The Witch of Agnesi (9 page)

When they reached Bonnie’s classroom the phone was ringing. Bonnie surprised herself with how fast she could motor on her new crutches, beating Armen across the room to her desk. She latched onto the phone a split second before Armen could apprehend it. She stuck out her tongue at him and raised the phone to her ear. “City Dump.”

“Nice.” Franklin Valsecci chuckled. “You’re developing a sense of humor.”

“I’ve always had a sense of humor, youngster. You’ve just never appreciated it.” She leaned the crutches against the desk and sat atop it. The effort left her breathless. “What can I do you for?”

“Just being a responsible civil servant and following up on last night’s incident.”

“Tell me you’re not at Jade Hill. Franklin, don’t you have any kind of social life?”

“Thank you so much for that cruel and unnecessary intrusion into my business. Especially since I’m taking time out of my demanding schedule to keep you in the loop.” He sighed, a long drawn out affair that spoke of long hours and little sleep. “Yes, I’m here at the precinct. Missus P, I’ve got what might be a double homicide on my hands—if you consider a worse case scenario with Peyton Newlin. Now, if you’re not interested in what I’ve got to say . . .”

She shifted the phone to her other ear. “Hold on. Of course I’m interested. Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“I’m not certain. You haven’t said it yet.”

It was her turn to sigh. “I’m sorry. Sheesh. You’re a fine one to talk about a sense of humor.”

A long silence hung in the air. “I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get. Okay, here it is. You got my message last night?”

“Uh huh.”

“Like I said on the message, we only took Jesse Poole in for questioning since he had a slew of witnesses who swear he never left the hospital. We had to let him go.”

Bonnie shifted uneasily on the desktop, unable to get comfortable. She didn’t want to hear where this conversation was going. “But I saw him. I’d know that truck anywhere.”

“I believe you, but I’ve got a problem. The truck was in the parking lot when we came for Jesse. So here’s the million dollar question. Did you actually see the driver of the vehicle?”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks. Armen gave her an inquiring look, but she held back any questions with a wave of her hand. “The cab was dark and a bright light was shining in my eyes. I didn’t see the driver.”

Franklin must have heard the despair in her voice because he came back quickly. “Don’t open a vein just yet. How about the license plate?”

Images came floating back from the previous night. One-by-one, Bonnie pinned them on the bulletin board of her memory like snapshots from a field trip. A green and white rectangle bearing the characters BCKDRFT stood out in one of the photographs. “I saw it! God damn, I saw it! BCKDRFT.”

“I don’t mean to malign the much vaunted Pink-water memory, but are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He exhaled, again long and with feeling. “All right. We’ll bring in the truck, check it out. For now I’ll use your verbal testimony, but it would help if you came down and did some paperwork. You up to it?”

“Absolutely.” Suddenly, the world felt like it was turning on greased grooves. “I have to be in town later this morning to see Donna Poole.”

“Jesse’s mother?”

She bit her lip to keep from mouthing off and saying, No, some other Donna Poole. “Why yes, the very same, dear boy.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He sounded genuinely concerned, like she intended to take up lion taming.

“Truth be told, I’m not so sure either, but I’m still going. I guess it has something to do with a dying woman’s request.”

“I’ll go one step further and declare it a really bad idea. From what I understand, the last time you saw Jesse Poole at school he wanted to knock your block off. He’s not going to feel any more kindly toward you after I confiscate his truck.”

She stretched to work out a kink in her back, and Armen rubbed between her shoulder-blades.

“Would you feel better if I told you I wasn’t going alone?”

“Only marginally. Who’s going with you?”

Suddenly, she didn’t want to tell him—as if admitting to Armen’s assistance was tantamount to admitting something was going on between them. “Just someone.”

“I don’t have time for this. You’re going to do what you want no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

“Like ninth-graders love to say, ‘You’re not the boss of me’.”

“Uh huh, be careful, Missus P.”

“Get a girlfriend, youngster.”

