“There’s one more thing I want to know.” Deirdre needed to extract all available information while she could. She couldn’t go to the cops now, saying that Brian Bartley’s son had kidnapped her daughter. They would lock her up in the loony bin. “Why did Brian take out a restraining order on Vivian Johnson?”
Laura sucked in a breath, then let it out through her nose, wiggling it as she did. Her eyes flicked to the backyard, where her husband was turning off the water spigot. “You know her?”
Deirdre nodded. “She’s my neighbor.”
In a lowered voice, Laura continued quickly, “Vivian and I used to be…close friends. We were all friends, actually. We met at USC, her, me and Brian. But, after Brian and I got married, and especially after Jeremy was born, we drifted apart. We had such different lives. She was still selling for the drug companies, traveling, making lots of money, and partying. I was changing diapers.”
“Why the restraining order?”
“Brian over-reacted. He’d always been jealous of Vivian and I. But I think he did it to get back at her for being a character witness in the custody trial that I filed after the night Brian got arrested. She still ran in those circles, so she knew all about Tanya, and Brian’s other…activities. I got full custody of Jeremy. So to get back at Vivian he made up some story about her threatening him with violence, or stalking him, or something. Or maybe it wasn’t a story. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “But either way, it ended our friendship for good. I haven’t seen or talked to her in years. I don’t like to re-live those times. I’ve moved on.”
“You may have, but has your son? He visits Vivian on a regular basis.”
Laura’s mouth opened.
“Exactly how long has it been, since you’ve seen Jeremy?” It was time to strike, while Laura was still off balance.
Laura looked like two people fighting inside one skin. Finally, one of them won. In a strangled voice she said, “We kicked him out. I didn’t want to, but Joe—Joe said he couldn’t take it anymore. Jeremy turned 18 a few weeks ago. We told him he could either enlist in the military, or leave.” She looked at her lap. “I haven’t seen him since the morning of his birthday.”
Laura burst into tears as Deirdre walked out the door. She’d finally broken Laura’s veneer, but the woman wasn’t hiding anything. She didn’t know where Jeremy was, any more than Deirdre knew where Rebecca was.
She got back in the Bronco.
“I’m starving Mom, can we go home and eat breakfast?” Justin complained from the backseat.
“Mama. Are we going to go to Grandma Fey’s now?” Clara asked. “She’ll know how to find Rebecca. And she’ll make us breakfast."
Deirdre dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel. “No honey. I’ve got someone else to talk to first.” She started the engine.
It was only 11 a.m., but it looked like the end of the world. She dropped the kids at Lina’s house before heading to Vivian’s, too angry to trust herself with them in the car.
The orange Barracuda. That bitch.
She roared up Vivian’s hilltop driveway. Apache threw his head over the top rail and blinked at her in greeting, then continued his big floating trot round and round his pen, kicking up dirt, his tail whipping in the gusty wind. She stomped to the kitchen door and rapped on the glass. No more of this sitting meekly on the front steps. The bitch better answer.
A face appeared through the glass. There was a shanking sound of the deadbolt sliding open and the door swung inward. “What’s your connection to Jeremy White?” she demanded as she pushed past a startled Vivian.
Outside, Apache let out a trumpeting whinny that ended in several guttural grunts.
Inside, the small television was on full blast, tuned to the news. The kitchen was a mess. Vivian had apparently given up the wine in favor of gin. She hovered next to the round oak dining table, on which a square, sea-blue bottle sat next to a chunky crystal glass. There were four more bottles of Bombay Sapphire stocked at the ready on the counter. Wow, shopping in bulk. Was this her fault, had she tipped the scales when she’d asked for something harder the last time she was here? Right now, she didn’t care. She hoped Vivian drank herself into a coma. But not until she talked.
“Rebecca is missing.” She faced Vivian over the stovetop on the kitchen island.
“Who’s Rebecca?”
“My daughter. She’s 16. She didn’t come home last night.”
Vivian scoffed. “I’m sure she’s fine. Didn’t you ever stay out all night at that age?”
