Mudlark (15 page)

We munched biscotti and sipped coffee and let the gents talk. Tom's presence seemed to constrain Dale
more than Bonnie's and mine did, which probably meant Tom was still high on the suspect list.

Dale was euphemistic when he described the rest of the M.E.'s findings. That was all right with me. Jay
didn't press for details either, though he said he found the time of death interesting. Cleo Hagen had been killed
between eight and midnight the evening before we found her body. It was a wonder the crows hadn't done more
damage than they had.

Donald Hagen had been released on bail--substantial bail, as far as the judge was concerned, but
probably peanuts to Hagen. He was staying at the Fisherman's Rest in Kayport. I hoped he would hate it. He had
been told not to leave the county.

Tom's arson case was being handled by another deputy--the fat one who had come with Dale when he
answered the 911 call. He said they were still trying to identify the perpetrators' four-wheel drive pickup.

That reminded me of my little contretemps on the Ridge Road. I told Dale about it, and he looked
thoughtful. Jay listened in grim silence, and the muscle at the hinge of his jaw jumped.

Dale said, "Two guys--what color were the baseball hats?"

I closed my eyes and visualized. "Green with a gold logo. At least the passenger's was. I couldn't swear
to the driver's."

"Softball league," Dale murmured. "How tall was the driver?"

"Heavens, I don't know. Pretty tall." I thought about the tiny man who had peered at me through the
steering wheel of the other car, the Cadillac, and did a mental comparison. "Probably six feet."

"Skinny?"

"Heavy-set. I didn't get a good look at his face but it was kind of red. I think he wore a Levi's jacket. But
the guy was surely just another tailgater. He didn't try to run me off the road. He just passed too close. It was
probably some innocent logger or fisherman in a hurry to get to Astoria for a Saturday on the town."

Dale took a bite of coffee-soaked biscotti. "Mmm. Metallic blue pickup, probably GMC, blue insect
screen, gun rack, buddy riding shotgun. Remember any of the letters on the license plate?"

I closed my eyes again and tried but I couldn't get a clear picture. "Sorry."

"That's okay, Lark...Mrs. Dodge."

"You can use my first name."

"I shouldn't. Not on a case. Ms. Bell, I'm damned sorry we haven't got anything on your vandal. You hear
noises at night, call 911. We're keeping a car in the area for the time being."

Bonnie said, "Gosh, that reminds me. I found the message. You know, the one that was with the dead
seagulls. It blew into the grass beside the road, so most of the writing's washed away. Shall I get it for you?"

Dale stood up. "I'll come across with you. That could be useful, real useful. Thanks for the coffee, folks.
Tom, keep your nose clean, hear?"

He and Bonnie left, Bonnie looking pleased with herself. I went back to my paint roller, and Jay and Tom
got out their lambswool applicators, took off their shoes, slid on knee pads left over from my basketball days, and
started the final coating of acrylic in the living room. Bonnie was gone quite a while. I was just heading back to
wash out the rollers and pans when she slipped in the front door.

"Dale says they can probably do a lot with the message. Isn't that terrific?"

I agreed. There was a feeling in the air, as if the wheel of events were about to turn. Toward solutions, I
hoped.

We worked quickly, and so did Jay and Tom. Freddy came down, freshly showered and duded up, as we
began to clear away our equipment.

He blinked at the bright hallway. "It looks great, Lark--but I'm glad you left the bullet hole."

He was off to join Darla's family for the afternoon and evening. At any other time, the invitation would
have sent Freddy into transports of delight. Now he just wanted to work on the computer.

I wondered if Darla's access of hospitality had anything to do with the fact that Freddy had given most
of his attention to the computer the day before. I almost said something about playing hard to get but refrained. He
wasn't yet ready to be teased about Darla.

Tom said he was going clothes shopping in Astoria when the dryer finished its last cycle. It turned out
that his wardrobe consisted of the contents of his laundry basket--everything else had burned in the bedroom
closet. The loss was at least partly covered by insurance, but Tom hated buying clothes. He hoped I was going to
appreciate the sacrifice when he showed up at my party with the price tags hanging out.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek that raised Jay's eyebrows and said I didn't mind sweats, but Bonnie was
energized. She loved shopping for clothes, even men's. They drove off together an hour later in Bonnie's Escort.
Tom looked a little white around the eyeballs, but Bonnie was cheerful. I hoped she wouldn't make him buy DayGlo
Spandex.

