The Madness of Mercury (28 page)

“You oughta get out of the city more, if you take my meaning. You folks from San Francisco … ”

“What makes you think I’m from San Francisco?”

Sheriff Leo let a huge belly laugh burst forth. “Well, I’m not such a yokel I don’t know designer sunglasses when I see ’em.”

“Point taken.”

“As long as they stay to themselves and just grow vegetables and fruit, I’ve gotta leave ’em alone. You know, that Reverend’s got some politician friends and I don’t want to mess with any politicians, or lawyers either for that matter. Government’s in our shorts enough as it is. Besides, some of the local people have jobs at that place. Much-needed jobs, as you can imagine.”

“Maybe I could talk to someone who works out there.”

“Maybe.” The sheriff scratched his chin a few more times. “People here … they’re very religious. They might not be followers of the Reverend, but they like what he’s doin.’ They’re mighty protective of him and they really don’t take to outsiders butting in.”

I was getting the picture. “How about if you tell me how to find the place?”

“Sure. I can do that.” He reached across his desk. It was littered with files, piles of paper, and empty coffee cups. He rummaged through one pile and pulled out a lined yellow pad. He sketched out a rough outline of the road that led out of town and marked a turn-off a few miles north. “Follow this road. It dead-ends into another two-lane road. Turn right and go about half a mile and you’ll see a dirt driveway on your left. At the end of the drive there’s a chain-link gate and usually there’s someone posted there. You can talk to them and see if they’ll let you in to talk to the lady you’re lookin’ for.”

“They have a guard?”

“Just someone keepin’ an eye out.”

“Paranoid, are they?”

Sheriff Leo didn’t respond. He scratched his chin yet again. “Nice meetin’ you, Miss … ?”

“Bonatti. Julia Bonatti.”

“Well, Miss Bonatti. I wish you luck finding your friend’s aunt. Come on back if there’s anything I can help you with.” He hesitated. “Ya know, there’s a family near here who took in a woman and her daughter from that place. They told the family some crazy story. I tried talkin’ to the mother, but she clammed right up.”

“Really?”

“Maybe you should go talk to that family. They’ve got a small ranch on the other side of town.” The sheriff picked up the ballpoint pen and drew another quick map. “Name’s Walker. Nice people. That woman and her daughter wouldn’t still be with ’em, but maybe the Walkers can tell you more.”

T
HIRTY-
S
EVEN

I
WAS SUFFERING FROM
afternoon narcolepsy and needed a triple cappuccino thrown in my face. There was slim hope of finding such a delight here, but I hoped to grab some form of caffeine-to-go at the local eatery. I left my car parked in front of the sheriff’s station and walked the two blocks to the diner. On the way, I noticed a drugstore and a hardware store I hadn’t spotted on my first round.

The diner was a melody in turquoise, from the vinyl-padded booths to the stools and countertops. The windows were covered with painted leaping reindeer, candy canes, Christmas trees, snowy hillsides, snowflakes, and Santa on his sleigh piled high with toys. I just love this stuff. There were few patrons. A young woman with two squalling children under the age of five occupied a booth in the middle near the large front windows. The older of the two was doing his best to lick the painted snow off the window with his tongue, his mother oblivious to the possibility of toxins. An elderly man alone at the counter stirred a steaming bowl of soup. The lone waitress approached as I slid onto a stool. Her uniform echoed the aqua décor of the diner, while her hair, as if rebelling against company policy, was an odd shade of raspberry.

Through a hatch behind the counter, I saw a man in a white cap moving from one area to another as he worked. I ordered a large coffee to go and when it was delivered, I was told to pay at the front cash register. The waitress, doubling as the cashier, followed me and took my money. Trudging back to my car, I gently wiggled the hot paper cup into the cup holder, revved the engine, pulled a U-turn, and headed out of town in search of paradise.

I placed the sheriff’s hand-drawn map on the passenger seat. His directions were simple and accurate. I reached the point where the road ended, leading into another two-lane country highway, and turned right. I continued to drive, watching the odometer. I have to confess I wouldn’t know how much a half mile is if my life depended on it. I have no perspective when it comes to distance. The black and white numbers clicked over and I slowed to ten miles an hour until I saw a clearing at the side of the road and a wide drive leading up a short rise into the trees.

I pulled to the side of the road directly opposite the drive. From this perspective I could see only the top of a chain-link fence. I turned off the engine and silenced the car radio. The only sound now was the wind rustling in the trees and the scampering of little creatures in the woods nearby, perhaps the squirrels the town was named for. Then I heard dogs, more than one or two, barking in the distance.

Now that I was actually here, my nerves jangled and I felt a level of dread. This did not feel like a very welcoming place. I climbed out of the car and walked slowly up the drive. At the top of the rise, the land leveled off. The rest of the way was blocked by a high chain-link gate and fence that continued in either direction into the dense trees. The chain-link was topped by barbed wire. Not a great advertisement for a welcoming religious community. In spite of what the sheriff had indicated, the gate itself was unmanned and secured by a chain and padlock.

Inside the perimeter of the fence, the road curved down toward the right. Clinging to the fence and standing on tiptoe, I could just make out the tops of a couple of primitive cabins. Hopefully, there were more promising buildings out of my line of sight. I called out but no one answered or appeared. I waited a few more minutes and hollered out again. No response.

