Old Chaos (9781564747136) (8 page)

“My cousin.” Rob watched Mack’s face. His indignation seemed genuine, but like most politicians, he was a good actor. “A geolo-gist.

“Licensed?”

“Not yet, but the man he was working for when the survey was done is not only licensed, he’s head of the WSU geology department. Look, Mack, I’m not trying to make trouble, and neither is Charlie. You’re living out there. I thought you should be warned.”

“Thanks. You’ve warned me. Get back to work.”

Rob said softly, “I intend to look into this. Somebody didn’t notify the state that the commissioners had accepted Drinkwater’s survey, and there’s no record that the matter came under discussion in the minutes of any board meeting. They just accepted the later survey without question. That bothers me.” That and Prune Hill itself.

“Drop it,” Mack growled.

“Why?”

“Because you are overloaded with serious investigations that matter to the people of Latouche County. I don’t want you wasting department time.”

Rob said nothing.

“That’s an order.”

Rob rose. “What about Beth?” He didn’t wait for Mack’s response, but he heard the explosion as he closed the door. He was willing to bet money that Fred Drinkwater would know he had trouble within half an hour.

Early March 2005

I
T WENT ON raining. Sluggish storms bred in the tropics kept the temperature in the fifties. Half the Pacific Ocean recycled through Latouche County in ten days.

Meg and Rob bickered after Charlie moved out. Meg knew the investigation was under way, and she understood why Rob wouldn’t tell her what he’d found out about Drinkwater Enterprises, but the air of secrecy disturbed her. At dinner one night, she asked him when she could call Beth to warn her. He said he’d already talked to the sheriff.

“Well, that’s good. Receptive, was he? Worried? Ready to move, lock, stock, and barrel?” She waved her fork.

“Be real.”

“You be real. I bet he said nonsense,’ or words to that effect. And he was angry that you doubted his good buddy Fred. He probably told you to forget it.”

Rob’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t contradict her.

“Is he going to whisk Beth off to a nice safe motel? Not bloody likely. What’s likely is that he won’t trouble the little woman with bad thoughts about landslides. I think you should call Beth. And the neighbors.”

“No. Don’t interfere, Meg. It’s not your business.”

That frosted her cake. Ordinarily, Rob was open with her. At one point last fall, he had even sworn her in as a reserve deputy so he could talk a case over with her, and she had been able to help him in a material way. He knew he could trust her discretion. Since the ice storm, though, he’d been distant, preoccupied, unconfiding.

When she let him know how she felt about being shut out, he left. The next morning he phoned to apologize, so she did, too. Calling him a macho jerk had been unfair. He was not a jerk, and her timing had been poor. Rob came back that night, but Meg’s uneasiness did not go away. The dreary weather was no help.

Two small events convinced her to override Rob’s MYOB injunction.

The first was a minor library problem. The bookmobile driver, Annie Baldwin, called to say that she couldn’t reach the community of Flume, because a landslide had blocked the road. Flume, at the north end of the county beyond Tyee Lake, was nowhere near Prune Hill, but a landslide was a landslide as far as Meg was concerned.

She reorganized Annie’s schedule and called the county road crew to see how long it would take them to reopen the road. Several days, they said, during which the settlement would be cut off. North of Flume lay Mount Saint Helens, and there was no other way in because of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest.

The second event was a half-heard news report that the mountain was on the verge of another steam eruption. The lava dome inside the crater was swelling. There had been a swarm of tremors associated with the build-up.

It was after five, and Meg was on her way home. She stopped in the Safeway parking lot, sat in the car with the radio still on, and fiddled with the buttons. Its allotted four minutes of news over, the local station launched into a Conway Twitty retrospective. NPR was deep in commentary on lobbying scandals. Nobody cared about Mount Saint Helens.

Frustrated, she got out, ran through the rain to the automatic doors, and went in search of fresh salad makings. In the produce section, she bumped into Beth, Beth smiled at her, and suddenly it was too much.

Meg said, “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

Beth consulted her watch. “Just about.”

As Meg poured two black coffees and pulled paper napkins from a balky holder, she considered what to say, but there was really nothing to do but come right out with it.

The eating area had an ice cream parlor motif. Beth had nabbed a small round table. Meg handed Beth her coffee and sat on a wrought-iron chair. “Did Mack tell you about the landslide hazard at Prune Hill?”

Beth started. Hot coffee slopped on her hand. “What are you saying?”

Meg gave her a brief account.

“We’re in danger?”

“Charles O’Neill thinks you are.”

“Rob’s cousin?”

“Yes. He did the original survey.”

“But how could Fred…” Her hands clenched. “I thought there was something wrong,” she blurted. “We don’t have that kind of money. We haven’t even sold the house in town…just making monthly payments on the new one…used my retirement to get a loan for the down…oh God, Michael! He
said
Fred contributed to his campaign fund.”

Michael was the sheriff’s given name, Meg recalled.

Tears welled in Beth’s gray eyes. “It couldn’t have been that much. Mack doesn’t have to spend a lot on campaigning.” She dabbed her eyes with a paper napkin.

Meg touched her wrist. “I’ve been thinking about it. I can’t see him taking a bribe. He’s an honest man. Isn’t it possible Fred arranged the deal so he could go around saying the sheriff was living in his new development? That’s much more likely than a bribe.”

“My husband, the loss leader?” Beth sniffed. “The dumb galoot. I’ll murder him.” She did not mean Fred Drinkwater. She took a couple of hot gulps of coffee and stood up, trembling visibly. “Thanks, Meg.”

