by Mary Deal
“I got Mrs. Zheng to let me have Pierce's belongings,” Daphine said. “What's left of them anyway.”
“Where will you keep them? Your own house is small.”
Daphine's house was barely big enough for her art paraphernalia. “I'll make room,” she said.
Some plans came together in wondrous ways. “You can leave them here,” Sara said. “The house is empty.”
Daphine handed her one large painting covered in standard brown art wrapper. “I couldn't help myself,” she said, pulling out two smaller ones, also wrapped. She kicked the door shut. “You might need something on your walls.”
Through decades of absence their friendship had endured, and they still thought alike. Once inside, Daphine unwrapped the larger painting first. Likenesses of Choco and Latte stared back from canvas.
“Oh, my!” Sara covered her mouth as she examined the art. “This is overwhelming.” She really loved the dogs.
“Check the other two.”
Sara ripped at the wrappers. The two smaller canvasses were of Choco and Latte separately. “You've captured their individual temperaments.”
Choco stood at attention, his tail high, and an eager testy look in his eyes. Latte lay with her front paws out and her head cocked, as if listening, her eyes and ears alert.
As they hung the paintings, Sara mustered her courage. “I need your help, Daph.”
“Name it.”
“You know that strange dream I mentioned?”
“You still having that?”
“If we work together, could you draw what I'm seeing?” All her life, Sara withheld asking for favors.
“You mean, like the police do it? You tell me what you see and I change it around till we get it right?”
“Can you do that?” Sara was elated. Of course Daphine wouldn't laugh at her.
Sara described her nocturnal visitor. Daphine sketched as they talked. Then they headed to Sacramento to visit Pierce.
As they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Sara's cell phone rang.
“Sara,” Johanna said though the phone. “I have some bad news.”
“Isidoro changed his mind?” Sara closed the car door. “Hey, that's okay.”
“It's not Isidoro. It's Pierce.”
Sara waived to get Daphine's attention and she came around the SUV to also listen. “What about Pierce?” She and Daphine leaned ear to ear.
“Sara,” Johanna said. Her hesitation on the other end of the conversation said she was having trouble getting the words out. “They just called me. Pierce's vitals are failing. He may be dying.”
Chapter 34
Sara and Daphine raced to the fourth floor of the hospital. A police officer sat near the doorway and eyed them. She and Daphine were unable to enter Pierce's room. At least a dozen people in hospital smocks crowded his bedside. Some stared at the floor, maybe praying. Others watched his face.
“I can't see him,” Sara said as she bobbed around trying to see through the crowd. Fluorescent lines on the monitor screens were flat except for an occasional blip. A woman with a notepad stepped back and shook her head as she wrote. Sara caught a glimpse of Pierce before the group closed in around him. His eyes were sunken. Both arms lay limp at his sides. The covers were up over his chest and tucked. Nothing more. His face held that vacant look of death that Sara knew so well: Starla without a smile. Mom and Dad looking sober.
The charge nurse came out of the room. Seeing who they were, she said, “Pray that he makes it.”
“When did he start failing?” Daphine asked.
“About thirty minutes ago. We've asked others to leave, but you two can stay in the hallway. Just be quiet.” She left and returned to the room with some records, which she shared with two of the doctors.
While Daphine sat in a chair outside the doorway, Sara paced. The officer pretended not to show interest but eyed them suspiciously.
Pierce never hurt anyone. He certainly did not drug her. He was patient and kind. How dare they claim he could be a mass murderer? He didn't have much of a life left but was making the most of what had been dealt him.
Sara went to sit. “I don't understand. Who are all of those people ogling him?”
“Haven't you read those books he gave you?”
“Not yet.”
“You know he died after that lightning strike, right?”
“He told me that.”
“Sara, Pierce has been touched by a power you and I may never know in this lifetime.” Daphine's eyes were full of sadness, yet acceptance. “He gave scientists permission to monitor him since he was struck.”
