by Bill Cameron
She thinks for a moment. Her eyes flick back and forth, as if she’s watching the swallows in the field. “Oh, you know, Bella—” She gestures vaguely toward the house. “She’s just not well, is all.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Had a stroke.” She finally looks at me. Her eyes widen and I realize she’s seen my neck. I tilt my head to de-emphasize the angry red flesh. Nothing I could do about the bruises which make me look like I came out on the wrong end of a roadhouse brawl. “You didn’t know about it?”
Pete is frowning, still waiting beside the car. The woman draws a breath, blows it out. “I’m sorry. You caught me by surprise. Bella doesn’t get visitors.”
“Ever?”
“Not many. Last one was some old guy who used to work for her. That was a while ago, I think.”
“Who are you?”
Another weak smile. “I’m the nurse.”
“My name is Mister Kadash. This is Mister McKrall.”
“I’m Taya.”
“May we come up and ask you some questions?”
I don’t give her the chance to answer. There are a couple of white wicker chairs on the porch. I gesture for Pete to follow and climb the steps. She backs up to the open door. “Okay. Sure.”
“Maybe we could have a glass of water?”
“Oh.” She reaches some kind of decision. “Sure. Or we have iced tea, if you like.”
“Iced tea would be nice.”
Pete crosses to the far chair and sits. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” She nods. “I need to check on Bella. She’s asleep. I’ll be right out.”
I take up a post at the porch railing. Pete watches the open front door. “That girl doesn’t seem like a nurse.”
“No. She doesn’t.”
“So now what?”
“I ask questions.”
Taya returns later with two glasses of tea. She hands one to me, and Pete the other, then sits in the empty chair, knees together and hands folded in her lap.
“How long you been a nurse, Taya?”
Her pale cheeks turn the color of butter. “Did I say that? I’m not a nurse nurse.” I wait. “I have my CNA. Technically I’m an aid.”
“How did you come to be here?”
“Well, it’s a placement, you know. Through the state.”
“And you’re here full time?”
“For now.” She looks up at me. “What do you want with Bella?”
“Nothing, specifically. We’re looking for her daughter.”
Taya is quiet for a long time. “I didn’t know she had a daughter.”
“She doesn’t talk about her children?”
“She doesn’t talk about anything. She can’t manage but one word at a time.”
“You said she was asleep?”
“She sleeps a lot.”
“What’s your responsibility?”
“Mostly I just look after her. I make sure she’s clean and she eats—and can carry out the tasks of daily living.”
Something is missing, but I’m not sure what. I think for a moment. Pete is looking out at the alpaca and ignoring his tea. She appears to notice, and in an effort to make her comfortable, I take a sip. It’s watery. “This is good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“If Bella needs round the clock care, I’m surprised she’s not in a facility.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know anything about that. I got assigned. Glad for the job.”
“Of course.” I follow her eyes out across the pasture. “This is a lovely spot.”
“Yeah, it’s nice.”
“Did it used to be a quarry?”
“I don’t know.”
“It looks like it. Probably a long time ago.”
“Over the ridge back there a ways is the Dolphin Bay Quarry.”
“You must know the island pretty well.”
“Sure. All the islands.”
“How long have you been here?”
“At Bella’s? Or in the islands?”
I turn a hand over. “Both.”
“I came to look after Bella about a month ago.”
“And how long have you lived on the island?”
“Oh, I don’t live on Orcas. I mean except right now while this job lasts. I lived on Lopez as a kid, but me and my mom moved to Bellingham when my folks split. I came back two years ago to work for my uncle in Friday Harbor—he runs a whale watching charter. Because of my CNA, I can get jobs like this in the off season.”
“Summer’s coming.”
“Yeah. It’ll get busy soon. Uncle will want me to come back to Friday Harbor.”
“What will happen to Bella?”
She looks through the front door, her face troubled. “I guess the state will send someone else.” There isn’t a lot of conviction in her voice, though perhaps she’s weary. Caring for a sick old woman alone must be exhausting, no matter how gorgeous the view.
