Going to the Bad (10 page)

Obviously that wasn't a crime, but what if that someone had been Carter King? He'd grown up here. This was his home until the day Bud's eyewitness testimony had branded him a thief. Where else would he come to hide?

The high window where the generator cord entered the house appeared to be my only way inside. Unfortunately, I couldn't reach the window ledge.

After looking for something to stand on and finding nothing, I lifted a leg and tried putting a little weight on the generator. It held.

This was a bad idea. Entering private property without permission was illegal and a violation of journalistic ethics, not to mention I'd probably fall in the attempt. But this was also personal. If our situations had been reversed, Bud would already be halfway through the window.

I set down my gear bag, took one last breath, and prepared to stand on the generator.

“Don't even think about it, Lillian.”

Christmas Eve, 2:48 p.m.

T
he term
jumping out of your skin
pretty well describes
my reaction. “Leanore, don't sneak up on me like that.”

She put her hands on her hips. “We're here as KJAY employees for goodness' sake. We don't commit breaking and entering to get a story.”

“I was just going to take a peek,” I lied. “I wouldn't have actually gone inside.” I suddenly noticed that Leanore's pants were covered in dirt and her leather shoes scuffed. “How did you get down here?”

“I was worried when I couldn't see you anymore.”

“So you slid all the way down the hill and wrecked your clothes?” My voice softened and I made a sound like “Aww.”

“It's not that big of a deal.” She started back around the house. “Walking through that horror of a front yard was much harder than getting down the hill.”

I followed. “Do you think it could be a serial killer or something? I heard they start out killing animals.”

“It looked like small-caliber bullets to me. I'm guessing it's a little boy with his first rifle.”

We reached the front of the house and stopped. “Did you just use the words
little boy
and
rifle
in the same sentence?”

“It's different on a farm. My brothers and I all shot rabbits and coyotes.” Leanore took a tissue from her pocket and held it over her nose. “But that doesn't make the smell any more palatable.”

I raised my shirt over my nose. “If someone was using animals for target practice, why leave them all here?”

Leanore steeled herself, then marched forward into the field of carcasses. “Laziness.”

We climbed back up the short slope. On the way back to the main road, I dropped empty bottles of Mountain Dew out the driver's-side window. Plenty were in the van since Mountain Dew is my caffeine delivery system of choice. Leanore, tracking our progress on her smartphone, didn't notice I was laying a trail of bread crumbs for when I came back.

We reached the public road, but instead of turning back toward the freeway to leave, we decided to follow as the road cut between Warner Petroleum and the Kings' farm. The only break in the electric fence protecting the refinery was a heavily manned gate. We continued past and soon came to a pair of structures on the Kings' side of the road.

“That's not on the plat.” Leanore leaned forward. “Are those houses? Maybe the family still lives on the property, just not at the farmhouse.”

The closer we got, the more the buildings did look like houses. “If there are people there, do you mind doing most of the talking? To them, I'm just a camera person.”

I also thought Leanore, with her sweet grandma demeanor, would make more headway than me with my pit-bull routine.

She smiled. “I assume you'd prefer I avoid talking about how we just trespassed on their land?”

I smiled back. “I wouldn't volunteer it.”

The structures turned out to be a pair of matching mobile homes. A paved driveway ran from the public road, divided the buildings, and continued as a dirt road into the property's interior. It presumably led to the abandoned farmhouse.

Someone had put a lot of work into planting garden beds and grass around the mobile homes. Several mature bougainvilleas bloomed in front of each structure. Their red flowers popped in front of the white siding.

Unfortunately, the yard had been overrun with weeds during the previous growing season. Whoever the gardener was, that person had abandoned his or her hobby or moved away.

A woman stood on a ladder hanging Christmas lights from the home on the right, so I parked on that side of the driveway next to a Cadillac Escalade. I spotted a lost-dog flyer taped to the vehicle's window. The word
LOST
had been crudely written in big letters with a felt-tip pen, but the flyer did include a picture of what it claimed was a purebred Labrador retriever.

Leanore took lead while I stayed inside the van. She kept a hand on the open passenger door. “Happy holidays. I hope we're not intruding.”

The woman didn't descend the ladder. It wasn't out-and-out bizarre, but I would certainly have been more interested in the strangers appearing on my remote property.

“Does this look straight to you?” The woman indicated the section of lights she'd already hung. The strand was plugged in, and the rainbow of large bulbs glowed. “I need it to be straight for Christmas.”

“It looks perfectly straight,” Leanore said. “Much better than at my house.”

From my place in the van, I couldn't see the woman well, but she appeared to be pushing the higher end of middle age. Her pear-shaped body was decked out in a sweatshirt, white sneakers, and “mom jeans.”

Leanore waited a moment, but when the woman didn't respond, she said, “I'm sorry to interrupt. We're looking for Mida King.”

“I'm Sally King.” The woman turned fully for the first time and looked at us. “Why do you want to see Mom?”

“It's lovely to meet you, Sally. My name's Leanore Drucker.”

Leanore stepped toward the ladder. She offered her hand to the other woman to shake. Sally only stared at her. After an awkward moment Leanore was forced to drop her arm. “I do stories for KJAY about Bakersfield's history. I'd like to interview Mida for one of my pieces.”

Sally turned back to the lights. “Why? She's an old lady.”

“Most of the people I interview are older. My series is called
Tales from Bakersfield's Past.
Right now I'm doing a story about old unsolved robberies.” Leanore glanced back at me. “A man named Carter King was involved in one many years ago. Is he your uncle?”

Sally took a moment to process Leanore's statement. “Oh, that old scandal?” She removed a section of the lights from where it rested on a nail. “I guess I heard some stories a long time ago, but Mom has never liked to talk about it.”

