I was standing in Meg’s kitchen surveying the
damage to her ceiling. There was a huge chunk of Homasote on the
floor, dirt and mouse droppings were everywhere, and a bigger piece
of ceiling was hanging, sifting more gross stuff onto the kitchen
floor. Dusty cobwebs hung from the slats that used to support the
original plaster ceiling.
“I didn’t mean to do it.” Meg wailed.
“There’s been a hole there forever, and I’ve always hated this
ceiling, so I thought I’d just stick my finger in there and see
what happened if I tugged on it. So I tugged, and this chunk of
whatever this stuff is fell on my head. God! Who knew it would be
so dirty up there? I’ll never get this mess cleaned up. What am I
going to do?”
“The first thing we should do is pull the
rest of that panel down. Otherwise it’s going to come down on
someone’s head. Crap is going to keep falling off it.”
Meg nodded, reached up and grabbed an edge of
the errant stuff, closed her eyes and pulled. It came away easily,
bringing more droppings and spiders with it. Meg and I were
coughing dust out of our lungs when Tom walked in.
Tom’s a pretty understanding guy in most
instances. He loves Meg’s spontaneity and isn’t usually bothered by
the catastrophes that befall her. But he was also a cop with a
stressful job, and he liked coming home to a tidy-ish house with at
least the possibility of a meal. It would be a while before there
was any food preparation in this kitchen again.
“Meg .” he began.
“It was an accident,” she broke in.
“Accident?” Tom looked incredulous. “You’ve
been threatening to tear down this ceiling for the last five
years.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on starting today.”
Meg’s voice raised an octave. “It just happened.”
“Sweetheart, this didn’t just happen, it was
helped along. By you. I’ll get these chunks of ceiling out of the
way.” He dragged the Homasote to the door.
“Where are you taking that?” I asked.
“The trash pile by the barn. Then I’m going
to find my hidden stash of whiskey and have a drink. Like it or
not, this is the beginning of a really big project that I’ve been
hoping to put off indefinitely.”
Tom went out to the barn, and I turned my
attention to the mess. A film of grime covered the counter tops and
chairs. A pile of paper scraps, mouse droppings and who knows what
kind of hair littered the kitchen table. The floor was covered in
more of the same.
“I think we should start high and work low,”
I said, “and maybe we should take everything movable out onto the
porch and clean it before we bring it back in.”
Meg went into the laundry room and came back
with a couple of dust masks for us to wear. She grabbed kitchen
gloves from under the sink and handed me the purple pair.
“These yellow ones are small,” she said. “I
think the purple ones will fit you better.”
“Good. I like the purple ones better
anyway.”
We set to work carrying the chairs, toaster
and what used to be clean dishes in the drainer out to the porch.
The cookies that had been sitting on a plate on the kitchen table
got trashed. I took the broom and swiped at the ceiling, trying to
get the bits of dirt and cobwebs that were hanging from the
slats.
We washed down the kitchen cabinets and then
the tops of the counters using disinfectant spray. Meg used a whisk
broom and dustpan to swipe the pile of crud off the table, and I
cleaned the surface. Meg sighed when we got to the floor.
“I’m going to have to get another trash bag,”
she said. “There’s a lot of crap in that ceiling.”
We were just finishing up when Tom walked in
with a stack of pizza boxes.
“My hero,” Meg said.
“Mine too!” I grabbed the boxes from the top
of the pile and set them on the table.
“I doubted you’d be in the mood for cooking
after taking care of this mess, and I didn’t want PB&J.” Tom
set the remaining boxes on the table next to my pile. “I’m going to
call the kids.”
Gemma, Pete, Louise and Jeremy thundered down
the stairs to cries of “Pizza!”
Gemma took a moment to give me a hug, and
then they all disappeared into the living room with a couple of
pizzas and paper plates. The TV clicked on.
“You let them watch TV while they eat?’ I
asked.
“Only on pizza night.” Meg said, standing at
the table. “We still have to clean all the stuff out on the porch.
I’d forgotten about that. I don’t particularly want to start eating
all my meals standing up.”
“It can wait until after we’ve eaten.” Tom
reached into the fridge and brought out three beers. Then he
hoisted himself up on the kitchen counter and sat with his plate in
his lap.