“And now they want to be around when he finally kicks off?” It seemed ludicrous. “Why can't they just let him go, if that's what's to be?”
“Do you think he should just die?” Daphine asked.
Sara stood and paced again. “I only want peace for him. That's what we should hope for.”
Daphine leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Sara continued to pace. Her mind raced and wouldn't let her sit. They were waiting, like the scientists. It felt ghoulish. Waiting to see if Pierce would die. More than an hour dragged by, interrupted by that ominous occasional bleep that called back everyone's attention. After a long while, the bleeping came no more. Sara tried again to see. Pierce hadn't changed, he hadn't moved. He was gaunt, pale as death. A doctor put his hand lightly onto Pierce's chest, and soon turned to the rest and shook his head. Someone started crying.
Daphine bumped into Sara at the doorway. “He's gone,” Sara said.
It took a few minutes for people to clear the room. Sara and Daphine stood stunned as people pushed past them. Several of those in attendance remained in the room, writing the details. Another pulled the sheet up over Pierce's face. Sara and Daphine stood hugging one another while Daphine wept and Sara couldn't get her breath. Neither could move. Neither wanted to leave their cherished friend. A simple flat gurney was brought to the doorway, most likely the one to take Pierce's body to the hospital morgue.
At least thirty minutes had passed when, suddenly, the few inside the room began talking in soft excited tones and then they turned up the volume on the monitors. Turned it up loud.
Sara and Daphine pushed into the doorway. In the quiet pandemonium, no one blocked them when they crowded in at the foot of the bed. A nurse ripped the sheet off Pierce's face.
Someone on the PA system made one frantic announcement after another, calling personnel to Pierce's room. Others arrived and again glutted the tiny space.
With seemingly great effort, Pierce opened his eyes and struggled to keep them open. A nurse threw back Pierce's covers and watched as his chest rose and fell and faltered, sending lines on the monitors askew. The fluorescent flat line was again a pulse, thready, then stabilizing, finally peaking high and almost regular. His breathing deepened. He looked to be doing nothing more than waking from sleep.
Pierce was headline news in every newspaper. After tests were made, they learned he couldn't stomach solid food. He had lost much weight. Any other maladies would be noted as he progressed.
Everything about Pierce's phenomenal experience was rehashed in the newspapers, from the initial lightning incident forward. Comments were tempered. They dared not print total disbelief for fear of discrediting reputable doctors. Many had monitored Pierce for years, some from across the country, several from Europe.
Relegated to one of the inner pages of a Sacramento newspaper was an article about a man arrested years earlier in San Jose…
…suspected in one of that city's cold cases. He worked as a street sweeper until being fired after it was learned he had a history of window peeping. Back then, the partially decomposed body of a woman wrapped in a sheet of plastic was found buried in a rocky wooded area outside San Jose.
The meager forensic evidence could link no one to the crime, except that the window peeper knew the woman. No footprints were found, due to the thick layers of dead leaves and heavy rains. The body had been
in the ground about a month by the time the grizzly find was unearthed after area flooding washed away the leaves and topsoil. The full skeleton was intact, with the hyoid bone clearly snapped. The case bore striking similarities to the Sacramento cold cases because the remains lay in soft soil near a stream. The difference was that none of the Sacramento area victims had been wrapped in anything and the San Jose burial contained no animal remains. It was ruled a copycat murder.
Surely, Pierce had an alibi for the periods when each of the missing persons disappeared. He didn't have a car and could only hobble around with a cane. But then, his maladies could only be pretense, as some now claimed.
Pierce continued to thrive. He was moved to a private room near the coronary care unit as a precaution. Twice, they detected an irregular heartbeat. Nothing more as time passed. The IVs would supply nourishment to bring his weight up and he needed to regain use of his legs.
“Sara,” Pierce said some days later. “I couldn't tell the cops anything. I don't know how I got into the kitchen.”
“We were drugged.”
“They think I'm responsible.”
