Lee didn’t know how to feel about her sudden induction into the Heevy family—but assumed it was to her advantage. “Thank you. Can I have my guns back? I feel naked without them.”
Heevy laughed. “Of course. Bruce . . . give the girl her weapons.”
Bruce was carrying the pistols in his belt. He offered them butts first. Lee took them, and was in the process of putting the Smith & Wesson away, when Heevy spoke. “See the buck hanging over the fireplace? The twelve pointer? My father shot it through the heart. I want you to put a bullet between its eyes.” It was a strange challenge—but Lee was in a strange place.
So she checked to make sure that the Glock was loaded, brought it up with both hands, and took the proper stance. The gun fired. The deer was at least twenty-five yards away, and Lee knew that most shooters would be happy with a three-to-five-inch pattern at that range. How close was she? Bruce went down to the other end of the room for a closer look. “She was a few inches to the right,” he announced. “The bullet went through its left eye.”
Heevy had bushy eyebrows, and they rose. “There’s only one other person who could get that close from this distance—and that’s your half brother, James. He’s down at the mine right now . . . But you’ll meet him at dinner. Bruce, tell Mrs. Dustin that Cassandra will be staying in the blue room and to look after her needs.”
Lee was stunned. And even though the lower part of her face was covered Heevy could see the reaction in her eyes. He smiled bitterly. “It appears that your mother kept secrets from you as well . . . She’s consistent if nothing else.”
Mrs. Dustin had appeared by then. She was a kindly-looking woman with a short trunk in place of a nose. “Come with me, dear . . . I’ll show you to your room.”
* * *
It was Heevy’s custom to visit Alala every morning at 10 A.M. That gave Myra Meo the time necessary to bathe her mistress, help her dress, and change the sheets on the bed. Once Alala was back in bed a kitchen servant would arrive with a breakfast of tea and dry toast. Both of which were likely to stay down. So when the knock came, Alala looked at herself in a hand mirror. There was no need for a mask now that B. nosilla was ravaging her body. And, all things considered, Alala thought she looked reasonably good. She put the mirror down. “Come in!”
The door opened, and Heevy entered. His canes produced a thumping sound as he passed through the shaft of sunlight that was streaming in through a high arched window. His chair, the one kept in the room especially for him, was positioned next to Alala’s bed. It had been what? A year since they had slept together? Something like that. Fortunately Heevy had Monica and Bethany to take care of his needs. “Good morning, darling,” Alala said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Heevy replied. “More to the point—how are you?”
“The pills keep the pain down,” Alala replied. “But they make it hard to stay awake.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Heevy replied. “Sleep as much as you want.”
Alala smiled weakly and reached out take his hand. “You’re so good to me.” That was a lie, of course . . . Since she caught B. nosilla from him while they were having sex.
“I want to see your face,” he had insisted. That was when he tore the mask off. And infected a person he loved. Did her husband feel guilty about that? Yes, Alala believed that he did.
Heevy smiled. “I have a surprise for you.”
Alala’s eyes widened. “A surprise? Whatever could it be?”
“Your daughter, Cassandra, is here. She’s staying in the blue room.”
Alala felt a brief moment of joy quickly followed by a stab of fear. “I’m sorry, Hiram . . . I should have told you.”
“Yes,” he said tightly. “You should have. Why didn’t you?”
Though calm, Heevy was angry. Alala could see that, and it came as no surprise. Because while Heevy loved her in his own way, he had very high standards for his wives, and would perceive her omission as a lie. That was why Alala had hoped to see Cassie in private. At Myra’s house.
But now, looking back, Alala knew how unrealistic that plan had been. Her health had deteriorated a great deal over the last few months and it was no longer possible to leave the house. But somehow, some way, Cassie had been able to find her. “I was scared,” Alala told him. “I wasn’t sure you would want me if you knew.” That was only half-true but enough to assuage Heevy’s ego.
