The Witch Of Agnesi Part 16

It was Bonnie's turn to nod. "You see the difficulty, don't you? Who drove him to Stephanie's in the middle of the night?"

She splayed the fingers of her left hand and stared down at them. "It's a finite list."

Armen tapped her pinky. "All right, how about that Korean boy Edmund? He drives. You said you took him to his car Thursday evening. Could he also have known about Peyton's plan, picked him up from wherever he was hiding, and driven him to Stephanie's?"

Bonnie tugged at her ear, considering the scenario. "Forget for a moment what I know about Stephanie and Peyton. The timing is certainly right. Of course, you know that means Edmund was in on Stephanie's murder?"

"How well do you know Edmund?"

She was about to say she had Edmund in cla.s.s and on the Knowledge Bowl team and knew him d.a.m.n well. But it wouldn't be true. She didn't really know Edmund at all. Certainly there might be a set of circ.u.mstances whereby this seemingly quiet Asian boy could become a murderer. An image of Peyton and Edmund shouting triumphantly as they slaughtered electronic adversaries floated into her mind. "I'm not sure."

Armen tapped his lips with his index finger, wearing a well that's interesting frown. "There's always been one aspect of the aftermath of the Knowledge Bowl that troubled me."

"Just one?"

He chuckled and leaned forward, smoothing down his beard, his face just inches from hers. "Now that you mention it, there's two. Remember telling me how Ali Griffith and Stephanie left the Academy with Stephanie's mother?"

She replayed the scenes from that evening until Edmund stepped on stage with his late-night announcement. "Edmund couldn't reach his parents, so he stayed behind."

"Why would he do that?"

To annoy me, was the first thing that popped into Bonnie's mind, then she saw Armen's conundrum. She took both of his hands in her own and squeezed. "Why indeed would he do that? His parents wouldn't be picking him up at the Academy or back in East Plains. He drove himself. What did it matter if he couldn't contact them at home except to inform them he'd be late, and for that he could leave a message?"

Their breaths fell into synchronous rhythm, Armen inhabiting the world of his thoughts and she in hers. She let her gaze drift over his intelligent features. A pleasant warmth filled her. Even with Ben she hadn't felt this kind of kins.h.i.+p. A sudden pang of guilt swept over her, and she let go of Armen's hands as if she were scalded.

Thankfully, he chose that moment to respond and didn't seem to notice her anxiety.

"Even more perplexing, wouldn't Missus Templeton have to pa.s.s by the school and Edmund's car to get to the Griffith place?"

Bonnie tried to focus her thoughts and swim out of her current soup of emotions. Get a grip, girl. Get a grip, girl. She nodded, perhaps a little too energetically. "Straight past the school, not even a little out of her way." She nodded, perhaps a little too energetically. "Straight past the school, not even a little out of her way."

Armen jabbed a finger down on the Formica tabletop. "So why does a teenage boy choose to give up several hours of his precious evening rather than take the obvious ride back to school?"

She was no longer enjoying this intellectual give and take. The dead presence of Ben Pinkwater filled the empty seat beside her. Armen blithely pressed his hypotheses, and it was all she could do not to tell him to shut up and leave her alone. She had to get away.

"I need to visit the little girl's room." She blurted out the statement knowing how awkward and artificial it sounded.

Armen squinted at her. "Sure." His mouth tightened into a strained smile. "You're on your own, though. They don't let me near the Women's room anymore. Not since that incident involving sheep and plastic grocery bags."

She stared at him wanting to scream, "Stop being so d.a.m.n clever." She collected her crutches and left without another word, or even a look back.

She reached the bathroom and thanked her lucky stars it was empty. With a steadiness that belied her turmoil, she laid her crutches against the tiled wall, leaned heavily onto a sink, staring at herself in the mirror. "What's your problem, Pinkwater?"

The answer came as if someone scrawled it with lipstick across the gla.s.s. I'm a married woman. I'm a married woman.

A sonorous voice from the back of her mind answered, Since when? Since when? Ben's voice. The voice he used when teasing her, trying to get her to smile. Ben's voice. The voice he used when teasing her, trying to get her to smile.

"Since forever, you reprobate Indian." she said aloud. "Twenty-five years, remember?"

You could have fooled me. I thought I was singing in the heavenly choir these last sixteen months.

"You know what I mean." This time she almost shouted but caught herself, not really sure how thick the bathroom walls were. "Besides, you never believed in heaven. You were a d.a.m.n redskin pagan."

Still am, babe, but that's beside the point.

A pair of black women entered the bathroom, looked at her like they thought she might be dangerous and disappeared into adjacent stalls.

