The Rainy Season (5 page)

“No,” Colin said. “I thought I’d ride down to the mission, that’s all. Alejandro can’t be allowed to carry on in this manner, but I’m not sure what to do about it. I want to talk to a priest. You’ll be watching out?”

“I told Mr. Fillmore we’d had prowlers,” Jeanette said to him. “It was a white lie, but he gave me a bell to ring in case they came back. If I ring it, he’ll come.”

“It might have been better if he’d given you a shotgun,” Colin said, but immediately wished he hadn’t said any such thing. There’d been too much of that kind of talk tonight. There was no reason to believe that Alejandro would be out on a night like this, or that there was any possible profit in more violence. Why Alejandro had confided all this to Jeanette was difficult to say—possibly just a simple matter of sinister and misplaced pride. But his involving Jeanette had involved May and Colin. Alejandro might come to regard all of them as loose ends.

He stood for a moment looking out into the night. The rain had stopped, and he could see patches of stars in the sky, like a sign from the heavens. He knew that his desire to talk to a priest had as much to do with him and his reaction to the object as it had to do with Alejandro. Colin had already made up his mind to steal the crystal, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have help, or at least approval.

AT THE SOUND
of the doorbell, Phil glanced at the clock on the wall: quarter past eleven, way too late for casual visitors. He walked quietly out into the dark living room and looked through the side window at the front porch. A woman stood in the light of the porch lamp. She was perhaps thirty, dark hair, dressed as if she were coming home from a party. He thought vaguely that he had seen her before, that she worked somewhere downtown. There was no car visible in the drive, so she must have parked up on the street and walked down. She looked at her watch, darted a glance back up the drive, and then rang the bell again, hugging herself and shivering in the cold night air.

Feeling suddenly foolish about his hesitation, Phil moved away from the window and opened the door. She smiled at him, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged. “I’m Elizabeth Kelly,” she said. “I’m sorry to ring the bell so late, but my car broke down, and I’d
really
appreciate it if I could use the phone to call Triple A.”

“Sure,” he said, letting her in. He looked past her, up toward the road where the moving branches of sycamore trees threw shadows across the gravel driveway. Had something else been moving in those shadows—a human figure, someone lurking in the rainy darkness? He stood watching for another moment before closing the door.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked, seeing the look on his face.

“Nothing. You didn’t see anyone else out there, did you?”

“There was someone else out there?”

“No. I saw a shadow, that’s all.”

“I didn’t see anybody. But now I’m totally creeped out. Maybe you should lock the door.”

He took one more look out the window before turning back to his guest. Her hair was black, perhaps dyed black, and was cut short with bangs, which made her look younger than she probably was. She was striking, though, pale, and with a sort of sinister beauty. Without thinking, he glanced at her left hand, and she smiled at him, as if she had caught him at something.

“I’m depressingly single,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to be so obvious.”

“Men usually are. But I like sneaky men even less. It doesn’t bother me that men look for things like that. Say,” she said, “you know who
you
look like?”

“I look like somebody?”

“Gary Cooper, but without the mustache. You’ve got the eyes and the smile.”

He nodded at her. He couldn’t exactly recall Gary Cooper’s eyes and smile, and he had the distinct feeling that he was being flattered, which was fine with him, under the circumstances. “Phone’s in here,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. Momentarily he thought about complimenting her, too, but it would probably sound cheesy and forced, since she’d beat him to it.

“I have a cell phone,” she said, “but of course I left it at home tonight—the one night when I could have used it. I’m really sorry to bother you so late. I just know it’s going to rain again.”

“That sounds like what I’d do, actually—forget the phone on the night I wanted it. Especially on a rainy night.”

“I hope I haven’t woken up the family.”

“There is no family. Just me, and I’m still awake.”

“Just you?” She put a look of mock surprise on her face. “I guess I’m at your mercy, then. I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.” She batted her lashes at him theatrically, then bent over to take off her shoes. “Muddy,” she said, standing up and showing him her shoe soles. She set her shoes by the door and followed him across the living room and into the kitchen. The thought occurred to him that he should offer her a drink, a cup of coffee at least. A glass of wine would be too much, maybe. He thought again about the prowlers in the grove, and about the possibility of their being connected to whomever he’d seen on the street just now—if he
had
seen anyone.

