Virtue Falls

by Christina Dodd

  “So it would appear.”

  “And we have another person who doesn’t believe my father did it.” Abruptly she said, “It’s not Sheriff Foster.”

  “Why not? He showed up right away.”

  “Yes, and he helped you into the truck, interviewed me about the attack, and he was not injured.” She had a point.

  But Garik hated to give up on Foster. “He’s probably got narcotics in his car. He could have dosed himself to cover his injuries, then come for us. Was he weird during the interview?”

  “How could I tell?” Elizabeth asked in exasperation. “It’s Sheriff Foster!”

  “Yeah.” Garik observed her as she tried to get to her feet. “What’s wrong? Why are you cradling your arm like that?”

  “My shoulder hurts.”

  “He—the assailant—swung you around by the arm and now your shoulder hurts?” Garik pushed the call button. “If I’d been with it a little earlier, I would have known you were in trouble.”

  “I’m not in trouble.”

  “You’ve got torn ligaments. Bet you.”

  Elizabeth looked alarmed. “I had two aspirin.”

  “Aspirin is great stuff. But if you think it’s going to fix your shoulder, you’re crazy.”

  One of the nurses walked in.

  Garik recognized her, an old girlfriend. “Hi, Gloria, good to see you. This is my ex-wife, Elizabeth Banner, and she needs to go to get an x-ray.”

  * * *

  The next morning, three things happened.

  Sheriff Foster came back to interview Garik. In less than thirty minutes, Foster managed to sneer about Garik’s suspension from the FBI, and Garik managed to insult Foster about last night’s investigation. They both asked questions, and they both, reluctantly, answered them.

  Garik worked his charms on his ex-girlfriend Gloria so successfully he wrangled an early release out of the hospital for himself and Elizabeth before any nosy visitors showed up from town.

  And Noah Griffin’s story hit the Internet.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  As soon as Garik and Elizabeth walked into the resort, they greeted Margaret and the anxious staff, assured everyone that except for Garik’s stitches and Elizabeth’s torn ligaments, they were fine, and Elizabeth went upstairs to take a nap.

  Garik insisted he was fine, stretched out on the couch in the great room, and fell asleep. He woke up to the smell of chicken soup wafting from the kitchen, and made it to the table in time to enjoy a bowl served with crusty bread. Then he told Margaret he had work to do, and he headed up to their suite.

  Elizabeth had taken a painkiller and was still asleep.

  That suited him just fine.

  He took Elizabeth’s phone and set up his Wi-Fi.

  He logged on, and immediately a message popped up from Tom Perez that read, Your ex got attacked last night?

  “Son of a goddamn bitch!” His two typing fingers flew. How do you know that?

  The next message contained a link to USA Today.

  Garik clicked it and skimmed the article by Noah Griffin, announcing media darling Elizabeth Banner had been attacked as she worked, the second attack in a week for the earthquake-devastated town of Virtue Falls. The first attack had been on beloved nurse Yvonne Rudda, who described her attacker as, “Crazy … His eyes burned. I would recognize his eyes anywhere.”

  “Oh, my God.” Garik looked at the time. Too late to go out to Yvonne’s tonight.

  From Tom: Looks like you might be on to something with your suspicions about the Banner case.

  Looks like. Did you get the package I sent?

  With the scissors? Not yet.

  I am going to make that helicopter pilot sorry. Because if that worthless little shit had tossed an irreplaceable piece of evidence, Garik would kill him.

  The scissors? You sent them with a helicopter pilot?

  Put the package *with correct postage* into his hands and told him to mail it.

  Got his name and address? I can send an agent to get it from him, and scare the shit out of him at the same time.

  I’d like that. As Garik pulled out the pilot’s business card and typed it in, he could almost see Tom rubbing his hands in anticipation. He sent the info.

  From Tom: I’ll get the package. How come you didn’t kill the guy who attacked your ex?

  I’m not allowed to carry a firearm, remember?

  I remember. I also remember you’re supposed to be good at self-defense. So you always told me.

