The Rainy Season (36 page)

Phil slapped her hand hard right then, and the force of the blow spun her halfway around. Mrs. Darwin simply kept moving, holding onto the gun, straight out through the open front door, slamming it hard behind her without breaking stride. In a second she was across the porch and into the driveway, heading toward the car. Thank God she’d left the engine running! She climbed in, not bothering to look behind her, tossed the Derringer onto the passenger seat and her purse onto the floor, and then shifted the car into drive, accelerating up the driveway and out onto the road before she had even shut the car door.

There was the sound of a horn blaring, a screech of tires, and the heavy sound of another car hitting something stationary behind her. In the rearview mirror she saw it spinning away from one of the big roadside trees, slipping down into the culvert beside the road. Rain began to fall, and she turned on the wipers as she rounded a big curve, switched lanes to pass the car in front of her, and swung a hard left up the first street she came to, winding up into the hills, up one street after another, breezing through stop signs until she came out on something called Skyline Drive, which seemed to wrap gradually downward toward the flatlands again.

She picked the Derringer up off the seat and dropped it into her open purse. Back at the house, she hadn’t taken the time to cock it, and cocking it was an awkward thing to do, because the gun was so small. Phil would simply have taken it away from her, and that would have been the end of things. His slapping at the gun like that had distracted him enough to give her a chance to run. She would have to remember that next time—carry the gun cocked in her purse.

There was nothing to be seen in the rearview mirror, so she slowed down now. Apparently nobody was chasing her, although they would be soon if Phil called the police. He would probably go after Betsy, though. And what could he tell the police? Nothing. It was all nonsense. She’d had her day in court and had been vindicated. As for Marianne’s death, there wasn’t
any
evidence, not even circumstantial. And of course he had given her permission to take Betsy out shopping today, hadn’t he? Even
he
wouldn’t deny that. The police! He sorely misunderstood her if he thought she cared two cents for the police.

Betsy was a more immediate problem to her, in the clutches of those two … those two monsters. And if Phil did recover Betsy, he would fill her head with talk that she couldn’t begin to understand. Phil himself didn’t understand it. Explaining herself to Phil just now had been like shouting into a hole in the ground.

She turned out onto Newport Boulevard and headed in a direction she thought was south, pulling off into a school parking lot to study her map, trying to orient herself, to recall what she knew of the area from driving around the other day. In minutes she was off again, feeling cool and determined and a little bit exhilarated, back in the direction she’d come, but by the straightest route now, straight into the rainy heart of danger.

“WHERE ARE WE
going now?” Betsy asked. Her voice was louder than she wanted, and she put her hand to her mouth.

“Just a little ways up ahead,” he told her.

They had stopped at his house a few minutes ago, and he had taken her inside with him, moving quickly, bringing out a suitcase, holding onto her wrist all the time but apologizing for it. He was still being nice to her, and it seemed to her like he meant it. Elizabeth hadn’t meant it, ever. Now she and Mr. Appleton were traveling back toward the hills. She wondered if he was taking her to Phil’s house, but somehow she didn’t think he was. She recognized a shopping center with an enormous tree, going past on their right, and she moved her hand slowly to the door handle and pulled on it, just to see again if it would open. It wouldn’t.

“I’ll tell you where we’re going if you tell
me
something,” he said to her.

“What?”

“Your inkwell. That was a special inkwell. I want to apologize that Elizabeth took it. When you said she stole it, I knew you were telling the truth. You know about it, the inkwell? About what it is?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know about the other ones? The bigger ones? Is that what Elizabeth was asking about? One of the others? The crystals?”

“I don’t know,” Betsy said.

The old man switched off the windshield wipers. Water hissed under the wheels, but it had stopped raining. “Tell me your name,” he said. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m afraid I’ve been too busy to attend to common courtesy.”

“Betsy.” She knew that he already knew her name. The question was weird.

“My name is Hale Appleton. I’m happy to meet you.” He extended his hand over the backseat, and after a moment of indecision, she shook it. “Elizabeth thought that you had one of the other objects, one of the crystals, in your bag.” Betsy clutched the book bag on her lap. The inkwell was safe in the bottom of it.

