Mudlark (21 page)

She was lying, propped, in a two-bed ward, and Clara Klein was sitting with her. Matt hovered by the
single window. The other bed was empty.

"Hi, Lark." Clara was holding a flat box with a felt surface. "I see you've brought Lottie some of Tom's
asters. Aren't they bright, Lottie?"

Lottie blinked.

I gave her a smile and said hello, but I was shocked by the change in her appearance. Though the nurses
had decked her out in a pretty pink bed jacket, one side of her face was drawn in a frozen grimace, almost a snarl,
and her head had been shaved for the surgery. She wore a turban of bandages. I realized I had never seen Lottie
without the neat gray wig which she wore curled in a fashion that had died somewhere around 1956. Without the
wig, she looked stern, austere. She had lost her cuddliness.

Matt cleared his throat. "I enjoyed the dinner, Lark. Good company, good company."

I said, with more conviction than I felt, "It was nice that Annie McKay could come--and Clara." I did not
mention Bob.

Lottie was blinking rapidly.

"Do you want to try the letters again? How about this one?" Clara placed a felt L on the board.

No blink. No message for Lark.

I thought the felt-board process must be maddening for the patient, it was so slow. "Are you a therapist,
Clara?"

Clara kept her eyes on Lottie. "Volunteer. I've done work with stroke patients. Mother had a series of
strokes. Not M? Okay, D, then. Do you want a drink?"

Lottie stared at her stonily.

Matt had turned to look out the window.

Clara sighed. "Well, let's be methodical, begin at the beginning." She took an A from her neat pile of
letters.

I went over to Matt. "Annie and Darla were discussing the injunction the Nekana Council is bringing to
stop work on the resort site. It will be served this morning."

"That's good. Good." Matt didn't turn from the window. "She's a fine woman."

"Annie? She certainly cares about the environment."

Clara and Lottie were up to D again.

"A heroine, a leader." He turned to me, eyes glittering. "I'd do anything for her. Anything. To help her,"
he added. He must have seen that his intensity made me uneasy. "I worked for Fisheries, you know, man and boy,
for thirty-five years. First the dams went in. Then the clear-cutting and building. They've killed the salmon runs,
killed them."

I cleared my throat. "So I understand."

"The hatcheries did some good." He was listening to himself, off somewhere in his youth. "I helped set
up eight of them, three on tribal land. Still, it wasn't the solution. We needed a leader."

"Like Annie?"

He turned to me. "Somebody like Muir. Somebody like Gifford Pinchot. Somebody with the courage to
say enough. There are too many people. Too many."

It seemed ironic to me that Matt agreed with Annie. If she had her way, his mobile home would be the
first to go.

"Lark, I think Lottie wants to see your husband." Clara sounded cheerful. "She likes the letter J."

I turned to the two women with some relief. Matt's passion was disturbing, though I could understand
his sense of loss.

"That's very possible, Clara. Jay visited Lottie before the operation, brought her flowers."

"I see. Do you think--"

"I'll leave a message for him at the college. He can drop by on his way home."

Lottie's eyes closed.

Clara stood up. "That's enough for now. She's doing very well, Matt."

He gave Clara a tired smile. "Lottie and I appreciate your efforts, Clara. Wonderful. Thank you,
Lark."

I said goodbye to him and added, for Lottie's benefit, though I thought she was asleep, "And I'll call Jay
right now."

She opened her eyes and blinked hard.

Clara walked down to the lobby with me. "She'd do better if Matt would stop haunting her."

"He's devoted to her."

"Of course he is, but he ought to leave her a little space. What that man needs is distraction. Make him
take you clamming, Lark."

"Clamming? I thought they postponed the razor clam season."

"For steamers," Clara said. "And a lecture. Matt used to haul newcomers out in a rowboat on Shoalwater
Bay. They'd come back with a mess of clams and a burning desire to save the estuary. He's really very
knowledgeable."

"I'm not crazy about clams."

"So feed 'em to the red-headed kid, whatsisname, Freddy."

I considered that. I really did not want to go out in a rowboat with Matt, but I could see Clara's point.
"Bonnie's the newcomer. Fishing runs in her blood. He should take Bonnie." I didn't know if grubbing for steamer
clams qualified as fishing.