"What is the point?" she whispered.

The point is you like what's his name. And in spite of the fact that he's a scrawny little son of a b.i.t.c.h, I like him, too. The question is, what are you going to do about it?

"I don't know. I probably already freaked him out with my abrupt exit." Her mind framed Armen tip-toeing out of the restaurant, sneaking backward glances as the door shut behind him.

You know better than that. Give yourself and this paleface time to figure it out. Remember what I always used to say?

Both women emerged from their respective stalls like they'd invented a new Olympic event-synchronized urination.

Screw it.

Bonnie locked eyes with one of the women. "Ben used to say, 'Take it easy, but don't forget to take it.' Good advice, wouldn't you say?"

The two black women exchanged looks and the one Bonnie had spoken to nodded. "Good advice."

"d.a.m.n right. And that's just what I'm going to do." Bonnie gathered her crutches and left.

Armen stood when she approached. His eyes searched hers. "You okay?"

Depends on whether you consider a ladies' room conversation with a dead husband anywhere in the vicinity of okay. "I'll let you know after I figure it out." "I'll let you know after I figure it out."

He leaned in and kissed her square on the lips. It wasn't the most pa.s.sionate or expert kiss in the history of kisses, but it wasn't bad.

She pulled back just enough to see his face. "How bold you are, Mister Callahan."

"You better believe it, sweetheart." Armen slurred the last word.

"Humphrey Bogart?"

He kissed her again, this time on the tip of the nose. "There's hope for you yet."

BONNIE HUNKERED INTO ALICE'S Pa.s.sENGER SEAT staring at Highway Eighty-Four and the hogback ridge that ran parallel a quarter mile away. A herd of antelope grazed on the ridge's slope. A red-tailed hawk soared above them. Its shadow swam like a winged gray fish across the prairie gra.s.s. "You said you had two problems with Edmund Sheridan. I'm not saying we're done with the first, but tell me about the second."

Armen had been humming to himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He stopped and regarded her. His eyes looked tired. "Actually, Keene put me onto the thought when he asked if you believed Missus Poole."

She had to think a moment to place the memory in context. "About whether someone else drove Jesse's truck?"

He alternately waggled his fingers, his hands a pair of pistols. "Yes and no. This time I'm thinking about the night of Peyton's disappearance. The whole business of Peyton's supposed kidnapping is rooted in one boy's sighting of that same truck."

G.o.d d.a.m.n, you're good. "Edmund." "Edmund."

Armen nodded, now looking more excited than tired. "Give the lady a cigar. Except we already know that Jesse was at the hospice and not at the Academy. So, either this was the first instance of someone borrowing Jesse's truck, or-"

Bonnie laughed and slapped the seat. "Or Jesse's truck was never at the Interfaith Academy!"

"Or Jesse's truck was never there," Armen agreed.

"Edmund was the only one who actually said he saw it."

The unspoken thought that Edmund was lying stalled in Bonnie's mind. "You know the boy could have been mistaken about the truck."

"Oh, really?"

The remark stopped just short of sarcastic.

You're a lot more polite than I am, Armen Callahan. If I heard you make that ridiculous a.s.sertion I would have laughed in your face. She sighed. "Yes, the probability is high that if Edmund saw Jesse's truck he also saw the front license plate. And yes, Edmund, like most of East Plains High School, is familiar with Jesse's BCKDRFT vanity plate." She sighed. "Yes, the probability is high that if Edmund saw Jesse's truck he also saw the front license plate. And yes, Edmund, like most of East Plains High School, is familiar with Jesse's BCKDRFT vanity plate."

Armen tapped his chin, adopting a what can we deduce from this smirk.

If he wasn't driving, Bonnie would have dug her fingers into his ribs and tickled away that expression. "Remember what happened when you thought Wendy Newlin was lying."

Armen waved his hand in protest. "What's the alternative? That some wacko stole the truck, drove out to East Plains so he could follow the school van to within a few blocks of the Interfaith Academy, then high tail it back to the hospice? Why?"

"So he could be seen following the van."

Armen pursed his lips as if he meant to object, but she cut him off. "Don't get your Joe Boxers in a knot. It sounds screwy to me, too."

He glanced down at his lap and smiled. "How did you know?"

She reddened. "Men. I'm just psychic, you dirty old fart." She dug her phone from her f.a.n.n.y pack, but stopped short of turning it on. "This won't do."

"You thinking of calling Edmund?"

You got a pipeline into my brain, Callahan? "I was, but I need to read his face when I ask him about the truck." She tugged at her ear. "You live close to Edmund, don't you?" "I was, but I need to read his face when I ask him about the truck." She tugged at her ear. "You live close to Edmund, don't you?"