“I would want you no matter what,” Heevy said gallantly. “And I must say that your daughter is a very impressive young woman. She hiked through the hills to reach the valley, was attacked by pack two, and put most of them down. It’s the sort of thing James might do.”
That was a compliment of sorts. An indirect way of saying that Alala’s son was superior to the rest. But Alala was careful to ignore that. Or seem to. “Yes, all of your boys are competent, and I know that’s a comfort to you.”
“Yes,” Heevy agreed, “it is. Well, time for me to go. Cassandra would like to see you . . . Would 1:00 P.M. be convenient?”
Alala would have preferred to see Cassie right then—but rather than betray the strength of her emotions she nodded. “Yes, darling . . . That would be fine. Thank you for your understanding where this matter is concerned. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
Heevy stood, bent to kiss her cheek, and left. Alala’s thoughts were racing. Cassie! There in the house . . . The first part of the plan was in place. Now for the second. Alala felt better than she had for a long time.
* * *
The blue room was not only large and nicely furnished, it had a bathroom of its own. And that included a big tub. So Lee filled it with hot water and took the opportunity to wash all the dirt and grime away. Then she got out, toweled off, and discovered that new clothes had been laid out on the bed. Not a shirt and jeans but a summery dress! The sort of thing she rarely wore.
Still, clean was better than dirty, so she put it on. And there were shoes, too . . . strappy things with high heels. Who was dressing her anyway? Then it struck her. Frank Lee had seen his wife in his daughter, and Boss Heevy did, too. Was her mother required to wear dresses? Lee had a feeling that she was. There was a knock at the door.
Lee pulled a mask down over her face before going to open it. A girl with a linen-covered tray was waiting in the hall. She looked nervous. “A bite to eat, Miss . . . And a note from Mr. Heevy.”
Lee said, “Thank you,” and took the tray. As the door closed she carried it over to the ornate makeup table and put it down. When Lee removed the cover she saw the envelope. She tore it open. The card read: “Your mother knows you’re here—and would like to see you at 1:00 P.M. Her maid will take you there. Affectionately, Hiram.”
Lee felt her spirits soar. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 11:50. The salad looked good, so she tried to eat it, but she had no appetite. Her mother . . . After all of those years. She cried.
* * *
Like his brothers, James was required to spend every third day at the mine. “You need to learn the business,” their father told his sons. “I won’t live forever.”
And that was true. But both Hoss and Bruce knew James was the favorite, so why bother? And James knew he could rely on the mine’s manager, a crusty old coot named Barrow, to run the operation far more effectively than he could. So it was his habit to make an appearance at the mine, follow Barrow around for a while, and fade. Of course he needed a place to go—so he was renting a small apartment above Heartbreak’s single feed store. As for Barrow, he knew that James would be in charge one day and wasn’t about to complain.
Meanwhile Bruce’s mother, a beauty named Monica, went into town on a frequent basis. The ostensible purpose of the visits was to volunteer at the company-run school. But her real objective was to escape her husband and the stifling environment at the house for a few hours. And that was how the affair had begun. James and Monica kept running into each other in town and became confidants. So it wasn’t long before James invited his father’s se
cond wife to his secret hideaway for an informal lunch. Time passed, the visits grew routine, and the inevitable occurred.
Now, many weeks later, Monica was naked and lying on the rumpled bed with her legs parted and James kneeling between them. He never tired of looking at her. Though more than twice his age Monica was very pretty. Part of that was related to a girlish figure. But a lot of it, more than James cared to admit, was related to the iridescent scales that covered large portions of Monica’s anatomy. They made her look exotic in a way that none of the local girls could.
But that wasn’t all. James knew that part of the attraction was the opportunity to punish his father for infecting his third wife with B. nosilla. “Don’t make me suffer, James,” Monica said huskily. “Give me what I want . . . what I need.”
As James lowered himself into place she took him in. Her arms wrapped around him, a moan escaped her lips, and the bed began to squeak. Revenge was sweet.
