Without hesitation, I was eager to get started with her.
But first, I reminded myself, I had to stay alive for a few days while Sam and Milt found the Rands.
I was impatient to settle back into the house. My eyes flew around the shadowy space, the Sheetrock needed tape and mud, the whole place needed trim, there wasn't a fixture to be found in the bathroom or kitchen, a lot of tile was yet to be laid, and the painters would ba here for weeks, weeks.
But I felt my future in this place. It felt satisfying, a fullness I associated with sitting back after a fine meal. I wanted to digest it awhile.
Like for a lifetime.
I stopped for dinner at Tom's and sat alone in a booth. I ate a complete meal of foods that were discouraged on Sam's diet. I considered taking in a movie, but decided not to. I actually convinced myself that Milt and Sam and A. J, were hot on the Rands' heels and that the bad guys were on the run.
The dark sky was spotted by flurries the next morning as Sawyer and I made our way to the car. On the late news the night before, the weather folks had promised that this little disturbance approaching from the west was nothing to worry about, they promised we would get a "light dusting," unless, of course, that nasty little upper-level low over New Mexico slid a tad farther north than anyone expected it to. If that happened, well, then we'd be talking upslope conditions, and all bets would be off.
Stay tuned.
As Sawyer snapped her seat belt she smiled at the storm and said. "I miss the snow. This is pretty."
I admitted that it was but didn't caution her about tha possible consequences of the migrating low-pressure system. Instead I asked. "How's A. J, doing? Milt told me she was ill last night."
Sawyer made an apologetic face. "She asked me not to talk about it, alan. I'm sorry, we saw a specialist last night. I think she'll be okay."
"Was it, um .., you know? I mean, because of Lauren, she and I know the best neurologists in town, we'll be happy to make contacts for her."
She touched me on the arm. "Let's just leave it that your wife has good antennae, okay? But we didn't need a neurologist. I think A.J, will be fine." I saw Sawyer's breath in the cold car, she rubbed her gloved hands together and said. "I wonder what Reggie cooked up for us this morning."
I felt calm beside her, she had no way of knowing about the clarity that I had found while visiting my home the night before, she had no way of knowing that her special place in my heart had altered its orbit a few degrees, she had no way of knowing that our pasts might always touch, but our planets would never collide.
We were silent for the next few minutes until we arrived on Fourth Street. Reggie waited impatiently on his little porch, anxious to get to work. Sawyer ignored his exhortations and made a beeline for the coffee before she lifted the first cooler.
Compared to our earlier effort only two days before, we loaded the car with the breakfast goodies in
half the time.
• • •
Reggie wasn't chatty. Twice I tried to steer him to resume his tale about D. B. Cooper and Corey Rand. But each time he shook his head a little and closed his eyes, shutting out my questions. I feigned patience, as I would during therapy, reminding myself that we had a lot of time.
We kept our roles from our earlier delivery route. Reggie didn't want his guests to have to deal with any more new faces, so Sawyer and I delivered trays to the same homes that we had two days before.
The breakfast from Chez Reggie was simple but elegant, a fruit salad of late berries and perfect crescents of early Satsuma tangerines. Fresh brioche that had been transformed into tantalizing baked French toast. Coffee and juice, and a puffy croissant. "This is for later," Reggie would tell each guest as he offered the croissant. "Just a little snack to hold you over. I made the preserves myself from last summer's Palisade peaches. I think you'll like them."
We squeezed in a couple of extra stops. One of the new guests had been hospitalized two days earlier, the other had been out of town. Our new efficiency allowed us to absorb the minutes into our schedule with ease.
Sawyer and I once again ate while Reggie alone delivered the tray to Sylvia's mansion on Mapleton Hill. This time, however, we ate in the car, the flurries were beginning to transform from charming into storming, and the car offered protection, the French toast was the best I'd ever tasted. I decided my reward for the morning was going to be the recipe.
Sawyer asked. "I wonder if we'll still go up the canyon. Given the weather."
