been. They stayed at their house in Page, not only on their weekends but during the week as well, Bethy making the long commute to Rainbow Bridge from the Wahweap Marina, Anna assumed.
Having them gone was more of a relief than Anna would have expected. As she ran and worked out on weights with
Jim, joked with Gil, Dennis, and Jenny as they shared their cocktail hour at the picnic tables on their porches, she sensed the others were relieved as well. No one said anything; it was the subtle relief of a constant noise finally going silent or a small splinter finally working itself out of the ball of one’s thumb.
When, three weeks after Bethy had been screaming, Anna stepped out onto her porch on her day off, with her first cup of coffee, and found Bethy waiting, the surprise wasn’t entirely pleasant. Any bruising resulting from Regis punching her was gone. She looked calm and rested, her soft brown hair framing her face in a pixie cut that was more becoming than the thin ponytail into which she’d formerly dragged her hair.
Bethy wasn’t in uniform. She wore old, threadbare canvas trousers, sneakers without socks, and a red tank top. Her bare arms were well muscled, and she had lost more weight since Anna had last seen her.
“What are you doing here? Wednesday isn’t your lieu day,” Anna said ungraciously before she recovered from the shock of seeing her. Hurt shadowed Bethy’s eyes and was as quickly gone.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Anna apologized. “I love your hair,” she added as she took her accustomed place on the picnic table, feet on the bench in unconscious imitation of Jenny.
“Regis always liked it better short,” Bethy said, sounding almost shy. “I don’t know why I got the bug to grow it out.”
“You look great,” Anna said honestly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Bethy looked away, squinting her eyes against the early light cresting the canyon rim to the east. She nibbled on her lower lip with child-sized teeth. Anna hadn’t noticed the small teeth before. Perhaps because Bethy seldom smiled.
“Are you still mad at me?” Bethy asked without looking at Anna. “You know, because I … well, you know.”
“I was never mad,” Anna said truthfully. “Just confused. Then, when I figured out Regis was beating you, worried.”
Bethy’s eyes flashed. She looked away quickly, but not before Anna felt the white-hot glare of anger. Whether it was at Regis for doing it, or her for noticing, she couldn’t decide.
“I don’t know where you got that idea,” Bethy said carefully, still not looking at her. “I fell down. People do, you know. Regis would never hurt me. We love each other too much.”
Rehearsed, Anna thought. “Okay,” she said. There was nothing she or anyone could do until Bethy reported it. Or Regis finally killed her.
“Anyway,” Bethy said, heaving a great sigh of relief at leaving the topic of domestic violence behind, “I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came here because I’m leaving Page tomorrow and will be gone for a while. I wanted to tell you I was sorry I did that thing on Lover’s Leap.” She looked at Anna shyly. “I just wanted you to like me is all.”
This last was said in the voice of a wistful child. Anna couldn’t help but be affected.
“I like you, Bethy,” Anna told her. “You don’t need to try so hard. Why are you leaving Glen Canyon? Your season isn’t up until the end of September.”
“I quit three weeks ago. Regis comes from money. His grandfather is, like, real rich. Regis can’t have it till he’s thirty or worse and jumps through hoops and stuff, but he gets some now, and I’ve always wanted to study cooking, you know, like a real chef school? Like in Paris? Regis wants me to have that, so … off I go to do it,” she finished with a shrug. “Regis is like that, you know, with me? He’s always doing things just to make me happy.”
And a bright, bright smile. Anna didn’t even have to work at it to see the brittle edges.
Bethy’s smile slipped, then vanished. The dream vacation smacked more of an exile. Maybe Regis had thrown her out. Maybe he was sending her off to rehab for one addiction or another. Maybe he “needed space” and Bethy was going home to Mom until he came to his senses. Whatever it was, Anna doubted the Parisians would be introduced to hash brown casserole anytime soon.
“I brought some food and gear and stuff,” Bethy said. Anna was relieved she’d returned to real-world subjects. “I was hoping we could do another canyon together so you’d remember me different, not like the total spaz I was last time?” Her voice went up at the end in a question. The look on her face was so beseeching it reminded Anna of a ham actor—but a very fine singer—in a production of My Fair Lady she’d stage-managed. When he sang “On the Street Where You Live,” his mugging made him resemble a particularly needy dog.
That same look was all over Bethy’s face.
Anna caved without even a token struggle. “Sounds like fun. Let me get my shoes.”
* * *
Hugging the canyon walls, Bethy piloted the Zodiac uplake, then turned into the mouth of Panther Canyon. There were several good slot canyons in Panther. It surprised Anna when Bethy passed them up to nose the Zodiac into the blocked slot where Anna and Jenny nearly lost their lives, and the college boys did.
