The Rainy Season (37 page)

Too bad for Betsy, she thought, but everybody couldn’t be a winner.

ELIZABETH PULLED OFF
into a dark parking lot, got out of the car, took her suitcase out of the trunk, and climbed into the backseat, locking the doors behind her. She pulled off her wet clothing one piece at a time, toweled herself off, and changed into dry clothes. She shivered, the car cooling off fast now that it was stopped and the heater was down. She looked at the suitcase, savoring the thought of the money that lay within, but not looking at it yet, drawing this moment out. It would be dangerous as hell to count it here in the lonely darkness, but she had to get
some
idea of what she had earned for her troubles. Was she an heiress, or just comfortable?

She climbed over the seat into the front again, settled in, and started the car, turning up the heat, turning on the dome light and brushing her hair out in the mirror. She reached behind, found the towel on the seat, and used it to mop the makeup from her face. The pistol lay on the seat beside her. She picked it up and put it in her lap. “Ready?” she asked out loud, and smiled at herself in the mirror, then turned and pulled Appleton’s suitcase out of the backseat. After glancing out the windows, she unlatched the case, tilted the lid back, and pulled the flap out of the way.

She looked eagerly at the money, stacks of bills rubber-banded together—nearly two thousand dollars showing on top. She took out one of the stacks, slipped off the rubber band, and flipped through it.

For a moment she sat without moving, then dropped the bills back into the suitcase, fanning them out. The money was fake. Photocopies. Green-gray paper, thin as newsprint—obviously fake when you looked at it. The bills on top were real enough, but everything below …

Forcing herself to remain calm, she rolled down the window, then unbanded each pile in turn, dumping out the fraudulent bills, laying the authentic top-of-the-pile bills carefully aside. Outside, the bits of paper flew in the windy rain, swirling up against the aluminum and glass windows of the little strip center in front of her, cartwheeling across the parking lot until they were borne down by the weather, settling into puddles, catching in bushes. When the suitcase was empty, she pushed it out the window, too, then counted the money that was left. Eighteen hundred dollars. Crappy old wrinkled bills.

The money that had been in the suitcase in his closet had been real, but he had switched it, anticipating everything. No wonder he was so complacent out in the canyon. He had been ahead of her all along. He hadn’t trusted her! She should have taken the damned money when she’d had the chance. She should have stolen it and blown out of here, given up this whole weird business before Appleton knew she was gone. Shit! She pounded the steering wheel with both fists, then crossed her arms in front of her, holding herself hard, realizing that she was on the verge of crying.

Now what?
Cut her own losses and run? It would be easy to go back down to the shop and let herself in, just steal everything and anything of any value. If she cleaned out the safe and the petty cash, took all the estate jewelry, the watches, the little collection of old Limoges boxes, the trinkets, anything else small that she could sell on the road …

This was pitiful. In six months she’d be living out of the back of her car. And of course she would look guilty as hell, and for more than just stealing a bunch of crap out of the shop. Unless Appleton came to his senses, she’d be complicit in Betsy’s disappearance. What the hell
did
Appleton want with her?

She saw that she had to dump it on Appleton now, all the blame, sell him down the river. And if Betsy ended up saved, then the girl would tell them that Elizabeth had tried to help her out there in the hills, which was true. Hell, she would have
shot
Appleton to save Betsy, but of course it would have endangered the girl. …

She shifted into reverse and backed out fast, her wheels throwing up a storm of paper bills. Time was the thing now. The longer she took getting back to Phil’s, the worse she would look. She considered for a moment putting her wet clothes back on, just to make a better impression, but now that she was moving, she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

PHIL DROVE SLOWLY
around the plaza. The shops were closed, but the cafes were open, and he looked into each one. It was too strange that Appleton wasn’t in his shop with Betsy, unless Elizabeth had simply made the whole story up. But why in the hell would she? She was plenty capable of making up stories, but there had always been some kind of method to her madness. This was simply irrational. Appleton might have taken Betsy to dinner, not knowing how long he’d have her. …