“Me, yes. Her? She’s not like that.”
“For all you know.” Vivian took a swig.
“Tell me what you know about Jeremy White.”
Vivian’s face paled and she sank into her chair. “Why would I know anything?”
“Who else has an orange Barracuda? It’s a pretty distinctive car, dontcha think? I’ve seen it parked here, more than once.”
“You see too much Deirdre.”
“It wasn’t Bartley’s ex, was it? It was his son. What was he doing here?”
Vivian took a sip from her glass, pursed her lips, not answering. Her eyes shifted to the little TV, which was showing aerial footage over the 15 freeway. Plumes of smoke dotted the landscape. Deirdre slapped the power knob, silencing the thing. “Where is my daughter?”
“How should I know? Isn’t it your job to keep track of her?”
“What is Jeremy to you?” She stepped around the kitchen island, closing in on Vivian. “Does he sell you drugs, Vivian?”
“Get out,” Vivian hurled the words at her and began to rise from the table.
“No.” She wasn’t going anywhere. She had about three inches and a good 35 pounds over Vivian. Although she knew never to underestimate the strength of a drunk, she also knew the strength of a distraught mother would win out every time.
Apparently Vivian knew it too, because she sighed and sat back down. “Look, if you want to find Jeremy, start with Tanya.”
* * *
CRYSTAL LIMPED OUT OF the trees and across the parking lot towards home. Thank god, her asshole brother’s car was there. At least she wouldn’t have to face her mom alone.
She hobbled up the stairs and across the beige stucco landing to the brown front door. Everything was shitty color today. The sky was all smoky and it was turning everything the same color as her grandma’s nicotine stained curtains.
She pushed the door open and yelled for Jeremy, then for her mom. She plopped down on the couch, not even wanting to see the mess her feet were in. She didn’t remember what happened after that maniac from the gas station came after her in the woods. She’d walked a long way to get home just now, barefoot. But what about in between?
Maybe she was starting to lose time, even hallucinate, like her mom and Chad did sometimes.
Where the fuck were Jeremy and her mom?
She snapped on the TV. Weird it wasn’t already on, it was always on. There was news on instead of the soaps, talking about a wildfire. That’s why it was all smoky and shit. The day and date were in the corner of the screen.
Wednesday? She’d lost a day somewhere.
No wonder she was hungry. Maybe she’d give John a call. He’d have some pain pills for her feet, and take her out to eat somewhere. He was always good for a meal. Her phone was gone, so she limped down the hall to her mom’s bedroom to use the landline.
Her mom was splayed out on the bed. “God, you guys!” Anger burned her cheeks. Didn’t they even care that she’d come in? Jesus.
Then her throat constricted, words and thoughts caught up and twisted and squeezed out of her body through the tiny passageway of her throat.
Her mom wasn’t moving. Her mom was dead.
Carefully she backed out of the room, looking behind her, not knowing who might still be here, who might have heard her. Quiet, so quiet.
There, on the kitchen counter—Jeremy’s keys. With a touch as light as a Roman orphan, she slid them off the counter, carefully fingering
each key so they wouldn’t jingle and give her away.
* * *
VIVIAN TOLD DEIRDRE THAT Tanya lived in a former model home in the very first subdivision built in San Amaro. She didn’t remember the address, but when Deirdre grabbed her Thomas guide from the car, Vivian was able to point to it. “All tacky glamour. You’ll see.” Vivian said.
Deirdre didn’t give a shit about the décor.
In San Amaro Hills Town Square the non-native maples and willows swayed in the Santa Anas, and the huge Roman-style fountain splashed violently. The sun couldn’t cut through the brown haze overhead. The Bronco’s eight cylinders roared as she shoved the gas pedal to the floor. She made a hard right, then a quick left, and cruised through the entrance of Crown Palms subdivision, up a winding road that ended in a cul-de-sac filled with low-slung tropical Spanish mansions, heavy on the bird-of-paradise and frilly palms, which were rustling angrily in the wind.