“Isn’t this a little macabre?” Anna asked as Bethy sprang to the sandstone step at the base of the obstruction and began looping the bow line around a rock.
“What’s ‘macabre’?” Bethy asked as she finished and started up the giant’s stairsteps.
Nothing else to do, Anna followed her. “Creepy. Gruesome. Grim. Horrible. Ghastly.”
“Why is it all those things?” Bethy asked, stopping on the top, hands on hips.
Anna joined her, not in the least winded, and remembered how short of breath the climb left her the last time. “Believe it or not, Bethy, some people think corpses and near-death experiences are off-putting,” she said.
In the morning light, the rectangle of water and the narrow slot beyond—grown terrifying in Anna’s memory—didn’t look all that sinister.
“I guess,” Bethy said, sounding unconvinced, “but that was just then and this is a real cool climb. I thought you’d like to, you know, do it because last time … you know. Like you’re supposed to get back on the horse? Come on,” Bethy said, maybe realizing choosing this particular canyon wasn’t in the best of taste. “I got another idea. Way easier and prettier. We can do it in a couple of hours.” She started down the steps, sitting down on the lip of each and then hopping to the next.
Anna stayed where she was.
The water, black as squid ink, cold, and bottomless in her mind, was turquoise in the sunlight and unbelievably clear. Gold sandstone walls shimmered beneath the surface, water acting as a magnifying glass, until the drowned canyon seemed more real and inviting than that above the lake. Canyon walls, leaning, waiting to snap shut like the jaws of a hungry alligator on the edge of her dreams, soared in the varied hues of a sepia rainbow to a ribbon of achingly blue sky. At the far end of the crystalline pool, the crooked narrow slot Anna remembered as a torture chamber worthy of the Spanish Inquisition was a shadowed lane of water that drifted from turquoise to teal as it meandered deeper into the rock.
It was morning, not evening. They had the entire day before them. Anna’s shoulder was healed, and she was stronger than she’d ever been.
“I do want to get back on the horse,” she said to Bethy, who was standing below, near the bow of the Zodiac.
“Goody,” Bethy said. “It’ll be cool. You’ll see.” She snatched a bulky daypack and a coil of climbing rope with carabiners affixed to either end out of the inflatable boat and brought them along with Anna’s pack to the top of the sandstone blocks.
A rope had been looped over the stone to replace the one that had gone missing the night Anna and Jenny were stranded. It was new and the knot properly tied. Anna checked it anyway. Butterflies the size of bats were fluttering madly in her stomach. Fear, yes, but mostly excitement. This slot, this climb: It was what she needed to do. One day, someday, maybe even this day, she would go back to the jar and exorcise the demons that remained there.
Bethy pulled a green garbage bag from her pack, then put the pack and rope inside it. “Anything you wanna keep dry?” she asked. Anna put her daypack in with Bethy’s. The wate
r bottle on her belt wouldn’t suffer from a dunking. Bethy closed the sack by tying a knot in its neck. That done, she attached the awkward bundle to a belt loop on the waistband of her shorts with another carabiner.
As Bethy descended the sheer eight feet of sandstone to the water, Anna again inspected the rope and the knot. Nothing short of human intervention would loosen it, and the men responsible for Kay’s death were dead. Anna had seen them. She reminded herself of this fact when the stomach butterflies threatened to rush up her esophagus along with coffee and a raisin cinnamon bagel.
“Don’t be such a slowpoke!” Bethy called back as she frog-stroked across the rectangular pool toward the slit in the stone.
Taking a deep breath, and bracing herself for the cold, Anna climbed down. In her mind this rock wall was a thousand feet high. In reality, by the time she was an arm’s length from the top, her toes were in the water.
The water wasn’t as cold as she remembered, nor the swim to the slot as long. Reality was going to go a long way toward defanging her nightmares. As they were passing through—as opposed to trying to defy gravity by suspending themselves between—the canyon walls, they made short work of the twenty yards of sinuous swimming to where the canyon closed down tightly.
At water level the crack was no more than six inches wide. Four feet up it opened to where a human being of average size could fit in sideways. Fifteen feet higher and the walls bulged away from the crevice as if an enormous balloon had pushed them out. High in the shadows, they flowed back together, leaning in like dancers and shutting out the thread of blue sky.
Bethy tossed the line with the carabiners over an anchor of bleached driftwood a couple of yards above water level and began climbing.
“This isn’t the best for climbing,” Bethy said, “but use the rope and be sure and test every hand- or foothold, like, twice before you trust it. Some stuff is stuck real tight and that’s okay. Some tries to get you.” She made it up, the dead tree, her feet out of sight beyond the branch. Braced against the east wall of the crevice, she began unclipping the garbage bag with their daypacks from her waistband.
