The Witch of Agnesi (14 page)

The plan died in infancy. Armen hadn’t driven Alice out of shouting distance from the Sheridans when a battered silver El Camino came fishtailing down Belleview.

“That’s Franklin’s car. Pull over, and make sure he does the same.”

As he stopped, Armen laid into the horn.

The El Camino and its corresponding cloud of dust came alongside, Franklin driving, Keene at shotgun. Franklin rolled down his window. “We’re in a hurry, Missus P. Got reason to ask Edmund Sheridan some pointed questions.”

Bonnie leaned across Armen. “We just came from there. Edmund’s not home.” She went so far as to hand the printed lists out the window then pulled them back.
Not so fast, my Beamish Boy.

“You need to know a few things.” She snatched her crutches and hobbled around to Alice’s driver side.

Keene was out of the El Camino and leaning on the fender. The big man pulled a toothpick from his mouth. He held it up like he was making a toast. “Just for you, Pinkwater.”

She nodded to him. “Let’s see.”

Keene smiled what in some circles might be considered a shit-eating grin.

Bonnie moved in close to make her inspection. “Clean as a whistle. You, sir, shall set a new standard for oral hygiene.”

Keene reinserted the toothpick. “Now that we’re past the bullshit, just what in hell are you doing here?”

The man kind of grows on you.
She handed him the lists. “A girlfriend has been writing Edmund.” She recounted Friday’s e-mail verbatim.

“Busybody, huh?” Keene chewed his toothpick and chuckled. He bent down and threw the list onto Franklin’s lap. “We’ll take the computer into the station. See what we can find.”

He turned back to Bonnie. “Still haven’t answered my question.”

There’s no way to do this except through the front
door and down the long hall.
Peppered with interruptions from both Franklin and Keene and seasoned with Armen’s embellishments, Bonnie walked everyone through the mental gymnastics she and Armen had performed that afternoon. She finished with Ali’s phone call and shrugged. “I ask you. After all that, wouldn’t you feel the need to talk to Edmund?”

Keene and Franklin exchanged glances.

“She’s your friend,” Keene said.

“I know.” Franklin drew in a couple of quick breaths as if he was gathering resources. “As a matter of fact, Missus P, I probably would have. Of course, the difference between you and me is that I’m a cop, and you’re an algebra teacher.”

“You got me there, youngster. There’s no denying our contrasting vocations but—”

“But what?” Keene asked impatiently.

“How about the fact we found the spot where Peyton Newlin spent Thursday and probably Friday night,” Armen shouted. This time most of his face matched his pink ears. “Put that in your pipe.”

My white knight to the rescue.
“In the barn, we found a sleeping bag and this.”

She handed Keene the strip of medical tape. “I saw Peyton wearing this butterfly suture Thursday morning.

You also need to search behind the barn. We found some footprints.”

“You done?” Keene took the edge of the tape with the tips of his thumb and forefinger and handed it to Franklin who deposited it in a small plastic baggie.

Bonnie held up a hand to quiet Armen before he could lay into Keene again. “I think that about covers it.”

“Good. Now you listen to me. This ain’t no game, math lady. We got it on the best of authority this Edmund character already tried to flatten you once.”

She locked eyes with Franklin. “The lab report on the truck came back?”

Franklin nodded then got out of the El Camino. He stepped between her and Keene. “That’s why we drove out here . . . to get this bad boy. And what do we find? Two school teachers leaving the suspect’s house admitting they came there to interrogate him.”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

Franklin slapped his hands to the sides of his face, giving himself a hangdog look. “You’re not listening to me.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “I hear you. And to show you how much, I promise to back off, no more risks. Just tell me what they found in Poole’s truck.”

Franklin whacked Alice’s driver door, startling Armen. He pointed at the Science teacher like he was shooting a pistol. “You heard her. I expect you to hold her to it. Okay, Missus P, here goes. On the headrest of Jesse Poole’s pickup truck they found a single hair.”

“What kind of hair?”

“One blond hair with black roots—Asian.”

