Palindrome (17 page)

"Okay, but don't give me a hard time if the price goes up. Williams got up and moved away from the door, toward the next room and the press conference. He knew a drug buy when he saw one, but he wasn't busting anybody today, especially Bake Ramsey, in the team's dressing rooms, with the press standing by and his son dying to meet the guy.

A moment later, he saw Ramsey ease himself into the press room on his crutches and start answering questions. When it was over, Mary Alice led him into the waiting room. "Bake, I want you to meet Martin," she said. "He's your biggest fan, I think." Ramsey's personality had undergone a major change. "Hi, Martin," he said, bathing the boy in a big smile. "Did you like the game today?"

"I'd have liked it better if you'd been playing, Bake," the boy replied.

Ramsey looked up and saw Williams. "Oh, hi, there. This is your boy, huh?"

"It sure is," Williams said, trying to smile.

"Well, Martin, you come on with me a minute," Ramsey said. He took the boy and left the room. Mary Alice turned to Williams, all smiles. "He just loves kids," she said. "I knew he'd want to meet Martin."

"I sure appreciate the thought," Williams replied.

"He'll remember this day forever."

He nodded. "You hurt your face?"

She became unsettled. "Oh, uh, yes, I had a fall. Stupid thing; fell over my own feet."

"Sure," Williams said. "I do it myself all the time."

Sure. Ramsey returned, leading Martin, who was clutching a Bobcats jersey to his breast, grinning madly.

"Well, Martin, if you and your dad will excuse us, Mary Alice and I have to be somewhere." He stuck out his hand, enveloping the boy's.

"Sure, sure, thanks, Bake, I really appreciate it."

Mary Alice gave them directions to the parking lot, and they left.

"Dad, look at this," Martin said, holding up the jersey.

"It's his own jersey, the one he was wearing when he got hurt playing against the Rams; see the grass stains?"

"That's really something, boy. You got lucky today, huh?"

All the way home, the boy jumped up and down on the car seat, hugging the jersey. Williams was thrilled with his son's joy over his day, but there was a sick feeling in his own belly.

The day had lent weight to at least some of Elizabeth Barwick's allegations: Bake Ramsey was probably violent with women, and he was very likely using drugs. If those things were possible, then what else might be? He was beginning to feel snookered, and he didn't like it.

CHAPTER 25

James Moses gripped the wheel of the jeep tightly and concentrated on carefully following Angus Drummond's instructions. "Now, see the H on the gear knob? That shows you where the gears are. You push in the clutch and put it in first gear." James did as he was told. "Now, give it some gas and let out on the clutch gradually." James tried, and the jeep gave a jerk and stopped running. Angus sighed deeply. "Try it once again; you'll get the hang of it." James tried again and got the jeep going. Clutching the wheel, he aimed down the beach. The tide was out, and his road was wide. He got through the gears and began to enjoy himself. "This is fun!" he shouted over the wind. Angus laughed aloud.

"I'd forgotten how much fun it was when I learned to drive," he said. "That was in a car not all that different from this one, about eighty years ago. It was an old Model T Ford pickup truck that was missing just about everything but four wheels and a steering wheel and some seats. All right, stop the car, and we'll try shifting again."

When an hour had passed, James was driving smoothly and was a little more relaxed. "Is it any harder on a road, Mr. Angus?"

"Not much, and there isn't much in the way of traffic to worry about on the island."

"Granddaddy wouldn't ever let me drive his truck," James said.

"I don't know why not," Angus replied. "That old heap was just about done for when I gave it to him, and that was a long time ago." He pointed at a track through the dunes. "All right, let's try it in four-wheel drive."

James worked the levers as instructed and powered up the track and over the crest of the dunes. "Now, when we get a good-sized storm, or maybe a hurrycane, somebody has to come out here with the tractor and open up these tracks again, or they'll just disappear," Angus said. "You remember that. When I'm gone, there's nobody on this island who'll think about things like that. Germaine and the twins think this island just maintains itself, that it's a wild place. Well, it's wild all right, but somebody has to make sure the maintenance crew keeps the roads repaired, and the grass on the landing strip cut, and a roof on all the buildings, or it'll just go to hell."