Franklin hung up.

Still stroking the tender spot between her shoulder-blades, Armen sat down beside her. “Now what?”

Bonnie wanted to forget all the promises she made and just enjoy the feel of Armen’s soothing hand.
But
I’ve got miles to go before I sleep.
“Another call and we’re out of here.”

She punched in Wendy Newlin’s number. She let it ring six then seven then eight times and was just about to give up when a sleepy voice answered.

“Newlins.”

Bonnie checked her class clock—close to eleven. It wasn’t unreasonable for the woman to just be getting up considering the condition she’d been in the previous night. “Wendy. It’s Bonnie Pinkwater.”

“Bonnie?” Wendy spoke the word as if trying to make sense of it. “Forgive me. I’m wearing a swollen head this morning. It feels like it belongs to somebody else.”

“Well, I’m not a hundred percent myself.” Bonnie recounted her evening, ending with collapsing in front of Rhiannon Griffith.

“Jesus Christ! What are you doing running around? You should be in bed.”

Bonnie was just about to protest and explain she felt almost human when she heard a crash come across the phone line.

A startled male voice exclaimed, “Shit.”

A long silence followed before either Bonnie or Wendy spoke. Finally, Bonnie broke in with a whisper. “Has Ralph come home?”

Again, an awkward silence.

“Yes,” Wendy stammered. “He cruised in early this morning, but so far everything is okay. We’ve put our differences behind us. We’ve both agreed the important thing right now is to get Peyton back.”

Wendy spoke as if she desperately needed Bonnie to believe something for which her voice carried no conviction.

Bonnie lowered her voice below her previous whisper. “Is he right next to you?”

“Absolutely.” Wendy answered brightly, as if the question might have been, “Are you fond of pound cake?” “Do you want me to come over?”

Wendy sighed. “He’s left the room. Please don’t come here. It will only set things off again. I can take care of myself.”

Like hell you can.

But the idea of storming out to the Newlin place after Wendy told her to stay away felt ludicrous. In no imagined permutation of events did things come out anything but disastrous. “I’m going to call back in a couple of hours. If I don’t hear from you, consider me the cavalry, and I’ll be on my white horse. Also, let me give you my cell phone number.”

She rattled it off. “Things get crazy, you get out of there and tell me where to find you. Deal?”

“Deal. I was right about you. I’m lucky to call you a friend.”

Bonnie let loose with one of those dry two-syllable chuckles which live on the opposite side of the solar system from honest laughter. “Damn right, and don’t you forget it.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Remember what I said.” She felt like she was talking to a child.

“I will.” Wendy hung up.

Bonnie sat for a time staring at the phone in her hand before she looked up and met Armen’s eyes. “Let’s get out of here. I need to move so I can think.” She clipped on her fanny pack, fitted the crutches to her hands and was halfway across the room before she realized Armen wasn’t with her. She pivoted and caught him shaking his head.

“What?” she asked impatiently.

“From what I heard, Missus Newlin told you her husband showed up at their ranch this morning.” As he did when he was trying to dope out the problem with Alice, Armen chewed on his lower lip and the beard surrounding it.

Why doesn’t he just say what’s on his mind?
Bonnie inhaled to keep her impatience from showing. “Yep, that’s what she said. What of it?”

Armen crossed the room weaving his way between student desks. He strode ahead and held the classroom door. “Let’s walk while we talk.”

Once she cleared into the hallway, he was beside her, keeping pace.

“Okay, here’s the problem. After starting Alice I turned on the radio and a news flash interrupted B. B. King. I didn’t catch it all, but some colorful alert connected with Homeland Security called for all essential personnel, especially flight line folks, to return to Peterson Air Base early this morning. They had to report before seven-thirty.”

Bonnie’s brain felt as if a goldfish had taken up residence behind her eyes and was now swimming like there was no tomorrow. “That means—”

“Among other things, it means Wendy Newlin lied.”