“I KNOW DAMN WELL I’M FORGETTING SOMETHING.” Bonnie braced herself as Armen navigated Alice over the ruts and potholes decorating East Plains Acres trailer park. “It’s gnawing at the back of my head like a rabid beaver.”

“Nice imagery.” Armen slowed and eased the car through a particularly deep rut. “But I thought you didn’t forget anything—ever.”

Bonnie waved away the notion. “Not true. If I want, I can most times recall a name or an event, but I have to know what I’m after. I can’t dredge up things without that first hook to hang onto. And right now, like Never-Never Land after the crocodile ate him, I’m hook-less.”

From the corner of her eye, she spied someone smoking a cigarette in the glow of a yellow bug light—a bald-headed someone.

She spun around, but too quickly intervening trailers hid the man from view. “Is that who I think it is?”

“That depends.” He shrugged with his mouth. “Do you think it’s Geraldo Rivera?”

She cocked her head and stared at him, unable to keep from smiling. “Armen Callahan, you are peculiar in the extreme.”

Armen put his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “I do what I can. How about Jesse Poole? Did it look like him?”

A dip followed by a mud speed bump sent Bonnie sailing to the ceiling where she bumped her head. “God damn it!” The pain shot the length of her body and ricocheted back, causing both her foot and head to ache simultaneously. “Slow down, you madman. Of course, I mean Jesse Poole.”

Armen steered around the next bump. “Well, then, yes. That was Jesse back there.”

“You never told me you lived in the same park as Jesse Poole.”

“It never came up.” He slowed in front of a faux wood-sided and white double-wide trailer. “Here we are, home sweet home.”

He parked Alice beneath a fiberglass awning constructed to look like an aquarium—fish and all. He reached for the door release.

“Hold on. We have to go back and talk to Jesse.”

Armen’s eyes expressed everything he had to be thinking. “I’m tired and hungry.” “We’ve been on the road since early this morning.” “I’m working on about four hours sleep.” “I need a shower.”

To his credit he said none of these. “You’re darn lucky you’re so cute.”

He kicked Alice into reverse and pulled back onto the trailer park’s rutted lane. “I hesitate to mention that not twenty minutes ago you made a promise to Franklin Valsecci.”

Bonnie laid a hand to his cheek. “You really think I’m cute?”

“Don’t change the subject.” He shot her a frown. “And yes, I think you’re plenty cute.”

As they approached the killer speed bump Bonnie braced herself against the dash. She stared a hole in the side of Armen’s head. “I wouldn’t mind taking this puppy a little slower this time, please.”

At the last moment, Armen slowed and crept over the bump.

“Thank you, Mighty Mouse,” she whispered in her best sexy voice.

He didn’t respond. Still frowning, he kept his eyes on the rough road.

Men.

“Armen, be reasonable. I promised not to put myself at risk. This shouldn’t be anything close to risky.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say. We’re here.”

Jesse was sitting on the top of three wooden steps rising to a powder blue double-wide. The yellow bug light glowing in a holder next to the side door lent a sickly pallor to his face and white sleeveless T-shirt.

Armen pulled Alice onto an oil-stained concrete slab. If Jesse was surprised or anxious about their arrival, he didn’t show it. He took once last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it onto the step beside him. He leaned back, his arms folded across his chest.

Now what, Pinkwater?
She struggled out of the car and settled into her crutches. Maybe if she took enough time, she’d think of something to say. Surprisingly, Poole came to her and took her elbow.

He guided her to the steps and brushed away the remains of the cigarette.

Even though a streak of ash painted the top step, Bonnie sat. “Thank you, Jesse.”

Without a word, he took her crutches and leaned them against the trailer.

Armen slammed Alice’s door. “Jesse.”

The young man nodded, tight-lipped and solemn. “Mister Callahan. Can I get you a beer?”

Armen ignored Bonnie’s wide-eyed disapproval. “I think I’d like that.”

Bonnie waited to be asked and when the offer wasn’t forthcoming answered, “Nothing for me, thanks.”

