Miranda's Revenge

by Ruth Wind

  She felt him take a breath. “Miranda, I think we need to talk about the reason I left the seminary.”

  Chapter 13

  “Only if you want to tell me.”

  He wished he didn’t have to. Wished it was something dark and dramatic and full of angst, that it wasn’t all about lying, even if the lies had not been his own, exactly. “It’s important.”

  “I would like to hear the story of how you went there in the first place, if you wouldn’t mind.” She raised an eyebrow. “Because I gotta say, señor, you seem a bit too lusty to be a priest.” She leaned forward and kissed his chest.

  “We can start there,” he agreed. “When my brother-in-law committed suicide, the person who seemed to offer the most help and practical advice was the priest. We became friends, and I liked what I saw of his work. He helped people, served the community in a way that seemed hands-on to me. I was sixteen, you know, a little slow to mature, and I was filled with all these passions about changing the world.”

  Miranda smiled at him, her eyes shining. “I like imagining you at that age, beardless and skinny.”

  He smiled. “I was a good student and graduated early and chose the seminary before I knew any women. It seemed that I wouldn’t miss what I didn’t have.”

  She nodded. “Did you like it?”

  “I did. Then a few years later there was a series of ritualistic murders in our community. Gruesome, torture and rape.” He cleared his throat. “I knew one of the girls—Sarita—and I took it very hard. It seemed to me that a God who allowed that to happen was not a God I wanted to worship.”

  “Pretty heavy stuff, I would think, even if you were a very experienced priest.”

  He nodded.

  “But if that’s your reason for leaving, it seems like a normal reaction.”

  “It was the start, but I was actually kicked out for sleeping with one of the women connected to the case. One of the mothers.”

  Miranda’s expression showed a slight, hastily hidden reaction. “One of the mothers? How old was she?”

  “Not that old, really. She wasn’t quite forty. I was almost twenty.” He cleared his throat. “She was grieving, so distraught, and I put my arms around her and tried to comfort her, and she kissed me. I had not ever been kissed before, and it was—well, overwhelming. We started an affair.”

  Miranda frowned. “If the sex roles were reversed, you’d look like a victim. She took advantage of your youth.”

  “Perhaps. But youth or not, it was my obligation to be a mentor to her, not lover.” He cleared his throat. “Her husband found out, and I was kicked out.”

  “Her husband,” Miranda echoed. “Did you know she was married?”

  “Not at first. I did later.”

  She didn’t speak for a long moment, then she shifted, covering her breasts with the sheet as she sat up. “I think I need to think about this.”

  A lump settled in the middle of his chest. “Okay.”

  Her eyes were troubled. “I appreciate your honesty, James, so I’ll give you mine. As deeply attracted to you as I am, the fact that you participated in a relationship like that bothers me.”

  He touched her arm, not trying to influence her one way or the other. “Take your time. We can talk—”

  Her cell phone rang, and Miranda scowled. “Who could be calling me? Okay, it’s Juliet.”

  In the same moment, James’s phone rang, too. “Uh-oh.”

  James found his first. “Hello?”

  “James, this is Tam Neville. They found Renate Franz dead just a little while ago.”

  Miranda was obviously hearing the same news. Her eyes widened. “I’ll be right there.”

  Miranda felt shaky and disoriented as they rushed to The Black Crown, where Juliet and Josh had assembled to meet Tam and hear the details. It was as if the two extreme functions of her emotions—joy and sorrow—were sticking, and there wasn’t much in between. Amid the two extremes was an emotion the muddy-green of a tank: guilt.

  What if it was something she’d done that had led to Renate’s death?

  James said little as they washed up and dressed and headed out. She felt stiff with him for the first time, unsure how to proceed or what her next steps should be.

  And yet—good grief!—what a connection! The physical chemistry between them was absolutely perfect. And if she thought about his habit of showing her beautiful things, knowing she would find inspiration in them, she would have said the mental or simpatico connection was very high, too.

