Kali approached the open window on the driver’s side. Bee wanted to wind the window shut, lock the doors, peel out of there leaving an impenetrable dust screen behind her.
“Aren’t you . . . ?” said Kali, bending down to look in the window. For a moment Bee thought she might be able to bluff her way out of it. Why would this woman remember her from one meeting? “Sorry,” said Kali. “I can’t remember your name, but I sure remember this vehicle.”
So much for anonymity.
“Bee,” said Bee, lowering the window just enough to reach out and shake the hand that Kali was offering. It was not so much a hand as a jeweler’s window-display piece. There were too many rings to count on a hand that was long and slim — more like skin and bone — with nails lacquered porcelain blue and fingertips shaded yellow with nicotine.
“Right,” said Kali, who did not exchange her own name. “Huh! How weird to run into you way the heck out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Think quickly!
“Are you, like, lost?”
Oh God, yes!
“Yeah,” said Bee. “I was looking for Jilly Green? But I must have taken a wrong turn.” Kali frowned. Bee’s answer had thrown her off, at least for the moment, but maybe it was the wrong distraction.
“So’s that who you were phoning just now?” she asked.
“Right! Yeah. Uh-huh. Turns out I missed her road by, like, two or three clicks. Can you believe it?” Shut up, for God’s sake!
Kali nodded, but the answer clearly hadn’t satisfied her curiosity. Time to move into action. “She was expecting me,” said Bee, reaching down to turn the ignition key.
“I don’t get it,” said Kali. “I mean why would you even know Jilly?”
At least she could answer this with something like honesty. She withdrew her hand from the key. “Donovan really liked Jilly. And Trish — do you know who she is?” Bee couldn’t help but ask, and wickedly enjoyed Kali’s awkward nod. “Yeah, well Trish said that Jilly had been really close to Donovan, too. So I thought somebody should let her know about . . . well, you know . . . about his passing.”
There was that phrase again, this time coming out of her own mouth. But it was good in this context. Impersonal. She almost sounded like someone whose heart was not broken in two. She watched Kali’s face for any rupture in the facade of her makeup. She’d built up quite a wall of it. Was that a fading of light in her eyes, a throb in the temple, a twitch of the lip? Bee suddenly felt emboldened. “You heard, I guess. About Donovan’s accident?”
Kali placed her good hand on the top of the window glass. She nodded. “It’s such a terrible tragedy,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Was her voice shaky or was it just Bee’s imagination? “And I’m sorry for yours,” said Bee. “How long had you and Al been together?”
Kali made an involuntary motion with her right hand, as if she were throwing away a candy wrapper. Really? “A couple of years, on and off,” she said, “but we’d broken up. Did you know that? I mean Donovan would’ve told you, right?” Bee nodded and watched Kali accept the gesture with some relief. “It was like months ago. Still, it’s awful sad,” she added, as if she’d only just remembered that it was sad.
“Yeah,” said Bee. And now she did turn the ignition key. She was angry, which was only marginally better than being frightened. In the first state, she was consumed with getting away. In the second state, she would have to be very careful not to run over Kali O’Connor. Several times. She wasn’t sure why. She was guilty of something, that’s all Bee knew.
The car revved to life and Kali stepped back from the window. Glancing at her, Bee could see she was worried. Good! Let her stew. She turned her eyes to the front and grabbed the gearshift. Glancing sideways, she could see that Kali was saying something to her. Bee cupped her left ear.
“Do you want to come over?” she asked.
About as much as I want to go over Niagara Falls in a coffin.
“Got to run,” said Bee. “Thanks anyway.”
She pulled forward and then turned out into the road until she was facing the school’s driveway. She could just run up there a car length or two and avoid having to do a three-point turn. This was a very good idea because her three-point turns often ended up being five- or six-point turns. In a flash she saw herself going off the dirt road into the grassy ditch. She opted for the driveway. The little sage-green car leaped ahead, forcing Kali to jump aside. The woman screamed and Bee slammed on the brakes. She stared at Kali, looking for evidence of some injury. Kali was tottering backward, grabbing at her right leg. Did I really hit her? No, she would have felt it. Kali screamed again.