“I don’t,” she said.

“No, I know you don’t. That’s what she thought when you came in with the woman. Mrs. … what was her name?”

“Mrs. Darwin.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Darwin. I don’t quite like Mrs. Darwin. She wanted the inkwell, too, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not at all surprised. What did it do? What was the memory?”

“My grandma,” she said.

“It was a memory of your grandma’s? What sort—if I might ask. I don’t mean to pry; I’m just curious.”

“When she had a baby.”

“Ah. That explains a lot, especially about why your Mrs. Darwin wanted it. I’ll tell you what the crystal looks like, all right? The one Elizabeth thought you had.”

“All right.”

“It’s about as big as your hand, and it’s made out of something that looks like light-blue glass, like the color of a robin’s egg. Except it’s not particularly clear. You can’t see through it very well, like you can see through glass. And the shape of it looks a little bit like an animal, maybe a dog, lying down, but facing the front, with its head down on its paws. It’s uncertain, though, if you see what I mean—like a shape in the clouds. You have to use your imagination to see it. Do you know how I know what it looks like?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Because it’s mine. It belongs to me. Someone took it from me a long, long time ago, just like Elizabeth took your inkwell. Is that what she thought you had? The blue dog?”

Betsy sat in silence for a few moments, watching the houses and stores slip past. “I don’t have it,” she said.

“You don’t have it in your bag, but you know about it, don’t you? You know where it’s gone?”

She said nothing, and he glanced back at her again.

“It has a memory in it, you know, just like your inkwell does, only it’s a longer memory. It’s a whole memory, a person’s whole life. Like a thousand inkwells all together. Do you know what I mean when I say that?”

“I guess,” she whispered.

“Do you know whose memory is trapped inside the crystal?”

“A girl.”

He turned and stared at her now. “It’s my daughter. My own little girl.”

“I saw her, when I was in the tower. There were candles burning, and I think a horse was running.”

There was a silence now, and Betsy wondered suddenly if he was crying. She glanced up at him, but he was looking straight ahead, looking stone-faced. She realized that they were ascending into the foothills, and she looked out of the car window at the hillsides. Ahead of them loomed the dark line of the mountains, with the moon rising behind them, looking enormous, its top half swallowed by clouds.

“I knew that you would tell me the truth,” Mr. Appleton said to her.

“I gave it to Jen,” Betsy told him now.

“Ah,” he said. “I know about Jen. You gave it to Jen. Good. That was good. You found it in the tower?”

“Yes. In a trunk. Under some stuff.”

He laughed outright now. “Then it was May, after all! And all these years it was there! I guess I shouldn’t be bitter. I should be thankful for small things, for the knowledge that it’s here at all.”

The car slowed abruptly, and she realized that he was pulling over, off the road. To their right lay a kind of woods—lots of big trees, darkness, patches of deep shadow. A barbed-wire fence ran along the edge, and the hillside rose beyond it. There were no houses around? and no cars. … Only one, she saw now, parked under the trees. The light came on inside the car when the driver opened the door, and Betsy saw that it was Elizabeth. The light went out when the door shut, and Elizabeth was only a shadow outside in the night. She waited there by her car while the old man got out.

He leaned back into the car and said to Betsy, “I’ll only be a moment, my dear. Sit tight.” Then he shut the door and the car went dark again. Betsy looked into the trees and listened to the sound of their voices. A car passed on the road, its headlights sweeping the turnout, and she watched as its taillights disappeared around the next bend, and then the night was empty and still.

“DID YOU BRING
the money?” Elizabeth asked him. The night was cold, threatening rain, and the clouds lay low over the hills, so that the air was misty.

Appleton nodded. “I brought the money. I believe I told you half a dozen times that the money is irrelevant to me. You don’t need to threaten me, Elizabeth. … What is
that!
”

“It’s a big long shiny pistol,” Elizabeth said, holding it out for him to see. “I found it in your drawer. I think it’s loaded.” She spun it around her finger, like a television cowboy, nearly dropping it, catching it again.

“For God’s sake,” he said. “You don’t need that.”

