“I’m dying of ovarian cancer. I have maybe six months to live.”
Robin’s throat went dry, and she reached across the stone table and took both of Kelly’s hands in her own.
“Oh, no… .”
“Oh, yes,” said Kelly. “And that’s why I’m in Devil Creek. I needed to know something for sure before … before I die.”
“What do you need to know?”
“I need to know,” said Kelly, “if your husband killed my sister.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Robin felt as if she’d taken two hard body blows: a hard right, followed by a knockdown left hook.
Was there one word in the modern world that packed more fear, dread and anxiety than the word cancer? And could there be a worse charge leveled against someone you loved than to hear the suspicion of murder?
A big pickup truck gunned its diesel engine to life at one of the gas pumps in front of the convenience store, and for several moments, conversation was impossible without shouting.
Robin was thankful for the interruption, the intrusion on this little corner of the world where she and Kelly sat at this table on the patio. As the pickup truck rumbled past them toward the highway, her mind raced.
When the truck was past, she said, “Kelly, do you have any evidence to suggest that Michael… .” She found it nearly impossible to say the words, but she pushed on. “That Michael did murder Carol?”
“No more than the police had in Albuquerque.” Kelly did not sound sure of herself. She did not sound pleased. But she too sounded determined to push on. “Robin, does this make us enemies?”
Robin was still holding both of Kelly’s hands in her own. She gave them another squeeze.
“No. No, it doesn’t. But it does make me determined to assure you that my husband did not strangle your sister, his pregnant wife, whom he loved very much. That is beyond the realm of possibility.”
“And would you be offended,” said Kelly, “if I asked if you have any hard evidence of his innocence?”
Robin considered this. She could not be angry at this woman. Even this subject was being delivered head-on with an integrity that Robin could not help but admire.
She said, “That’s a fair question, and because you’re a woman, I’ll answer as a woman would understand. Have you ever been married, Kelly?”
“No,” said Kelly, and regret shaded her tone of voice with blue. “Too many live-ins, but no husband.”
“Well,” said Robin, “I have evidence of Michael’s innocence of any wrongdoing in the death of your sister because I’ve been sleeping with him for two years, and I’ve been watching him day in and day out as he’s bonded and become a father to my son. Michael Landware is no murderer. Have you spoken to the police in Albuquerque?”
“Yes, I visited the detective who was in charge of the investigation into Carol’s death. I saw him at the detective bureau twice, and I pestered him on the telephone.”
“And what did he say?”
“He told me that the department would never have marked the case as closed if they hadn’t been certain that the man responsible for Carol’s murder was the janitor of the complex where Mike and Carol lived. He showed me the man’s criminal record from before Carol’s murder. He’d been convicted for a similar breakin and rape in which no one had died. The detective told me that the evidence showed that Carol had put up a struggle, and there were scratches on the janitor’s face when they went to question him. And of course he committed suicide before charges could be filed.”
Robin said, “A DNA test would have cleared Mike.”
“Mike was already cleared in the minds of the police the minute they interviewed the handyman. I was told that the DNA procedure has drawbacks and isn’t used as often as people think.
That detective is a captain now. He’s a family man with pictures of his wife and kids on his desk. He seemed like an honest, hardworking officer and I think he genuinely believes that they got the right man and that your husband is not a killer.”
“So you came to Devil Creek to investigate and make up your own mind?”
Kelly nodded. She watched her hands move her purse idly about on the stone tabletop. “I learned very quickly that the knowledge of imminent death has a powerful effect on reordering the priorities in life.”
“God, Kelly, I can only imagine.”
“The little things in life become even smaller until the only things that matter are the big things, like why are we here and who do we love, and what will we do with our time that’s left. Maybe some people think about that every morning when they wake up. That would be a good way to be, because when you’re aware every day that your time is running out, you tend to squeeze and savor the most out of that life. Take it from one who knows. But see, I never thought like this until that day in the doctor’s office.
“I was living in L.A. with a stuntman. He was in the doctor’s office with me when I got the news. And he managed to disappear out of my life within a week. A lot of people don’t feel comfortable being around a person who’s dying. They don’t want to be reminded that it will be their turn soon enough.”
Robin said, “Kelly, I know we’ve just met, but I can promise you that if you want a friend, I won’t run out on you. I’ll help you find a place to stay here in Devil Creek. People are nice here. You can stay with us until—”
Kelly shook her head slightly, no. “You’re very kind, and you’re a good person, Robin. Mike’s a lucky man to have met you and won your heart. But me moving into your home? That wouldn’t be good for Mike.”
Robin said, “You do know by now that he didn’t kill your sister, right?”
“I had to know it in my heart,” said Kelly, “beyond what people were telling me, and I couldn’t know that unless I came to Devil Creek and saw for myself.”
“So that’s why you’ve been watching Mike, and talking to Paul?”
“I was saving you for last because I was doing this for you, too.”
“You said that before. I don’t understand.”
