‘‘No. Just—’’
‘‘Yeah. I am nuts. Nuts with wanting my son back.’’ His voice thickened. ‘‘Alex was so young. So talented. He should have had fifty more years.’’
‘‘I understand,’’ Nina said softly. ‘‘But I know Jim still matters.’’
‘‘Jim? There’s one problem with Jim.’’
‘‘What’s that, Mr. Strong?’’
‘‘He’s not Alex,’’ Strong said. Nina had an odd sensation as he said this, as if she was looking down into an abyss, the abyss Alex had left in his father’s heart, maybe. She didn’t like hearing these unguarded, painful things. She didn’t want to be affected by them. But she wondered about the three of them, the father and his sons, and Philip Strong seemed to want to talk.
‘‘No, he’s not Alex,’’ she said.
‘‘If only Alex hadn’t come back from Colorado. He’d still be alive. Alex probably dared Jim to ski the Cliff hill. He was still trying to catch up with Jim. When they were small boys, he’d toddle around after Jim, getting hurt because he wasn’t big enough to do the same things.’’
‘‘That’s how it is with younger brothers sometimes.’’
‘‘The little brother grew up,’’ Strong said. ‘‘He didn’t quite know it, but he was Jim’s equal in every way.’’
‘‘You seem to be angry at Jim right now,’’ Nina said. ‘‘I can’t understand why.’’
‘‘Angry? I’m angry at myself.’’
‘‘For what?’’
‘‘For my mistakes. Some of them are irrevocable.’’ His eyes, which had held a faraway look, came back to her. He frowned. ‘‘Forget it. I’m blabbering.’’
‘‘What about Jim?’’
‘‘I don’t have anything to spare for Jim right now. You clean up whatever the problem is.’’
She said matter-of-factly, ‘‘I’ll do that. Where is Heidi? That’s what you wanted to tell me, right?’’
Happy shouts filtered down the hill. Strong was standing stock-still, struggling with himself. He seemed to be so busy experiencing his angry grief that the outer world couldn’t get through to him very well. He had a living son in trouble, but he hardly seemed to notice.
‘‘Heidi is hiding in a hidey-hole,’’ he said eventually. ‘‘And she wants to talk to you. On one condition.’’
‘‘Let me guess. That I don’t tell Jim?’’
‘‘Right. You come alone. And don’t tell him that you’re meeting her.’’
‘‘Why? Why won’t she at least call Jim? He’s suffering. He’s sure if he could just reach her he could persuade her to come home. He loves her.’’ She felt as though she was arguing to a blank TV screen. Strong had absented himself again. ‘‘Can you ask her to reconsider?’’
‘‘I’ve said what I promised her I would say,’’ he said. ‘‘Talk to her yourself.’’
She thought about it.
‘‘All right, then. If that’s the only way.’’
A nod.
‘‘But why does she want to talk to me?’’ Nina said. ‘‘If she’s hiding from Jim, why talk to his lawyer?’’
He shrugged. ‘‘Maybe she wants to tell him something without having to face him? I don’t know. I’m just trying to do what she asked me to do.’’ He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. ‘‘She’ll be there between three and four.’’
Nina read it. Jake’s in Tahoe City, all the way around the lake practically to the North Shore, over an hour of hard driving away. Heidi wanted to meet at a public place, and she didn’t want to get too close.
‘‘You know Jake’s?’’ Strong asked.
‘‘Mmm-hmm. What does Heidi look like?’’
‘‘Oh, tall. Buff. Blond.’’
‘‘Like everybody around here. One more thing,’’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘‘I need the ski boots Jim was wearing on the day of Alex’s accident.’’
‘‘Why?’’
Good. He hadn’t heard about Clauson’s report. ‘‘He asked me to get them from you,’’ she said.
He thought for a moment, then said, ‘‘I suppose they’re still in the back of my Blazer, out in the parking lot. Alex had borrowed the Blazer the night before—the accident—for some errands. Jim drove it to the hospital, and I picked it up there. Jim dumped his boots in the back with some other things.’’
