The Jewelry Case (37 page)

"Ready?" Ray was sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open, his coffee in its usual spot, in the cupholder. She realized they were the last to leave the parking lot.

"Sorry," she said, and got in.

Once they were on the road, they spoke little. The moon was full, and a panoply of stars tossed across the sky, like sprinkles on a chocolate donut, made the scene unusually bright. Perhaps the real estate agent was reviewing his lines for the play, she thought drowsily, resting her head against the leather seat. The rapid patter of "I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" was notoriously difficult, and Ray had stumbled over more of the words than usual tonight.

Then Paisley's thoughts turned to Ian again. She pictured him buried deep in his master's thesis, ignoring the urgent call of his cell phone. Or maybe he had turned it off, to reduce distractions. That would be like him. He liked to give tasks his full attention.

As they approached the curve in the river, Paisley came out of her reverie. She gasped and put a hand on Ray's arm. "Look
,
there! What's that?"

A glint of buttercup yellow paint reflected in the Explorer's headlights, down at the bottom of the embankment. For a moment, she thought she had imagined the sight.

Ray started, and the car swerved slightly. "What is it?" he asked. "I don't see anything."

"No, stop, Ray. I mean it. Down there, in the river. It's the VW!"

Chapter Seventeen

Ray's reflexes were faster than Paisley's. His hand went around her upper arm, his grip so tight that later she found new bruises to match the one on her shoulder. "Stay in the car," he ordered.

"But...."

"Stay here," he repeated. "I'll see if the kid's all right. The river's running fast this year; no sense all of us putting ourselves in danger."

He got out, leaving the car door open, and carefully began to climb down the steep sides of the ravine, toward the half-submerged VW The powerful headlights of the SUV lit his progress as effectively as a spotlight following an actor across a stage.

The little car must have come too fast down the hill and failed to negotiate the curve, she thought, as she slipped out of the SUV with no intention of obeying Ray's order. If she had not been so worried, she would have resented the man's high-handed manner in assuming he was in charge. But then, he was ex-military, accustomed to barking orders; it was hardly his fault.

She followed him, guilt battering her conscience while her sandals slid in the mud. If only she hadn't allowed Kevin to drive. He was young and inexperienced. The old car was unreliable. In spite of the full moon, there were a few clouds, which occasionally blotted it out, or made its light unreliable.

A few yards later, one of her sandals came off, and she sat on a boulder to put it back on. Something off to the side caught her eye: a long, dark form on the ground that almost blended into the brushes. Heart beating quicker, she clambered in its direction, searching carefully in the shadows. Then the veil of clouds parted and a cold beam of moonlight shone down, revealing a fallen log where she had thought she'd seen a body.

Behind her, she heard a stream of curses. Ray had reached the half-sunken Volkswagen and was on the bank, peering through its open door.

"What? What is it?" In spite of her best effort, her voice shook.

"He's gone."

"That's good, right? He got out!"

"Or he was swept downstream." Ray's words fell like a blow. "If Kevin's still in the river, it's too late. The water is deeper and swifter than it looks."

The statement was like a slap on the cheek. She swallowed. "Maybe he got out of the car and made it to shore. The window was open."

Ray looked at her, and his deep voice softened slightly. She had the impression that, like a doctor with a terminally ill patient, he was doing his best to break the news as well as he could.

"Sure, there's a chance, Paisley. There's always a chance. But with a moon this bright, you'd think we'd of seen footprints or something in the mud on the bank."

She wrung her hands. "Why are we wasting time talking about it? We need to call for help, right away! That is, you'll have to, I left my phone at home. The sooner rescuers get out here, the better the chance that they can find him."

"You're right." Ray pulled out his cell and jabbed at the numbers. He waited for a moment, the small electronic device pressed to his ear. "Yes, ma'am, I'm calling to report a yellow Volkswagon beetle went into the river at the bottom of the hill, just east of River Bend. No, ma'am. The car was empty when we found it. Mmmhmmm. Yes, ma'am. Thank you." He pocketed the phone and turned toward Paisley. "A search crew is on its way." He breathed heavily through his nostrils. "This is going to kill Steve. He worries a lot about that boy, even if the kid drives him crazy."

She remembered that Ray and Steve had grown up in the same small town, and that her neighbor was Ray's client. It was natural that the men knew each other well.

Her teeth chattered despite the warm night, and she hugged her arms around her waist. "Shouldn't we be looking, Ray, until the rescue team gets here? Every minute might make a difference."

He flung her a look that had an edge of contempt under its sympathy. "You don't know much about search and rescue, ma'am. Amateurs often get killed themselves, or at best, get in the way. The best thing we can do is clear outta the way of the professionals."

"But we could still…."

He cocked his head, interrupting. "Listen. That must be them."

She heard nothing but the song of a night bird and the rushing of water. But Ray put his big hand on the flat of her back and guided her up the hill. "I told you, we'll just be under foot here. I'll take you home and call Steve. He'd rather hear the news from me than some impersonal public employee."

She stumbled on a loose rock and bit back an exclamation as the jolt shot pain through her injured shoulder. Ray was right, she thought dully. She
would
probably get in the way. She certainly did not want to divert attention from the urgent crisis of finding Kevin.

Nevertheless, half-way up the ravine she turned back to scan the half-submerged Volkswagen. Wasn't it wrong for them to leave the scene of an accident? she wondered. Or did that rule apply only if one was directly involved? Her brain didn't seem to be thinking coherently tonight; perhaps she was still in mild shock from the earlier mishap with the falling mast.

