Eyewitness. Part 13

"Mary..." Once more they said it together, now in soft tones of dread. "It's our Mary he's after," said Preacher nod ding somberly. "Not the cop: '

Daisy was watching the rearview mirror. "He sure does want by," she said grimly. "But he ain't getting' there. Not on this street, he ain't: '

It got very quiet in the Bronco. Up ahead, the taillights of the Mercedes winked out around a bend in the narrow street. Behind them, headlights loomed huge and bright. A horn blared angrily.

"Speed up a little," Preacher urged. "We're almost to the bottom of the hill. If we don't see which way they turn.. : '

Daisy nodded, her eyes still glued to the rearview mirror. She pressed down on the gas pedal. The Bronco coughed, wheezed. and began to slow down.

"Uh-oh," said JoJo dolefully. "Outta gas: '

They were approaching. Franklin; the street was leveling out. Up ahead a traffic light blinked a blurry green. The Bronco had slowed to a crawl when Daisy suddenly looked over at Preacher and grinned. Then she stomped down hard on the brake and yanked the steering wheel to the left. The rear tires slewed giddily in the syrup of mud that had washed down the hill in the rain. The Bronco came to a dead stop crossways in the street, blocking it completely.

Preacher let his breath out. "Well done, Mrs. Pepper."

Daisy nodded. They watched the white Meroedes turn left at the light and disappear into the rain.

"Hey," said Mary, "that looked just like my car!"

MacDougal jerked around to look at her, then quickly faced front again. "Get down! What in the h.e.l.l-didn't I tell you to get down and stay down? What are you trying to do? Are you trying to get yourself killed? "

"I'm sorry." But she was only momentarily contrite. "It did, I'm telling you. I'd swear that was my car back there."

"What, a maroon Bronco? Do you have any idea how many maroon Broncos there are in this town? Every other one ever made must have been painted that color. Come on.. "

"But-" It hadn't just been the car. She'd have sworn she'd recognized. but that was simply not possible. Of course MacDougal was right, it was a very popular, very common kind of car. Like a tan Ford sedan.

"Well, anyway," he said on a heavy exhalation, "I think we lost 'em at that light." Mary could see his eyes in the rearview mirror. They were hard and steely, like his voice. "For now: He gave her another quick, over-the-shoulder glance. " Get yourself into those jeans. I'm going to pull over here in just a minute. : '

The words were barely out of his mouth when he suddenly moved over into the right lane and made a quick turn onto a street lined with apartment buildings. Halfway down the block he found an open s.p.a.ce in front of a driveway, eased into it and cut the lights, leaving the motor running. "Iqrning.half around in his seat, he snapped, " Hand me a s.h.i.+rt, will you? I hope-there ought to be one in that pile somewhere. "

She found a s.h.i.+rt and handed it to him. "It's kind of wrinkled."

"Yeah, I know. Give me a hand, will you?"

He had one arm in a sleeve. She helped him pull the s.h.i.+rt across his shoulders and locate the other sleeve hole, then tugged and folded the collar into place around his neck. His skin felt smooth and warm and moist, and smelled of something musky and male, and vaguely familiar.

Oh, yes. Hcs jacket. She remembered the way he'd dropped it around her shoulders that terrible night after the shooting, remembered the way it smelled-like him, she'd thought then, something uniquely MacDougal-and the way it had made her feel, comforted and safe. A little while ago that same smell had filled her nostrils, the taste and feel of MacDougal had filled all her senses, and feeling safe had been the furthest thing from her mind. She closed her eyes and clamped down hard with her teeth on her lower lip while her stomach did a flip-flop, as if she were in a boat riding. a hard swell.

"That should do it," MacDougal said as he leaned forward in order to pull the s.h.i.+rt down, in the process subtly evading her touch. He threw her a gruff "Thanks," then a grudging look. " " You want to stay back there, or get up here in front? "

"I'll get ... up there." She didn't add, With you. He's angry with me, she thought miserably as she opened her door and dove into the rain-and about half a foot of muddy water that was racing along in the gutter. And who could blame him?

He barely glanced at her when she climbed into the front seat, sniffing and wiping rain from her face. She slammed her door, and he turned on the headlights and put the car in drive. "Buckle up," was all he said as he pulled into the street and headed south, toward Melrose.

There was quite a bit of traffic, considering the weather and the time of night, but then, that was Hollywood. The streets of Hollywood were never quiet, no matter what. Once upon a time, Mary remembered, that had been one of the things she'd liked best about it. Tinseltown. But it's all changed, she thought as she watched the gaudy lights dance and s.h.i.+mmer on the wet sidewalks and pavement, reminding her of a movie marquee in a rundown town.

Or maybe it was only she who'd changed. Maybe this means I've finally grown up. The thought made her feel in definably sad.

