Obsession Falls (10 page)

“I’m doing okay, Daddy. It’s been cold, but the snow hasn’t buried me—”

Yet.

“—And I haven’t starved—”

Yet.

“And the people who tried to kill that little boy haven’t hunted me down.”

They think you’re dead. If they didn’t, these mountains would be swarming with bounty hunters, and you’d be nothing but a pile of bones. Someone told a lie about you being dead.

“Yes. But also—surely the police up here are not good with crime scenes.”

Honey, celebrities live up here. Crimes of passion. Crimes of drugs and liquor. Those policemen aren’t as dumb as you hope.

She lifted the joint and took a drag. “You think I’ve been set up?”

I think someone’s out there looking for you.

Her voice quavered. “Who?”

You’d better hope it’s the good guys.

“Even Mother said I was guilty.”

Don’t get along?

“Did we ever?”

I was hoping she would take care of you. That you’d grow closer.

“The last time I saw her, we had a major fight.”

About what?

“I broke off another engagement, and this time only two months before the wedding.” Good memory.

Why’d you do that, honey?

“I couldn’t stand the guy.”

Why’d you get engaged to him, then?

“Sometimes it’s easier to do what everyone expects, you know?” The memory of Edmundo made her toes curl. “He was a gorgeous Italian who wanted his villa remodeled. I was hands-on. He was hands-on. We got together, and he fell in love.”

But not you.

“I did, too. He had the best art collection I’ve ever seen outside of a museum. And you know what Mother says—it’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor man.” She rubbed her forehead. “But he … he was forty. And I think he was lying about his age. I’m pretty sure he was older.”

Is forty the expiration date?
Daddy’s raspy, smoker’s voice sounded amused.

“No. I just mean … after the first outburst of love, he acted old. Traditional. At first it was all, ‘Ooo, ahh, I’ll give you anything you want.’ And then it was, ‘But you won’t work. I need a wife and a hostess.’ When I said I wanted more, he wasn’t even insulted. He told me his mother had worked, too, until she met his father. Like his mother was my role model. Then he wheedled and pouted, and finally he told me it was okay if I only loved him for his money, I didn’t need to try and convince him otherwise.” She flung out her hands in an upswept gesture. “How pathetic is that? He didn’t think well enough of himself to imagine a woman would love the man and not his bankroll.”

You adore your job?

“I do.” She hadn’t realized how much until she’d gotten stuck up here. “I like arranging things, making things look good. I like working with the people—let me tell you, that’s an art—and knowing that when I’m done, they’ll be happy living in the home coordinated specifically for them. I like making them feel safe, and at home. No job is the same. I like that, too.”

You wanted to be an artist.

“I did. One thing coming up here made me realize—talent isn’t genius. I’m not a great artist, and honestly? I’m not willing to live in a garret. After this, I want a cozy house in an area I love, maybe with a man I love. Or maybe alone. I can make it alone.”

Of course you can. You’re a remarkable woman.

She paused to wallow in his praise. “Not to go all Scarlett O’Hara on you, but after I get out of this, I’ll never be hungry—or cold—again.”

After tonight, you’ll be lucky to be alive. Look up at the moon.

She did. It was full and bright, so beautiful as it broke through the branches to light her night. She smiled.

What do you see?

“There’s a ring around it.” Pale ice crystals shone like a halo.

That ain’t no halo, honey. I taught you what it means.

Her smile faded. “It means it’s going to snow.”

Boy, howdy. Is it ever going to snow. Are you ready?

“As ready as I can ever be.”

So how are you living?
He didn’t sound curious. He already knew. But he asked anyway.

“I go down in the valley and gather supplies.”

Gather supplies?

“That’s what I call it. Gather supplies. It sounds so much better than breaking into houses and stealing stuff.” That struck her as funny, and she laughed so hard she fell over on her side.

He didn’t reply.

Abruptly she was afraid he was gone. But when she looked up, there he was, smoking that cigarette and watching her.

Slowly, one hand at a time, Taylor pushed herself back into sitting position. “That’s where I got this…” Defiantly, she raised the joint to her lips.

You kids think you’re so goddamn smart. I was smoking that shit in the sixties.

Taylor was shocked. She didn’t know why. She knew her dad had been raised during the sexual revolution. But he’d lived in rural Idaho, when a tall antenna brought in two television stations and Nat King Cole, the most popular singer in America, couldn’t keep his variety show because he was African American. “I didn’t know you smoked shit. Of course, I didn’t know you had committed suicide, either.” Her voice came out cold, accusatory. Like her mother’s.

I didn’t commit suicide. I went after the cows. Did my job. Someone had to, in that snowstorm. Got the first ones in, went back for the strays. Didn’t make it back.

“Does it hurt to freeze to death?” Her voice quavered.

Sure does. It’s not the death I’m lookin’ for, for you. You don’t deserve that. You
did
save that kid.

“
Thank
you! I’m glad somebody besides me realizes it.” She looked at the joint, smoldering between her fingers, and tossed it into the fire. “I don’t know what to do, though. I don’t know how to save myself.”

You can’t hide forever, Taylor Elizabeth Summers. You’ve got to take the bull by the horns and do something to clear your good name.

“I know, Daddy. But what? I don’t even know who hired Dash to kidnap the child.”

God gave you your talent for a reason, and it wasn’t to draw pretty pictures of the mountains.

“They weren’t pretty pictures,” she said sullenly.

He ignored that.
Did you steal … or rather, acquire … a drawing tablet yet?

“No!”

No use lying to me, child. I’m not really here.

She sighed. “Fine. Yes. I’ve got paper and pencils. Why?”

