Triple Exposure (21 page)

As if someone like him could be held accountable for any decision he had made. Everyone had understood that he was different. Special. That he had to be protected from his actions, his decisions and his deficiencies. Others, who had had the good fortune to be born whole, bore the responsibility
of looking out for God’s chosen angels, of sparing them the fallout from actions they were incapable of comprehending.

Those who failed in this were guilty, as guilty as the one who struck the fatal blow.

And they would all be punished, to a person, even if it took her every last day, every minute, of the time she had left on this earth. Eventually, she would find her moment. Find the last one alone and unguarded.

Find the opening she needed to set the matter finally right.

Friday, March 21

Dread tightened Rachel’s stomach when she ran into Terri shopping in the town’s one-and-only local grocery around dinner time. Today, Terri wore her ice-blonde hair in a sleek twist and disguised her overflowing curves with a tastefully tailored duster jacket. Today, she didn’t have her boss around to keep her disdain for Rachel in check.

Because it would have been considered an act of war not to address her, Rachel pasted on a bland smile and glanced down at Terri’s cart, which contained wine, along with green grapes, crackers, and a tray of cubed cheeses.

“So,” Rachel said, “does Antoinette have you helping her get ready for a Blank Canvas meeting?”

Terri sneered in response. “This is for my husband’s birthday. Come on, Rachel. You’re supposed to be one of the artsy fartsies these days. You really don’t imagine those snobs would drink local wine and nibble cheddar cheese cubes? They’d have to have some unpronounceable brands flown in from God only knows where, if only to outdo each other.”

This was one seriously unhappy woman. “If you can’t stand the art people, why work for Gallinardi?”

Terri rolled her eyes, as she had so often back in high school. “How many jobs do you think there are for business administration majors here in Marfa? Cris won’t live anywhere
else—and not everyone
conveniently
inherits a house and a pile of family money.”

Where the hell had Terri heard about that? Or was she merely guessing?

Rachel glowered down at her own cart, laden with such glamorous purchases as store-brand peanut butter, cereal, and toilet cleanser, and tried to get a grip on her temper.

“
Hope you have fun at your party. And tell Cristo happy birthday
for me
,” Rachel opened her mouth to say. Unfortunately, what came out was a blast of pent-up fury and frustration.

“Get bent, Terri,” she snapped. “That’s my grandmother you’re talking about. The appropriate response would have been, ‘I’m sorry for your family’s loss,’ or ‘Sad to hear about your grandma.’ Not some bullshit insinuation that’s all about some stupid high school grudge. Or for all I know, maybe you’re just jealous.”

Terri’s blue eyes bulged, and her face reddened, proving that Rachel hadn’t lost her knack for saying the perfect thing to set her off.

“Jealous?” The blonde thrust her double Ds forward. “You think
I’d
be jealous of some scrawny failure who had to come running home with her tail between her legs? I have a solid marriage and two smart, adorable daughters—neither one of which I’d let within a country mile of a skank like you. So what do you have, Rachel Copeland, except a murder charge, online pictures of some amateur hour blow job—”

Rachel shrugged. “Not all of us can be pros, Terri—”

“—And a big, fat lawsuit pending,” Terri said over her. “You might imagine you’re some high-and-mighty artist, but
everybody
knows all this attention you and your stupid little snapshots have been getting is nothing but a way for the foundation to get some press. Just like everybody knows you’re desperate for money. Which is why it didn’t surprise me one iota that you cooked up a little Death by Choco—”

“You’d better stop right there, right now, or so help me, I will…” Rachel paused, fighting for the control needed not
to lay the blonde out with a jumbo can of creamed corn. “Just shut up, that’s all.”

Terri pushed her tongue around the inside of her cheek, then cut a sly look toward a pair of elderly women with baskets and the teenaged produce clerk, all of whom were watching avidly. “Why, Rachel?” she asked, clearly enjoying playing to her audience. “What are you going to do if I don’t?
Shoot
me?”