She looked at MacDougal, watched the lights play across his set features, highlight his grim profile in festive halos of gold and red and green. She could feel the frustration and anger radiating from him in waves that were almost audible painfully so, like mike feedback. The tension made her jaws ache.

It was certainly unlikely that he'd consider her grown up. He knew she'd lied to him about. Belle. He thought she was stubborn and bullheaded and completely irresponsible And silly, she thought dismally, remembering the business about naming his car, and-oh, Lord, yes-the Salad Shooter Plus there was the fact that she'd pretty much tried to seduce him. And very nearly succeeded.

She cleared her throat and said softly, "I'm sorry."

The look he threw her was dark and preoccupied. They were merging onto the Hollywood Freeway, just then, where the traffic was b.u.mper-to-b.u.mper and creeping along. "What?

She threw a worried look over her shoulder, hoping to divert him. "Should we be getting into this? I mean-"

"One thing about a snarled freeway," MacDougal said with a dark grin, "is there's no room to maneuver. If we can't go anywhere, neither can they." He wedged the Mercedes skillfully into a center lane, then settled back and gave her a brief, sardonic glance. "Now. What are you sorry about? " " " Oh. : She coughed, then shrugged. " " Everything. You know-getting you involved. " For lying to you.

He gave a short bark of laughter. "I was already involved I've been ten years involved. I'm the cop. I've been looking for you, remember?"

"Yeah, but I bet you never expected to get chased out of your house in the pouring rain: '

"No: His profile was sharp, his lips a thin, sardonic line. " But then, quite a few things have happened that I never expected. "

"I know: Chilled and miserable, Mary looked away, out the window. " I made you compromise your principles. "

To her complete surprise, he burst out laughing-real laughter, warm and rueful. "Yeah, well.. : He shook his head and said dryly, " The fact is, I've probably got more principles than I know what to do with, anyway. Growing up both Catholic and Presbyterian'll do that to you: '

"Both?" She felt shaken by his mood turnabout, off balance and unsure.

MacDougal glanoed at her, chuckling at the expression on " her face. Yeah, see, my father is-was-a Scottish Presbyterian cop, probably the only one on the entire Detroit police force. My mom's Irish Catholic, and the daughter of a cop, which is the only way they'd ever have gotten together So when us kids came along, rather than fight about it they figured, well, the world's a pretty rough place, a double dose of religion couldn't hurt, right? So..." He shrugged. " " I got both . "

"Wow," said Mary. "Well, at least it doesn't seem to have done you too much damage." Aside from those darn principles , of course.

Then it occurred to her that if it hadn't been for those "darn principles," she and MacDougal would probably both be dead. It was a sobering thought.

MacDougal looked over at her in surprise. "Damage?

That's kind of a strange thing to say. "

She lifted one shoulder and said evasively, Well, it can, I guess. "

"I guess.. : He gave a soft, nostalgic ia ugh and said, "Actually, you know, a lot of it was fun. The Presbyterians had this gigantic pipe organ, I remember. Used to fascinate me when I was little-sounded just like Phantom of the Opera. I guess that's where I learned to like Bach. And my Sunday School teacher-she was a kick. She was this little tiny thing with white hair and a sweet little voice, and she used to tell us these flannel-graph stories, you know, where you put cutout pictures on a board covered with flannel?

Only most of the time she couldn't make 'em stick, and they'd keep falling off, and we'd all be giggling like crazy.

"And the Catholics-catechism was a blast. The priest q wore a robe with rainbows and children embroidered all over it. And a bunch of high school kids with guitars used to come in and teach us songs. And they were always having fund-raisers-carnivals, potluck suppers, things like that.

There were always lots of kids-lots of girls. Between those two churches, I had a very active social life. "

"You had a happy childhood," Mary said. "Didn't you?" Too late, she heard the wistfulness in her voice.

Unfortunately, MacDougal heard it, too. And since traffic was at a standstill right then, he had time to give her along, thoughtful look before he murmured, "Yeah, I did."

Rus.h.i.+ng to divert him from the inevitable follow-up to that, she blurted, "I thought I wanted to be a Catholic when I was a kid: '

"Yeah?" Traffic was moving again. MacDougal nudged the Mercedes forward a few car-lengths before he prompted in an interested tone, "Why was that?"

"I don't know, it just seemed like they had a lot more fun than... than we did. I probably got the idea when I was in junior high. The eighth grade was putting on this condensed version of The Sound of Music. I was only in seventh grade, but the teacher in charge asked if I would come and tryout, anyway. I thought she meant for one of the children, or a nun, or something like that, you know? Only I got the part of Maria. OmiG.o.d, I was so thrilled. I really thought I d died and gone to heaven. The songs wereI loved the songs: She put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, swamped with the memory. After a moment she began to sing softl. One of her favorites. But her throat swelled shut and she had to stop.