‘‘Has anyone been in your truck besides you since—’’
‘‘No, nobody. I haven’t looked, but I suppose they’re still there.’’
Lucked out again, Nina told herself, greatly relieved. She asked Strong to take her out to his truck. He sped down to the parking lot as if daring her to keep up. She wondered if he still skied, then thought, well, of course he did.
Then, on the wooded side of the lot, she saw a man who looked a lot like Jim moving rapidly between one tree and another. Alex? She blinked, refocused her eyes, saw only the usual patterns of shade and sunlight.
On the muddy carpet of the back seat, the red Tecnica boots were upright, stowed carefully along with some dirty clothes. Using a handkerchief, Nina gingerly guided the boots into her plastic bag.
They were heavy, enormous. She wondered how people could feel like they were flying while wearing such clumsy gear. Her idea of flying would be to take off her clothes and dive into a warm ocean.
‘‘Did you ever wear Jim’s boots, Mr. Strong?’’ she asked.
‘‘No.’’ He seemed to have no curiosity about her question, which must have sounded pretty odd. He stood off to the side of the car, hands in his pockets, watching a young couple unload skis from a rack on the back of a new red Volkswagen Bug.
He just didn’t give a fuck about Jim, that was obvious. She felt a stirring of contempt. He should make himself care. He should help. He was the father. He should be strong and do his duty no matter what he was going through personally.
‘‘Go home, Mr. Strong,’’ she said, straightening up, struggling with the bag and the briefcase. ‘‘Get some rest.’’
He shrugged. ‘‘I can’t leave Paradise.’’
The phrase struck her. All this joy around, and none for him. ‘‘You should rest. Get some sleep.’’
‘‘Oh, no. See now, that’s the mistake people make. They mistake sleep with rest. If you want rest, it’s best to stay busy. Move fast and you keep the demons off your heels.’’
Demons? she thought. He was grieving, yes, but there was something more complicated going on that she could not understand.
She wondered whether he loved Jim at all, when he wasn’t grieving about Alex.
‘‘Well.’’ Tilting his hand at his forehead, he gave her a kind of salute, turned, and walked away.
She drove west, back across the state line, along the string of motels, shops, and ski rental places which stretched for miles. At Highway 89, which bordered the west side of the lake, she turned north. Her watch said one o’clock. She would be very early. She could eat at Jake’s before Heidi got there.
Hot sun had melted the snow on the asphalt, so she didn’t have to worry about the road. On the lake, a couple of cruisers were moving north toward the marinas on the other side of the lake, twenty-two miles away. Even the forest seemed luminous today, as if the snow on the mountains reflected enough light to light up even Tahoe’s darkest places. Most of the time, she had the road to herself.
As she drove on, clouds passed over the sun, casting long shadows with irregular borders. Her mood also darkened.
The highway passed personal landmarks. First she came to the turnoff to Fallen Leaf Lake and the Angora Ridge trail. She remembered a terrifying night when she had driven up there sick with fear, searching for Bob. Then the twists and turns above Cascade Lake came into view, and on her right she saw the thousand-foot drop to Emerald Bay with its jewel-like island. An orange kayak anchored off the island reminded her of Paul and the Markov case.
After that case, Paul had accepted a temporary position on the East Coast. It couldn’t be good for his agency in Carmel for him to be gone for several months. His move had been a decision to put distance between them. He had been a friend, an occasional lover, and a very good private detective. She could have gone on forever with their on-again, off-again relationship, but he had gotten tired of waiting for more.
She had pushed him away, justifying her behavior to herself by saying that Paul was a wild card. He’d been a homicide detective before he started up his agency in Carmel. Brilliant and exciting he might be, but he went too far, regularly, with everything he did. Swinging around a curve she gave the steering wheel a slap. She had handled it badly and left hurt feelings.
The cell phone rang, and she answered quickly, thankful for the intrusion.
‘‘It’s me.’’
‘‘Hello, Sandy.’’
‘‘Mind telling me when you plan to show up at the office?’’