At the top of the ravine, Ray helped her into the cab of the SUV, more gently than she would have expected, as if he had intuited her emotions were as fragile as her physical state. "Here, put this blanket around you," he said, reaching behind the seat and pulling out a brown-and-green afghan. Knitted by his ex-wife, perhaps, and relegated to the car for emergencies? "You don't look so good. It's been a bad night, hasn't it?"

"It's awful," she said, her teeth chattering. "I can't help thinking about that poor boy. What if he's still in the water, clinging to a branch, waiting for someone to rescue him? Or worse, what if...." Her hands clenched convulsively at the edge of the blanket as she pictured Kevin's pale face, eyes closed, as the river closed over his head. Overlying the image was the memory of that other accident, months earlier, on an autobahn far away, that other still body, black hair falling over the high, intelligent forehead.

Ray started the engine, which roared in a business-like way. "I told you, search and rescue will be here in a couple of minutes. There's nothing we can do to help." He glanced over at her, as he pulled onto the road. "What happened to you, anyway, Paisley? That must have been more than just a 'little accident."

Leaning back against the seat, she closed her eyes. No point keeping it secret any longer. "One of the props fell on me earlier this evening. The main sail of the pirate ship.
He sucked in his breath. "That explains it. I thought Shirley got rid of it on purpose. That big piece overwhelmed the rest of the set." He paused. "Why didn't you tell the cast?"

"I didn't want to disrupt the rehearsal. The kids needed to focus on their lines, not worry about me. 'The show must go on,' and all that." She paused, berating herself. "But I should have spoken up," she admitted. "If someone else got hurt, I'd never forgive myself.

Maybe Kevin did get hurt. If the car accident is connected, somehow, it would be my fault.

He glanced at her as the Explorer accelerated, its powerful engine a restrained roar. "No offense, but you're right. For your own sake. Might have dislocated something, or even broken a bone, and here you've been ignoring your injury all night. Could get worse if it's not treated."

"It's not so bad," she said. "Just a bruise, that's all." But Ray was right. Everything she had done that night was pretty dumb, up to and including leaving the scene of the accident before the search party arrived. How could she have done that? No matter what Ray had told her, they
should
have stayed. Not only was their moral duty, but the rescue workers might want to question them further.

Maybe it was not too late to turn the car around. She was about to say so when, she heard a thump behind them. She jumped and craned her neck around, although in the dark she could see nothing through the small window that separated the cab from the trunk.

"What was that?" she exclaimed.

Ray flung an impatient look over his shoulder as well and pressed harder on the gas. The car leapt forward. "Got some tools rolling around back there." He reached over and turned on the radio, cranking the volume up. An old country tune filled the cabin, Billy Ray Cyrus singing about his Achy Breaky Heart. "I guess this kind of music isn't your kind of thing," he said, glancing at her. "Sorry I don't got anything more high-brow."

"It's okay. I enjoy all sorts of music." But she wasn't thinking about the song. That thump didn't sound as if it had been caused by loose tools. She cast another sideways look at Ray's broad face, trying to read his expression in the shadows. It occurred to her he had never offered her a ride home before, had never lingered with the others after rehearsal. But tonight he was being friendlier than usual, very generous with his time.

She looked out the window just in time to see her house flash by.

"Ray, you passed my
house!
"

"I told you, your shoulder needs to be checked out. The closest emergency room is thirty minutes away, in Davis."

"But I don't want to go to D—
.
" Paisley bit off the words. They were heading deeper into the countryside, going
who knew where? Was he really taking her to a hospital in Davis? How on earth would she know? She didn't know this area, and the truth was, she didn't really know Ray. What she did know was that someone had tried to harm her tonight and, very likely, several times before tonight.

As Billy Ray Cyrus's repetitive chorus hammered a hole in the side of her head, she suddenly felt a strong counterbeat hit the seat directly between her shoulder blades. This time, with the music blaring, Ray did not appear to notice anything. His thick fingers tapped on the wheel in time with the radio as he whistled along, and she sensed a subdued excitement in him, as palpable as his Old Spice aftershave. Seconds later, a cell phone in Ray's pocket rang and Paisley almost jumped of her seat.

Ray reached into his shirt pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and swore under his breath. He switched off the radio. Silence settled over the car's interior like a blanket, making his voice seem all the louder by contrast. "Hello there, I was going to call you, but…." He paused and listened for a moment, then grunted. "No, no, don't worry, I'm sure everything will be okay." He fell silent, listening to a faint, squawk emitting from the receiver. "Uh huh. Uh huh. Seriously, it'll be fine. Trust me."

He snapped off the phone and put it in his pocket and stared into the darkness ahead of them. In the weird light of the dashboard, his rugged face appeared to struggle with different conflicting emotions, and for a moment she thought he had forgotten her. She pondered the fact that he had just contradicted what he had told her earlier about Kevin's chances.

"Was that Steve?" she asked.

His voice was gruff. "The rescuers called him before I had a chance to. Poor guy, I knew he'd be cut up when he heard the news. I didn't have the nerve to tell him the truth."

She felt raps between her shoulder-blades again. Three quick, three slow, three quick. She didn't need to know Morse Code to understand what they meant.

Outside, it was pitch dark outside except for a sprinkling of stars and the bright moon. She was convinced now they were not heading for a hospital, but deeper into the country. Fear squiggled inside her, like a worm, not just for herself, but for whomever it was tapping her seat behind her. "Ray." She made her voice as firm as she could. "Please take me home. Really, I insist. I feel fine."

"Sorry. Can't do that." Without warning, Ray twitched the wheel and the SUV lurched off the main road and bumped down a dirt path barely wide enough for the wheels. He must have known where the dirt road was, because it was virtually invisible. Outside the windows, she could see nothing but blackness; a cloud cover must have moved over the sky. The stars had disappeared.