I leaned on the edge of the counter, and Meg
slid her butt onto the table.
“I hope the kids don’t come in and see us
doing this. It’s hard enough to keep them off the counters.”
We ate, tossed the boxes in the trash and
cleaned the chairs out on the porch. I stretched as Meg and I
finished wiping the last chair.
“I’m heading home,” I said. “I’ve got some
cleaning up of my own to do, but I’ll be back tomorrow
morning.”
My phone was buzzing when I got in my truck.
I searched through the discarded junk and clothing on the seat,
finally finding it stuck in the passenger side door pocket. I
pounced on the phone and flipped it open before it stopped
ringing.
“Bree?”
“Yes?” I didn’t recognize the voice.
“Sheriff Fogel. Beau’s had an accident.”
My heart either stopped beating or was
beating so fast it was like a hummingbird in my chest. My voice was
trapped in my throat.
“Bree? Are you there?”
“I’m here.” My breath rushed out of me with
the words. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine. He’s had a concussion, and
his leg is broken. They’re keeping him in the hospital for now.
He’s refusing to call anyone himself, but he doesn’t have any
family to take care of him out here. You are the only contact I
have.”
“I’ll tell his family. We’ll get someone out
there.”
I was back in the house in an instant. Tom
and Meg looked at me in surprise as I exploded into the room. Tom
put down the pot he was drying, and Meg pulled off her yellow
kitchen gloves.
“Beau’s been hurt. He’s in the hospital in
California.”
Meg sat down in a kitchen chair as Tom headed
for the phone. He punched the speaker button, dialed the barracks
and had the dispatcher find out which hospital Beau was in. It only
took a couple of minutes before Tom was connected to the Sierra
Nevada Memorial Hospital. The nurse was relaxed and friendly on the
phone, and the mood in the kitchen lightened considerably. She
transferred us to Beau’s room.
“Yo, Bro. You’re on the speaker phone with
Meg and Bree, so keep it clean.” Tom used his standard speaker
phone warning. “I hear you’ve banged yourself up some. What
happened?”
“That damned Fogel. I told him I didn’t want
my family worrying about me. I’m fine. I had an equipment failure
is all. The staging collapsed.”
“Your staging?” I tried to modulate my voice
so I didn’t let on that bells were going off in my head. Beau was
compulsive about safety checking his equipment.
“Bree, don’t make more of this than it is.
Even I make mistakes once in a while.”
“So what’s the damage?” Tom asked.
“Broken leg, knock on the head. I’m not sure
why they're keeping me so long. Something about making sure my
head’s okay. I’m fine, but they tell me I’m still too wonky to go
home.”
“Meg or I will come out and get you,” Tom
said. “No point in hanging around out there while you can’t
work.”
A pang of guilt stung me. I hadn’t told Tom
or Meg that Beau was planning to stay in California. I had divided
loyalties, and it stunk.
“I suppose so,” Beau sounded reluctant.
“But I don’t want Bree out here. It’s not
safe for her.”
Tom rang off the phone and turned to me.
“I’m going,” he said, “and don’t fight me on
this, Bree. You heard Beau, it’s not safe for you out there.”
“Tom?” Meg sounded unsure. “If you take time
from work, we won’t be able to take that trip we planned. I can
go.”
“What about the paper?” Tom looked perplexed.
“You’re only two days from your deadline.”
“Bree can finish the paper.” She didn’t look
happy.
“Stop it, you two. I’ll go get Beau. For
heaven’s sake! What do you think is going to happen between the
hospital and the airport? By the time anyone realizes I’m in town,
we’ll be back here.”
“I don’t like it.” Tom looked at me and shook
his head.
“Me either.” Meg narrowed her eyes at me.
“Listen. It’s not rational for either of you
to leave now. I can write on the plane, in the hospital, wherever.
I’ll be in California, what, twenty-four hours at
most?
What could happen? Realistically, if anyone out there
is looking for me, which I doubt, they aren’t going to even know
I’ve come and gone again.”
“I hope you’re right, Bree, or Beau is going
to kill me,” Tom said.
I hope so, too
.