Get the hell out of here. Go. Go.
She threw the car into reverse, but when she hit the gas the tires just spun.
“Help!” cried Kali at the top of her lungs. “Oh, help, please!”
Bee was petrified. The whole thing was a show — had to be?
Do not fall for this!
She tried again, and the engine roared. Good. But just as she was about to turn to check the road, she saw the kind teacher and several children, Caleb among them, appear at the top of the driveway. Which is when Kali made her move. She fell. She stumbled toward the car, bounced off the back end, and sprawled on the ground, holding her leg and howling.
It was a bold move. She ended up lying right up against the left rear tire — half under the back end of the car. There was no room for Bee to maneuver. She pressed down hard on the brake, put the car in park, and threw her hands up in the air. Then she reached forward, turned off the key.
She pulled the hand brake and clambered out of the car.
Kali’s caterwauling had been pitched to override the sound of the engine. Now she contented herself with moaning and rolling around as the teacher arrived on the scene.
“Get back,” the teacher said to her flock of elves. Then she hurried toward Bee, her face filled with concern. “What happened?” she asked.
Bee stuttered, trying to answer, but the teacher blew right by her and was soon kneeling by Kali’s side, her hand resting lightly on the woman’s shoulder. “Kali,” she said. “Where does it hurt?”
Bee watched, struck stony silent by what was happening. She’d stage managed enough amateur theatrics to recognize a really bad performance. Surely, it was a charade. But part of her wasn’t sure. Had she hit Kali? No! Toddy would have shuddered at contact. And in that moment she thought of Donovan and what had happened to him and she broke down. Her butt was leaned against the door. Now her bones melted and she slithered down the door until her backside met the gravel of the roadway.
The next thing she knew, the nice teacher was attending to her. She was squatting in front of her, a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, dear,” she said. “I don’t think anything’s broken.” Bee sniffed, and out of thin air the teacher pulled a tissue. Or it might have been from her pocket; the thing is, it was there and immediately put to use. Bee was sobbing. The accident may have been phony, but Bee’s reaction was not. Which is why she wasn’t sure at first what it was the teacher was saying. It sounded a lot like she had asked Bee to drive Kali home.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Could you drive Kali home?” said the teacher patiently, as if Bee was one of her young students, one of the dumber ones. She wasn’t condescending, just serenely capable of bringing even the dullest mind around.
No! No! No! No! No!
“It’s just down the way a bit, near the river. I’d go but for the children . . .” She didn’t plead; she didn’t need to. She was one of those rare people who saw nothing but good in her fellow human beings, and her eyes had surely found Bee’s inner very-nice person.
“I guess so,” said Bee. She gazed into the warm eyes of the teacher and hoped those eyes were smart enough to see the panic in her own eyes. Hoped that the inner ear of this lovely woman could hear the voice screaming inside Bee that she did not want to do this. She really, really, reall
y did not want to be alone with Kali.
“Oh, that is so kind,” said the teacher, actually clasping her hands together.
Two of the older kids had come, at the teacher’s request, to help Kali off the ground. Bee, on her feet again, marveled at how poor Kali’s acting skills were. At one point she actually limped on the wrong foot.
Didn’t anybody see that?
It didn’t matter. The show must go on. The other schoolchildren, who were not supposed to come too close, had gathered around on every side. Bee was surrounded. If she tried to make a break for it now, she would definitely hit someone, maybe several little someones. It would be like bowling! In her mind’s eye she pictured the driveway littered with wounded elves. Unfortunately, none of them would be the woman moaning and crying crocodile tears onto the shoulder of a chubby twelve-year-old.
