The Witch Of Agnesi Part 13

"Okay, here's the problem. After starting Alice I turned on the radio and a news flash interrupted B. B. King. I didn't catch it all, but some colorful alert connected with Homeland Security called for all essential personnel, especially flight line folks, to return to Peterson Air Base early this morning. They had to report before seven-thirty."

Bonnie's brain felt as if a goldfish had taken up residence behind her eyes and was now swimming like there was no tomorrow. "That means-"

"Among other things, it means Wendy Newlin lied."

CHAPTER 8.

BONNIE'S FOOT ACHED LIKE IT HATED HER. She squirmed in Alice's pa.s.senger seat, unable to get comfortable and totally unable to get Wendy Newlin off her mind. What in the name of all that's holy was going on? "I heard the crash and a male voice. Of that I'm certain."

Armen gave her a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. "Then we'll start there. What are the possibilities?"

She wanted to swivel in her seat to face him, but knew better than to try. The way her leg was acting up she'd be better off banging the d.a.m.n thing against the glove compartment than to move it right now. "Okay, there are two cases. Wendy is either telling the truth or she isn't."

Armen blew a sharp breath through his mustache.

"I thought I explained-"

"Hear me out." She laid a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. "Just follow the logic. Case one-a.s.sume Wendy Newlin is telling the truth. What is the next reasonable consequence?"

He gave her a look that said he wasn't fully buying into all of this but would play the game. "Colonel Ralph Newlin actually was at his house."

Bonnie nodded. "Right, which means he wouldn't be at Peterson, at least for the time while I was calling. Did the news report say how long the base lockdown was going to last?"

"I think they said until this evening, certainly for the better part of today."

She dug her cell phone from her f.a.n.n.y pack.

Armen pointed with his chin toward the phone. "What are you up to?"

The gesture reminded her so much of the way Ben would point, it momentarily distracted her. Her thoughts went fuzzy and only with an effort did she bring them back into focus. Funny how the brain works. Funny how the brain works.

"From what Wendy said, Ralph showed up at home around the time he should've been reporting for duty. He doesn't report, big trouble follows. By now a lot of people must be wondering where he is."

Armen shook his head. "They're not going to tell you, a civilian, whether or not one of their celebrity pilots is AWOL."

She punched in the first three numbers of Jade Hill. "You're probably right, which is why I'm going to ask Franklin to do it for us." She finished the number.

Franklin came on the line after only two rings.

"Valsecci."

Must be a slow day. "h.e.l.lo again, youngster." "h.e.l.lo again, youngster."

A sound midway between a whine and a growl came out of the receiver. "What now?"

"We could pretend it's my birthday, and you could be a lot nicer to me."

"Your birthday is in September, and I'm always nice to you." He breathed heavily into the phone. "What the h.e.l.l, happy birthday, Missus P. What can I do for you?"

She always liked this boy. "Happy birthday to you too, youngster. I've got a favor to ask." She told him about the call to Wendy and the lockdown of Peterson Air Force Base.

When she finished he said, "Have you thought about the possibility it could have been some other male voice you heard at Newlin's?"

"I haven't gotten around to that yet. And there'll be no point if Ralph Newlin never reported in."

"And if we find he has?"

Bonnie tugged at her ear. She had no doubt what was going through Franklin's overworked mind. The same thirteen-year-old genius named Peyton kept dancing through hers. "We can talk about that when I see you this afternoon."

"Count on it. Are you still determined to see Donna Poole?"

She was touched he worried so much about her, but also more than a little annoyed. The man was like a dog with the last soup bone left in the kitchen. "Let it go, Officer Valsecci. I'm a big girl. Plus, I'm in the company of my protector even as we squeak." She gave Armen a wink.

He silently mouthed, "Call me Mighty Mouse."

"You going to bring this protector with you when you come by?" Franklin asked.

"See you later. Don't forget that call."

When she turned off the phone, she tried to scoot across Alice's bench seat and sit closer to Armen. Unfortunately, her foot gave her several agonized reasons why that was a bad idea. Frustrated and panting for breath, she came to rest back where she started. "Mister Mouse, would you think less of me if I took this opportunity to complain?"

Armen drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "What kind of super-hero would I be if I lacked compa.s.sion? Feel free to vent your spleen."

"Pain sucks." She formed her mouth into an exag-gerated pout. "Pain won't listen to reason even when you say please. Pain shouts like a petulant three-year old. And it won't leave me alone. I'm d.a.m.n tired of this foot, and all told it's been less than a day."