"Don't stop," MacDougal murmured.

She shook her head and whispered, "I'm sorry." And was ashamed to discover a tear making a cool, tickling trail down one cheek. She brushed at it furiously.

PPe ? " q "

"What happened Ned asked MacDougal gently.

Oh. well. Mary cleared her throat and managed a low, neutral tone of voice. "My parents found out eventually" " p Your parents found out q He flashed her a surprised frown. You mean, they, didn t want you to be in the play? How come She shrugged. "It was against our-their religion. I knew that, of course. I forged my mother's signature on the permission slip, because I knew they'd never let me do it."

Oh, that's great, Mary, she thought. I. et him know what a habitual liar you are. " " But- The Sound of Music? " He sounded as if he couldn't fathom it.

"I know. But see, as far as they were concerned, music was only supposed to be for the Lord. Hymns were okay anything else was a sin. And as for dancing-oh, wow now , that was a bad one." He was silent, apparently speechless, but she'd almost forgotten he was there.

She went on in a faraway voice, half to herself, " " When I g , was in high school that's when it really got bad. I wasn't supposed to go to dances, or the movies. or even listen to the radio. The devil was eve here. She laughed painfully And boy, was I full of it. Poor Dad. He tried his best to beat it out of me, and look what happened. "

There was along pause while Mary watched the cars creeping along outside her window. Then she drew an unsteady breath and murmured, "I've wondered, sometimes if he did the same thing to my sisters.... '

MacDougal said quietly, "You told me you didn't have any family."

She turned her head slowly to look at him and after along moment said in a flat, dull voice, "I lied." ( Doug didn't ask her anything more after that, although he knew he could have, and possibly even gotten some in formation out of her. He wasn't sure why he didn't, except that those twoqdismal syllables, and the utter hopelessness with which she d spoken them, had affected him like a blow from a blunt instrument, right to his heart. I lied. How could those two simple little words make him feel so sad?

It wasn't the fact that she'd lied to him, not really. He'd known all along she was lying-had even come to expect it.

It was what those words, in that particular tone and context , told him about Joy, about her family, her past-that was what he found so heartbreaking.

Which was another reason he didn't pursue the subject of her family right then. She'd already given him a lot to think about; he doubted if she even knew how much.

The picture he had in his mind of Joy as a child was becoming amazingly clear and vivid, considering how little she d actually told him. Mary Jo Delinsky, a child full of mischief and qoy, laughter and-most of all-music, whom the angels had somehow sent to the wrong parents. Amazing , how much it hurt to imagine such a child growing up. in-what had she called it? the kind of town everybody leaves, sooner of later. Somewhere in the South, he thought.

Maybe Texas. Imagine such a child being raised by parents who would do their best to smother the joy and music in her soul, and when that failed, try to beat it out of her. No wonder she'd left. No wonder she'd never looked back.

But what a miracle she was-like a dandelion, he thought, that keeps getting trampled on and chopped to pieces, and still somehow keeps coming back to make flowers the color of suns.h.i.+ne, and fragile puffs of fun and hope and magic.

His emotions swamped him, making his eyes sting and his throat swell. It went with the territory, he supposed, this vulnerability, this terrible capacity to hurt for-and be hurt by-another person. He wished he'd known how painful it was to love someone. not that it would have done him any good if he had. He'd tried his level best most of his life to avoid finding out, and look where it had got him.

Traffic stayed heavy all the way into downtown, thanks to the usual rash of rain-related fender benders, but once he was headed outbound on Interstate 10, things started flowing more smoothly. By the time they hit Pomona, Joy was asleep. Around Ontario, Doug turned on the radio to catch a weather report, and found out that the forecast was for snow above the five-thousand-foot level. So he pulled off into a truck stop in Fontana to refuel and to pick up a set of tire chains.

That late on a rainy night, the truck stop was beginning to fill up with eighteen-wheelers. and the air throbbed with the muted thunder of idling diesel engines. For those same reasons-the hour and the rain-four wheeler business was light. Doug filled up at the pa.s.senger car diesel pump, then parked near the entrance to the store and left Joy sleeping while he went in to get the chains and pay for the fuel.

While he was at it he bought a few essential grocery items-like orange juice and milk, bread, bacon, eggs, coffee , canned soup and toilet paper. It had been quite a while since he'd been to the cabin, and since he wasn't sure what he was going to find up there, he also bought a five-gallon container of methyl alcohol for his camping stove, some flashlight batteries and a box of matches.

While he was waiting for his total at the cash register, he couldn't help but notice the rack of condoms nearby. When the cas.h.i.+er said, "Will there be anything else?" he picked i one at random and tossed it casually onto the counter along with his credit card.