“Robin, I’ve spent my whole life taking, not giving. Taking. It started for some reason near the beginning of my life, taking Barbie dolls and boyfriends from Carol, and as I grew up, taking for granted the love of people who cared for me enough to give. I took drugs, I took gifts, I took love, and I never gave anything back because I thought I was protecting … what? I was a fool. I had nothing of substance in my life to protect. I had nothing because I never cherished and kept the things that were given to me that had true value. So now that I’ve come near the end of my life, I’m going to turn it around. I’ve got to give something valuable, and that something was to determine if you and Paul were in danger: if your heart had made you trust a murderer, the way my sister may have. If I saw evil in Mike, I would know because I am such an outsider. Then, I would warn you. I had to know in my heart. I had to know the truth for the both of us. I hope you see that.”
“I think I’m beginning to. Well, Kelly? What is your verdict?”
“The same as yours. I didn’t just talk to Paul and spy on your husband. Oh no, I’ve been quite the busy little bee about town. I just ‘happened’ to meet Mrs. Merrill to get her impression since she works for Mike, and I asked other people—casually, they thought—about the town newspaper and its editor. But it was Paul, mostly.”
Robin leaned forward with interest. “What did Paul say to convince you?”
“I could tell how well-adjusted he was,” said Kelly, “from how he spoke about his life here, that such an evil could never be harbored under your roof. We’re easier to fool as we get older and smarter. It’s hard to fool a sharp kid Paul’s age. The questions I had about Carol’s death have been answered in my heart. The police got the right man in Albuquerque.”
Robin said, “There’s a place within Mike where the pain of losing your sister never goes away.”
Kelly nodded. “I know the feeling. Do you want to hear something funny? I’m actually glad that I’
m not leaving anyone behind to feel that way for me.”
“I’ll feel that way for you, Kelly. I’ve never met anyone like you and I like you a lot.”
Kelly’s sigh conveyed an infinite sadness. “I thought I could come into your town, into your life, and do what I did … and not cause one hell of a mess. I’m sorry.”
“The thing is,” said Robin, “I understand why you did what you did, thanks to this conversation. And the truth will keep Mike straight, knowing who you are. He’s man enough not to be tortured by the physical similarity between you and Carol, once he understands. Mike’s been though a lot in his life. He’s a dynamic, good guy who meets life on its own terms.”
“That’s almost exactly what Carol said about him in her card, that he was a hard person not to like.”
“Or love.” Robin smiled. “And I’d say you fit into that category yourself. I believe that things happen to us for a reason, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Seeing Mike drunk and passed out, that was really bad. But it led to a talk we needed to have, and that’s a good thing. And what brought you here, your quest for the truth, true to the person you’ve become, I admire that very much.”
Kelly made a wry face. Up close, it was more apparent that the lines around her eyes were creased deeper than they should have been at her age, and there was a pallor to her skin that makeup could not wholly conceal, as it did at a distance.
She said, “I just wish it hadn’t taken getting cancer to bring about the change.”
Robin asked, “What are we going to do now?”
“I was on my way out of town when you, uh, caught up with me. I’m really glad you did. I can leave Devil Creek now with a clear conscience, and knowing what I came to find out. But if you’ll give Mike my best wishes and my deepest apologies, I think I’ll be on my way.”
Kelly got to her feet.
Robin rose with her. “But where will you go?”
“I’m not sure. Down the highway somewhere. I’ve spent my life as a traveling woman. That’s one part of me I don’t think I want to change. The cancer will slow me down to a stop soon enough.”
“What about alternative treatments? There’s holistic health, and—”
“Whatever I need,” Kelly interrupted gently, “I need to travel my road and find it alone. That’s the way I am, and that’s the way it is.”
They walked to where the Altima was parked.
With the sun having set, the air temperature should have been cool. But the smoke seemed to retain the heat of the day. The black thunderheads had closed in overhead, smothering the twilight of dusk. The air was warm and gritty. The sky to the west pulsated with an angry orange-red glow. There was a supernatural aura to the world.
When they reached the car, they shared a natural, prolonged embrace.
Robin said, “I wish you would stay in Devil Creek for at least a few days, so you could meet Mike.”
Kelly said, “Maybe I’ll get down the road and think about it and turn around and come back. But for now … no, I think I’ve done enough here. Goodbye, Robin.”
“Goodbye, Kelly. I hope to see you again.”
Their embrace ended.
Kelly avoided further eye contact with Robin. She abruptly got into the Altima and drove off without a backward glance.
Robin watched the taillights that glowed like embers through the curtain of smoke before winking out. She stood there, alone in the parking lot of the Express Stop.
A white van with Forest Service markings drew up to one of the gas pumps, disgorging a group of in-shape young men and women who loitered about restlessly while the driver fueled the van. Their yellow hardhats identified them as one of the “hotshot” firefighter crews coming in from around the state and neighboring states. Firefighting gear was stowed atop the van.
She walked slowly to her Subaru. An aching loneliness depressed her. Kelly Shaw was the loneliest person she had ever known, and that sense of loneliness lingered within Robin from their encounter. Robin needed to be with her family right now more than anything in the world.
