Not a Sparrow Falls (40 page)

She rolled over and looked at the clock. It was time to get up if she was to perform her last duties for him and the children. She would go to the parsonage, get Samantha off to school, and spend these last two days with the children. And after that she would be unemployed again. She remembered that
day, not so long ago, when she had made a wager with God. A job by the end of the day or she would go back to dealing.

She didn’t bother to make a wager this time. She felt somehow that her fate had been decided long ago, maybe before she even existed. So this is how it happens, she realized as she showered and dressed, as she gathered up the few things she wanted to take with her and shoved them into her backpack. This is how a person ends up a loser. A bad break here, a poor choice there. Pile up a few months of those, a few years, and there you were. Out of luck, out of ideas, ready to do whatever it took to get by.

She counted out what was left of her money and put most of it into an envelope with a note for Carmen and left it on her dresser.

She walked quietly into the living room and peeked out the window. Newlee’s patrol car was parked out front, but they weren’t up yet. She looked around the little apartment one more time and the words she’d written to Carmen didn’t seem enough now. She reached her hand into the pocket of her jacket to get the key to the apartment and came out with a slip of paper as well. The mysterious telephone number. After last night’s drama she’d forgotten all about it. She went to the phone. One more time she dialed the number.

“Hello.”

“This is Bridie Collins.” Her pulse was loud in her ears. She swallowed, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “You’ve been trying to get ahold of me.”

“Just a minute,” the woman said. There was a rustling sound, and Bridie thought she heard a baby whimper. A door closed. “Yeah,” the woman said. “I live with Eric. In Charlottesville.”

Her stomach clenched. “Why are you calling me?”

“Somebody came looking for you, and Eric gave you up.”

“Who was it?” Bridie asked, her voice calm, her insides a twisting mess.

“Tall, thin dude. Weird, whacked out on speed. He kept chewing his lip and picking at himself.”

“What did Eric give him?”

“Everything he had. If I found you, he will, too.”

“Thank you,” Bridie said.

“We’re even now,” the woman answered and then hung up.

Bridie’s hands shook as she replaced the telephone and turned on the computer. She almost screamed with impatience as she waited for it to boot up, then clicked on the heart for her favorite place and was immediately routed to the Virginia Department of Corrections Inmate Locator. She punched in the familiar name one last time: Porter, Jonah.

When the screen appeared, she stared, too frightened to move. Her breath came in shallow little gasps. Porter, Jonah. Status: Released. She leaned forward, reading it over and over, trying to think of what she should do. She clicked on the picture. There he was. The same angular face, the same raw features. His striking eyes were blank, vacant, like the soul inside had been gradually eaten away. He was out. And he knew where she was.

She had to leave. That much was clear now. She shouldn’t even go to Alasdair’s. She could be leading Jonah to them, and that could only be trouble. She paused, chewing her lip.

“Hey.”

She jumped.

Carmen was standing in the doorway staring at her, giving her a strange look. “What’s going on?”

Bridie didn’t answer. She went back to the computer and turned it off. When she turned toward Carmen, her roommate was still staring at her. “What’s up?” Carmen asked again, her voice a little more pointed.

“Nothing.” She answered too quickly.

“What’s with that?”

“What?”

“That.” Carmen gestured toward Bridie’s backpack and
gave her another intent stare. “And what’s up with you? You’re acting like you did that night we ate the espresso beans.”

“Nothing’s up with me,” Bridie lied, trying to make her voice sound as natural as possible. “The backpack’s because I’m spending the night at the parsonage. Alasdair’s going on a trip.”

Carmen stared at her, not smiling or nodding. “You sure you don’t want to tell me?”

This wasn’t good old live-and-let-live Carmen.

“Nothing to tell. I’ve got to go.”

Carmen nodded, but she didn’t pad off to the kitchen to make coffee as she usually did.

Bridie opened the apartment door, determined to get away before Newlee came out and started asking questions. She peered into the gray morning, but she couldn’t do too much reconnaissance, or Carmen would get suspicious and wake up Newlee, and then she might as well just raise her hands and give herself up without a fuss. No one was around that she could see. She stepped out and closed the door behind her, but instead of going out the front she looped around the back of the building. It was raining, a light foggy mist. She cut through the alley and took the long way around the block, running to catch the bus one stop north of her usual.

