a short time. He had waited around long enough to let his mother and her husband enjoy their last meal. After all, even guys on death row got to have that. Then, just after eight-thirty, he had walked up and found his mother and her husband sitting there enjoying their oddball evening tete-a-tete. He hadn’t said anything. He didn’t have to.
Startled, she had looked at him as soon as he stepped into the circle of light. There had been a gasp of recognition. Then, smiling, she had stood up and taken two steps toward him, holding out both of her hands in greeting-like she was surprised but glad to see him. Like she was actually welcoming him! How dare she!
“Why, Jonathan,” she had said. “However did you find us way out here?” Then she had turned to her husband, to Jack. “No, wait,” she said to him. “You did this, didn’t you? It’s the rest of the surprise!”
Surprise my ass! Jonathan had thought. He had answered that phony smile of hers just the way he had intended to-with a nine-millimeter slug right in the middle of her forehead. The sling on his arm had half concealed the weapon, so she had never seen it coming. She was still smiling that sappy, stupid smile of hers as she went down, knocking over the chair she had been sitting on and taking the cloth-covered table with her as she fell. He saw the glassware and dishes tumble off the table and shatter, but he didn’t hear them.
“What the hell…?” Jack had roared.
Jonathan heard that even as the gunshot reverberated in his ears. Bent on fighting back, the old man had erupted out of his seat, but then Jonathan shot him, too. He liked doing it just that way-two shots and two kills, no wasted bullets.
For a time-a few seconds, anyway-he had stood there examining the scene and enjoying the moment. He had done what he had set out to do. He felt no regret, only a sense of accomplishment. He had put the witch down; both witches, as a matter of fact. Two women who had made his life hell on earth. Now they had both paid the price for every unkind word and every slight. They were gone. Done.
He smelled smoke. One of the fallen candles had set fire to the tablecloth. The last thing he needed was for a brush fire to attract attention. Quickly he stomped the fire out before it could spread. But then, to his horror, Jonathan heard the sound of voices, a man and a woman talking and laughing and coming closer.
He realized that while his ears were out of commission from the gunshots, a vehicle must have arrived without him noticing. Whose was it? Who was coming and what were they doing here? Surely no one else had been invited to Jack and Abby’s little party. The table had been set for two. There had been only the two chairs.
Jonathan moved to the middle of the luminarias’ path and stood there waiting for the new arrivals to round the curve. At last a couple, an Indian man and woman, appeared in front of him. The man was leading the way while the woman followed.
The man stopped, looked questioningly at Jonathan, and frowned. “Who are you?” he asked. “Where’s Jack?”
As far as Jonathan was concerned, the two of them had no business being there, but what was he supposed to do, let them go? Let them turn around and walk away? Like that was going to happen!
So he shot them, too, one after the other. He hit the man full-on. The woman turned and tried to run but he shot her in the back. As they went down, just like that, Jonathan was thankful for all the hours and weeks he had spent shooting at the target range. This was the payoff.
He stood for a while after that with his heart pounding. For some reason, shooting the two strangers seemed far worse than shooting his own mother. After all, she deserved it. They did not, but in realizing the enormity of what he had done, a certain level of self-preservation kicked in as well. He needed to do something that would throw the investigation off his trail long enough for him to get over the border and into the interior of Mexico. If he could make it that far and connect up with the money he had sent on ahead, he’d be fine.
He needed to do something that would make this incident look like something other than what it was. When he saw his mother’s purse, it came to him. Robbery. That should do the trick.
Jonathan had had the foresight to bring along some latex gloves. Donning a pair, he walked to the bodies one by one. Carrying his weapon in one hand in case anyone else showed up, he collected his mother’s purse and the men’s wallets. Just for good measure, he took their jewelry and cell phones as well. Jack’s simple gold wedding band wasn’t impressive, and neither was the small diamond on his mother’s finger. Ditto went for the Indian guy’s immense turquoise ring and the engagement ring, still in a jeweler’s box in his jeans. Taken together, the whole stack didn’t amount to much, but he pocketed it all.
When he reached the Indian woman, she wasn’t quite dead. “Help me,” she moaned. “Please.”
Jonathan thought about putting her out of her misery with another bullet to her head, just to end her suffering, but he decided against it. If someone had heard the shots earlier, they might still be listening and trying to decide where they were coming from. He couldn’t risk another. Besides, it was a shame to waste a bullet if he didn’t have to.
Like his mother, the Indian woman had carried her purse with her when she got out of the car-even in the middle of the desert.
Why do women do that? Jonathan had wondered as he leaned down to pick it up.
He stood in front of Jack Tennant’s Lexus and sorted through the purses and wallets. Then, leaving the empty husks of belongings behind, he walked away. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t need to hurry. They were dead. They weren’t going anywhere. With any kind of luck it would be hours or even days before someone found them.
Once in his own vehicle, Jonathan drove back out to the road, where he was relieved to see no oncoming traffic visible in either direction. He had been holding his breath as he approached the highway. Now he let it go. When he breathed back in, even he couldn’t ignore the rank stench in the minivan. He had practically lived it in for days, waking and sleeping. The floorboards were covered with the empty wrappers and boxes and cups of the fast food that had sustained him during this long hunting excursion. Now that it was over, however, he needed to find a room, get himself cleaned up, and then make his getaway. He rolled down the window and let in some of the chill night air.
There was still nothing from Thousand Oaks. The story he had spun about taking his family on vacation must have worked. Must still be working.
Once Jonathan managed to get across the border, he figured he’d be home free.
Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona
Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:30 a.m.
67? Fahrenheit
By the time Dan saw Angie again, she had been changed into a hospital gown and settled in a bed. The bedside tray had been stocked with food-cheese and crackers, tapioca pudding, and a dish full of cubes of red Jell- O-the kind Dan had always tried to stick to the ceiling in the school cafeteria. Bozo might have been the current family clown, but he certainly wasn’t the only one.
As Dan watched Angie mow her way through the food, he realized that he had skipped his ham sandwich. As a consequence, so had Bozo.
“Is that any good?” he asked.
Angie looked at him, smiled, nodded, and popped another Jell-O cube into her mouth. “Where’s my mommy?” she asked.
Dan had lied to her before and let her believe the less hurtful fiction that her mother was still sleeping. It seemed to Dan that someone else should be the one to give Angie Enos the bad news-the definitive, once-and-for- all answer about what had happened to her mother. Dan was a complete stranger-an innocent passerby. It wasn’t fair for that difficult job to be left up to him. Where were Angie’s grandparents? Shouldn’t they be the ones to do this? Or what about some beloved aunt or uncle? Shouldn’t someone with more of a claim on Angie and her future perform this difficult task?
But right then, at that precise moment in Angie’s hospital room, Daniel Pardee was the only person available.
He didn’t answer for several moments. How can I explain something like that? he wondered. What words can I use and how much will she be able to understand?
Dan had seen the information listed on Angie’s tribal enrollment card. Her birthday was in November. That made her four and a half years old. As far as he knew, the movie version of Bambi wasn’t shown in theaters anymore, but maybe Delphina had rented the video.
