(1995) The Oath (47 page)

He got defensive. “What kind of a question is that?”

“Remember that night in Hyde Hall? You were trying to tell me love was nothing but chemical reactions in the brain or something like that.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“And I think I said ‘baloney.’”

“I do recall that.”

“So? How can you be a total person while denying the existence of one of life’s most important ingredients? I mean, love is what being a total person is all about, in my book.”

“I’m not denying the existence of love. I’m just trying to be realistic.”

“I think you’re hiding.”

“Hiding?” He laughed at that.

“You’re hiding from who you are. You’re a wildlife biologist, sure, a Ph.D. But you’re also a man, a human being, and I think you’re hiding from that.”

He took a sip of wine. It was easier than replying.

“Remember the lake?” she asked.

He remembered it, but he played dumb. “Huh?”

“You were watching me.”

Steve managed to look her in the eye. “I—I don’t think you were on duty.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. Then her fingers touched the back of his neck. “And I don’t think you were being scientific.”

As he looked into her eyes, as he saw her perfect skin in the warm glow of the lamplight, he began to concede that some forces of nature were beyond empirical study and explanation. He cleared his throat. “I—uh—I don’t suppose you want to hear about my encounter with the dragon?”

Her eyes sparkled playfully. “What dragon?”

He set his wine glass on the coffee table. “I guess it can wait.”

It waited. As a matter of fact, the subject never crossed their minds the rest of the night.

WHEN TRACY
opened her eyes, the bedroom was already waking up with sunlight. The alarm clock would ring in another five minutes; she reached over and clicked it off. Then she lay quietly, her head on her pillow, looking at the man sharing her bed. He was still asleep, and he was magnificent, like a Greek god in repose, powerful yet serene, his arms like finely sculptured bronze, his face darkening with manly stubble.

And he didn’t even snore! Was the world suddenly perfect or what? she asked herself.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered softly, longing to touch him. “I have you, and I’ll never let you go.”

Quietly so as not to wake him, she slipped out from between the sheets and stole into the kitchen to get the coffeemaker—and her day—started. Then she showered, selected a freshly pressed uniform, and became a cop again, her mind shifting into police mode, laying out the day’s agenda over a cup of coffee and an English muffin. Evelyn Benson was due at the station at nine to ID her attacker, thus completing that little political favor for Sheriff Collins. After that . . .

Hmm. After that, she could call the Oak Springs police and have them take custody of the suspect. Take over. Handle the whole case. She could get out of it.

It occurred to her that only yesterday, the case was important to her and she had felt reluctant to bow out. This morning, well, things were different. Now she could envision herself turning in her uniform and moving far away from Hyde River, from Doug, from everything. She could envision herself having a good life in Colorado.

An hour later, as she drove her Ranger toward West Fork, she checked her appearance in the rearview mirror, making sure her collar was straight, her hair in place. She looked sharp, and that was always important to her. But having checked her professional appearance, she lingered.

Was she really beautiful? She thought she’d like her auburn hair a little longer so she could do more with it, but then again, the shorter length was easier to take care of. She was glad she looked younger than thirty—but maybe she looked too young, perhaps immature. She could try a little more makeup, perhaps.

Brother. Enough of this! She turned her attention back to her driving, smiling at herself and her thoughts. Yes, things were different this morning.

STEVE AWOKE
, read a cute little note from Tracy on her pillow— she’d gone to work, would call later, hoped he had a nice day—another note on the coffeemaker, telling him to help himself to muffins and cereal, and a third note on the bathroom mirror in which she informed him what she would be doing that day: meeting Evelyn at the station and having her ID Phil Garrett so the Oak Springs police could take over. She closed this last note by saying she’d be thinking of him today and signed it “Love, Tracy.”

Steve removed the note from the mirror so he could see to shave and opened up the shave kit he’d brought in from his camper.

Well. Evelyn’s coming to West Fork. All right. That should get the case cleared up neatly enough.

