No Way Home

by MacDonald, Patricia

  The old mahogany woodwork gleamed like an officer’s shoeshine, even in the dim light of the hallway. The building appeared to be deserted, but he followed a sign indicating the commandant’s office and was relieved to see that there was a light coming from it. No one was sitting at the secretary’s desk in the anteroom. The paneled walls were covered with plaques of achievement and bookcases holding military histories and Sentinel yearbooks dating back to the 1930s. The inside office door was ajar, and as Jordan walked up to it he noticed the plaque: Colonel James Preavette. Jordan tapped on the door. When a raspy voice ordered him to enter, Jordan poked his head in and saw a tanned, wiry man in shirtsleeves wearing silver-rimmed spectacles that matched his slicked-back silver hair. His glasses glinted as he looked up.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Colonel Preavette,” said Jordan.

  “No problem, come on in. You just caught me doing some piled-up paperwork.”

  Jordan could not help noticing, as he introduced himself, that the colonel’s desk was immaculate except for two neatly arranged file folders and a framed photo of his family.

  “What can I do for you?” the colonel asked.

  “Well, actually I’m here to see one of your students. Ah, my name is Jordan Hill.”

  The colonel gave a sharp nod. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back tomorrow. Sunday is Visitors Day around here. Are you a family member?”

  Jordan hesitated. “A friend of the family,” he said vaguely. “Actually, this is kind of important. It would really help if I could talk to this young man tonight.”

  “Is this a medical emergency in the family?” the colonel asked sternly.

  Jordan felt like a soldier on the carpet. He did not try to lie. “No, but it’s a matter of the greatest urgency to me. I believe this boy may have some important information concerning a serious crime…”

  “Are you a policeman?” the colonel demanded.

  “No, sir,” Jordan admitted, acutely aware of his rumpled appearance, his longish hair, and his jacket, still redolent of Lillie.

  “Rules and discipline are what make this institution work, Mr. Hill. The example we set for these cadets is all-important. There is a very fine motel not far down the road where most of our family members like to stay when they visit. Come back tomorrow, Mr. Hill,” the colonel said, giving Jordan a fleeting wintry smile.

  The dismissal was final and Jordan knew it. He also knew better than to try to persuade the colonel otherwise. He wished for a moment that he had thought to skirt the official channels. “What time tomorrow?” he asked coolly.

  “Anytime after nine. What cadet was it that you wanted to see?”

  Aha, Jordan thought. So the mention of a crime had registered after all. He’s curious. “Tyler Ansley is the cadet’s name, sir.”

  The colonel’s eyebrows shot up behind the silver frames. He reached for the pack of Camels on his desk and released a cigarette with one hand. Jordan waited patiently while he lit it and took a drag. The colonel nodded.

  “I knew there was something wrong there,” he said. “I can spot a boy in trouble a mile away.”

  Jordan did not reply. If the colonel wanted information, he was going to have to bend the rules. The colonel instantly understood the unspoken terms and took a moment to consider. Then he shook his head.

  “Come back tomorrow, Mr. Hill.”

  Jordan thanked him curtly and walked out. Once he got out into the quadrangle he looked angrily around at the buildings of the school. It was possible that one of them housed his daughter’s killer. But if he tried to determine which, without the colonel’s permission, security would have him removed from the grounds, and he would not be allowed to return in the morning.

  His weariness suddenly overcame him, and the thought of resting for the night did not seem unappealing. He could hardly believe that only this morning he had been up at his farmhouse in Green County. It seemed like a month had passed, not a night, since he had called Lillie and then decided to come down here.

  Resigned to waiting, he got back into his car and drove down the side of the mountain to the motel the colonel had mentioned. He was given a room with a nubby turquoise and green carpet and brown plaid bedspreads. He unpacked his shaving kit and washed up in the bathroom, staring for a minute at his haggard face in the bathroom mirror.

  Now that he was in a room, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he decided to avoid the inviting bed and head down to the motel restaurant before it closed. He left his room and walked back around to the front of the building, blinking all the while about his encounter with the colonel. The old officer had not been surprised to hear that it was Tyler he sought. On the contrary, it had somehow confirmed the colonel’s own suspicions. Damn it, Jordan thought. Well, there was nothing for it but to wait until the morning. In the morning he would get his hands on the boy and find out what he wanted to know.

  Jordan opened the double doors and walked down a short hallway to the restaurant. Across the hall in the lounge he could hear the muffled sounds of a country band and he wondered if they were playing to an empty room. There were only a few cars in the parking lot.

  Jordan sat down in a maple captain’s chair at a corner table and looked around the dining room, which was nearly empty. There was an exhausted-looking young couple with a baby in a high chair, and a pair of middle-aged couples finishing up their coffee and laughing while the men teased a good-natured waitress. Two tables away from him, an old man and woman were studying the menu and conferring. When the young waitress approached their table, Jordan could tell from their familiar conversation that these were local people here for senior citizens’ night. The special dinner of fish sticks and macaroni could be had for three dollars with a coupon from the local paper.