They weren’t in Byblos Lebanese Cafe, or in Felix’s. He drove past Watson’s, slowing down to look in through the windows. He made another circuit, turning off down Glassell Street, swinging around the block and coming up again from the other end watching the sidewalks. No sign of her. Then it occurred to him that the old man might simply have taken her home. If Elizabeth had called him and told him what was up …

Anything was possible, even that Hannah Darwin had come back down here after running out of the house. She was certainly desperate enough and tenacious enough to try almost anything. He kept an eye out for her car, but there was no sign of it, and after another five minutes of futile driving around, he headed back home, suddenly anxious to get there. The lights were with him, traffic was thin, and he was rounding the last hilly curve below his driveway when he realized that someone was following close behind him, blinking the headlights. He pulled down into the driveway and parked. It was Elizabeth, back again. She was in a hurry this time, and she didn’t look pleased.

“I’M SORRY,” ELIZABETH
said, talking breathlessly, gazing into Phil’s amazed face. “I misread this one. I don’t know what he wants. When I said that I had told you that Betsy was there with him, in the shop, he went off on me. He just blew up. I don’t think that he wants to let Betsy go.”

“What do you mean, let her go?” Phil asked.

“I mean he thinks he can trade her to you for the crystal, that he can cut some kind of a deal. So I didn’t tell him that the crystal was at the mission. I played along with him. He wouldn’t stay in the shop, because he was afraid you’d find him there …”

“He was gone when I got there,” Phil said. He slammed his door shut and headed for the house.

“… so I agreed to meet him farther out in the canyon,” Elizabeth said, following him in and shutting the door behind her. “I told him I’d bring the crystal. I just wanted to get Betsy, whatever I had to do. But when he found out that the crystal had gone to the mission—that was it. He did
not
want to hear that. God, I don’t know. Maybe I phrased it wrong. I tried to get Betsy out of that car, but he just drove away. It was all I could do not to get run down.” She slowed down now. He believed her. No need to load it on. He
had
to believe her, because she was his only link to Betsy now. And besides that, here she was, spilling her guts.

“Which way did he drive?” Phil asked. “Back down or into the hills?”

“The hills,” she said truthfully.

“Unless he turned around and came back down … The freeway’s faster. He would have to drive all the way up through El Toro to catch it if he went that way, through the canyon.”

“He did. Because he didn’t turn around. I drove straight back down here and there was nobody behind me.” That was a lie: she hadn’t driven straight back down. She had killed half an hour, maybe forty minutes, screwing around with the money, changing clothes “We can beat him,” Phil said. “We can make it. Easy. Let’s go.” He dug around in his wallet, coming up with a slip of paper. “I’ll call the mission, just to warn … just to warn Colin. We can work this out.”

“I
know
we can,” Elizabeth said. “I really do feel I sorry for him. He’s been waiting for years for this. It’s his
daughter
, you know? What he did to her was creepy, but that was a long time ago, and if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that he’s been waiting in order to make things right. If we can get to him I can talk to him. I’m like a second daughter to him myself. Seriously.” Phil was already on the phone, listening, looking anxious. He hung up. “Nobody’s answering. I guess I’m going to have to call the cops back. They’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Don’t,” Elizabeth said. “They’ll just hang us up. Let’s just go. He wouldn’t hurt Betsy. That’s what’s driving him, you know? What happened … what he did to his daughter. That’s been eating him up. He wouldn’t make it worse by hurting Betsy. He’s got a gun, though. I know he carries one. And if something starts with the police, somebody could get hurt.”

Phil put the phone down, and Elizabeth was flooded with relief. The police were what they
didn’t
need. She realized that Jen was standing behind Phil now, at the base of the stairs. Elizabeth nodded at her, but Jen was moving, heading for the door, thank God. She was a determined-looking thing, and Elizabeth knew the woman didn’t like her or trust her. She could see it clear as day in her eyes. Phil was easy, but this silent woman could be a problem. Phil held the door as Elizabeth pushed past him, clumping across the porch and heading toward the car.

“I promise you,” she said to Phil. “I
can
reason with him. He flew off the handle out there when I told him about the crystal, but he’s harmless. He wouldn’t hurt a bug.” They climbed in, and Phil fired the car up and was moving immediately. She kept talking, leaning forward. “He’s desperate, and he’d say anything, but he’s smart enough to know that hurting Betsy wouldn’t help him. Look, I could call him on the cell phone, if you think …” She took the phone out of her purse and held it up, suppressing a sudden desire to laugh. What fun it would be if she
did
call him!

