7th Heaven

by Kate Calloway

  "This isn't bad, as long as you don't look down," Erica said, inching closer to the edge. "Jeez! I had no idea we were this far up!"

  "Cool, huh? Look over there!" Bart pointed west and the glistening blue of the Pacific Ocean winked back at us.

  "I don't quite see what good it's going to do us, finding Buck from up here," she said. "When we go back down, we'll never find the spot."

  "Actually, that's not true," Bart said. "When I found the bandana the other day, I figured out a system. Hold your hand up like this." He held up his hand, fingers splayed. "Now pick a tree, any tree and move your fingers until you've covered five trees. See? Now move to the next five. It's an easy way to judge distance. Once you look through the binoculars, you'll see what I mean. The logging road is real easy to see from up here. It winds right through the forest. Buck won't be far off the road. All we've got to do is find him, then use our fingers to mark off the number of trees from the road. And there are lots of landmarks once you start looking for them. Here, take a look."

  Bart passed Erica a pair of binoculars and I got out my own. Suddenly, I saw what he meant. The old road was clearly etched in the forest floor, an ugly brown scar running zigzags through the trees.

  "Now, let's all focus on a landmark. See the spot where they didn't log, where the trees are twice as tall? Let's use that to start with." He waited until we found the spot, then walked us through a few practice drills, showing us again how to use our hands to mark distances. Soon, Erica and I were as quick as Bart at locating landmarks, measuring off space in recognizable increments and communicating intelligently with each other regarding location and distance between various points. Once we were sure we had the hang of it, we divided up the forest and began systematically scanning it for signs of Buck.

  Bart hadn't mentioned the bandana again and I suspected he was hesitant to give away its location. Still, I found myself searching as much for a glimpse of red as I was for Buck, curious to know what it was he'd really seen. It couldn't have actually been the bandana. Maybe what he'd seen was a red-tailed hawk, or a fragment of a red balloon caught on a branch. But he seemed so positive, I hated to mention these possibilities.

  Five minutes into our search, Bart swore under his breath.

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's gone. Buck musta found it."

  "The bandana? Maybe you just can't see it from here."

  "No, I had it memorized. I'm positive. It's gone." He sighed, wiped his brow and resumed his search for Buck.

  "Could it have been something else?" I asked gently. "A red-tailed hawk, maybe?"

  "Cass, I know you think I'm crazy, but I know what I saw. It was a red bandana."

  Though the sun beat down on us, the breeze from the ocean cooled our sweat and the granite ledge was almost cold. It was hard work, holding the binoculars for so long, and soon my eyes were fatigued as well. I was thinking of resting them when suddenly Erica yelped, startling me so badly I almost dropped the binoculars.

  "Got him!"

  "Where?" Bart and I both asked. I refocused my binoculars and followed Erica's excited instructions, using our counting system.

  "He's still climbing. About twenty feet up. Look! I think he's stopping!"

  Just as I zeroed in on the distant figure scaling the towering fir tree, Bart swore.

  "Son of a bitch," he intoned.

  "What?"

  "It's not him."

  "I thought he looked different," Erica said. "Unless Buck grew a head of hair overnight."

  In the distance, it was difficult to see clear details but I could make out dark clothing and, as Erica pointed out, dark hair. Buck's gleaming pate would've stood out like a beacon.

  "He's coming back down," Erica said.

  "Can you see who it is?" I asked.

  "Not unless he turns around," Erica said.

  "Can't tell from here," Bart added. "Whoa. Now that's weird. Look at that!"

  "He's got the bandana!" Erica said.

  "Yeah, but he's not bringing it down from the tree," I said. "He's putting it in the tree."

  The three of us watched as the figure secured the red bandana to a branch, then scampered down the trunk, disappearing momentarily from our view.

  "I don't get it," Bart said. "Why would someone —"

  His thought went unfinished because I cut him off. "There's his car!" I'd scanned back to the base of the ridge where we'd parked, then followed the road past Buck's truck to a bend in the road. I could just barely glimpse the gleam of a metallic bumper and a flash of white beneath the firs.