Jay and I had the house to ourselves for the first time in days. We did not neglect the opportunity, and I
think we worked through his little twinge of jealousy. We also found ourselves admiring the living room from time
to time. Jay liked the taupe.
Chacun à son
goűt
.

That evening we lay in bed together reading. I finished
Small
Victories
. Tom was right
about the tone. Funny or not, it was a very angry book. He was wrong about the quality. He had avoided the
clichés of contemporary satire with the deftness of a sapper negotiating a minefield. Half the comedy derived
from the reader's disappointed expectations. I liked the novel almost as much as Bonnie had, but I didn't love it the
way I loved
Starvation Hill
.

Jay was blue-penciling the latest chapter of his textbook. He had got reading glasses that year. They
made him look like a terribly sexy scholar. He finally ripped them off and laid the manuscript on the end table
beside them. I was about to suggest that he put the glasses back on so I could remove them when the phone
rang.

We had deactivated the answering machine at eight on the off-chance that Jay's mother would call from
L.A. with information about Donald Hagen. Jay picked up the receiver. I could tell from the frozen expression on his
face that the news was bad, and my heart thudded into double-time. He slid out of bed and carried the phone
across the room, still listening. "Yeah. Okay. Be right there." He hung up.

"What is it?" I was envisaging Bonnie and Tom, who had not yet returned, at the bottom of the
Columbia. That was a narrow bridge.

"Freddy," Jay said. "He's at the hospital in Kayport. Darla too. Somebody ran the Trans Am off the
road."

"Oh, God." I was on my feet and reaching for my jeans. "Was he...is he..."

Jay said with careful calm, "Nelson says he thinks they're just shaken up. Cops had to use the Jaws of
Life to get Freddy out, though. I'm off, Lark. I want you to stay here in case Ma calls."

"Jay!"

"Please."

I swallowed my chagrin. "Okay. Give him my love."

Jay was throwing on his clothes.

"And don't drive too fast." That was a feeble attempt at humor. Jay is compulsively law-abiding.

He peeled out, spraying almost as much gravel as Freddy had. I went into the kitchen and brewed
coffee. My mother-in-law didn't call, and I didn't call her, though I was strongly tempted. There was no point in
frightening Nancy unnecessarily.

Half an hour later Bonnie and Tom returned. I heard the doors of the Escort slamming and went to the
front door. Bonnie was loading Tom's arms with paper bags and oblong boxes, and they were laughing. Tom made
his way across the road with his pelf. I opened the door for him.

He grinned at me around a large sack. "Waiting up?"

I explained about Freddy, and the smile vanished. Tom headed back to the guest bedroom to dump his
purchases. I was pouring coffee for both of us when he entered the kitchen.

"Do they know what happened?" I gave a careful summary of the little information I had, adding,
"Freddy wanted to stay home tonight and work on your computer. I wish he had." I was near tears.

"He's a good kid. Did they say anything about Darla?" I'd half-forgotten Darla was Tom's cousin.

I shook my head. "Jay will call as soon as he has definite news."

We sat for a while, sipping coffee and thinking our own thoughts. I didn't doubt Tom's were even
darker than mine. His family had bad luck with automobiles.

The phone rang, and I leapt for it.

Jay said, "It's okay, Lark. I'm bringing him home."

"Thank God." I asked him about Darla, and he said the hospital wanted her to stay overnight for
observation. She was complaining of a stiff neck. That didn't sound life-threatening, and I let my breath out in a
long sigh. Jay said he'd call his mother in the morning, and we hung up.

Tom rang Darla's parents. When he had finished talking, I said, "Is she--"

"Marie said the doctor on duty thought she was fine."

"Phew."

"If they find the driver of the other vehicle, I'll strangle the bastard myself."

My salmon was thawing. I took it out, knocked off the slush, and inspected it. It didn't stare back at me
with little beady eyes, fortunately. The head and tail had been removed. The flesh was bright pink. The roast
weighed fifteen pounds, so the fish must have been a twenty-pounder. I wondered how long Tom had taken to reel
it in, or did commercial fishermen do that?

