The Last Good Kiss (44 page)

and pushed her away. As she rocked back on her knees,

the sheet unwound from her shoulders like a shroud,

and her naked breasts stood between us.

"You don't want me," she said, "and I can't blame

you, not after all you know."

"It's Trahearne," I said.

"He doesn't want me anymore," she said. "He wants

me gone, out of his life. I've know that for a long time

but I chose to ignore it."

"He went to a lot of trouble for a man who doesn't

want you," I said.

"He thinks I'm a slut," she whispered, "and he just

wanted to make sure. That's all. That's not the same

thing as wanting me. A woman knows. You want me, I

can tell. I don't know why you won't lie down with

me."

"I'm afraid," I said.

"Of me?" she asked, then twisted easily out of my

grip.

"Of myself," I said, and she stared at me again, long

and hard. "You love Trahearne," I added as I put my

hands on her bare shoulders. She waited, as still as an

animal resigned to a trap, waited for me to pull her

toward me or push her away.

"You're right," she said, tilting her head so her cheek

rested on the back of my left hand. "I'm sorry." She

rose and wound the sheet around her body. "You think

you're in love with me, don't you?" she said with her

hand on the doorknob. I nodded slowly. "You don't

even know me," she said, and I had to nod again. "It's

very kind of you to care, but you don't even know me

at all." Then she left, walking out of the sterile light of

the bathroom and into the darkness. To my blurred

eyes, the white sheet seemed to leave a drifting

afterimage that glowed like swamp-fire.

When the connecting door clicked shut, Stacy got out

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of bed and walked over to the door. "You missed your

chance," she said quietly. I stood up and mixed another

drink. "Men are such romantic old farts," she said,

smiling. "Come on to bed."

We woke at ten the next morning, but Melinda and

Trahearne had already gone, leaving me like some

hired retainer to clean up.

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1 6 ••••

I TRIED TO GET STACY TO GO BACK TO SELMA'S PLACE

while I tidied up the rest of the mess, but she wouldn't

hear of it.

"I've got my first new dress in five years," she said,

"and you're taking me out to dinner tonight, dummy. "

"Right," I said, glad of the chance.

She waited at the motel while I ran errands. I

returned the two rental cars, had the account books

copied, sent the copies to Torres and stuck the originals

in a safe-deposit box along with a note explaining what

they were about. I made dinner reservations at a

Chinese place and bought two bottles of French

champagne, which we drank as we dressed for dinner.

"I've never had real French champagne. " Stacy

sighed as she slipped her dress over her head. "But I

intend to have it again." Then she fell back across the

bed, laughing softly until she fell asleep.

I ordered dinner over the telephone and sent a cab

driver after it. When he brought the cartons back, I

paid him, then lay down beside her. Sometime during

the middle of the night, we woke up making love in our

clothes. After, we undressed and sat down to our cold

dinner, which we ate silently like two starving peasants,

then crawled back into bed.

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"You know," Stacy said dreamily, "I must be well

again. "

"Why's that?"

"Here I am drunk on champagne, shacked up with a

strange older man, the reek of gunpowder still fresh in

my innocent young nose, and I feel absolutely great, "

she said. "How about you?"

"I've got these holes in my shoulder," I said, "a

swollen ankle, Chinese indigestion, and nothing to look

forward to but a champagne hangover and a long drive

home. "

"Isn't i t wonderful," she whispered. "I'm gonna b e a

great horse doctor, you know, goddamned great horse

doctor. When I grow up. Whadda you gonna be when

you grow up?"

"Older," I said, but she was already asleep again.

The next morning, as I parked at the head of Selma's

trail, I had to line up behind her pickup, a fence

company truck, and Melinda's Volkswagen.

"You think she's still here?'' Stacy asked.

"I think I'm back in the goddamned towing business," I said as I climbed out to look at the note under the VW windshield wiper. A key was folded up in the

paper, which had one word written on it: Please. I

shook my head, and Stacy and I picked up our tired feet

and headed them up the trail.

Selma was sitting in the living room watching four

young men struggle as they tried to dig post holes in the

rocky hillside.

"I never thought it would come to this," she said as

we joined her.

"You think it's enough?" I asked.

