The Confidence Woman (20 page)

Seeing how upset her friend was, Claire touched her shoulder and said, “Maybe she hasn't had the right moment yet.”

“Maybe. What are you going to do about Amaral?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I
don't know. If he gets a court order—and I'm sure he will—I'll have to be fingerprinted. It might be better to volunteer. I'll make a decision when I get home.”

Steve came back with the drinks and the conversation moved on to the weather, the back roads of Arizona, the coyote Claire saw running down the road in New River. Eventually Steve got up to prepare dinner. Claire waited a few minutes, then said she had to use the bathroom.

She found him in the kitchen standing over a cutting board, inserting a knife between the skin and the breast of a piece of chicken. He began to cut the skin loose, an act that required a very sharp knife.

“No more Kentucky Fried Chicken for me,” he said.

Claire felt she had little time to circle the issue so she got right to the point. “What can you tell me about Jerry Bartlett?” she asked.

Steve continued cutting until he'd removed the skin. He dropped it into the trash, then turned to look at Claire. “I know she is a friend of Erwin's,” he admitted.

“How good a friend?”

The gray eyes got cloudy as he debated how much of a friend's confidence he was willing to reveal. “It's possible they are having an affair. Erwin hinted that they were, but you've met Erwin. Sometimes he implies more than there is.”

“Did he tell you that Miranda had left him?” Claire asked.

Steve picked up the knife and began working on the chicken breast again, carving the meat away from the bone. “He said something about it,” he replied without looking up.

“When?”

“I don't remember exactly. A couple of weeks ago.”

“Why didn't anybody tell Lynn?”

“I can't speak for Erwin, but speaking for myself, I knew she'd be hurt that Miranda hadn't told her. You must have noticed that Lynn places Miranda on a pedestal. Miranda has an interesting career. Lynn has me.” He put down the knife, touched his heart and gave Claire a wry grin. “Or what's left of me. Lynn thinks Miranda is her close friend, but Miranda is a butterfly. She's here, she's there. Even when she is here, we hardly ever see her. An actress's life is far more exciting than our domestic life. They belong to their audiences, their agents, their producers, not to their friends or their mates.”

“Do you know where Erwin went?”

“He told me he was going to Mexico to look at a property in Baja.”

It was clear that he considered the kitchen his domain. Nevertheless, Claire felt an obligation to offer to help. He declined and she went to the bathroom then back out to the patio.

******

When
dinner was ready, Steve called them to the table. The food was fat-free and the conversation was also on the lean side. Claire could only give it one half of her mind while the other replayed the events of the last few days.

They went to bed early. Claire listened for the yip of the coyotes, but for reasons known only to them, they were silent. When she finally fell asleep, she had dreams in which a part of her seemed to be standing outside the action crying “Get me out of this.” In one dream she saw her own oversized fingerprints stamped in black ink in Evelyn Martin's house. In another she saw Evelyn's decomposed body sprawled across the kitchen floor, the rotting flesh, the turquoise dress, the bleached hair. As she watched, it seemed to inflate like a grotesque balloon. She woke from this dream wondering how anyone even knew that the inflated body was Evelyn Martin. Because you said so, she thought before she fell asleep again. You identified the hair.

The next time she woke up it was still dark, but she could tell that morning was coming by the sound of the chattering birds. As she lay in bed and waited for the cold light of dawn, she revised her dreams and reminded herself that she had not been the one who identified Evelyn Martin. The Santa Fe police identified her by checking dental records. She got out of bed and got dressed. The door was closed to Steve and Lynn's bedroom, and the house was quiet. Claire let herself out the front door and walked down the road until she came to a dry streambed, a place she and Lynn had walked before. She followed the stream, which had carved a deep and sandy path. There were no houses or people visible from the depths of the arroyo. She enjoyed the morning freshness and looked for tracks. She didn't see the chevron pattern of rattlesnake skin, but she did see the swirls of lizard tails and the footprints that formed dots beside them. A raven flew over and cawed. For all she knew it was the same raven she had seen at Miranda's house.

