by Susan Dunlap
‘You can say that again,’ a guy groaned.
‘No rush because now, see, the focus is on preserving evidence. Body’s evidence, see. Coroner’s not going to be happy if it’s full of hook marks. Especially in a case like this.’
‘Like this?’ I took another bite. The corner of a thin slice of ham had made it into it.
‘Questionable cause of death. Sheriff’s got to see the body; then the coroner’s got to examine it, you know, saws and baggies.’
‘Yuck.’
‘That’s the protocol.’ Jed glanced around the group like a visiting professor.
‘Hey, are we going to be hanging here all night while the sheriff checks him out down there by the water?’
‘You might think so—’ he really was into the visiting prof. bit – ‘but tonight, no. It’s too exposed down there. Nowhere to lay the floater out. No decent light.’
I could have asked how carefully the sheriff would move the body, but I knew the answer: very. So I ate. And waited. Ate, and nudged the talk back into the beginning of the speculations.
Don’t underestimate how often a group people can say the same thing. Larger the group, greater the times.
Mike had kept himself unnoticed for twenty years. I knew he had to have been good at it, but I hadn’t quite realized what a study he’d made. By now he could be a visiting professor himself. I found myself looking around at the edges of the group to spot him fitting in.
When the deputies finally hoisted the body up, not in a bag, but on a stretcher, it was well after midnight. Two on each side, like pallbearers they hoisted it up over the edge, shifted their feet and moved slowly toward the road.
Our group moved closer. A larger bunch shifted in from the other side.
‘Hey, get back!’ the sheriff yelled. ‘Get the doors open.’
‘I thought they were going to examine here!’
‘Guess not.’
I pushed forward, between the taller wool-clad bodies. But the deputies’ torsos blocked the corpse’s head and hips. A blanket covered the body from the neck down.
Head free; no chance of outside fibers. That had been from John.
The doors to the medical van swung open. The deputies carrying hips to feet, shifted to get purchase and hoist the stretcher in.
Without me seeing the body!
If there’s a problem, spread the guilt. Lott family dictum.
I grabbed handfuls of the dog’s blanket, braced and shoved the men on either side of me. Ephraim stumbled into a woman in front. The other guy hit the ground. ‘Goddamn it!’ ‘What the fuck!’
I raced forward, looked at the dead face.
Not Mike!
Hands grabbed my shoulders. I shook free, stared at the face again, and gasped.
The hands grabbed again. I let myself be shoved back into the crowd; dropped to the ground and held my ankle as if I’d been one of the injured.
As men and a woman pushed themselves up, I abandoned the blanket, joined the grumble of the slightly injured, moved back and forth ‘walking it off.’ And when the official party pulled off in a firework of flashers, I sidled to the Aston, turned on the lights and headed south.
In the town I stopped for gas, for the bathroom again, grabbed a cup of coffee and a Snickers bar and was back in the car in five minutes. I tried the phone. Nothing.
I tried again. As if the power of my need to know about Janice would fuel the phone lines.
I downed the chocolate and coffee before I had time to decry the latter and left. Fast as I intended to take these curves, I was going to need both hands.
TWENTY-NINE
I was still shaking from seeing the body under that blanket.
I was still desperate to know if my sister was on life support, even alive.
I wanted to call, to at least try again, but common sense told me that would only slow me up. So I drove.
The road which I’d used to intimidate Marcus in the afternoon hadn’t changed, except now it was dark and I was driving not on the inner – hill – side of the road but on the ocean side, my wheels feet from the edge of the hardtop, the shoulder fading into the dark, the rocks jutting from the shore below. Slow down! one of those reflective signs shouted. Tight curve ahead. 15 mph max!
I swore, but I slowed, creeping, like trudging through caramel, around curve after endless curve.
Finally, gratefully, the sign for the road inland to the freeway appeared. I tried the phone. Nothing, still.
Then I turned and drove in among the trees.