A second high-school-aged boy, a tall Hispanic kid with Groucho Marx brows, made meowing and hissing noises from the aisle, then raked the air with catfight claws—much to the amusement of the Pueblo Grocery’s young clerk.

“If she does smack you”—one of the old women pointed a gnarled finger at Terri’s jutting breasts—“I intend to testify that you, dear, had it comin’. Benita Copeland would’ve snatched you baldheaded if she heard you saying such things to her granddaughter. You just ask Tally Sue Ryan if she wouldn’t have.”

“The woman’s barely in the ground, and here you are, disrespecting the family,” sniffed the other woman, a tiny, blue-haired specimen who kept her box-shaped bag tucked close against her side. “It’s hardly Christian—and don’t I see your mama every Sunday at the church?”

“But she—” Clearly bewildered by the unexpected criticism, Terri looked from one to another of the gathering shoppers for support. “Her own grandmother…”

Rachel swooped in to steal the high ground. “I’m sorry we had to have this conversation.” She threw in a sweet smile she knew Terri would consider grating. “I hope the rest of your day—and Cris’s birthday—are a lot more pleasant.”

But as rewarding as it was to leave Terri Parton-Zavala all but spitting in suppressed rage, Rachel was shaking as she loaded her groceries in the back of her van. Shaking with the thought that she would be the main topic of discussion at Terri’s damned
whine
-and-cheese party.

Death by Chocolate
. Rachel cursed under her breath.

“You okay, Rusty?” asked a voice behind her.

She turned to look, saw Bobby Bauer carrying a shopping bag. He wore a cap that bore the Soar Marfa logo, but the shadow of its brim didn’t hide his flush.

His shrug was tight, his deep voice carefully controlled but unmistakably furious. “Small store—can’t help overhearing things. Woman’s got no right—no call to talk to you like that. If it gets back to Walt, that manure she’s spreading—”

She shook her head and pleaded, “Don’t go upsetting Dad with this—please, Bobby. It’s just some old high school crap with Terri. Ancient history. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“How about I go and have a private word with her dad? I’ve known the man forever, back from the days both of us were on the Border Patrol.”

“I’d appreciate that, thanks,” she said, aware of how little Bobby liked to talk about the bad old days before he had found both AA and her dad’s religion, flying. She was touched that he’d go to a Border Patrol friend on her behalf. “If it were just about me, I’d say no, but my family—”

“You’ve all been through enough,” he said fervently, “and I’d do anything for your old man. He—he’s helped me through some pretty rough times, taken a chance on me when not too many would have.”

“You’ve long since repaid him, Bobby. He’s told me a hundred times,” she said, “he wished all the gambles he’s made had paid off half as well.”

Bobby’s eyes crinkled with his smile, and in that moment, he was handsome. “I’ll see what I can do to shut Terri up. I promise.”

With a nod, he climbed into his old Ford pickup and left her wondering, would Bobby’s decades-old connection to Terri’s father be enough to silence her? And would it matter at this point, or had the spark of her malicious gossip already flamed into a wildfire far too big to stamp out?

Monday, March 24

By daylight on a fine day, a person could get away with murder in a place as tiny and unused to crime as the town of Marfa. Come nightfall, though, people got suspicious, tended to pick up a telephone or—since this was West Texas—firearms when they saw anything unusual.

But with their spirits buoyed by the bright, crisp sunshine of a spring afternoon, folks naturally gravitated toward positive assumptions. A strange vehicle parked in the driveway of an absent homeowner? Must be a contractor, or maybe someone making a delivery. Or probably just a family friend tending the dog as a favor. Visitor spotted trying various windows before going around into the fenced backyard behind the house? Couldn’t be anything to worry over, considering the open smile and friendly wave—anyone that sociable clearly had nothing to hide, despite the presence of the huge and shrouded something that was unloaded and pushed through the back gate.

On a sunny day, a person could take all the time in the world to hunt around beneath the various potted plants on the back porch until the spare key finally turned up. Damned careless of Rachel Copeland, leaving something so dangerous lying around. Criminally careless. Asking for the kind of trouble she no longer had the will or weapon to stop dead in its tracks.