  So’s he. Garik kept quiet about their suspicions that the assailant might be a she.

  So you got your butt whupped, huh?

  And my ribs sliced.

  He had a knife?

  Doc says scissors.

  A long pause. What have you got yourself into?

  Makes you wonder. I kicked his ribs, got in a few body punches. It’s a small town. Not easy to get away from. I’ll be watching for the guy who’s hurt.

  You do that. I’ll let you know when I receive the scissors.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  The next morning, at the Honor Mountain Memory Care Facility, Charles took one look at Elizabeth with her arm strapped to her side, and his eyes filled with tears. He was convinced she had been attacked by the other prisoners, and his distress was so pervasive not even the tsunami video would deflect it.

  So Garik and Elizabeth cut their visit short in hopes that Charles would quickly forget them, and his unhappiness.

  In the truck, Elizabeth sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. “He’s slipping away faster every day.”

  “Yes.” An added pressure on Garik to solve this case. “I’m going to take you back to the resort.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check on Yvonne. Since that pipsqueak Noah Griffin got his piece on the news”—making matters so much worse—“I figure we don’t have a lot of time to figure this out before something else happens.”

  “Want me to go with you?” she offered.

  “You don’t look so hot.”

  “Neither do you.”

  True to Dr. Frownfelter’s prophesy, Garik’s cuts hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, so he didn’t argue. “Go back and catch a nap.” Because the attack had left her fragile and frightened.

  “But what if there’s trouble out there?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I don’t expect trouble, but just in case”—he lifted the top of the console—“I borrowed one of Margaret’s pistols. Don’t tell anybody. I’m prohibited from carrying it.”

  Comforted, Elizabeth smiled. “I won’t call Sheriff Foster, then.”

  * * *

  Garik twice got lost looking for Yvonne’s house, and finally found it at the end of a long gravel driveway off a tiny side road.

  That was good, because the killer would have the same problems. And bad because Garik would be a lot happier if she had some neighbors to check on her.

  Semi truck parts littered the side yard; a trailer, wheels with blown retreads, some connections he didn’t recognize.

  A dog rose, growling, from its place on the front porch. A big dog, some kind of Chow/German shepherd/Rottweiler mix, with a healthy mouthful of teeth and brown eyes that narrowed to menacing slits.

  Cautiously, Garik eased out of the driver’s seat, and left his door open in case he had to make a run for it.

  The well-kept single-level house had been built in the fifties and had a low-pitched roof, but the earthquake had done sobering damage: broken windows, a large tree down in the front yard with branches that had removed strips of aluminum siding.

  As he stepped around the front of the truck, Yvonne rose from weeding the nasturtiums and waved.

  The dog’s growling lowered to a rumble.

  Garik refrained from wiping his brow in relief; it was too early for that. “Yvonne! I didn’t see you there.”

  “I didn’t recognize the car, so I figured I’d stay still until I knew who it was.” She stuck her trowel into the dirt and
stripped off her gardening gloves. “Come on in. I’ve got coffee in the pot.” As she headed around the side of the house, the dog joined her.

  “Guard dog?” Garik asked.

  “Yes. This is Glock.” She stopped. “Offer your hand. Let him check you out.”

  Garik did as instructed, and considered himself lucky when that huge muzzle thoroughly sniffed his fingers, and left them all intact.

  “Okay. He knows you’re a friend now. He won’t, um…”

  “Rip my leg off?”

  “Right.” As she rounded the corner into the backyard and flung open the sliding glass door, the dog kept close at her side. “Make yourself at home,” she said. “Sorry about the mess. I cleaned up some before I got hurt, and Sheila cleaned up some when she brought me home, but what we really need is repair and construction.” She poured him coffee from the well-used Mr. Coffee coffeemaker. “Sugar? Cream?”

  He pulled out a stool from the breakfast bar and took a seat. “No, thanks. I like it hot and strong.”

  The dog snorted and lowered himself onto the mat by the door, where he could keep his cold brown eyes fixed on his mistress and the stranger who had intruded on them.