* * *
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Lee heard a knock on the door. She hurried to open it. The woman who stood there was dressed in a gray-and-white maid’s uniform. She would have been pretty had it not been for a bulging forehead. “Good afternoon, Miss . . . My name is Myra. Your mother is waiting. If you’re ready, I will take you to her room.”
“Thank you.”
Lee followed Myra down the hall to a central staircase, then up to the third floor, which was entirely dedicated to members of the Heevy family. From there it was a short walk down the hall to a door that stood slightly ajar. “This is it,” Myra announced, and stood aside to let Lee pass.
Lee heard the door close as she entered the room and saw the woman who was sitting up in bed. “Cassie!” Alala said, as she held out her arms. “My precious Cassie!”
If you’re so precious, why did she abandon you? the voice in Lee’s head inquired.
But Lee wanted to believe and made her way over to the bed. An awkward embrace followed. Then, as Lee straightened, Alala spoke. “Hold your breath, Cassie dear . . . Let me see your face. Just this once.”
So Lee took a deep breath, removed the mask, and let her mother look. Then she put the mask back on, “You’re beautiful,” Alala said. “So very, very beautiful. Even with short hair! You had an Afro in the pictures I saw.”
“It will grow back,” Lee assured her. “But short hair made sense for the trip.”
“Thank you for coming,” Alala said. “It must have been very difficult. Hiram told me about the way the dogs attacked. That must have been very frightening.”
So Lee told her about the trip and was truthful for the most part, except for the claim of having hitchhiked into the area. She hadn’t told Bruce or his father about the truck and saw no reason to mention it then.
Once the story was over the two women stared at each other for a moment. Alala broke the silence. “What I did was wrong . . . very wrong. And I apologize.”
Lee looked into her mother’s eyes, saw the emotion there, and nodded. “Thank you. So tell me . . . How did you wind up here?”
Alala shrugged. “It’s like I told you in the letter. Things weren’t going well with your father . . . And I felt overwhelmed. I wandered up the coast, lived in Oregon for a while, and eventually met a man named Ted. He had plans. Lots and lots of crazy plans. Schemes that would make the world better. One of which was to make a documentary about life in the red zone. A film that would show how similar norms and mutants are. And that seemed like a wonderful idea to me. So we saved our money, bought the necessary equipment, and entered the red zone.”
Lee frowned. “You’re joking.”
Alala shook her head. “No, I’m serious. Things went well at first—and we were capturing some really wonderful footage. But our luck ran out in Nixon, Nevada. Bandits hit the town while we were there. Ted was killed, I was taken prisoner, and they sent me south. Norm females are worth a lot of money, as you know. So they put me up for sale at an auction in Indian Springs. Hiram made the winning bid.”
“So, he bought you.”
“Yes,” Alala agreed. “But he also married me . . . And I had nowhere else to go. But enough about me. I want to know about you! About all of the things I missed.”
Lee did her best. She told her mother about school, about college, and her decision to follow in her father’s footsteps.
And when Alala asked about men, and whether there was a man in her daughter’s life, Lee told her about Kane. More than that, she told her mother about how nice he was—and was surprised to hear herself speak at length. Had there been someone else she felt that way about? Not that Lee could remember.
That was when Lee realized that she and her mother were having the sort of talk that both of them had missed. The realization made Lee feel sad, but she did the best she could to keep the emotion hidden.
Finally, having laid the necessary groundwork, Lee told Alala about the video, and the gruesome nature of Frank Lee’s death. “So, I feel guilty,” Lee concluded. “About the nature of our relationship. He was a hard man to like.”
Tears were streaming down Alala’s cheeks. “Oh, Cassie, I’m so sorry. And believe me, I understand. Frank was a fine man in many ways. But there was a darkness in him. Something he wouldn’t talk about. And there were dreams. Terrible dreams that caused him to thrash around at night. That’s part of why I left. Looking back, I realize that I should have stayed for your sake . . . or taken you with me. My failure to do so still haunts me.”
