Faye Kellerman - The Ritual Bath

He drove Rina and the boys along a narrow, rutted road past rolling hills, empty stretches, and an occasional barn, house, or grove of fruit trees. After a long, bumpy ride, the unmarked finally pulled onto a large strip of blacktop, next to a jeep. Also parked in the driveway, in front of the garage door, was an old, wheelless red Porsche with the hood up. Adjacent to the asphalt were groves of citrus, heavy with oranges, lemons, and grapefruits, breathing their fragrance into the hot summer air. The ground beneath them was newly watered and speckled with rotting fruit, glistening in the sunlight.

They piled out of the car, and the boys took off immediately into the trees to play a game of tag. Rina stepped out, stretched, and looked around.

Decker’s home was a modest one-story dwelling, fashioned after a barn. The exterior wood, painted a deep red, was sided with white cross-thatched beams and decorated with rectangular planter boxes full of geraniums and impatiens set beneath the picture windows. He’d put care into the place, she thought. Decker unlocked the front door. Rina called out to the boys, and they went inside.

They walked into a small living room, sparely furnished but flooded with sunlight. She liked what she saw. The floor was wood planks of unfinished fir partially covered by a Navajo rug, and the ceiling was peaked and beamed. The room had an overstuffed sofa, two buckskin chairs, a free-form driftwood coffee table, and a recliner parked next to the front window with a view of the grove. Across from the sofa was a large fireplace, trimmed with brick and flanked by twin copper cauldrons.

Decker led them through the living room, a small dining area, and out a side door between it and the kitchen. The backyard contained a barn, a stable, a holding pen, and a corral. Bales of hay stacked five high leaned against the barn, and to the rear, a mesa of flatland led to the mountains.

He excused himself to change, went into the barn, and came back out in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. At his heels was a brilliant copper-colored Irish setter. From the wag of its tail, the dog was overjoyed at Decker’s presence but contained itself. Decker told the dog to sit, and it obeyed instantly. Without hesitation, Jake walked over to the setter and petted it, but Sammy waited until Rina approached it, then followed.

“He’s beautiful! ” Rina said, stroking the gleaming fur. “And so well-behaved.”

“He’s a she.” Decker noticed Sammy’s reticence. “Come here, Sammy. Ginger’s very friendly. Too friendly. She’s a terrible watchdog.”

The boy gave the dog a cautious pet and smiled. Jacob was already trying to entice her into a game of tag.

“She looks like you, Peter,” Rina said smiling.

“That’s what Cindy said when she gave her to me.”

“Birthday present?”

“Divorce present. She figured I might be lonely.” Decker let out a small laugh. “At the time, all I wanted was solitude. Anyway, Ginger’s going with us on our ride. She’ll be our guide. C’mon, girl.”

The setter followed Decker back into the stable, and ten minutes later he came out with a saddled Appaloosa filly named Annie. Patiently he explained to the boys the do’s and don’ts of riding, put them on the horse-Jake in front, Sammy behind him-and led them around the corral. When they were acclimated, he took Jake down, gave the reins to Sammy and let go. Then he saddled up another filly and hoisted Jake upward. Within an hour the boys were riding the horses on their own, squealing with uninhibited joy. The dog jumped at the horses’ hooves, barking playfully.

Decker watched them closely, shouting out appropriate instructions when necessary. Rina stood in the background and clicked a camera, as excited as they were. She was glad they’d come. It was a day the boys would remember.

Decker took a brown stallion from the stable, mounted it, and rode to her.

“I want to take them for a short ride in the hills.”

“Fine.”

“Help yourself to anything you want.”

“Okay. Take your time.”

“You know, you could come with us. I’ve got a couple more horses in the stable that can use some exercise.”

She shook her head.

“Sure?”

“Positive.”

He turned around and led the boys out of the corral. They rode off, unbothered by the heat and glare, unaware of anything else except the open land that beckoned to them.

Rina went inside the house. The sun had cooked her scalp, and her head began to throb. The boys would probably be hungry after their ride, so she might as well set up for dinner. She took a stack of paper goods and some plastic utensils out of a bag she’d brought from home, having explained to Peter that his dishes and flatware weren’t kosher even though they’d been sterilized in a dishwasher. She could tell he didn’t understand the logic, but he was nice enough not to debate the issue.

His dining area contained a round cherry-wood table, four matching chairs, and a six-shelf mahogany bookcase. Having forgotten place mats, she unfolded several napkins and covered the table surface. She set out chicken left over from Shabbos lunch, potato chips, and juice. Not exactly well balanced, but at least the kids would eat it.

When she was done, she walked over to the bookcase and studied its contents. The top two shelves held a set of law books, police manuals, and police academy texts-books on law enforcement, criminology, search and seizure policy, forensics, ballistics, firearms, and evidence. Below them was a row of sociological and criminological studies: History of Homicide in America, Criminal Statistics in Los Angeles, The Challenge of Child Abuse, The Juvenile Offender, Detective Work: A Study in Criminal Investigation . The lower half of the bookcase was devoted to fiction; his taste leaned toward best-sellers and spy novels. She noticed a total absence of detective fiction.

She found a Natural History magazine wedged between two textbooks and pulled it out. The lead article was on the African tree frog. Settling down on the living room couch, she skimmed it quickly, looking at the pictures, too jittery to really concentrate on the text. Finally, she gave up and tried to stop thinking about the murder and rape. Forcing herself to take advantage of the peace and quiet, she sat back and closed her eyes.

An hour later there were hoofbeats in the backyard. The three of them stomped in with Ginger, the boys sweaty and excited.

“Boy, am I tired!” said Sammy, happily plopping on the couch.

“I’m starved,” Jake moaned.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Decker said, setting out a bowl of water for the dog. “Be back in a few minutes. You can feed them in the meantime.”

He disappeared.

“You kids can go ahead and wash up in the kitchen sink,” she said, piling their plates with chicken and potato chips. “You don’t have to make Al netilas yadaiyim because I didn’t bring any bread.”

The boys washed, then sat down at the table.

“Did you have fun?” she asked.

“Yeah, but my legs are sore,” Jake said.

“My butt is sore,” Sammy added. “This chair is like a rock. Can I have something to drink?”

Rina pulled out individual cartons of apple juice, poked straws in the openings, and gave them each one.

“I can’t cut with a plastic knife, Eema,” Jake said.

“Eat it with your hands. Did you guys see anything interesting in the woods?”

“Just some jackrabbits and squirrels,” Sammy said. “Nothing weird, but it was real neat. I felt like a cowboy. I wonder if the yeshiva will ever get horses.”

“Maybe one day,” Rina said.

“Can we have a dog?” asked Jacob.

“No. The house is way too small.”

“A little dog?”