He mirrored her expression then whispered, "Pain sucks. Pithy yet profound. With your permission I believe I'll have this gem of homespun wisdom tattooed on my thigh."

She gave him a two finger salute. "You have our leave. Just remember where you heard it when the T-shirt people come calling."

"Thank you, thank you very much."

Bonnie struggled with this opportunity to tease Armen. Oscar Wilde, you hit it square on the nose. I can resist anything but temptation. Oscar Wilde, you hit it square on the nose. I can resist anything but temptation. "That's Elvis, right?" "That's Elvis, right?"

His lips formed a line so thin they disappeared into his beard. He squinted hard at her. "You know darn well it is. I'd like to see you do better."

She tried to keep a straight face but couldn't. He looked so d.a.m.n cute with his flashing brown eyes. If she didn't watch herself, this man could be habit forming. "Not a chance. That may possibly have been one of the finest renditions of 'Thank you, thank you very much,' I've ever been subjected to."

He gave her one last piercing stare and said, "Not to change the subject, but shall we consider the more likely Case Two? You know the one where Wendy Newlin is a bald-faced liar?"

Bonnie lay back in her seat and closed her eyes.

"I'm too tired, Mister Mouse. Besides, I think I promised Franklin Valsecci we'd do that with him. Wake me when we reach the hospice."

She fell asleep to Armen singing, "Here I come to save the day."

TO SAY THAT DONNA POOLE LOOKED LIKE DEATH would have been kind. Sunken eyes stared from deep inside a face so gaunt the woman's head appeared little more than sallow skin stretched across a skull surmounted by wispy black hair. A disturbing mound extended from her neck to her waist, rising high beneath her blanket-evidence of an enormous tumor giddily devouring everything in its path. One of Donna's feet protruded from her blanket, a swollen ma.s.s of musky blue flesh. Bonnie knew that Donna couldn't be more than forty, but the hand punctured by the clear IV tube looked ancient and emaciated. Each breath Donna drew was a labored agony Bonnie could feel in the pit of her stomach.

At the foot of the hospital bed, Jesse Poole slumped on one of two orange plastic chairs. He'd glared when Bonnie entered, but now simply stared at his feet. The boy looked drained.

"Thank you for coming," Donna rasped. She drew a long breath as though the four word sentence had exhausted her. "Jesse, mind your manners. Let Missus Pinkwater and her friend sit down."

"Yes, Mama." Jesse shuffled past Bonnie to stand at his mother's side. He took her fragile hand in his.

Bonnie's ankle didn't really want her to sit, but after Donna's gesture Bonnie felt she should at least stand near the chairs. She limped over and leaned a hand on the back of one. Armen followed her.

Now what?

Bonnie gazed silently at the ravaged woman knowing it was the Donna Poole Show, and Donna would direct every moment of the proceedings.

"Baby?" Donna squeezed Jesse's hand. The tip of her blistered white tongue licked equally white lips.

"Get your mama a Doctor Pepper."

"Sure thing, Mama." Jesse bent down and kissed his mother's pallid cheek. With that same listless gait, he shuffled from the room and into the hall.

Donna watched her son depart then locked her pale blue eyes onto Bonnie's. They were strong, intelligent eyes. They seemed unaffected by the illness that was so obviously killing the rest of her.

Bonnie had to force herself not to look away.

"He's a lot like his daddy. That man felt everything so deeply, but was never a big one for words." Donna covered her mouth and coughed. For a moment color rose into her cheeks, but quickly faded. In short, ragged gasps, she pulled air into her lungs, shuddering with every effort.

Bonnie exchanged an anxious glance with Armen, afraid the woman would die right before their eyes. Then as quickly as the spasm had started, Donna's breathing settled into an even rhythm.

A thin smile crept onto Donna's lips. "Don't worry. The Good Lord ain't ready to send His chariot for this old bag of bones yet." Her eyes were the only thing that retained any color. They were faintly bloodshot.

"I sleep a lot these days, so I better get down to business. Bring your chairs around here so I can see your faces." She patted the side of the bed where Jesse had stood.

Once Bonnie and Armen were settled, Donna nodded her head in weary acknowledgement. "Jesse told me how he knocked you down at school. He felt real bad about that."

I felt pretty bad myself. Bonnie immediately regretted the thought, as if Donna's cancer had given the woman telepathy. "He was angry." Bonnie immediately regretted the thought, as if Donna's cancer had given the woman telepathy. "He was angry."