Lee gave Alala a hug at that point—but the cop in her was thinking. According to Cheyenne Darling, McGinty had bad dreams too . . . And the men had been partners. Was there some sort of connection?
Lee was about to pull back when Alala took hold of her wrists. “I have a favor to ask,” she whispered. “It’s something that would mean a great deal to me. But I’m the one who owes you—not the other way around. So if you say no, I’ll understand.”
Lee said the only thing she could. “What is it?”
“Hiram told you about James.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll meet him tonight . . . He’s a god boy. Like you in many ways. And Hiram’s favorite. But there’s a darkness in Hiram just as there was in your father. My luck isn’t very good where men are concerned. Not very good at all. So I want you to take James with you. To Los Angeles, where Hiram can’t reach him. James is a mutant—but he isn’t communicable. The right tests will prove that, and with you to sponsor him, the authorities will allow him to live in Pacifica. I know that . . . I did my homework.”
Lee wanted to cry. There it was . . . the thing the other part of herself had feared. She’d been lured into the red zone for a purpose. Two purposes really . . . To assuage her mother’s guilty conscience—and to take her half brother into the green zone. But in spite of the way she felt Lee managed to maintain her composure. “I see . . . And how does James feel about your idea?”
“He doesn’t know,” Alala confessed. “There was no reason to raise the possibility if you said no.”
“And your husband?”
Alala’s eyes grew wide with fear—and her grip was like steel. “He’d be furious! He’s depending on James to take over. He would kill you if he knew . . . So this has to be our secret.”
Lee felt a lump of cold lead form in the pit of her stomach. Her mother was trying to use her—and Heevy would make a dangerous enemy. So why place herself in danger? Then something occurred to her. Something she should have asked earlier. “Tell me, Mother . . . You lived here for many years without contracting the plague. What happened?”
Alala looked away and back again. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Hiram can be very rough at times. Especially in bed. He tore my mask off. S-s-so he could look at m-m-me.”
Lee swore. “Okay . . . You tell James this . . . If he wants to go, I’ll take him.”
* * *
There were rules in Boss Heevy’s house, one of which was that every member of the family would show up for dinner, and do so on
time. That had been made clear to Lee by her mother. So, at 5:50, Lee descended the stairs to the main floor, where one of the house servants directed her to the dining room. It was a long, relatively narrow space with six tall windows on one side and cabinets on the other. The shelves were filled with mineral specimens that had been chosen for their beauty rather than their intrinsic value. Large geodes had been sliced in half to reveal the glorious layerings within, there were all sorts of crystals to admire, and one section of the display was dedicated to chunks of quartz. All were lit by strategically placed lights.
But Lee had scant time to examine the specimens because the butler was there to receive her. He stood at least six and a half feet tall—and was so thin that he resembled a living skeleton. And if he thought that the sudden appearance of a norm was strange, there was no sign of it on his long, lugubrious face. “Good evening, Miss Lee,” he said in a deep baritone. “My name is Manley. Please allow me to show you to your seat.”
Lee’s seat was on the other side of the dining room table with her back to the windows. Though set for nine the linen-covered table was long enough to accommodate twice that number. It was replete with candelabras, gleaming silverware, and all manner of glasses. Others were filing in by that time, and Lee found herself sandwiched between Bruce Heevy, and a large man who introduced himself as Hoss. Both brothers were nicely dressed.
“So,” Bruce said, “it’s nice to see you again. How’s your room?”
“Very pleasant, thank you.”
Bruce had just started to say something more when James entered with a woman on each arm. Lee knew it was James because she’d seen a photo of him in her mother’s bedroom. A picture that hardly did him justice. He had black hair, skin about the same color as hers, and shockingly blue eyes. Not shocking because of their color so much as the intensity of his gaze. “There she is!” he proclaimed, as he looked at Lee. “My long-lost sister! Welcome to Heevy house, Cassandra . . . I’m James. The lovely lady on my left is Monica—and the lovely lady on my right is Bethany.”
Redzone Page 13