CHAPTER 8

B
ONNIE’S FOOT ACHED LIKE IT HATED HER. She squirmed in Alice’s passenger seat, unable to get comfortable and totally unable to get Wendy Newlin off her mind. What in the name of all that’s holy was going on? “I heard the crash and a male voice. Of that I’m certain.”

Armen gave her a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. “Then we’ll start there. What are the possibilities?”

She wanted to swivel in her seat to face him, but knew better than to try. The way her leg was acting up she’d be better off banging the damn thing against the glove compartment than to move it right now. “Okay, there are two cases. Wendy is either telling the truth or she isn’t.”

Armen blew a sharp breath through his mustache.

“I thought I explained—”

“Hear me out.” She laid a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. “Just follow the logic. Case one—assume Wendy Newlin is telling the truth. What is the next reasonable consequence?”

He gave her a look that said he wasn’t fully buying into all of this but would play the game. “Colonel Ralph Newlin actually was at his house.”

Bonnie nodded. “Right, which means he wouldn’t be at Peterson, at least for the time while I was calling. Did the news report say how long the base lockdown was going to last?”

“I think they said until this evening, certainly for the better part of today.”

She dug her cell phone from her fanny pack.

Armen pointed with his chin toward the phone. “What are you up to?”

The gesture reminded her so much of the way Ben would point, it momentarily distracted her. Her thoughts went fuzzy and only with an effort did she bring them back into focus.
Funny how the brain works.

“From what Wendy said, Ralph showed up at home around the time he should’ve been reporting for duty. He doesn’t report, big trouble follows. By now a lot of people must be wondering where he is.”

Armen shook his head. “They’re not going to tell you, a civilian, whether or not one of their celebrity pilots is AWOL.”

She punched in the first three numbers of Jade Hill. “You’re probably right, which is why I’m going to ask

Franklin to do it for us.” She finished the number.

Franklin came on the line after only two rings.

“Valsecci.”

Must be a slow day.
“Hello again, youngster.”

A sound midway between a whine and a growl came out of the receiver. “What now?”

“We could pretend it’s my birthday, and you could be a lot nicer to me.”

“Your birthday is in September, and I’m always nice to you.” He breathed heavily into the phone. “What the hell, happy birthday, Missus P. What can I do for you?”

She always liked this boy. “Happy birthday to you too, youngster. I’ve got a favor to ask.” She told him about the call to Wendy and the lockdown of Peterson Air Force Base.

When she finished he said, “Have you thought about the possibility it could have been some other male voice you heard at Newlin’s?”

“I haven’t gotten around to that yet. And there’ll be no point if Ralph Newlin never reported in.”

“And if we find he has?”

Bonnie tugged at her ear. She had no doubt what was going through Franklin’s overworked mind. The same thirteen-year-old genius named Peyton kept dancing through hers. “We can talk about that when I see you this afternoon.”

“Count on it. Are you still determined to see Donna Poole?”

She was touched he worried so much about her, but also more than a little annoyed. The man was like a dog with the last soup bone left in the kitchen. “Let it go, Officer Valsecci. I’m a big girl. Plus, I’m in the company of my protector even as we squeak.” She gave Armen a wink.

He silently mouthed, “Call me Mighty Mouse.”

“You going to bring this protector with you when you come by?” Franklin asked.

“See you later. Don’t forget that call.”

When she turned off the phone, she tried to scoot across Alice’s bench seat and sit closer to Armen. Unfortunately, her foot gave her several agonized reasons why that was a bad idea. Frustrated and panting for breath, she came to rest back where she started. “Mister Mouse, would you think less of me if I took this opportunity to complain?”

Armen drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “What kind of super-hero would I be if I lacked compassion? Feel free to vent your spleen.”

“Pain sucks.” She formed her mouth into an exag-gerated pout. “Pain won’t listen to reason even when you say please. Pain shouts like a petulant three-year old. And it won’t leave me alone. I’m damn tired of this foot, and all told it’s been less than a day.”

