Unspeakable (36 page)

“W
e have a traffic advisory,”
the radio announcer said—on the oldies rock station her father usually listened to in his silver Mercury Sable. Ninety miles south of Seattle, Olivia was starting to get some static on the channel.

Olivia was lost.

She was on Centralia Alpha Road, looking for the turnoff to Troy Morrow's farm. She had a feeling she'd passed it already.

Earlier, she'd thought about canceling with Troy. After everything that had happened this morning—including her car getting trashed—she hadn't exactly been up for a three-hour wild-goose chase to Centralia and back. Besides, she'd wanted to be there when the police questioned Corinne. Hell, she'd have bought tickets to watch them put the screws to her.

But one of the plainclothesmen had advised her to wait at home for their call. Ian had offered to drive her, which would have been fine with Olivia. But the same bossy detective had said Ian shouldn't involve himself in police business any further. So the policewoman had driven her home.

Fortunately, Olivia had had only one client scheduled this morning—a regular, whose number was on her speed dial. She'd managed to catch the woman at home and reschedule.

She'd borrowed her dad's car, swung by the bank and withdrew three hundred dollars, then started off for Centralia. The long drive gave her time to think about her conversation with Ian Haggerty. Maybe she'd been wrong about him. To her surprise, she liked him—and he seemed to care about her. He wasn't hard on the eyes either. Still, a part of her felt compelled to push him away. She didn't trust her own judgment as far as men were concerned.

Maybe it wasn't just men. Here she was, trying to find a remote farm for an assignation with a total stranger. The only thing she really knew about him was that he had a serial killer for an uncle. This guy had Wade Grinnell's blood coursing through his veins, for God's sake. She hadn't brought along anything to defend herself, not even pepper spray. On top of that, no one else knew where she was.

At this moment, she didn't know where she was either.

Olivia pulled over to the side of the road. She read the directions again, and realized she had to make a U-turn and backtrack a couple of miles. Since she had already pulled over, she took out her cell and phoned home. It rang twice before her father answered.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

“Hi, Pop, how are you?” After the talk with Ian, she didn't like the idea of her dad being alone in the house all afternoon. “Are the police still there?” she asked.

“They left about a half hour ago—just about the time your friend, Ian, showed up.”

“Ian?” she said.

“Yeah, he came by to make sure you were okay. He's right here. Want to talk with him?”

“Sure, I guess,” she replied, a bit baffled. “But let me talk to you afterward, okay?”

“Okey-doke. Here he is.”

“Hello, Olivia?” Ian said.

“Yes, hello.” She let out a surprised laugh. “Ah, why are you at my father's house?”

“Like your dad said, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm sorry I missed you. But your dad's been very nice.”

“How did you get our address?” Olivia quickly shook her head. “Never mind, forget it. So what's going on? Do you plan to stay the afternoon? Or are you moving in permanently?”

“I know you think I'm pushy, but I'm concerned about you. And to answer your question, in your office, I overheard one of the other cops mention your home address. I'm leaving soon. I promise not to darken your already darkened front door again—at least, not without an invitation.”

“I'm sorry if I sound ungrateful,” she said. “It's just that—”

“It's okay. You don't know me very well, and I'm coming on pretty strong—showing up in your office, dropping by your house. I get it. I'm just concerned about your safety.”

“Did you tell my father about Collin? That's confidential stuff, and he doesn't know.”

“Well, he knows now. I'm sorry, but you both need to be extra cautious until this thing is resolved. By the way, where are you? Your dad said you borrowed his car for the afternoon, but you didn't say where you were going. Until this blows over, you really should let someone know where you are at all times.”

“Hey, I've already got a father,” Olivia said with an edge in her voice. “He's right there in the room with you. I don't need two fathers, thanks. And you are pushy, you really are. Can I talk to my father again, please?”

“Sure,” he said. “Here's your dad. . . .”

“Hi, honey,” her father said.

“Listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Collin Cox. I was just trying to keep it professional, you know?”