‘‘Oh, boy, I’m sorry, Sandy. I meant to call. I’ve got to go to Tahoe City this afternoon.’’ She held the phone away from her ear to muffle the recriminations she richly deserved. When the tide receded, she put it back to her ear, saying, ‘‘Those are strong sentiments, Sandy. But I’m sure you can reschedule. See you tomorrow.’’ She hung up, returning to her solitude.
Philip Strong had put her into a peculiar frame of mind. Alex’s death had come as a terrible shock to his father. How did people go on when someone they dearly loved died? How had she survived her mother’s death? There was no preparation for such endings.
She ought to be thinking about Jim, not Philip or her mother or Paul, but her mind, like Philip Strong’s, U-turned back to Alex.
Who could say? Maybe somewhere out there, as Philip seemed to imagine, Alex lingered. Many religions told of a limbo, a bardo, an interim state in which contact could still be made. Maybe Alex really did visit his father in dreams. Maybe he hung out in the Paradise parking lot, for that matter.
Her mother had died when she was twenty-five. There were vivid dreams, so real, but gradually, they faded away.
Poof, gone. She felt the old desolation.
She drove slowly in her narrow lane halfway up a cliff some two thousand feet high, which topped out in white mountain and fell below to the lake. Where was the traffic? She was quite alone on the road. This part of the highway regularly fell into the lake in winter and it took most of the spring to prop it up again. The grid of metal supporting it didn’t look particularly secure, and she thought for a moment, what if the sun decides to melt that cornice up there? Nina Reilly,
finito
in a brief cloud of snow, gone so quickly she wouldn’t even notice.
Her death could come at any minute. Look what had happened to Alex.
‘‘We were laughing,’’ Jim had said. Life was so damn short.
The phone rang again. She didn’t answer. It rang again. She answered impatiently.
‘‘This is Collier.’’
‘‘How’d you get this number?’’
‘‘I’m a D.A., remember? Sounds like you’re driving. Can we talk a minute? And not about the case.’’
‘‘About what then? If not the case?’’
‘‘About the kiss.’’
‘‘Oh, that.’’
‘‘Did you like it? Or do you hate me? I have to know, right now.’’
Several recent memories flashed through her mind: the kiss in the dingy conference room, Collier’s cheek, how she had wanted to press right up against him and forget where they were; Sandy laughing in the parking lot with a man named Joseph; Bob growing up and leaving her; Alex Strong, dead at twenty-seven.
A whisper of that first memory touched her lips.
‘‘I liked it.’’
‘‘Good.’’ He hung up, leaving her gaping at the receiver. She felt just like he had taken her by the shoulders and shaken her so hard her insides were rearranged.
A few minutes later, she passed Granlibakken with its bantam ski runs and lift, busy with a weekday family crowd. Roads off to the left disappeared into the forests. Blue and brown roofs of the big ski chalets that groups rented each winter flickered by between the trees. The road had returned to lake level. Here, the water that was so close to pure light lapped along the road beside her.
She was getting close to Tahoe City. She pushed the strange mood away, making her mind shipshape, then moved to the question of Heidi Strong.
7
HEIDI STRONG ARRIVED at Jake’s after four o’clock, when Nina had just about given up on her. Jim’s wife was too tall and attractive to be alone, so she drew some attention as she scanned the crowd. Possibly tipped off by the three empty latte glasses and the big empty soup bowl cluttering the table in the corner, she came directly toward Nina, clutching a gray purse on a long strap.
The waitress came over to them, pad and pencil ready. Heidi ordered the veggie burger and green tea, then licked her already moist lips, saying, ‘‘You don’t look all that mean. In the pictures in the paper you always look mean.’’
‘‘I am mean,’’ Nina said. ‘‘You don’t look like a liar, either, but I don’t go by looks, do you?’’
‘‘I’m not a liar, but I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. You’re paid not to believe me.’’ Her tea came in a handleless cup, and she picked it up with large, capable hands. She wore only a man’s diver’s watch on her wrist and a thickly chased gold wedding ring.