She kept on following the streambed through the narrow canyon knowing it would eventually lead to Cave Creek; water always sought the lowest level.

As she walked, studying the ground, thinking about tracks and signs, the thought came to her that a sign that seemed so obvious had been misinterpreted. The idea was so startling that it took a while to absorb it, but once she opened this door, other questions appeared and other answers. She kept on walking and thinking, wondering what she could do to correct the error if there had been one.

The sound of running water interrupted her reverie and she knew that Cave Creek was around the bend. It was one of those rare streams in Arizona that actually had water in it. As far as Claire knew, it flowed year-round fed by springs and snowfall from the mountains. She stood next to the stream watching the amber water flow, enjoying the ripples and shadows and the refreshing sound of the running water. She felt the sun on her back and realized that Steve and Lynn would be up by now and wondering where she was. She turned and followed the arroyo back to the house, picking up her pace and starting to sweat
even
though it was still early morning. As she came around a bend, she saw Steve rushing toward her.

“Claire,” he called. “I was hoping these were your footsteps. Lynn got worried when she didn't find you in the house.”

“I'm sorry,” Claire replied. “I woke up early and went for a walk. I didn't think anyone would miss me.”

“Since I had the heart attack, Lynn worries about everything. Then Evelyn was murdered and you all became suspects. When Lynn worries she eats. She's probably sitting in the garage right now with a bag of potato chips. Maybe that's why she sent me to look for you, so she could eat. For every pound I lose, she gains five.”

“You know about the eating?”

“How else would she be putting on so much weight? But if you tell her I know, it'll just upset her.”

As they walked toward the house, Claire thought about the secrets couples kept from each other. Secrets could be helpful or they could be destructive, depending on the size and the subject of the secret. Since Steve already knew about Lynn's eating, she saw no harm in asking if he also knew that Evelyn had stolen Lynn's cache of food.

“I knew,” he told her. “But I didn't say anything to Lynn.”

“Did Erwin tell you?”

“Yes,” Steve said.

“So that means Lynn told Miranda, Miranda told Erwin, Erwin told you. If you told Lynn it would complete the circle.”

“I know.” Steve continued walking at a rapid pace, keeping his eyes on the ground. The tracks were still embedded in the sand, but Claire suspected he was going too fast to notice them.

If Lynn had been eating while she waited, she'd hidden the signs. She was standing in the driveway holding a coffee mug.

“I was worried about you,” she said, giving Claire a hug.

“I'm sorry,” Claire replied. “I woke up early and went for a walk. I followed the streambed to Cave Creek. You and I have been there before.”

“I don't go there so early in the morning when the rattlesnakes are still out.”

Claire thought how people who were looking for a comfortable life were drawn to the desert by the warmth and the sun, but it remained a thorny and dangerous place. It was one of the things she liked about it. Awareness of danger sharpened the senses, which was not a bad thing. “There's good visibility in the streambed. I watched for rattlesnake tracks, and I didn't see any,” she said.

“I know you've lived in the desert and you know your way around. I'm sorry to be such a worry
wart,
but so many things have happened lately. It makes me uncomfortable.”

Claire felt she was standing outside a rectangle formed by the two couples—Steve and Lynn, Erwin and Miranda. She couldn't say any more about the food theft without revealing that Steve knew about the eating and upsetting the balance. But she felt she could question Lynn about the past and her memory of Miranda. She waited until Steve went into the house.

“The last time Miranda and I e-mailed each other I mentioned the incident at the U of A when Elizabeth found her wearing the jacket. What do you remember about it?”

“That Elizabeth was a bitch.”

“Do you remember what Miranda's reaction was? Did she blow up at Elizabeth?”

“No. Miranda wasn't a confrontational person. I think she was more puzzled and hurt than angry.”