“Do you take care of the animals too?”
She waves. “Oh, there’s just Ringo. I guess Bella sold off the rest. Ringo’s so old, he’s more a pet than anything.”
“But you look after Ringo?”
“Just a little. Make sure he has food and water. He spends his days in the pasture.”
“I see.”
She gives me that weak smile. “It’s not like Bella’s any trouble. I get her to walk a couple of times a day, and then there’s meals and bed and bath. Rest of the time she just watches TV or sleeps. I sit with her and read, or watch a movie. I work a helluva lot harder during whale season, let me tell you.”
“Perhaps we could see her for a moment, ask her about her daughter.”
She takes a long time to ponder the idea. Pete turns to look at her now, and she shrinks under the weight of his gaze. Finally she reaches out and takes Pete’s tea from the table and drinks it half down, then looks up at me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I wouldn’t want to wake her up, and even if she was awake, she gets agitated. She couldn’t answer any questions anyway.”
“We’re just worried about our friend. Ruby Jane. Does that name ring a bell? Maybe Bella mentioned it. Or maybe she came by.”
Taya’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t know anything about that.”
I can’t decide if I believe her, but I can see her gathering her determination. I don’t want to push the issue. Not yet. There’s a strong likelihood Ruby Jane hasn’t reached the island. It’s been less than three days since she left me at the hospital. I don’t believe she could drive across the country alone so quickly, even if she took coffee intravenously. Our best hope may be to intercept her at the ferry. I’m not sure what’s going on with this ephemeral young woman, but I know I’d much rather be along when Ruby Jane finally arrives.
I push to my feet. Pete looks at me, surprised, but he stands as well. I smile at Taya. “May I leave you my cell phone number? If by chance you hear from Bella’s daughter, or if you talk to Bella and she’s willing to talk to us, you can give me a call.”
Taya shrugs, but nods. “I’ll get a piece of paper.” I look through the open door, but all I can see is a foyer, stairs to one side, and a pair of closed pocket doors to the other. At the end of the hall, there’s a swinging door which must lead into the kitchen. Taya pops back through it as I watch, a bit startled to see me looking at her. She comes up the hall and hands me a note pad. I write down my name and number.
“I wouldn’t expect much.”
“I understand. Perhaps we’ll stop back by if we don’t hear from you.”
She doesn’t like the sound of that, which strikes me as a good note to leave on. I can see thunder building on Pete’s brow. No doubt he expected more, or maybe he’s confused. I don’t want to talk in front of Taya, so I move down the steps.
Before I get into the car, I cross the driveway to the fence at the pasture’s edge. The alpaca sees me, and approaches quickly. I hold out my hand and he nuzzles it. Looking for food, I suppose.
I rub his neck. The wool is oily and gives off a strong musk, not unpleasant.
“You must be Ringo.”
His eyes are deep and dark. After a moment, he loses interest in me and turns away. I watch him for a moment, then return to the car.
Pete looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. I shrug, then wave at Taya up on the porch. She offers a tentative wave in return. A moment later, we’re heading down the driveway. Taya and Ringo vanish in a cloud of dust.
- 48 -
A Lesson in Stillness
Pete waits until we near the turn-off for the ferry holding lanes to state the obvious.
“She was lying.”
“I’d say she was a girl following a script.”
He finds a space in the public lot between the ferry lanes and the hotel. I’m glad to see Marcy’s Gremlin hasn’t been towed.
“Bella didn’t have a stroke.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Taya was hiding her.”
“She was hiding something.” A ferry is arriving. I can’t tell if it’s westbound or eastbound. I glance at my watch. Almost nine-thirty. Not too many cars are in line, but I have no sense of the rhythm of the islands. During our trip to Friday Harbor, we had to wait in line for a couple of hours for the ferry to go home. That had been summer, though, high season.
“So what do we do? Call the police?”
