Growing up on a Depression-era farm, he understood
gardening, as Hugo had understood it, from his mother. Sometime in
the 1950s, Hrubek had begun serious reading about the
environment, and his work had grown from those roots. He was, in
short, the ideal writer to guide young journalists through the
ecological wilderness. Bianca had found him, had persuaded him to
lead off her workshop. I had to give her that.
The farm looked idyllic in the soft spring sunlight. I slowed
for the cattle guard and inched my way up the empty drive. As we
neared the house, I felt my anger and apprehension sharpen. How
was I supposed to deal with Bianca, believing what I did? I had
encountered murderers in the past, but I had rarely had to deal with
them once I knew they were killers. By that time, they were in
custody. I was sure my feelings must be written on my face in large
letters.
I parked the car in the lot near the car barn, beside the red
Cherokee Keith usually drove. It looked as if it had been recently
washed.
When I had set the brake and killed the engine, I turned to
Hrubek. "If you don't mind, Frank, I'd like to make another brief call
to the hospital. Then I'll take you in and get you settled."
He made no objection, and I picked up the phone. The
switchboard operator paged Jay several times with no result.
Something must have happened. My stomach knotted. "Will you page
Louise Callender?"
Fortunately Louise was the deputy on duty. She picked up
the phone almost at once.
I identified myself.
"Oh, Mrs. Dodge, you just missed him. Jason regained
consciousness about an hour ago. Dale and Jay took a statement, and
then they left."
"Did they say where they were going?"
"Dale meant to phone the lab, and he wants Judge Kononen
to swear out a warrant--" She broke off as if she'd said too
much.
"A search warrant or an arrest warrant?"
I wasn't surprised when her voice cooled. "I'm afraid I can't
say, Mrs. Dodge."
I thanked her and replaced the receiver.
"Good news?" Hrubek asked.
"I don't know. Something's happening, though." I turned to
face him. "Thanks for your patience. I suppose we ought to go
in."
He smiled. A nice man. I popped the trunk lid and got out of
the car.
I lugged Hrubek's bag as far as the mudroom and left it
there. Then I led him through the kitchen. I heard voices and was not
surprised to find everyone still seated around the dining table.
Marianne had told me she was going to serve the main meal at one
so she could take her time arranging goodies for the reception.
As we entered the dining room, Bianca jumped up and
turned around to greet us. She homed in on Hrubek as if I weren't
there, charm at full wattage. I gritted my teeth.
Keith rose from the far end of the table, and Del and Mike
stared. Angie gave a tentative smile. Marianne got up and sidled past
us to the kitchen.
When Bianca had finished her effusions and introductions,
she turned to me. "We thought you might make it back in time for
dinner." Her tone conveyed mild reproach.
I found myself immune to the tiny manipulation. In fact,
what I felt, looking into her intense brown eyes, was embarrassment.
She had done something shameful, and I was embarrassed for her,
for the human race, possibly.
"Frank's bag is in the mudroom." I was sure my face was
red. I blush when I'm embarrassed. I looked away and met Keith
McDonald's blue gaze. He smiled. Trust Keith to notice my
discomfiture.
Marianne poked her head through the swinging doors.
"Dessert?"
"In the living room." Bianca made a wide gesture. "I'll show
Mr. Hrubek the conference facilities, and Mike can take his bag to
Hugo's room, er, the guest room. Then coffee and chocolate mousse
in the living room."
At 'chocolate mousse' Hrubek's face lit up. He followed
Bianca off like a dog trailing a brass band. Bianca probably expected
me to join the grand tour, but I stayed behind.
Mike stood up.
"I left the bag in the mudroom," I muttered. "It's
heavy."
He nodded and slid from the room, silent like his
mother.
"Good trip?" Angie swallowed from a tall water glass.
"Okay. Good view of the mountains." I hesitated,
irresolute.
Without rising, Del pulled Marianne's chair back. "Take a
load off, Lark."
I sat, rubbing my right leg. I hadn't driven that far in some
months.
"Glass of wine?" Del was downright cozy.
Keith seemed bemused. Tranquilized, perhaps. I considered
relieving him of his anxiety. Keith cared about Mary Sadat. But Jay
had said to keep my mouth shut.