“Don’t I? Get the money. Now. Get the money or I’ll make you crawl from here to Jamboree Road on your hands and knees.”

“Of course. Where’s the crystal?”

“Safe,” she said. “I haven’t touched it. I didn’t bring a hammer. I was joshing you. My idea of a joke.”

“Show it to me.”

“Get the money first, since you don’t care about it anyway.” She cocked the pistol, holding it with both hands, pointing it at the ground. It was heavier than she would have thought, and she wondered what would happen to it if it got wet. She had never cocked a pistol or shot any kind of gun before in her life. It didn’t seem like it would be too hard.

Rain began to fall again, and without another word Appleton turned and hurried toward his car. He opened the trunk and took the suitcase out. Even in the rain and the roadside darkness she could see it was the right one, the one from the closet. He brought it to her, setting it on the hood and clicking open the latches. She reached past him and took out the shirts that still lay on top, dropping them onto the muddy ground and stepping on them. Beneath the divider lay the money—fifty and hundred-dollar bills visible, just like she remembered. A lot of them.

There was a flash of lightning, and she leaped in surprise, knocking the barrel of the pistol against Appleton’s shoulder. He fell back, his face wild, looking at the pistol, holding up his hands. Thunder crashed; the rain fell harder. He slammed the lid of the suitcase, and Elizabeth stepped forward and clicked the, latches shut. She picked it up, opened the car door, and pitched it in.

“Thanks,” she said. “Sayonara.”

“The crystal, Elizabeth. At least have the integrity to—”

“The crystal is at the mission,” she said to him. “I lied to you. I lied like a rug. The mystery woman gave your crystal away this afternoon. You’re too late.”

“You’re lying now,” he said.

“No.” She shrugged. “Not now I’m not. Now I’m telling the truth. I don’t care enough to lie about it anymore. I’m done.” She stepped back, holding onto the pistol tightly, watching his face. Would he try something? He was soaking wet, bedraggled. He looked old, old and furious.

“Let’s get Betsy into my car,” Elizabeth said to him. “I’ll take her back down to Phil’s.” She could see the dark figure huddled in the back seat of Appleton’s car.

She was probably scared to death, especially if she could see the pistol. Elizabeth didn’t really give much of a damn
who
took Betsy home, except that it would look better if it was her—easier to keep her story consistent that way, play the hero right up until the end.

Appleton shrugged, nodded, then turned around and walked toward his car again. But instead of getting Betsy out, he opened the driver’s side door and climbed in, starting the car up. Full of disbelief, Elizabeth hurried forward, carrying the still-cocked pistol. He rolled down the window and looked out at her.

“What the
hell
are you doing?” she asked. “Don’t screw this up any worse than you’ve already screwed it. We can walk away from this. It’s over.”

“You never quite understood anything, did you, Elizabeth?”

“I understood enough to win the game, which is more than you understood. I understand enough to know when the game is over.”

“About the girl, I mean. About why I wanted the girl.” He wasn’t smiling, but there was no defeat in his face, no backing down.

Elizabeth stared at him. She brought the pistol up slowly, pointed it at the open window. He laughed out loud. The laughter was forced, but full of real contempt.

“You might shoot me for money, my dear, but you would
never
shoot me for the sake of the girl. You’re greedy, but you’re not gallant.”

She realized then that the window was moving upward again, and that the car had started forward, driving away. She watched as it bumped up onto the road and headed east, deeper into the hills, its taillights disappearing around the distant bend.

“You’re right again,” she said out loud, and she walked back to her own car in the rain.

The gun was still cocked. Hell. She had no idea how to uncock it. Fire it? She brought it up level, holding it with both hands, aiming at a tree fifty feet away on the hillside. Squinting her eyes, she sighted down the barrel and squeezed the trigger. There was a deafening explosion, the gun leaped upward, and a satisfying chunk of bark spun away from the edge of the tree trunk. The sound rang in her ears for a minute after the night was quiet again. Thrilled with the noise, she was tempted to fire all the bullets, straight up into the air like a New Year’s Eve drunk, but she walked back to her car instead, suddenly anxious to be through with this and go: there were dry clothes in the trunk, a ton of money in the back seat, and a full tank of gas.