Virtue Falls

by Christina Dodd

  The earthquake measured six-point-seven on the Richter scale.

  The shaking hit the Washington coast hard and fast, lasted eighty-five seconds, knocked everyone in Virtue Falls off their feet, and broke everything that wasn’t already broken.

  At the resort, the earthquake trapped Margaret on her bed under her canopy. The earthquake knocked Harold down the stairs. Margaret had to fight her way out from under velvet bed curtains. Harold’s prosthetic leg was broken.

  At the Honor Mountain Memory Care Facility, the earthquake panicked the patients. Charles Banner froze in a prolonged seizure, which the overwhelmed medical staff failed to realize until afterward.

  A tsunami rose in a swell on the ocean, but the primary energy headed west, across the ocean toward Hawaii and Japan. Only a few minor tsunamis washed into the Washington coast.

  Although the country waited anxiously for new video, Elizabeth Banner failed to film these waves, and the people had to be satisfied with her written eyewitness account.

  And all the progress that had been made in restoring utilities, roads, and services was destroyed. Cell service vanished, and Virtue Falls was cut off once more.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Mona Coleman from the sheriff’s office stopped by the back table in the Oceanview Café, and she said, “You’re the earthquake expert, Elizabeth. So tell me—how come this earthquake ranked so much lower on the Richter scale than the last one, but I got hurt?” Her nasty smirk was ruined by her split lip.

  In the last three days, Garik had heard the explanation for like a hundred times.

  But Elizabeth patiently explained, “There are different kinds of fault lines, creating different kinds of earthquakes. In the first earthquake, the motion was essentially up and down, like when you shake out a sheet. The second earthquake was a sideways motion, like a bellydancer shimmying.”

  “That’s just repulsive,” Mona snapped, and headed toward the counter where she slapped her hand on the Formica. “I’d like a cappuccino here!”

  “I don’t know whether she means earthquakes are repulsive, or bellydancers,” Garik said.

  “It doesn’t make sense to say earthquakes are repulsive,” Elizabeth said. “They’re a force of nature.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to call bellydancers repulsive, either.” He watched Mona harangue Dax, the cook, about the lousy service. “Mona’s holding her side like it hurts. She qualifies as your attacker.”

  “She’s certainly mean enough. If only she had the body mass we’d have this crime solved.”

  Garik laughed.

  Elizabeth looked serious.

  He sighed.

  After three days of sitting in the Oceanview Café, he knew the restaurant’s cycles. Right now, after lunch, folks dropped in for drinks and sometimes a cheese sandwich to go. Later there would be a minor rush for dinner—more cheese sandwiches—then in the evening, more folks came in with a flask in their pocket, and shared a drink or two. As long as they were discreet, nobody cared. Who was going to tell the state liquor commission? Maybe the bar down the street, but since the latest earthquake, no one had a working phone, so it wasn’t a worry.

  During these three days, Garik had made several interesting discoveries.

  Rainbow was behaving oddly, skipping shifts and showing up to waitress only when she felt like it. She claimed that during the most recent earthquake, she had hurt her back. But except for a puffy lip that looked as if she—or someone—had bitten it, she seemed fine.

  Bradley and Vivian Hoff had been in. When the earthquake hit, Vivian had been driving, the road had shifted sideways in front of them, and they had gone into a ditch. They both limped dramatically and made clear their incredible generosity in remaining in Virtue Falls when they could have flown to a safer location.

  Some gullible townspeople thanked them.

  Three days, and all the useful information Garik could uncover was that Virtue Falls was isolated again, and half the town was running out of toilet paper.

  Three days, and no other woman had been attacked, his stitches were itching, and Elizabeth had cautiously begun to use her arm. Three days, and he really needed to figure out who Misty’s killer was before someone else got hurt.

  Elizabeth threw her fist into the air so suddenly she startled him. “I wish we had a way to connect to the Internet!”

  “Me, too.” Because he hadn’t heard a word from Tom about those scissors.

