Death Qualified (58 page)

    "Here," he said finally, "is where the girl was killed, on the Forest Service road. Red X. Okay?" She nodded.

    "Okay, and down here, outlined in red, is a two-hundred-acre tract that was supposed to be cruised that week. And up here is seven hundred acres ditto. And finally, here, one more piece of woods, three hundred forty acres. Your boy had them all on his list, due in before the fifteenth of June when bids were due or something like that. He filed his report on this one first, Squaw Canyon." He pointed to a tract fifty miles north of his big red X. "He reported on the evening of June sixth," he said smugly.

    "The day Janet Moseley was killed. Then on June eighth, he turned in this one, south of the scene of the crime, Shadow Rock.

    And finally June twelfth, this one. Three Creek Meadow, that abuts the Forest Service road where they found the car. But, Barbara, sweetheart, all three reports were scrambled. They had to do them all over."

    "Give me a break. Bailey. I'm not a descendant of Paul Bunyan, you know. What does that mean?"

    He drank his coffee and set down the cup before he explained.

    "How I see it, he never made it to Squaw Canyon that day and just turned in an estimate based on experience, but without knowing there's a really big burned-over section in there that doesn't have any trees.

    He was off by five hundred thousand board feet. His Shadow Rock estimate is closer, off a couple hundred thousand board feet, and his Three Creek one is exactly the same as Shadow Rock. All wrong."

    She shook her head and then studied the map.

    "You said the Three Creek one was first on the list? He could have been in there the day Lucas drove in with Janet Moseley? Is that what you mean?"

    "I don't mean anything. Just found it interesting. Say he was in there, and then hightailed it out again, up the highway to the area of Squaw Canyon, but didn't go all the way in. Getting too late by then. So he pretended he had done that one first. But he turned in a bad estimate, and he was too good at his job to make a mistake like that, three times yet."

    She was tracing a possible route from the Forest Service road, back to the highway, north, back into the mountains again. She nodded.

    "If that's what he did, he probably made sure people up there saw him," she said then.

    Bailey chuckled.

    "See? That's why I want a picture. I talked to Roy Whitehorse, who knows exactly where to go to show people a picture. Okay?"

    "You're a damn genius. Bailey!"

    "I know. I know," he said, but he flushed with pleasure.

    "Roy said something else pretty interesting. He said if your boy turned up with red lava dust on his truck, they would have noticed up there. They notice things like what you're driving, if you have a gun rack, what kind of mud you've picked up. There isn't any red lava where he was supposed to be that day. Just good old black lava rock roads and dirt roads, all through those canyons."

    "I think we've got him, Bailey," she said softly.

    "And if we do, I think your pal Roy and Sheriff LeMans should be the ones to take him. Or should I send Roy a bunch of roses?"

    Bailey laughed.

    "Okay if I breathe a word of that?"

    She nodded.

    "Oh, yes. And that bastard was telling everyone he began messing up his reports after Lucas was killed. Hah!"

    When Bailey left, she put away the map and thought about lunch, but did nothing about it. Instead, she put on a sweater and went outside to stand at the rail, gazing at the river, thinking about Mike Dinesen and the new dimension that had suddenly appeared in their relationship.

    Relationship, she thought then, with almost bitter intensity; that's what people called it now. Never love, but a relationship. Meaningful relationship, casual, friendly, whatever it was between two people had been neatly labeled and somehow sanitized.

    As she gazed at the river her mood changed again, and she found that alarming also; quicksilver mood changes were not part of her usual pattern. But she relaxed with the new change and found herself thinking how fine it would be to be the river, to flow endlessly. Or a tree, to stand in the wind and rain and sway with their rhythms.

    Or a rock. She smiled at herself and went back inside. So this was what it was like to be in love, she marveled.

    The phone rang a few minutes later. Nell was calling to say she was back home, that she was going to take Carol to town to shop a little and see the Christmas decorations, and just spend a little time with her.

    "I wanted them both to go," she said, but Travis ..

    He's reached an age where he thinks shopping is women's work, I guess. Anyway, he'll be here, but I told him not to answer the phone. I just wanted to tell you."

    "Thanks. I'm glad you did. Buy yourself something pretty and silly, okay? The more frivolous the better."

    Poor Travis, Barbara thought when she hung up, he was old enough to stay home and not answer the phone and make himself a hot dog or something if he got hungry.

    But he wasn't old enough to deal with the fact that his mother was accused of killing his father. Soon, she promised him silently; we'll settle this soon.

    Frank returned, looking tired and cranky; he had not slept well either.

    "We've got a week, at least," he said, hanging up his coat.

    "But they intend to go after her again if she doesn't own up to it voluntarily. Tony's words. I stopped by the bank and got the Lucas tapes. Might as well have them here, listen to the whole bunch of them. I went by the bakery and got some decent bread."

    She told him about Bailey; he nodded but didn't comment. He was regarding her closely when she started to talk about Nell and her plans for the afternoon. He waved that aside.

    "What is it you're not telling me?" he asked, going past her to the kitchen. He went to the refrigerator and brought out cheese, placed it on a board, and the bakery bread on another one. He was starting to cut the bread when he looked up at her and said, "Well?"

    "Nothing," she said helplessly. Then she blurted, "I'm in love."

    The knife stopped sawing; he did not move for a moment, then started to cut again.

    "Dad? I thought you'd be pleased."