"The little ranch where we ended up the other day is close to here, only half a mile or so. I don't think that's a problem. But Theo's log cabin is way up there, halfway to Gold Hill. I hope Reggie doesn't want to try to make it."
She nodded at my assessment, she looked away from me briefly before locking her eyes onto mine, her voice cracked and she said. "So what happened yesterday? You decided you could live without me?"
Her words could have been framed by levity, but they weren't. I sipped some coffee before I replied. "More. I think. Sawyer. I decided I couldn't see my future without her, without Lauren. I love her." I glanced down only after I was done speaking.
She was facing away from me. "Ironic, don't you think? I mean, look who's insecure now. Look who needs who now. It's no prettier when I see it in the mirror than it was when I saw it in you years ago."
"That's not it. Sawyer. I'm not afraid of you needing me. I made the right choice with Lauren. I feel my future there. You've shaken me up a bit by showing up again. It's left me feeling stronger. More certain about things with her."
"She allowed that, didn't she? She let you see how far you would go?"
"She trusts me, I guess."
Sawyer laughed, the sound gilded with irony. "Oh no, that's not right. You don't quite get it. Lauren crossed her fingers about you, about you loving her enough to come back, the person she's been trusting since I showed up and confused tilings .., is herself." She cupped her chin in her gloved palms. "Maybe I can learn something from her, too."
I'd been busy patting myself on my back for how strong I'd been in resisting Sawyer's temptations. It wasn't easy accepting the proposition that the true show of strength had been Lauren's, not mine.
But I knew what Sawyer was saying was true.
Reggie hopped back in the car and said. "Hurry. Let's
do the ranch, theo's our last stop today." "A lot of snow coming down. Reggie." "We'll see how the canyon looks after we do the
horse ranch. This has four-wheel drive, right?"
"Right:" I admitted. I didn't tell Reggie that I didn't consider it license to be reckless.
FORTY-ONE
The decrepit little horse ranch on the floor of the canyon was Sawyer's stop. I stayed in the Land Cruiser with the engine running, trying to keep warm. By my reckoning, a good half inch of snow fell during the seven minutes that Reggie and Sawyer were inside.
After he climbed back onto the front passenger seat. Reggie seemed to hesitate about proceeding farther up Sunshine, he fidgeted with his gloves and raised and lowered the zipper on his jacket. Finally, he said. "Let's give Theo's place a try, she really doesn't get too many visitors. This may be my last chance to visit with her for a while."
Through the windshield I watched the profile of a pickup truck as it slithered up the canyon road, the snow continued to fall in curtains, and the flapping windshield wipers made rhythmic traverses across the glass. I said. "If that's what you want to do. Reggie. I'll head up the canyon. But if it gets bad, we'll turn around."
"Deal,” he said.
He was silent for the first mile or so up the canyon.
My focus was locked on the slick surface in front of me and on my fervent desire to stay halfway between the often difficult to distinguish shoulders. Once I edged over to the right to permit a Mazda Miata to float by on its way to town. Seconds later I was distracted by the high beams of a truck that was parked up a driveway perpendicular to the canyon road, the truck's engine was running, steam rising
to envelop the cab in fog. Reggie stared at the parked truck, too, then, without preamble, he rotated on his seat and faced Sawyer in back, he said. "There were two reasons Cooper took four parachutes."
When she didn't reply immediately; he continued. "You were wondering about that, remember? D. B. Cooper's rationale for demanding four parachutes."
"Yes. Yes. I was." I chanced a glance in the mirror. Sawyer's eyes met mine, hers were narrowed and cautious. Behind her in the distance I thought I spotted headlights on the road. Just as quickly; the orbs of light were gone.
"Well, The first reason Cooper insisted on four parachutes was because he didn't want the authorities to know whether or not he was acting alone or whether he had unknown accomplices on the plane. Obviously, if the FBI was forced to consider the possibility that he had accomplices, then their contingency responses became more limited. By requesting more than one parachute, ha forced his adversaries to consider the possibility that he was not acting alone. Make sense?"
Sawyer nodded. I checked the mirror again for headlights.
Nothing back there. I slowed.