“I don’t think so,” Phil said. He turned left onto the highway, and Elizabeth braced herself as the quick turn pitched her into the door. She put the phone back into her purse, laying it atop the pistol, which was wedged into the small purse along with her wallet and car keys.

The sight of the pistol made her think of the money again, and it occurred to her now that Appleton might easily have it with him.
Of course he would
. It would be in the trunk of his car.

MRS. DARWIN SAT
in her car below Phil's house, by the ditch along the roadside. The car that she had cut off earlier and that had gone into this same ditch was gone. A tow truck had been hauling it out when she had swung past ten minutes ago, and so she had gone right on by, looping around again in a big circle through the hills to kill some time. Now the coast was clear, and she had gotten back not a moment too soon. There was activity at Phil’s house: Elizabeth was there, the dirty little sneak-thief. Her car was parked in the drive. Mrs. Darwin recognized it as the one that had been parked on the turnout the day before yesterday. The other woman was there, too. They were bustling around inside, maybe confronting each other.

She watched carefully, but saw no sign of Betsy. What the hell did this mean?

They were coming out!

She put her car into reverse and backed up the hill, swinging around into the first street she came to and waiting there. She could just see the top of his drive. Thirty seconds went by. He would probably turn to the right and pass her, heading into town.

There it was, Phil’s car. But he turned left instead of right, speeding away toward the hills. She pulled out, following, taking a good look at the taillights, at the dark shape of the car so that she wouldn’t lose it, wouldn’t mistake another car for his in the darkness. Still no sign of Betsy. She wasn’t in the car.

Mrs. Darwin stayed far enough back so that Phil wouldn’t get suspicious, accelerating a little two miles up the road when he turned right on a broad cross street. She followed, winding along past groves and housing developments. The windshield wipers clicked away, the rain falling steadily now. An immense new-looking shopping center loomed up on the right, an ugly shade of purple under the bright lights of the parking lot. Only in California, she muttered, then slowed down, seeing a freeway ahead. She didn’t want to cramp him.

There was his signal: he was turning up the on-ramp, heading south on the freeway. God knew where, but dollars to doughnuts it involved Betsy.

FROM THE DOORWAY
of the rectory, Father Olin paused and looked back across the mission grounds, although on this dark night he could make out little. The garden trees and rose beds were shadows, although the fountain itself was illuminated, and there were lights in the corridor above the gardens as well as in the chapel. A moment ago he had heard what sounded like a car door shutting, and although there was nothing rare in that, the noise had stood out starkly in the silence. He saw a movement now, what looked like a person—two people?—slipping across the lit corridor and in through the open door of the chapel. They had come around through at the side of the mission, past the gift shop, rather than through the gardens.

The chapel door remained unlocked through the evening, but as bad as the weather had gotten, and as deserted as the grounds were, it seemed curiously unlikely that this was simply someone slipping into the chapel to light a candle. The groundskeeper was gone for the evening and would be another couple of hours yet.

Colin closed the door behind him and hurried across the fifty yards between the rectory and the fountain, noticing when he reached the rose gardens that a car was parked in the nearby lot. He recognized it immediately, even in the darkness, as Hale Appleton’s old Cadillac.

So who was with him? Elizabeth Kelly?

He went on up the stairs and peered cautiously in through the open door. The chapel was empty and silent. The door to the cellars stood open. He had left it shut, but not locked. The door to the deep cellar, to the spring, was unlocked also. He walked to the door at the top of the stairs, and there, lying on the wooden floor, lay a stuffed animal—a child’s toy. Betsy! Not Elizabeth Kelly. Appleton had brought Betsy to the pool. With growing certainty and fear Colin descended the stairs, listening for sounds from below. He heard the scraping of footsteps, the sound of a girl’s voice. He hurried through the door into the cellar, through the second door, downward into the darkness. He had been a fool to leave the doors unlocked, something he rarely did, but there was nothing to do about it now. Thank God he had looked back from the rectory door!