I have a bad history with trees. A fear from childhood. It’s been humiliating, especially in my line of work. But now I barely noticed the darker trunks, the waving branches against the slightly less black all around. I shifted from the high beams, on in case of animals, to the standards on the straight-aways. I took curves too fast now, grateful for this very good car, not letting myself consider how bad a crash would be here in the middle of nowhere.
And when the horizon bleached from black to gray – from lights, not sun – I could have cheered. The freeway this far north isn’t crowded in the early morning, but flickers of headlights heading north, thin streams of taillights going south to San Francisco were like sunshine.
I veered on to the freeway south and sighed. For a city kid, hitting a wide straightway is like coming home. It’s like seeing sidewalk after miles of scrub brush, or lawns that slope down to a street with no accommodation for walkers. Like seeing doors that open to stores instead of close to strangers.
Now there would be cell coverage. I could find out about Janice.
Now it was 2.30 in the morning. Friday.
Who did I want to chance dragging out of bed after a long, fearful day?
Assuming they were not still at the hospital. Or worse.
I was stalling. I could have called Gracie, but not without getting more medical detail and survey of possible turns for the catastrophic worse than I wanted to know right now – or ever. Gary would give me a straighter answer, but then there’d be discussion of the state of the car.
I realized with a start, the right person to call in a pressure situation would be Janice. When I was stranded down the inland freeway, almost to LA, she was the one I called. Odd, she was my least-close sibling, the one who’d exiled herself to the East Bay. She’d give me the facts without a layer of blame.
No way was I going to wake Mom if she’d gotten herself to sleep.
Which left John. And I sure wasn’t dealing with him in the middle of the night. Not when I was speeding down the freeway, having left a crime scene without letting on what I knew about the victim. And talking on the phone.
As much as it galled me, I pulled over to get Heather’s number and hit ‘reply.’
‘Darcy?’
‘How’s Janice?’ I said without intro.
There was a moment of silence during which I realized Heather would have no idea what I was talking about. ‘Janice,’ I said, ‘my sister in the hospital. My sister who was in the car!’
‘It was awful! The bang just about split my eardrums. The smoke, you’d of thought it was a forest fire. Boots got his hands burned trying to get her out of the driver’s seat. He’s got these big mitts of bandages on both hands. He can’t pick up anything—’
‘But how’s Janice?’
‘Ambulance took forever to arrive. The medics kind of tossed her into the back of their van, you know, like she was a duffle in an airporter. Then it sped away down those bumpy streets. You know, the city could spend some money fixing the streets. I thought my head would hit the roof—’
‘You rode in the ambulance with her?’
‘Yeah. Boots just needed someone to deal with his hands—’
‘Did Tom do that?’
‘Tom?’ It was a moment before she said, ‘Oh, him. He split after the cops turned him loose. You know, after he went back into Wally’s place for his notes. Cops kept him for hours, freaked him out. He said if they wanted to question him more they coul
d haul themselves to Pittsburgh. He was long gone before they put Janice in the ambulance. Poor Janice, she was moaning. Screaming some. Like the pain was unbearable.’
‘Omigod!’
‘You should have heard her. The medics had given her a shot, but it must not have taken. Or maybe the pain was just too awful.’
‘Omigod. Oh …’
‘Oh, Darcy, you must feel terrible.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Really terrible.’
‘How is she now? Where is she?’
‘It took forever to get across town and then there was a back-up in the burn unit. Maybe if they’d gotten to her sooner … but you never know, right?’
‘Heather! It was great of you to stay with Janice—’
‘No problem. I’ve had crises – deaths – in my family. I know what this is like. Other people don’t understand, but I know the suffering. So I was—’
‘How … is … she … now?’ Dammit!
‘Still in the hospital, but stable.’
‘Who’s with her?’
‘Besides me?’
‘You’re still there?’
‘Someone had to stay. No one contacted your family for hours. Janice was crying out for you all, but no one came. No one was here but me. I told her I was your friend, your close friend, so at least she’d think she had someone.’