"Yessir," James said. He wondered why he was being told all this. Then they began a tour of the island, and Angus showed him more of what had to be done—the bridges over the creeks, the traps for the wild hogs that rooted up things, the transformers that managed the electricity brought from the mainland, the piers and pilings on the landward side of the island, the wells that supplied fresh water. They finished up at Dungeness. In the study, Angus brought down a cardboard box and took out of it a cloth-bound book measuring about nine by twelve inches and an inch thick. Angus opened it and began turning pages. "I've been working on this for two years," he said, "and I just got the bound copies from New York last week. This book tells the history of this island from the time the Indians were the only settlers; it covers the Drummond family history, and there are maps from a survey that I did about twenty years ago. I drew them myself. There are descriptions and plans of every structure on the island that I built, and drawings of the others. Everything I could think of about this island is in this book, and I've had one bound for every living member of my family. Everyone except Jimmy Weathers, that is. In his hands, this might be dangerous information." He closed the book and handed it to James. "This copy is for you, son," he said. James took the book and noticed that at the bottom, stamped in gold, was JAMES MOSES DRUMMOND.

He ran his finger over the stamping. "If it's for me, why does it have this name on it?" he asked.

"Because that's your rightful name, James," Angus said.

James didn't know what to say. This was the only time Angus had ever mentioned this, and he was speechless.

"You take that book and you read it," Angus said softly, "and then you read it again. You need to know the things in that book, and I've been too long telling them to you."

"Yessir," James said. "Go on about your business, now, and come see me tomorrow. We'll look around the island some more."

James did not go to sleep that night until he had finished the book. He would read it again the following day, he knew, and the day after that.

CHAPTER 26

The swelling is completely gone," the doctor said. "I'd say you were making a remarkable recovery." He looked Ramsey in the eye. "A very remarkable recovery. Ramsey avoided his gaze.

"Yeah? That's great."

The doctor looked at the assistant coach, Manny Davis. "Manny, will you excuse us for a minute?"

"Sure, Doc," Manny said. He walked to the other side of the exercise room and pretended to fiddle with a piece of equipment.

"Bake," the doctor said, "I've never seen that rapid a reduction of swelling after this sort of surgery without the use of massive doses of antiinflammatory drugs." He paused but got no response. "That means steroids, Bake."

"I've always been a fast healer," Ramsey said. "You're looking very pumped up, too. What's your weight gain since last season?"

"My speed's up, too, Doc. I've been working at it." The doctor looked undecided. "Bake, you know what team policy is."

Ramsey turned and looked him in the eye for the first time.

"Team policy is to win football games," he said. "That's what I do."

"But..."

"And I take a drug test every week, just like everybody else on the team, right?" The doctor just looked at him. "Now, I'm planning to play in another three weeks," Ramsey said, "and I don't think the team's management would like it much if something got in the way of that. You catch my drift?"

The doctor sighed and stood up. "Yeah, Bake. Just go easy on the knee; light running is okay, if the swelling doesn't come back." He picked up his bag and turned for the door. "And I don't think it will. I'll tell Coach I expect you to be ready for the Dolphins game, barring complications."

"Well, don't tell anybody else," Ramsey said. "He wants to spring me on the Dolphins."

"Sure," the doctor said at the door. He went out and closed it behind him. Davis came back to where Ramsey was sitting. "What did he say?"

Ramsey walked to a bench and began loading weights onto the machine. "Ready for the Dolphins," he said, "barring complications. You make sure there are no complications. Just keep getting me what I need." He stretched out and began to do bench presses. From outside came the unintelligible blare of the coach's bullhorn.

"I'm having a little problem with supply," Davis said tentatively. "The feds busted a plant in Mexico last week, and there's talk of a drought."

"Manny," Ramsey said, puffing against the weight, "you're a pretty good backfield coach. You'll never make head coach on an NFL team, you don't pull that kind of weight. But you might just might handle offensive coordinator."

"That's all I want, Bake. You know Harley's retiring at the end of the season."