She was in the best shape of any woman Nina had ever seen. Even her face muscles were sharp and defined. Only a face like that could get away with the short platinum hair.
Her hands stayed steady. Not a woman who scared easily. But under the aggressive attitude, Nina believed she was scared.
‘‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’’ Heidi asked.
‘‘No. But he really wants to talk to you.’’
‘‘Yeah. I left my home and my job and lost my whole life just to turn around and come back because he crooks a finger. I don’t think so.’’
‘‘Is there any way I can convince you to talk to him?’’
‘‘No. So don’t bother to try.’’
‘‘Well, then, do you mind telling me what’s going on? This is your husband we’re talking about. He’s in a bad state. Don’t you care?’’
Heidi reached for a packet of aspartame, tore off the top, and dumped it into her tea. Her teaspoon clinked against the side.
‘‘No,’’ she said again.
‘‘Well, you ought to care,’’ Nina said. ‘‘You still wear the ring, I see.’’
‘‘I like the ring, that’s all. I picked out the design. Don’t get moral on me. Who do you think you are?’’
This counterattack was quite effective. Nina didn’t want Heidi to leave. She put a clamp on her tongue. ‘‘Okay, Heidi. I’m not here to judge.’’
‘‘I don’t owe him anything anymore.’’
‘‘There’s got to be a way to work things out.’’
‘‘There’s no way.’’
‘‘You can’t avoid him forever.’’
‘‘Maybe not. That’s why I agreed to talk to you. I’m counting on you to make sure Jim leaves me alone. And one other thing. Draw up divorce papers for us. I don’t have the money to hire a lawyer. Let him pay for it.’’
What a shame. Nina had hoped to act as an emissary of goodwill. Jim really needed somebody on his side, and with Heidi refusing even to talk with him, and his father so strangely detached, neither one appeared to be a strong candidate for the position. She felt very sad for him. He was all alone, with no one to stand behind him, no one to believe in him except the hired help.
‘‘So what do you say?’’
‘‘He doesn’t want a divorce,’’ Nina said. ‘‘If you could see him, the sadness in his eyes, the love in his voice when he talks about you—he doesn’t want to blame you for anything. Alex’s death was a shock. People have strange reactions sometimes. Maybe that’s what has happened to you.’’
‘‘Why, I do believe Jim’s got you conned. Maybe you’ll get him off after all. What he did to Alex he’d do to me. I’m not staying around to be Accident Number Two.’’
‘‘All right, then. But—’’
‘‘But what?’’
‘‘If you don’t love him, okay. If you hate him, okay. If you want a divorce, well, Jim can’t prevent it. But the story you’re telling—that goes beyond revenge.’’
‘‘You think I’m pretty harsh. Well, you would be too, if your husband smashed up the bathroom one night and said he was gonna kill his brother and then did it! I’m gonna tell the truth. For Alex. Let’s not forget Alex.’’
‘‘Who knows what the truth about anything is?’’ Nina said. ‘‘You say you heard Jim say something idiotic about Alex one night, maybe a month ago, maybe a year ago. Brothers get mad at each other. But the day he died, Alex was doing extreme skiing off-trail. His luck ran out. You were upset and you connected those two things in your mind, very naturally. The police made you get specific about things you don’t really remember, and now they’re turning your vague recollection into an accusation.’’
‘‘It wasn’t like that.’’ Her voice shook.
Did Heidi have some idea that involving Jim in something so dire might make getting a divorce from him easier? ‘‘You do realize, you can’t testify against your husband about any conversations you may have had?’’ Nina said.
‘‘What? Why not?’’
‘‘It’s called the marital privilege. It’ll keep your statement out of court too.’’
‘‘The police never said a thing about that. I don’t believe you.’’ The waitress set down a thick soy patty on a bun, exotically dressed in sprouts and tahini. Heidi looked at it vacantly, then returned her gaze to Nina’s. ‘‘If it’s so worthless, why are you here?’’
