"Off today?" Anna asked, to have something to say.
Lynette shook her head, her permed curls quivering charmingly.
"don't go on till ten-thirty."
Anna nodded. Boatloads of tourists from St. Marys would be arriving. Lynette gave them a tour of the splendid ruin of Dungeness mansion, the impressive bones of what had been one of the prenuer homes in the 1880s. Fire and time had reduced it to memories evoked by steps, stone patios, partial walls, and cold fireplaces. For Anna's money it was as inspiring in its own way as the ruins of the Anasazi in Mesa Verde National Park. Dungeness had yet to acquire the patina of centuries but already it spoke of a unique human history, a nostalgia for better days.
"'Fabby is making herself sick over something," Lynette saiel as Anna spread a meticulously even layer of peanut butter on a slice of raisin bread.
"Other than death and impending birth, what do you figure?"
Lynette flicked up a bit of peanut butter from the side of the jar and put it in her mouth. Her fingers were tapered, almost pointy, her teeth small and even." A fight?" she hazarded." That would be a drag, wouldn't it? To tell your sweetie he's a real son of a bitch and then have him die thinking you meant it? Even if you did?"
"A drag," Anna agreed." Was Todd a son of a bitch?"
"Who ever knows, but I don't think so. He seemed sweet and sweet on his wife. No eyeballing-the-naked-ladies sort of thing."
"Does Tabby have anyplace to go? The NPS isn't going to toss her out on her ear anytime soon, but she can't stay here forever.
Whoever replaces Todd is going to need a place to live."
"Tabby's from money," Lynette told her." Old lumber money out of Seattle. Her folks will take care of her and the baby."
"Now would be a good time to start," Anna said sourly, and wriggled her PB&j into a sandwich bag stolen from the Belfores' cupboard.
"They're somewhere in the Far East on a Stanford University tour to see primitive peoples." Lynette spoke as if she were reading the words from a snooty brochure." Incommunicado for another week or so. Then they'll come."
Relief hit Anna harder than she would have expected. Being even peripherally responsible for the weeping, gestating girl was tiring." At least she'll be financially secure." The meager lunch complete, she turned her back to the counter so she could watch Lynette." Both widows are," she said. Nothing but polite confusion crossed Lynette's smooth face." Slattery's wife will be taken care of by his life insurance."
" Slattery wasn't married," Lynette said. It didn't sound as if she believed it, at least not a hundred percent.
"A wife and a little boy in Washington State." Anna knew she was being cruel. She needed the truth and didn't know any other way to get at it. Fleetingly, she wondered if biologists testing pain response in animals forgave their actions with the same rationale.
"A little boy?" Lynette echoed, her voice small and stunned.
She might have suspected Slattery was married but Anna was willing to bet the farm on the fact that he had a child was new information. Lynette turned and left the kitchen without a word.
Anna had delivered the blow, made the world a slightly more miserable place, and gotten virtually nothing for it but the sense that maybe, just maybe, Lynette was lying about not knowing Hammond had a wife. Not much to pin a murder indictment on.
Heat and the dusty jolt of the truck brought on a wave of fatigue.
Had there been a time she could stay awake all night, eat cold pizza for breakfast, and bound out to take on a new day? She remembered there had. Of course she did; one of the wonderful things about youth was attaining a respectable distance from it. In retrospect, all things became possible: endurance greater, grades improved, tomance polished to a fine shine.
Slowing the truck to a crawl, she began a mental list of things to do. It was not yet eight a.m. The office would be empty. There'd be a phone she could use and the necessary privacy to make the most of it. Frieda would have had time to cull, charm, and weasel information from all available sources. Between the computer, the phone, and her wide- ranging, if eclectic, contacts, there was little she couldn't ferret out of a federal agency. With luck she would have gotten the dirt on Hammond's suit against Utterback and his connection with the Belfores.
This murder was not unlike the Deep South itself, intricate, slow- moving, relationships unclear, each aspect draped or veiled by something else. Facts married to their first cousins producing information that was slightly out of whack.
A silver pickup appeared in the lane ahead and politely pulled to the side so Anna would have room to pass. Peeking from behind palmetto fronds, the little truck looked almost coy and Anna smiled as she slowed to squeeze by. Dot was driving, wild gray curls halfcaptured beneath a red ball cap, hands in the ten and two position.
Anna glimpsed Mona nearly hidden behind a stack of antiquated turtle files. The fawn was on her lap, his head out the open window like a dog's.
As the pumper truck edged by, both women waved and both grimaced identical grimaces as they pointed to the pile of paperwork between them. On Mesa Verde there were two trees that had joined together late in life. Pushed over by a storm, they became one rather than die. Anna wondered how many years it took human beings to grow together like that.
When she reached the fire dorm she found Dijon balancing on a four- by-four that had been laid on the ground to delineate parking lot from "lawn." A subtle distinction the sand did not recognize.