I glanced down the road as I pulled out of
the rental lot at the Sacramento Airport. A black Ford pickup was
just pulling away from the curb, but he motioned me to go ahead, so
I pulled out in front of him and headed south down I-5, then east
on I-80. The California sun was baking me, so I blasted the AC. The
little Toyota I’d rented handled nicely, and I negotiated the
traffic with surprising ease for a Vermonter. I hit the scan button
looking for some traveling music. I wanted something upbeat to keep
me awake and kill the boredom on the two-hour drive up the
mountain.
The car was mounting the first of the
foothills east of Rocklin when I glanced in the rear view and did a
double take. I could swear the same black Ford that let me in back
at the airport was two cars back.
Don’t be stupid
, I told
myself.
There’s got to be a million black Fords in this
city
. But the back of my neck started to crawl. I pulled into
the slow lane and glanced back.
Shit
. The truck had changed
lanes with me.
I pulled my cell phone out of my bag. Hell, I
didn’t know if using the phone was legal when you were driving in
California. I shrugged. At least if I got pulled over I’d be safe
from the truck behind me. With half an eye on the road, I searched
back through my call history and found Sheriff Fogel.
“Trouble?” he asked before I even said a
word.
“Got into town about an hour ago,” I said.
“There was a black Ford pickup waiting for me. I didn’t realize it
until a few minutes ago. Thought they were being nice when they
waved me in front of them as I pulled out of the airport. What a
putz I am.”
“Normally I’d say head for someplace public,
but I’m not sure that’s the best thing to do in this case. If the
guy who hired these thugs is as desperate as I think he is, they’re
just looking for a chance to take a pot shot at you. Frankly, I’m
surprised they haven’t tried to take you out on the freeway.”
“Too much traffic. Someone might be able to
ID them. That’s my guess anyway. You want me to try and lose
them?”
“How you going to do that?”
“Pull off onto Hwy 49 at the last second. If
I go from the fast lane to the off-ramp without signaling they may
not be able to react fast enough to catch me. Then I’ll drive fast
to the hospital where you can meet up with me and keep watch until
I get Beau back into the car. What do you think?”
“I don’t want you putting anyone in danger.
If there’s a chance that you’ll cause an accident, forget it. I’ll
get a couple of local sheriffs to escort you, and we’ll get you
there and back that way.”
I rang off and pulled back into the fast lane
watching traffic as I drove past Roseville. Sure enough, the black
truck followed. I slowed way down for a couple of miles, causing
angry motorists to pass us on the right giving middle finger
salutes. A mile from my exit I sped up, gradually increasing speed.
The driver of the truck didn’t appear to notice at first, dropping
so far behind that I was afraid I was giving him too much room. But
he noticed and increased his speed too, gaining on me fast.
I checked traffic, saw my gap, and pulled the
steering wheel hard to the right. The tires squealed, and somewhere
a horn sounded. I took paint off the front fender grazing the
yellow garbage cans filled with water that were grouped at the off
ramp, but I made the exit. I glanced back and saw the black truck
zoom past the off ramp, tires squealing and smoking as they tried
to stop. I was just about to celebrate when the back-up lights lit
up on the truck.
That idiot is going to back up on the
freeway!
I hit speaker and redial on the phone as I
screamed up the off ramp.
“They’re backing up down the freeway,” I
yelled at Fogel as I drove. “Do I get back on the freeway or head
up forty-nine? You’ve got five seconds to decide.”
“Get back on the freeway. There will be
cruisers waiting for you just past the Foresthill exit.”
I screamed through the red light, narrowly
missing an oncoming Buick,
thank God
, and down the on-ramp
across the intersection from the off ramp and back onto the
freeway.
They know
. I needed to put as much distance as
possible between us now. I had a feeling the kid gloves were off. I
drove like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic as fast as I was
able. I kept checking the mirror, but it was a while before I saw
them again. They were hanging back, keeping me in sight.
They’re
trying not to spook me again.
Which made me nervous, because
that meant they had a plan for farther on down the road. Maybe for
off the freeway.
I passed the Foresthill exit, and before I
knew it, four cruisers surrounded me. The officer to my right
motioned me to slow, and I brought it down to sixty-five. She gave
me a thumbs-up. The road narrowed down to two lanes, and I was
directed to drive in the left lane with the guy on the left
dropping back. The black truck disappeared the minute the troopers
showed up, and we made the drive up to Colfax and along Route 147
to Nevada City without incident.