  “I want to cite the tiniest fact, and I can’t. I can’t see it because there’s no Internet!”

  Leaning over, he looked at her computer screen. “What are you writing?”

  “Before we lost contact with the outside world, the Geological Society of America asked me to write up my report for their magazine. I’m adding information on the second earthquake, since I’m sure they’re going to figure any quakes that occur this year as one cosmic event.”

  “It’s very prestigious to be asked, right?”

  “It is, yes.”

  “They didn’t ask Andrew Marrero, right?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.” She smiled smugly. Then her smile faded. “But I don’t know for sure. No one has seen him in days.”

  “Yeah…” Garik leaned back in his chair. “Then he’s hurt and he’s hiding, so he’s our guilty party.”

  “Unless he’s been murdered.”

  “By who?”

  “Ben, Luke, and Joe? They are really annoyed with him.”

  “Seems unlikely.” Garik lowered his voice. “He’s not home. I went to check on him. When he didn’t answer the door, I picked the lock and went in. The place was empty. It doesn’t do me any good to think Marrero is our killer if I can’t find him.”

  “I hope he’s okay.”

  “Because you feel guilty because you usurped all the attention about the earthquake and tsunami?”

  She considered that, then nodded. “Yes. You’re right. That is why.”

  Invariably honest. That was his Elizabeth. “We’ve still got Sheriff Foster. Mona claims he keeps going down to the morgue where his mother’s body still rests, and he talks to Mother Dearest.” He watched Mona march out of the door with her cappuccino and across the street. “If this is a crime of madness, he’s way ahead in the polls.”

  “I know.” Elizabeth shivered. “That guy scares me. It’s like he’s on a timer, and he’s going to explode.”

  “And he’s got a gun.”

  “So do you,” she said with satisfaction.

  “I gave it back to Margaret.”

  Elizabeth sputtered. B … but why?”

  “Because it’s Margaret’s pistol. She handles it well.” He hated to alarm Elizabeth, but he had to tell her the truth. “I’m afraid she might need to protect herself.”

  “What do you think? That the townspeople will storm the resort for the store of toilet paper?” She was joking … and she was frowning.

  “It’s a possibility. This last earthquake has made everyone a little nuts.” Certainly every time Mona came in, Dax got more wild-eyed. “But no, it’s Foster I’m worried about. I would put money on him being the arsonist behind the fire at the Suns’ house.”

  Elizabeth shut her computer with a definite click. “You think Sheriff Foster will try to burn the resort? And Margaret would shoot him?”

  “Harold knows his way around a gun, but he’s only got one leg. The other staff … I dunno what they’re good for when it comes to self-defense. But I do know if Foster tried to do anything to her resort, Margaret would gladly kill him.” Garik glanced at his watch. “Come on. We need to leave now if we’re going to get to our doctors’ appointments.”

  Elizabeth slid her computer into her bag. “Then I guess I’m glad you gave Margaret her pistol back. But what if my mother’s killer gets a gun? What if he shoots you?”

  “Always a possibility, but he seems to have a thing for scissors, and guys like that tend to run to type.” He slung her bag over his shoulder. “Which is why I also like to
keep an eye on the Hoffs.”

  “As killers? Both of them?” She headed for the door.

  Garik followed close behind, and when they stepped out on the street, he scanned the few sullen citizens loitering on the corners. “When that woman threatened you, told you not to step between Bradley and the press, I realized—she’s ruthless and controlling. If Bradley Hoff had been your mother’s lover, and Vivian told him to kill Misty, he would have done what he was told.”

  “So you think she’s the power behind the throne?” Elizabeth remembered, and shivered. “Maybe so, but whoever attacked Yvonne and me—he was into it. I mean, unless it was Rainbow. Then she was into it.”

  “I don’t think it’s Rainbow. But then, I may have landed a punch on that guy’s face, and she’s got that fat lip.” He opened the truck door for Elizabeth and watched her climb in, admiring her fine ass and glad the two of them were healing, because it had been a very, very long time since his confession on the deck, and her exceptional efforts to comfort him.