She climbed on board and slid down in the seat, nothing moving but her eyes as she scanned Alexandria’s sidewalks, slick but already full of people. He wasn’t there. She didn’t see him, at least.

Her breathing finally slowed, though her heart was still galloping. The bus passed the parsonage and the church. She stayed on, but halfway to the next stop her heart got the better of her good sense. She had to say good-bye. Otherwise Samantha would think she’d just up and left. She pulled the cord and got off, looking around to make sure no one was following before she doubled back.

****

Jonah rose up just in time to see Mary come out of the bushes by the apartment house. It took him a second to start the car, which was just as well, since he didn’t want to spook her. He followed a good ways back, and when she got on the bus, a big SUV got in front of him and blocked his view for a while. He was frantic trying to stay far enough back so she wouldn’t spot him if she was looking, but close enough for him to spot her.

He made do as best he could, and finally she got off. He pulled over and turned around, then cruised back as slow as he could, and it was his lucky day, because just when he thought he’d lost her, there she was, stepping through a black wrought-iron gate.

He went on around the block and pulled into the alley behind the church parking lot where nobody would pay him any mind, got out of the car, and walked through the graveyard. He could see all the spirits. They were holding hands, playing frog in the meadow. He could hear them chanting, see them holding hands and moving around in a circle.
Frog in the meadow, can’t get him out, take a little stick, and stir him about.
“We’ll help you find her,” they sang out. “We’ll help you get back what she took from you.”

He nodded, sat down on the marble bench, and waited until they told him what to do.

Thirty-Five

Bridie let herself in the back door of the house, then stood with her back against it, trying to catch her breath.

Gradually the sounds of normalcy dampened her panic, at least a little. Water was running. A pair of tennis shoes, probably Samantha’s, were thumping against the sides of the dryer in irregular rhythm. She smelled coffee scorching on the burner and the citrus-soapy smell of dishwashing detergent. She stepped out of the kitchen into the hallway. From here she could hear Cam and Bonnie jabbering from the living room and the background noise of the television. They were watching the Christmas video again. Would probably still be watching it on the Fourth of July. Her pulse slowed. She set down her backpack and purse and took off her jacket.

She went to the front window and peered around the curtain. No one was out there. No one at all.

“You’re here.” Samantha’s voice startled her.

She nodded but decided to get the truth out right away. “I can’t stay.”

Samantha’s face sobered.

“Where’s your father?”

“He’s upstairs with some guy.”

Bridie nodded, her emotions bobbing between grief and relief.

“Why do you have to leave? Dad’ll get over it. I’m sure he will.”

Bridie shook her head. “It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

She took a breath. Let it out. “I’ve done some bad things.”

“What kind of things?”

Bridie agonized. “I’d rather not say. I don’t have time to explain, and it would take some explaining.”

Samantha considered that, then gave her head a little shake. “So you’re leaving.”

Bridie shrugged. “Sort of. I mean, it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t sound that complicated to me,” Samantha said, folding her arms. “It sounds to me like you’re doing what you said last night I wasn’t supposed to do.”

Bridie stared.

“Running away.” You moron, her tone said. Bridie couldn’t help but smile.

“Sometimes it’s not that simple, Samantha.”

Samantha shrugged, obviously not buying it. “Whatever.”

Bridie shook her head. There was nothing she could say. Any details she shared would just increase Samantha’s disappointment. “Are Cam and Bonnie in the living room?”

Samantha nodded without answering. Bridie went around her and into the living room.

“Hi,” they greeted her.

She couldn’t even answer them. She gave them each a hug and a kiss, then found Samantha in the kitchen.

“I’ve got to go,” Bridie repeated. Her throat tightened and hurt.

At first she thought Samantha would stay just like that, arms crossed, face glowering, but at the last minute she flung herself at Bridie and hugged her. “Come back if you can,” she pleaded, and Bridie couldn’t even bear to look at her as she opened the back door and left.