  The waitress excused herself politely from the elderly pair and came over to Jordan’s table. Jordan consulted the simple menu and ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks and a steak. As the waitress left to put his order in, the old woman hailed the waitress back to her table.

  She smiled up at the young woman, her face a patchwork of wrinkles, and said, “I’d like the tomato soup with that tonight, dear.”

  The waitress said, “That’ll be extra. It doesn’t come with the dinner.”

  The old woman looked over at her husband in alarm and he frowned down at the menu. “It usually comes with the dinner, doesn’t it?” the old man asked.

  “Sometimes,” the young woman said patiently. “Not this week though. It’s a dollar extra for the soup.”

  They can’t afford it, Jordan realized suddenly, watching them.

  The old man looked up from the menu proudly. “Bring my wife a bowl of tomato soup,” he said.

  But his wife was shaking her head. “No, honey, no. I don’t really want it. I always eat too much when we come over here. If I eat soup I won’t have room for the pudding.”

  “Are you sure?” her husband asked, a trace of relief in his voice.

  “Positive,” she said.

  Jordan busied himself with a roll and pretended not to be eavesdropping. He did not want the old man to see the pity in his eyes. You probably promised her the moon once, he thought. And this is what it comes to. You can’t give her a bowl of tomato soup. He looked up guiltily at the cocktail that the waitress was putting before him. Then he heard the old woman laugh, and when he looked over he saw her give her husband a little push on his wiry upper arm, as if to chide him playfully for a scandalous remark.

  Jordan sipped ruefully on his drink. Here you are, he thought, feeling sorry for them because they can’t afford that bowl of soup. But they will go home together, pleased with their night out. They’ll probably sit up in the kitchen talking about their grandchildren and fall asleep together in their old bed.

  The waitress put the steak down in front of him, but he had little appetite for it. He forced himself to eat some, and by the time he was done and had left the restaurant, the band was in full swing in the lounge. He saw the midd
le-aged couples who had been in the dining room emerging from the lounge after an obviously brief stay. Ordinarily he might have gone inside and had a drink to pass the time, but tonight he did not feel like witnessing the earnest efforts of a local group. He knew they would be trying hard, dreaming of getting out of Beauville, North Carolina, and making the big time. He knew all about what it was to spurn your ordinary life and burn for fame.

  Jordan walked slowly back to his room and opened the door. The emptiness of the place reminded him of coming home to his apartment. No one there, not even a pet. Once or twice he had thought of getting a dog, but he never really wanted the responsibility. Just like getting married again. He had always kind of assumed that he would, but it had never seemed worth all the trouble and aggravation it would require to change his life like that, to make room for someone else.

  Michele was always on him about that. Whenever she came to visit him, she would ask him why he didn’t get married again. And on those rare occasions when he brought a date along out to dinner in Chinatown or to a movie, Michele would sing his praises to the poor girl right in front of him, and pepper him with a million questions about her when they got home. Jordan smiled, remembering. Sometimes it was as if she were the adult and he was the mixed-up teenager. She would get that knowing look in her eye and tell him that one day he would find the right one. He had asked her once, “How come you’re so anxious to marry me off?” And she had said, “Because I don’t want you to be lonely when I’m not here.”

  Jordan’s smile faded and he felt the pricking behind his eyes. “I can’t think about her,” he said aloud to no one. He turned on the TV and ran through the channels aimlessly. Then he flipped it off again. He was exhausted, but restless. He’d been on the road, on and off, the whole long day, driving at dawn to Kennedy Airport from Green County, and then from Nashville to Felton, and, finally, that long five-hour trek to the Sentinel. He realized that he was burned out from the strain of the day, and now he was just running on nerves and anxiety. But he would sleep lightly, knowing that the morning would bring him face-to-face with Tyler.

  He glanced over at the phone and thought of Lillie. She was probably having supper with Grayson and Pink, trying to keep herself occupied while she waited for his news. There was no reason to call her tonight really. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at the phone. He had a sudden picture of her as she had looked that morning, her hair damp and curly from the rain, bundled in his sports coat. It was always amazing to him how unspoiled she looked. As if life had not hurt her at all.

  When he thought about it now, it astounded him to remember how easily he had made the decision to leave them—Lillie and Michele—those long years ago. A promoter in Nashville had seen his picture, asked him to sing, and offered to arrange an audition for him for a musical in New York. To Jordan, it had seemed a miracle. A chance to have all his dreams. Love was a sweet but common thing compared to that golden opportunity.

  He told himself to go, just go, and make the pain sharp and swift. Otherwise, he would spend his whole life regretting it. So he went, and he got the part, and before long he was in California, working on a TV series. But the pain, which had been sharp and swift, had ended up being long and lingering as well. He tried other women, but around them he felt hollow, and at night he dreamed of Lillie and his baby, and he woke up to the sunny California day in a cloud of dread. And one morning, after a particularly sweaty night, he finally understood that what he wanted was another chance.

  Once the idea entered his mind, it began to seem to him that it had been his intention all along. He checked his shooting schedule, made reservations for home, and began to weave fantasies of their imminent reunion and how he would woo her. And three weeks later, just two days before his scheduled trip, a letter came from his mother, telling him that Lillie had remarried. That now she was the wife of Pink Burdette.