  She looked down at him. “In regards to my mother’s murder, we’re still where we were when we started.”

  “No, you believe in your father’s innocence. And we’ve eliminated one prime suspect, Dr. Frownfelter.” Garik stepped up on the running board and kissed her, a slow, warm, reassuring kiss. “Tensions are running high in this town. My gut is rumbling. Trouble’s going to break soon.”

  She kissed him back, but that didn’t stop her from saying in exasperation, “You’re talking about instinct. That doesn’t make sense. There’s no logic in believing your gut has a valuable opinion.”

  “Maybe not.” But he knew he was right.

  He would give a lot to be able to reach Tom Perez. They latest earthquake had destroyed even Elizabeth’s cell service, and Garik wanted, needed to know—had Tom received the scissors? And what fingerprints did the lab lift off the handles?

  When he knew that, this crime would take a whole new turn. And yes, his gut told him that, too.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  That night after dinner, Elizabeth rose from her chair. “If you don’t mind, I’m going up. I haven’t been sleeping well. The doctor says my shoulder is much better, but between the pain and the nightmares, I’m a zombie.”

  “I don’t care if you’re a zombie, we’re not serving brains tomorrow night,” Margaret said.

  Surprised, Elizabeth laughed.

  Margaret offered her cheek. “Good night, dear.”

  Elizabeth kissed her and wandered up to the suite, knowing Garik would not be far behind. She showered and put on shorts and a T-shirt.

  When he joined her, she was out on the deck, in the wicker rocking chair, one leg tucked under, smiling as she watched the sun set. He sat next to her, a handsome, brave man whom she loved and admired. For right now, that was enough.

  A few long, thin clouds clung to the horizon, blushing pink, then orange. The waves danced with the colors, plaiting patterns that rose and vanished in a second, yet wove themselves forever on the heart.

  The earthquakes, the sorrows, the relationships that changed and moved in and slipped away, the awareness that life was transient and easily ended … All that made Elizabeth appreciate the moments of beauty as she never had before.

  As the sun flashed its last beam across the continent, she reached out a hand.

  Garik grasped it, entwined his fingers with hers, and together they watched the first bold stars poke their heads through a rapidly darkening sky.

  She took in a deep breath, and said it. “I’m going to work tomorrow.”

  He claimed concern for her health. “You shouldn’t strain your shoulder yet.”

  “I won’t do anything to strain my shoulder. The heaviest thing I’ll lift is a brush and a pencil.” That was an easy promise to make. The shoulder was better, but not healed.

  “It’s rough terrain. You might fall.”

  “If I do, I promise not to catch myself with my bad arm.”

  He took a long breath, and blurted, “Why? Why do you want to go to work? I’ve never understood your fascination with digging in the dirt.”

  She felt as if she’d said it a hundred times during their marriage, but she said it again. “It’s not digging in the dirt. It’s discovery. It’s finding the roots of the world. It’s … geology.” She braced herself for argument.

  Instead he said, “Can you explain it to me?”

  He had never asked that before.

  She looked at him, trying to see his face.

  But they sat on the edge of the continent. Light had fled to Hawaii, and the orient, and he was only a stark outline and a deep voice. She pointed to the sky. “When we look at the stars, we’re looking at the history of the universe. When I hold a rock in my hand, I’m holding a window to the past. The sweep and grandeur of a rock holds the same promise of eternity as a star.”

  “Oh. That’s cool.”

  “I think so.” She squeezed his fingers. “When I break a rock open with my pick, I’m a prophet. I see the past. I see the future. I know where the world is going, and where it’s been. And I always, always want to know more.”

  “I, um, don’t have that kind of job.” He sounded vaguely perplexed.