“That's fine. But your friend Ian here warned me there might be some risks involved. I don't want you taking any chances, sweetie. He's right. You really should keep me posted on where you're going and what's happening.”

“Okay. But first, I hardly know Ian,” she said. “He's not my friend. Before today, we met only once, very briefly. I'm not sure I even like him. Anyway, I'm outside Centralia, trying to find a farm belonging to a Troy Morrow. It's supposed to be somewhere past milepost eight off Centralia Alpha Road. I'm doing some research. I should be finished there within the hour. I'll call you when I'm done.” Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she rolled her eyes. “Meanwhile, can you do me a favor and tell Ian I didn't mean to be rude and fly off the handle? I've just had a rough morning, that's all.”

“Do you want to tell him yourself?” her father asked.

“No, thanks, just pass that along, please. One more thing, Pop, before I forget. Did the police call about Corinne? Have they talked with her yet?”

“I'm not sure,” he said. “They haven't called here.”

“Well, I'll give you a shout in about an hour or less, Pop. Take care.”

“Be careful,” he said, and then he hung up.

Ten minutes later, Olivia turned down an unmarked dirt road in front of the milepost sign. The car rocked and wobbled over the crude path. White-knuckled, she gripped the steering wheel and prayed she didn't get a flat. Clumps of trees and tall bushes along the trail limited her view. The road seemed to go on forever. Olivia was starting to wonder if she'd taken the wrong turn when she spotted a clearing ahead. She saw a sprawling, dilapidated ranch house—and beside it, a garage and a tall barn that looked as if it were ready to fall apart. A strange symbol was painted on the barn: a circle within a triangle—and a slash through it. Olivia had no idea what it meant, but it was prominently displayed. She came closer to the house, and noticed three women dressed in rags, tilling a vegetable garden. One of them was heavily pregnant. All of them stopped working and stared as she pulled up in her father's car.

“God help me,” Olivia muttered, shutting off the car engine. She took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and opened the car door.

She saw a man step out of the ramshackle house. He let the screen door slam shut behind him, but he didn't move from the front stoop. He seemed to be staring at her. Barefoot and shirtless, he wore jeans that were unfastened in the front. With his receding gray hair in a ponytail and his paunchy body, he looked like he might be in his late forties. He puffed on a cigarette, and quietly called to one of the women. She dropped her hoe and immediately ran to him—like an obedient servant. He whispered something to her, and she nodded. He planted a sloppy kiss on her mouth. As she turned away, he seemed to stare at Olivia for a moment. Then he ducked inside the house, letting the door slam behind him again.

Olivia stood by the car, fighting the impulse to jump back inside and get the hell out of there. The woman was coming toward her with a wide-eyed, manic grin on her face. Her brown hair was in dusty-looking dreadlocks, and she had a nose ring. She wore a tattered sweater with army-fatigue cutoffs. “Welcome!” she called.

“Thank you, hi,” Olivia said, working up a smile. “I'm here to see Troy Morrow. He's expecting me. My name's Olivia.”

The woman came closer and reached out to take her hand. Olivia noticed a tattoo on her forearm—the same cryptic symbol that was painted on the barn. Her hands were filthy from working in the garden. She had the sort of burnt-out, dried-up look that came from too many drugs or too much sun. On her chin were several long whiskers that managed to catch the midday sun every time she tilted her head in a certain way.

“Troy wants me to take care of you,” she said. “He's still kind of getting his shit together. It's like his morning. Come into the house, Olivia. I'll make you some tea.”

“Well, thanks,” she said, heading toward the ranch house with the woman. Olivia noticed her friends in the garden were still glowering at her.

Some wind chimes played outside the front door. A sick-looking old collie hobbled up to meet them inside the house. The place smelled like burnt soup—or maybe it was the poor dog that stank. Olivia wasn't sure. She patted the dog's head, and it wandered away. The furniture in the main room looked as if it had been collected off people's front curbs. The woman told her to have a seat, and then she ducked into the kitchen.

