We had come to a flashing yellow light, a plywood fruit stand on one corner, a Hess station straight ahead. The windows and gas pumps created a circle of neon in an area where citrus grew on both sides of the road, no streetlights for miles in either direction.
“The local hangout,” Birdy said, referring to a couple of men talking across the bed of a pickup and kids sitting beneath a Florida Lottery sign, their bikes parked near a coil of air hose. She downshifted and turned east before answering, “I think Gail’s too smart to be dealing in bad shit when she’s working for the same people who would arrest her.”
The GPS prompted me to say, “Maybe that’s something you should think about before we do any trespassing.” Our destination was less than a mile away, and it was only eight-thirty. Traffic was spotty-trucks hauling sugarcane and citrus, mostly-but still there were people around who might notice two women in a sporty white Beamer.
The deputy was unfazed. “She sure clammed up when I mentioned Ransler’s name. Said we’d have to talk in private. You know… very careful about her wording. Scared? Yeah, I really think she is.”
“But nothing bad about Joel personally,” I said.
Tupplemeyer liked energy drinks-Lord knows why she would add fuel to the fire but she did-and had opened a fresh can when we’d stopped to put the car’s top up. She took a gulp now and glanced at me, her expression serious. “The dumbest thing two friends can do is pass along third-party information-especially when it comes from a mutual friend. It’s the sort of bullshit I hate.”
I replied, “After you’ve told me what’s on your mind, we should discuss your caffeine intake.” The way the woman’s attention bounced around, I had no idea what she was talking about.
Birdy took another drink and muttered, “Damn it,” as if chastising herself, then said, “There’s a reason I was pushing you to date this guy Ransler. Not just him-I meant it generally speaking. You’re not engaged, you should date. That’s all I meant.”
At that instant, I realized the obvious: Birdy and Tomlinson had discussed Marion Ford during her night at Dinkin’s Bay yet she continued to dismiss him as if he were an object blocking my way to freedom. A warning light went off in my head. “Before we go any further,” I told her, “how drunk or stoned was Tomlinson? And what, exactly, did he say?”
The deputy sighed. “Smithie, I’ll never do this again. Seriously, I feel like we could be really good friends and I don’t want that ruined because I stupidly-”
“Just tell me what he said,” I interrupted. Unconsciously, I had stretched my legs out as if preparing myself for a crash.
The crash came, but it wasn’t as bad as I feared.
“Tomlinson raved about your guy. Respect, integrity, smart, and he’s nice to old ladies-all the things you want to hear about a man but almost never do, even from his friends. A little straitlaced, maybe, yet open-minded. But then he let something slip that I should have told you right off the bat. What Tomlinson said was, ‘Doc will never settle down with one woman.’ No…” Birdy touched a finger to her lips, trying to remember. “No, his almost exact words were, ‘Doc won’t let a woman get close enough to hurt herself. That’s why he’ll never settle down.’ Tomlinson says he’s got a bad case of Hannah fever. That’s how we got on the subject.”
“Tomlinson said Doc’s got a bad case of me,” I repeated, wanting to hear it again but also to be sure of her meaning.
“Of course. We’re lying there naked, you think Tomlinson’s going to ruin his shot at an encore by admitting he has a thing for another woman?”
I’d been holding my breath, I realized. I let it out. “That’s it?”
“The man’s best friend says he’s never going to settle down with one woman, how bad you want it to be? That’s the reason I was hinting around you should go out for dinner if you’re asked.”
I felt around until I found the right button, lowered my window, then took Birdy’s energy drink from its holder.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Pouring it out,” I said, and I did. When the window was closed, I placed the can behind the seat. “We can stop and have a glass of wine later, but no more speed drinks for you. Doc’s been careful in his life about making a commitment? I don’t consider that bad news. He cares about a woman’s feelings. I think it’s sweet.”
“Sweet? Well, if you say so. Anyhow, I won’t push you about the good-looking attorney-not after what Gail said.”
I would have picked up on the remark, but was in the middle of explaining I’d expected her to say something shocking-that Ford had a terminal illness or he was living a secret life-when I saw a patch of cleared land flash by on our left. Was it the spot we had come to search? Yes, because ahead was a lighted sign so small, it encouraged anonymity rather than advertise the cluster of buildings inside the gate.
Sematee Evaluation and Treatment Clinic
“I didn’t see the church, but we had to have passed it,” Birdy said, checking the mirror. “We’ll do a U-ee at the next road.”
It gave me time to ask what exactly had her friend Gail said about Joel.
“What she told me was, ‘Don’t go out with the guy until you talk to me first.’ I didn’t get the impression it was because of his nickname. Something more serious. Doesn’t sound good, does it?”
We had turned around and were passing the clinic again, but at seventy miles an hour the only notable details were a chain-link fence, an electronic gate, and security lights way back in the trees. Something else I noted was an eighteen-wheeler, its cab lit up like a Ferris wheel, coming from the opposite direction a quarter mile away.
I had started to reassure my friend by saying, “I wouldn’t have gone out with Joel anyway unless-” And that’s as far as I got. From the corner of my eye, I saw something leap from the ditch and try to sprint across the road but then freeze as if surprised by the dazzling glare of the BMW’s headlights-or the headlights of the eighteen-wheeler.
It was a person, I realized… a woman dressed in yellow, her eyes huge behind the two pale arms that she threw up to protect herself.
Birdy jerked the wheel to the right, yelling, “Hang on!” then I felt a sickening thud as the woman hurled herself at the windshield and the car skidded off the asphalt.
20
My fishing clients are amused when I tell them I’ve never seen snow but plan to one day visit a mountain resort where people wear sweaters and sit by the fire when they are not skiing S-turns down a snowy slope.
Skiing down an asphalt straightaway-that was the sensation in my stomach when the BMW went into a skid after hitting loose gravel at the side of the road. I’m sure Birdy took her foot off the accelerator, yet the car seemed to go faster when she corrected the skid by yanking the wheel to the left, which only vaulted us into the path of the eighteen-wheeler. The truck protested with a diesel bellow and flooded our windshield with lights until Birdy fishtailed us to the right. We went off the road again and hit more gravel while the truck went speeding past, but Birdy didn’t overcorrect this time. She kept the steering wheel straight and allowed the shoulder of the road to punish the little sports car until we had banged to a stop.
“Jesus Christ, that was close!” Birdy whispered, then put her face in her hands.
I swung around in my seat and watched the eighteen-wheeler’s brakes flare as the driver slowed, probably using his mirrors to confirm we hadn’t crashed, and then went speeding on. To the west, a wafer of moon provided light, but all I saw was the truck and empty asphalt. No sign of the woman who had leaped in front of us.