I showered. I dressed. I ate my bowl of cereal. I drank two cups of coffee, which woke me up as I’d hoped, but also fed my apprehension. I felt heavy and full of dread, little flickers of fear like heat lightning dancing along my spine. Celeste’s plane got in at 1:15. Just to be on the safe side, I’d leave for the airport at 12:30, which meant I had roughly three hours to kill. I went next door to Henry’s, where the back door was open and the screen unhooked. I could smell freshly baked cinnamon rolls. I tapped and he told me to come on in. Anna was sitting at his kitchen table, which was taken up with two sheet pans onto which she was dolloping cookie dough with a small ice cream scoop. Now that I knew she was pregnant, she seemed Madonna-like, bathed in serenity. It had been two weeks since her condition was made known and already she seemed rounded and ripe, her skin aglow.
Henry sliced the crusts from a loaf of white bread and he had a bowl of egg salad at the ready. He’d already prepared small homemade buns with butter and country ham, small leaves of baby endive with a dab of blue cheese at the tip of each. There were six trays of finger sandwiches covered in Saran wrap. Peering closely, I could identify anchovy butter and radishes, thinly sliced cucumber with cream cheese, sharp cheddar and chutney—all specialties of his. He’d arranged cupcakes, petit fours, and tiny cream puffs on three silver platters, again protected from the drying air with clear plastic wrap.
“I’m catering a tea party for Moza Lowenstein,” he said in answer to my unspoken question.
Anna said, “I’m invited because I live there. Now that I have a little peanut on board, I’m ravenous. I eat everything, all the time. I can’t stop myself. You want to see a picture?”
“Sure.”
She took a 4-by-6 black-and-white photo out of her pocket. The image was fuzzy and looked like somebody had been making snow angels in the background. In the center of this colorless world, there was a creature that might have been left behind by an alien spacecraft: big head, body curved in a soft C, thin limbs, transparent skin, tethered in place by a gray rope.
“You’ve decided to keep the little tyke,” I said.
“Well, I don’t know about that. I’ve decided to see this through and hope for the best.”
I said, “I’m operating on the same plan. Are we screwed or what?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Just as well. May I have a cinnamon roll?”
“Help yourself,” Henry said. “There’s still coffee if you’d like.”
“Why not? I’m a nervous wreck anyway.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s over with.” I crossed to the coffeepot, took a mug down, and filled it. “What time’s the tea party?”
“Four. If I know Moza, she’ll bring out the cooking sherry and the ladies will go on until the wee hours.”
“No husbands to feed?”
“These are widows. They all have little dogs that they bring in their purses, with tiny cans of dog food. One has trained her pup to do its business on indoor potty pads with fake grass so she doesn’t even have to take him outdoors. She just folds up the mat, seals it in a gallon-sized plastic bag, and she’s good.”
“These can go in,” Anna said.
Henry opened the oven door, reached over, picked up the two trays of raw cookie dough, and slid them in. He set a timer and went back to his finger sandwiches.
I said, “I’m surprised Pearl’s not here.”
“One of her homies thought he saw Ned Lowe and they’ve gone off on the hunt.”
“Well, I hope she uses good sense. She has no clue how dangerous he is.” I finished my coffee and put the mug in the dishwasher. “You need help?”
“We’re covered here, but thanks.”
“I’m going to try to find something useful to do.”
I let myself out and returned to the studio. I made a trip to the supermarket, where I stocked up on life’s essentials, toilet paper being primary. Home again, I unloaded my bags and put everything away. I’d used up forty-two minutes, during which I’d gone from being worried to being bored. I lay down on the couch with a paperback mystery and read until I fell asleep two paragraphs later. I woke at 12:25, which I took as a good omen since it allowed me just enough time to brush my teeth, avail myself of the facilities, and head out to Colgate.
The Santa Teresa Municipal Airport was built in the 1940s and most nearly resembles a modest hacienda, complete with stucco exterior, red-tile roof, and magenta bougainvillea. The baggage claim area looks like a carport affixed to one end. There’s a coffee shop on the second floor, and a grassy courtyard below surrounded by a glass-topped wall so that you can watch planes take off and land. I positioned myself twenty feet from the main entrance, in full view of five of the six gates.
Within minutes, I saw a little commuter plane wobbling toward earth in the final moments of its descent. I knew from previous flights that the landing would have a rocky start, with the ups and downs of a roller coaster, passengers fingering their rosaries and trying not to scream. The wheels touching down would chirp like sneakers on hardwood flooring.
Passengers began to trickle into the terminal, some with rolling suitcases trailing behind, some on their way to baggage claim. Celeste was one of the last to emerge. I’d assured her that I’d recognize her, but I hadn’t been entirely certain. I’d met her once six months before and most of the image I retained consisted of an oval face, pale hair, and dark eyes. Also, the demeanor of a prisoner of war recently released from captivity. Life with Ned Lowe had deadened her. At the time I encountered her, she’d reduced her personality to a shadow as flat as a photo mounted on a piece of cardboard. Anything more animated would attract Ned’s attention and, shortly after that, his ire.
Celeste spotted me and raised a hand in greeting. She looked like she’d been rehydrated, her exterior plumped up by confidence. Hers wasn’t a type A personality, so she’d never be a firebrand, but she moved as though a spark had fanned to life in her. She wore a lightweight brown tweed coat. She carried a briefcase and had a purse hooked over one shoulder with a leather strap.
“Hey, how are you?” I asked, holding out my hand for her to shake. I’d avoided the use of her name, still censoring myself lest Ned picked up a faint whiff of her presence in town. “You have luggage?”
“Just this,” she said, indicating the briefcase.
“Have you had lunch?”
“Maybe afterward. I’m nervous.”
“Me, too.”
As we proceeded to my car in the short-term parking lot, both of us scanned the area for signs of Ned.
“I really don’t think he can get to us,” I said.
“Are you armed, by any chance?”
I shook my head. “My H&K is locked away at home. If I’d thought about it, I’d have carried it. Last contact I had with him, I fired off three rounds. If my line of sight had been better, I’d have crippled him for life.”
“You shot him?”
“Nicked is more like it. His hip or his thigh, but whichever it was, it made him howl. Later, he used the keys he’d stolen from Phyllis to let himself back into her condominium. He applied first aid, leaving behind bandages that suggested a festering wound.”
“Love it. I am so proud of you,” she said.