Olivia remained standing. All she could think about were bedbugs and lice. Past the wind chimes, she heard the woman whispering to someone. After a few moments, a man wandered out from the kitchen wearing only a pair of torn, dirty white briefs. Unshaven, and with his curly long hair in his eyes, he looked about twenty-five. On his chest was a tattoo with that same strange symbol. “Hey, is that your car in front?” he asked.

Olivia nodded. “Yes, it is.”

He scratched his hairy stomach. “Can I borrow it? I only need it for—like—an hour.”

She shrugged. “Ah, you know, I'd like to help you. But it's not my car to loan out. Besides, I won't be here that long. I'm probably leaving as soon as I finish up some business with Troy. I'm sorry.”

“C'mon, really?” he pressed. He plopped down in one of the eight mismatched chairs around an old picnic table. “That sucks. I mean, you say you want to help me, and then you give me all these lame-ass excuses . . .”

“No means no, Bobby,” said the gray-ponytail man as he wandered in from the kitchen. He'd donned an old flannel shirt and some boots—along with his jeans. Passing his friend in the chair, he grabbed him by the scalp and playfully shook his head a little. This close, Olivia saw a resemblance to Wade Grinnell, especially when he smirked. She also saw the tattoo on the side of his neck—that same obscure symbol again. “Do me a favor and get lost so I can talk to this pretty woman alone,” he said, rubbing his friend's shoulder.

Wordlessly, the younger man got to his feet and wandered back into the kitchen, tugging his underwear down in back to scratch one butt-cheek.

“Welcome, I'm Troy.” The gray-ponytail man smiled at her. He seemed friendly enough. He pulled out a chair for her. It made a scraping sound against the wood floor.

“Hi, I'm Olivia,” she said, sitting down. “Thanks for agreeing to see me, Troy. My mom never really talked about your mother, not until the last few weeks of her life. I guess I'm just curious to know more about my mother's friends. I think maybe—”

“Did you bring the three hundred bucks?” he interrupted. He sat down at the head of the table—next to her.

Olivia worked up a smile and nodded. “Yes, I did. If it's okay with you, I wanted to find out something about Sheri. I think there's a whole chapter of my mother's life that's missing.”

“What was your old lady's name?”

“Corinne Beal.” For some reason, she didn't want to give him her mother's real name.

He shook his head. “Never heard of her.”

“Well, they were friends before you were born.”

“She never talked about her, sorry.”

The dreadlock woman came in with two mugs and set them on the table. Troy took one and put it down in front of Olivia.

“Would you like some honey with that?” the woman asked, with her slightly crazy smile. “We don't have any cream here, but we have goat's milk.”

“Straight from the goat,” Troy added.

“Oh, this is fine,” Olivia said. “Thank you very much.”

“Enjoy!” the woman said. Then she retreated toward the front door.

Olivia jumped a bit as the screen door slammed. She glanced down at the pale brown tea—with little black bits still swirling in it. She couldn't help thinking it might be drugged. Everything about this place was a little off. She'd read
Helter Skelter
in high school, and this place reminded her of the Manson gang's hangout, Spahn Ranch. She was curious about the symbol all of them had, but was afraid to ask.

She lifted the mug to her mouth and blew into the tea. It had an underlying funky odor. She put the mug down again. “My mom passed away a month ago—cancer,” she said. “She told me your mom died in an apartment fire. Did they ever find out how the fire started?”

He shrugged. “It started in her bedroom. The insurance company was pretty sure this old space heater she used went haywire or something. She didn't even make it out of bed. My guess is she was shit-faced. Mom drank a lot.” He slurped some of his tea. “Can't blame her. She had a pretty crappy life. She used to tell me that her stint on this farm was the only time she was ever really happy. And man, that's rough, because she lived here—like—only two years. This was my dad's farm. He dropped dead about twenty years ago, and I inherited the place. Now, I have my own family here, a family of friends.”