"Yeah, and you might be up for it. But, Manny, unless I have an uninterrupted supply of what I need for the rest of the season, you're not even going to keep the job you've got. I'll see to that."

"Bake, you don't have to talk to me that way. You know damn well I'll do my best."

"I just hope your best is good enough, Manny," Ramsey said, racking the weights and sitting up. "If the Bobcats drop you, you wouldn't even get a decent job in college ball. I'd hate to see you coaching at some jerkwater high school next season."

Davis looked at him, puzzled. "Bake, I probably know as much about sports medicine as most doctors, and I would have said that knee would be ready in two weeks, not three."

Ramsey looked at him and smiled. "I've got something else to do in two weeks," he said. "In the meantime, you just keep peeing into those little jars for me."

CHAPTER 27

Liz came back to the cottage in the late afternoon from a good day's work to find Keir sitting on the deck with a drink. He had slept with her most nights lately, but not the night before. She had missed him more than she had meant to, and not just the sex. There was an attachment growing here, and she both wanted and resisted it. "Home is the hunter, home from the hill," he said.

"And the photographer, home from the shoot," she replied, grabbing his drink and taking a sip. "Where were you last night?"

He smiled slightly. "Riding on the wind, soaring like the hawk."

"You're so fucking poetic when you don't want to give a straight answer to a question," she said, turning his face up and kissing him.

"Straight answers are boring, don't you think?"

"Not always," she said, flopping down on the lounge with him, pulling his arm around her shoulders. She stole another swig from his drink.

"Hey, do you think I'm made of bourbon?"

"I think you're made of snakes and snails and puppy dogs' tails, at very best."

"That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me all day," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Nobody ever says anything to you but me, because you don't see anybody else but me," she said. "Not that I mind, much."

"Wrong. I see Buck Moses; I see Grandpapa; I see Germaine."

"Not much, you don't. I don't know about Buck, but you don't see much of your grandfather or your sister."

"More than you know."

"Why don't we see some people tonight?" she asked. "I'm going to dinner at the inn; want to join me?"

"Thanks, but no," he said, with a touch of regret in his voice.

"Why not?" she asked. Now and then she felt like goading him about Hamish. He must know his brother was at the inn; he seemed to know everything that happened on the island. 

"What you call the inn I still think of as Greyfield House. Grandpapa's old-maid sister, Jenny, lived there when I was a kid; my great-grandfather built it for her. I loved her, and I loved the house; I don't like it with strangers sleeping and eating there."

Well, she thought, that's the most direct answer I've ever had from him. She got up. "I'm into a shower and out of here," she said.

"I like you a little sweaty," he said, catching her hand. "Can I interest you in a roll in the hay?"

"What a charmer!" she shouted. "A real smoothy! A roll in the hay, yet!" She headed for the shower, stripping off clothes as she went. When she came out, he was standing at the bathroom sink, rubbing the fog off the mirror with his hand. He was wearing only some old khaki shorts, and she admired his lean, brown body for a moment as she toweled dry. "Your hair's getting longer," he said, turning to look at her. "It doesn't stick up on top anymore."

"And about time, too," she said, snapping at his bare legs with her wet towel.

"Ow!" he yelled. "You're vicious with that thing!"

"A woman scorned," she called over her shoulder as she went into the bedroom.

"I didn't scorn you; I invited you to bed."

"You scorned my dinner invitation," she said, picking a cotton sheath from her closet and pulling it over her head. She deliberately did not put on underwear; she knew he liked that. She grabbed a brush and ran it through her hair. A quick look in the mirror told her that her sunburn would do for makeup. She slipped into some low shoes and turned her back to him. "Zip me up?" She knew that the open dress came exactly down to the crack of her ass.

"I'm better at unzipping these things," he said.

"Well," she said, grabbing her car keys, "stick around and you might get to unzip it when I get back."

"Maybe," he said.

"See you later, then," she called, heading for the back door. Her voice was gayer than she felt. Somehow, she had thought she might goad him into coming to the inn with her, but she should have known better. She had been anxious to get out of the house before he pulled her into bed; she would have given in, she knew, and she wanted to exert a little control.