She drove right up on the lawn and jumped out. Before she got to the door, an angry looking yuppie in bermudas and a polo shirt strode out. “What are you doing?” he yelled.
“Tanya. Where’s Tanya?” she said.
“Christ!” he swore, and took a step back when he saw what she could only imagine was a flickering ferocity in her eyes, pure determination to find her daughter.
“Where?” she asked again as she forged towards the door, fully intent on going inside. He jogged backwards to keep up, until his flip-flop tripped him and he fell on his butt in the grass. A woman appeared at the door, looking alarmed. A small girl peeked out from behind her, and the woman pushed her back.
Deirdre broke her stride. She didn’t want to scare a kid. “Are you Tanya?” she demanded from where she stood on the walkway.
The man ran up behind. “Tanya doesn’t live here. We rent from her.” He seemed to have recovered from his shock and was self-righteously indignant now. “But you can tell her, if we get any more visits like this, we’re giving notice!”
“Where can I find her to tell her this?”
“She lives at Copperwood, with her boyfriend. But..but actually, leave us out of it, whatever it is.” To his wife he said, “Close the door honey.”
“Copperwood?” It sounded so familiar.
“That Section 8 housing next to Albertson’s.”
Deirdre was already halfway to the truck when he seemed to regain his bravado, and shouted, “Now get off my lawn before I call the cops!”
Happily. She peeled out, leaving two trenches of brown in his perfect green square of sod.
When the red light in downtown San Amaro took more than two seconds to change, she looked both ways and sped across the intersection. The grocery store flashed by on one side, the middle school on the other, and she ran the stop sign at the crosswalk. The streets were empty now anyway. County agencies had asked people to stay off the roads unless it was an emergency. This was.
She turned into Copperwood, cruised quickly around the apartment buildings, scanning the parking spaces for any sign of the orange car. As she rounded the furthest building from the entrance, she saw a light pole. Was that a bike next to it? Her heart leapt. It could be anybody’s, she told herself. She pulled closer to check it out. No, that wasn’t Rebecca’s. Or was it? Didn’t she buy a new one recently? Oh, she was such a terrible mom. No, that was a mountain bike…but something about it looked familiar. She rolled past the bike and had convinced herself it was someone else’s when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. Past all the buildings at the entrance, brake lights blinked as a car paused, then slid out onto the roadway and was gone. The Barracuda.
She raced to the front of the complex, screeched out onto Fairy Glen road, and sped around the first curve that led out of the suburbs into the forest. Dense eucalyptus and the curves in the road blocked her view ahead. She went faster. Her stomach dropped as the speedometer crept up and the Bronco flew up and down hills, flung left and right. She flew past Lina’s house and the turnoff to her own street, hoping Justin and Clara weren’t looking out the window.
Around the next curve, she caught up to the car and had to slam on the brakes. The car wasn’t going as fast as she’d thought. She’d assumed Jeremy was running from her, but maybe he hadn’t even seen her. She started flashing her headlights and honking for him to pull over. His car began to swerve erratically, then sped up. Drunk or high most likely.
They were coming up to the 25 mph crook in the road at the boundary between Fairy Glen and Pleasant Hollow, and she eased off. She didn’t want to cause an accident, especially if Rebecca was in the car. But the hunchback profile of the car blocked her view of the passenger seat.
The driver braked hard, but too late, and inexpertly navigated the hard left curve. She held her breath as its rear wheels lost traction and it fishtailed towards the guardrail. “NO!” she squeaked, and reflexively covered her own brake. But the car regained itself, and as it sped out of the corner she caught sight of Jeremy’s stringy, dirty blond hair through the driver’s side window.
Her blood wanted to burst from the vessels in her neck. She gassed it again, braked for the corner, and accelerated through, but by the time she was out of the corner, the road ahead was empty. With its high center of gravity the Bronco’s handling was no match for the muscle car, even with an idiot at the wheel. On the other hand, Jeremy’s two years of driving experience versus her twenty plus? Maybe she still had a chance. She gunned the engine on the straightaways, trying to make up the lost time.