Bee watched as they guided Kali to the passenger door. Watched her like a hawk. Waited for her to look at Bee and see the contempt she had for this trumped-up injury. But as she watched her, Bee realized something: the hobbling might be fake, but the tears were not. This woman was on the edge, desperate, wrestling with hysteria. And it had nothing to do with being hit by a car. One of the lads who had stepped up to help let go of her, but not before asking Kali to steady herself with her hand on the roof of the car. Which is when Bee saw the cell phone in Kali’s hand. A pink one with a starry pattern on it. She wasn’t sure when it got there. When she was lying on the ground under the back end of the car? Before the teacher arrived? If she had made a call, it couldn’t have been a long one. And who had she called so surreptitiously? Bee didn’t expect it was 911.
Bee collected her wits. They were strewn all over the place.
“Did you lose something, dear?” asked the nice teacher. Bee looked at her. She’d been staring at the ground as if she had lost some real thing. “Just shaken up,” she said.
The teacher squeezed her arm gently. Then stepped away. “I’m sure she’ll be fine once she gets home. Don’t you worry. Nothing’s broken.”
Bee wanted to argue that she would worry if she wanted to, and it had nothing to do with Kali’s leg. Something was broken — her confidence. Which is when the teacher smiled at her and said, apparently without the slightest shred of irony, “You know, it’s so lucky you showed up.”
And with that she rounded up her young elves and headed up the drive. The performance was over. Bee took one last deep breath. She was going to have to do a far better job of acting than Kali if she was to get through this. Kali suspected something, but what could she possibly suspect of Bee? Bee’s excuse, that she had gotten lost on her way to Jilly’s farm, was a reasonable one, whether Kali believed it or not. Then again, mentioning Jilly might have been the big mistake. Stick to that story anyway, she told herself. Then she climbed back in the car.
Kali was silent, staring straight ahead. Without an audience she wasn’t even going to be bothered to whimper.
“I’m so sorry,” said Bee. “How’s the leg?”
Kali managed a tight little nod. “It’ll be okay. I just want to get home, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Bee knew the feeling. She turned the key and the trusty little car started up. She backed out onto the road and headed south.
“It’s left at the fork up ahead,” said Kali. Her hands folded into fists.
The fork was just over the hill and around the bend. From the top of the hill, Bee caught a view of the river over to the left, and beside it, along its bank and climbing into the low hills around it, a scattering of houses between the trees. There was a tall escarpment behind the trees, as if part of an ancient wall that had encircled this enchanted community millennia ago. Magical-looking houses, probably made of candy, thought Bee. Houses fit for hobbits and other denizens of Middle-earth. And maybe witches who threw children into the oven when they were fattened up.
The right fork led around the escarpment to the Black River Bridge, three and a half miles along. That must have been where Donovan had holidayed as a kid. “Left!” said Kali in a panicky voice.
“Sorry,” said Bee, swinging the wheel around hard so that Kali was jostled against the door. “Sorry,” she said again once she had the car under control. It wasn’t an apology that would have stood up had she been wired to a polygraph.
The road, such as it was, petered out to a trail, ruts in the grass, mud from the rains of last weekend that had dried and cracked in the warmer weather. The car wobbled down toward the river.
Say something. Allay her doubts.
“I’m going to have quite a story to tell Jilly,” she said. And regretted it immediately.
“What story?”
“This,” said Bee too loudly. “Running into you, I mean.” And then she laughed, and her own hysteria exploded into the little car. “Oh, sorry. That sounds awful.”
“It’s just up ahead,” said Kali, pointing to a little cottage on the right, not three yards from the road. It was tiny, constructed of weathered blue cedar clapboard with empty flower boxes and lopsided shutters and a moss-covered roof that was more moss than shingles.