A warrant. I took the glass of red wine Del poured me and
sipped. It had to be an arrest warrant, and Dale and Jay had to be
coming out to the farm. I could--should--have gone home, but I had
no intention of missing the climax of the action. Besides, there was
Marianne's chocolate mousse to consider. I wriggled my shoulders
and felt the wine warm my stomach.
Angie stood up and began to clear away the dishes. After a
few more sips of wine, I joined her. The men made no attempt to
help us. I expected Angie to make some comment, but she just
glanced at them and went on stacking plates. I gathered glasses and
napkins.
In the kitchen, Marianne was pouring water into the
coffeemaker. "Trays," she said, without looking at us.
Angie handed me a gleaming teak tray and took one herself.
"Keith's feeling a bit rocky today."
"What's Del's excuse?"
She grinned. "Terminal clumsiness. He drops things."
I felt my mouth twitch in response. "Convenient."
"Passive aggressive."
I had to laugh. Del was just plain aggressive.
Angie and I had the table cleared in no time. When we had
stuffed the dishwasher to capacity and started the wash cycle,
Marianne began spooning mousse into sherbet glasses. She slapped
the brown gunk into the goblets, and somehow it wound up looking
like rose petals. It was an education to watch her.
Mike reappeared, and his mother directed him to set up the
small tables in the living room. He nodded and vanished. Marianne
was piping a white substance from a squidgy tube onto the pudding.
I had the feeling the substance wasn't Cool Whip. Angie and I
watched.
Marianne gestured for a tray and began setting the sherbet
glasses on plates that held two thin ginger wafers apiece. She set the
loaded plates on one of the trays and picked it up. "Coffee'll be ready
in a couple of minutes. Get the cups, will you, Angie?"
Angie put eight stoneware mugs and a stack of paper
napkins on the other tray. "I suppose Hrubek uses sugar and
cream."
I thought back to Clatskanie. "Cream. So do I." She got a
cream pitcher from the refrigerator and a fistful of spoons.
"Coming?"
"I'll bring the coffee."
She hefted the tray. "Bring the whole shebang and plug it in
in the dining room."
"Okay." The machine was into its final phase. I waited for it
to finish burping, unplugged it, and carried it out the swinging doors,
through the tidied dining room, and into the big sunken living
room.
Under all this soothing domesticity, like heartburn, I felt the
heat of my anger at Bianca. I was not going to be able to conceal it for
long. Well, with luck I wouldn't have to. I kept my ears pricked for
the sound of car engines. Where were Dale and Jay? Had they had to
drive to Raymond? I tried to remember where Judge Kononen lived.
Maybe he was in church. No, it was nearly two. He'd be home.
Keith, Del, and Angie lined up for coffee. Mike sloped in from
the residential wing and poured himself a mugful. I laced mine with
cream. We made small talk, and I kept reminding myself to say
nothing about Jason regaining consciousness and nothing about
finding Mary Sadat. Something stirred at the edge of my mind.
Angie was asking Keith if he was going to play the guitar at
the reception. He said no. He sounded depressed.
I sipped and poked at my memory. Then it came to me. I had
been careful to say nothing about finding Mary myself, but I had
forgotten to warn Frank Hrubek not to.
Surely he'd realize...
I was sitting on the ledge of the hearth, clenching the handle
of my coffee mug. I set the cup down, rose, and, elaborately casual,
began to move toward the conference wing. I could hear Hrubek's
voice quite near. Bianca laughed.
I glanced back to see if anyone was watching my furtive end
run, but Angie, Mike, and Marianne were still chatting over their
coffee, Keith stood at the French doors, sipping from his mug and
gazing out at the spring scene, and Del had gone over to the whiskey
decanter. I slid around the corner and started down the tiled
hall.
"So I ducked back inside the lobby just as Mayor Daly's
finest let loose with the tear gas," Hrubek was saying in his sweet
gravelly voice. "Talk about environmental degradation."
Bianca laughed heartily as they emerged from one of the
sleeping rooms. "Oh, Lark. Hi. I showed Frank the accommodations.
He told me this great story about the crummy hotel he stayed in
during the 1968 Democratic Convention. Did you come to fetch
us?"
"Your mousse awaits you," I murmured, eyeing Hrubek.
He gave me a bland smile.