He mirrored her expression then whispered, “Pain sucks. Pithy yet profound. With your permission I believe I’ll have this gem of homespun wisdom tattooed on my thigh.”

She gave him a two finger salute. “You have our leave. Just remember where you heard it when the T-shirt people come calling.”

“Thank you, thank you very much.”

Bonnie struggled with this opportunity to tease Armen.
Oscar Wilde, you hit it square on the nose. I can
resist anything but temptation.
“That’s Elvis, right?”

His lips formed a line so thin they disappeared into his beard. He squinted hard at her. “You know darn well it is. I’d like to see you do better.”

She tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t. He looked so damn cute with his flashing brown eyes. If she didn’t watch herself, this man could be habit forming. “Not a chance. That may possibly have been one of the finest renditions of ‘Thank you, thank you very much,’ I’ve ever been subjected to.”

He gave her one last piercing stare and said, “Not to change the subject, but shall we consider the more likely Case Two? You know the one where Wendy Newlin is a bald-faced liar?”

Bonnie lay back in her seat and closed her eyes.

“I’m too tired, Mister Mouse. Besides, I think I promised Franklin Valsecci we’d do that with him. Wake me when we reach the hospice.”

She fell asleep to Armen singing, “Here I come to save the day.”

TO SAY THAT DONNA POOLE LOOKED LIKE DEATH would have been kind. Sunken eyes stared from deep inside a face so gaunt the woman’s head appeared little more than sallow skin stretched across a skull surmounted by wispy black hair. A disturbing mound extended from her neck to her waist, rising high beneath her blanket—evidence of an enormous tumor giddily devouring everything in its path. One of Donna’s feet protruded from her blanket, a swollen mass of musky blue flesh. Bonnie knew that Donna couldn’t be more than forty, but the hand punctured by the clear IV tube looked ancient and emaciated. Each breath Donna drew was a labored agony Bonnie could feel in the pit of her stomach.

At the foot of the hospital bed, Jesse Poole slumped on one of two orange plastic chairs. He’d glared when Bonnie entered, but now simply stared at his feet. The boy looked drained.

“Thank you for coming,” Donna rasped. She drew a long breath as though the four word sentence had exhausted her. “Jesse, mind your manners. Let Missus Pinkwater and her friend sit down.”

“Yes, Mama.” Jesse shuffled past Bonnie to stand at his mother’s side. He took her fragile hand in his.

Bonnie’s ankle didn’t really want her to sit, but after Donna’s gesture Bonnie felt she should at least stand near the chairs. She limped over and leaned a hand on the back of one. Armen followed her.

Now what?

Bonnie gazed silently at the ravaged woman knowing it was the Donna Poole Show, and Donna would direct every moment of the proceedings.

“Baby?” Donna squeezed Jesse’s hand. The tip of her blistered white tongue licked equally white lips.

“Get your mama a Doctor Pepper.”

“Sure thing, Mama.” Jesse bent down and kissed his mother’s pallid cheek. With that same listless gait, he shuffled from the room and into the hall.

Donna watched her son depart then locked her pale blue eyes onto Bonnie’s. They were strong, intelligent eyes. They seemed unaffected by the illness that was so obviously killing the rest of her.

Bonnie had to force herself not to look away.

“He’s a lot like his daddy. That man felt everything so deeply, but was never a big one for words.” Donna covered her mouth and coughed. For a moment color rose into her cheeks, but quickly faded. In short, ragged gasps, she pulled air into her lungs, shuddering with every effort.

Bonnie exchanged an anxious glance with Armen, afraid the woman would die right before their eyes. Then as quickly as the spasm had started, Donna’s breathing settled into an even rhythm.

A thin smile crept onto Donna’s lips. “Don’t worry. The Good Lord ain’t ready to send His chariot for this old bag of bones yet.” Her eyes were the only thing that retained any color. They were faintly bloodshot.

