Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (122 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Roberta opened her eyes to bright sunlight. She sat up abruptly, confusion clouding her mind, and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Nine past nine. Groggy, she climbed from the bed, struggled into her robe, and made her way to the kitchen.

As she filled the coffeepot with tap water, Robbi vacantly stared out the window above the sink. Light flickered before her eyes. An image flashed across her vision. She stared at the plum tree at the back of the yard. Suddenly a tall pine tree replaced it. Through the pine’s spiky boughs she saw a building. It was a natural wood structure with double doors. A single window in the shape of a cross stood above the doors. A church.

The doorbell rang. The massive pine dissolved and she was again staring at the deep purple leaves of the plum tree.

A church in the woods.

Roberta’s pulse accelerated. Could it be so easy? How many churches could be nestled in the pines?

The doorbell rang again. Through the living room window she saw Carl Masser at the door. She’d forgotten about him.

She tied her robe, let him in, directed him to the kitchen and, trying to tame the mass of spiral strands falling into her face, she told him about the vision.

“It was a church in a forest of pines.”

“There’s a lot of forest up there,” Carl said.

Pouring coffee into a filter and sliding it into the coffeemaker, she said, “But how many churches with a window above the door in the shape of a cross?”

“It’s something, that’s for sure.”

“I’m going to get dressed. Interested in going for a ride?” she asked.

“Church hunting?”

She nodded.

“Hurry.”

________

They crossed the state line into California. Robbi drove. She had decided that her parents’ house was a good place to start. She would revisit the spot where she’d had her accident.

For the past fifteen minutes Carl had talked nonstop about Maggie. “Shit, would you listen to me. I’m making her out to sound like some kind of saint. She’s no goody-goody. She has a temper. You don’t want to get her riled.”

Robbi saw a woman in an alley, fingernails bared, prepared to fight a giant. Then she remembered a sobbing, frantic woman, nearly drowned, clinging to her captor.

“She smokes too much. We fight about that sometimes. She promised to quit.” He looked out the window, then added quietly. “Maybe she already has.”

Carl continued to speak of Maggie. After a while, Robbi began to feel as if she’d known her for a long time. No longer was she a nameless victim without background or personality. She came alive through Carl.

They left the freeway and entered Truckee. She pulled up to Watts’ Feed and Grain and General Store.

Inside the cool interior, with its array of farm tools and potpourri of cloying smells of fruits, vegetables, and grain, Roberta selected a couple of packs of watermelon bubble gum and a dusty bottle of Chardonnay. As the woman behind the antique cash register rang up her items, Roberta asked about local churches, showing her the pages torn from the phone directory.

“Miss, if it’s around here and it’s got an address, I’d know about it. There’s nothing that’s not on that list there.”

“Well, thanks anyway,” Robbi said, turning away.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be related to the Paxtons off 267, would’ya?”

Robbi turned back. “Yes. I’m Lois’s daughter.”

“Thought so. That little sister of yours is a spitting image, ‘cept for the hair. If she follows in your shoes, the local fellows are gonna be tripping over themselves to be near that one.”

“I hope not for a few years. She’s only thirteen.”

“You going out to their place?” she asked Robbi.

“Yes.”

“Give my regards, and tell Hanley we got that brand of chew he ordered.”

“I’ll take it to him,” Roberta said, reaching back into her purse.

Back in the Jeep, they drove out on Highway 267, then turned onto the narrow paved road. As she pulled up the circular drive to the sprawling ranch-style house, she heard Carl whistle softly under his breath.

“Nice, huh?” she said.

“Your old man connected with the mob?”

She smiled. “He was a doctor. A psychiatrist.”

“So you were a spoiled rich kid, huh?”

She laughed lightly.

Carl started up the front steps to the massive double doors.

“No, not that way. Round the back. I always feel like I need an engraved invitation to pass through those doors.”

Carl stared at her, an odd expression on his face, but he shrugged, reversed his steps, and followed her. At the back of the house they passed the stable, chicken coop, and Tobie’s animal hospital and pet menagerie. The gray, wooden door to the kitchen was as austere as the front door was baroque.

Robbi leaned down and peered through the window alongside the door. A woman she’d never laid eyes on before stood at the island, cutting up a whole chicken. The woman saw them. With a stern expression she hurried around the island, the cleaver still clutched in one bulky hand, and jerked open the door.

“What you want? Who send you?” She glared from Carl to Robbi. “You not allowed back here.”

“I’m Roberta Paxton. My folks live here.”

The woman tilted her head, squinted some more, then said in that same gruff tone, “Nobody say you coming.” She stepped back for them to enter.

“Nobody knew.”

She went back to the chicken, whacked at it. “You stay for supper?”

“Yes, thanks.”

The woman snapped the joint between the leg and thigh, then hacked the two pieces apart. “Nobody tell me.”

Robbi put the wine in the refrigerator, then motioned for Carl to follow her.

She found her mother at a mahogany desk in the library, going over a stack of bills. At her elbow was a calculator and checkbook.

“Sweetheart,” Lois said, rising and going to Robbi, “what a surprise.”

“Is it a bad time? You have other plans?”

“No, of course not. You’ll stay for dinner. It’s just chicken. Chick, chick, chick, like every other Sunday of the year.”

“That’s why I came.”

“Well, good.” She squeezed Roberta’s hand. “Now, who’s this nice-looking young man standing here with you?”

Roberta introduced them. They shook hands, exchanged hellos.

“How long has the new cook been here?” Robbi said.

“Pomona came while you were in the hospital.”

“What happened to the other one?”

“Oh, they tend to come and go.”

“I don’t wonder,” Robbi mumbled under her breath, thinking of her father’s disposition.