The hospital didn’t call? Didn’t Janice have any contact info in her wallet? Possibly no, I thought. There’d been a long time; the family weren’t the ones she’d call first. Sheesh Heather, couldn’t you have called us? But, of course, she had called me. And I had been out of range. My hand was shaking on the phone. I had to swallow hard before I could say, ‘Who else is there now?’
She listed off the full complement of siblings, and Mom.
‘Thanks, Heather. This was above and beyond of you. Where are you headed now? To the airport? Going home? Your event must be over.’
‘We’re staying at your mother’s. Boots can’t leave for at least a day. Obviously we can’t stay where we were – in the crime scene. So your Mom said, “Come.” She said there were plenty of extra rooms. I’m taking Boots there now. Your Mom said there’d be beef stew in the fridge, that we should help ourselves. I guess that means I’ll be helping Boots … because of his bandages. Though he’s way better off than Janice.’
‘Thanks, again.’ I clicked off. Now I called Mom.
‘Darcy, honey, where are you?’
‘Good question. Somewhere north of Santa Rosa. Tell Gary I’ve got his car. How’s Janice?’
‘Sedated. But she’ll be fine.’
‘Really? I just talked to Heather—’
Mom laughed.
‘The mother of a woman in the burn unit is laughing?’
That made her laugh harder. When she pulled herself together, she said, ‘That Heather is something of a sad sack, don’t you think?’
I hadn’t thought about that before tonight but it was hard to disagree. ‘What about the burns?’
‘She’s got some on her legs. Fourth degree. Or is it first? Whichever’s least. It’ll probably scar, but you know Janice, she’s never been one to flash her flesh around. Plus, she was wearing corduroy pants so thick she could have raced Chihuahuas between the tufts. Gracie called an eye specialist, just in case. As soon as he gives the all clear we’ll be out of here. We’ll probably be home before you are.’
I sat stunned. This, I thought, must be what a moment of enlightenment is like, when suddenly everything is bright and OK. ‘Appreciate your life,’ Maezumi-roshi in Los Angeles said. I appreciated beyond words.
‘Darcy?’
‘Yes?’
‘If you do get home first, take Duffy out.’
‘Right. Love you, Mom.’ My words surprised me. We Lotts don’t gush. It didn’t matter though; Mom had hung up.
Janice tucked away in safety, I pulled back onto the freeway and drove.
I hadn’t realized how thick the air was. Mist here, but that’s close enough to fog to make me feel at home. I could have wrapped it around my shoulders like the warm blanket I just hoped Janice was snuggled into.
After Mike disappeared I couldn’t bear to stay in the city. I went away to college, as if I could learn a new identity there. I stayed on the east coast even though LA was the hub for stunt doubles. By the time I came back home, I’d been gone from the city almost as long as Mike had. I’d thought I was fine in the other fine places I’d lived and liked living in. I’d been fooling myself. Now, as the mist turned to fog, utter love of San Francisco engulfed me. I could have sung: San Francisco, open your golden gate, da da da-da da-da.
Suddenly I was exhausted. I fiddled around on the dashboard, hoping Gary had Janice Joplin at her loudest. John Philip Sousa, or Shostakovich. Whatever he had I couldn’t find it. I opened the window and let the cold hit my skin.
Then I considered the question I hadn’t had time to deal with. The body the sheriffs carried up from the cliff and shoved, dead, into the back of the van, the man they’d dragged from the water, was Grouch Marcus.
Grouch Marcus!
How had Grouch Marcus gotten himself killed?
Why had he wanted to ride up there with me?
He’d had Maria’s cell number. He’d kept in touch with her all these years. Watched over the old burrito shop. Watched for what? Or who?
When I pulled off the road up north and Maria arrived, I’d left Grouch safe and warm in the car. Why had he left my car at all? He must have followed Maria and me. Had he stumbled over the cliff? Or did she push him over?
If he’d stumbled she would have gotten help.
So, why had Maria pushed Grouch Marcus over the cliff?
