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Willis Daniels voice was coming from the kitchen window now. He was thanking somebody for coming.
"You asked me to wait," I reminded her.
Miranda nodded, but she didnt say anything.
"If you want to convince me how frightening Allison SaintPierre can be, dont worry about it. Ive seen the demo. "
I think Miranda blushed. It was hard to tell in the bug zapper light.
"No," she said. "I feel bad now, talkin about her the way I did. The minute you left the studio I felt bad. "
"But youre still uneasy about her. "
"I dont know. No. Lets forget it. "
The expression on her face told me she couldnt forget it, at least not for more than a few hours. She looked out toward the shed, where moths were starting to gather around the kerosene lamp.
"You dont approve of her seeing your brother," I supplied.
Mirandas expression hardened. "Did you understand about Brent? About what Sheckly said?"
"Only that the words hurt. "
She sat up straighter, pushing her back and shoulders and head against the cedar post like she was going to get her height measured. "Maria was Brents wife. She died two years ago. "
The words of the song Miranda had sung the other night came back to me, one of the numbers I couldnt believe Brent couldve written. "The Widowers Two Step. "
"Im sorry to hear it. "
She accepted the condolence with a shrug. "Maria had diabetes. Juvenile insulindependent diabetes. "
The way Miranda threw that phrase out, as casually as a doctor mightve, told me the diseases name had long ago become part of her familys vocabulary.
"It wasnt treatable?"
"No. I mean yes, it was treatable. That aint what killed her, not by itself. She tried having a baby. "
Miranda looked at me, hoping I could guess the rest of the story without her having to say it. I guessed.
"That mustve devastated Brent. "
As soon as I said it I realized what a stupid observation it was. The man was fortytwo and still living in a barn behind his fathers house. He didnt comb his hair or shave and he apparently wore his clothes until they rotted off of him.
"For a while there," Miranda said, "Dad had to lock up the guns because Brent was threatening to kill himself. Thats what Sheckly was talking about. Even now, I think about Brent with Allison—the way she might let him down—"
Miranda stared at the lantern across the field. "You know that expression—somebodys life is like a country song? Thats us. Mother dying, then Brent and Maria—"
"And you?" I asked.
"Its coming. " She said it with absolute certainty. "Mine is coming. "
A bug zapper is not normally the kind of illumination that helps me decide a woman is beautiful. But when Miranda looked at me I decided exactly that. Im not talking about cute—the vulnerable little kitten quality Id imagined in her when shed been onstage at the Cactus Cafe. There was a kind of quiet stubbornness in her face now that suited her well, a much older, steadier light than Id seen before.
"Do you—" I stopped. I wanted to ask if Miranda lived here, in the tidy burgundy and blue room Id seen. I hoped shed say no, that the room was just a museum to her childhood. I couldnt figure out how to phrase the question and not sound judgmental.
As it turned out I didnt have to. Miranda heard what I was thinking.
"Yes," she said. "Im afraid I do. Brent—he didnt have much choice about staying here. Me, I guess its just a matter of laziness. "
There were other possibilities, but it wouldve been meanness to challenge her.
Instead I said, "Why wasnt it a choice for Brent?"
"No medical insurance. Marias medical bills were skyhigh. If Brent tried to get work, she wouldve stopped qualifying for government health benefits. They were forced to stay unemployed. That little shack over there is about all they had, and that only because Daddy insisted. Maria accepted for them. Brent wouldve been on the street first. Hes too proud. "
I tried to associate the word pride with Brent. It took some effort.
From inside the kitchen Willis Daniels voice laughed long and hard. He was saying good night to what mustve been his last departing guest.
"What did you ask me out here for?" I said again.
Miranda stared at her hands. "Inside—in my room— you didnt understand. "
"I guess not. I thought you were asking me to get Allison out of here. "
The lights of the last truck headed down Serra Road. As soon as they turned onto RR22, the kitchen erupted with shattering crashing sounds—like somebody sweeping a cane across a counter full of glasses. Willis Daniels yelled four or five obscenities.
Then it got quiet again.
"No," Miranda said, not in response to the noise but like she was merely carrying on our conversation. "I wanted you to take me out of here. I dont give a damn where to. "
31
I pushed the VW a little too fast, rounding the ISPV curves on RR22 at fifty miles an hour. The wind blew around the convertible, coming at us from behind. It undid Mirandas hair from the scarf shed tied over her head and swept strands of black for
ward so it looked like they were in a desperate race to beat the rest of her face out of Bulverde. She made no attempt to push her hair back.
A hundred yards behind us, a car with cockeyed headlights was following leisurely.
"You know how to get to Les office?" Miranda asked the question so softly that I almost didnt hear her in the wind.
"Sure. "
Wed decided I was taking her to the agencys Victorian house in Monte Vista to spend the night. Miranda knew where the emergency key was. She said Les kept a guest room upstairs for touring artists and she didnt think he would mind her staying there.