“I don’t mean to cause trouble.” Meg bit her tongue. She knew she was causing trouble. Beth would shoot the sheriff, and Rob would kill
her
. Still, by the time she got home she hadn’t learned to regret her impulse.

Rob was going to be late—a meeting with his investigation team. She ate a solitary dinner, read her e-mail, talked to her daughter in Palo Alto, and had a long bath. Then she trailed off to bed to doze over a book.
Artemis Fowl
. Some anxious parent had challenged it. Meg thought it was funny. She dreamed she was conducting a public hearing with lots of angry patrons. Nobody listened when she spoke.

After a while she woke with the light shining in her eyes and a strong sense that she was not alone. She blinked her vision clear and saw Rob, like a ghost in his gray sweats, doing a karate exercise over near the window. Light glinted on his cropped silver-sandy hair.

Rob had been a student of karate since childhood, though he was not a fanatic. He often did the breathing exercises, which were similar to tai chi, at home or here in her bedroom, but he usually did them in the early morning. A form of meditation, he said. She liked to watch him, all quiet and inward, moving with excruciating slowness, but this night session puzzled her. If he needed the solace of meditation, something must have upset him. She glanced at her clock. It was only eleven.

Abruptly she remembered that she had told Beth about the landslide hazard, contrary to his advice. She sank back against the pillow and awaited his wrath.

At last he sighed and straightened, wriggling his shoulders, and padded barefoot to the bed.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He smiled. “Hey, you didn’t break my concentration. Scoot over, lady. It’s cold.” He flicked the light off, slid under the covers, and gave her ass a friendly tweak.

It would have been honorable to confess then and there. She didn’t. She pulled him close, and they engaged in another kind of exercise, skin to skin, that sent them both into heavy sleep.

When Rob’s cell phone started ringing, he mumbled something and dug deeper into the covers. Annoyed, Meg grabbed her nightgown, yanked it over her head, and walked to the dresser, one sleeve straggling. Rob left his phone across the room, so he’d be awake by the time he answered.

“H’lo.” She thrust her arm through the errant sleeve.

“Meg, it’s Teresa Morales. Put Rob on, please.” Teresa was the night dispatcher. She sounded flustered and not because Meg had answered.

“Mnn. Okay.” Meg carried the phone to the bed and shook Rob awake.

Eyes still closed, he took the phone and muttered his name. Meg glanced at the clock. After five. Almost time to get up. As she found her slippers and robe, Rob sat up. He was frowning but said nothing. Time to make coffee.

She stumbled downstairs while he was giving Teresa brief, coded orders. Grateful for electricity, she pressed the button on her coffeemaker and hunted around for fast food. She found a bagel, sliced it, and popped it into the toaster. Turning from her dish cupboard with two mugs, she saw that a cop car had drawn up outside with its blue light revolving slow and steady. The shower was running.

When Rob clattered down two minutes later she was pouring the coffee into a Thermos.

“What happened?”

He pulled his heavy jacket on. His hair was wet and he hadn’t shaved. “You were right.” His voice sounded thick, as if he had a cold. “Commuter called in.” He drew a long breath and took the Thermos, cradled it against his chest. “He was driving down from the north and couldn’t get through. Prune Hill just slid across the county road.”

Meg gasped.

“That’s all I know.” He turned to leave.

“Rob, I warned Beth. Yesterday.”

He whirled, eyes blazing. “You did? Thank God!” He strode to her and kissed her on the mouth. “I love you. You ought to know that.”

“I love you, too.” Relief made her breathless.

He yanked the door open. “Call Charlie for me, will you? Ask him to drive out to the site. I’ll tell the uniforms to let him through.” Then he was gone.

Meg poured herself the dregs of the hot coffee and ate the whole bagel to calm down. She called Charlie’s cell phone. He answered on the tenth ring. She explained what she knew and told him Rob expected him at the site.

“No way. I’m going to warn Kayla, and Bellew at the campground.” He sounded grim and wide awake.

“Well, after that.”

“They’ll have to evacuate the nursing home if the creek’s dammed.”

“But you don’t know it is. Go find out.” Silence. She had taken the cordless phone down the hall to the front door, and she could see lights coming on in Kayla’s house across the way. “Isn’t her shift about over?”

“I’ll call her first, tell her to wait there. She won’t want to leave if there’s trouble. After I’ve checked on her and Bellew, I’ll drive to Prune Hill.”

“I don’t think it’s a hill anymore.”

He had already hung up.

Meg went to her office in the back bedroom, booted the computer, and called up her staff directory. She rang Annie Baldwin and told her not to take the bookmobile out on County Road 12. Annie thanked her, sounding scared. Her brother was a deputy.

On impulse, Meg also called her assistant, Marybeth Jackman. She explained what she knew and asked her to notify the rest of the staff, so they wouldn’t drive into trouble coming to work. For once, Jackman didn’t argue. There was no branch library to close near Prune Hill. Meg decided she’d done her managerial duty.

Then she tried calling Beth. The first time she got a busy signal. She went to the kitchen, brewed more coffee, and tried again. A mechanical voice informed her that the number was not responding.

She turned on the radio and heard the local station announcing a serious mudslide on County Road 12. Drivers should avoid the area, details at six. It was ten to six. She ran upstairs, took a shower, and was dressed with a mug of coffee in her hand when the news came on again. Details? They had no details. She wondered if Rob had any. He probably hadn’t got there yet.

She turned the dial and caught the end of a newscast from The Dalles. Mount Saint Helens had let off a steam plume that rose to 30,000 feet. The eruption, clocked at 4:58
a.m.,
was accompanied by a series of small earthquakes, the largest of which registered 4.2 on the Richter scale.