Bianca led the way. I trailed after Hrubek, hoping for a quiet
word--to no avail. He was moving at a brisker clip than at the airport,
hardly using the cane, and he stayed close to Bianca. She had
invigorated him.
Everyone, notably Hrubek, laced into the mousse. Between
listening for the patrol car and worrying that Hrubek would let
something slip about Mary, I scarcely tasted mine. My stomach
burned. I was standing by the fireplace. I set my sherbet glass, half
full, on the mantel and leaned against the wall, trying to ease the
tension in my shoulders.
Marianne went back to the kitchen with the coffeemaker--to
brew another pot, she said. Keith had drifted toward us from the
window, Del from the booze trolley. Mike spooned the last of his
pudding, set the glass on one of the end-tables, and excused himself.
He had homework, he said, and went off. Bianca and Hrubek were
exchanging hotel stories near the fireplace, Hrubek on the couch and
Bianca on the hassock at his feet like a good acolyte. It was an
affecting picture.
Out in the hall, the phone rang. Angie jumped up.
"Let Marianne get it in the kitchen," Bianca said lazily, and
Angie sank back on her chair. "Probably one of the conference
participants looking for directions to the farm."
"What time do you want me this evening?" I asked.
"Six forty-five."
"Okay."
Bianca turned back to Hrubek and checked the workshop
agenda with him. He was nibbling on a biscuit and didn't comment.
Angie picked up a teak tray and began loading it with dishes. Del
gave her his mug and sherbet glass. Keith went back to the windows.
He seemed to be brooding.
I half-listened to Bianca charming her guest and wondered
about the phone call. I would have to leave soon to change clothes
and organize myself for the reception.
Marianne entered from the hall. "That was Dale." She
glanced at Angie. "You're clearing up. Good. Let me get the other tray,
too. I want to vacuum in here pretty soon."
Bianca stood and stretched. She wore one of her bright
tunics over stirrup pants. Silver bracelets clanked when she raised
her arms. "What did Dale want?"
"Something about a warrant." Marianne turned to go back to
the kitchen. "He asked who was here."
Angie plunked Mike's mug and dishes on the tray. "A
warrant? What would he be searching for at this point?"
I glanced at Bianca. She had gone pale.
Keith took a step toward us.
Del snorted. "Man needs a search warrant to find his own
dick."
Nobody laughed. Hrubek was frowning. Keith moved in
behind Hrubek's chair.
Marianne shrugged. "Dale said not to leave. He'll be right
out. Do you want Mike to set up the chairs, Bianca?"
"Uh, no. Better wait till after Dale has come and gone. What a
damned nuisance."
I was studying Bianca, trying not to be obvious about it,
looking for signs of guilt. I didn't see any. She chewed her lip and
looked irresolute.
Marianne glided away.
Angie confiscated my mug and my unfinished mousse. I
supposed I should help her. Marianne came back with the other teak
tray and took Del's whiskey glass from him. He surrendered it
without a fight.
Keith said, "Let me take that for you, Angie."
Angie had retrieved Hrubek's dishes and Bianca's. She
looked startled at Keith's offer but handed him the loaded tray.
"Thanks."
Keith walked off toward the kitchen. At the carpeted step up
to the hall he stumbled a little and the dishes rattled on the tray, but
he righted himself without dropping it and went in through the
dining room.
Marianne bunched a couple of paper napkins, set a mug onto
her tray, and peered around. Vacuuming seemed redundant. The
room looked good, almost ready for company.
When Keith came back, he was moving stiffly, hands at his
sides.
"I should show you to your room, Frank." Bianca helped
Hrubek to his feet and retrieved his cane for him. "The deputy will
want to talk to the rest of us, so you might as well use the time to get
settled. There's nothing you need to do. Why don't you take a little
nap?"
Hrubek laughed. "Lark will tell you I slept halfway here in
the car." He moved toward the door with Bianca following. He was so
tiny she masked him from my view.
Bianca stopped short. "What the hell? Keith!"
"Sorry," Keith said.
Bianca's voice rose to a squeak. "Is that a knife?"
Beside me, I heard Angie gasp. I took a step forward, the
better to see.
"Go easy, Bee." Keith had twisted Hrubek around and was
holding a long thin knife, a boning knife, at the older man's collar. His
left arm pinned Hrubek to him. "Back off."