Love, Tracy. Love? What were they starting here? What he was feeling this morning wasn’t what love was supposed to feel like. He couldn’t stop thinking about Doug—yeah, Steve, remember Doug? Her husband? To whom she’s married?— and what that big guy would have thought or done had he found them in bed together. Not that it mattered from a moral point of view. Tracy was separated from Doug, and this was something both he and Tracy had decided together to do. Besides, where was Doug’s halo? But Steve still had some practical concerns, such as getting through the day—or the next several days, for that matter—with his life and body intact.

He lathered his face and started shaving.

I hope this doesn’t turn out to be some big deal, he thought. I mean, it was just one night. Tracy wanted it, I wanted it, and we both needed it, we’ve been through so much together. Now she’s gone to work like she always does and here I am, a wildlife biologist and college professor like I’ve always been, and she’ll go on being a deputy and I’ll be teaching again fall quarter, so nothing’s really different. We can both walk away like it never happened.

He rinsed his razor under the hot tap water and continued.

Like it never happened? Why would I want to pretend that? Was there something wrong with what happened last night? Man oh man! Here we go with that guilt question again! Aw, give it a rest!

He finished shaving and rinsed his razor under the tap again.

Then he stopped. Now what had he done to himself? The burns on his arms were still there, and the bruises, well, they came with the territory. But what was this discoloration over his heart? It looked kind of like varicose veins, squiggly and branchlike. Hmm. Had to be from his encounter with the dragon. He’d bashed and bruised himself so many times in that incident he’d lost track. This could be a broken blood vessel from all the exertion.

It was no big deal. A guy in his line of work wouldn’t get much done if he worried about every little mark he got. It kind of hurt, though.

He put away his razor and shaving cream. He had to get going. Tracy was meeting Evelyn, Evelyn was going to ID Phil Garrett, the whole case was going to be handed off to the Oak Springs police, and then . . .

Legally speaking, the case against Phil Garrett seemed tight enough, so he would most likely do some time. But unless some hard evidence materialized, it was doubtful anyone else would be charged with anything. As far as Steve knew, the dragon really was responsible for all the deaths that had been blamed on it.

It was the political/cultural climate that now presented the biggest problem, aggravated, of course, by the arrest of Phil Garrett. Steve had confirmed that Hyde Valley and its surrounding environs were inhabited by a large, reptilian creature, most likely a carry-over from prehistoric times. But what complicated any further research—indeed, what had already cost human lives and was sure to cost more—was the local culture, the belief system, that had grown up around this creature. Steve would have to deal directly with that belief system. The people of Hyde River had to realize that the creature could not be hidden any longer but would have to be studied. They also had to realize that the beast could not be allowed to kill again.

Steve’s course of action was bold and simple: He’d go right to the top, to Harold Bly, and just tell him that the secret was out, the whole scientific world would soon be waiting at Hyde River’s doorstep, and the people of Hyde River needed to adjust their thinking. Simple enough. Good grief. If Harold Bly was smart, he’d start figuring out ways to capitalize on it.

He finished dressing and gathered up the gear he’d brought in from the camper: his backpack, his shaving kit, and of course, all the laundry Tracy had washed last night. Tracy might expect him to stay another night, another week, however long she could keep him, but he couldn’t let that get started, especially if he wanted to make peace with the town.

Ouch! His hand went to his chest. What had he done to himself? This broken blood vessel, or whatever it was, was burning. He dug through his first-aid kit and found some ointment for insect bites. It might work. He opened his shirt and smeared some on. The pain didn’t subside, but perhaps it would, given time.

But now he had to make that phone call. He found the number of the Hyde Mining Company in the local phone book and dialed it.

The old mining company had shrunk a bit. Steve recognized Harold Bly’s voice as Bly answered the phone himself. “Hyde Mining.”

“Mr. Bly?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

Bly was sounding a bit gruff this morning. Steve did not expect a kind response when he answered, “Mr. Bly, this is Steve Benson.”

Suddenly Bly’s tone changed, as if he were hearing from an old friend. “Ohhh, Dr. Benson! How are you?”

“Fine, sir, and how are you?”