  But a priest, even a young novice or whatever they were called, who had sex with a grieving mother and a married one at that—definitely on the dubious character side of the line.

  And what she wanted in a man these days was good character. The thought stunned her, but when she probed it for truth, it stood against her, nudging steadily. A good man of good character, someone responsible and adult and willing to take responsibility for his actions and not do things that would bring drama or trauma or trouble into other people’s lives, either.

  As they ducked into the bar, Miranda spotted a camera crew talking to Tam, and Juliet had combed her hair and put on lipstick. Josh stood beside her looking thunderous.

  “What happened?” Miranda asked.

  “Someone killed her with a bullet to the heart and dumped her body in the alley.”

  “I don’t suppose they know who did it,” James said.

  “No.”

  Miranda narrowed her eyes. “She got too close to something. I talked to her this morning. Here.” Her stomach felt distinctly ill. “It’s terrible. She was surprisingly kind to me.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I don’t know—just before lunch. Maybe eleven? Max introduced me.”

  “The police might need to talk to you, Mirrie.” Juliet pulled out her cell phone. “It looks better if we volunteer information.”

  “Sure.”

  The police took Miranda’s information, asked about Max. They also took James’s statement about meeting with Elsa this morning.

  James and Tam conferred for a long time as Miranda spoke to the police, and when he came back, he took Miranda aside. “Tam is going to leak Desi’s plans to sell the land to the Mariposa Utes,” he said with a half grin that made her heart flip.

  Miranda laughed. “Okay. Has she spoken to them?”

  “Josh arranged for the chief of the tribe to come in and talk to Desi this evening. They were more than happy to make the deal, especially since she’s been so cooperative with the nation in the past.”

  “Good. At least that takes some pressure off.”

  “And now that Renate has been murdered, it looks like a bigger plot around Claude, too, so maybe they’ll find some more reasonable suspects for his murder.”

  “Okay,” she said. Then silence. The mannered awkwardness slipped between them again. James said, “Well, I need to get some sleep if I’m going to run my best.”

  “Okay.” Their eyes met and for a long, hip-weakening moment, Miranda’s memory was awash with all the things their bodies had enjoyed together, all the pleasure they’d given and received, the heady kisses and explosive joining. Mindful of the others around them, they didn’t kiss. James squeezed her hand. “See you tomorrow.”

  She nodded.

  His spine was ever so slightly stiff as he left, and she wondered, with a squeeze of her heart, if she was over-reacting to his bombshell. Maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe, though, she didn’t have to decide this very minute.

  As he slipped out into the night, she found herself on her feet and dashing after him. “James,” she cried after him as she hit the street.

  He turned and she ran up to him in the gloaming to plant a big kiss on his beautiful mouth. “Thank you for such a great day.”

  He hugged her, silently and closely, then let her go with a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.”

  “I will be at the finish line.”

  “Good.”

  Juliet went ba
ck to her own house after all, perhaps sensing Miranda’s high level of discomfort. “Are you okay?” she asked as they dropped their purses on the hallway table.

  “It’s just sickening that she died. I talked to her today, and now she’s dead.”

  “It’s not your fault, Miranda.”

  “I know.” She dropped onto the couch and put her head in her hands, feeling bone-deep weariness in her neck. Flashes of the day moved through her imagination—Renate and Desi and the saris and James, kissing her right here in this house, not five feet from where she sat, and Carol at dinner. “What are we going to do about Mother, Juliet? She can’t be allowed to ruin your wedding.”

  “I talked it over with Josh on the way to the pub. If she wants to come, she has to agree to leave the alcohol alone. She’s sometimes astringent when she’s sober, but it’s the alcohol that makes her evil.”

  “Agreed.” Miranda felt some of the tension drain out of her neck. “Daddy seems very well, in comparison.”

  “He does. He always is a lot better. I’m never sure why you’re so hard on him.”