It got very dark as the oak trees closed in overhead. She turned on her brights. White fence boards flashed by. She searched for taillights up ahead, but couldn’t see any. She was either hopelessly behind or he might’ve pulled over and hidden, like the Dukes of Hazzard. Damn him. Damn him! She breathed out. She was still flying east, but it seemed more and more hopeless the farther she went.
Finally she got to the Encantadino City Limits sign, and the choices of which way to go expanded exponentially. Damn it! She followed her instinct, turned right, then left, but realized she was driving aimlessly around this shabby suburbia. The pressure of time pushed on her, like she was underwater. The kids had been at Lina’s for who knows how long. And what if she did find Jeremy, that criminal, that cretin? If she did to him what she felt like doing, there was no guarantee she’d ever get home to her kids, and they needed her.
Even so, she couldn’t stop herself. She scoured the streets, up one, down another. Finally a logical thought occurred to her. Maybe he went home. She flipped a U-turn and headed back to Orfila Road.
She turned her lights off and crept carefully down the street. She could plant the Bronco in the front yard like she had in San Amaro, that would certainly get Laura and Joe’s attention. She laughed crazily at the memory. There was no sign of the car, but was it in the garage? She pulled into their driveway, parking at a diagonal to block anyone from leaving the garage, just in case.
Five minutes later she was backing out again. Jeremy hadn’t come home. The garage held only two high-class sedans—she’d made them show her. Parents were notorious liars when it came to protecting their kids. Back in the car, she dialed Sally’s number. Maybe her sheriff boyfriend would believe her about the Bartley kid. But the phone beeped loudly, then went dead.
Clara’s words came back to her.
Mama. Are we going to go to Grandma Fey’s now? She’ll know how to find Rebecca.
She answered out loud. “Why not sweetie. Why the hell not.” Besides, it was only five minutes away, and she needed time to rack her brain, slow down and think. Maybe there was something obvious, maybe Rebecca wasn’t actually with Jeremy at all.
When Kathleen opened her door, Deirdre said, “I need help finding my daughter. And I don’t have much time.” It was late afternoon now. Lina would be worried furious. Besides, she couldn’t remember if she’d fed the horses this morning.
Kathleen hustled her inside and sat her down in the kitchen. “Pick a card.” She pulled an oversized deck of cards fr
om one of her hidden pockets and splayed them out in a fan on the table. Deirdre quickly tapped one, already losing her patience with this game. Mrs. Fey pulled it out of the deck. “Ah!” she said. “Mmmhmm.” She placed the card on the round oak table. It showed a knight on a rearing red horse holding a stick with little green shoots growing out of it, and it said at the bottom Knight of Wands.
“Pick another.”
Deirdre pulled another one, and then another to hurry this whole thing along.
Mrs. Fey said, “Drink this tea while I read the cards.” She handed over a flared white china teacup. Deirdre took a sip. This wasn’t what she had in mind. Served her right for listening to her eight-year-old daughter instead of common sense. She had come here in hopes of a miracle, but miracles didn’t exist.
Mrs. Fey turned over the second card. It was facing Mrs. Fey, but Deirdre could see it clearly. The Tower it said at the bottom, and it showed a disastrous looking scene—people falling out of a tower, lightning bolts, flames, the whole shebang. Her skin prickled, thinking of the Twin Towers on 9/11.
Mrs. Fey pursed her lips, and turned over the last card, which was facing Deirdre, like the first card. “King of Pentacles?” Deirdre choked out, spitting her tea. “What is this, Satanic?”
“No dear, it’s not Satanic.” She laughed. “Pentacles, not pentagrams. Besides, that's…well, never mind.” She waved her hand.
Cotchee jumped up on the table, scattering the other cards. “Cotchee! Off!” Mrs. Fey spanked the cat lightly and it ran across the table and jumped off the other side, which only sent more cards flying. “Not the important ones, at least,” said Mrs. Fey, sotto voce.
October's Fire (Fairy Glen Suspense Book 1) Page 32