Draw what you saw.

She bit her lip.

Draw what you saw.

Goddamn persistent ghost. “I don’t want to.”

Draw what you saw.

“It hurts to remember.”

It’s fresh in your mind. Draw what you saw.

“What good will that do?”

When the moment comes, you want to be able to show the truth.

“Those men … they were cruel. Murderers. That boy. He was so scared. Terrified. Sick. Yet he was looking around, trying to figure a way out. What could I do? I had to help. Stupid idea.” She’d run through the whole scene so many times in her mind. “I still don’t know what else I would do.”

Are you sorry you helped him?

“No! But I’m sorry for myself.” She hung her head and wept.

You’ll recognize opportunity when it presents itself, child. Look for it, be brave, and seize the moment to get out of here when you can, as fast as you can. You’ll do that, won’t you?

She nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

Now … stake your tent, and do it twice as good as you think you need it. Rake up pine needles and branches and pile them around the base, then place rocks on top of them. The wind’s going to howl. The snow’s going to pile up. You don’t want to be buried alive.

Frightened, she looked at her tent.

Do you?
His voice sounded fainter, more distant.

She looked back.

He was gone.

She did as she was told. She staked and reinforced the base of her tent.

Then she sat by the fire and watched the clouds race to cover the moon … and she used all her skill to draw the scene with Dash, Hernandez, and Miles McManus exactly as she remembered it, one panel after another.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Another two weeks of storms, another two weeks of lonely darkness and cold, and Taylor
knew
she was going crazy. She couldn’t strategize about clearing her name and going back to her former life. She couldn’t draw. She couldn’t look for opportunity and seize the moment. She couldn’t even fish.

All she could think of was surviving the cold, wondering where her next meal was coming from, and if she could get down the hill fast enough between storms to gather supplies. And she thought about wolves. They howled at night, coming closer and closer.

When she found herself fondling her pistol, she packed her backpack, stepped out into the storm, and headed down the hill. Better to die in Wildrose Valley than up here as wolf food. By the time she reached the road, the snowfall had eased and subzero cold had settled in. An ever-increasing number of cars slowly passed her, making the surface a skating rink.

Where were they going? What were they doing?

Ah. They were turning in there, through the gate to one of the fabulous mansions. At the far end of the winding, plowed drive, she saw the house lit up like a Christmas tree, and a long line of cars waiting to discharge their occupants.

A party.

So she walked through those gates and up the long driveway. A sign said
SERVICE
ENTRANCE
, and that seemed the right way to go. She sure as hell wasn’t a guest. The trek led to the back of the house, toward the sound of voices, the glow of light. She found herself at the kitchen entrance beside a white moving van that proclaimed,
GEORG’S
FINE
CATERING
, and in smaller letters underneath,
KETCHUM,
IDAHO
.

She edged down the side away from the light.

A long ramp angled from the truck to the driveway. Husky men moved narrow refrigerators on wheels out of the truck and up another ramp through the open double doors and into the kitchen. A myriad white-coated waitstaff carried plastic-wrapped silver trays of hors d’oeuvres inside.

A short, skinny, excessively animated man in a dark suit and a wool coat stood in the middle of the action, giving orders in short, clear, concise sentences that held all the more authority for his quiet tones.

Taylor watched the activity with all the longing of Lancelot for the illusive Holy Grail. These people had food. She was hungry.

But even more than that … they were human. She hadn’t spoken to another human being in over two months, unless she counted her father, and she knew it was nuts to have seen him. She absorbed the babble of voices like the parched earth soaked in a sudden rainstorm. After so much silence, she almost couldn’t distinguish one word from another.

Suddenly, she realized the officious man in charge had turned on her like a rabid dog. “Are you from the employment agency?”

She stared at him, mute.

“God. Another idiot.” In a slow, clear voice, he asked, “Did the employment agency send you?”

“No.”

Her voice was apparently too faint for him to hear, for he shouted, “Do you know how to serve food?”

“I’ve waited tables,” she said.
Almost ten years ago when I was in college.

“Good. Go inside, put on a black servers’ outfit.” He looked her over and sighed loudly and ostentatiously. “No, wait. First, take a shower in the servers’ bathroom. Wash … your … hair.”

Bewildered, she touched her head.

“Wash? You know, with shampoo?”

She didn’t answer, but stared at him wide-eyed.

“Are you on drugs?” he asked sharply.

“No.”

“If I weren’t desperate…”

Taylor saw him wavering, saw her opportunity fading, and seized the moment. In a clear voice, she said, “I’m out of practice, but I can do it. I promise.”

He chewed on his lip, then nodded. “You’d better do it. After you
wash … your … hair
, get dressed in the servers’ clothes. Then come back into the kitchen. When I say it’s time, you take a tray, go up, and offer an hors d’ouevre and a napkin. Can you do that?”

“I can.”

“Hurry. We don’t have all night.”

She nodded. But she didn’t know where to go.

He sighed again, walked up to her and took her arm, and led her toward the house. He parted the bustling stream of humanity like Moses parted the Red Sea. At the door, he took her face in both his hands and spoke directly into her face: “Through the kitchen, down the hall, to your right. That’s the servers’ bathroom. Shower. Use soap. Don the servers’ outfit, the
black
outfit.” He scrutinized her further. “The people they send me.” Raising his voice, he said, “Sarah!”

A woman’s voice came from the depths of the kitchen. “Yes, Georg!”

“Feed this thing before you put her to work.” He gave Taylor a push.

A broad, cool-eyed woman looked her over, picked out clothes from a cupboard on wheels, and handed them over. “Come back,” she said, “when you’re clean and dressed.”