Part 50 (1/2)
”No, not Owens. Kathryn and the old man both talked about a woman. I think it's Jeannotte. She probably directs the show from here and has lieutenants at her other camps. I also think she recruits on campus through some sort of seminar network.”
”What else can you tell me about Jeannotte?”
I related everything I knew, including her behavior toward her a.s.sistant, and asked what he'd learned in his conversation with Anna.
”Not much. I think there's a s.h.i.+tload she's keeping bottled up. This kid makes Zelda look stable.”
”She could be on drugs.”
The ringing started up again.
”Are you alone there?” Save for the phones, the squad room sounded unnaturally quiet.
”Everyone's been pulled out for this friggin' storm. Are you having problems?”
”Like what?”
”Don't you listen to the news? The ice is really s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g things up. They've closed the airport, and a lot of the minor roads are impa.s.sable. Power lines are cracking like dry spaghetti, and stretches of the south sh.o.r.e are cold and dark. The city fathers are starting to worry about old folks. And looters.”
”I'm fine so far. Did Baker's men find anything to tie Saint Helena to the group in Texas?”
”Not really. The old guy with the dog talked a lot about meeting his guardian angel. Seems Owens and his disciples had the same idea. It's all through their journals.”
”Journals?”
”Yeah. Apparently some of the faithful had the creative urge.”
”And?”
I heard him inhale, then exhale slowly.
”Tell me, G.o.ddamit!”
”According to some expert down there, it's definitely apocalyptic and it's now. They're heading for the big one. Sheriff Baker's taking no chances. He's called in the feds.”
”And they found no clue as to destination? The earthly destination, I mean.”
”To meet their guardian angel and make the crossing to a better place. That's the kind of c.r.a.p we're dealing with. But they're well organized. Apparently the trip has been planned for a long time.”
”Jeannotte! You've got to find Jeannotte! It's her! She's the guardian angel!”
I knew I sounded frantic, but I couldn't help myself.
”O.K. I agree. It's time to drive Miss Daisy hard. When did she leave your place?”
”Fifteen minutes ago.”
”Where was she going?”
”I don't know. She said she was meeting someone.”
”O.K., I'll find her. Brennan, if you're right about this, the little professor is a very dangerous woman. Do not not, I repeat, do not do anything on your own. I know you're worried about Harry, but if she's been sucked into this thing it may take professionals to get her out. Do you understand?”
”May I brush my teeth? Or is that considered risky?” I snapped. His paternalism did not bring out the best in me.
”You know what I mean. Find yourself some candles. I'll get back to you as soon as I learn anything.”
I hung up and walked to the French doors. I wanted more s.p.a.ce around me and slid the curtain aside. The courtyard looked like a mythological garden, the trees and shrubs fas.h.i.+oned of spun gla.s.s. Filmy nets covered the upstairs balconies and clung to the brick chimneys and walls.
I located candles, matches, and a flashlight, then dug my radio and headphones from my gym bag and placed everything on the kitchen counter. Back in the living room, I settled on the couch and clicked to the CTV news.
Ryan was right. The storm was big news. Lines were down throughout the province and Hydro-Quebec could not say when power would be restored. Temperatures were dropping and more precipitation was on the way.
I threw on a jacket and made three trips for logs. If the electricity failed, I would have heat. Next, I got extra blankets and placed them on the bed. When I returned to the living room a grim-looking newscaster was listing events that would not take place.
It was a familiar ritual, and oddly comforting. When snow threatens in the South, schools close, public activities cease, and frenzied homeowners strip store shelves. Usually the blizzards never come, or if snow falls, it disappears the following day. In Montreal storm preparations are methodical, not frantic, dominated by an air of ”we will cope.”
My preparations occupied me for fifteen minutes. The TV held my attention for another ten. A brief respite. When I clicked off, my agitation returned full force. I felt stuck, a bug on a pin. Ryan was right. There was nothing I could do, and my powerlessness made me all the more restless.
I went through my nighttime routine, hoping to keep bad thoughts at bay a little longer. No go. When I crawled into bed, the neural floodgates overflowed.
Harry. Why hadn't I listened to her? How could I have been so self-absorbed? Where had she gone? Why hadn't she called her son? Why hadn't she called me?
Daisy Jeannotte. Who had she been going to meet? What crazed course was she mapping? How many innocent souls did she intend to take with her?
Heidi Schneider. Who had felt so threatened by Heidi's babies as to resort to brutal infanticide? Were these deaths the herald of more bloodshed?
Jennifer Cannon. Amalie Provencher. Carole Comptois. Were their murders part of the madness? What demonic mores had they violated? Had their deaths been the ch.o.r.eography of some h.e.l.lish ritual? Had my sister suffered the same fate?
When the phone rang I jumped and knocked the flashlight to the floor.
Ryan, I prayed. It's Ryan and he's got Jeannotte.
My nephew's voice came across the line.
”Oh h.e.l.l, Aunt Tempe. I think I've really screwed up. She called. I found it on the other ca.s.sette.”
”What other ca.s.sette?”
”I've got one of these old answering machines with the tiny tapes. The one I had wasn't rewinding right so I put in a new one. I didn't think about it until a friend came by just now. I was pretty hacked off at her because we were supposed to go out last week, but when I went to get her she wasn't home. When she dropped by tonight I told her to kiss off, and she insisted she'd left a message. We got into a ha.s.sle so I got out the old tape and played it. She was on there, all right, but so was Harry. Right at the end.”
”What did your mother say?”
”She sounded p.i.s.sed off. You know how Harry is. But she sounded scared at the same time. She was at some farm or something and wanted to split but no one would drive her back to Montreal. So I guess she's still in Canada.”
”What else did she say?” My heart was pounding so hard I thought my nephew would hear it.