conjured up the image of the arrow in the flower bed—red feathers, black shaft, embedded in the dark brown soil. His gaze went to the spot, half expecting …
But there was nothing there.
Of course not. Why would there be? What the hell is the matter with me?
He walked over to the Miata and got into the low-slung passenger seat. Kim drove bumpily through the pasture, past the barn and the pond, to the dirt-and-gravel road that followed the stream down the mountain. Once they were heading east on the county route, Gurney asked, “Any new problems since yesterday?”
She made a face. “I think I’m getting too wound up. I think it’s what psychiatrists call ‘hypervigilance.’ ”
“You mean constantly checking for danger?”
“Constantly checking, and doing it so obsessively that
everything
looks like a threat. It’s like having a smoke alarm that’s so sensitive it goes off every time you use the toaster. It’s like, Did I really leave my pen on that table? Didn’t I already wash that fork? Wasn’t that plant two inches farther to the left? Stuff like that. Like last night. I went out for an hour, and when I got home, the light was on in the bathroom.”
“You’re sure you turned it off before you left?”
“I always turn it off. But that’s not all. I thought I could smell Robby’s horrible cologne. Just the tiniest trace of it. So I start running around the apartment sniffing everywhere, and for a second I’d think maybe I could smell it again.” She sighed in exasperation. “You see what I mean? I’m losing it. Some people start seeing things. I’m smelling things.” She drove for several miles in silence. The mist had begun again, and she turned on her wipers. At the end of each arc, they made a sharp squeaking sound. She seemed oblivious to it.
Gurney was studying her. Her clothes were neat, subdued. Her features were regular, her eyes dark, her mouth quite lovely. Her hair was a lustrous brown. Her clear skin had a hint of Mediterranean tan. She was a beautiful young woman—full of ideas, full of ambition, without being full of herself. And she was smart. That was the part Gurney liked best. But he was curious how someone so smart had gotten tangled up with someone as troubled as Robby.
“Tell me a little more about this Meese guy.”
He began to think she hadn’t heard him, it took her so long to answer. “I told you he was removed from some kind of sick family situation and put in a series of foster homes. Maybe some people come out of that okay, but most don’t. I never knew any of the details. I just knew he seemed different.
Deep
. Maybe even a little dangerous.” She hesitated. “I think the other thing that made him attractive was that Connie hated him.”
“That made you like him?”
“I think she hated him and I liked him for the same reason—he reminded us both of my dad. My dad was kind of erratic, and he had a crazy background.”
My dad
. From time to time, those words had the power to triggera wave of sadness in Gurney. His feelings about his father were conflicted and largely repressed. So were his feelings about himself as a father—the father of two sons, one living and one dead. As the emotion began to subside, he tried to hasten its exit by pushing his attention toward some other aspect of Kim’s project, some other point of interest.
“You started to tell me on the phone about your contact with Max Clinter, that you found him
strange
. I think that was the word you used.”
“Very intense. Actually, beyond intense.”
“How far beyond?”
“Pretty far. He sounded paranoid.”
“What made you think that?”
“The look in his eyes. That I-know-terrible-secrets look. He kept saying that I didn’t know what I was getting into, that I was risking my life, that the Good Shepherd was
pure evil
.”
“He seems to have gotten under your skin.”
“He did. ‘Pure evil’ sounds like such a cliché. But he made it sound real.”
After
But there was nothing there.
Of course not. Why would there be? What the hell is the matter with me?
He walked over to the Miata and got into the low-slung passenger seat. Kim drove bumpily through the pasture, past the barn and the pond, to the dirt-and-gravel road that followed the stream down the mountain. Once they were heading east on the county route, Gurney asked, “Any new problems since yesterday?”
She made a face. “I think I’m getting too wound up. I think it’s what psychiatrists call ‘hypervigilance.’ ”
“You mean constantly checking for danger?”
“Constantly checking, and doing it so obsessively that
everything
looks like a threat. It’s like having a smoke alarm that’s so sensitive it goes off every time you use the toaster. It’s like, Did I really leave my pen on that table? Didn’t I already wash that fork? Wasn’t that plant two inches farther to the left? Stuff like that. Like last night. I went out for an hour, and when I got home, the light was on in the bathroom.”
“You’re sure you turned it off before you left?”
“I always turn it off. But that’s not all. I thought I could smell Robby’s horrible cologne. Just the tiniest trace of it. So I start running around the apartment sniffing everywhere, and for a second I’d think maybe I could smell it again.” She sighed in exasperation. “You see what I mean? I’m losing it. Some people start seeing things. I’m smelling things.” She drove for several miles in silence. The mist had begun again, and she turned on her wipers. At the end of each arc, they made a sharp squeaking sound. She seemed oblivious to it.
Gurney was studying her. Her clothes were neat, subdued. Her features were regular, her eyes dark, her mouth quite lovely. Her hair was a lustrous brown. Her clear skin had a hint of Mediterranean tan. She was a beautiful young woman—full of ideas, full of ambition, without being full of herself. And she was smart. That was the part Gurney liked best. But he was curious how someone so smart had gotten tangled up with someone as troubled as Robby.
“Tell me a little more about this Meese guy.”
He began to think she hadn’t heard him, it took her so long to answer. “I told you he was removed from some kind of sick family situation and put in a series of foster homes. Maybe some people come out of that okay, but most don’t. I never knew any of the details. I just knew he seemed different.
Deep
. Maybe even a little dangerous.” She hesitated. “I think the other thing that made him attractive was that Connie hated him.”
“That made you like him?”
“I think she hated him and I liked him for the same reason—he reminded us both of my dad. My dad was kind of erratic, and he had a crazy background.”
My dad
. From time to time, those words had the power to triggera wave of sadness in Gurney. His feelings about his father were conflicted and largely repressed. So were his feelings about himself as a father—the father of two sons, one living and one dead. As the emotion began to subside, he tried to hasten its exit by pushing his attention toward some other aspect of Kim’s project, some other point of interest.
“You started to tell me on the phone about your contact with Max Clinter, that you found him
strange
. I think that was the word you used.”
“Very intense. Actually, beyond intense.”
“How far beyond?”
“Pretty far. He sounded paranoid.”
“What made you think that?”
“The look in his eyes. That I-know-terrible-secrets look. He kept saying that I didn’t know what I was getting into, that I was risking my life, that the Good Shepherd was
pure evil
.”
“He seems to have gotten under your skin.”
“He did. ‘Pure evil’ sounds like such a cliché. But he made it sound real.”
After
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