Reichs, Kathy - Fatal Voyage

“The calls were made by a white American male with no distinguishable accent.”

“That narrows the field to how many million?”

I caught movement in McMahon's eyes, as though he were seriously considering the question.

“A few.”

McMahon drained his beer, crumpled the can, and added it to his collection. Rising, he wished us both a good evening, and headed for the door. The bell jangled, and moments later a light went on in an upstairs window.

Save for the creak of Ruby's planters, the porch was totally quiet. Ryan lit a cigarette, then, “Did you do coyote patrol?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“No coyotes. No exposed coffins.”

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“A house.”

“Who lives there?”

“Hansel and Gretel and the cannibal witch.” I stood. “How the hell should I know?”

“Was anyone home?”

“No one rushed out to offer me tea.”

“Is the place abandoned?”

I slung my pack over one shoulder and considered the question.

“I'm not sure. There were gardens once, but those have gone to hell. The house is so well built it's hard to know if it's being maintained or if it's just impervious to damage.”

He waited.

“There is one peculiar thing. From the front, the place is just another unpainted mountain lodge. But around back it has a walled enclosure and a courtyard.”

Ryan's face went apricot, receded into the darkness.

“Tell me about these snake handlers. You have snake handlers in North Carolina?”

I was about to decline when the bell tinkled again. I looked, expecting to see McMahon, but no one appeared.

“Another time.”

Opening the outer screen, I found the heavy wooden door ajar. Once inside, I pushed it tight and tested the handle, hoping Ryan would do the same. Then I trudged to Magnolia, intent on a shower and bed. I was barely in the room when someone tapped softly.

Thinking it was Ryan, I set my face in the hard stare and cracked the door.

Ruby stood in the hall, her features looking solemn and deeply creased. She wore a gray flannel robe, pink socks, and brown slippers shaped like paws. Her hands were clasped at chest level, fingers tightly interlaced.

“I'm about to turn in.” I smiled.

She gazed at me gravely.

“I've had dinner,” I added.

One hand rose, as if to pluck something from the air. It trembled slightly.

“What is it, Ruby?”

“The devil assumes many forms.”

“Yes.” I wanted desperately to bathe and sleep. “But I'm sure you're way ahead of him.”

I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she stepped back and the hands found each other again.

“They fly with Lucifer in the face of divinity. They blaspheme.”

“Who does?”

“They've grasped the keys of Hades and of death. Just like it says in Revelations.”

“Ruby, please speak to me in plain English.”

Her eyes were wide, the nodes in the corners pink and shiny with moisture.

“You're from foreign parts so you can't be knowing.”

“Knowing what?” Irritation curled the edges of my voice. I was not in a mood for parables.

“There's evil here.”

The beer?

“Detective Ryan an—”

“Wicked men scoff at the Almighty.”

This was going nowhere.

“Let's talk about this tomorrow.”

I grasped the doorknob, but a hand flew out and clutched my arm. Calluses scratched the sleeve of my nylon jacket.

“The Lord God has sent a sign.”

She drew even closer.

“Death!”

Gently prying loose the bony fingers, I squeezed Ruby's hand and stepped back. I watched her through the gap as the door swung shut, her small body frozen, the sausage curl crawling her skull like a dull, gray serpent.

THE NEXT DAY HONORED SOMEONE. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, I think. By midmorning it had turned into a nightmare.

I drove to the morgue through mist so thick it obliterated the mountains, and worked until ten-thirty. When I broke for coffee, Larke Tyrell was in the staff room. He waited while I filled a cup with industrial sludge and added white powder.

“There's something we need to talk about.”

“Sure.”

“Not here.” He looked at me a long time. The look meant something, and I felt a prick of anxiety.

“What is it, Larke?”

“Come on.”

Taking my arm, he propelled me out the back door.

“Tempe, I don't know how to say this.” He swirled his coffee, and iridescent clouds slid across the surface.

“Just say it.” I kept my voice low and level.

“There's been a complaint.”

I waited.

“I feel terrible about this.” He studied his cup a few more seconds, then raised his eyes to mine. “It's about you.”

“Me?” I was incredulous.

He nodded.

“What did I do?”

“The complaint cites unprofessional behavior of a nature sufficient to compromise the investigation.”

“Such as?”

“Entering the site without authority and mishandling evidence.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“And trespass.”

“Trespass?” A cold fist was closing around my gut.

“Did you poke around that property we talked about?”

“It wasn't trespass. I wanted to talk to the owners.”

“Did you try to break in?”

“Of course not!”

I flashed on myself prying a shutter with a rusty bar.

“And I had authorization to enter the crash site last week.”

“Whose?”

“Earl Bliss sent me there. You know that.”

“See, here's the problem, Tempe.” Larke rubbed a hand across his chin. “At that point DMORT hadn't been requested.”

I was stunned.

“In what way did I mishandle evidence?”

“I hate to even ask this.” The hand went back to the chin. “Tempe—”

“Just ask.”

“Did you pick up remains that hadn't been logged?”

The foot.

“I told you about that.” Stay calm. “I made a judgment call.”

He said nothing.

“Had I left that foot, it would now be coyote dung. Talk to Andrew Ryan. He was there.”

“I'll do that.”

Larke reached out and squeezed my arm.

“We'll sort this out.”

“You're taking this seriously?”

“I have no choice.”

“Why is that?”

“You know the press are snapping at my backside. They're gonna jump on this like a hound with a one-eyed hare.”

“Who made this complaint?” I blinked back tears.

“I can't tell you that.”

He dropped his hand and stared off at the mist. It was lifting now, revealing the landscape in a slow, upward peel. When he turned back, there was an odd expression on his face.

“But I will tell you that powerful people are involved.”

“The Dalai Lama? The Joint Chiefs of Staff?” Anger hardened my voice.

“Don't be mad at me, Tempe. This investigation is big news. If problems develop, no one's going to want to own them.”

“So I'm being set up in case a scapegoat is needed.”

“It's nothing like that. I just have to go through proper procedures.”

I took a deep breath.

“What happens now?”

He looked straight at me and his voice softened.

“I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“When?”

“Now.”

It was my turn to stare into the mist.

High Ridge House was deserted in the middle of the day. I left a note for Ruby, thanking her and apologizing for my abrupt departure and for my coolness the night before. Then I gathered my belongings, tossed them into my Mazda, and drove off so fast the tires threw up a gravel spray.