They went inside to get away from the sun, and Claire asked if she could use their computer to check her e-mail. Although Steve was the cook in this house, in other ways the Grangers followed traditional roles. He was the brain, Lynn was the heart. She took care of the quail, he took care of the computer. Steve led her into his office, logged on to the Internet, and left Claire alone. Taking her first step on the road toward answering her questions, she went to AOL's web site, the one with which she was familiar. She did a people search of the white pages and found a J. Bartlett listed in New River. Jerry, presumably. An initial in the phone book usually meant a woman trying to conceal the fact. It wouldn't fool many people, but it was better that people didn't know your name if they wanted to cause you trouble. Claire printed out a map from I-17 to Jerry's residence, then searched the yellow pages. If she were searching Phoenix her task would have been impossible, but in New River there was only one entry in the category she searched. Then, if only because she'd said she intended to, she checked her e-mail to find the usual collection of unsolicited credit card offers and porn.

After lunch Claire said she needed to get going so she wouldn't have to spend much time driving home after dark. Lynn protested, but not very hard. Steve didn't protest at all. Claire got in her truck and found her way to I-17, but instead of turning north toward home, she turned south toward Phoenix. She got off near downtown, found herself an anonymous motel and checked in. She spent the rest of the afternoon at the Heard Museum, had dinner at a restaurant she liked, went back to the motel and went to bed early. In the morning she called CSWR and left a message that she wouldn't be in. She dressed and combed her hair but put on no makeup, which left her looking appropriately wan. She had a bagel and a cup of coffee, then got in her truck and negotiated the rush-hour traffic through Phoenix to New River.

The address she had wasn't far from the interstate. It was the office of a dentist named Charles Rule. Dr. Rule might be able to answer her question, but to get to see a busy dentist could require a performance equal to any of Miranda's. Claire had once had a toothache and had a vivid memory of the
intense
pain. She would have to call on memory since she had little experience as an actress. She parked her truck and went into the office, where she encountered a receptionist wearing a pink smock and a name tag that read Silvia.

“May I help you?” she asked.

Claire took a deep breath then said, “I have a terrible toothache. I think the root may be dying. I don't have an appointment, but I was wondering if the dentist could see me. I'm visiting a friend here in town and I can't get myself back home in this kind of pain.”

“We should be able to fit you in,” Silvia said, handing her a form to fill out.

“Thanks,” Claire said. “This is a small town. You might know my friend here, Miranda Kohl.”

“Oh, yes,” Silvia said. “She's a patient of ours and so is her husband. Have a seat. Dr. Rule will be with you as soon as possible.”

Claire sat down in the reception area and flipped through a magazine, sucking on her cheek and trying to keep up the appearance of being in physical pain. The mental and emotional discomfort she felt was real enough. She didn't like being an impostor, but she only needed to be one long enough to get herself into the dentist's office. She waited an hour before Dr. Rule was able to see her. Silvia led Claire down the hall to the examining room.

Claire lay back in the reclining seat, stared at photographs of clouds on the ceiling and listened to New Age music while she waited for Dr. Rule.

“Howdy,” he said when he entered the room.

“Hello,” replied Claire, sitting up in the chair.

Dr. Rule was a tall, middle-aged man with a bald head and intelligent green eyes that expressed a keen interest in her. Perhaps because she was a new patient. She doubted he could be very interested in another root canal or toothache.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

Claire straightened her back, squared her shoulders and said, “I have a confession to make. I don't have a toothache.”

“Oh?” asked Dr. Rule, raising an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

“I'm an old friend of Miranda Kohl's. Your receptionist told me you're her dentist.”

“I am, but if you're a friend of Miranda's, shouldn't she have told you that herself?” He stepped away from Claire, leading her to think there was a patient/dentist confidentiality he didn't want to violate.

“She should, but I can't find Miranda and I'm concerned about her.”

“She travels a lot.”

“I know, but this is different.”

“What makes you think I'll be able to find her? We see Miranda twice a year for cleaning. She
rarely
needs any dental work.”