Her mother took her arm and led her from the room. “Let’s get something cool to drink and then we’ll sit down and talk.”

With a pitcher of iced tea the three settled down in the closed-in air-conditioned porch. In the evening, after the sun set, the windows lifted to allow the cool westerly breeze to flow through. The air now caressing Robbi’s face, bringing goose bumps to her arms, was manufactured and cold.

Hooves clopping on earth sounded in the yard.

“That’ll be Tobie,” Lois said. “Home from the hill.”

Several minutes later Roberta heard the back door open and close. Hushed voices. Then Tobie, dressed in shorts and a halter top, rushed into the sun porch.

“Robbi!” Tobie squealed. “I saw your car on the road, so I turned Prince and headed straight back. You must have read my mind. If you didn’t come today, I was going to hitch a ride into Reno to see you.”

Robbi met her halfway. The sisters hugged, then pivoted till they were back to back. They stood straight, waiting.

“Mom?” Tobie said, reaching up to measure for herself.

“Almost,” their mother said. “Tobie, I swear you’ve grown an inch or two since the last time.”

“If you don’t stop growing, you’re gonna tower over me,” Roberta said.

“I don’t want to be any taller than you. I think you’re the perfect height.”

“Tobie,” Lois admonished. “We have company. Why don’t you go put some clothes on?”

Suddenly Tobie appeared self-conscious as Robbi introduced her to Carl.

“So this is the future heartbreaker?” Carl said. “Truckee High, look out.”

“My sister’s a regular wood nymph,” Robbi teased.

“There’s no one around here to see me,” Tobie said quietly. She sat on the three-legged stool, her chin resting on her knees, her cheeks flaming.

“Prince. That’s the new horse?” Robbi asked.

“Yeah. C’mon,” Tobie said, vaulting to her feet. “You have to see him, he’s beautiful.”

Robbi signaled to Carl to follow. As they walked through the house, Tobie whispered to Robbi, “What about Donald?”

“What about him?”

“Does he know about Carl?”

Robbi squeezed her sister’s hand. “Carl’s not a boyfriend,” she whispered back. “This is business. We’ll talk later.”

The horse was magnificent. A black Arabian stallion, over fifteen hands high, with obvious good bloodlines.

“How old?” Robbi asked Tobie.

“Going on eight.”

“Looks spirited.”

“No, he’s real gentle. Take him out.” She handed Robbi the reins.

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, please, you’ll love him. Go on, Robbi, try him out.”

Robbi mounted. Prince was a bigger horse than she was used to riding, and she felt slightly apprehensive. She felt his energy, his power beneath her legs.

“Roberta,” a voice called out.

Roberta turned to see Hanley crossing the yard toward her.

She smiled, waved.

“If your sister told you that horse was gentle, don’t you believe a word of it,” he said, looking stern. “He knows only one speed,
breakneck.”

Tobie ran to Hanley and wrapped her arms around one of his, skipping to his long strides. He patted her head affectionately. Robbi observed the exchange between her sister and the caretaker. How lucky she is, Roberta thought, to have him around in her formative years. She wished she’d had someone like Hanley to fill the void when she was growing up. Maybe that’s why her sister seemed so happy and carefree.

“Hi, Hanley. I brought you something from town.” From the breast pocket of her shirt, she took out the canister of chewing tobacco and gave it to him.

“Why, thank you, Robbi.” He reached into his pocket.

“Put your money away. It’s the least I could do.”

He nodded, grinned. “How ya feeling now?”

“Good, thanks.” Roberta shifted in the saddle. “Carl, this is the man who saved my life when I was hurt in the woods.”

Masser and Hanley shook hands. “When that horse come running back to the house, its leg broke bad, I had a hunch the little lady was in trouble. Madonna was a gentle mare and real sure-footed. This one,” he said, stroking the horse’s muzzle, “he can be a devil.”

“He acts like a real killer,” Robbi said, smiling as the horse nudged the man warmly. “But thanks for the warning. I’ll be careful.”

Tobie pulled on Carl’s shirt-sleeve. “C’mon, I’ll show you my animal hospital.”

“Got any snakes?” Carl asked, obediently following.

“Timber rattlers. I’ll let you hold them.”

“You’re kidding?”

Roberta chuckled as she watched the two stride toward the backyard, then she glanced at the house and paused, became somber. Through a ground floor window she caught a glint of light, the sun reflecting off something metallic. And then she realized what it was. Her father’s wheelchair. Her father sat in it and he was staring at her, his face a stony mask.

She looked away, pulled on the reins until the horse pivoted. “I’ll just take him to the edge of the woods and then back.”

Prince was already moving, prancing backward, waiting for a command. She applied light pressure to his sides. He trotted several yards, cantered for a few more, then, with little encouragement from her, he shifted gracefully into a smooth gallop. In no time they were out of the yard and into the sparse copse of pine and aspen at the rear of the property, the horse easily maneuvering through the trees. She let him have his head, trepidation all but gone now as he sprinted lithely on a preordained course. Suddenly they were out of the trees and racing across the meadow toward another denser copse of trees in the distance, grass and wildflowers melded together in a brilliant collage.

She heard a clap of thunder and her heart froze. She looked at the sky.
Not a cloud.
A heavy scent of sodden earth bit into her nostrils, and her skin became clammy, wet from the humidity.
Not a cloud in the sky.
The thunder rolled this time, long and ominous. The skin on her forehead felt tight, as if a steel band, encircling her head, were being tightened centimeter by centimeter. Her stomach quaked.

Roberta pulled hard on the reins. Prince tossed his massive head, protesting. She continued to pull back until the horse, snorting, rearing up, slowed his pace and at last came to a full stop.