He’d gotten a feeling, weeks ago, when he first saw those sharp, spiky teeth pointing straight up into the air, that the sculpture was missing something. It lacked that extra little thing, some color, some interest, that would really make it pop.
It was perfect, now.
The gophers were eating the Asiatic lilies again. He was going to have to rotate the bulbs to another field. The idea exhausted him.
Jack rocked back on his heels and stared at the big, spotted orange lilies, struggling to remember what the fuck he was doing. Bucket. Lilies. Clippers, in his hand. Yes, it would seem that he was cutting them. Then, haul them to the cooler. Before dawn, he had to drive them into Portland.
He grabbed the bucket, pushed his way listlessly through the towering stalks of Aconitum columbianum. The royal blue blossoms were about to open. The vivid pink of the Campanula medium hurt his eyes. The Penstemon azureus was about ready. And the Crocosmia ‘Lucifer.’ The gladioli, too. He was behind. Slacking off. He’d been too busy rolling around in bed to keep up with his flowers. He was going to lose money if he didn’t haul ass. That idea exhausted him even more.
He hauled the bucket across the field and squatted in front of the Physostegia, staring stupidly at the white blossoms. Snip. Put the cut stalk upright into the bucket. Mind on what he was doing. Second by second. Better to get used to it all at once. Much better than to get attached just to have it ripped away again. He’d be okay. He always was.
But she was everywhere. The cosmos flower reminded him of her posture. Colored yarrow, crimson bee balm made him think of her hair, her lips. His bed seemed as wide as a football field without her curled up in it. And her freckles. Faint constellations on her shoulders and throat. He knew them the way an astronomer knew the night sky.
He stared at a ladybug that was clambering into the glowing white cavity of a half-open Physostegia blossom, and thought of her skin, her throat. Her red hair, vivid against his pillows.
He’d never even told her he loved her. Didn’t want to confuse things, complicate things.
It was raining. He’d hunkered on his haunches so long, his feet had fallen asleep. He staggered to a tree and leaned against it, waiting for the pins and needles to die down. Rain pattering on the pine needles reminded him of the first time he’d seen her. The way her shirt clung.
He picked up the bucket and slogged toward the house, with the vague notion of making coffee, maybe some lunch, though it was late for lunch. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast. He’d have coffee. See if there was anything edible in the fridge. Didn’t really care if there wasn’t.
In his kitchen, he was as confused and slow as he had been in the field. Coffee. He unscrewed the pot, moving like an arthritic old man. Grabbed the half-and-half out of the fridge. The carton was empty.
He stared at it, wondering what he must have been thinking, putting an empty carton back into the fridge. So, he’d drink it black.
It took a long time to realize that the phone was ringing. Even longer to decide whether or not he cared enough to answer it. Whoever was calling was stubborn to the point of insanity. His brain kept count. Twenty-two rings, twenty-three, twenty-four.
Blessed silence. He’d just breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back down again when the fucking thing began to ring again. Jack jerked to his feet with a filthy epithet, and grabbed the thing off the wall. “Yeah! Who the hell is this?”
There was a nervous pause. “Uh, this is Rafael Siebling. Is Vivi there? Because I really need to—”
“No, she’s not here, and she’s not going to be in the future. Delete this number from your phone, and call her fucking cell.”
He slammed the phone down, suppressing a twinge of guilt at having been needlessly rude. The guilt evaporated in an instant when the phone rang again. He snatched it up. “What?” he bellowed.
“I will overlook what an asshole you are because this is so important,” Rafael said, his voice frigid. “I have to talk to Vivi, and I—”
“I told you! She’s moved out! Call her cell!”
“I did, you cretin!” Rafael yelled back. “Her cell’s not working! And I have to get in touch with her, like, now! It’s a matter of life or death!”
Jack finally registered the fear in the man’s voice. Life or death? A chill gripped him. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Well, since you’re so monumentally uninterested in anything having to do with Vivi, I won’t bore you with—”
“Cut the shit.” Jack’s voice slashed across the other man’s nervous bitching. “Just tell me.”
“It’s a creepy coincidence.” The other man’s voice shook. “I went to an opening at Brian Wilder’s gallery last night. The man is evil incarnate, but I thought it would be fun to do a little networking at Wilder’s expense and let that nasty dickhead know that Vivi’s happy and thriving, since he tried so hard to destroy her. But of course he didn’t succeed, because she’s a goddess with more talent in her pinkie than—”
“And the creepy coincidence?” Jack’s guts twisted nastily.
“It’s horrible.” Rafael’s voice rose in pitch. “The prick deserved it, if anyone ever could, but even so, it gives me the shudders that I was actually talking to him just hours before it happened, and he just—”
“What happened to him?” Jack bellowed.
“He…well, his assistant found him this morning. Impaled on the spikes of a big Waylan Winthrop bronze sculpture, like a hot dog on a stick. They say the sculpture was completely drenched with blood. Wilder’s assistant is in the hospital, having a total breakdown.”
Jack’s body was electrified with fear. Thrumming with the excess voltage. “And Vivi won’t answer her cell?”
“I’ve been calling for over an hour. As soon as I found out.”
Jack ran it through his head. “Did you tell Wilder where Viv was?”
“I did mention that I saw her at a concert in Pebble River night before last,” Rafael faltered. “And…but why should that…” His voice choked off for a moment. He gasped. “Oh, my God,” he whispered. “Oh, my sweet God. What the fuck is going on?”
“Are you at home now?” Jack demanded.
“No, actually. I left this morning to meet a friend up in East Hampton. Why?”
“Don’t go home,” Jack said. “Under any circumstances.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Rafael moaned. “What have I done? What in holy hell is she mixed up in?”
“It’s bad,” Jack said. “But it’s not her fault. And you’re mixed up in it, too, so watch yourself. I have to go.”
“But I…but no! Wait! Tell me what this is all—”
“I have to go find Viv. If they knew where she was late last night, they could be here by now. Or they could call someone in the area. Call this number.” He rattled off Duncan’s cell to the other man. “That’s Viv’s future brother-in-law. He knows everything. He’ll tell you what to do. Do not go home. You got that straight?”
“Got it,” Rafael echoed faintly.
“Good.” Jack hung up on him and dialed Vivi’s cell from his landline. The recording told him it was turned off or out of area.
The stench of burning rubber assailed his nose as he sprinted through the room. The coffee had all boiled away, and the heat had melted the rubber ring while he was on the phone.
He flipped off the gas, on the fly, and bolted toward his gun safe.
Vivi locked up her shop and headed toward her van. She’d finished painting the place, finally, and she was a rumpled, snarled, ivory-spattered mess. She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she started up the ignition, and winced. Yikes. Eyes red and puffy, face paper white, mouth blurry-looking. But who cared how she looked?
She pointed the van in the direction of Evergreen Acres. She’d asked around yesterday, and that was the one place she could afford that would accept her dog. It also bordered on a creek and had a little forested area nearby for Edna to run and catch sticks and do her doggie business. The downside was, it was a pathetic dump. It was clear that the creek had overflowed its bounds and flooded the rental units more than once. The number of discolored waterlines and the rotting carpet were her clues. And the overwhelming stench of mold, of course.