To hell with them; the whole crowd of them would just have to wait. Hospitality always came first. “What’s wrong with your car?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It just died. I was driving home from out in El Toro, and the motor started cutting out, and then it died, and I coasted into a turnout. I couldn’t restart it. This was the nearest house, and I saw a light on upstairs, so I thought I’d take a chance.” She shrugged. “And here I am.”

“Are you sure it’s not out of gas?”

She stared at him. “It
couldn’t
be.”

“You’re sure?”

“No … I mean it
could
be, except that it’s just too dumb.” She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe it. “You know, you’re probably right. Of
course
that’s what’s wrong. I was going to buy gas this afternoon, and I put it off. It’s just not my day. I not only leave the phone at home to recharge, I run out of gas.” She laughed and shook her head. “Silly me,” she said.

“I’ve got a gallon in the garage. If you
had
brought the phone you would have called someone and gotten them out of bed. This is easier for everyone.”

“I’m really sorry. I am
so
dumb.”

“Not at all. Can I give you something to drink? A cup of coffee?”

“I’d
love
a cup of coffee.” She moved around the kitchen, looking at the pots and pans and cooking tools on the walls. “So do you cook,” she asked, “or is all this just decoration?”

“I cook.”

“I do too, but I don’t like to cook for myself. Not anything good anyway.” She smiled wistfully at him. “There’s something sad about making a big thing out of food if it’s only you eating it. It’s like making up surprises for yourself, if you know what I mean. Too pathetic. I’d rather eat tuna fish out of the can.”

“I know what you mean.” In fact, he felt the same way, and he hadn’t cooked anything interesting in … months. Nearly a year, he realized, not since he’d broken up with Juliet, the woman he had dated for half a year. But Juliet had had a taste for champagne and Newport Beach parties, and his taste ran more to beer and the backwoods. It was another one of those things in his life that hadn’t worked out. His breakup with Juliet had turned out to be worse than he had anticipated. He had been in love with her, but he’d had no idea how much so until she was gone. Looking back on it now, it seemed to him that losing Juliet had been another one of the things that had encouraged him simply to close the doors and remove himself from the world. He pulled his mind back to the present.

“Wow,” Elizabeth said, looking into the mirror over the sink, “I’m a fright.” She brushed her hair with her fingers. “I look like that madwoman who’s supposed to be lurking around here.”

“What madwoman is that?” Phil asked.

“The one in the paper. Don’t you read the paper?”

“No,” Phil said. “It’s bad for my digestion. There’s a madwoman?”

“Right near here. I think that she lives out in the creekbed. There used to be some homeless people living in a sort of tent town in the woods above the dam—above Santiago Oaks.”

“That was a couple of years ago,” Phil said. “I think they cleared all that out.”

“Well, apparently she didn’t clear out with everyone else. She’s still around. I can’t believe you haven’t heard anything about her or seen her or something. The papers “made a big deal out of it anyway. May I?” She gestured at an open box of tissues, then pulled a tissue out, wiping at the makeup beneath her eyes. “I figured she haunted this whole area or something. That’s why I said I looked like the madwoman, except that supposedly she wears old period clothing, like she’s an escapee from a theater company or something. I guess I’m not making any I sense to you.”

“I don’t mind things that don’t make sense.”

“Then we should get along just fine,” she said, “because people are always telling me that about me.” She looked closely at a miniature glass car on the window-sill, bending toward it, her hands behind her back as if she were a child in a china shop. The glass was cracked, and there was dirt in the cracks.

“Is this old?” she asked.

“I guess so. I don’t know how old it is. It
looks
old.” He opened the refrigerator door and took out the canister of coffee, then found a paper filter in the drawer.

“You don’t know? Did you buy it somewhere? A shop in downtown?”

“No,” he said. “It belonged to my mother. Most of this stuff did.”