‘‘Well, your statement has been read by the police, by the coroner. It’s having an impact on the investigation. Because of you, the police suspect Jim of murdering Alex. I came because I hoped you would reconsider your statement.’’
‘‘I won’t.’’ She said this calmly.
‘‘Then could you just talk to Jim? In my conference room, somewhere neutral. You were married three years. Shouldn’t he have a chance to explain?’’
‘‘No. Now, stop trying to persuade me. I’m not talking to him, and I’m not going back to him. I’m going as far away from him as I can.’’
‘‘But why—’’
‘‘Tell him I want a divorce! Get it?’’ She spoke loudly.
‘‘I get it. I get it.’’
‘‘Call Philip when the papers are ready for me to sign. He’ll make sure I get them.’’ She wrapped up the burger in her napkin as she spoke. ‘‘I’m too upset to eat with you. But I’m low on cash, so let’s let Jim pay for this.’’
Nina wasn’t getting anywhere, and Heidi was about to take off. She tried to think—what more could she learn? ‘‘Listen, I’d just like to know, Heidi. Why? Why do you think Jim would want to kill his brother?’’
‘‘You make him tell you that. He knows why. I don’t.’’
‘‘Wait! Don’t go yet. I need to ask you some more questions about your statement.’’
But Heidi was already turning to go, stuffing the food into her shoulder bag. ‘‘You think I’m not sorry about all this? I’ve lost everything!’’
‘‘Stay a little longer, please. Convince me you’re telling the truth.’’
Heidi said over her shoulder, ‘‘You want convincing? Have you checked out Jim’s arm?’’
She was gone, leaving Nina to wonder what she had meant.
The waitress came by with the check, and Nina remembered that the cupboard at home was bare.
‘‘Two Tostada Grandes to go,’’ she said. ‘‘Hold the sour cream. And a cheeseburger.’’ Hitchcock liked cheeseburgers.
Her watch said four-thirty. She headed home, depressed at Heidi’s intransigence, looking across the big emptiness of the lake. She wasn’t looking forward to relaying the conversation to Jim.
Heidi wasn’t going to go back to him. The marriage was over. The statement would continue to cast its shadow on Jim, whether it ever came into court as evidence or not, and she had failed.
It was only to be expected. Nobody stayed together any more. Women and men walked alone now, skittish rhinoceroses, suspicious and red-eyed and afraid of each other.
She turned on the radio, but the mishmash of ads and traffic announcements and Mariah Carey and ministers hairsplitting Bible verses made her feel worse, so she clicked it off again. She was alone on the road.
In fact she was more than alone, she was lonely. She wanted to call someone, but Andrea was at work, Paul was in Washington . . .
This feeling of loneliness was like a key turning the lock and releasing more emotions she really didn’t want to face right now. Maybe it was Philip Strong’s colossal grief, or the vulnerability she had felt in Heidi Strong behind the girl’s pugnaciousness.
She began to fill with wanting, or maybe the wanting had been there a long time, kept somewhere dark because it made her feel so cold. Like a chilly river it flowed now into every part of her body.
Death was in that cold river, dark and low. The Strong case was spooking her, drawing out old feelings of abandonment and loss. Like Jim, she was all alone in the world, or that was how she felt at that moment. It was unbearable to be so alone.
She’d done it to herself. I’m a fool who pushes away everyone who could love me, she thought. A proud, arrogant, lonely fool.
Shaking and miserable, she pulled to a stop and pressed the buttons on her phone.
He answered immediately.
‘‘I think—that is, I seem to really—’’
‘‘Tell me where you are.’’
‘‘About ten minutes south of Tahoe City, by the side of the highway.’’
‘‘Wait for me.’’ The phone went dead.
She got out of the truck and sat down on a log on the rocky beach, looking out across the lake.
Iciness seeped into her jacket. Shoes flung aside, she kneaded her toes in the cold sand below the log. Time passed.
She heard the car drive up and didn’t turn around, still in the grip of a puzzling distress.
Collier stood beside her. She didn’t look up.
‘‘Ah,’’ he said. ‘‘I knew I’d find you.’’