  Miranda shrugged.

  “Are you aware that you have a giant hicky on your shoulder?”

  “What?” Miranda straightened, covering her shoulders with her palms. “Where?”

  “Left side.” Juliet grinned. “James, I hope.”

  “Yes.” She covered her face. “I’m so embarrassed. Do you think anyone else saw it?”

  Laughing, Juliet said, “Who would care, Mirrie? He’s a cool guy. I like him a lot for you—he’s so calm. And he looks at you like you hung the moon. No kidding.”

  “Really?” She touched her tummy. “I can’t really talk yet. It’s too new.”

  “That’s okay. Are you going to be all right now? I’ve gotta get some sleep.”

  “I’m fine. The first runners shouldn’t finish until about noon, so I’m headed down there a little before, just in case. I told Daddy and James I’d be there.”

  “All right.” Juliet yawned, hugely. “I can’t believe I’m getting married in a week! One more week!”

  “I’m so happy for you.” The wedding talk made her think of the saris, and that made her remember Desi’s request.

  “Dang it!” she cried. “Desi asked me to go get a blanket for Crazy Horse. He’s very upset without it. I promised I’d go get it.” She looked at her watch, stunned to see that it was only a little before nine. “If I run up there, I can get back home in an hour.”

  “You don’t like driving at night. I’ll do it.”

  “No way. I’m fine.” She stood up, pulling the keys for her rental car out of her purse, and sliding her shoes back out from under the couch. “You get some sleep, and I’ll take care of this little errand.”

  Juliet nodded. “You know what? I’m going to let you. If it were anything else, I’d say it would be okay, but that dog is just plain weird about that blanket, and he’ll whine about it all night long. But—” her face brightened and she reached for a bowl on the coffee table that held keys “—take Desi’s truck. It’s a lot higher and it drives like a dream on those roads.”

  Miranda grinned. “Cool.”

  “You remember how to get there?”

  “’Course. I was just there yesterday.”

  It was, Miranda had to admit, a little bit creepy to drive on those very, very dark empty roads. The trees seemed to loom over her and the darkness seemed like a living presence, lurking just beyond the bright circle of headlights. Twice, she saw animals bounding away and prayed she wouldn’t inadvertently hit something—but mainly because it would be absolutely terrifying to have to get out of the truck.

  Her fear irked her. As a child, she’d been an intrepid outdoors girl. She’d loved coming to Mariposa for summer camp, loved the chance to be by herself in the forest, looking at a mountain or sitting by a creek. It was only the years of living in the noisy, brightly lit city that had chipped away her bravery.

  And honestly, there was danger in the mountains—from weather and maybe bears and big cats and getting lost—but the dangers were much more clear and reliable than those a person faced in the city. When she arrived at Desi’s cabin, she turned off the engine and the lights and got out of the truck.

  There were no lights on in the cabin. The city of Mariposa was far below in the valley, hidden by the forest. Even the glow of lights from the town was rubbed out, leaving behind only starlight to glow over the furry, treeful darkness.

  She raised her gaze to those stars—billions and billions of them, glittering, winking, glowing. Blazing planets and tiny, sugarlike scatters of stars, unimaginably distant.

  So many stars.

  Around her the hush of the forest, too, seemed a miracle. A soft whoosh of wind wound through the treetops. A branch creaked. She could hear the ticking of the truck engine, and far away, a wolf howled at the sanctuary, and an animal bolted through the forest, cracking branches. Miranda jumped, but the sound was small, as if a rabbit bolted down a hole.

  She raised her eyes again to the sky, that endless, extraordinary sky. It made her life and fears seem very small. She thought of her sisters, and her parents, and of James.

  James.

  The truth was, she wasn’t particularly bothered by his youthful, indiscreet affair. The divine, it was said, moved in mysterious ways, and that was not a man who should ever have thought of the priesthood.