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” said Bee, pulling the car up to the picket fence outside the cottage. “Honest. I guess I’m just really strung out.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
There was a sign, carved in wood. FRANCESCA’S END, it read. The sign was as dilapidated as the house. The paint had gone from the carved letters, leaving only the impression of them. The fence had once been white. It was missing teeth, and the gate, which opened inward, was half unhinged and leaning drunkenly. Bee stopped so that the car door could swing open into the gateway. She turned off the motor and was immediately aware of the pounding of her heart. Or was it Kali’s? The whole car seemed to rock with the pent-up anxiety inside it. Bee could see the river, about a hundred yards farther down the track, straight ahead. To her right was meadow grass, bending back with a breeze coming off the water. She was thinking of a getaway, pushing this horrible woman out the door and then swinging around in a circle through the grass and back onto the road. A getaway that would be severely hampered if she turned into the meadow and found herself up to her axle in mud.
“Well?”
“Pardon?”
Kali glowered at her. “Aren’t you going to help me out?” She made a face meant to indicate she was in pain, in case Bee had forgotten what this whole business was about.
“Oh yeah. Right.” She opened her door and stepped out. It seemed cooler down here. Cooler and very isolated. The seven dwarves had obviously gone off to the mine earlier that day and Snow White had presumably already eaten the poison apple because there was no one singing while she did her housework. There was no one at all. Birds. Birds and wind. And behind it, the faint rushing of the river. That was all.
She looked down the road and there was a boarded-up place and, next to it, presumably the house of the woman who had gone to Mexico. The one with the demented mother. Oh! A demented mother was good! That meant there was someone living with Kali now. Mrs. Billy. She might have Alzheimer’s, but Kali could hardly murder Bee in the old woman’s presence, could she?
Bee rounded the car and squeezed through the opening between it and the fence. She opened the car door. Kali didn’t move.
What, thought Bee, does she expect me to carry her?
Kali just stared straight ahead; the pulse in her lean and stringy neck was bounding. What is she up to? Bee wondered. And the answer came to her as soon as she asked the question.
She’s stalling. Playing for time. Which means . . .
“I don’t have all day,” said Bee, and her voice sounded harsh, just plain nasty.
Kali’s head swung around to glare at her. “You should have thought of that when you ran me over.”
Whatever acting Bee had intended to do, she abandoned it now. “I didn’t run you over. This whole thing is bullshit.” Kali winced as if she had thought her act was convincing. “Just get out,” said Bee. Then she tu
rned and looked up the road, back toward the fork. He would be coming. She was sure of it now. Kali had called Rory. Who else would she call? Somehow in the mayhem up at the school she had called him. “Now!” she shouted and watched Kali jump in her seat.
And then Kali was out of the car, all right, in one swift motion, and there was nothing wrong with her limbs, skinny as they might be. She lunged at Bee and pushed her hard, both her hands to Bee’s chest, ramming her toward the cottage. The pebble-stone pathway was slippery with moss and Bee lost her footing. She regained it, but Kali was hitting her now, pounding on her back and arms as Bee turned away, trying to defend herself.
She’s a lunatic, thought Bee. And desperate.
Kali was swearing now, thrashing her way through obscenities even as she thrashed at Bee, who cowered, covering her head, crouching in the sopping weeds that lined the path. There were rocks in the grass; one the size of a fist glistened with dew and Bee grabbed it up. It was as if the stone had been plugged into a power source because she no sooner plucked it from the ground than it seemed to take off, carrying her fist upward into Kali’s belly. The woman doubled up and fell backward. Bee threw the rock down and scampered over Kali’s thrashing legs.
“Don’t go!” the woman shouted frantically.
But Bee slammed the passenger door shut and skittered around the car to her side.
“You just wait. You hear me? Fucking wait!”
Bee opened the driver’s door, and as she glanced at Kali, she saw her trying to get up — but this time she really was injured. It stopped Bee for a moment. What was she doing? Who was she, this girl gone crazy? It didn’t matter; every fiber in Bee’s body screamed to hightail it out of there. She started the car and drove away, straight down the road toward the river. There had to be a turning point, and yes — there it was, on the left, a drive leading up into the trees. She pulled in, threw the car into reverse, and pulled back onto the road. Then she threw the car into drive and roared ahead, the car’s back end slewing side to side in the drying dirt, the tires spinning and then catching and flinging the car forward.
The Ruinous Sweep Page 23