I had been broiling salmon steaks and filets all summer, but I had never roasted a whole salmon. The
prospect was making me apprehensive, so I got out the Rombauers to see what they recommended. Ten minutes
per inch at 350 degrees. Wonderful. That would have been very clear if the salmon had been square. Parts of it
were thin and parts thick. It was more than a foot long, and three inches wide at the tail.

I brooded. I had time to brood. Jay and Freddy were sleeping in, whereas I had come wide awake at
six-thirty, and, when I returned from my run, Tom had already made coffee and vanished. The day before I had
relished solitude. Now I wanted company.

Freddy was sore all over, or so he had said when Jay brought him home. He was worried about Darla
and mournful over the Trans Am. The police had told Jay the car was totaled. Since Freddy was on pain medication,
we shoved him into bed almost as soon as he walked in the door. Then we tried to sleep. I succeeded, after half an
hour of tossing and turning, but I was drowsily aware that Jay lay too still beside me, the way he does when he
can't stop thinking and doesn't want to wake me. I heard him get up some time around three-thirty, and I fell back
asleep before he returned. So it wasn't surprising that he was still out cold at eight-thirty when I finished my
shower and dressed.

I slid the salmon back in the fridge and
The Joy of Cooking
back on its shelf. I drank another cup
of coffee and nibbled biscotti with it. Then I remembered we'd unhooked the answering machine. I reprogrammed
it so the phone wouldn't wake anyone with its ringing, and went to look at my beautiful floor and ugly walls.

The sun was shining in a dim watery way. The pale oak of the floor gleamed under its acrylic surface. It
felt completely dry, and I wished I could start moving furniture in. However, it was safer to wait until the next
morning, so I ignored the taupe walls and contented myself with arranging things in the hall.

The hall floor had not been buried under a shag rug. It looked dark and stained by comparison with the
living room wood. My next project. I vacuumed the indigo runner with its conventional border. Bonnie and I had
left the door to the coat closet stained dark. I thought the door was mahogany, and it had a beveled glass mirror.
The white frame set the wood off nicely, but I gave the surface a polish, just to kill time. Our coat tree was also
stained dark. I removed our bright jackets from it, hung them in the closet, and gave the rack a rub, too.

We had stored a small walnut table with an inlaid surface in a corner of the dining room. I dragged the
table out and set it at the far end of the hall. Then I hung an oval mirror above it. I was admiring the effect when I
heard Tom enter the back door. I joined him in the kitchen.

He was pouring coffee. "Morning. How's Freddy?"

"He seems to be fine--at least he's still out."

He gave me a serious once-over. "Couldn't you sleep? I saw you running."

"I slept better than Jay." I made a face. "I just wake up early. Sometimes that's a nuisance. I finished
your book, Tom. I liked it."

"Thanks. Do you want flowers for tomorrow? I have asters and daisies, some dahlias."

"Have you been working in the garden already?"

He smiled. "You run, I garden. I woke about the time you went out--heard you leave."

I poured a cup of coffee. "Want a biscotti?"

"Sure. Is that the singular?" He took one from the jar. "Italian word."

"Heavens, I suppose biscotti is plural. What would the singular be, biscottus?"

He laughed. "I have no idea. They taste good."

We settled into the nook and talked about the salmon for a while. He had heard of the ten minute rule
and told me to measure the vertically thickest part. He also offered to make a special mayonnaise his grandmother
had served with salmon.

"Is it a Nekana recipe?"

"I don't think the Nekana went in for mayonnaise. No chickens, no olive oil."

I flushed. "I'm pretty ignorant."

"Grandma called it Irish Mayo because it was green--lots of parsley and fresh tarragon."

"She must have been an interesting lady."

"She was a great cook--learned from the nuns. Her family was fourth generation Catholic and always
sent the girls to the convent for polishing. The LaPortes were not happy when their eldest daughter married a
heretic."

"Your grandfather?"

Tom smiled. "His family were Methodists. His mother was a leading light of the WCTU, but Grandpa was
a free thinker by the time I knew him. The Methodist ladies snubbed my grandmother because she was Nekana, so
Grandpa snubbed them. He was a crusty old guy. Never forgave them."