There was still the matter of Jeff, but the threat of her creep of an ex-husband no longer seemed so intimidating, now that Kelly had put everything in perspective. Jeff’s presence in Devil Creek was a major pain, not only his proximity to Paul but also this talk of “suspicious circumstances” surrounding the death of the previous project manager at Sunrise Ridge. But that problem would be easier to deal with now that everything was back on track with Mike and Paul.
She tried reaching Mike on her cell phone, and was disappointed but not surprised when she got his voice mail. She said, “It’s me. I love you,” and disconnected.
She tried calling Paul. Again, voice mail. She said, “Paul I’m on my way home,” and that’s what she proceeded to do.
The drive home took longer than usual since traffic crept along because of the haze that hugged the ground like fog, combining with the dusk to make buildings alongside the road into vague silhouettes. Headlights pierced the half-light like ghostly fingers. She passed neon lights that glowed like fireflies in bottles draped with gauze.
The smoke started to thin somewhat by the time she reached the gravel county road that led home, and she felt a reassuring comfort of the spirit when she turned into their driveway. The Subaru’s headlights swept across the face of the house and the front yard.
The comfort of familiarity died when she saw someone sitting in the front yard, near the ash tree.
She frowned. Mike’s Jeep was nowhere in sight. She hadn’t expected him to be home.
The figure sat cross-legged upon the ground, facing the direction of the fire, where the low, black cloud ceiling shimmered with garish red pulsation.
She stepped on the brake, halting the Subaru so that the figure was framed in the headlights, but the smoke seemed to become denser at that moment, like black smoke mystically absorbing the headlight beams, not allowing them to penetrate.
She turned off the ignition switch, but left the headlights on. She stepped from the car.
A muted, strangely cadenced murmuring emanated from the figure.
She took a step in that direction, then another. The family pistol was in the house—unless Mike had for some reason stopped by and taken it with him—but she had the weird sensation of not being intimidated by the murmuring sounds. It was chanting: somehow, not threatening. Familiar.
She recognized the voice.
The thick black smoke concealing the person’s features cleared as if blown away by invisible bellows.
“Paul!”
Seen in the headlight beams from the Subaru, there could be no mistaking her husky, sandy-haired fourteen-year-old son. His eyes remained closed as he chanted, with his arms, like his serious, set face, lifted skyward. His lips barely moved. The chanting was guttural, rhythmic, authoritative, determined.
It was not her son’s voice.
“Paul … honey, what’s wrong?”
The eyes opened.
They were not Paul’s eyes, but glowing orbs of an inner fire that burned, and the voice—guttural, brute, like the chanting—was one she had never heard before.
“I am not your son. I am Gray Wolf.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The fire raged.
Blazing. Devouring. Advancing.
The steepness of the slope increased. The fire gained momentum across the rugged terrain. The firestorm created winds that swept the conflagration downslope, funneled through the canyon by its towering walls made rosy by incredible heat. Sixteen-foot flames leapt from the lofty tops of mixed conifer and aspen to the lower pinion and juniper, an inferno consuming everything in its path: living and dead vegetation, chaparral and trees weakened after the drought, unable to fend off insect attacks, “beetle kill,” providing combustible fuel.
The fire raged, consuming five hundred acres per hour, traveling at eight miles per hour.
Advancing on Sunrise Ridge.
Chapter Thirty
When Mike
regained consciousness, he was smiling.
He’d been dreaming about the time, about a year ago, when he and Robin had rented a rowboat for a day to themselves out by the lake. Paul had a day planned with his friends, and so it had been just the two of them.
There were kids and some adults laughing and splashing over by the sandy beach beyond the rental boat dock, but Robin had packed a basket lunch, so they rowed to a spot a half-mile upshore, and they had a world to themselves: a world of soft sunshine filtered through the cottonwoods’ branches and leaves, the scent of damp earth where the water lapped against the shore, and the lazy buzzing of cicada and the bird songs.
They had their picnic at the edge of the lake, and then rowed further along, where they stretched out side by side in each other’s arms. They had made physical love, but the love they were making between them at that moment was so sweet, with the boat rocking with the gentle swells from an afternoon breeze upon the lake, that Mike had wished the moment would never end… .
The smile evaporated as his senses returned one by one. First his memory returned, as did the pain like an ice pick to the brain.
The gentle back and forth sensation was not that of a rowboat on a sunny, lazy afternoon on the lake with Robin in his arms. It was the back-and-forth motion of a vehicle traveling at a considerable rate of speed. He heard the engine and the sound of tires crunching along a gravel road.
His wrists were bound behind his back with what felt like electrical tape. His face was pressed against the cold metal of a floor.
Some part of his consciousness resisted opening his eyes. He didn’t want the dream to end. So perfect, so lovely.
He forced his eyes open, which caused throbbing pain to erupt at his temples. He was in the back of a van. It was night. His ankles were not bound, which would make him easier to transport if he was awake or semi-conscious. With every second, his awareness of pain grew until it seemed to engulf his entire being, though it was really centered in only one place.
His head felt ready to explode, like an over-inflated basketball. That side of his face was swollen. The skin was broken and raw where it scraped against the floor of the van.
Devil Creek Page 18
