Meadowlark

by Sheila Simonson

  "Frank's bag is in the mudroom." I was sure my face was red. I blush when I'm embarrassed. I looked away and met Keith McDonald's blue gaze. He smiled. Trust Keith to notice my discomfiture.

  Marianne poked her head through the swinging doors. "Dessert?"

  "In the living room." Bianca made a wide gesture. "I'll show Mr. Hrubek the conference facilities, and Mike can take his bag to Hugo's room, er, the guest room. Then coffee and chocolate mousse in the living room."

  At 'chocolate mousse' Hrubek's face lit up. He followed Bianca off like a dog trailing a brass band. Bianca probably expected me to join the grand tour, but I stayed behind.

  Mike stood up.

  "I left the bag in the mudroom," I muttered. "It's heavy."

  He nodded and slid from the room, silent like his mother.

  "Good trip?" Angie swallowed from a tall water glass.

  "Okay. Good view of the mountains." I hesitated, irresolute.

  Without rising, Del pulled Marianne's chair back. "Take a load off, Lark."

  I sat, rubbing my right leg. I hadn't driven that far in some months.

  "Glass of wine?" Del was downright cozy.

  Keith seemed bemused. Tranquilized, perhaps. I considered relieving him of his anxiety. Keith cared about Mary Sadat. But Jay had said to keep my mouth shut.

  A warrant. I took the glass of red wine Del poured me and sipped. It had to be an arrest warrant, and Dale and Jay had to be coming out to the farm. I could--should--have gone home, but I had no intention of missing the climax of the action. Besides, there was Marianne's chocolate mousse to consider. I wriggled my shoulders and felt the wine warm my stomach.

  Angie stood up and began to clear away the dishes. After a few more sips of wine, I joined her. The men made no attempt to help us. I expected Angie to make some comment, but she just glanced at them and went on stacking plates. I gathered glasses and napkins.

  In the kitchen, Marianne was pouring water into the coffeemaker. "Trays," she said, without looking at us.

  Angie handed me a gleaming teak tray and took one herself. "Keith's feeling a bit rocky today."

  "What's Del's excuse?"

  She grinned. "Terminal clumsiness. He drops things."

  I felt my mouth twitch in response. "Convenient."

  "Passive aggressive."

  I had to laugh. Del was just plain aggressive.

  Angie and I had the table cleared in no time. When we had stuffed the dishwasher to capacity and started the wash cycle, Marianne began spooning mousse into sherbet glasses. She slapped the brown gunk into the goblets, and somehow it wound up looking like rose petals. It was an education to watch her.

  Mike reappeared, and his mother directed him to set up the small tables in the living room. He nodded and vanished. Marianne was piping a white substance from a squidgy tube onto the pudding. I had the feeling the substance wasn't Cool Whip. Angie and I watched.

  Marianne gestured for a tray and began setting the sherbet glasses on plates that held two thin ginger wafers apiece. She set the loaded plates on one of the trays and picked it up. "Coffee'll be ready in a couple of minutes. Get the cups, will you, Angie?"

  Angie put eight stoneware mugs and a stack of paper napkins on the other tray. "I suppose Hrubek uses sugar and cream."

  I thought back to Clatskanie. "Cream. So do I." She got a cream pitcher from the refrigerator and a fistful of spoons. "Coming?"

  "I'll bring the coffee."

  She hefted the tray. "Bring the whole shebang and plug it in in the dining room."

  "Okay." The machine was into its final phase. I waited for it to finish burping, unplugged it, and carried it out the swinging doors, through the tidied dining room, and into the big sunken living room.

  Under all this soothing domesticity, like heartburn, I felt the heat of my anger at Bianca. I was not going to be able to conceal it for long. Well, with luck I wouldn't have to. I kept my ears pricked for the sound of car engines. Where were Dale and Jay? Had they had to drive to Raymond? I tried to remember where Judge Kononen lived. Maybe he was in church. No, it was nearly two. He'd be home.

  Keith, Del, and Angie lined up for coffee. Mike sloped in from the residential wing and poured himself a mugful. I laced mine with cream. We made small talk, and I kept reminding myself to say nothing about Jason regaining consciousness and nothing about finding Mary Sadat. Something stirred at the edge of my mind.