"Where the hell have you been?" he asked as the truck rolled to a stop. Before she could answer, had she indeed intended to, he tossed his yellow pack into the truck bed and was jerking open the damaged door." You're late," he accused, and looked at his watch.
"Taxpayers' dollars at work and all that. At my salary you've j!lst upped the gross national debt by a buck and a quarter."
The other truck was gone, as was the ATV. Dijon had been left all alone. Entertaining himself was not his strong suit. 'ro make amends, Anna told him of the vandalism of the truck. She omitted her nudity, preferring to seem a coward than a prude.
Dijon indulged in a favorite law enforcement pastime: Monday morning quarterbacking. A minute or so after he'd finished telling Anna what he would have done-and with the guaranteed success rate of hindsight-he settled into a brief silence, fidgeted, then moved on." So, what have we got on the agenda for today, Mata?"
Anna raised an eyebrow.
"Like in Hari. Mrs. Sherlock."
Anna nodded to keep him from further analogy." Mata" was better for the self-image than "Marple" and he was headed in that direction." Ranger station," she said." I'm going to call Frieda. See if she's turned up anything more. Maybe you could call what's her name, that girl-"
" Woman."
"Woman-of tender years-who works the Visitors' Center on St. Marys."
"The pudgy blonde or the lanky one with the nice set of Anna counted to three waiting for the inevitable punch line.
...teeth?"
"Whoever." Though she'd probably seen and talked to each of them at least once in passing, Anna had noticed neither of the young women." Which one was on duty on Thursday morning?"
"Blond pudgy," Dijon answered without hesitation. Hormones had temporarily given him an almost superhuman memory for gender details.
"Okay. Her. Call and find out what the deal is with Hull. She's got the idea he was on the phone with the regional office. Not true.
Maybe she'll tell us something we can use."
"Right. And why am I supposed to be calling His. (;eorgia Peach?"
"I don't know. Boy meets girl. Boy calls girl. Be creative."
A silence stumbled between them that was so unlike Dijon that Anna looked over at him." What?" she demanded.
"She's white. Don't look so offended. White's not innately disgusting. But this is Georgia. PC ain't happening. What if Daddy's a good ol' I) oy with a shotgun and a sheet?"
Anna hadn't thought of that." Pretend you're Rick," she said after a moment.
He'd do it." Good," Anna said, and having rolled one fender into the single scrap of shade the lot afforded, she turned off the ignition.
Frieda had been busy. In her mind's eye, Anna saw a map of the United States lit up by telephone calls as was sometimes depicted in old movies. The lawsuit against Alice Utterback was more than just a nuisance suit. Slattery had a strong case. According to Frieda, in Alice's zealousness to bring women pilots on board, she'd pulled strings in personnel. When the job descriptions were published, they were explicit almost down to bra size, making it virtually impossible for any but the four targeted women to obtain the positions.
Utterback was working with the knowledge of her superiors.
The United States Forest Service had come under contempt of court a few years earlier for failing to hire women in sufficient numbers. Alice had been instructed to see it didn't happen a second time. But though the Forest Service would presumably cover any financial losses incurred had Hammond pressed his suit, Utterback would have paid for it with her career. Every public relations disaster required a sacrificial lamb. Sometimes the lambs were innocent and sometimes not, but the chosen took the hit for the rest of the flock.
Alice Utterback didn't strike Anna as the type to go like the proverbial to the slaughter. Neither did she seem the sort to commit murder to avoid it. There was that about the woman that led one to believe she would fight her battles in the open and by Queensberry rules.
The dispatcher had less luck in her inquiry into the Belfores' connection with Slattery Hammond. North Cascades was a big park and wild; the districts didn't overlap socially as much as in smaller parks. Hammond had flown out of Redmond and lived in Hope, Canada. Todd was district ranger in the Cascades. The Belfores kept an apartment in Hope, where Tabby spent most of her time.
Evidently Tabby was frightened by the wildness and isolation of the Cascades. Todd came to town on his weekends. There was not even a whisper of anything between Mrs. Belfore and the pilot. In a town the size of Hope, unless Tabby was infinitely more resourceful than Anna gave her credit for, there would have been gossip had the two been seen together.
Frieda had tracked down the particulars on Hammond's marriage. They were separated and had been since the birth of their son two years before. Mrs. Hammond had filed for divorce on several occasions but never went through with it. According to what Frieda had been able to gather, she wasn't terribly broken up over her husband's demise. Disposing of the inconvenient remains and getting her hands on the insurance money were the goals an ungenerous coworker attributed to her. There wasn't as much judgment in that as the bare words implied, Frieda told Anna. The Hammond marriage had not been crafted inside the pearly gates. For the past twenty-three months, the Mrs. had a restraining order against Slattery and was fighting a dogged court battle to keep him from unsupervised visitations with his son. Near as Frieda could tell, the restraining order wasn't a onetime, divorce-spawned action. Hammond had two previous orders filed against him in the past three years. With the exception of the last, all had been withdrawn.
" That might explain the police visits to his apartment," Anna said.
