Weekend (12 page)

The way Robin had caught Lena's eye last night suggested there was more to the shaman's story. Shani did not feel her paranoia would be soothed by knowing the parable's ending, but she was curious as to why Robin felt secrecy necessary. Suffering only minor conscience qualms, she headed for Robin's bedroom.

The door was closed, but unlocked. She pushed it open gently. Flynn was inside, up to no good. Using a wire and metal pin, he was working on the lock of a green filing cabinet tucked in the corner beside Robin's desk. Atop the desk was the manila envelope that held the story. Robin had closed it before retiring last night. Now the envelope was open. The cabinet lock snapped. Flynn pulled out a drawer.

Quickly, methodically, he began to scan the files.

Shani closed the door carefully, backed down the hall slowly, then turned and ran. She would tell Park and Sol. They would know what to do.

A second later, she changed her mind. She rationalized that his crime was insignificant; she needed more facts. But the truth was apparent to her from the start. She didn't want to get him in trouble because she liked him. His picking locks actually made him more interesting.

But she was no lovesick fool. She would continue to probe his past, starting with seeing if he was really Flynn Powers. If he could search Robin's room, she could search his.

She had been with Lena when rooms had been assigned, so she knew where his things were stowed.

However, her hurried beeline was interrupted by a necessary stop at the bathroom. Ordinarily she had a nervous stomach, but this was ridiculous. She sat grimacing on the toilet, worried that she would vomit on top of her diarrhea. Fortunately, the spasm was brief. With cold water splashed in her face, she felt fine, only a bit drained. She ran for Flynn's room.

He had brought only a flight bag. However it was packed tight and she couldn't get by jammed shirts and jeans using a careful approach. Frustrated, she inverted the bag and smacked the bottom, dumping the entire contents on the bed. Sitting atop the pile was a British passport.

MICHAEL RYAN RICHARDSON. BORN: 1968. HEIGHT: 5' 11",

WEIGHT: 155. ADDRESS: 16 Clarence Drive, Plymouth, England.

Shani liked the picture, but that was all. She memorized the information and repacked the bag as best she could. On the way out, she decided she could risk a quick inspection of his desk. It would take him a while to go through all the files in Robin's cabinet.

Despite his lock-picking and false name, she was surprised to find a gun at the back of his lower left-hand drawer. It was a small black pistol, and she couldn't help noticing that it was loaded. He was a fox and he had an enchanting voice and style running out of his beautiful hands, but guns were for killing, and that was too much for Shani. She would tell—

"Can I help you?"

It was Michael Ryan Richardson. Shani jumped, dropping the pistol. There was a delay, it couldn't have gone off. The violent explosion made no sense.

Robin called after him, but Park did not wait to unhook her tubes. One look through the blown-out window at the carport and garage - what had been the carport and garage - and he was racing for the front door. An absurd idea flashed in his head: they had been hit by a meteor.

The damage was beyond comprehension. The carport and garage and everything that had been inside them weregone. A dark cloud sparking with red lightning mushroomed towards the sky, obscuring the sun and temporarily plunging the landscape into a grim twilight. Through ashen mists, a torn black crater emerged, littered with rubble. Charred, dusty debris rained down. He doubted there was now anything he could do that would make any difference. The convulsion had simultaneously ignited and extinguished its flames. Besides, there was nothing to burn.

As if awakening from a dream, he noticed that Shani, Flynn, Sol and Lena had joined him. With relief, he saw Angie and Kerry approaching from the far side of the cataclysm. The smoke began to disperse. The sun blazed down. Park wiped the sweat from his upper lip.

"Where's Bert?" Shani asked. "He was with you, wasn't he, Sol?"

"I had to go to the head," Sol said evasively. Park understood in an instant. It did not seem possible.

"But he was with you," she said, not hysterical, but getting there.

Park asked Sol, "Was Bert in your van?"

Sol studied the desolation. "He was there when I went into the house."

"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom, too," Shani said quickly. "Bert! Bert!"

"Shani…" Park began.

"Bert! Come out, Bert! Where is he? Maybe he went surfing. Maybe he went for a walk.Bert !"

