Perri O'Shaughnessy - Presumption Of Death

“You don’t want to help us decide what to do?” Paul asked.

“I know what you’ll do, and I’m not dressed for hiking. You brought what you need to go up the mountain and try to find him, I assume,” Sandy said.

“Yes, we have what we need in the back of the truck.”

“Well, then.”

“Shouldn’t we call Joseph to come and get you?”

“I already did from Connie’s. He’ll have somebody pick me up at the bus station. Don’t waste any more time worrying about me. I know how to get home. You have mobile phones, both of you?”

“Yes.”

“Charged?”

Nina checked her phone, then Paul’s. “Yes.”

“Don’t forget them for a change.”

“Okay, Sandy.”

She had a few more instructions and edicts for them, which they listened to all the way down to the bus stop. When she got out, she held a hand up. “He’s a kidnapper and a murderer,” she said. “Paul, take your gun.”

He patted his shoulder holster. “Check.”

“And remember,” she said, “he’s still Wish’s friend. I used my friends to find him and now we’re trusting you with his life.”

“Here we are,” Paul said, stopping.

“Thanks, Sandy,” Nina said.

“For what?”

“For coming to the party.”

“We beat Crockett,” Sandy said. “Now you do the rest.”

Nina watched Sandy grow small in the rearview mirror as they drove back around the lake toward Incline Village. “How do you think she really feels about Danny?”

“She remembers him when he was innocent. Probably wiped away a few tears for him once. Now, could you check the map? Do I turn onto Mount Rose Highway or not?”

Directed by Nina, Paul made a left up the highway that eventually led over a nine-thousand-foot pass to the high Nevada desert and Reno. After a short distance, they turned left again and wound through some high-altitude residential streets set in landscapes that looked like they had been transported from the Alps. The asphalt dead-ended in patches of sprouting mule ears, white lupines, and penstemon getting ready to bloom. “Park here,” Nina said, pointing. “This is it. The end of Jennifer Lane.”

On the left, a few large houses crawled over the edge of a downhill slope. “That’s his friend’s cabin,” Paul said, consulting a number he had written down. “Let’s go look.”

The smallest home on the block, it was very quaint, a gingerbread model, with filigreed blue shutters and painted flower boxes, obviously empty, given the pulled drapes and windblown pine needles all over the entry deck. They knocked. They rang the bell. They waited. When there was no answer, they tried again.

“An old door-to-door solicitor trick,” Paul said. “You assume only a friend would have the nerve to ring twice.”

Still no one came. Paul reached above the door to feel for a key but came away empty-handed. He proceeded to wander the front deck, turning over pots, fingering things around the edges of the deck.

“Got it,” he said, fiddling with what looked like a rock.

“You make me so nervous,” Nina said.

“Worried the neighbors are watching?” He turned around with a big smile, waving the key. “Now they think we’re visiting friends.”

“Forget the neighbors. I’m worried about breaking and entering.”

“We’re not breaking anything. Besides, a friend of a friend said we could check it out for a possible rental, remember?”

“I’ll remember,” she said, “and I’ll wait here.”

Paul disappeared through the front door. “Have a seat there. Do your best to look innocent. I’ll just be a second.” He was true to his word, returning quickly. He placed the key back into the fake rock and put it back where he had found it. They walked back to the car.

“What did you find?”

“Kitchen raided for pots and pans. Bread crumbs and peanut-butter-and-jelly stains on the counter. Couldn’t tell what all was taken, but the place on the whole was incredibly neat, so it was obvious that someone in a hurry tromped through.”

“He was there with the kids,” Nina said.

“Has to be him. Crumbs so fresh the ants hadn’t even noticed yet.”

“Anything else?”

“Just this.” He pulled a wadded-up map out of his pocket that had pinholes in each corner. “Found it stuck to the wall in the living room. Favorite trails of the Gerdes family, marked in various colors. There’s blue for easy hiking trails, red for steep ones, and yellow for four-wheel drives…”

“Crockett told me he dumped the Jeep in Sacramento and stole an SUV. Less conspicuous.”

“Yeah, he would once he had the kids. Nina, would you try to hike kids up that ridge?”

They looked up a steep hillside on the left, moist, loose gravel dotted with thick brush, and looked down to their right into an almost-vertical gully that led up to the ten-thousand-foot peaks of Rose Knob and its neighbor mountains on the ridge. “A waterfall!” Nina pointed. “It’s really rugged here.”

So where would Danny go from here, with two presumably reluctant children and camping gear in tow?

Paul put a finger to the topo map. “There’s the nearest jeep trail, back to the highway, and then no more than two miles before you turn back this way. I’m guessing, but I think he’ll want to stay around here, on familiar ground, but he can’t hike far with gear and those kids, he really can’t. Your car’s four-wheel drive. Let’s get going.”

The day before, just about noon in Carmel Valley, Danny had had no trouble luring Callie into the black Jeep. He knew just where she’d be waiting for her bus home at the school-he used to drive her there for Jolene now and then-and she climbed right in when he said Jolene had sent him.

He cruised with her right down Carmel Valley Road, every nerve on edge, and turned down Esquiline to see if he could find one of Darryl’s kids. And he saw Mikey, his good little buddy, throwing stones off Rosie’s Bridge.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Mikey said. The kid’s hair was so short it made his ears stick out at right angles. His mouth was hanging open in puzzlement and curiosity about the big open vehicle Danny was driving, but he didn’t seem all shocked that the ghost of Siesta Court was back haunting him. He just instantly figured out, hey, it was all some bullshit adult mistake. Danny liked that.

“I got lucky at Vegas. Bought me this Jeep. Wanna drive it?”

No problem. They went back and got on the Los Laureles Grade toward Salinas, Mikey driving like a little champ, just barely hitting the pedals. Danny had let him tool around some nights in his own old car back in the days before it all went wrong. When Danny finally kicked Mikey out of the driver’s seat, Callie begged to drive.

He let her sit in his lap and spin the Jeep around an empty parking lot in North Salinas a few times, then took over. “We gotta get started. We want to make Tahoe today.”

“I can’t go to Tahoe,” Mikey said. “My parents will worry.”

“That’s a long way,” Callie said, “isn’t it?”

“Oh, not so far. Don’t worry. Your parents know all about this. They’re meeting us up there. Yeah, the whole neighborhood’s clearing out because of the fires, taking a Fourth of July holiday. We’re gonna have a big party. I had extra room for the trip so they sent me to pick up you guys, that’s all.”

“What about clothes?” Callie asked. “What about summer school?”

“Well, this fire thing scared ’em, and they all needed a break. I heard-yeah, Callie, your grandma said she called your teacher, didn’t your teacher tell you?”

“No. I guess she forgot.”

“You ever been to Tahoe?”

Mikey said, “It’s cool. Maybe we can swim in the lake.”