"That would be my guess," Frieda replied.
Anna thanked her for her work, and after a minute or two of pleasantries, she rang off.
"Anything?" she asked as Dijon let himself into the chief ranger , s office and sprawled in the straight-backed visitor's chair by the door.
God, I'm good," he said cheerfuj)y." Rick's got a date for the day after we get off this desert isle, and if he follows my lead, he might even get lucky."
"He's married," Anna said flatly.
Dijon made an exaggerated face depicting horror." Well, gee, that changes everything."
So much for family values. It was a moot point anyway. As soon as their tour of duty was over, they'd all be flown out of Georgia on the first available plane.
"What I got," Dijon said, and ticked the points off on fingers so free of calluses that Anna guessed to date he'd done little but read and write about fieldwork, "our Norman was on the mainland at the time the plane went down. His. Pudge saw him come off the dock in St. Marys around nine-thirty that morning. After the news of the crash reached him he came back by helicopter. It was the chief his own self who told her he'd been on the phone with whosis in the regional office at the magical moment he was supposed to be rendezvousing with Hammond. His. P. said Hull told her he'd taken the call over here. It didn't seem to bother her that he'd have to break half a dozen laws of physics to pull that off. I didn't push her, her being blond and all. Didn't want to tax her brain."
Anna nodded." Hull told Renee he'd taken the call in St. Marys." Briefly she pondered in silence." Lies are good," she said at last." Gives us something to go on."
"So we work it out backwards," Dijon said, as they motored sedately Gp the lane toward the north end of the island, burning petrol and being available." The Beechcraft is tied down in an open field in the dead center of the island for two and a half days and two nights.
Sometime during that-what?-sixty-two hours, person or persons unknown sabotage it. That pretty much counts everybody in. No one that's not in jail can account for that long a stretch of time.
Anybody off the island?"
"Not that I know of," Anna replied." Easy enough to check."
" Screw alibis?"
" Pretty much."
"Witnesses?"
"Maybe," Anna granted." Dot and Mona live right off the end of the airstrip. They may have seen something. If they did, I can't imagine they wouldn't have come forward. There's no such thing as a secret on this island. I doubt there's a soul who doesn't know the plane was wrecked on purpose. All we've managed to keep under wraps is how that sabotage was accomplished."
"Maybe the old ladies don't know it could've happened over a three-day period. Maybe they only thought about who was hanging around an hour or two before the plane took off," Dijon said.
"Worth a stop, " Anna conceded.
Dijon whooped." Hot on the trail," he said, and: "Can I interview the old broads? I thought of 'em."
Inwardly, Anna groaned. At least she thought it was inward until Dijon said: "Stop making noises like a buffalo in heat. I won't fu- foul up. Jesus. Give me a break."
Anna said nothing. She was cursing the buddy system a paucity of vehicles had saddled them with.
"Come on," Dijon wheedled with transparent charm." Old ladies respond well to godlike young men. Take you for example."
Anna laughed." I'll watch and learn."
The meadow near Stafford House and Dot and Mona's cottage was set on a neck of the island not much more than a mile wide. The field was good-sized; enough space to house a dirt airstrip with room on either end to climb clear of the wiquitous live oaks and paies.
Ribbons of shelf-and-sand cut the meadow from the surrounding woods. Stafford was at the eastern edge of the airstrip. An eerie spot called appropriately the Chimneys bordered it to the north where a settlement of slave cabins had been burned to the ground after the Civil War, leaving a grove of brick-and-mortar monuments: chimneys designed to harness fire and left as a testament to its final victory. To the east, pines cut off the view of the Atlantic. Left over from the days they were grown for harvest, the trees marched away in orderly rows.
Dijon and Anna emerged on the southern edge of the rough rectangle to find the place bustling-or as close to a bustle as the heat would allow. The blue truck Alice Utterback had been given was parked beside the airstrip. Three figures clad in the pale green of the United States Forest Service were crceping along, heads down, eight or ten feet apart. Along the shaded tabby wall at Stafford, a peanut gallery had formed. Guy was there, spread over his ATV like a blanket. Lynette Wagner sat on the wall, her legs dangling down near the crew boss's shoulders. She was laughing at something Guy said. In the unguarded moment, his face glowed with pride and pleasure. His defenses down, joy stripped his wo
rn face of years. Anna was surprised she hadn't noticed before. He was sweet on Lynette. But then everybody was sweet on Lynette; Marshall had gotten lost in the crowd. A scrawny band of gold on the left hand was not proof against the girl's charms. Anna made no judgment calls. Given life in the nineties, it was a wonder anyone's marriage survived. For a brief moment, one that passed so quickly she didn't even need to hold herself accountable for it, Anna was glad s],-'d been widowed. The untimely death of her beloved Zachany had left her heart broken but her dreams intact. For Anna Pigeon and Juliet Capulet True Love would always exist.
Nevada Barr - Anna Pigeon 05 - Endangered Species Page 18