  "He got here before Buck? Buck must know he's up here then," Bart said.

  "Not necessarily," I pointed out. "He could've come after Buck, driven past his truck as far as he could go, then walked the rest of the way in."

  "But who is he?" Erica asked. "And what in the world is he doing?"

  "Let's go find out!" I said. "If we hurry, we might get back down before he reaches his car."

  Words of optimism if ever there were any. Climbing down proved much more difficult than the climb up. The process was made even more treacherous by Erica's abject terror. Going up, she'd managed to avoid looking down, but there was no ignoring the vast space between us and the forest floor now that we were facing it.

  "You guys go on ahead. I'll get there eventually," she said bravely.

  I wondered how anyone could look that good with sweat running down her forehead and terror etched on her face.

  "Why don't you go down, Bart. I'll stay back with Erica."

  "Okay." He didn't sound too keen on the idea. "What should I do, though, when I see him?"

  "Stall him. Make chitchat. Pretend you're an innocent hiker. Whatever you do, don't confront him. But get a good look at his plates."

  "What if it's someone I know?"

  "Even better. Just act surprised to see him, but not too interested. Like two hikers running into each other on the trail. No big deal."

  We watched Bart scurry down the path, then I turned back to Erica.

  "It's probably easier if you don't look down."

  "Yeah, right. Down is where we're going. How do I not look down?"

  "Tell you what. I'm going to stay one step ahead of you. You just step where I do, and don't look at anything but my backside."

  Despite her anxiety, Erica laughed. "You know how long I've waited for that invitation?"

  "Cute, Erica. You know what I meant. Come on."

  Step by step, we inched down the trail, Erica grabbing my shoulders to steady herself from time to time. We were almost to level ground when she suddenly stopped.

  "Hey," she said. I turned to face her.

  "Hey what?"

  "Thank you." She leaned forward and brushed her lips across mine, lightly, softly, not quite innocently.

  "You're welcome," I said, feeling butterflies take flight. I started to step back but Erica pulled me toward her and repeated the gesture. This time my lips parted and suddenly Erica was not just kissing me lightly. I could taste the tang of salt, feel the heat and desire that pulsed through me as she pulled me in. My eyes closed and I swayed, weak with desire, feeling the tortuously sweet softness of her lips, longing to touch her, to pull her down onto the forest floor and make love to her.

  I backed away, embarrassed by the shallowness of my breathing, the flush of my skin.

  "Oh, Cass," she said. "If you had any idea..."

  "Shh," I said, putting a finger to her lips. Because I did have a pretty good idea and it scared the hell out of me. I had vowed never to fall for anyone like Erica again. Especially not Erica herself. I had sworn it! And now, just one kiss and I was ready to melt like some damned teenager. "Come on. Bart can't hold the guy forever." I turned away and marched down the path, aware that Erica was having trouble keeping up with the faster pace, but not daring to slow again, afraid I'd lose all resolve and do something stupid like ask her to move in.

  When we got to the car, Bart was sitting on the hood, a lopsided grin on his f
ace. The binoculars dangled from his wrist and it occurred to me that he'd probably been watching us on the trail.

  "Well?" I asked, embarrassed.

  "Dude was gone before I got down. He must've been running. I would've followed after him, but you have the keys."

  "So now what?" Erica asked.

  "You still wanna wait for Buckie?"

  "I'm afraid your brother's not the one who's been pulling pranks," I said. "Someone out there is playing some weird game and Buck is just caught up in it. Until we know who he is, I don't think we're going to know what happened to Tommy."

  "So we find the dude in the white car?"

  "The dirty white car," I corrected. "With a Triple A sticker on the bumper."

  "You saw that?" Erica asked, impressed.

  "Well, I saw the edge of a blue circle. Triple A is all I can think of. Come on. He can't be that far ahead of us."

  We piled into the Jeep and I took the road as fast as I dared, making Erica's day complete, I was sure. But when I looked over, she didn't seem to be as petrified as she had been on the way up. Maybe the hike had tamed some of her acrophobia. Or maybe, I thought wryly, it was the kiss.