Sol grabbed her by the shoulders. Her last "Bert" stuck in her open mouth. "He was in the van, Shani,"

Sol said. "He's dead."

She nodded slowly, relaxing in his hands. "I know," she whispered. "I saw him in there when I walked by." Sol hugged her. She began to cry softly.

"I'll go and get Robin," Lena said, as cool as when the internist had come through the swinging green doors early one morning with the bad news about her sister.

"Wait a minute," Park said.

"I don't know how it happened," Lena said. "We don't keep nuclear warheads in our garage."

"How about dynamite? A propane tank? Drums of gasoline?"

Lena shook her head. "We have a propane tank, but it's buried on the far side of the house. There was absolutely nothing in the garage that could have made an explosion one hundredth that powerful. I'm going to get my sister. I'll be back in a minute." She squeezed Shani's arm. "I'm sorry about Bert."

Kerry and Angie joined them. Kerry started to cry when told about Bert, dropping her brightly coloured rocks on the cement walkway. Angie was bleeding from her head but it was just a scratch. Of them all -

except for Flynn — Angie had known Bert the least. She did not appear unduly upset.

"You were next to the carport," Park said. "How did you escape?"

"A bird was driving me nuts," Angie said. "It had already stolen one hot dog; then it came back and stole a whole packet. I was chasing it down the beach when what happened, happened."

"Did you see Bert leave, maybe?" Shani asked, having accepted the truth but unable to stop hoping.

Angie shook her head.

Park wanted to question Kerry but she was in no condition to give straight answers. It would probably accomplish nothing. Shani was trying to comfort her. He spoke to the men. "Any ideas?"

"Perhaps there was a natural gas cavity beneath the garage," Flynn said, "and the barbecue fire ignited it."

Park thought the idea insightful. Robin had once told him that there was a major oil field not far southeast of their house. Indeed, Mr. Carlton owned a portion of it. However, there was a more likely possibility, at least to his own mind. Sol had picked up a lot ofsomething in Tijuana, and had stored it in the back of his van. He had assumed that it was drugs Sol would sell for a profit in L.A. But perhaps it had only been an ingredient for a drug. PCP — Angel Dust — required ether for its production. Ether was explosive, highly unstable.

"What do you think, Sol?" Park asked.

He hesitated. "Flynn's idea sounds good."

"You don't have any of your own?"

"I'm no scientist."

"I don't suppose it matters," Park said, hoping to goad him. "The experts will figure out what blew."

Sol stared at the crater. It could easily have swallowed a house. "They'll have a hell of a time doing it."

Shani walked with Kerry to the front door, glancing nervously at Flynn, who seemed to want to speak with her. Park followed briskly, passing them on the porch steps. He had to make a call. Before he contacted the police, he would have to tell Bert's parents that their only son was dead.

But the phone in the front hall was broken, as was the one in the kitchen and the one in the second floor hallway. The explosion must have been somehow responsible.

Park put down the silent receiver. They were thirty miles of desert from nowhere. None of the other kids had come and he was beginning to believe they never would. Their transportation was destroyed. They couldn't even call the outside world. They were stranded.

And his friend was dead. He had been concerned about the girls — how they would take the shock. He hadn't even given himself a chance for his own grief. Surfing would not be the same without Big Bert.

Nothing would.

Sick sorrow rocked his guts. He groped for the bathroom.

SEVEN

The hill was taller than it had appeared from a distance. Altitude couldn't be a factor. Nevertheless, the air was unsatisfying, hot and dry, burning her lungs. And the path had gone to the dogs. Tumbleweed clawed through her jeans, irritating her sunburn. Sharp pebbles slipped under and inside her Nike running shoes. The sun would set in minutes but the thermometer would have had no way of knowing. Sweat salty as sea water covered her body. She should have brought water. She should never have come. A snake would bite her next. Stumbling across a boulder, Shani sat down.