  “No. You don’t worry about the past that stretches back to infinity or the future that could end tomorrow.” She was very aware of the schism that divided their jobs. She’d always been aware. “You have a real job, involving real people. You save lives. You make a difference, right here and right now. Everything you do has an influence on the world today.” But for the first time, she got to say with satisfaction, “But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “My father said, ‘Virtue Falls is a place on the coast where the tsunamis sweep in high and fast, sometimes without warning.’ Some people believed him, and when I said it again, they believed me. They didn’t believe the Native American legend because they thought that was superstition. But they believed us because we’re scientists.” Proudly she said, “So I save lives, too. That’s nice.”

  Garik was silent so long she first wondered if he was trying to contain his laughter, then whether she’d put him to sleep.

  For the first time, she noticed that the breeze off the ocean was cool. She slid her hand out of his, and crossed her arms over her chest, trying belatedly to gather the pieces of her soul that she had so lovingly laid out for him to inspect.

  After a thoughtful interlude that seemed to stretch as far as the horizon itself, he got out of his swing, and knelt at her feet, and found her fingers and kissed them. “You are an amazing woman.” Standing, he pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He held her, and rocked her. “You see eternity, and you save lives. That’s so far above the dirt-dog common shit of life I dig around in.”

  His praise, his affection, was so unexpected, she didn’t know what to do, what to say.

  The scent of him was warm and rich, a familiar comfort and a new memory. His body heated her, banishing the chill of the ocean breeze, of her long isolation. “You never liked what I did,” she said.

  “But I always liked you.” He took her jaw in one hand, tilted her head back, and kissed her neck, her shoulder, and for one moment, rested his head against her in a gesture of love and homage.

  Lifting her arms, she wrapped them around his shoulders, opening her body to him. “I like you, too,” she said. “I love you.”

  He straightened and pulled her closer, bringing their bodies together in a heated promise of later delights. Sliding his hands under her T-shirt, he found her breasts. He weighed them in his hands. Softly he pinched her nipples, using a slow rhythm that made her breath grow deeper, more vital.

  Sex. He wanted sex. Thank God. Because so did she.

  “Let me talk love words that you will understand.” He dipped his head. He spoke intimately in her ear. “You remind of a volcano—Vesuvius comes to mind—a snow-capped peak which explodes with no warning, with fire and smoke and heat that encompasses everything around.�
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  “Oh…” she said huskily. She liked his almost-lyrical turn of phrase … and the way one of his hands moved from her breast to the inside of her thigh. His fingers skimmed across her skin under the hem of her shorts. His thumb lifted her panties, slid beneath.

  She held her breath.

  He said, “I’m lucky enough to be the man who dies a little every time you … blow.”

  She gave an explosive snort of laughter. “I love it when you talk dirty.” She wrapped her leg around his thigh to ease his access, to bring them closer.

  He found her clitoris and stroked softly. “I love your hot lava.”

  “I love…” She caught her breath, then gathered her wits and said, “I love your pyroclastic flows.”

  His finger stilled. “If I knew what that meant, I would answer with equal wit.”

  Without even thinking, she said, “A pyroclastic flow is when a volcano suddenly lets off a blast of hot mud and gasses which race down the side of the mountain, incinerating everything in its path. The speed of a pyroclastic flow is determined by—”

  He put his mouth on hers, and shut her up in the most primitive way possible.

  And before the hour was over, she remembered what it was to be caught in a blistering heat that burned away the flesh and left only two spirits, fused into one.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  Sheriff Dennis Foster sat by the ham radio in the courthouse and listened to John Rudda cry.

  In between sobs, John said over and over, “I should have left the truck at the truck stop. I should have come home. But I won … I won a bundle at poker and I thought … I thought I would take Yvonne to Reno. You know, to gamble and watch some shows. Give her a break from all those crazy people she works with. She never complained, but God … God … God. Are you sure it’s her?”

  “I’m sorry, John. Yes. It’s a positive ID.” This morning at dawn, two of Sophie Ciccolella’s dogs had found Yvonne’s body up in a tree by Beggar’s Creek. She’d been washed up there by the second bunch of tsunami waves. Her throat had been slashed, her hair cut, and her eyes removed.