“You don't know that.”
“But I do. It didn't take much to interpret to officer's questions. He's definitely hoping I'm their man.” Pierce seemed truly hurt by the implication. “You don't think I did this, do you, Sara?”
“No, Pierce. Something else… something scary is happening.”
“They want me to take a polygraph.” He shrugged. “Oh yes, I called my landlady to let her know I'd be returning.”
Sara knew what that meant. Surely, Mrs. Zheng dumped the news on him. “I'm sorry you had to find out that way.”
“She told me my rare fish are all dead. And my plants.” His lips thinned, then quivered. Surely, the fish were the closest living things that gave him pleasure and that he could easily take care of.
“I'm so sorry,” was all Sara could say.
Pierce's mood fluctuated. He seemed to be able to force himself out of despondency when it occurred. “I'm really surprised. The investigators accepted responsibility for the damage to the property. They'll settle with Mrs. Zheng.”
“Did they mention what you're supposed to do without a home?”
He shrugged. “Lots of cheap rental places around. At least people know who I am. I'll find something, but I need to get out of here first.”
“They owe you something too.”
“Maybe. I've already contacted my attorney.” In typical Pierce Newton style, he remained upbeat about his grave situation. “Need to find my own mansion.”
“Just get your strength back. Daph and I will help you find a place.”
“Okay, but it needs to be close to a medical facility. Nothing like Esmerelda's hospice though. I'm not ready to die.”
Chapter 35
The mercury continued to climb. Deltans sweltered. Crops across the Central Valley were being picked or harvested and emptied fields plowed or burned off. Trucks sent up billowing clouds of dust on parched field roads as they made their way to the highways with burgeoning loads. Wavy heat danced from the ground and pavements. Strings of trucks moved along like train cars, glutting the Interstate on their way to canneries in nearby Stockton to the south and Sacramento to the north. Diesel fumes hung in pockets in the air.
Each year, the last Sunday in July is reserved for the raucous Courtland Pear Fair. The city park, where the old high school once stood, filled with rows of tented booths. A makeshift grandstand and stage were erected. Tall shade trees dotted the park-like setting.
“This booth is mine,” Daphine said as they walked around in the early morning. She closed her shop when festivals took place because her booth attracted more people than the few who would come to the store.
“What's that stuff?” Sara asked of the curious objects in the other half of the booth.
“Junk chimes. A man from Placerville, originally from Walnut Grove, makes them out of metal objects he finds in antique stores.” She rattled one and smiled. “He gets a tons of business. I always try to share his booth.”
Dozens of bicyclers rode down from Sacramento. Later, an old farmer wearing coveralls and a faded short-sleeved shirt entered two giant pears in a contest and won, each pear being larger than a baby's head.
“People do dress for the weather,” Sara said.
“Ha! I didn't know the Delta showed so much cleavage,” Daphine said.
The parade began at noon. Buck rode the fire engine with other firefighters to lead off. Local children waved to the crowd from atop two more trucks.
“Grand Marshall,” Sara said, reading the sign on the car that followed the fire trucks.
One of Buck's friends chauffeured the Pear Fair Queen and Princesses in Linette's 1966 Ford Mustang convertible.
“Completely restored,” Daphine said. “Right down to the white ragtop, the Midnight Turquoise and the Pony interior. Linette's real proud of that car.”
Daphine stayed in her booth. Sara wandered around chatting with sellers, and then cut through the crowd to visit Linette at The Book Nook.
Later, Daphine had taken over the entire booth. Sara spotted Fredrik watching from a distance. The next time she looked, he had disappeared. Sara had secretly dubbed him the elusive ogler. What could be his purpose of always watching but never saying hello, and then mysteriously disappearing, like he hadn't meant to be seen in the first place; like a window peeper getting his thrills out in the open.
“The junk chimes sold out,” Daphine said. “The guy walked away with a fat wallet.”