Far beneath her feet, two miles in the distance, the Carlton Castle was lit up, window by square window. On the surrounding sandy canvas, the late garage and carport were spilt black ink. The ocean was dark, but the tips of the rolling swells still caught the rays of the fading sun, crashing in orange foam on the deserted beach. Overhead, like torn cotton dipped in red dye, clouds raced to blot out the first stars. Yet, where she sat, there was no wind, no noise, only a deep silence that made her internal turbulence stand out in painful relief.

"I need some air," she had told the others, meaning,
I
need to get away from you all . Park had told her to be back before dark. There was small chance of that, as the blotted sun was already touching the horizon. Kerry had wanted to read prayers for Bert from the Bible. But it was too soon for her to even mourn properly. And she still hoped, in spite of all reason, that he was alive.

Robin had fainted upon hearing the news. By the time Shani had started on her hike, she had regained consciousness, but all had agreed that she should remain in bed. If only grief had been the sole cause of her collapse. Robin's pulse was unsteady, her skin had a sad colour. She had every symptom of uremia, a build up of urea and other wastes in the blood. Lena was perplexed. Kerry was dropping hints that it was Lena's fault. After all, she said, who was doing Robin's dialysis?

Shani closed her eyes, massaging her aching temples. Another reason she had gone for her walk was to have the necessary solitude to figure out who in their group was both a friend and potential murderer, an analysis she should have completed last November. For maybethey were preparing to kill again. Bert may simply have been the first.

Lena: Definitely the number one suspect. She had both the guts and motive to poison Robin. The Carlton fortune and a greedy heir was the stuff of prime-time serials. Was she filtering her sister's blood, or merely sending it in useless circles through the plastic tubes? The peculiar absence of the other kids could be easily explained by Lena having manipulated the invitations. Had she brought all of them who had been at the party here to exterminate them, lest a sudden memory on the part of one of them come back to incriminate her?

Angie: At the party, she had had the most immediate ulterior motive. Her frustration at Robin's 'dropping by' had been obvious. Was it simply chance that Park was now her boyfriend? Angie spoke seldom, but she was no dummy. She was fully capable ofplanning for a future romance. Also, for what it was worth, she had been closest to the garage when it blew up. She was right up there on the list.

Kerry: Humiliation was powerful motivation for revenge. If Lena truly loved her sister, what better way to hurt her than to kill Robin? However, even though Kerry had a sharp tongue, Shani did not feel she was capable of murder. Nevertheless, she had to be placed near the top of the list. Kerry was fully capable of hate.

Sol: He had a violent past. During the investigation following the party, the police had hammered on him the most. If he hadn't acted alone, he had at least been used, for he had given Robin a (poison?) beer.

But he had absolutely no motive. He adored Robin. She put him at the bottom of the list.

Park: They had grown up together. It was impossible for her to be objective. Nevertheless, Angie's skinny-dipping offer wouldn't have been sufficient enticement for him to spike his girlfriend's beer. And, once he had realised her condition, he had taken the wisest possible course of action to save Robin. On the other hand, he had been plastered that night, and horny… She would not cross him off her list.

Bert: He would have been incapable of using Insect Death for its primary purpose; he couldn't have hurt a fly. In spite of what some said, he hadn't been dumb enough to accidentally pour poison in a beer mug.

But maybe he had seen something at the party no one else had. Maybe that was why he was dead. She wished that shecould put him on a list - for wonderful, living people.

The final two, Flynn and Robin, were difficult. He had a dozen strikes against him, yet he was the only one who couldn't have poisoned her. Still, she didn't trust him farther than she could throw a piano. She didn't know why she hadn't told Park about the gun. She would do that first thing when she got back.

Flynn followed Robin closely. He wanted something from her. He deserved a list all his own.

Obviously, Robin had not poisoned herself. But she could have arranged for their present isolation.

Sweetheart was her middle name, yet poison affected every organ, even the heart. Did she want revenge? She was deathly ill. Maybe she had fallen into a confused mental state where she wouldn't mind destroying the innocent if it allowed her to get to the guilty. And she had a sorcerer for a friend. A remark Angie had made about the destroyed garage and carport came to mind: "Like they had been struck by the wrath of God." The old man had been in the area. Two days ago, she hadn't been too hip on the supernatural, but now she was game for just about anything. Supposedly, sorcerers possessed powers.