Jesse grunted and squeezed past Bonnie into the trailer. The sounds of bottles being opened came from within. When Bonnie next looked, he stood framed in the screen door, holding a pair of bottles. He stood there for a long moment watching her.

I don’t think I want to know how a seventeen-year-old
comes to have beer in his refrigerator.
She slid to one side, and Jesse sat down beside her.

He handed the beer to Armen, keeping a tall bottle of Doctor Pepper for himself. The hint of a smile made a fleeting appearance at the corner of Jesse’s mouth.

He saluted her with the bottle. “You expecting something else?”

You little son of a bitch, you were right all along. I
don’t know shit.
She shook her head. “Expectations never fail to get me in trouble. What’s more, I think you’re a young man full of surprises. How are you holding up?”

Jesse shrugged. “It ain’t really hit me yet. I came home to this empty trailer every night for the past month and a half. The only difference is tomorrow I won’t be going to the hospice.”

He stared up into the night sky and took a long drink of his soda. When he looked back, he said, “One thing I do know, I ain’t going to no foster home.”

Armen put a foot on the lower step, glancing first at Bonnie then at Jesse. “I don’t think you have to. How old are you, son?”

“I’ll be eighteen in July.” Jesse gave Armen a wary look. “Why you want to know?”

Armen waved away the question. “I’ll get to that in a minute. Do you have a plan to keep social services at bay?”

Jesse stood, forcing Armen to step back. “I sure as hell . . .” He shot an embarrassed glance Bonnie’s way. “I sure do. I’m going to get my G.E.D. then become a fireman like my pa was.”

“A noble goal. Kurt Vonnegut proclaimed firemen the last true heroes in America. I couldn’t agree more. I foresee only one problem.” Armen raised both hands palms forward, as if he meant to distance himself from the aforementioned problem.

The boy shook his head. “I got money. When Pa was killed fighting that fire, Mama and I saved most of the insurance money. And this here trailer’s paid for.”

“You got a good start, but money’s not the difficulty, Jesse.”

Armen’s voice had taken on a soft yet commanding tone. Bonnie was sure if the man adopted this tone with her he could talk her into anything.
I’m not sure
I find that thought comforting.

“I think you have the makings of a splendid fireman. The problem lies with the G.E.D. There was a time when a young man could become a policeman or fireman after taking the Equivalency Test, but those days are long gone. Anymore, the competition is too stiff. These days you need at least a high school diploma . . . a few years of college wouldn’t hurt.”

Jesse opened his mouth to protest.

Armen silenced him by once again raising a hand. “Not an insurmountable problem. First you need to be emancipated. This is where your age plays in your favor.”

“Like the slaves and Abraham Lincoln?” Jesse squinted at Armen in disbelief.

“Very much so. Emancipation declares you a free individual able to make decisions for yourself. And to be emancipated you need a sponsor. One would be nice. Two would be better.”

A long silence hung in the air. Jesse’s deep chest rose and fell as he regarded first Armen then Bonnie. “I would bet a pair of schoolteachers would make great sponsors.”

Bonnie felt as if she’d somehow booked passage on a whitewater raft. Each bend in the river caught her by surprise. But she’d always been a quick study, and she could see now where Armen was steering this raft.

Make a good bargain, Callahan.

“And tutors.” Armen took a long pull on his beer, and offered the bottle to Bonnie. He avoided looking at Jesse.

Oh, what the hell.
She took a drink and handed the bottle back. She couldn’t remember when beer tasted as sweet. “After all, you do want to be a fireman, don’t you?”

Jesse waved his hands like what he really wanted was everyone to keep quiet. “We ain’t talking about the G.E.D. test anymore, are we?”

“No, Jess, we’re talking about you, an emancipated young man, living here and finishing high school.” Armen cocked his head with a what do you say expression plastered on his face.

“I don’t know. I’m in big trouble at school. Got in a fight, you know?” Crimson spread from his neck up until it covered most of his bald pate. “Hit a teacher.”