“Let me help with that.” Sara grabbed hold of one side of the wooden stand that contained cubbyholes filled with rolled paper prints. “Why didn't Fredrik lift this for you?”
“Was he here?” Daphine asked, looking around briefly.
“He just stands and stares,” Sara said. “I'm sorry, Daph, but he's the one who gives me the willies. Some hidden current must run through his mind.”
Daphine sighed, like she couldn't be bothered. “Twenty thousand people should pass through here today.” She made two trips to her vehicle to bring back more framed artwork.
The festivities continued. Johanna was over by the Humane Society cages. Sara decided to say hello. Johanna was asking a woman, “What kind of dogs are missing?”
“Just two stray bitches,” the woman said. “Both spayed and given shots. We'd hoped to recover our costs through a donation for the animals.”
A little boy said, “Officer, Crazy Ike and a woman played with the dogs. They had 'em out of the cages.”
Around mid-afternoon, after saying her goodbyes, Sara headed toward her SUV parked at the base of the levee. Tripp stood with his foot on her bumper, talking to another man. When he saw her, he said, “Sara, I didn't know you were here.” Even though his foot was perched on her bumper?
Sara headed north to Talbot House to retrieve her mail before heading back to the Alden's to get some work done while it was quiet. She couldn't get Pierce out of her mind. Who would pay his hospital bill?
It really was payback time for her. She determined to help people in need since good fortune endowed her with the means to do whatever she wished. She could help old Mrs. Zheng restore Pierce's rental. When she realized that Mrs. Zheng's helpers had simply thrown that shack back together, she decided it was no place for Pierce to live. Sara sighed and spoke to herself out loud, “You can't save the world, girl.”
On Monday, she telephoned the hospital administration offices. “Pierce's care is paid by a trust that was established decades ago,” the voice said. “To study death survivors. Pierce will never have to pay another doctor bill.”
Since childhood, Sara had been consumed by feelings of inadequacy, coupled with a need to prove her worthiness. Her inability to do anything about it through the years was handicapped by a small income. Plus, in her younger years, she yearned for fun and to cast off past disappointments. Accumulating wealth had not entered her thoughts back then. Now, in her mature
years, and wishing to be of service, she had another brainstorm. She stood and then paced. “It took having money to make me think of it,” she said.
The idea wouldn't take all of her earnings. In fact, others would fund her plan because what she had in mind, a charitable foundation, would benefit others. She would get the paper work started immediately.
Chapter 36
Concentrating again on making the Clampett Tract house livable, she hurried to get it furnished. The first priority was getting all the appliances in, connected, and computer lines installed. She had formulated another use for the house, told no one, and meant to pull it off. But again, caution nudged from the pit of her stomach.
She surfed the Internet and found copies of Pierce's first two publications in used bookstores in Sacramento and purchased them during one of her jaunts. Daphine called numerous times to discuss details about the dream drawing. While her intrusions were necessary, evenings were spent in seclusion at the Alden's place while Sara learned about a fascinating man who had died and revived. Now twice.
At the Clampett Tract house one morning, while Sara waited for furniture to be delivered, Daphine showed up.
“Got more stuff for you,” she said as they stood out on the sidewalk. The back of her van contained more than a dozen wrapped pieces of art.
“What are you up to?” Sara asked.
“I want to help you decorate.” She gestured toward her van. “Something for your walls.”
Sara remained quiet. Her taste for art was personal. She hadn't seen a lot of Daphine's work and wished she could have a choice.
Inside, Daphine unwrapped the pieces. “This is Grand Island Ranch.”
Much to Sara's relief, that painting would be her favorite without seeing the rest. Rows of blossoming pear trees stood in an orchard, with hazy pink hues of sunrise in the background. One tree branch in the foreground protruded, loaded with delicate white blossoms. Stamens of white filaments with deep pink anthers almost leaped off the canvas. “I can almost smell them,” she said, placing a hand over her heart, closing her eyes, and breathing deeply.