  Angie was asking Keith if he was going to play the guitar at the reception. He said no. He sounded depressed.

  I sipped and poked at my memory. Then it came to me. I had been careful to say nothing about finding Mary myself, but I had forgotten to warn Frank Hrubek not to.

  Chapter 16

  Surely he'd realize...

  I was sitting on the ledge of the hearth, clenching the handle of my coffee mug. I set the cup down, rose, and, elaborately casual, began to move toward the conference wing. I could hear Hrubek's voice quite near. Bianca laughed.

  I glanced back to see if anyone was watching my furtive end run, but Angie, Mike, and Marianne were still chatting over their coffee, Keith stood at the French doors, sipping from his mug and gazing out at the spring scene, and Del had gone over to the whiskey decanter. I slid around the corner and started down the tiled hall.

  "So I ducked back inside the lobby just as Mayor Daly's finest let loose with the tear gas," Hrubek was saying in his sweet gravelly voice. "Talk about environmental degradation."

  Bianca laughed heartily as they emerged from one of the sleeping rooms. "Oh, Lark. Hi. I showed Frank the accommodations. He told me this great story about the crummy hotel he stayed in during the 1968 Democratic Convention. Did you come to fetch us?"

  "Your mousse awaits you," I murmured, eyeing Hrubek.

  He gave me a bland smile.

  Bianca led the way. I trailed after Hrubek, hoping for a quiet word--to no avail. He was moving at a brisker clip than at the airport, hardly using the cane, and he stayed close to Bianca. She had invigorated him.

  Everyone, notably Hrubek, laced into the mousse. Between listening for the patrol car and worrying that Hrubek would let something slip about Mary, I scarcely tasted mine. My stomach burned. I was standing by the fireplace. I set my sherbet glass, half full, on the mantel and leaned against the wall, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders.

  Marianne went back to the kitchen with the coffeemaker--to brew another pot, she said. Keith had drifted toward us from the window, Del from the booze trolley. Mike spooned the last of his pudding, set the glass on one of the end-tables, and excused himself. He had homework, he said, and went off. Bianca and Hrubek were exchanging hotel stories near the fireplace, Hrubek on the couch and Bianca on the hassock at his feet like a good acolyte. It was an affecting picture.

  Out in the hall, the phone rang. Angie jumped up.

  "Let Marianne get it in the kitchen," Bianca said lazily, and Angie sank back on her chair. "Probably one of the conference participants looking for directions to the farm."

  "What time do you want me this evening?" I asked.

  "Six forty-five."

  "Okay."

  Bianca turned back to Hrubek and checked the workshop agenda with him. He was nibbling on a biscuit and didn't comment. Angie picked up a teak tray and began loading it with dishes. Del gave her his mug and sherbet glass. Keith went back to the windows. He seemed to be brooding.

  I half-listened to Bianca charming her guest and wondered about the phone call. I would have to leave soon to change clothes and organize myself for the reception.

  Marianne entered from the hall. "That was Dale." She glanced at Angie. "You're clearing up. Good. Let me get the other tray, too. I want to vacuum in here pretty soon."

  Bianca stood and stretched. She wore one of her bright tunics over stirrup pants. Silver bracelets clanked when she raised her arms. "What did Dale want?"

  "Something about a warrant." Marianne turned to go back to the kitchen. "He asked who was here."

  Angie
plunked Mike's mug and dishes on the tray. "A warrant? What would he be searching for at this point?"

  I glanced at Bianca. She had gone pale.

  Keith took a step toward us.

  Del snorted. "Man needs a search warrant to find his own dick."

  Nobody laughed. Hrubek was frowning. Keith moved in behind Hrubek's chair.

  Marianne shrugged. "Dale said not to leave. He'll be right out. Do you want Mike to set up the chairs, Bianca?"

  "Uh, no. Better wait till after Dale has come and gone. What a damned nuisance."

  I was studying Bianca, trying not to be obvious about it, looking for signs of guilt. I didn't see any. She chewed her lip and looked irresolute.

  Marianne glided away.

  Angie confiscated my mug and my unfinished mousse. I supposed I should help her. Marianne came back with the other teak tray and took Del's whiskey glass from him. He surrendered it without a fight.

  Keith said, "Let me take that for you, Angie."