Clara shrugged. "Great. Whatever. Matt needs an afternoon off--and so does Lottie."

"Does she really want to see Jay?"

"Maybe. A felt board's not an exact form of communication, but it's better than no communication.
Imagine being locked in your own consciousness with no way to let anyone know what you're thinking." She
shivered.

I felt some of my reservations about Clara melt. "I was glad you came last night, but I have the sinking
feeling it wasn't my salmon that drew you."

"I'm worried about Tom." She didn't smile.

"We all are."

"Did he tell you he's been arrested three times for assault?"

I gulped.

"More to the point, did he tell your husband?"

"Jay didn't say anything... That's awful." It was awful so many ways I didn't want to think how awful it
was.

Clara was saying, "The charges were dropped all three times. I don't know if they're even on record, but
somebody around here is bound to remember. The first two times were right after he got out of the army, once
here and once in Los Angeles. The third time was at his grandparents' funeral."

"Shit."

"That's right. Lots of witnesses. One of them called the police. Quentin McKay, Bob's brother, made Tom
an offer for the house. The old McKay place has associations for that side of the family, too, you know, whether
Annie's little committee wants to classify it as historical or not."

"And?"

"And Tom knocked him cold. I was there."

I shivered. "You've known Tom a long time. Is he--"

"Violent? Not habitually, and he doesn't drink a lot, not any more, not since the funeral. The sheriff
owes the last election to the McKay family, though, and they persist in regarding Tom as some kind of black sheep.
And never mind," she added with fierce intensity, "that he has more talent in his little finger than that lot lumped
together. Annie runs a good paper but she can't write a decent paragraph."

"Her style is a little turgid." There we were standing in the lobby of the Shoalwater Hospital worrying
about Annie McKay's prose style while Tom was in imminent danger of arrest. I edged toward the door.

Clara followed me out to the parking lot. I hadn't spotted her Karman Ghia. It crouched next to Matt's
Pontiac.

Clara stood by the car door, keys in her hand. A gust of wind lifted her grizzled hair from her forehead.
"What I said about cops last night was damned rude."

"People react. Usually they sort of laugh and say they feel guilty around policemen."

"Well, I don't. I was rude, though. I apologize. Jay seems like a nice guy. For that matter, Dale is a nice
guy, but the police always support the status quo. That's natural enough, but it can be vicious. Around here, the
status quo means the Enclave, and the Enclave means Bob and Annie McKay. And Quentin. Unlike Bob, he is not a
lush." She unlocked her door and wriggled behind the wheel. "See you later."

I was so preoccupied by what she had told me of Tom that I forgot to call the college until I got home.
Jay was in another meeting by then, so I left a message and fixed Freddy a sandwich. He wanted to go in to Darla's
office to see what had happened about the injunction. I hardened my heart and made him take the bus. I thought I
might need my Toyota.

I stewed and brooded and brooded and stewed. Finally, disgusted with myself, I crossed the road and
knocked on Bonnie's door. She had been reading
Starvation Hill
. The book lay face down on the arm of her
easy chair.

"Time for coffee?"

"I guess." I perched on the edge of her scaled-down couch while she fetched mugs from the
kitchen.

"God, that's a sad book. Beautiful but sad."

I agreed, vague, my mind on the author. It was Jay's contention that all of us have the potential to be
killers, if not murderers, given the triggering circumstances. I resisted the idea, partly because it was so sweeping
and partly on philosophical grounds. Although I had not had a religious upbringing, my father's family were
Quakers with a long history of peaceful living. I could not imagine my grandfather killing anyone, even in
self-defense. My own temperament was much hotter. I suppose I idealized Grandfather Dailey because he seemed
immune to the passions that made me see red.

Could Tom kill? He had been a soldier, so he was trained to. If he had taken a swing at his cousin for
trying to buy the house, it was obviously a flashpoint. Still, his attempt to place the house under the protection of
the Historic Trust--and the letter I had glimpsed addressed to the state historical society--suggested he had tried to
think of rational ways to save the place. When Cleo Hagen had made her offer, he had not known his application to
the Trust would be refused.

That thought cheered me.

"Don't you agree?" Bonnie had been describing the pathos of the young girl abandoned to an alien
society by her own father.