  "Don't think we're gonna catch him," Bart offered from the back. As it turned out, he was right.

  Once back in civilization, I cruised the streets of Cedar Hills, hoping to find a dirty white car with a round blue circle on the bumper parked somewhere along the way, but it wasn't our day. Finally admitting defeat, I offered to buy them both a drink at Lizzie's and headed for Main Street.

  Chapter Ten

  Lizzie's is really named Logger's Tavern, but no one calls it that. Lizzie Thompson, a tall, raw-boned woman with biceps the size of small hams, was a friend of mine, and she waved us in, making one of her regulars move over so there'd be room for the three of us at the bar.

  "The usual?" she asked Bart.

  He nodded, and Lizzie looked at me. "I've got one bottle of Cabernet in back and an open Chardonnay that's been in the fridge about two weeks."

  "I'd kill for a beer, Lizzie. Whatever's on tap."

  "How about you?" she asked, winking at Erica. Lizzie clearly remembered the nature of my relationship with Erica the last time we'd been in the tavern together. In fact, Lizzie seemed to keep tabs on my love life, and the grin she shot me told me she was glad to see Erica back in town.

  "Beer's fine for me too," Erica said. "How are you, Lizzie?"

  "Five hundred dollars poorer than I was this morning." She poured our beers and leaned her elbows on the bar, waiting for one of us to bite.

  "Why's that?" I obliged.

  " 'Cause that's what the damned deductible on my insurance policy is. Hell, I probably could've got the place fixed cheaper than that myself." She pointed her chin at the ceiling, indicating a blackened circle on the rafters.

  "You mean that fire last month? They're just getting around to fixing it now?" I asked. The beer was ice-cold and slid down my throat nicely.

  "What happened?" Erica asked.

  "She nearly got the place burned down, is what," Bart volunteered.

  Lizzie nodded. "Bird's nest in the chimney caught fire about a month ago. Least that's what the chimney sweep told me was the problem. Said I was lucky it hadn't happened sooner, as dirty as the thing was. He said it looked like it hadn't been cleaned since it was built, about fifty years ago. And guess what I found out today?" Lizzie waited expectantly.

  "What?" Erica finally prompted.

  "The last owner left a security camera up in the rafters. The insurance guy found it. Said it looked like a good camera, too. Not that I would know the difference. I wonder why the turkey never told me."

  "Maybe he was keeping an eye on his bartenders, making sure they weren't cheating him," Bart said.

  "Yeah. But the insurance adjustor told me the thing was pointed right at the bar. Right where you're sitting, as a matter of fact. I'd call old Ed up and ask him about it, but he's dead."

  "You sure the old owner's the one who put it there?" I asked.

  "Well, I sure didn't. I can barely aim a Kodak Instamatic. Wait'll you see this thing. Just a sec." She disappeared behind the bar and returned, holding a silver video camera in both hands. "Pretty fancy for old Ed," she said.

  "Lizzie, that's an understatement. This thing is state-of-the-art by today's standards," I said, examining the equipment. "You've owned this place for what? Ten years? I don't think old Ed's the one who hid this camera in the rafters."

  "But who else?" she asked, suddenly looking worried. "I mean, no one can even get in here without my knowing, let alone up in the rafters. Kelly, the one who tends bar on Friday's, is the only other one with a key."

  "Maybe Kelly's got a jealous boyfriend who likes to keep his eye on her while she works," I said.

  "That's sick," Bart noted.

  "Yeah, but it's feasible. I mean, she doesn't lock the key in a safe at night, right? So someone could get ahold of it."

  "She doesn't even have a boyfriend," Lizzie insisted, not wanting to believe that her sanctuary had been violated.

  "How about workers? Delivery men? Any chance someone could've got up there when you were in back, maybe in the morning before opening?"

  Lizzie was shaking her head, looking more disconsolate by the minute. "I get deliveries on Wednesdays, right in back. They don't even come through here. And look at this place. Does it look like I've had a lot of workers in here?"