    He barely glanced at her as he cut another slice.

    "

    "Course I'm pleased," he said darkly.

    "Have you seen him today? How is he?"

    "I think he's all right. He needs time to straighten things out, that's all."

    When Frank finished cutting bread and arranged the slices on the cheese board, he glanced at her. His expression was stony.

    "You think. What if you think wrong?"

    She was deflated so quickly she gasped. All day she had not thought of that, she realized; she had denied the possibility ever since seeing him at Doc's house, but now the fear was with her again, deeper than ever.

    THIRTY-SEVEN

    "your mother was a very fine cook," Frank said at dinner.

    "And I'm an excellent cook. Where did we go wrong with you?"

    She had insisted on making dinner.

    "Fair's fair," she had said, and then burned the pork roast, under baked the apples, and forgot to salt the peas. The baked potatoes were fine. Although she had set the table for two, she had cooked enough for three; Mike had not showed up. She scowled and cut another bite of meat.

    With coffee, Frank said, "Way I see it, you've solved the wrong murder. Good reason, I guess, for turning him in to LeMans. Maybe you can talk the sheriff into booking Clive for both murders. Tony sure as hell would raise a stink."

    "I know. There's not even enough for LeMans at this point. And I don't see any way to get any hard evidence, any proof. He'd be a good client right now for a shyster criminal lawyer."

    They were both studiously avoiding any mention of Mike. She remembered what Bailey had said about Clive's ex-wife and told Frank. He cursed.

    "So he'll find out what I was up to today," he said savagely, "and then what? Another rock through your windshield? A bullet through your head. Goddamn it!"

    "Well, I didn't put her in the D.A."s office, or see to it that they had a nice, friendly divorce," she snapped. Suddenly she became very still, thinking hard.

    "What?" Frank asked.

    "I'm not sure. Wait a minute." She sipped her coffee and then said, "Remember that I asked you who Nell was sleeping with when all this first came up? I never thought to ask the same thing about Clive. But he's a healthy, virile young man, divorced for what four, five years? Is he celibate? I doubt it. You would have heard from Lonnie if he was dating. Was he?"

    Frank thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. "In fact, she tried to push him in that direction, from what I heard, and he joked it away."

    "He's terrified of AIDS, really spooked about promiscuity, about gays. It came up at that dinner party at his house. He was pretty vehement about the whole thing."

    "Too vehement?" Frank asked softly.

    "Maybe," she said, just as softly.

    "Maybe he was."

    Frank reflected about what he had seen of Clive, what he had heard, and then said, "He's the perfect Stevenson hero, noble, waiting patiently for the one woman he loves, worshipful from afar, never touching her. Everyone's been genuinely moved by his devotion, his open love for her.

    A real Leatherstockings type. But is that enough, and if it is what can you do with it?"

    "I don't know," she said tiredly.

    "Just another datum.

    Another check in another column."

    There was a soft tapping on the sliding glass door; Barbara jumped up and covered half the distance to it before Frank got out of his chair. She pulled the door open.

    "Hi," Mike said.

    "Come in."

    He took a step forward, inside the house.

    "I love you."

    "Will you marry me?"

    "Yes. Yes, and yes," he said.

    She was frozen, afraid to touch him, be touched by him, afraid to reveal herself again, afraid not to. He reached out and took her into his arms. The fear vanished with the kiss, when she knew it was not only her desire but also his that had sprung up around them like a physical bond.

    Not just desire, but a need so fierce that she ached from it and knew he felt the same hurting. When she at last drew back from his embrace, she heard her father at the doorway, clearing his throat. She did not look at him.

    "We're going to be married." Her voice was almost unrecognizable to her ears.

    "And not a minute too soon, from the looks of it," Frank said. His footsteps receded down the hallway, his study door closed.

    "I love you," she whispered then.

    "I do. I really do. I love you."

    "Let's go to bed."

    "Yes. Yes, and yes."

    They made love with abandon, and again with tenderness.

    They got up and wandered hand in hand downstairs, sat hand in hand before the fire. They ate cheese and bread and drank wine, and made love again. They talked sporadically.

    "It's always new again," she whispered once during the long night.

    "How can that be?"

    "We're working past so many layers," he said.

    "Self-protective layers on layers. I don't think I have any left."

    "I know I don't. I didn't even know this me was in here." She shivered; his arm tightened about her shoulders.

    "No more defenses," she said.

    "It's scary. Almost scary."

    "Scary," he agreed.

    Finally they fell asleep entwined, then woke up again after nine in the morning. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her, smiling. She reached out to touch his cheek, and this time she saw the startlement on his face, saw his eyes widen. She laughed.

    There was a note on the table from her father. He had gone to town for the newspaper.

    "So," she said.

    "I make breakfast. Eggs? Fruit? Cereal?"

    "All the above. I'll help."

    "I thought you never cooked."

    "Breakfast doesn't count," he said seriously.

    "Okay. Skillet. Eggs." She bent down to get the skillet from a cabinet, groaned, and very slowly straightened up again.

    "What's wrong?"

    She felt her face go hot.

    "Sore. My God, I'm sore!"

    They both laughed.

    "You go sit," he said.

    "I'll feed you. This one time only, mind you. No habits are to be assumed from a one-time occurrence."

    Gratefully she poured coffee and took it to the table and watched him searching for things, putting things together in a way that seemed strange to her. Scientist at work.