Oh, Maria, no one thought of you, did they? You, the sweet girl ladling on the salsa? But here you are, alive, the owner of property, and living safe who knows where?
THIRTY
‘You have assigned seats for breakfast?’
Despite being up all night, we all managed to laugh at Heather’s question. The aroma of coffee, garlic and onions, mixed with eggs and homemade biscuits, had given us a second wind. Every one of us had a job that required all-nighters. Even Mom was ready to pop up at 3 a.m. to heat up some stew, or just listen while one of us sipped some Powers and grumbled or worried. The only eyes at half-mast were Boots’s.
‘Assigned seats? Not mandatory. Parking in the wrong chair doesn’t get you ticketed …’ Gary favored Heather with the subtly flirtatious smile with which he greeted new juries. It had to be second nature by now, which explained, in small part, his success in court and his three wives.
‘Not ticketed, but I was eight before I realized other families said, “Good morning,” not, “Get out of my seat.”’ Gracie reached for the coffee pot that sat in pride of place in the middle of the table. She hefted it, hesitated and poured. The rule was: he who empties has to refill, and no one wanted to leave their spot at the table just as Mom was hoisting the platter of eggs.
‘You all ate breakfast together every morning?’ Heather asked, as if she was on a zoo tour.
‘Just Sundays,’ I said.
‘Before church?’
‘Before football. Rule was – and this was a rule – that breakfast had to be over by 9.30 so Dad had time to digest before the 49ers gave him indigestion.’
‘But didn’t you—’
‘Heather!’
I’d almost forgotten Boots was there.
‘Excuse her. Her parents died when she was young, so she’s always curious about real families. Mine too, but I moved in with my aunt next door, so it was like I just put my computer in a different bedroom. My mom’s sister, so same rules, you know?’
Mom set the platter down in the middle of the table, and scooped out a portion for Boots. He waited. She scooped another. Again he waited. With a third, smaller spoonful, she smiled and said, ‘It’s going to be hard for you with these bandages,’ and passed the platter to Heather. I could see each of my siblings recalculating their
portions.
‘All the time I was away I think this is the thing I missed the most, these breakfasts,’ I said as the spoons were passed to the right.
‘When Mike was gone?’ Heather asked. ‘That must have been so hard.’
Spoons clanked against the platter. And on Gracie’s plate. Gary hit his coffee mug on the table as if by accident and Mom seemed to be stirring the refill eggs with undue ferocity. A more incisive observer than Heather – and apparently that would have been just about anyone – would have deduced that however we dealt with Mike’s long absence, it wasn’t verbally. We definitely – none of us – whined about our own hurt feelings. That person might have concluded that Mike not being at this meal was not a good sign. That person wouldn’t be aware that the messages I had left him had gone unanswered, and that none of us knew where he was. That every one of us was worried. And we were not talking about that either.
Our relations with Mike had changed forever, but it was too soon to consider that. We’d have time – the rest of our lives, maybe – to wonder who he really was. What signs should we have noticed? Which ones did we see and push away?
Now we all looked at John. (Maybe we were regimented.) We had issues to discuss, plans to make. We were waiting for John to take charge. ‘So here’s what we know.’ He forked up his last bite of egg. Already we knew he had OKed talking in front of Heather and Boots. ‘Darcy?’
What I wanted to talk about was the body dragged up from the beach. But I knew I’d be interrupted ten times before I could get to my questions. So, the beginning … ‘Mike said something was threatening him. A car hit him outside Gary’s a couple weeks ago. Hit and run. Knocked him to the sidewalk—’
‘Omigod!’ Heather said. ‘Was he hurt?’
Gracie shot her the stare of scorn. I’d seen her use it for other medical misassumptions.
‘He said not. Make of that what you will,’ I went on.
‘What time was that, the hit-and-run?’
‘Late, John. That’s all he said. Columbus was pretty empty. He said he hadn’t had to bother looking for traffic when he crossed the street.’