The little dog left inside did not prove much of a deterrent, either, especially when offered a meaty bone to keep him busy. So much for the new owner’s security, thought the intruder. So much for her assumption that here in Marfa, she was safe.

Something was for damned sure wrong with Rachel, and as Zeke walked to the airport late that afternoon, he told himself he was going to do more than simply try to cheer her up; he was going to get to the bottom of it. For the past few days he’d held off pressing her for answers, for he was all too aware that a man who couldn’t give any had a hell of a nerve pushing.

But yesterday, when he’d dropped by the brown adobe where she and her dad and Patsy had gathered for a Sunday dinner, Rachel’s shoulders had been slumped, her hair uncombed, and both her eyes and nose red. As if every last drop of resilience had been drained from her.

As he reached the airport parking lot, Zeke spotted Rachel walking toward her gold van, her head down and her gait unhurried. Which told him that whatever had been bothering her of late had not eased its grip. He jogged over, intercepting her.

“How about an escort?” he offered, dust blowing around his legs. “Your dad mentioned he and Patsy were having dinner with some pilot friend and his wife in Alpine.”

Rachel opened her van’s door, which put her back to
Zeke. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but I really don’t need a babysitter anymore. I’d be glad to drop you back at your place, though.”

On the western horizon, the first, soft hints of rose and coral bade farewell to a mild, early spring day.

The old Zeke, the one who had shunned complications, would have gone back to his work and horses. Would have felt fortunate to escape the ensnarement of relationship. But Rachel had gone and changed him, shone a light on him so blinding, he was powerless to find his way back to the man that he had been.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “I thought we all agreed it made sense for someone to check the house each night before you went in.”

But it hadn’t been simply caution that had kept him at the adobe for hours every evening, sharing meals and board games, laughing at some ridiculous old movie on TV. As he grew increasingly comfortable—almost addicted to simply being with her, it became more and more difficult to keep his mind off the things they’d done together and his hands a safe distance from temptation. Even now, the thoughts stole closer, the memories of a night that had smashed down the walls of his defenses.

“You and my dad agreed,” she reminded him, “and Patsy. But for how long? It’s been over a week since…that night, and nothing else has happened. I think you must’ve been right that some teenager was behind that SUV’s wheel—or maybe a couple of dumb drunks out joyriding. If someone’s really out to get me—”

“Are you still thinking you deserve it?”

She shot him a fierce look. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous. Yes, I wish—I would do anything to go back so I could’ve been there for my grandma, but I wasn’t, and I can’t now.”

He ached to touch her, to recoup even a fraction of the intimacy the two of them had known that starry night after
he had found her out in the desert. But he knew she wouldn’t accept it, couldn’t allow herself that comfort.

“What Zavala’s saying in town,” he blurted, “it’s all bullshit. Everybody knows that.”

A frown troubled her features, and sadness filmed her eyes.

“Come on, Rachel. Let’s sit down and talk.”

He took her arm and guided her to the same picnic tables where the two of them had shared their first kiss. Her hesitation and the look she gave him told him this bit of history wasn’t lost on her—and wouldn’t be repeated. But she sat on top of the table and planted the low-topped hiking boots she wore on the bench below.

“So what did you hear?” she asked once he sat beside her.

“I stopped by the post office this morning.” For a lot of Marfa’s residents, the daily mail run made for a friendly ritual, but Zeke limited his trips to once a week and never lingered for talk or coffee, as so many of his neighbors did. “Cristo Zavala was running his mouth, something about his wife’s theory of how your grandmother got that candy. I told him to keep his damned opinions to himself.”

“Thanks,” she said. “But I doubt it’s going to make a bit of difference, since Bobby’s talk with Terri’s father hasn’t.”

“Nobody buys that bullshit,” Zeke insisted.

Sighing, she reached back to knead her neck with one hand. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his lap, to run his hands along her warm neck and kiss her into forgetting, make love to her right here and now, since he saw no one else around the airfield. He knew he had no right to touch her and no right to push her on the issue when he wasn’t capable of sharing his past with her. But he wished…he wished a lot of things, each more futile than the last.