"Second reason. Cooper obviously suspected that the authorities might try to booby-trap the parachute they were providing for him. Had he asked for only one. I'm sure that they would have given serious consideration to doing just that. But by asking for four, and by keeping two stewardesses in reserve as hostages, he left open the possibility that he not only had accomplices, but that he might force one or both of the stewardesses to jump from the airplane with him, with that risk in place, the authorities, of course, couldn't take the chance of sabotaging one of the parachutes, the possibility existed that it would end up being worn by a hostage."
I asked. "Did Corey Rand figure all that out?"
Reggie replied, "It wasn't hard to figure. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why somebody did something after the fact, that's just hindsight, the genius is in the anticipation. Remember, we were contingency planners. Our job was to avoid getting caught in traps like the one that Cooper set."
For a pleasant moment I realized that Reggie had described the challenge of psychotherapy with an elegant precision, any average therapist could help any average patient understand why the patient had done something maladaptive, the genius came when therapist and patient could anticipate the next trap, so the patient could avoid getting caught by the same circumstances again.
Sawyer said. "I hadn't thought of that. Reggie, that's an interesting theory."
"It's not a theory," he said, his voice hollow. "It's the way it was."
I smiled at the assurance I was hearing but quickly moved my attention back to the narrow, glassy road, the shoulders had disappeared beneath the shroud of fresh powder and I was thinking hard about turning back.
"Do either of you see anyone behind us? I thought I saw some lights a way back."
They both turned and gazed out the almost opaque rear window. Sawyer said. "So? Maybe we're not the only ones crazy enough to come up here in this weather."
Reggie said he didn't see anything, but his tone told me that my concerns were resonating with him. "One passed us earlier, a pickup truck," he added.
Sawyer and Reggie didn't resume their conversation about D. B. Cooper.
The storm paused, and for a few moments I was driving uphill toward a thin ribbon of blue sky that was barely visible through a break in the clouds, again I checked for lights in my mirrors. Nothing. I figured we would be at Theo's cabin in less than five minutes. I considered dropping the four-wheel drive into low but decided that the Land Cruiser was doing okay; considering. I asked, "So where's the parachute?" Reggie pulled his gloves from his hands and took out a little tub of lip gloss, he smoothed the wax over his lips. "Buried,” he said.
"Isn't that risky? Why not carry it out?" "Too bulky, he buried it in a hole he pre-dug before the crime, he had stashed a motorcycle for his getaway close by. Easier to hide from a search helicopter in a motorcycle than in a car, he wouldn't have had room to take the parachute with him."
"The jump was that accurate? That he could hike to his motorcycle? Even with a broken ankle?" "The jump was that accurate."
A thin plume of smoke snaked from the tin chimney of Theo's cabin, the scene was a postcard, the cleared ground around the cabin carpeted by five inches of white powder, the roof frosted, the windowsills dusted, the joints between the big logs were etched with white. I parked the Land Cruiser halfway between the big propane tank and the front door.
Reggie said. "This is why she won't move to town.
I’ve offered to help her out, help her find a place. But she loves it up here, the serenity, she says, she can't leave the serenity."
"That's not much of a fire she has going, considering how cold it is." Sawyer observed.
"Theo burns coal, not wood, to save money on propane, there's usually not too much smoke from the chimney. I'll stoke it when I get inside. This is the last stop, alan, help me with her tray, and then give me my time with her, please."
I checked the fuel gauge to make sure I had enough gasoline and told Sawyer to leave the engine running for heat. Reggie and I pulled the tray of food together, covered it, and trudged the twenty feet or so to Theo's door. Behind us, a pickup truck sliced through the snow on the road. Reggie paused, too, and watched it pass. I thought it was the same truck that had driven past us when we were parked at the horse ranch at the bottom of the canyon. How had it gotten behind us?
Reggie's eyes followed the truck until it disappeared toward the west, he turned and rapped twice on Theo's door with his gloved hand, the dull sound was swallowed by the insulation of the storm, he removed a glove and tried the knob on the security door. It turned in his hand.