I was pretty sure she was right about Les not minding. After a while she reached over and squeezed my forearm. Her hand felt incredibly hot in the cool of the wind. "Thank you. You okay?" "Sure. My jaw hurts a little. "
Miranda let go of my arm. "Im glad you took that punch. "
"Because?"
"For a while there I thought you were Superman, what with smashing people into kegs and bringing croissants and guns to women in need. "
I shook my head. "I got red underwear, though. Want to see?"
She smiled. "Maybe later. "
We rounded another curve. The headlights cut a swath across the woods. Light brown ghosts moved behind the cedar trees—deer, foxes, possums. The headlights behind us disappeared, then reappeared, still about a hundred yards back.
When we turned south onto I10 the cockeyed headlights turned with us. Ahead, the clouds glowed above San Antonio.
We were still a few miles inside the Avalon County line when the lights behind us started edging closer. "About time," I said. "What?" Miranda asked.
I slowed down to forty and the headlights started to gain, then dropped back for a while. I slowed down some more.
Finally they gave it up. A red light blinked into existence on the top of the car and the handsiren started. It was a black Ford Festiva.
"What—" Miranda started to say. "Probably nothing," I lied.
"How many beers did you have?" she asked nervously. We pulled over.
I looked in my rearview mirror. The guy coming up on the passengers side looked like a badly shaved orangutan. He had pale skin, brutish features, and a little tuft of orange on the top of his head. One hand held up a flashlight next to his ear and the other hand was under his wrinkled brown blazer.
The guy coming up on my side was a stocky blond in a turquoise polo shirt and slacks.
He wore a side arm. Both men were staying close to the car, cautious.
"Phew," I said. "I dont think theyre carrying a Breathalyzer. "
They swept the convertible with their flashlights from about five feet back. The blond guy came up to my window.
Under different circumstances I wouldve said he had a frien
dly and open face—big features, red nose, bristly moustache, wide unwrinkled brow with the hatband impression still engraved on it. Your basic Bubba. Nice guy to drink a beer with.
Different circumstances wouldve been without the suspicious frown on his face and the light shining in my eyes and his left hand resting on his semiautomatic.
"Howdy," I said.
Bubba frowned some more.
The guy with the orange hair came up next to Miranda and stared at her, almost resentfully. "Miss Daniels?"
Miranda looked startled, then seemed to come up with a name she wanted. "Hey, Elgin. How you doin? Hows Karen?"
I looked at Bubba. "Elgin—thats his code name, right?"
"Shut up, sir. "
Sir. Nice. The courteous shakedown.
Elgin scratched his little tuft of orange hair, then stepped back from Mirandas window, then forward again. He looked uneasy. Poor guy had been planning a nice easy evening of police brutality. Two on one. No ladies present. Nobody that knew his name. This wasnt in the script.
"You step out of the car, please, maam?"
Miranda looked at me for some kind of advice. I smiled. She tried to put that same smile on her face when she turned to Elgin.
"Sure, Elgin. I hope theres nothing wrong. "
Elgin got her out of the car. He shone his light in my eyes, then swept it through the back of the car.
"Whats in the case?" he asked.
Next to me, Bubba glanced back and sighed. "Its a fucking guitar, Elgin. What do you think?" Then to me, "I need to see a license and the papers on the vehicle, sir. "
"You guys want to show me some ID here?"
Bubba stared right through me. "The papers. "
"Slow and easy," said Elgin.
I had a pretty good idea what was coming. I reached for the glove compartment, for the insurance papers. I moved very slowly, keeping my hand in the flashlight beam.
When my fingers were just about to the glove compartment handle Elgin swore loudly and drew his 9mm and yelled "Gun!"
Bubba was quick. On the count of one, he had his semi auto in my ear and his other hand around my neck. By the count of five I had been dragged bodily over the car door and slammed into the pavement. One eye couldnt see anything. The other could just make out some fuzzy lights. Something large and hard and sharp was boring a shaft between my shoulder blades. I think it was Bubbas knee. It took him another few seconds to pin down my right arm with his free hand in a fairly decent joint lock. He shouldve been pressing a little closer to the nerve above my elbow. Its more in capacitating that way. I decided not to volunteer the information.
We stayed like that for a minute, maybe less. I couldnt see or hear Miranda, though every once in a while Elgin would say, "Just stay back, maam. "
Elgin made a show of searching my glove compartment.
It didnt take long for the warmth and wet of the asphalt to soak through my Tshirt. I think there were some pebbles in my left nostril and my jaw was throbbing again. My neck felt like it had been pried half off with a very large bottle opener.
"Yo, Frank. "
"You got it?" BubbaFrank demanded.
"Yeah," Elgin said.
"Get up," Frank told me. No sir, this time.