"Gonna do some skiing?" the cas.h.i.+er inquired in a friendly way, not even batting an eye.

"Naw," said Doug, "just a little R and R." ; "Well," said the cas.h.i.+er, "you have a good eve' run now. Be careful out there."

"Thanks," said Doug dryly. "I mean to do just that."

Joy was awake when he got back to the car with his purchases While she was using the restroom facilities, he made a couple of phone calls. Then, since they were both hungry and Joy couldn't go into the restaurant barefooted, he bougbt four hot dogs and two large cups of coffee which they consumed in the car with the heater on and the rain ', drumming on the roof and sluicing in sheets down the windows It occurred to Doug that he hadn't eaten so much fast food sin re his police academy days, and it came as a surprise to him that a hot dog could taste so good, smothered in ketchup and mustard and sweet pickle relish. He'd left off the onions when he'd noticed Joy wasn't having any.

It also came as a surprise to him to realize how pleasurable it was to be eating hot dogs with a woman-with this woman-in a cozy, warm car while the rain poured down outside and the windows fogged up. As crazy as it seemed, under the circ.u.mstances, he felt good, being there with her.

He felt-rather guiltily-happy.

When he thought about it he supposed it wasn't that crazy. He'd seen enough evidence of it in his line of work the incredible resilience of the human spirit. Time and time again he'd seen people laughing in the midst of disaster, finding comfort and even pleasure in small, simple things. I And what more simple pleasure could there be, he wondered , than watching the woman he loved eat a hot dog, and j laugh when the ketchup oozed out of the bun and dripped onto her chin.

Especially when her laughter was so bright and contagious' Oops she cried, leaning forward just a little too late. And then, only half chagrined, added, "Oh, man, look-I'm dripping all over your raincoat."

"It'll wash out," he murmured, reaching across the s.p.a.ce between them to wipe the dollop of ketchup from her chin with his thumb.

She watched him with dark and luminous eyes as he carried the ketchup-smeared thumb to his mouth and licked it clean. Then she licked her own lips and swallowed, as if the food she'd just eaten hadn't been nearly enough.

With what seemed like a great physical effort she wrenched her eyes away from him and began to gather up their trash. "Well, that was really good," she said with unnatural brightness, taking great care not to look at him. "Okay, so what now? Where are we?"

Doug smiled. "One of the world's garden spots. Fontana : He was wis.h.i.+ng it wasn't so dark, because he'd have sworn she was blus.h.i.+ng. That thought made him feel young and wicked, alive in ways he thought he'd forgotten about. " It's on the way to San Bernardino. I'm taking you to a cabin I own a piece of up in Big Bear. It should be safe enough, for the time being. I hope," he added grimly as he turned on the Mercedes' ignition and waited for the diesel coil to warm.

"The one in the photograph: Her voice was neutral, so completely without expression that in a contradictory way, it was expressive. He looked over at her, but she seemed to be preoccupied with fastening her seat belt, so he couldn't see her face.

"Yeah, that's the one. Four of us went in together and bought it about... oh, five years ago, I guess. We sort of divvy up the year among us. You know how it is. Couple of the guys are really into sk skiing- it's right near Snow Summit : '

"Do you ski?" It was that same polite, almost toneless voice.

"Me? A little, yeah. I'm not that crazy about it, though. Now, Mark Yamamoto and Jim Shannon-they're the nuts for skiing. They usually fight over the winter weekends. Jim can't ski himself, of course, not since he got his knee shot to pieces, but his wife and kids are all gung ho for it. In fact, I just called both Mark and Jim to make sure they weren't going to be heading for the cabin this week. With this storm, there's bound to be some pretty good powder up at the resort levels."

Joy didn't reply. Doug turned on the headlights, put the Mercedes in drive and headed back out onto the rain-fogged interstate.

Chapter 13.

The weather forecast was wrong. Doug noticed the first splotches of snow on the winds.h.i.+eld at about 3500 feet, although it didn't begin to thicken up until they were well into the timber. Even then it wasn't sticking to the pavement, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd been premature about buying the chains. By that time, what with the steep climb, the Meroedes' top speed was no more than twenty-five miles an hour, anyway, and in spite of the weather, skiers in a big hurry to get to the slopes for the first snow of the season were whizzing past them as if they were standing still.

"Is she going to make it?" Joy asked at one point, sounding slightly diffident, as if she didn't want to hurt the old car's feelings.

Doug looked at her in surprise; she'd barely spoken a word since they'd left the truck stop. For the last several miles she'd seemed to grow more and more distant, watching the swirling curtain outside the car windows with an expression of wistful longing, as if those incredible luminous eyes of hers could see beyond it into a world of unspeakable beauty.

He answered her with a chuckle. "Old Faithful? Sure she'll make it. Slow but sure, that's her."