He reached down and took her hand. ‘‘You’re cold! C’mere. The car’s warm.’’ He led her to a pickup with a camper shell. Without letting go of her, he raised the back hatch. Warmth rushed out.
She climbed in. Pulling off his tie, he sat next to her on her left. The tie was flung aside. Reaching behind her into the empty cab, he found a sleeping bag to spread over them.
They huddled together. It was enough, almost too much, having him beside her. He was warm. He sent death skulking back out.
For a few minutes they just lay there, neither making a move toward the other. Nina couldn’t believe he’d dropped everything and come to her. She had needed him, but she hadn’t expected it.
And now she didn’t say a word, and neither did he, as though they both felt words would destroy everything.
They didn’t need words. Everywhere their bodies touched, he communicated with her. A delicate silence stretched between them.
Her desperation and longing seemed to reach out and meet the same feelings in him. She shifted and her hair brushed his cheek and he drew in the scent of it. She listened to his breathing. His restraint, his hard body just barely touching hers, was arousing her, heating her.
No sounds, no blare, as quiet as a prayer. The highway empty. Out on the lake two gulls floated, beaks down, scanning for fish. They were utterly alone, as if the towns ringing the lake and two hundred years of history had fallen away.
When it became unbearable, when something had to give, he seemed to know it. He settled his arm around her, ducked in shyly, and gave her a fleeting kiss. Then again and again. Their lips meshed, locked. She glanced up. Pierced by his hot gaze, she lowered her eyes again.
‘‘I was dying to see you,’’ he said, pulling away, his voice rough. He reached out his free hand and slid it into her silk blouse, familiarly, as if he had done it many times, leaving her gasping, and then he unbuttoned it all the way and took it off her.
‘‘The bra, too,’’ he said, and she let him take it off. She let him stroke and fondle and kiss her for a long time.
Her hands came up to rub his chest, open his shirt, move down and pull open the belt and unzip the fly.
She touched him and he jerked. His mouth opened slightly and his breathing came harder.
She rubbed him and he caressed her until they were both half-deranged. Then he fell on her like a starving man at a feast. She tried to push her way into him as he was pushing his way into her, to become part of him. His body felt as hot as life itself, transmuting the loneliness she had felt into something almost joyful.
He didn’t want to leave her. He pulled up the sleeping bag and lay next to her, nuzzling her hair, talking. He told her he needed her and she wouldn’t get away again. He said that he couldn’t believe his luck and nothing, nothing would come between them.
A car whizzed by. The wind began a fitful blowing through the trees and rocked the camper shell so that it creaked back and forth. Gradually they became themselves again. Nina sat up and reached over for her underclothes and put them on under the sleeping bag, suddenly modest. Collier buttoned his shirt.
They looked at each other in wonder and embarrassment.
One of them ought to make a smart, cynical comment now. Nina opened her mouth to try to say something funny but it just wouldn’t come out. She put her hand on his arm. ‘‘I’ve got to go,’’ she said.
He nodded. ‘‘I’ll call you.’’ They got out and he climbed into the cab. He didn’t honk or wave, just turned around and headed back toward town. She sat in the Bronco, watching. Her face in the mirror was a wreck, the makeup gone, her lips swollen, her cheeks abraded by his beard.
A spell like the mist still on me
Like rain on me, and I am helpless
Friday night. Real life ran at her at the house, and she fell into the ordinary routine as though something extraordinary had not just happened. The mood that had frightened her so much had completely dissolved. She took a bath, changed into jeans, combed her hair.
Bob needed a haircut. Arguing all the way, they made it to Supercuts just before closing, gas tank on empty. Before going in, she locked the Bronco carefully, mindful of the Tecnicas still in the bag in back.
Bob wore his new clothes, which he had picked out at a military surplus store and which he carefully folded and put away each night: black cargo pants with pockets all over, black T-shirt with a Jackie Chan logo. He wanted a navy pea coat, but Nina had insisted on a red parka so he wouldn’t look like a black hole in space.