“And tell them what?”
“That something is going on.”
I’m not interested in trying to explain to some crease-and-spit-shine deputy why we’re here. At best we’d get the brush off. Or he might take one look at the desperation in our eyes and see trouble brewing. Who needs the headache? All I want is to find Ruby Jane before Biddy Denlinger tries to run her over in a stolen car.
“I say we let Eldridge and Deffeyes wrangle with local enforcement.”
He makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat. “And we do what, then?”
“Watch the ferry. Taya is off, but she’s also a distraction. We’re a long way from Ohio, and I think Ruby Jane is still driving. Our best bet is to catch her here.”
He chews on his lip for a moment. “You can stay here if you want. I’m gonna stake out that house.”
“Pete—”
“Come with me if you want. Or get out of the car.”
Even dimwitted Taya will get suspicious of Pete sitting in his car on the side of the road for hours on end. There’s no obvious cover short of climbing the ridge in back and watching the house through binoculars. I try to explain this to Pete, but he shakes his head.
“Ruby Jane might have decided to fly back from Ohio.” His voice almost squeaks with anxiety. “She could already be on the island.”
The cars are starting to come off the ferry. I get out of the car and follow the path which winds past the hotel through azaleas and a grassy lawn to Killebrew Lake Road. A couple of dozen private vehicles debark, followed by a few commercial vans and trucks. The harbor air fills with the smell of exhaust. There’s no sign of Ruby Jane.
When the outbound cars start to move toward the dock, I return to the parking lot. Pete is gone. Tourists stroll along the boardwalk and into the shop across from the hotel. Gulls dart among them, snapping up fallen popcorn. A line of cars waits for the next departure. I peel off my jacket and climb up to the front porch of the hotel, take in the view of the ferry dock and the harbor beyond. Across the water I see the shore of Shaw Island. A sailboat passes out beyond the ferry wake.
Inside, a handsome blond woman greets me from behind the desk in the small lobby. “Good morning, sir. Checking in?” Her face is tan, her eyes clear and blue. Her white, button-down shirt appears to be carefully wrinkled.
“I’ve arrived on short notice. Do you have any rooms available?”
“You’re lucky. It’s still early in the season. Plus it’s mid-week.”
“What’s the damage?”
She offers me a pained smile. Maybe she sees it as a privilege to pay for one of her rooms. I suppose it is a nice place, all polished wood and Victorian details. But all I need is somewhere to camp in sight of the dock.
“The Killebrew Lake Room is available for one-seventy-six, plus tax. It has a lovely deck.” The way I’m dropping green I’m going to have to rob a liquor store.
“Can you see the ferry landing from the deck?”
“The Starboard Harbor View room is one-forty-five.” Another pained smile. “You’ll have a lovely view of the boardwalk and the landing.”
And lovely wafts of exhaust as the cars enter and exit the ferry. I give her my credit card.
“The room is available tonight and tomorrow night, but I’m afraid we’re full for the weekend.”
If Ruby Jane doesn’t show by then, I’ll need another plan anyway. I say that will be fine, and let her know I’m with a friend.
“Will you and your friend be okay sharing a bed, or do you need a rollaway?”
“We sleep in shifts.”
She blinks.
“It will be fine.” I look out through the double doors. “How often does the ferry arrive?”
“We have several a day. Would you like a schedule?”
I’ve got one in the car, but I let her give me another since she’s anxious to please. When I write the make and model of my car on the registration form, she completes a pained smile hat trick. “We almost had you towed.” I take the room key and go sit on a white wicker chair on the porch—much nicer than Bella’s. Clouds break low over Shaw Island and sheets of rain obscure the distant trees, but overhead, the sky is blue. A fresh breeze blows into my face, carrying with it the scent of salt water and diesel. My shoulder is throbbing, and I wish I had the sling. All I can do is wait.