  Angie had retrieved Hrubek's dishes and Bianca's. She looked startled at Keith's offer but handed him the loaded tray. "Thanks."

  Keith walked off toward the kitchen. At the carpeted step up to the hall he stumbled a little and the dishes rattled on the tray, but he righted himself without dropping it and went in through the dining room.

  Marianne bunched a couple of paper napkins, set a mug onto her tray, and peered around. Vacuuming seemed redundant. The room looked good, almost ready for company.

  When Keith came back, he was moving stiffly, hands at his sides.

  "I should show you to your room, Frank." Bianca helped Hrubek to his feet and retrieved his cane for him. "The deputy will want to talk to the rest of us, so you might as well use the time to get settled. There's nothing you need to do. Why don't you take a little nap?"

  Hrubek laughed. "Lark will tell you I slept halfway here in the car." He moved toward the door with Bianca following. He was so tiny she masked him from my view.

  Bianca stopped short. "What the hell? Keith!"

  "Sorry," Keith said.

  Bianca's voice rose to a squeak. "Is that a knife?"

  Beside me, I heard Angie gasp. I took a step forward, the better to see.

  "Go easy, Bee." Keith had twisted Hrubek around and was holding a long thin knife, a boning knife, at the older man's collar. His left arm pinned Hrubek to him. "Back off."

  Bianca didn't move.

  "I said back off," Keith shouted. "Back off, or I slit Hrubek's throat."

  Bianca took a step to the side. I couldn't see her face, and Hrubek's was blank with astonishment, but Keith snarled like a cornered cougar.

  "What the shit?" Del levered himself to his feet, hands on the arms of his customary drinking chair.

  "You, too, Del. I want you over by the fireplace. And Marianne."

  Nobody moved.

  "I mean it." A note of hysteria shook Keith's voice. He cleared his throat. "Dale has a warrant for my arrest, but he's not going to take me."

  Bianca said flatly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Del and Marianne edged toward the fireplace. At any other time I would have found Del's popeyed expression funny.

  Angie held out a hand. "You can't--"

  "Don't tell me what I can't do, bitch." Keith dragged Hrubek back a step. Hrubek blinked. The knife gleamed at the knot of his necktie. "He's my hostage. Famous Frank. I'm taking him with me."

  I swallowed hard. "Where?"

  "What's it to you? I'm not going to stick around waiting to be arrested, that's for sure."

  Bianca said, "You can't mean you killed Hugo."

  I heard someone near me draw a sharp breath.

  Keith gave a Jack Nicholson laugh. "You better believe it, sweetheart. I killed once, and I don't mind doing it again." He sounded as if he were playing a new role and hadn't quite got the lines memorized.

  "It's not like you, Keith. You wouldn't harm a fly." Bianca sounded tearful. "Put the knife down, please. You'll hurt him."

  Keith was panting a little. "I don't want to. But I will if I have to. I called the hospital while Angie was clearing lunch away. Jason regained consciousness this morning, and Dale interviewed him."

  "I don't understand," Bianca moaned.

  "Dale put two and two together and got a warrant."

  Hrubek cleared his throat.

  The noise seemed to startle Keith. For a moment the knife wobbled closer to Hrubek's neck. Then it steadied. Hrubek closed his eyes. Bianca gave a sob.

  At that moment my brain stirred to life. There was a knife at Francis Hrubek's throat. Keith had destroyed one good man. He was not going to destroy another, not if I could help it.

  Bianca pleaded with her husband, pulling out all the stops. He wasn't looking at her, but I thought he heard her. His blue gaze roamed the room, and his eyes met mine.

  No, I thought. No.

  His gaze shifted.

  I had to do something. But what? I am a physical person, an athlete by training, impulsive and impatient by nature, as American as cherry pie. Every squirt of adrenaline was demanding action. But I knew better. I knew if I made a dive for the knife Keith would slit Hrubek's throat without compunction.

  My father's family background is Quaker. Not for the first time in my life, I wished he had raised me in that tradition. What Keith needed was friendly persuasion.

  A car wheeled up, crunching gravel. All of us froze. I could hear Angie breathing. Keith's hand trembled on the knife.

  The doorbell chimed.

  Silence.

  "Tell them--" Keith's voice was tight.

