Vultures at Twilight (29 page)

THIRTY-THREE

L
il, you're overreacting
, I chided myself as I stormed out of my condo and toward my garage. But after Mattie had left, the fight with Barbara had deteriorated. I needed to get out of there. I knew that Mattie had wanted us to stay, but Barbara was driving me crazy; if I'd stayed another minute, I would have done or said something regrettable. Even the simple act of taking a ride to clear my head had been a cause for discussion.

‘Are you safe to drive?' Barbara had asked as I'd reached for the raincoat on the hooks by the door. I'd worn it home from the hospital, and it was drenched.

‘Would you let your mother alone!' Ada had interjected.

‘Of course I can drive,' I'd shot back, before Barbara could turn on Ada. ‘I had a heart attack, not a stroke.' Abandoning the raincoat, I opened the hall closet and grabbed my hooded green-wool winter coat with the wooden toggle buttons.

‘I'll come with you,' Ada had said.

‘No,' I'd replied too fast. ‘Mattie didn't want any of us to leave. I just need to drive around, clear my head.' I smiled, suddenly aware of the hurt on her face. ‘I'm sorry, I'll be right back, promise.'

Before anyone could say more, I was out the door. The rain was blinding, and I wished I'd taken an umbrella as well. I pulled the broad hood over my head and walked quickly down to the garage. My head was pounding and my knees felt weak and rubbery as I slid behind the wheel of the Lincoln. I had no idea of where I wanted to go as I backed out. I half expected Barbara to try and stop me. Even more than the threatening phone calls, or my heart attack, her attitude had made me nuts. This was the kind of stuff my older friends talked about. But Barbara was my own daughter; why was she being like this?

The rain eased and the sky was dark with low-hanging clouds. The air felt thick, and my coat smelled of wet wool and mothballs. I flicked on my low beams and drove toward the gated entrance to Pilgrim's Progress. I turned left and toward town. I had no destination; I just needed to think.

The rain quickened, and I turned the wipers to high. I don't like driving in bad weather, but the familiar feel and smell of my car was like a salve. The steady whish and whir of the wipers and the hum of the engine gave some relief. And why wasn't Chris doing more to defend me? Was my getting behind the wheel more evidence that I was slipping into an early senility? And if that wasn't enough, what would they think about my kissing my best friend? While confusing the hell out of me, that at least felt good; better than good.
And wasn't that a huge problem?

On impulse, I turned down the side street that led to Nillewaug Village. I passed the trimmed hedges that lined the long drive. It looked nothing like a village and I couldn't tell if the dense greenery was to keep people out, or in. I cruised among the outlying buildings placed like spokes on a wheel, where the hub was the massive faux-Georgian residential complex where Ada and I had met with that awful Ms Preston. Was that where I was destined to end up? Maybe Ada and I together, like a pair of spinsters . . . only, not so spinsterish.

An ambulance was parked beneath one of the outer red-brick structures, its flashing lights were turned off, but some sort of activity was taking place inside. I tried to remember what Preston had said about these buildings, some kind of specialized nursing home units. I pulled over and with the motor idling, I watched as a female medic got in the driver's seat. She put the vehicle into gear and pulled out in front of me. Through the back windows I could see a second attendant filling out forms as he bent over a figure swaddled in sheets. It wasn't until they had moved beyond the front gates that they turned on the lights and siren.

I looked back to where the ambulance had been parked and realized that each building had been designed with a hidden bay for this purpose. They were like factories only instead of smokestacks they had ambulance bays.

I followed the drive to its central cul-de-sac and then back out to Cat Swamp Road. With lights on and going no faster than twenty, my tension slowly eased. I knew that Barbara was upset; my heart attack had hit her hard. I knew that she loved me and was afraid that I was jeopardizing my health. Maybe she was right. Three days after a heart attack, should I be driving? What would Bradley have said? ‘Bradley's dead, Lil . . . You're not.'

As I came to the stop at the end of the road, I turned away from Grenville. There was little traffic and almost no visibility as I headed toward Shiloh and Jefferson, small rural towns to the north.

The windshield was steaming and my defrosters were fighting an uphill battle. I cracked the window and let the cool air try to clear the milky film.