  "How about the chimney sweep? After the fire?"

  Lizzie's eyes narrowed. She started to speak, then pursed her lips, thinking. She looked at me, then glanced around the bar before speaking. When she did, her voice was low. "It's possible. It doesn't make sense, but it's possible."

  A lot of stuff had been happening lately that didn't make sense. No reason Lizzie should be exempt, I thought. For some reason, the little hairs on my arms were standing up, a sensation that often preceded a sudden revelation. It was like knowing I knew something but not knowing what it was I knew. "Who swept the chimney?" I asked, trying to make myself concentrate on one thing at a time.

  "Guy Waddell. You know him? Works odd jobs and such. Lives out at Professor Cathwaite's on the lake. He fixed my electric stove at home a while back. Comes in here once a month to load the Cathwaites' liquor order."

  I raised an eyebrow and she explained.

  "They throw lots of parties, I guess. I know the professor holds a weekly gaming club out there, too. Anyway, it's easier for them to load right onto their boat from the dock here than to buy it at the liquor store. They're not the only ones who buy from me. The price is the same and for those without road access, I'm more convenient. Anyway, that's how I first met Guy. He comes in for a beer now and then, too."

  Something was bothering me, but I was so focused on Guy Waddell that it took me a minute to realize what it was. Suddenly, it came together.

  "Ginny Cathwaite's the professor's wife?" I asked. Ginny Cathwaite had checked out the book about The Rainbow Ridge treasure right after Tommy had.

  "That's her. Bouncy little thing. Perky, I guess you'd call her. But sharp-tongued as all get out. She bosses that Guy around like he's her personal slave."

  "And when did Guy do the chimney?"

  "I had him do it on a Sunday right after the fire. He said the job was too messy to do during business hours. I let him in around ten and came back an hour later. He was still up there, sooty from head to foot."

  "What are you thinking, Cass?" Erica asked. I held up my hand, trying to concentrate.

  "And how long ago was this?"

  "A little over a month ago."

  Right before Tommy, the professor's wife and some old bearded man in expensive clothes checked out the books. Just after Tommy and the Bailey boys met an old bearded man in Lizzie's tavern who told a tall tale about the lost treasure. I felt like someone staring at a jumbled jigsaw puzzle, knowing the pieces somehow fit together, but unable to imagine the finished picture. I turned to Bart.

  "That night
you guys met the old man in here, where were you sitting?"

  "Right here, where we always do. The old guy was sitting where you are. And you know what? For what it's worth, I think Guy Waddell was in here that night, too. But he was over there playing pool, mostly. Why?"

  I described the old man to Lizzie and asked if she remembered him.

  "That was Kelly's night. But he doesn't sound the least bit familiar to me. Musta been new in town. What's the old man got to do with Guy Waddell and why would Guy put a camera in my ceiling rafters?"

  "I'm not sure, Lizzie. Mind if I borrow that camera?"

  "Hell, you can have it, Cass. The adjustor told me it's no good without the other part. Apparently this thing is remote-activated from somewhere else. By itself, it isn't even any good. Not that I understand how it works."

  But I did. Somewhere, someone was watching the happenings at Lizzie's bar on their own television. And if it wasn't Guy Waddell, then it was a good bet he knew who it was. The professor? His wife? The old man? I may not have known the answers, but at least now I knew some of the right questions to ask. The main one, of course, was why? Why on earth did anyone give a rat's ass what went on in Lizzie's bar? I had a feeling I wasn't going to like the answer when I found it.

  I drained my beer and asked Lizzie one more question, my fingers crossed for luck. "How do the Cathwaites pay when they order from you? Cash, credit card? How does that work?"

  "Well, Mrs. Cathwaite usually signs for the order while Guy loads the boat. I bill them by mail and she sends in a check once a month. Always on time, I might add."

  "You wouldn't happen to have one of those checks handy, would you?"

  "No, but I've got this month's order forms. Would that help?"

  I told her it might and she went to get it. Several minutes later she returned and handed me a slip of paper.

  "Ho, ho, ho!" I said.