That one had teeth and claws and spines. She didn't need to be a secret agent to see as much. "In California, we treat everybody pretty much the same way," she said carefully. "We try to, anyhow. It seems to work for us."
"And so you would be opposed to our forms of social control?" Senior Agent Jefferson pounced.
If she said no, he'd think she was lying. He'd be right, too. If she said yes, he'd think she was some kind of subversive. What to do? What to do? "Well, if I were black, I sure wouldn't want to live under them," she answered. "But that doesn't mean I want to pick up a gun and start shooting people."
"Would you give other people guns so they could pick them up and start shooting with them?" the VBI man asked.
"No!" There was real horror in her voice, horror and terror enough to make all three agents blink. Tyler stepped back a pace. They didn't know—she hoped to heaven they didn't know—about Uncle Luke and about the rifles she'd helped smuggle into Virginia.
The agents put their heads together. They plainly believed her. How could they not believe her after she let out a yelp like that? If they did believe her, they also had to believe she had nothing to do with the assault rifle poor Charlie Clark was carrying when lightning and the toppling tree did him in.
"Why were you up on Jephany Knob when you discovered the dead man's body?" Agent Madison asked.
"It felt nice to get out and about. It felt nice to be able to get out and about," Beckie said. "We'd had two days of thunderstorms like you wouldn't believe—like I wouldn't believe, anyway. We don't get that kind of weather in Los Angeles."
"You were with"—Madison paused to check his notes— "Justin Monroe on the knob. What is your relationship with Justin Monroe?"
"We're friends," Beckie said.
"Are you . . . more than friends?"
"No," she said. "We both got stuck here in Elizabeth. Gran and I couldn't get out after the war started, and he and his uncle couldn't leave after the disease broke out." Justin and Mr. Brooks had been exposed to it, too. She tried not to think about that, because it might mean she'd also been exposed.
"Why did you make friends with him and not with some of the young men from Elizabeth?" Madison asked. "And how did it happen that two strangers found the body, not any of the locals?"
"He's been over here a lot because his uncle does business with Mr. Snodgrass," Beckie answered. "He's nice enough, and he's from a city, too. We have more in common than I do with people in Elizabeth." She had less in common with people from Elizabeth than she did with anyone this side of men from the moon, but she didn't want to say that.
Agent Madison was stubborn. "You only answered the first half of my question," he reminded her.
"Oh. Why were we the ones who found the body? I don't know what to tell you. Dumb luck is the only thing I can think of. It wasn't good luck, either."
"We think it was," Senior Agent Jefferson said. "It shows that treason has reached even out-of-the-way places like this. Treason is a disease worse than the one Ohio turned loose on us, but we'll fix it." He sounded grim and determined. But then he eased—just a little. "I don't believe you were personally involved in it, even if you are from California. Thank you for your time." He and the other two agents left.
Even if you are from California. They assumed she was a radical just because she'd grown up in L.A. By their standards, they were right, too. California and Virginia weren't only two different states. They were two different worlds. But she was stuck in this one now, no matter how much she wished she weren't. She'd got through this first grilling. What was coming up next?
In movies and on TV, the knock on the door always came in the middle of the night. Justin and Mr. Brooks were getting ready to go the the grocery when it came in Elizabeth. They both jumped. They weren't used to company in their motel room.
Justin was closer to the door, so he opened it. He didn't expect to see three somber men in this alternate's somber business suits. "Who are you?" he said foolishly.
"Senior Agent Jefferson, VBI." The one in the middle flashed a gold badge. "With me are Agents Tyler and Madison." The other two men showed silver badges. Jefferson went on, "You would be Justin Monroe, correct?"
"That's right."
"And your uncle is Randolph Brooks? Is he here now?"
"I'm here," Mr. Brooks said from behind Justin. "What's this all about?"
"We have some questions for your nephew, Mr. Brooks, regarding his discovery of the body of Charles Clark," Jefferson answered. He gave his attention back to Justin. "May I see your identification, please?"
They were in a state called Virginia. It was a democracy of sorts. They spoke an English not much different from that of the home timeline. Even so, Justin couldn't tell them to get lost, not unless he wanted to see the inside of a cell in nothing flat. He'd already found that his forged documents were good enough to pass muster. All the same, his heart thumped as he handed them over. Senior Agent Jefferson examined them with a lens and with an electronic gadget, then nodded and passed them back. Justin tried not to show how relieved he was as he stuck them in his wallet and put the wallet in his pocket.
"Thank you," Jefferson said, plainly not meaning it in the least. "Please describe how you found Charles Clark's body. You were not alone on Jephany Knob when you did—is that correct?"
"Yes, uh, sir," Justin answered. Jefferson had to know that. He would have talked with Sheriff Cochrane. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be in Elizabeth at all. Had he already talked to Beckie? Justin wouldn't have been surprised. He said, "Do you people want to come in instead of standing in the doorway?"
"Thank you," the senior agent said again, this time with a little more warmth in his voice. The three VBI men walked into the motel room and sat down on the ratty couch. Without missing a beat, Jefferson continued, "Who was with you?"
"Beckie Royer," Justin said.
"From California." That was Agent Tyler. In the home timeline, people from states like Virginia sometimes looked down their noses at Californians—and vice versa. It seemed all the more true here, where the two states really were separate countries instead of just acting that way.
Justin only nodded. He couldn't very well deny that Beckie was from California. "Nice-looking girl," Agent Madison remarked, as if cutting him some slack. He nodded again. Madison asked, "Why did you go up onto the knob?"
"Just to have something to do. It was nice to get out after the rain." Justin made a face. "If I knew we'd find a body up there, we would have gone somewhere else, believe me."
He got a thin smile from Madison, a stony stare from Jefferson, and a dirty look from Tyler. "How did you find the body?"
"We smelled it." Justin would never forget that odor for the rest of his life. "He must have been dead a couple of days by then. The smell led me to the body, and I saw the gun by it. That's when I called the sheriff." They couldn't think there was anything wrong with that. . . could they?
"You were not on Jephany Knob while the thunderstorm was at its peak?" Senior Agent Jefferson asked.
"You'd have to be nuts to go up there then," Justin said. "It wasn't just raining cats and dogs—it was raining cougars and wolves."
That got him another smile from Agent Madison. But Agent Tyler said, "Clark didn't care about the weather."
"No, sir," Justin agreed, "but he should have, shouldn't he?"
The VBI men only grunted. In the background, Mr. Brooks coughed once or twice. Justin supposed that meant he shouldn't rattle the agents' cages. Part of him knew the coin and stamp dealer was giving him good advice. Part of him insisted their cages needed rattling—after all, they were trying to rattle his.