I said hastily, "It's horrifying but no worse than modern cases of abuse we read about in the papers.
And Greek and Roman parents sold their children into slavery all the time, especially girls."

Bonnie sighed. "I wish Tom hadn't made it so real."

"It's a terrifying talent. I mean, it must be terrifying to have that talent."

Bonnie cocked her head. "I suppose so. What's the matter, Lark? You're awfully quiet."

I'm afraid you may be infatuated with a killer.
I could have said that. Instead I described my visit
to Lottie and Clara's presence in the sickroom. I also mentioned Clara's suggestion about clamming. To my surprise
Bonnie fell on the idea with enthusiasm. She wanted me to come too.

I said I'd think about it. Bonnie was ready to hunt down waders and clam guns.

"Good heavens, we haven't even asked Matt. He probably won't want to."

"Oh, come on. I'll bet Tom has all kinds of gear stowed in the garage. Let's go ask him. Then if Matt
doesn't want to take us out, you and I can rent a boat, and we'll be set. Tom says there's public access to some of
the clam beds off Coho Island."

I felt a stir of interest. I hadn't done much exploring yet on the bay side of the peninsula. The oyster
beds for which the bay was famous were privately owned, but Coho Island was supposed to be spectacularly
unspoiled, with some areas open to the public. Uninhabited except for black bears and deer, the island boasted a
stand of old-growth cedar that was mentioned in the guide books. Bald eagles nested in the area, too, and blue
herons fished the shallow waters of the bay.

"We'll have to consult the tide tables." Bonnie had finished off her coffee and was making for the door. I
shoved myself up and followed her.

A big dumpster sat on the grass in front of Tom's house. His crew was going at it hot and heavy, and he
was poking around in the garden. I confessed my theft of the asters, and he said he wished he'd thought to take
some to Lottie. He seemed happy to supply us with whatever clamming gear we needed, though he laughed when
Bonnie mentioned clam guns. It seemed the long slim shovels were only used for digging razor clams. Clam fanciers
raked the steamers or used an ordinary shovel.

We helped Tom weed until I yanked out a stalk of New Zealand spinach. Tom said it was time to
water.

"Hello there, neighbors." Ruth was leaning on the fence.

The sight of her jolted my memory, and I gave her a confused greeting. While he moved the sprinkler,
Tom filled her in on the house repairs, so I had time to sort out my thoughts. At the first lull in the exchange, I said,
"I think I saw your son this morning, Ruth."

"This morning? Who?" Ruth laughed. "Benny and them left yesterday. Kids had school today. You saw
somebody this morning it was Kevin Johnson."

I must have looked blank.

"Melanie's old man, remember? He's back, more's the pity, and he came over to rank me down for
calling the Methodists. His family don't need no charity. My ass. I gave Kevin a piece of my mind, and he went off in
a huff. That boy is always going off in a huff. He was bragging about having plenty of cash, though. Must've found
him a job after all."

Some job. I said, "I think his pickup was the one that almost ran me off the Ridge Road." And almost
killed Freddy and Darla.

Bonnie said, "Did you call Dale Nelson?"

Tom was frowning. "Kevin? He's a blow-hard, but he wouldn't--" He looked at his house. The odds were
good that the sideswiper had also tossed the fire bomb.

Ruth's hair stood up in indignant tufts. "Land sakes, no child of mine would do a thing like that. My Ben
wouldn't hurt a fly."

She sounded so shocked I had to apologize. "I didn't think your son could have done it either, Ruth.
That's why I didn't report it."

"You'd better report it," Bonnie said grimly. "Before the maniac runs Jay off the road or burns my
house."

Tom was still brooding. His thoughts darkened his face. "I wonder who hired him?"

"I don't know. Donald Hagen?" I had been wondering the same thing since Ruth mentioned Kevin's
cash. It was somehow more frightening to think of the sideswiper as a hireling than as a disgruntled citizen acting
on his own out of prejudice. What else had he been hired to do?

Ruth said, "Better use my phone, honey."

"What is this, a conference?" Jay had reached the yard unnoticed. He slipped around the fence into the
garden. He must have been home for a while because he had changed into jeans and a t-shirt.