  Jordan picked up the phone receiver and weighed it in his hand. Soon, he thought, you’ll have no reason at all to call her. Michele is gone. This mess will be cleared up, and you’ll be a thousand miles apart with nothing in common. Nothing more to say. At least tonight there was a plausible explanation for calling. He pressed for an outside line.

  After one ring, Pink answered.

  “Pink, this is Jordan.”

  “What do you want?” Pink said flatly.

  He wondered if Lillie had told him about Tyler. About his trip to the Sentinel. She must have by now. But Pink clearly was not in any mood to discuss it. “Uh, can I speak to Lillie for a minute?”

  “She’s not here,” said Pink. He did not elaborate.

  “Oh. Okay. Can you just tell her I called?”

  Pink was silent, as if he were gearing up to say something, but then he just said, “Yeah. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.” Jordan put the phone back down. For some reason, he was happy she was not there. It didn’t make any sense, but that was how he felt. For a moment he had the brief, absurd thought that maybe she had decided to come after him. He glanced at the door as if he expected her to knock, but then he shook his head, amazed once again at his own foolish imagination. After a few minutes he got up with a sigh and decided to give the tube another try.

  Chapter 2

  BRENDA DANIELS HAD NEVER EXACTLY MARRIED FOR MONEY, but she had made sure that she was adequately compensated for the heartache of all her divorces, and consequently, at the age of thirty-four, she had one of the most luxurious homes in all of Cress County.

  As she turned her purring Lincoln down her tree-lined driveway, she felt a customary sense of satisfaction at the sight of her elegant pure white stucco house with the columns out front. She had spent the day in Nashville at a gourmet food show at the Opryland Hotel and had considered calling the married sessions guitarist she knew for a little evening honky-tonking, but at the last minute she decided just to head for the comfort of home.

  She knew that a lot of women in this town whispered that she was a scarlet woman, but she believed that they were mainly envious of her house and her freedom. They would have been surprised to learn how tame her love life usually was. It wasn’t for lack of suitors. She was as pretty now as she had ever been. And if she wanted to she could move in a minute to one of those Nashville condos with the pool and the tennis club and easy access to the string of restaurants and singles’ bars that sprawled out over Nashville like the Vegas strip. But she liked her house, and her land, and the fact was that she wasn’t really in the market for another husband.

  Sometimes she longed for a family, like anybody else, but mostly she was skeptical. After marriage, the guy tended to cool off a lot, and before you knew it, he was being messy and drinking too much and not wanting to take you out to eat. She could not abide a sloppy house, ashes in the ashtray, a half-finished drinking glass scarring the pecan veneer of her imported French furniture. She liked to think of herself as understanding, but the fact was that men’s habits made her queasy a lot of the time. Dirty socks stuffed into shoes and cigarette wrappers wadded up between the white leather seats in her car exasperated her. She liked things a certain way, and they never could understand that.

  Nevertheless, this had all the earmarks of one of those lonely nights, and she was delighted to see Lillie’s car parked in her driveway. She pressed the automatic garage door opener and pulled the Lincoln into the garage beside the Home Cookin’ van. She had long ago given Lillie a key, so she knew she would be inside waiting for her. She gathered her packages out of the trunk, glad to be able to display her food show purchases to someone who could really appreciate them.

  Brenda opened the door and called out, “Hey, Lillie,” but there was no answer in the quiet house. She put her packages down on the kitchen counter and looked around. Her housekeeping was so immaculate that she could detect the slightest changes with ease. A glass washed in the drainer plus a drop of brownish liquid on the counter meant that Lillie had had a glass of tea. Brenda sponged up the drop and moved on through the house. One of
her magazines was not aligned on the coffee table’s marble top. Lillie must have been reading. She walked down the hall. An appliqued linen hand towel had been used and refolded in the bathroom. In the adjoining guest room, a Chinese porcelain bedside lamp had been turned on. Brenda frowned, smoothed out the bed automatically, and proceeded through the house. There was no one in the den. The TV wasn’t on. She came back out and then noticed that one of the outdoor lights was lit in the back.

  It’s too chilly to sit on the patio, she thought. But when she walked to the sliding glass doors and peered out, she could see the shape of a figure huddled on the white wrought-iron settee. Brenda pushed open the doors and stepped outside. “Lillie?”

  Lillie looked up and turned around, her heart-shaped face shadowy in the darkness.

  “Honey, what are you doing out here?” Brenda asked. “It’s not summertime. How long have you been here?”

  “A few hours,” said Lillie. “Brenda, I need your help.”

  Lillie’s voice quavered and Brenda did not like the sound of it. She could tell, even in the darkness, that Lillie’s dark eyes were glassy with tears.

  “Well, sure, anything you want. What happened, honey? I thought you were doing better?”

  “I need to stay here with you for a while,” Lillie said.

  “Oh,” Brenda said knowingly. She had always suspected that there was more unhappiness between Lillie and Pink than her friend ever let on, but this was the first time she had ever known her to walk out on him, even for the night. “What’d he do?”