  "It's the front door." I cleared my throat and made my voice softer. "Front door, Keith. Dale always uses the back."

  "A fucking Jehovah's witness." Keith gave a wild laugh. "Go answer it. Tell them to leave. If it's the cops--"

  "I'll get rid of them." I eased past Angie and walked slowly to the door. The bell chimed again.

  My feet made no noise on the Berber carpet, but I was walking so lightly I would have made no sound on polished parquet. I eased the door open.

  "Meadowlark Farm? You ordered flowers." The kid wore a single earring and had dyed his hair Shinola black. He thrust a big formal arrangement toward me. Daffodils and forced tulips, I thought. The flowers were bright under the film of translucent green paper. Wasn't Angie supposed to supply flowers for the reception? I wondered, with monumental irrelevance, if the daffodils were organic.

  "Uh, thanks. I'll take them." I grabbed the box from him and set it on the hall floor. I started to close the door.

  "You gotta sign, lady." He took a pad from his jacket pocket and handed me a ballpoint pen. I scrawled my name on the order with shaking fingers.

  "Okay. Have a nice day." He turned and slouched down off the porch.

  I closed the door with extreme care.

  When I returned to the archway that led down to the living room no one had moved. Outside, the florist's truck started up and crunched away. The engine needed tuning.

  "Who was it?" Bianca, her voice high with strain.

  "Flowers for the reception," I said.

  Keith gave a snort, half laugh, half sob. "All right. Now I'm going to take Hrubek out to the Cherokee."

  Bianca began to plead with him. Her technique sounded automatic, as if she had used similar persuasion before in less harrowing circumstances. The rest of us listened and gaped. Keith's eyes kept shifting.

  "How can you do this to me?" Bianca wailed at last. The clincher.

  "Bianca," I heard myself say, "shut up."

  "But--"

  "Hush. Be still."

  There was a moment of silence. Then Keith laughed again, a high cackle. He must have watched a lot of horror flicks. I could see the knife trembling at Hrubek's throat. He was gray with fright. I probably was, too.

  I stepped down into the living room very slowly. As I moved, Keith wheeled Hrubek to face me. "No farther. Stop right there."

  "All right." I took three long s
low breaths, in and out. The room was large and well-lit and there were other people in it, but my vision was so focused on Keith and Hrubek they might as well have been spotlighted on a darkened stage. "I don't understand why you need a hostage, Keith."

  "I killed Hugo, you dumb cunt."

  Angie drew a harsh breath.

  Let it go, Angie, I thought. Let it go. Maybe she read my mind.

  One of Jay's jobs when he was with the Los Angeles department was hostage negotiation. Difficult work, but interesting, he'd said. The hardest part was putting yourself into the perpetrator's viewpoint. The second hardest was listening.

  Keith was still cursing--laying into Hugo, Angie, me, Bianca. I let the words roll past me.

  When the torrent dried up, I said, very gentle, "You killed Hugo, but you didn't murder him, did you?"

  Keith gaped.

  I met his eyes and forced a conciliatory smile. "It was just an accident. The two of you quarreled, and he fought with you and hit his head. You didn't mean to kill him."

  "How did you know that?" The once-mellifluous baritone rang hoarse.

  "A guess," I admitted. We stared at each other. As I looked into Keith McDonald's frightened blue eyes, I tried to think the way he thought. "Hugo hit his head on something."

  "The crates."

  "And he didn't get up."

  "I tried to wake him." Keith drew an uneven breath. "I thought I'd just knocked him out, but he wasn't breathing and I couldn't find a pulse. It was raining. I didn't know what to do."

  You could have called an ambulance, my analytical self said sternly. You could have tried CPR. I shoved Reason back into its cave.

  "He was dead!" Keith sounded almost indignant. At least I could imagine the shock he must have felt.

  "What happened then?"

  "It was time for lunch."

  He lost me. I blinked, groping for words.

  "Lunch!" Angie exploded. "You left Hugo's dead body in the rain and came in for a little chicken fricassee? Christ, Keith, that's the coldest thing I've ever heard."

  Oh, please, I thought.

  Keith's voice took on a defensive whine. "I came back to the house and ate. If I hadn't, Marianne would've sent out a goddamn posse. I almost threw up at the table."