Frustrated, I returned to the car. The sun had disappeared behind bleak clouds as the day shortened. I huddled into my jacket, turned on the engine to start the heater, and waited, very glad I had thought to put on socks and thick-soled tennis shoes. I wasn’t sure what to do next. It was late afternoon and just possible the Prophet’s followers were doing something productive like praying. As tasteless as the coffee was, it had helped to keep me warm, but I knew it would soon do its other magic and force me to search for a restroom. There was no way I was going to trudge into the woods to find a private spot. I just might get buckshot or worse in my rear end.

As the minutes passed, the overhead pines and bare branches cast a deeper gloom over the road. I hunkered down into my jacket a bit more and waited. Three-quarters of an hour passed and just as I was about to throw in the towel, I heard a car. From my vantage point, I saw the top of the chain-link gate open. I put the Geo in reverse and backed up a discreet distance, to a spot partially hidden by bushes on the shoulder of the road.

A late-model sedan that needed a paint job and sported splashes of mud on its sides moved slowly down the drive, cautiously inched onto the road, and turned in the opposite direction from me. A lone woman was at the wheel. As she turned, she pulled a white cap from her head and threw it on the seat next to her. I started the engine and put the car in gear. Waiting for a few moments, I followed from what I thought was a safe distance. As I passed by the dirt drive, I caught a glimpse of a man in jeans and western hat winding a chain around the opening of the gate.

The sedan was ahead of me, disappearing occasionally as the road curved. I stayed a good distance behind. Only one other car passed in the opposite direction as I kept the sedan in my line of sight. The last light of the sun was disappearing quickly as we headed east. The sedan took a fork to the south and I followed. I realized we were heading back to town from the opposite direction.

This road led to a street that paralleled Powell. The car turned right on a side street and then pulled into a parking lot behind the same diner where I’d bought coffee earlier. I slowed and then pulled in at the far end of the lot. I shut off the engine and pretended to rummage in my glove compartment while the other driver got out of her car, slammed the door, and walked purposefully toward the back entrance to the diner. She was wearing white nurse’s shoes and a white uniform under a dark gray jacket.

I counted to twenty and then entered the diner through the same rear door. Christmas carols were playing on a boom box at the end of the counter. I made a beeline down the main aisle to the restrooms, grateful the nurse had chosen a spot with facilities. I washed my hands and splashed some water on my face. The towel dispenser was empty, but at least the restroom was clean. I dried my hands on some toilet paper.

The woman with the two young children and the elderly man were gone. Two men in overalls now sat in a corner booth. Other than the men, the waitress, the woman I’d followed, and myself, the diner was empty. The nurse sat alone in one of the turquoise vinyl booths halfway down the aisle. I took a seat at the counter a few stools away, where it was easy to keep an eye on her. The same waitress was still on duty. She dropped a menu in front of me, giving no indication she’d seen me an hour or so before. She reached under the counter and placed a heavy white cup and saucer in front of me. Then she poured coffee from a full pot without asking. Something greasy and wonderful was frying on a grill in the rear and I realized I was starving.

“What’ll it be?”

I ordered the special—meat loaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. Comfort food. It came with a side dish of peas and tiny carrots. I skipped the vegetables and dove into the mashed potatoes and gravy. They were real potatoes and real gravy, and the whole dinner was delicious. I must have inhaled my food, because when I glanced up, the waitress had just served a plate to the nurse in the nearby booth. I left some bills next to my plate, enough to cover the meal and a tip, and walked over to the booth carrying my coffee cup in hand.

“Excuse me. Could I talk to you for a moment?”

The woman looked up, surprised. She had a long angular face and dark eyes. Dark straight bangs covered her forehead, and the rest of her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail.

“Have a seat.” She seemed curious but reserved. Tiny lines around her eyes tightened when she looked at me.

“My name is Julia. I’ve driven up from San Francisco and I’m hoping to locate someone who might be at the Prophet’s Paradise.”

She was buttering a roll. I noticed her hesitation as I mentioned the compound. She shot a look at me and returned to buttering her roll. “Why don’t you talk to them?”

“I would if I could. I went out there, but I couldn’t find anyone and the gate was locked.” She’d ordered the same special I had. She picked up her fork and, unlike me, ate her vegetables first. I waited, but she offered no further information.

“You work there.”

She stared at me. “So? A lot of people do. How do you know that anyway?”

I hesitated to tell her I’d followed her. Either she already knew that, or she assumed there were no secrets in a town like this.

Ignoring her question, I ploughed ahead. “I’m looking for an elderly woman. Her name is Eunice. She disappeared from her home yesterday.”

“A relative of yours?”

“My friend’s aunt.”

“Maybe you should call the cops.”

“We have. They can’t do anything. She left a note.”

The woman shrugged. “There are lots of elderly people out there.”

“Have you noticed anyone who might have arrived recently? Today maybe? Or last night? She’s a tiny woman, white hair. Her name is Eunice.” I was repeating myself.

“I can’t help you.” The nurse wiped her mouth daintily with the rough brown napkin and started rummaging in her purse.

I had run into another wall. What was it with this town? “Look, I wouldn’t be bothering you if I had another option. I get the distinct feeling they wouldn’t let me in there anyway. I don’t know who else I can ask.”

“I told you. Call the cops.” Her voice had risen slightly. The waitress stopped in her tracks and stared across the counter at us. The nurse threw some bills on the table, placed the salt shaker on top, and scooted out of the booth, heading for the back door. I thought about going after her and giving it one more try. The compound couldn’t possibly be that large. If they used the services of a nurse, surely that nurse would know of any new arrivals. On the other hand, she seemed fairly determined to get away from me. I took a last sip of my coffee and slid out of the booth. The waitress was standing with her arms folded, staring suspiciously at me as I left through the back door.