Ferries come and go. By the third or fourth I learn to recognize the approach of the eastbound ferries returning to Anacortes versus the westbound, those likely to bring Ruby Jane. Between ferries, I watch the gulls, watch the tourists. The adults are restless, the children frenetic. They screech as they run around the grass, or thunder across the boardwalk to the ice cream stand. The sound helps me stay awake. In the early afternoon, I cross the road for a bowl of chowder from a place called Mamie’s. A crowd returns from a whale watching trip, chattering and excited about seeing a transient pod of orcas spyhopping the channel between Goose and Deadman Islands as the harbor porpoises darted among them. I imagine taking Ruby Jane on one of these tours when all this is over. She’ll appreciate the grace of the whales in the water.
Another ferry lands, and fails to bring her to me. Back on the hotel porch, I dial Pete’s cell.
“I’m fine.”
“Just checking.”
“I’m not at Bella’s. I decided to drive around the island to look for Ruby Jane’s car.”
Not a half bad idea, if based on the notion Ruby Jane drove straight through from Ohio, twenty-five hundred miles, without sleeping. “I got us a room at the hotel.”
“I’ll see you when I see you.”
He returns after dark. The last ferry of the day isn’t due for another hour, and I suggest we get some supper while we wait.
“I’m going to bed.”
He walks away from me.
“What if she comes?”
I have to call him back to give him the key.
He’s asleep when I get to the room after the last, fruitless ferry. He’s fully dressed except for his shoes, lying on top of the quilt on one side of the bed. I kick off my own shoes and slip under the quilt next to him, convinced I won’t be able to sleep. The night sounds of the hotel—creaks and occasional footsteps, the distant quiet murmur of a television or radio—resound in my ears, unnaturally magnified. When I close my eyes, I see Ruby Jane looking back at me from behind the wheel of her car. Questions swirl through in my mind, questions and doubts. It’s only a guess Ruby Jane will come here.
I awake to rain, the drops striking the roof like coins falling from a torn pocket. Somewhere far to the east the sun may be rising, but outside the
Orcas Hotel, the sky is the color of slate.
Pete is asleep beside me, curled up like a disobedient child waiting for his father to come home. I prod his shoulder as the ferry horn sounds across the water.
“Fuck off.”
“Come on, Pete. She could be on this one.”
“She could be on a beach in Tahiti singing to turtles.”
“Pete—?”
I poke him again, and this time he sits up. He twists toward me, but the room is dark and I’m not sure if he sees me. “I was dreaming.”
“About turtles and Tahiti?”
“How’d you know?”
I stand up, knees popping. “Come on. The ferry’s almost here.”
“I need coffee.”
“It’s down on the beach with the turtles.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I don’t answer. While Pete ties his shoes, I wash my face and comb my hair. Downstairs, the cafe is open, and we both get cups to go. Pete tarts his up with soy milk and vanilla powder. The ferry is coming to rest against the dock bumpers as we cross Killebrew Lake Road. The falling rain chatters against my rain coat, but Pete’s cotton jacket drinks it in like a towel. We take up a post next to the terminal building under a sign advertising sea kayak and bicycle rentals. He hunches his shoulders, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his coffee cup under his chin.
“Turtles, Pete? Tahiti?”
A voice sounds over a loudspeaker on the ferry, but I can’t make out the words. Pete drinks coffee and frowns. “Just ready for a different life.”
“Aren’t we all.”
“Mmmm.”
Cars move off the ferry. I steal a glance at Pete, who looks pensive. He breathes into his cup as the first vehicles roll past us and turn up the road toward Eastsound.
“It’s slipping away.” His voice is quiet, as if he’s sharing an afterthought. “It’s all just slipping away.”
“What, Pete?”
He shakes his head, likes he’s still waking up. “Huh?”
“What’s slipping away?”
He looks at the coffee cup in his hands, as if recognizing it for the first time. His exposed skin offers a roadmap of damage suffered on Preble County Line Road, his haunted eyes even more so. He smiles weakly. “The dream. The dream is slipping away.”
