“Were you able to settle anything?” Estelle asked.
Parris shook his head. “No. In fact, I made matters worse, I suppose. She asked me how much I was willing to pay, and I hesitated. She interpreted that as reluctance on my part to provide for the child. I tried to explain to her that I simply have no funds of my own-nothing significant anyway. She didn’t accept that. I tried to explain that there might be some sort of diocesan help…scholarships, housing, maybe that sort of thing. She took offense at that, perhaps thinking that I wanted the child in someone else’s custody other than her own.”
“Did you?” I asked.
“No, of course not. A child should be with its mother if at all possible. But Cecilia became angry. We’d had this same conversation before, I suppose. I tried to reason with her, and she became angrier still. She could be a most vocal young woman.” Parris looked rueful. “As her voice raised, I tried to calm her, and that made her even angrier.”
He held up both hands. “I’m afraid I made a stupid mistake. Thinking that she might react positively to a show of strength on my part, I reached out and held her by the elbow. I told her that if she really cared about the child, she wouldn’t leave Daisy out in the forest while she walks here and there late at night along a busy highway.
“I offered to drive her up to the hot springs. She retorted that I was last person she wanted to be seen with and that she’d walk wherever and whenever she pleased.” Parris shrugged. “It was one of those verbal fights that just…well, nobody wins.”
Estelle asked, “Did it end there?”
“No,” Parris said. “By this time, we had moved from the garden where I’d first suggested that we talk out to the shoulder of the highway. There were several oncoming cars, and as if to spite me, she stuck out her thumb to hitch a ride. None of the traffic stopped, of course.” He looked down. “I wanted nothing more than to jump into the underbrush along the road and hide.” He looked at me and smiled slightly. “I’m not much of a hero, am I?”
An appropriate philosophical reply didn’t materialize in my head, so I just shrugged.
Parris looked pained. “The next vehicle came around the corner almost immediately, and it did stop. It was the Ford pickup truck. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such panic because I could see, perfectly clearly, what would happen.” He stopped and both hands clutched the crucifix.
“A blue and white truck?” Estelle asked.
“Yes. I’ve seen it in the neighborhood on a number of occasions.”
“How many occupants?”
“There were at least four. Maybe five.” He hesitated. “Let me think.” After a moment he said, “Five. Two in the bed and three up in the cab. I knew from their behavior that they had been drinking.”
“What did they do?”
“They were loud and when the two in the back stood up to see why the truck had stopped, they could hardly keep their balance. The passenger on the window side held out a can toward Cecilia.”
“And she accepted a ride from them,” Estelle said, and I could see that she had finished the story for herself.
“I tried to prevent it; I really did. Cecilia stepped up on the back bumper, then over the tailgate, before I could reach her. She almost lost her balance, but one of the drunks helped her to the front of the truck bed. I reached the side of the truck and grabbed ahold, pleading with her to show some sense. The driver stepped on the gas hard just as one of them pushed me away. I thought for a moment I was going to be hit by the rear tire.”
“That’s when you sprained your ankle?” I asked, but Parris shook his head.
“No. They drove off, and I could see the truck weave this way and that. I was furious with myself and petrified for Cecilia. I pictured every tragedy that might happen except the one that did.
“I pictured the truck weaving off the highway and into the river. Or crashing head-on into someone else. The more I thought about it the worse I felt.
“Finally the obvious solution was the easiest one. I took the retreat’s station wagon and drove up the highway. I reached the campground and stopped. If they had let Cecilia off there, she would be walking up the trail to Finn’s campsite. So I parked and tried to find the trail. My flashlight wasn’t very good, but eventually I found the path and the Forest Service signs.”
I reflected that while Parris was stumbling around among the ponderosas, I had been snoring away in the Blazer, right there in the parking lot. He would have had to walk within a dozen paces of me. That was another reason to give up on the damn exercise routine. If I hadn’t taken the hike earlier, I would probably have been lying in the Blazer, eyes open like a lemur, insomnia in control. I’d missed a chance.
“I found the camp,” Parris said. “And Cecilia wasn’t there. Both Finn and the boy who stays with him were. Finn told me that Daisy was asleep in the tent. I told him what had happened.”
“What was his reaction?” Estelle asked.
“I’m not sure. It was dark and other than the camp fire and my flashlight, there wasn’t much light to see by. He told me that she probably was up the canyon, maybe at one of the other campgrounds, partying…that she’d be all right…that she could take care of herself.”
“Did you give Finn a description of the truck?”
Parris frowned. “Not a description. Not like you would. But I told him who I thought it was.”
“Who do you think owns the truck?” I asked.
“I don’t know who owns it. But I’ve seen one of the Waquie boys driving it on occasion. And his father. The family are parish members.”
“And you mentioned the name to Finn?” Estelle asked.
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“Finn offered me a cup of coffee. He had a pot on the fire.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t discuss Daisy with him?” I asked.
“No. I have to admit, Sheriff, that Finn makes me uneasy. Cecilia had mentioned at one time that Finn was a minister of some sort. I’ve only met him twice-that night was the second time. Both times, he looked at me…and my Roman collar…as if I were something of a joke.” Parris managed a wan smile. “I know I’ve got an active imagination. But that’s the impression I got.”
He looked up at the ceiling, using a dramatic pause like a good storyteller does when he’s organizing his thoughts.
“But I found myself thinking that if I accepted a cup of coffee, that might somehow bring the two of us-Finn and me-a little closer, and I’d be able to talk with him.”
“But that wasn’t the case,” I said.
“No. In fact, he handed me the cup and then went into the tent. So did the boy. Without a word. I stayed by the fire a few minutes, and when it was obvious that our conversation was over I left. Just a moment or two after the boy did.”
“Arajanian left?”
“Is that his name? Yes. He and Finn talked a little when they came out of the tent, and then the boy left. He went down the hill. Finn went back in the tent.”
“You didn’t go with him?”
Parris shook his head. “No. And I could never have kept up with him anyway. He ran.” Parris shook his head. “Like a ghost. He didn’t even use a light.”
I could feel Estelle looking at me and when I glanced at her, I could see that her face was set like stone.
When she spoke, her voice was so low I could hardly hear her. “When you left, Finn was still in camp?”
Parris nodded.
“And then you walked back to your station wagon in the campground.”
“Yes. It took me nearly an hour. I fell hard, just above the fork in the trail. I thought I had broken my ankle.” He rubbed his sock. “But it’s just a bad sprain.”