“You can leave us alone,” Theresa said.
“I have to be here, Miss. Rules.” He had a moveable smile. Polite to her, hostile to Nagle.
Theresa hesitated, then focused on the writer. “Tell me what you were going to say in my backyard.
About Daniel Pell.”
“He’s staying in the Monterey area for some reason. The police can’t figure out why.”
“And he tried to kill the prosecutor who sent him to jail?”
“James Reynolds, that’s right.”
“He’s okay?”
“Yes. The policewoman I was telling you about saved him.”
“Who are you exactly?” she asked. Direct questions, unemotional.
“Your aunt didn’t tell you anything?”
“No.”
“I’ve been speaking to her for a month now about a book I wanted to write. About you.”
“Me? Like, why would you want to write that? I’m nobody interesting.”
“Oh, I think you are. I wanted to write about somebody who’s been hurt by something bad. How they were beforehand, how they are after. How their life changes—and how things might’ve gone without the crime.”
“No, my aunt didn’t tell me any of that.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“Yeah, I told her. She drove me here. She won’t let me have a driver’s license.”
She glanced up at the guard, then back to Nagle. “They didn’t want me to talk to you either, the police here. But there was nothing they could do about it.”
“Why did you come to see me, Theresa?” he asked.
“That policewoman you mentioned?”
Nagle was astonished. “You mean, it’s all right if she comes to see you?”
“No,” the girl said adamantly, shaking her head.
Nagle couldn’t blame her. “I understand. But—”
“I want to go seeher. ”
The writer wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “You want to what?”
“I want to go down to Monterey. Meet her in person.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
She nodded firmly. “Like, yeah, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
Which Nagle thought was as good a response as any.
“I’ll have my aunt drive me down there now.”
“She’ll do that?”
“Or I’ll take the bus. Or hitchhike. You can come with us.”
“Well, there’s one problem,” Nagle said.
The girl frowned.
He chuckled. “I’m in jail.”
She looked toward the guard, surprise in her eyes. “Didn’t you tell him?”
The guard shook his head.
Theresa said, “I bailed you out.”
“You?”
“My father was worth a lot of money.” She now gave a laugh, a small one, but genuine and from her heart. “I’m a rich girl.”
Chapter 44
Footsteps approaching.
The gun was in Daniel Pell’s hand instantly.
In the cheap hotel, its aroma air freshener and insecticide, he glanced outside, slipped the pistol back into his waistband, seeing that it was Jennie. He shut off the TV and opened the door. She stepped inside, carrying a heavy shopping bag. He took it from her and set it on the bedside table beside a clock alarm flashing12:00 .
“How’d it go, lovely? See any police?”
“None.” She pulled her cap off and rubbed her scalp. Pell kissed her head, smelled sweat and the sour scent of the dye.
Another glance out the window. After a long moment Daniel Pell came to a decision. “Let’s get out of here for a bit, lovely.”
“Outside? I thought you didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“Oh, I know a place. It’ll be safe.”
She kissed him. “Like we’re going on a date.”
“Like a date.”
They put their caps on and walked to the door. Her smile gone, Jennie paused and looked him over.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
“Sure am, lovely. Just that scare back at the motel. But everything’s fine now. Fine as could be.”
They drove along a complicated route of surface streets to a beach on the way to Big Sur, south of Carmel. Wooden walkways wound past rocks and dunes cordoned off with thin wires to protect the fragile environment. Sea otters and seals hovered in the raging surf and, at ebb, the tidal pools displayed whole universes in their saltwater prisms.
It was one of the most beautiful stretches of beach on the Central Coast.
And one of the most dangerous. Every year three or four people died here, wandering out onto the craggy rocks for photos, only to be swept breathlessly into the forty-five-degree water by a surprise wave. Hypothermia could kill, though most didn’t last that long. Usually the screaming victims were smashed on the rocks or drowned, tangled in the mazelike kelp beds.
Normally the place would be crowded, but now, with the day’s sweeping fog, wind and mist, the area was deserted. Daniel Pell and his lovely walked from the car down to the water. A gray wave exploded on rocks fifty feet away.
“Oh, it’s beautiful. But it’s cold. Put your arm around me.”
Pell did. Felt her shivering.
“This is amazing. Near my house, the beaches there? They’re all flat. It’s, like, just sand and surf. Unless you go down to La Jolla. Even then, it’s nothing like this. It’s very spiritual here…. Oh, look at them!”
Jennie sounded like a schoolgirl. She was staring at the otters. A large one balanced a rock on his chest and pounded something against it.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s breaking open a shell. Abalone or a clam or something.”
“How’d they figure out how to do that?”
“Got hungry, I guess.”
“Where we’re going, your mountain? Is it as pretty as this?”
“I think it’s prettier. And a lot more deserted. We don’t want tourists, do we?”
“Nope.” Her hand went to her nose. Was she sensing something was wrong? She muttered something, the words lost in the relentless wind.
“What was that?”
“Oh, I said ‘angel songs.’”
“Lovely, you keep saying that. What do you mean?”
Jennie smiled. “I do that too much. It’s like a prayer, or a mantra. I say it over and over to help me feel better.”