I thought about Barbara and Chris; I didn't really know them. And lately, that seemed true of too many things: my town, my husband, even myself.

Through the driving rain, I passed by fields of Guernsey cows huddled against the storm. The road twisted and climbed around ancient oaks and farms that were falling one by one to developers who filled the fields with million-dollar homes that sprouted – seemingly overnight – like mushrooms in dung.

My thoughts drifted back to my dream, and how it ended with that call. The more I thought about it, the more he'd sounded familiar. It wasn't a prankster teen; it was somebody older, trying to disguise their voice, but definitely not young.

The car lurched violently forward and the steering wheel jumped beneath my fingers. I both felt and heard tearing metal from my back bumper. My adrenaline raced as I struggled to steady the wheel while catching quick glances in the rearview mirror. I could barely make out the darkened outline of a van. A lone figure struggled at the wheel as he bore down. At first I thought he wanted to pass me, but as I tried to find some purchase on the edge of the road, I could see that he was coming straight at me. I hit the gas, but it was too late and he clipped my right rear.
Turn into the spin
, I reminded myself struggling to stay on the road. I clung white-knuckled to the wheel as I skidded, the tires squealing on the asphalt.

I lost all sense of direction as I finally came to a stop. I looked for my pursuer in the window, but the rain was too heavy and I couldn't see him. I peered through the opened crack, my breath having fogged up the windows to the point I couldn't tell where the road ended. I had to get out of there. Gently I applied pressure to the accelerator, having caught a glimpse of the white line outside my window. I felt the road beneath my wheels and prayed that I was headed back in the direction from which I had come. Shiloh and Jefferson were too deserted; I had to get back to Grenville.

As I stepped on the gas, I opened my window further to try and get a better look at the road. As long as I could see the white line I'd be OK. I picked up speed, my heart was racing as I glanced in the rearview mirror. I couldn't see further than a few feet but there were no lurking shadows of the dark-colored van. Leaning forward, I took the side of my sleeve and tried to clear some of the fog from the glass. As I did, a towering shadow sped toward me. There was nothing I could do. I stared into the space where the driver sat, and, as if in slow motion, I watched as his eyes came into focus, meeting mine.

Even before I could clearly see, I knew who it was. I should have known. It all made sense, I thought of a childhood saying:
close only counts in horse shoes and grenades.

A moment later, impact, and my world went black.

THIRTY-FOUR

‘
W
here is she?' Mattie fumed, while pacing tight circles in Lil's living room.

‘I couldn't stop her,' Ada said. ‘She was upset. She said she'd be right back.'

Mattie glared at Barbara.

‘What? This isn't my fault. Mother has been behaving erratically ever since I arrived. This is just more of the same.'

‘I had said no one was to leave.' Mattie tried to control her temper; the anger clouded her thoughts and made it difficult to think. The stench of the bodies still hung in her nostrils. ‘Where did she go?' Mattie demanded, already having been told that none of them knew. She looked around. ‘Great . . . Any more phone calls?'

Chris shook her head. ‘No, the last one was right before she left.'

‘What is it, Mattie?' Ada asked. ‘Oh no!' A hand to her mouth. ‘He had been calling, and now . . . Lil . . .'

Mattie nodded. ‘I've got to look for her.' She picked up the phone and dialed Hank's cell. ‘Look, Hank, Lil Campbell has bolted in her car and there's a chance she's being followed.'

‘What are you talking about?' Hank said.

‘She's been getting threatening calls. I don't know why.' She lowered her voice, so none in the room could hear. ‘Don't let anyone leave from the search team. Get everyone out looking, call in everyone you can.'

‘OK, where should I have them focus?'

‘Start at the gates of Pilgrim's Progress and fan out from there. She left about forty-five minutes ago.'

‘What if she just went for a drive?'

‘I pray to God she did. But until she drives up under her own steam, I wouldn't assume anything.' She hung up, and looked around. ‘So, did anyone see anything?'

Her question was met with silence.

‘I'm going to look for Mother,' Barbara said.

Mattie was going to tell her to stay put, but between the driving rain and the shortage of manpower, she changed her mind. ‘Do you have a cell?'