Armen nodded. "My trailer park is about three miles from the Sheridan place." He smiled conspiratorially. "And I do need to change my clothes. Been wearing these stinkeroos for the past two days."

Bonnie pinched her nose. "You're telling me."

"You going to give Edmund any warning you're coming?"

She yawned, thinking of the long drive to the Sheridan place. She certainly didn't want Edmund to take it into his blond spiked head to split once he knew they were coming. "Let's surprise the little b.u.g.g.e.r. What's the worst that could happen?"

CHAPTER 10.

THE HUM OF TIRES ON BLACKTOP HAD almost lulled Bonnie to sleep when her cell phone rang. She dragged herself back to wakefulness the way a spelunker might hoist herself out of a limestone pit. She yawned.

The phone lay heavy in her hand. "Speak to me."

Bonnie arranged herself for minimum pain and maximum attentiveness on Alice's pa.s.senger seat. Hopefully, the act would fool whoever was calling into thinking they'd reached someone who wasn't as torpid as a beached whale. With any luck she'd even fool herself.

"Missus Pinkwater?" Ali Griffith's voice trembled. The girl sounded afraid, but there was something else, a hint of steel.

Bonnie sat up straight, ignoring the dull ache in her foot. "You got me, honey. What's going on?"

"Mother and I just got off the phone with that policeman I talked to last night. He told us about Stephanie's murder."

How the h.e.l.l do I respond to that? Console the girl about the death of her friend or apologize for not telling her? This having to be sharp while in sleep mode is the pits. Posture doesn't help a tinker's dam.

The problem was taken out of Bonnie's incapable hands by Rhiannon breaking onto the line. "What's the big idea, Pinkwater? Why didn't you tell us about Stephanie's murder when you were here? This is a h.e.l.l of a way for Ali to find out about her friend's death."

Bonnie's instinct to fight grabbed hold. "h.e.l.lo to you too, Rhiannon. Happy Beltane."

"Mother, get off the line." Ali spoke the five words with the authority of someone who would brook no argument. If there were recriminations to make, she would make them.

A long silence ensued. Bonnie pictured a war raging between Rhiannon's desire to comply with her daughter and the overwhelming urge to harangue Bonnie Pinkwater, deceiver and abuser of witch hospitality. The former won out with a final grumble followed by an even more final click.

"I'm sorry, Ali. I should have told you." Bonnie felt roughly three inches tall. Whereas she would have grappled with Rhiannon, she had no wish to bandy words with this woman-child. Whatever the girl wanted to dish out she'd grin and take it.

"d.a.m.n right, you should have." Ali's voice broke, and time pa.s.sed while she wept at her end.

Armen laid a sympathetic hand on Bonnie's knee. She offered him a sad, pained smile. "Thanks."

Ali sniffled and drew ragged breath, signaling a respite in tears. "I was so mad at you, my hand shook when I tried to punch in your number. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to be mad at you, not like this."

In the strange world of teacher-student relations.h.i.+ps, the revelation made sense. The give and take of distance versus friends.h.i.+p defined a peculiar type of synergy-one, which at this moment, needed to be neutralized. "You're allowed. I screwed up, sweetie. You should have heard about Stephanie from me. The best defense I can muster is to say the time never seemed right."

Ali drew a long breath and released it. "I feel so awful, Missus P. I don't know how to be angry with you and so sad about Steph at the same time."

Bonnie wanted to reach through the phone and wrap this injured child in her arms. Bonnie's world went hazy as liquid collected in her eyes. She blinked it away.

You don't get to be weepy, Pinkwater. Right now, your job is to be strong. "How about you save your anger and share it with your mother? Let her blast me a good one the next time we meet. I'm thinking she's probably better at it." "How about you save your anger and share it with your mother? Let her blast me a good one the next time we meet. I'm thinking she's probably better at it."

Ali laughed, sounding more like a little girl than an eighteen-year old woman. "Count on it. Mother's working on a curse."

Bonnie joined in the laughter, more than a little alarmed that a long time witch was mixing potions to do her hurt. "Tell your mother she's too nice a person to do any such thing. Also tell her quickly how sorry I am. What about you? Do you want to talk?"

Again a long silence. When Ali finally spoke she whispered, "Mother's in the next room. I needed to make sure she wasn't listening. I'm kind of mixed up right now."

Join the club.

Something was going on here that went beyond grief for a murdered friend. What did Ali have to say that couldn't be said in front of Rhiannon? "Take your time, honey. I'm not going anywhere."