I got out of the van and shut the door. “Has your uncle ever been in contact?”

“No.” Sally pulled the string as tight as she could and then hung it again. “I don't know why this won't sit right.”

I joined Leanore at the base of the ladder and pointed to the lights Sally still fussed over. “I think those are for indoor use. You probably shouldn't put them outside where they might get rained on.”

Sally kept her gaze focused on her task. “I have to get ready for Christmas.”

“But it could be dangerous,” I said.

She turned and looked at me for the first time. “How can celebrating Christmas be dangerous?”

Her thinning hair was up in a ponytail exposing her face. This was where her soccer-mom look went off the rails. She had acne scars and even a few zits that were red from recent picking. If she'd been a teenager or even in her twenties, I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but it looked weird in a woman likely to be going through menopause. Her teeth were in need of a good brush too, which only added to the feeling that Sally was a little out of control.

“I know how you feel,” Leanore said. “Christmas is my favorite time of year.”

Sally gestured to another handmade flyer taped to the mobile home. “I've been so busy trying to find my lost dog that I missed
getting ready this year. I woke up this morning and realized how behind we were, and now I can't get the lights to run straight. Do you think I should put another nail in?”

She already had a nail every six inches, but instead of telling her she was crazy, I changed the subject. On occasion, I can show a little tact.

“Is your mom here right now?” I glanced at the other mobile home. The lights were off, but I thought I saw movement at one of the windows. “We could talk to her and leave you to do your work.”

“There's no one else here right now, and Mom doesn't know anything, anyway.”

Leanore stayed upbeat. “We'd be very happy if she just talks about her memories of her brother before he left.”

“She doesn't remember like she used to.” Sally removed the strand of lights and began hanging them again. Her voice rose. “And I told you, Mom's not here.”

The words
Stop lying, you lie-faced liar
were on the tip of my tongue. I'd like to say that I was stopped by a mature awareness that antagonizing Sally wasn't a good way to get what I wanted. I'd like to say that, but then I'd be the lying lie-faced liar. Instead it was Sally herself who stopped me.

“Why can't I get this straight?” She jerked the string with such force that one of the nails came out of the siding. She cried just before losing her balance.

Leanore and I each rushed to steady the ladder, but we were too late. All we could do was help her off the ground.

“I want you to leave. You're distracting me.” She picked up the lights and tried stretching out the cord. “That's why I can't get it straight. Because you two keep cackling like hens.”

“Of course we'll leave,” Leanore said. “If that's what you want, but—”

“You should go now before my son gets back. He doesn't like strangers.”

Leanore looked at me and raised her shoulders in a silent question. I reluctantly nodded and turned back to the news van. We had no choice but to leave. It was private property and the owner had ordered us off her land.

Leanore gave Sally one of her business cards and told her to call if she changed her mind.

We'd only driven a short distance from the mobile homes before I said, “What do you make of that?”

“I don't know. Something is wrong there, but I'm not sure it has anything to do with Carter King or the stolen jewelry.”

We reached the main highway and turned back toward the freeway. “Sally is strung tighter than those Christmas lights.”

“I wonder if she might have a mental condition.” Leanore looked uncomfortable, as though she were gossiping. “There was something . . . off about her. Something unsettling, but I don't know what.”

I spotted a large casing near a power pole on the side of the road. The metal box probably housed transformers or some other electrical equipment for PG&E. It appeared large enough to at least partially obscure the van from view.

“Why are we stopping?” Leanore said. “Is the car all right?”

I drove behind the casing and turned off the engine.

“I want to know why Sally King won't let us see her mother.” I grabbed my gear bag and opened the door. “Stay here. If I don't come back, call Callum.”

Leanore tried to stop me, but I was too fast for her. I hurried through the brush in a straight line for the mobile homes. It only took me a few minutes to get within sight of them. I crouched down and watched. The empty ladder still leaned next to the dangling string of lights, but there was no sign of Sally. Since the door to her mobile home was opened, I guessed she'd gone inside to get more nails.

I ran as fast as I could to the rear of the other home. I paused to catch my breath, then peeked around the side.

Still no Sally. I hurried around to the front door. Just as I raised my fist to knock, I heard a noise inside.

“You already ate.” It was Sally. “How can you not remember? It's crazy.”

A light came on inside and the door handle turned. There was no time to run.

I dove behind the bougainvillea and lay flat. The door opened. Footsteps descended the short steps. I tried to keep my breaths slow and shallow, but my heart felt as though it were smashing up against my chest trying to get out.

The door closed and I heard keys in a lock. Was Sally locking the door from the outside?

After a moment, footsteps receded. I heard the door to Sally's mobile home close. I thought this might be my only chance, so I jumped up and knocked on Mida's front door.

“Hello?” a tentative voice said from inside. “Who's there?”

“Are you Mida King?”

“Who are you?”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Can you let me in? I need to speak with you about your brother, Carter.”

“Carter has polio.”

Despite the urgency of the situation, that gave me pause.

Mida continued, “That's why he doesn't get along with other young men his own age.”

I glanced over my shoulder again. “Can you let me in?”

The door handle moved but didn't open. “It's locked. Can you open it? I haven't been to the drugstore in ages and I need more Jean Naté.”

I had no idea what Jean Naté was, but I doubted Sally would allow her mother to go buy it anytime soon. I was even beginning to wonder if the older woman was ever allowed out.

“I'm sorry. I don't have the key.” I glanced behind me to Sally's mobile home. “Is there a window on the back side of your house where we could talk?”

“Go around to the bathroom. I've tried to climb out there before, but I can't get over the sink. I have osteoporosis, you know.”

I ran around back. Being out of sight was a huge relief. I heard a window open so I went and stood underneath.