F is for Fugitive

"Oh yeah. Rick wants to know if you've seen Cherie."

"Cherie? I don't think so." I figured she was on a bus to Los Angeles, but I didn't say that.

"She was supposed to go with us, but she went off to the store and hadn't come back by the time we left. You see her, tell her we're at the pool hall." He checked the rearview mirror. "I better get out of the way here before somebody plows into me. Why don't you stop by for a beer when you get done with your jog?"

"I'll do that. Thanks."

Pearl pulled away and I began to trot. As soon as the truck was out of sight, I crossed the ditch and hopped over the wire fence. I climbed straight up, heading for the cover of the trees. In two more minutes I had reached the crest and was peering down the slope toward the mineral springs hotel, half obscured in the eucalyptus grove.

The tennis courts were empty. From where I crouched, I couldn't see the swimming pool, but I was very much aware of the work crew: three men and a wood chipper just off to my right. I found a natural hideaway in the shadow of some rocks and settled in to wait. In the absence of people, reading matter, and ringing telephones, exhaustion crept over me and I sank into sleep.

The sun began to drop in the sky about four. It was technically winter, which, in California, means the perfect days are cut from fourteen hours to ten. In past years, February usually brought the rains, but that was changing of late. The hillside was quiet now, the work crew apparently gone. I scrambled out of my hiding place, reassured myself of some privacy, and peed in some bushes, taking care not to wet my good jogging shoes. My only objection to being female is that I can't pee standing up.

I took up a position where I could watch the hotel. An unmarked police car pulled into the parking lot at one point: Quintana and his partner on the move again. Or maybe Elva had filed a complaint. That'd be rich. Fifteen minutes later, they came out again and took off. As darkness gathered in the trees, a few lights came on. Finally, at seven, I began to traverse the hill, heading for the fire lane that cut across the top of the property. From there I could angle down to the hotel from the rear. I used my penlight sparingly, picking my way with care through heavy brush, twigs snapping underfoot. I was hoping the work crew had cleared a nice path for me, but they'd apparently been laboring farther down on the hill.

I stumbled onto the fire lane, a packed dirt road just wide enough to admit one vehicle. I moved to the left, trying to calculate where the hotel was in relation to me. The whole backside of the building was apparently dark, and it was tricky to calculate my exact location. I risked the pen-light. The shallow beam picked up an object looming in my path. I stopped dead. Ahead of me, nearly obscured by overhanging branches, was Shana's battered Plymouth.

24

I circled the car, which looked vaguely sinister on the path, like the hulking carcass of some inexplicable beast. All four tires were flat. Someone hadn't wanted Shana to go anywhere. I would almost have been willing to bet she was dead, that she'd arrived for her rendezvous with Dunne and had somehow never left. I lifted my head. The woods were chilly, smelling of leaf mold, damp mosses, and sulfur. The dark was intense, the night sounds eradicated, as if my very presence were a warning to the cicadas and tree frogs whose songs had been stilled. I didn't want to find her. I didn't want to look. Every bone in me was aching with the certainty that her body was here somewhere.

I could feel my stomach churn as I flashed the narrow beam from the penlight across the front seat of Shana's car. Nothing. I checked the backseat. Empty. I stared at the trunk lid. I didn't think my lock picks would work, so if the trunk was locked, I was going to have to go down to the office, break in, lift Shana's car keys from the lost-and-found box, and come back. I pressed the catch and the trunk swung open. Empty. I let out the breath I'd been holding unconsciously. I left the lid up, not wanting to risk the noise I'd make slamming it shut. "Sanctuary" had to be somewhere close.

I tried to picture the plot map for the spas in this area. I flashed the penlight across the close-growing shrubs, looking for a path. Foliage that appeared to be a vivid green by day now had the matte, washed-out look of construction paper. A set of packed dirt steps, shored up by railroad ties, descended through a gap in the bushes.

I went down. A rustic wood arrow indicated that "Aerie" was just off to my left. I passed "Haven" and "Tip Top." "Sanctuary" was the fourth hot tub from the summit. I remembered then that it was located at the end of a long, twisted path, with two smaller paths branching off it. The leaves underfoot were soggy and made scarcely any sound, but I noticed I was leaving marshy prints in my wake. When I reached "Sanctuary," I played the penlight across the ground. There were three cigarette butts trampled among the leaves. I hunkered down, bending close. Camel unfiltered. Shana's brand.