“Antoinette Gallinardi dropped by earlier to talk,” Rachel told him. “She claimed
she
doesn’t believe the rumors, but there’s been ‘concern’—that’s how she put it—among her fellow members of the Blank Canvas Society.
Concern about the ‘seemliness’ of showing my work—and especially putting me in a position where I’ll have even the slightest connection to ‘impressionable’ students.”

“Oh, hell, Rachel.” He knew how important this exhibition was to her. “Does that mean they aren’t going to let you…?”

“They’ve voted to kick me out, can you believe it?” She looked up sharply, her eyes liquid, angry. “They thought they might be able to get folks past some case that happened back East. But Marfa’s a very small town, and some people are up in arms, thinking I might’ve had a hand in my grandmother’s death.”

“But Harlan Castillo’s come straight out and said there’s no evidence to support such a stupid idea.” Zeke respected the sheriff’s attempts to corral the wild rumor. “Besides, anyone who knows you—”

“The thing is,” Rachel said, “a lot of people don’t. All they’ve heard about me is that I shot some TV woman’s kid in Philadelphia. That I seduced my student.”

“But it was proven that you didn’t. You were never with him.”

For a long while she said nothing, though he had the distinct impression there was something she wanted, needed, to say to him. As he wondered what it could be, his gut tightened with foreboding.

Finally, she managed, “People believe what they see. And those pictures—”

“Lies,” he reminded her. “You proved they were all lies.”

Once more, she fell silent.

He tried waiting her out, hoping she’d explain herself, but she turned her face from him. “Listen, Zeke, I appreciate the way you’ve stood by me since Grandma’s death, but one night together doesn’t obligate you. There’s no reason you need to waste your time on someone who can’t—”

“Do I look like the kind of man who hangs around because he feels ‘obligated’? Do I act like a man who thinks he’s wasting his time?” His frustration rose, as did his volume.
“Hell, Rachel, that’s insulting. I’m not just trying to do right by you. I’m here because I—because I
can’t
remember how to be anywhere else, with anyone else—even my own self. And that’s not something I say lightly, not something I do—
ever
. So I don’t appreciate you acting like I’m some loser to be blown off without any kind of explanation. You owe me that much.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” she said dryly, “the person who won’t tell me a damned thing about himself demanding that I come clean. Come on, Zeke. You have to admit you don’t have much of a leg to stand on.”

“So I’m a hypocrite,” he admitted. “Too damned bad. That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t do you good to tell me.”

She shook her head, lips pressed together in a thin line. When she finally spoke, pinpricks of anger pierced her words. “Why, Zeke? Why are you here? For God’s sake, I killed somebody, half the perverts on the planet think they’ve seen me naked, and I’m getting my ass sued. Don’t you have sense enough to keep away from something marked ‘high voltage’ when you see it?”

He managed a smile. “I’m still here.”

“Why?” she pressed, a little more of the lioness resurfacing in her eyes. “I’ve already told you that the sex is over. Finished. And you’re not going to change my mind.”

It hurt to think that he might never touch her again, but he’d be damned if he would let her push him away so easily. “You listen to me, woman. There’s nothing—not a damned thing—you could say about your past, nothing you can tell me that would change the way I feel about you. Because I…”

He swallowed back the words, instinct warning that he had no right to say them. That he might offer her acceptance, but it was the best he could ever do.

She knotted her hands together and stared out at some point beyond them. “Last week after the funeral, I spoke with my attorney. The one defending me against this civil suit.”

But Zeke’s ears were still ringing with those words he hadn’t spoken.
Because I love you, Rachel
. Could he really
have been about to say something so damned idiotic? Fantasies were one thing, as was the warmth he felt that Rachel’s father and even Patsy had begun to accept his presence. But to say those words aloud, to give voice to how much he wanted to belong to someone, after he’d been on his own so many years…It was beyond stupid. He should go home before he completely lost it, dropped down on his knees, and started promising forever.