‘Yes,' Barbara said, fumbling through her purse.

‘OK, if you find her and she's alone, great. If she's with anyone else, I want you to call for help. Even if it's the most trusted member of the community. You got that? If she's with anyone.'

‘Got it.'

‘Ada, any idea which way she would have headed?' Mattie asked.

‘If I had to guess, I'd say she headed toward Grenville. Although . . .'

‘What?' Mattie prompted, itching to start looking.

‘Sometimes, when we just go driving, we'll go up north through the country.'

‘That's what she and Dad would do whenever they had a fight,' Chris said. ‘She told me they didn't want us to hear them argue. So they'd get in the car and go up to Jefferson, hash out whatever they needed to discuss and then stop for ice cream before coming home.'

‘Ada,' Mattie said, ‘I need you to stay here. If Lil calls or shows up, phone the dispatcher.' She wrote down the number and headed back into the rain.

Still inside, Barbara seemed stricken. ‘What have I done?'

‘How far away is your car?' Chris asked her sister.

‘Close. You ready?' Barbara asked.

‘Yeah, let's just find her.'

Ada and Aaron – left behind – looked at each other. A heavy silence settled in the room. ‘You think she's OK?' Aaron asked.

‘She has to be,' Ada replied. ‘I wish that creep would call again.'

‘Cause then you'd know he wasn't after her?'

‘Right.' She looked at her grandson. ‘I should be doing something.'

‘Mattie said to stay here in case Mrs Campbell called.'

‘That's right, but even so . . .' She walked over to the table where Mattie had left Wendy Conroy's chart. She fanned through the pages and went to an entry that Mattie had tabbed with a yellow post-it. ‘Aaron, find me a pen and something to write on. There should be something in the kitchen.'

‘Sure,' he said, not certain what his grandmother was up to.

As soon as he had left, Ada picked up the phone. Balancing the open chart with one hand, she crooked the receiver between shoulder and cheek and dialed information. ‘I'm looking for a Doctor P. Gruenwald,' Ada said. ‘I'm not sure what town, possibly New Haven, maybe Hamden or Cheshire but somewhere in that general vicinity . . . No, I don't know his first name.'

Aaron returned and placed a small note pad and pencil next to the phone.

‘Oh, I see,' said Ada. ‘Nothing at all . . . Do you have a listing for a Doctor Adams? Also a psychiatrist . . . No, Danbury I think . . . Great. Thank you.' She scribbled the number, and redialed. ‘This is Ada Strauss for Dr Adams . . . Yes, it's urgent . . . I'll hold.' Ada fidgeted with the pencil while Muzak filtered through the earpiece. The line clicked. ‘Doctor Adams?' Ada asked, expectantly.

‘Yes?' a man's deep voice answered.

‘I'm sorry to bother you, but some time ago you spoke at one of our seminars at Pilgrim's Progress, and I didn't know any other psychiatrists . . .'

‘What seems to be the problem?'

‘I'm trying to track down another psychiatrist, a Doctor Gruenwald.'

‘That's going to be hard,' he replied. ‘Peter Gruenwald passed away . . . Must be three or four years now.'

‘Oh.' She sounded crushed.

‘Is there something that I could help you with?'

‘No, it's for a friend of mine. I was trying to . . .' She stopped herself. ‘Let me ask you this: what sort of reputation did Dr Gruenwald have?'

‘Fine, as far as I know. He was a little before my time, but his patients were quite devoted.'

‘I see.' Disappointed, she sank down on to Lil's needlepoint-upholstered wing chair.

‘Anything else?' he asked.

‘No, thank you.' Ada held on to the receiver, listening for the click on the other end.

‘No luck, huh?' Aaron asked.

‘No,' she agreed, letting the cordless rest in its cradle.

‘What were you looking for?' he asked.

‘It's a long story.'

‘I have time,' he said.

She tried to smile, but was so frightened,
I should never have kissed her, that's why she ran out and didn't want me with her
. ‘Aaron? What doctors do you see?'

‘Huh? I don't see any. Every couple years before school starts I have to get a physical, but that's about it. Unless you consider the ophthalmologist for my contacts and the dentist.'