“The glass has started to turn purple. It was out in the sunlight, I guess.” She looked at him quizzically, as if he would know.

“It’s been sitting in the window forever. At least ever since I can remember.”

“Can I pick it up?”

“Be my guest.” He spooned coffee into the filter, dumped water into the tank, and plugged the coffee machine in, then pulled two mugs down from the rack. It occurred to him that she didn’t seem in the least sort of a hurry, and after looking at the car for another moment, she turned away from it without touching it and looked closely at the two dozen souvenir spoons in the spoon rack. She held her hands behind her back still.

“What’s that one there?” she asked, pointing at a small spoon that was oddly misshapen, as if it had been run over in the road. There was an alligator etched into the top of the handle, with the word “Everglades” stamped beneath it.

“Trip to Florida,” he said. “I think I was about five years old.”

“Really? You remember buying this spoon?”

“My mother bought the spoon. But I vaguely remember the Everglades. I also remember when I was playing with it and dropped it into the garbage disposal. That’s why it’s all nicked up.” The smell of coffee filled the air now, and Phil heard the patter of raindrops against the porch roof.

“Can I see it?” She stepped away from the rack, giving him room to take the spoon out of its little slot. Either she was oddly polite or else was used to being waited on. He handed her the spoon, and she smiled at him, took it from him, glanced at it, and put it back into the rack as if she’d suddenly lost interest in it. “Mind if I snoop around?” she asked. “You’ve got some great old stuff.”

She wandered out onto the service porch and glanced around. “What’s through here?” she asked.

“Pantry,” Phil said. “There’s an old icebox and a ventilated fruit and vegetable cupboard, lots of food storage from back in the days when people actually canned food themselves.”

Elizabeth pushed on the pantry door, which swung open and then shut again on double-action hinges. She pushed it open again and looked inside. “Some nice china,” she said. “If you ever want to sell it …”

“It was my mother’s,” Phil said. “I can’t imagine selling it.”

“That’s funny,” Elizabeth said. “I can’t imagine
keeping
it. I’d rather have the money and let someone else dust it. What’s through here?” She nodded into the pantry, indicating the door at the far side.

“My darkroom. Also an old guest bedroom. Hasn’t been used in years.”

“Haven’t had any old guests?” She stepped back into the kitchen now, smiling at him and standing up on tiptoe to examine the knickknacks on top of the refrigerator—a few sets of ceramic salt and pepper shakers, which, as was true of almost everything else in the house, had belonged to his mother. She picked one up—a frog smoking a pipe. “Occupied Japan,” she said. “These are worth something.”

“I kind of like them just because,” he said.

“Nostalgia. Everyone wants to hold onto the past.”

“I guess so.”

“I know a man who goes out looking for old things,” she said, “out behind farmhouses and places. You wouldn’t believe what he finds just digging around in the dirt. People used to dump stuff right on their property in the old days, before they had trash pickup or anything. He finds old perfume bottles and metal toys and marbles and all kinds of things. He’d
love
this place. What do you have here, a couple of acres?”

“About six. Five acres of avocados and an acre of loose change.”

“And you’re a photographer?”

“More or less.”

She nodded, then looked at the kitchen window. Her face fell. “It’s raining pretty hard,” she said. “Heck.”

“Maybe we should rescue your car before the weather really gets going.”

“I know the rain’s going to wreck this dress.”

“Stay here, then. You get started on the coffee and I’ll run up the road and put gas in your car. I’ll drive it back down.”

She opened her purse and took out the car keys, handing them over to him. “You’re so gallant,” she said. “I promise I won’t drink all the coffee.”

He grabbed his jacket off its peg in the service porch and dug a big flashlight out of the junk cupboard, switching it on to check the batteries. “Shouldn’t take a second,” he said. He opened the back door, then flipped on the outside light, illuminating the backyard pepper tree, its branches blowing in the night wind. Raindrops slanted through the lamplight, which made the darkness beyond seem even more black. He searched the night for some sign of the prowlers, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the haze of rain. Elizabeth stood at his back. “Are you sure?” she asked.