Rachel went on, despite his silence. “She told me the lawsuit may be dropped. New evidence has come up—”

Her voice broke, refocusing his attention.

“But isn’t that good news?” he asked. “Won’t that mean everything’s all over and you can get on with your life?”

She gave a tight nod, yet her expression all but screamed that she hadn’t yet gotten to the point. But before he could find the words to prize that truth out of her, Rachel stood abruptly.

“I promised you a flight.” She smiled, though it looked forced, and pulled a thin cell phone from her pocket. “It’s too late to take up a sailplane, but we could take a little joyride in Dad’s Cessna. It’s all gassed up and ready. I’ll just let him know what we’re up to. He gets a little freaked out if I light out without asking.”

Without waiting for his answer, she walked off, keeping her back to him, animated as he hadn’t seen her since her grandmother’s death. Instead of reassuring him, the suddenness of the change concerned him. He decided not to argue, though, since she wouldn’t be able to brush him off easily if the two of them were in a plane together.

Besides, he was itching to finally get his chance to go aloft. And the sooner the better, he thought, while there was still sufficient light to see.

Rachel wasted no time before taking him out to the small plane, a turquoise-and-white two-seater with a single propeller on the nose. After checking it over, she showed him how to climb into the seat beside hers and hook up his safety harness.

“Do you get airsick?” she asked once she had strapped herself in.

He shrugged, feeling both anxious and embarrassed to be nervous about a thing she took for granted. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Her brows rose, and she smiled. “So you’re a virgin?”

He managed a grin. “You’ll be gentle with me, won’t you?”

Laughing, she started the engine and promised, “Okay, then. No aerobatics this time. But only because it’s so revolting, hosing puke out of the cockpit.”

He watched her drop into a practiced routine as she flipped switches and started the propeller spinning, then taxied the little plane onto the runway’s edge. He wanted to ask her about the confusing array of controls and dials, to explain each step she was taking, but the loud thrum of the engine convinced him to save his questions for another time.

Besides, he wanted to remember every detail of what could easily be his first and last flight. He wasn’t sure his ID could pass a commercial airline’s scrutiny, especially with recent security precautions. And if he ever again traveled, he’d want to leave no record of his destination.

“Ready?” she asked as the engine grew louder, higher pitched, as if it, too, felt Zeke’s anticipation.

At Zeke’s nod, they started rolling, their speed mounting as they bumped along the runway. Though he had watched a thousand takeoffs, though he’d seen Rachel fly successfully since her one, ill-fated solo, his heart pounded out a warning that this was impossible; they’d never do it; they’d run out of runway before they…

He became aware that they were rising as he caught sight of the gleaming sun’s edge, still visible from their increased height. Releasing the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, he looked over the tops of hangars and The Roost, the fuel pumps and the aircraft and a small herd of pronghorn antelope grazing near the Border Patrol training area behind the airport.

Soon, the tops of the green houses of the huge hydroponics farm came into view, immense, dark rectangles that hid a jungle of tomato vines, with plump, red-orange fruits. Rachel tapped him before pointing to a spot across the highway and down a long, dirt road, where he spotted his old candelilla factory-home, its outbuildings like miniatures, the corral. He could even make out the figures of his mule and horses, living lives as far removed as the citizens of humming insect kingdoms.

His stomach rose, then dropped at the whim of unseen breezes.

“Sorry it’s a little bumpy,” she said, loudly enough to be heard above the engine. “We’ll get to smoother air in just a minute.”

As the plane gained altitude, they leveled out, and Zeke relaxed enough to look to the south, at the buildings and the lights of Marfa, so small and tenuous against the high plain. The land was wrinkled with a surprising number of undulations and bordered by the brown and violet shapes of mountains—Mount Livermore in the Davis Mountains to the north, the Chisos Mountains to the southeast, and the low line of the Chinati range to the southwest.

For the first time, he appreciated the vastness of the land he’d chosen as a hiding place so many years before—and the rugged loneliness with which he had surrounded himself. Only the most fragile, necessary bonds existed between himself and other people, only a few of whom had ever used his name.