  She was, however, bothered by her reaction to him. She hardly had known him a week and it was as if he’d filled up a thousand little yawning holes in her, as if something in her had taken one look at him and said, “Finally.”

  Love at first sight was not real, though.

  Was it?

  And what if she gave him her heart and it turned out to be one more of her missteps? What if she made a fool of herself and he didn’t really love her in return? What if she—

  Something cracked in the forest, and Miranda jumped. Stop mooning around, she told herself. She could think about James later. For now, a dog needed his blanket, and it was her job to take care of it.

  Her job. As she scurried toward the cabin, laughing at herself for her nervousness, it occurred to her that she was feeling a lot of pride in becoming a member of the tribe that held her sisters and their husbands. It felt good to have a place, if she wanted it. For the first time in her life, she really felt like she did belong. Here, amid the art community in Mariposa. Here with her sisters and their families. Here where she would have a chance to spoil nieces and nephews. Here where she might, in the peace and quiet, discover where her art would next take her.

  As she unlocked the front door, the wolves howled again, and Miranda was sure she heard a rustling in the trees. Urgently she shoved open the door to the cabin and slammed it behind her, still laughing at her own silly nervousness. She found a light switch and flipped it to turn it on. Nothing happened, but there was enough starlight—who knew it would illuminate so well?—that she could make her way to the little lamp near the door, and turned that on. It gave a small, yellow pool of light into the world, and Miranda spied the blanket, right where she remembered it.

  She picked it up and looked around. The rooms smelled a little stale, almost like mothballs or something like that. She inhaled, trying to identify the scent, but gave up. Probably just musty from being closed up in the heat the past few days, or maybe it was some ointment Desi used on the dogs.

  Was there anything else Desi might want while she was here? She reached for her phone and realized her purse was in the car. Oh, well.

  Feeling good about herself and her ability to do what other people needed her to do, she turned off the light, headed outside and made sure the door was locked behind her. She stepped off the porch and was nearly to the truck when the explosion knocked her down.

  Chapter 14

  Her body flew forward, and she crashed into the ground, but the blanket cushioned the landing. Stunned, she didn’t move for a moment, hearing a roar behind her.

  The smell of
wood burning yanked her from the shock of the landing. Scrambling to her feet, she whirled around and saw that the cabin was on fire.

  “Oh, my God!” She flew to the door of the truck and threw the blanket inside, scrambling in her purse for the phone. With shaking fingers, she punched in 911, and waited, but the call didn’t go through. She tried it again.

  Flames licked at the back of the house, but Miranda could see the fire was not very well established. Something had blown up—maybe a propane tank or something?—but it was only at the front of the house right this minute. Bringing the phone with her to repeat the phone call, she rushed around to the kitchen side of the house, where a small garden water pump stood near the back porch. She scrambled for something to put water in, and could see nothing.

  The front of the house was on fire, but not the back. She took a calculated risk and kicked open the back door. Smoke billowed out, and she had a bewildered moment of trying to figure out how something blew up at the front door when the propane tanks were in the side yard, but there wasn’t time for trying to sort it out this minute. Coughing, she covered her face with a scarf by the door and flung open the cupboards, looking for a fire extinguisher or a big pot to put the water in. In a moment of inspiration, she plugged the kitchen sink and turned on the water full force, then ran to the bathroom and did the same thing, turning on the shower, too, and racing back out.

  Back outside, she started filling a kitchen pot with water, then saw a hose coiled up neatly beneath the kitchen window, and chortled happily. She attached it to the pump, which was hooked to the reservoir, and flung open the nozzle and headed around the house, breathing hard, her eyes stinging with smoke. She redialed the number, and it rang once, but she lost the signal.

  “Damn!” she cried.

  The hose wouldn’t reach this way. It shot water just short of the burning front door. She dragged it to the kitchen door, and with some regret for the water damage, shot the stream right at the front door. Steam and smoke billowed out from the spot, but in a minute, it did seem to be working.