"That's funny,” he said. "Theo's usually pretty security-conscious. Mmm." He yanked the door open and tried the latch on the plank door behind it, that lock was unlocked, too.
"I hope she's okay," he said as much to himself as to me. "Maybe she left it open for me, theo? Theo?" he called. "It's Reggie Loomis."
I held the security door with one hand, the tray in the other. Reggie kicked the snow off his boots and padded inside, the interior of the cabin was freezing, barely warmer than the air outside. I followed him in, closing the two doors behind me to try to ward off the chill.
"Theo? Theo?" Reggie whispered, almost apologizing for the intrusion, he immediately took long strides toward the back of the cabin, where a door was propped open, he barely avoided tripping over a bucketful of coal that was spilled just this side of the threshold, he slammed the door shut and again called Theo's name. His voice caught as he exclaimed. "Oh, my God." and broke into a run toward the far side of the main room.
I looked over Reggie's shoulder and saw streaks of bright red in a shadowed corner and lowered the tray of food to a nearby table, the red was so plentiful that at first I imagined that I was looking at a plaid blanket that had been carelessly tossed out of the way.
In seconds. Reggie was on his knees at Theo's side, he was remarkably composed. In a steady voice, he said.
"I think she's still breathing. Cover her, okay? I need to get Sawyer. Sawyer's a physician, right? We need to get Theo down to town fast." He stood and ran from the cabin as I pulled a crocheted throw from a dusty old velvet sofa. I lowered it over her.
The left side of Theo's head was sliced down the side in three or four parallel tracks, and her neck was splayed open so widely I could see tendons and tissue and blood vessels, a huge chunk of flesh was missing from the biceps of her arm. Fresh blood pumped weakly from the exposed vessels, her beautiful blond hair was matted flat by her own blood.
Sawyer rushed inside and looked past me at Theo. "Oh; no. Oh my God. Who did this to her? Oh; Jesus." She made fists with both her hands. "I don't even know what to do. I'm a damn psychiatrist, she needs a trauma surgeon."
Behind me. I heard a creaking sound, without bothering to turn. I said. "Reggie, call for more help. If she doesn't have a phone here, there's one in the car." I
wondered whether Flight for Life would fly a chopper in this weather. Probably not. I felt so helpless. I wanted to patch Theo up as I would repair a disintegrating snowman or a broken doll. But she seemed to be missing so many pieces.
The next noise I heard wasn't Reggie seeking help on the telephone. It was another creak accompanied by a low bass rhythmic rumble— a primal warning— that caused me to freeze.
The sound I heard was a growl.
Sawyer whispered. "What was that? Does she have a dog in here?"
I turned slowly; raising myself to my feet. "I don't know." I said.
The cabin was small. I saw no dog.
Sawyer said. "I don't see a dog."
My eyes climbed a wooden pole ladder to a loft that Theo had probably used as a bedroom in the days before her stroke, at the top of the ladder, in the darkness near the rafters, I saw two orange circles the size of dimes. "Look up in the loft." I whispered to Sawyer.
"What is it?" Sawyer asked.
"It's a cat." I said.
"A cat?"
"Yes, a big cat." My voice was as soft as the snow outside. "I think it's a mountain lion."
FORTY-TWO
Sawyer asked. "What on earth is it doing in here?"
My first thought was that it was dining. But after that momentary irreverence passed, my mind trailed quickly to the pickup truck on the canyon road. Could the Rands have something to do with this? I said. "It looks like it came in when she was outside getting coal for the stove, she had the door propped open."
The cat was perched above us as still as a painting, although those luminescent orange disks were. I was certain, taking in every move Sawyer and I made. I couldn't discern even the slightest flicker of life in the cat's eyes. Yet I knew that with a quick tensing of some powerful muscles that cat could be flying through the air toward either Sawyer or me in less time than it took me to blink.
I forced my mind to recall every news story I'd ever heard about human-mountain lion confrontations along the Front Range. Confrontations were rare. Dead humans were even rarer. But they happened, a young boy had been killed recently in Rocky Mountain National Park.
Manner of Death Page 35