  Yvonne put a red Peterbilt mug in front of Garik, poured one for herself, and leaned against the counter.

  He inspected her. “You look good.”

  “Now that I’ve got that giant bandage off my head, you mean?” She touched tape and gauze that still covered the wound. “I’m glad to have the use of two eyes again. How are you?”

  “Good.” Garik took a sip of coffee, and barely stopped himself from grimacing. No wonder the dog snorted. Glock knew what he was talking about. She must have had this brewing for days; this stuff could sterilize living tissue. “I’ve got some stitches, a few bruises … but you should see the other guy.”

  She didn’t laugh, and her body language sucked rocks. She was folded in on herself, shoulders hunched, one arm crossed over her belly, the other holding her mug. “Did you catch him?”

  “No. He can fight, and he had a knife. Well, I thought he had a knife. Dr. Frownfelter disagreed with me. He said it was scissors.”

  She touched her bandage again. “That would explain the damage to my face. I’ll always be scarred from that attack.” She sipped the coffee. “Almost thirty years working with dementia, and I get hurt by some drug addict looking for a fix.”

  “If that’s the truth, why did he attack Elizabeth?” Garik sipped again, cautiously. Still strong. And caffeinated. He’d never sleep again.

  “I … I don’t know.”

  “I’m thinking it’s somebody local, somebody we know.”

  “Who? And why?”

  He didn’t want to bring up the Banner case. She would probably point out, and rightly, that that had happened twenty-three years ago, and the town had been peaceful since. If he said Charles’s return and Elizabeth’s residence here had triggered the incidents, she would say that Charles had been here for over a year and Elizabeth was closing in on her first anniversary, and nothing had happened before. If he said it took the two of them getting together to cause the problem, she would say that was far-fetched, and it was. Except that it was happening. With scissors.

  “I wish I knew who it was, and why it was happening. It would make my life a lot easier.” Garik looked around. “Where’s Sheila? I heard she was out here with you.”

  “Her husband’s fighting with her kids and she had to go home. When I start feeling sorry for myself, I think about the mess she has and decide I’ve got it pretty good. Living alone for long stretches of time has its advantages.” She toasted him with her mug.

  “I don’t like you being alone.”

  “No. Right now, I don’t like being alone, either.” She poured the dregs of her coffee into the sink and rinsed the cup.

  Garik took that as a sign that he could stop drinking the drain cleaner she called coffee. He pushed his mug away, and glanced at Glock.

  How did a dog manage to appear cynically amused?

  “I’m not moving to a shelter,” she said.

  “How about moving to the resort?”

  Glock lifted his head and looked at Yvonne.

  “Wow. That would be cool. I’ve never stayed there—can’t afford it.” Yvonne took Garik’s cup. “Want it heated up?”

  “No, thanks.” He didn’t dare glance at Glock. “I’m cutting back.”

  Yvonne washed the mug and slowly dried it. With a sigh, she said, “No. I just can’t. Bradley Hoff got us on the news, and the big fuss has got the state and the feds moving their lazy butts to fix the highway. I know my husband. John’s going to be the first in line to drive it, and I want to be home when he gets here.”

  “Have you been able to talk to him?”

  “On and off. The home line is nothing but static, but he’s reached me by cell three times.” She touched her bandage again. “This attack—he’s frantic. I need to be here.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone. Not if I’m right about the guy who attacked you.” Garik tacked on, “John would agree with me.”

  Her eyes were dark, but she smiled a little bit and opened the drawer beside her. She pulled out a pistol, a Glock. It shone; it was well-cared-for. “John’s a collector, and I know how to shoot. I know how to shoot really well. This is loaded. I’ve got pistols stashed all over the house, and they’re all loaded. I’ve got a rifle in the bedroom, and one in the garage.” She opened up her gardening vest and showed him her firearm.

  He recognized it right away: a Walther PPK. “Wow. Just like James Bond.” And he’d been so proud of carrying Margaret’s firearm. It hardly compared.