Donna drew a deep breath. "No excuse. He's been told to apologize to you, and if he knows what's good for him, he will."

Bonnie couldn't imagine how this dry husk of a woman might enforce this demand, but at the same time had no doubt she'd have her way with him.

"That brings us to last night's business with the truck."

Bonnie had seen the red pickup in the parking lot and had hoped she could get in and out of the hospice before the police came and hauled it away. At the very least, she prayed Jesse wouldn't discover it gone. "I know it was Jesse's pickup, Missus Poole. I saw the license plate, BCKDRFT."

Donna inclined her head in what had to be an approximation of a nod. "I don't doubt it. Jesse told me himself someone had been driving the pickup. He could smell them in the cab. Jesse has a real good sense of smell."

The woman seemed very proud of her son's olfactory prowess. She fixed Bonnie with those sharp eyes, daring Bonnie to refute her.

You must have been h.e.l.l on wheels before you were sick. "Someone stole the truck right out of the parking lot and then returned it?" She couldn't bring herself to complete the thought, which was, "Someone stole the truck right out of the parking lot and then returned it?" She couldn't bring herself to complete the thought, which was, Why bring the truck back after you've stolen it? Why bring the truck back after you've stolen it?

Again, Donna inclined her head. "That's right. Did those things-chased you, broke into that house of-" A coughing fit interrupted the sentence. Donna's white tongue protruded from her mouth as she struggled for air.

Jesse Poole chose that moment to return. In the same loping gait he used to shamble from the school Thursday morning, he ran across the room, pushing between Bonnie and Armen. He dropped the Doctor Pepper-Armen apprehended the can before it could roll off the bed to the floor-and squeezed a buff colored b.u.t.ton taped to the bed railing. Unselfconsciously, he began to sing. The words were unclear but Bonnie recognized "Oh Sinner Man" by the refrain ". . . all on that day."

By the time a male nurse named Winslow arrived, Donna had regained her breath. Bonnie and Armen slid back their chairs to allow the nurse access to the sick woman, but there was nothing that needed doing.

Nevertheless, Winslow checked the drip on Donna's IV and fluffed her pillow. He had to work around Jesse, who continued to sing and refused to give ground. It was evident Jesse made Winslow uncomfortable.

Way to go, Jesse, Bonnie thought, not really sure why she admired this starkly primitive protectiveness. Good G.o.d, Peyton Newlin must have been insane to insult this boy's mother to his face. Good G.o.d, Peyton Newlin must have been insane to insult this boy's mother to his face. She could just imagine the torrent of grief and anger unleashed on the foolish genius. She could also imagine that this boy would stay by his mother's side come h.e.l.l or high water. He probably slept at the foot of her bed like a faithful dog. She could just imagine the torrent of grief and anger unleashed on the foolish genius. She could also imagine that this boy would stay by his mother's side come h.e.l.l or high water. He probably slept at the foot of her bed like a faithful dog.

"Looks like you're in good hands, Missus Poole," Winslow said, backing out of the room.

"Doing just dandy, Johnny. My boy's here to take care of me."

Winslow mumbled something incoherent and was gone.

A hint of a smile played at the edges of Jesse's mouth-a smile that didn't escape Donna's notice.

"Nurse Johnny is a good man, Jesse. Don't you go making sport of him."

The smile disappeared from Jesse's face. "Sorry, Mama."

"Speaking of sorry, don't you have something you need to say to Missus Pinkwater?"

The boy's shoulders slumped, his chin dropped to his chest, he scuffed one tennis shoe against the floor.

"Do I have to, Mama?"

Yeah, Mama, does he really have to? I think I'd rather forego it.

"Of course you have to. A gentleman never takes a rough hand to a lady. Now, go on."

Donna used her expressive eyes to direct her son's next action the way some mothers would use a swat on the b.u.t.t.

Jesse turned toward Bonnie as if physically handled. "I'm sorry I pushed you. I didn't know it was you behind me Thursday morning."

A long silence followed, so long in fact Bonnie was preparing herself to respond when Jesse continued.

"When I got outside the school that day, I knew I was in big trouble."

He banged a fist against the side of his bald head. "Stupid, stupid-I shoved a teacher then cursed at her."

Donna Poole's thin lips formed into a smile. Maybe head-banging was normal in the Poole household. Different strokes for different folks.

Rolling back a year's worth of memories, Bonnie couldn't recall ever having heard Jesse string together this many words. The effect was startling. She had to admit, to her shame, she hadn't thought the boy capable of true human articulation.