****

Carmen couldn’t get the face out of her mind. She walked around the little apartment and smoked and tried to think of what to do, but nothing would stick to her brain except that dead-looking face and those cold, creepy eyes. For the hundredth time she thought about waking up Newlee, but like always, something stopped her. Once Newlee got into it, there would be no hiding anything anymore, and she was pretty sure this was about things Bridie would just as soon
keep to herself. You could go to the grave with your secrets, she reminded herself, and that thought rattled her so much she didn’t even notice Newlee appear in the doorway.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, and she could almost see cop alertness replace drowsiness in his eyes.

There was no way she could keep this to herself. She took a deep breath and let the truth out with it. “I don’t know what’s going on, Newlee, but something’s not right. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“About what?” He tensed up, as if anything that could get her this rattled gave him a bad feeling, too.

She hesitated one last time, then decided there was no other way. “Now, you know I respect people’s privacy, and I’d be the last one in the world to throw the first stone.”

“What happened?” he pressed.

She might as well spill it. “I came in just as Bridie was getting off the computer. She seemed so freaked out, I snooped. She uses my Internet account, so I clicked on the history to see where she’d been. This is what I saw.”

She went to the computer and wiggled the mouse around. The screen appeared again, and Newlee leaned over her to take a look. He frowned, and his face hardened. He could probably tell it was a convict face even without reading the words underneath. They gave Carmen another chill, just like they had the first time. Jonah Porter. White male, thirty-three years old. Status: released. Offense description: manufacture and distribution of a controlled substance.

Newlee’s jaw muscle clenched. He straightened up, and suddenly he was all cop.

“I’ve seen him, Newlee,” she babbled. “Yesterday after work he was in front of the store. He looked high. That’s why I noticed him.”

“Where is Bridie now?” He asked the question on the way to the bedroom as he was yanking off his sweats and pulling on his clothes.

“She said she was going to the parsonage.” Carmen stubbed
out her cigarette and started throwing on clothes, too. She finished as Newlee was pulling on his boots. “I’m going over there,” she said, grabbing her keys and purse.

“Wait.” His voice was sharp. It was a command and not a suggestion.

She waited. She wasn’t even tempted to argue, just watched, wide-eyed, as he strapped on his gun.

****

There she is. Go after her, the spirits had said, and Jonah had taken off. Gotten into the Fury and followed Mary. He wondered if that was his money she had in that backpack she’d slung over her shoulder. She got on the city bus, and Jonah followed, running through a red light and two yellows so he wouldn’t lose her. She rode the bus clear out onto the highway. They passed his motel, and then the bus pulled into the Greyhound station, and Mary got off and went inside.

****

Bob stared at Alasdair. MacPherson didn’t blink.

Well, this was just great. What did this guy have in his veins that none of this fazed him? Bob couldn’t think of anything else to do, any other threats to make.

MacPherson leaned forward, and Bob took heart. Good. Maybe he was catching the far-off scent of the coffee. He gave Bob a squint-eyed look, as if he was looking at a bug under a microscope. “Why do you do this, Bob?” he asked.

Bob stared back, surprised into silence.

“Something must motivate this drivenness of yours,” MacPherson went on. “This desire to win at all costs. You have a good job. Why isn’t just doing it well enough for you?” He kept staring, not even blinking.

Why wasn’t it enough? Bob wondered, and suddenly it seemed like a question that deserved an answer, even if he had no intention of sharing it with Alasdair MacPherson. It
was
odd, now that he really thought about it. The whole time
he’d been talking to MacPherson, it was like he was an actor delivering his lines. And it had always been that way. He never just lived events. He scripted and acted them, then judged his performance afterward through the eyes of an unseen audience. Would it impress? Was it dramatic? How had he looked? Was he a hit? Or a flop? What would the reviewers say? Every conversation, every interaction, every friendship, every date, every job was actually a scene he played. Now he peered into the dark theater, looking for the mystery audience. There was his dad front and center with a bag of popcorn. And Bob was still waiting for the applause.