  “That’s right. I’ve got this little darling with me at all times. It’s tiny, but it’s powerful. Before I was attacked, I might have hesitated to shoot a man. But not now.”

  “I guess showing up like I did, I’m lucky you didn’t finish the job the assailant started.” Between the dog and the firepower, Garik figured he had narrowly escaped death.

  “You’re safe. Other than John and Sheila, you’re the only person I really trust right now.” She shut her vest. She put the Glock back in the drawer and shut it. “I figure you couldn’t have attacked yourself.”

  “Elizabeth’s one of the good guys, too.” He made a last appeal. “The resort’s nice. Until we run out of propane, we’ve got a generator, so we’ve got water and electricity.”

  She laughed out loud. “I’ve got a generator. I’ve got electricity and water. I’ve got a full pantry, and my vegetable garden is the envy of Virtue Falls. We’re out here in the country, so we’ve got to have those things.”

  “We’ve got a chef,” he offered. “You wouldn’t have to cook.”

  “It sounds good, it really does, and I thank you. But you don’t have John, so I’m staying put.”

  “As soon as we hear he’s on his way, I’ll bring you back here.” But Garik could see he wasn’t going to win. Yvonne was an adult; he couldn’t force her, and she had been hurt, both mentally and physically. She needed the security of her own home.

  Plus, he believed her when she said she would shoot an intruder, and he believed the dog would mop up whatever remained. “Okay,” Garik said, “promise you’ll call me if you need anything.”

  “If I can get through.”

  “Damn cell phones. I keep forgetting.”

  “We all keep forgetting.”

  “Then promise me you’ll be suspicious of everybody, I don’t care who it is. Don’t open your door to anybody. Be prepared to shoot or run away, or both, and let Glock tear the nuts off any guy who tries to come up the front walk.”

  She nodded. “I know. You don’t know how scared I was.” Her voice trembled. “I’m going to be careful, I promise.”

  “That’ll have to do, then.” Garik rose and started to go into the kitchen to hug her.

  Glock rose to his feet, growling deep in his chest.

  Garik froze in his tracks, and slowly backed away. “It was good to see y
ou, Yvonne. Take care. Take a lot of care.”

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, while Yvonne scrubbed new potatoes and snapped green beans, Glock rose to his feet, teeth bared, growling. “Who is it this time?” she asked him. Not Garik—Glock wouldn’t react with such hostility to someone he had already met.

  No, this was a stranger, so Yvonne rinsed her hands and dried them, and tucked her Walther pistol into her waistband at the back of her jeans. Quietly, she walked through the living room, and stood behind the curtains and looked out.

  “My God!” She couldn’t believe it. She shushed Glock’s growling, hurried to the front door, and opened it. “I never expected to see you out this far,” she said. “Come in!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Inside herself, Kateri floated through black water, empty of everything but monsters and glowing eyes. The dark pressed on her crumpled body, sat on her chest, made each breath an agony.

  Inevitably, she ascended. The water was blue now, midnight blue, clear of life, of noise, of sensation. She wanted to stay.

  But once again she ascended, past dark green seaweed waving its sticky tendrils, past mermaids and frogs and beasts she had only imagined.

  Up. Up.

  Pain was building.

  But inevitably, as she rose, she was waking.

  The water was pale, almost clear.

  She could hear noise—monitors beeping, people talking.

  She could something burning in her gut, something slashing at her hips. Her skin had been scrubbed off. She felt her muscles, nerves, bones were exposed. She knew she would never again recognize herself.

  She couldn’t face it. She could not face it. She tried to sink.

  Instead she bobbed to the surface.

  She opened her eyes.

  She saw morning sunlight streaming in the hospital window.

  She saw machines, faces covered by masks, eyes staring.

  She took her first spontaneous breath—and screamed. And writhed. And fought.

  * * *

  At nine seventeen A.M., at the edge of the continental shelf, the stresses from the earthquake and the aftershocks had increased beyond the earth’s bearing. A fault, different from the first, ruptured. One side rose and slid north toward Alaska, the other sank and slid south toward California.