"I've ordered two guard dogs from a place in

Broomfield," she confessed. " 'The world is too much

with us, late and soon,' " she recited. "No one will ever

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trespass here again," she added, then touched her

bruised cheek. "Ever again. "

" I hope not," I said. "I bought us some insurance,

but put up the fence and get the dogs anyway. Just in

case. "

"You sound like a man about to make his goodbyes,"

she said. "You should stay a few days, should rest. "

"Do," Stacy said, grabbing my arm.

"I'm too tired to stay," I admitted. "Why don't you

all pack and head up into the mountains for a few days?

Find a little lake and some air that nobody's breathed.

I'm going to town to pick up a tow bar and my dog,

then I'm going home while I still can."

"Perhaps you're right," Selma said. She glanced at

Stacy, who nodded slowly and released my arm.

"You're always welcome here, you know. "

"Thanks. "

"And if you need doctoring," Stacy said lightly,

"give me a call. Any time at all." She gave me a quick

hug and walked out of the cabin toward her own, her

narrow back firm and erect.

"She's a lovely woman," Selma said, "and I think as

terrible as all this has been, it has been good for her."

"She's a tiger," I said, "she'll be fine."

"Melinda told me," Selma said. "I always think I

know my charges, and they always find some way to

surprise me. You didn't surprise me, though. "

"Why?"

"I knew that you would get Melinda back," she said,

"and I want to thank you for it. You saved her life."

"If I hadn't been so stupid, they would never have

found her," I said.

"One can't be blamed for believing lies, " she said

softly.

"I get paid for knowing the difference," I said, "but

this time-"

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"This time was different," she interrupted.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Will you do me one last favor?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Keep an eye on Melinda," she said, "check on her

from time to time. I have this feeling that she's going to

need a friend soon."

"I'll do my best," I said, "but I can't promise

anything. "

"Thank you," she said, "and please don't blame

yourself for this last spate of her troubles. They began

many years ago, and none of this was your fault. "

"I'm not sure about that," I said, then left her there

with her cats and her chicks and her shiny new fence.

But the really bad ones never end. They drag on like

an endless litigation or a chronic jungle fever. I thought

this one was over, though, except for the forty thousand dollars, which was mostly Melinda's worry. I had plenty of time to think about it, too, as I headed north

one more time with Melinda's VW in tow and Fireball

lying in a drugged stupor on the seat beside me. The

bulldog was heavily bandaged to hold the drains in

place. When I picked him up, the vets released him to

me as if he didn't have much chance to survive. They

had removed a portion of his stomach and resectioned

his small intestine, so I babied him toward home as

gently as I could. By the time we reached Meriwether,

he looked so bad that I put him in the vet's while I

towed the VW up to Cauldron Springs.

I had had a bellyful of the Trahearne family circus, so

I left Melinda's car parked behind the hotel pool house,

then went home to keep an eye on Fireball and tie up

the loose ends. I sat in my office holding the telephone

until it was slick with sweat, then I hung it up and dug

up some postcards. It seemed a fitting form of communication. I sent one to Rosie with Trahearne's tele-242

phone number on it. Another to Melinda, telling her to

call her mother. A third to Traheame, which said

simply: You owe me, old man.

As I left the office, I stopped by the secretary's desk

and interrupted her as she buffed a higher gloss on her

blue fingernails.

"If anybody calls," I told her, "tell them that I'm out

of town indefinitely. "

"How long is that?" she asked without looking up .

. "Almost forever," I said, and she wrote it down.

I picked up Fireball, who was still hanging on, and

drove him up to the cabin on the North Fork. His

wounds healed slowly, but they healed. A fresh froth of

white hairs grizzled his muzzle, he walked carefully as if

trying to control his natural waddle, and he couldn't lift

his leg to pee, but he survived. Finally I drove him

down to Columbia Falls to have the drains and stitches

removed. When we got back to the cabin, Traheame's

Caddy was parked in front and he was sitting at the

table with a half-gallon of vodka and a jug of tonic. He

didn't say anything as I picked up Fireball and carried

him up the steps. When I sat him down, the bulldog

walked toward Traheame to sniff him, but halfway

there he changed his mind and lay down to lick his

scars.

"I suppose you blame me for that, too, " Traheame

said casually.

"I guess I don't blame anybody for anything," I said.

"Must be tough being a saint," he suggested. He

sounded sober but his eyes were red and drunk. A

white crust of antacid flaked at the comers of his

mouth.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I couldn't work," he said, and hung his head.

"Maybe you're standing too far from your desk," I

said.

"What the hell do you know about it?" he asked, his