“I sleep a lot these days, so I better get down to business. Bring your chairs around here so I can see your faces.” She patted the side of the bed where Jesse had stood.

Once Bonnie and Armen were settled, Donna nodded her head in weary acknowledgement. “Jesse told me how he knocked you down at school. He felt real bad about that.”

I felt pretty bad myself.
Bonnie immediately regretted the thought, as if Donna’s cancer had given the woman telepathy. “He was angry.”

Donna drew a deep breath. “No excuse. He’s been told to apologize to you, and if he knows what’s good for him, he will.”

Bonnie couldn’t imagine how this dry husk of a woman might enforce this demand, but at the same time had no doubt she’d have her way with him.

“That brings us to last night’s business with the truck.”

Bonnie had seen the red pickup in the parking lot and had hoped she could get in and out of the hospice before the police came and hauled it away. At the very least, she prayed Jesse wouldn’t discover it gone. “I know it was Jesse’s pickup, Missus Poole. I saw the license plate, BCKDRFT.”

Donna inclined her head in what had to be an approximation of a nod. “I don’t doubt it. Jesse told me himself someone had been driving the pickup. He could smell them in the cab. Jesse has a real good sense of smell.”

The woman seemed very proud of her son’s olfactory prowess. She fixed Bonnie with those sharp eyes, daring Bonnie to refute her.

You must have been hell on wheels before you were
sick.
“Someone stole the truck right out of the parking lot and then returned it?” She couldn’t bring herself to complete the thought, which was,
Why bring the truck
back after you’ve stolen it?

Again, Donna inclined her head. “That’s right. Did those things—chased you, broke into that house of—” A coughing fit interrupted the sentence. Donna’s white tongue protruded from her mouth as she struggled for air.

Jesse Poole chose that moment to return. In the same loping gait he used to shamble from the school Thursday morning, he ran across the room, pushing between Bonnie and Armen. He dropped the Doctor Pepper—Armen apprehended the can before it could roll off the bed to the floor—and squeezed a buff colored button taped to the bed railing. Unselfconsciously, he began to sing. The words were unclear but Bonnie recognized “Oh Sinner Man” by the refrain “. . . all on that day.”

By the time a male nurse named Winslow arrived, Donna had regained her breath. Bonnie and Armen slid back their chairs to allow the nurse access to the sick woman, but there was nothing that needed doing.

Nevertheless, Winslow checked the drip on Donna’s IV and fluffed her pillow. He had to work around Jesse, who continued to sing and refused to give ground. It was evident Jesse made Winslow uncomfortable.

Way to go, Jesse
, Bonnie thought, not really sure why she admired this starkly primitive protectiveness.
Good God, Peyton Newlin must have been insane to
insult this boy’s mother to his face.
She could just imagine the torrent of grief and anger unleashed on the foolish genius. She could also imagine that this boy would stay by his mother’s side come hell or high water. He probably slept at the foot of her bed like a faithful dog.

“Looks like you’re in good hands, Missus Poole,” Winslow said, backing out of the room.

“Doing just dandy, Johnny. My boy’s here to take care of me.”

Winslow mumbled something incoherent and was gone.

A hint of a smile played at the edges of Jesse’s mouth—a smile that didn’t escape Donna’s notice.

“Nurse Johnny is a good man, Jesse. Don’t you go making sport of him.”

The smile disappeared from Jesse’s face. “Sorry, Mama.”

“Speaking of sorry, don’t you have something you need to say to Missus Pinkwater?”

The boy’s shoulders slumped, his chin dropped to his chest, he scuffed one tennis shoe against the floor.

“Do I have to, Mama?”

Yeah, Mama, does he really have to? I think I’d
rather forego it.

“Of course you have to. A gentleman never takes a rough hand to a lady. Now, go on.”

Donna used her expressive eyes to direct her son’s next action the way some mothers would use a swat on the butt.

Jesse turned toward Bonnie as if physically handled. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I didn’t know it was you behind me Thursday morning.”