“Oh, getting by, I guess. What can I do for you?”

“Well . . .” He had to think a moment. How should he phrase this? “If you’re agreeable, I’d like to meet with you and talk about a few matters.” Boy, that was vague enough.

Bly sounded agreeable as he said, “I think that could be arranged.”

“Would you be free this morning?”

“Sure. How about meeting me at the tavern for a beer, say, ten o’clock or so?”

“That’ll be fine. I’ll see you there, ten o’clock at the tavern.”

Steve hung up feeling relieved. Maybe this wouldn’t be as difficult as he first thought.

WELL
, thought Harold Bly. How handy could things get?

He started punching numbers on his phone. He had to gather his people and get things set up. By tonight the trouble would be all over.

TIME TO
get moving, Steve thought. He slung his pack over his shoulder, picked up his laundry bag of clean clothes, made sure the coffeemaker was off as he passed by the kitchen, then went out to his camper.

As he headed down the gulch toward the Hyde River Road, his imagination was working overtime. Perhaps the weird superstitions of Hyde River would be displaced by more practical considerations, like money. Hyde River could become a real center for scientific investigation as well as tourism. Visitors would need rooms, meals, guides, rides. The mercantile could stock cheap binoculars and little stuffed dragons, and the tavern could serve dragon burgers. Yeah, flame-broiled! He started to laugh. He was getting carried away.

Nevertheless, Harold Bly just might go for ideas like that. Why not?

As for the binder containing the diary of Holly Ann Mayfield, Steve wanted to stop first at Levi’s to give it back to him, hopefully before anyone found out he’d been consulting with the big mechanic. It was going to be tough enough getting back into Harold Bly’s good graces without the bad blood between Bly and Cobb coming into it.

Even so, the whole story of the massacre and the legends that sprang from it were another thing that could benefit the town if handled in the right way. That kind of stuff always sold well. The legend of Hyde River. The Hyde River dragon. He could see it now. Too bad old Levi took everything so seriously.

TRACY ARRIVED
at the station in West Fork a few minutes before eight, parking her Ranger in its usual slot alongside the old stone building. Sheriff Collins’s patrol car was already in its slot. Since it was for his exclusive use, he drove it to and from work each day. He was the boss, so he was always early, if only to chew out anybody who came in late.

The side door, her usual entry, was unlocked. Inside, she found the station quiet, with no one in sight, not even a deputy on duty behind the counter. She checked the clock on the wall. Still a minute or two before eight. Either the deputy had stepped away from the counter, was working in the Motor Vehicles section, or was going to catch a good share of flak for being late.

She went directly to the station logbook at the end of the counter near the key rack and quickly signed herself in, noting that she and Sheriff Collins were the only ones there so far.

Deputy Matson was supposed to be manning the office today, but Tracy noted that Collins had signed him off for a leave of absence. All the more work for me, she complained to herself. Anyway, she was here, and on time. Just for good measure, she went to the sheriff’s door and tapped on it. “Morning, Sheriff.”

“Good morning,” came his voice from inside.

She poked her head in. “How’s the prisoner?”

He looked up from his desk only momentarily. “He’s your prisoner. I’ll leave that to you.”

He was still miffed at her. “Yes sir.”

She returned his door to its former, slightly ajar position and went to the cell-block door, still locked from the previous night. The key, however, was back on the key rack where she’d left it, apparently unused since last night’s confrontation. She unlocked the big steel door and swung it open.

An all-too-familiar stench met her like a wall, and she recoiled. The smell of rotting flesh. The air was thick and heavy with it, worse than ever. She turned her head away in horror, in disgust. She drew a breath and steadied herself.

Trouble had found its way in here, Tracy thought. She could sense it in the place, like a loathsome creature concealing itself in some dark corner. She couldn’t see Phil’s cell from where she stood. “Phil?” she called, not too loudly.

There was no answer.

Half from procedure, half from instinct, she closed the cell-block door behind her and locked it, then pocketed the key. Now the problem would be contained, whatever it was, though she found no comfort in the fact that she was locked in with it.