Part 19 (1/2)

”She was in her late twenties, I think,” I said. ”It was hard to tell exactly how old she was.”

”Why?”

I saw her face me mutely, sound my black depths, realize in a fearful instant how far I'd go to have her.

”She seemed older than she looked,” I told Lorenzo Clay. ”More experienced.”

”In what?”

The word came from me before I could stop it. ”Pain.”

Once again Clay's eyes softened. ”I see.”

I could feel myself fading, turning into dust, and so I acted quickly to reconst.i.tute myself, draw life back in again, as if on a gasp of breath.

”When she first came to Port Alma, she had short hair,” I said. ”It's longer now. Blond.” The sheer paucity of what I actually knew of Dora nearly overwhelmed me, but I went on. ”She had green eyes. And she wore reading gla.s.ses.”

”It's really not a lot to go on, is it, Mr. Chase?”

”No,” I admitted. ”But it's all I have.”

”Is she a suspect in this murder?”

A series of images slashed through my mind, a woman running through the rain, a car drawing up beside her, a question she could not answer: Where are you going, Dora?

”She ran away,” I said. ”That's all I know.”

Clay glanced down at the book. ”I suppose you thought I might be connected to this woman.” He seemed amused by such a notion. ”Well, that would certainly have been a new experience for me. I might actually have enjoyed it. Being thought of as a criminal.”

”Most people don't enjoy it,” I said dryly.

All humor drained from his heavy face. ”No, I suppose not.”

I lifted the book, held it in the air between us. ”Do you have any idea how Dora March could have gotten this?”

”Well, I often give books away,” Clay said. ”Usually to hospitals, asylums, prisons. In the case of that particular book, I can only tell you that it didn't come from my library here in Carmel.”

”It says Carmel.”

”Yes, it does,” Clay said. ”But if you look at the label closely, you'll notice a small D in the left-hand corner.”

I looked at the place he indicated.

”The D means that it came from the old Dayton ranch,” Clay said. ”I sold that ranch several years ago. At that time, I got rid of the contents of the house. In all likelihood, the books were donated to whatever private or public inst.i.tution my staff could find in the general area of the ranch.”

”And where is that?”

”Out in the desert,” Clay said.

Dora's lips whispered in my ear, Sometimes, when the wind blows over it, the desert sounds like the sea.

”Where in the desert?” I asked.

”Near a little town called Twelve Palms. It's about a hundred miles east of Los Angeles. Do you know that area of California?”

”No.”

”It's very beautiful in its own way,” Clay said. ”I enjoyed having a place out there. But my wife never felt comfortable at the ranch. She simply couldn't get it out of her mind. What happened there, I mean.” He leaned back slightly. ”A whole family was killed. By this drifter and his girlfriend. Then they tried to burn the house down.” He smiled. ”They'd have gotten away with it. But they made one very big mistake. They left a living witness. A little girl.” The air around him seemed to darken suddenly. ”My wife insisted she kept seeing the child at the top of the stairs. Because that's where they left her. To die, I mean. All cut up.”

”Cut up?”

”Her back. All cut up.”

It flooded over me like a wave, a surmise as wild as any my brother had ever had. I saw Dora standing in the darkness, the lights of Carl Hendricks's shabby, burning home s.h.i.+ning in her eyes, then later, as the red robe had dropped from her shoulders, revealing a field of scars.

”How old was the little girl?” I asked.

”Eight, perhaps.”

”Do you remember her name?”

”Shay, I believe. Catherine Shay.”

”Do you know where she is now?”

”No,” Clay answered. ”She could be anywhere. It's been twenty years, Mr. Chase. Why are you interested in Catherine Shay?”

I held myself in check, said only, ”The woman I'm looking for, her back was badly scarred.”

Clay nodded thoughtfully. ”And since she seems to have come from somewhere near the Dayton ranch, you think this woman might be Catherine?”

”Not very likely, I know, but...”

”But it's all you have left to go on?”

”Yes.”

”Well, if you think there's a chance of it, you should talk to Sheriff Vernon over at Twelve Palms,” Clay said. ”He could give you more details. He might even know where Catherine is. You can mention that you spoke to me. Vernon will do what he can.”

I rose to leave. ”Thank you, Mr. Clay.”

Clay walked me to the door, offered his hand.

”I hope you find the woman you're looking for, whoever she is,” Clay said. ”I admire the lengths you've gone to to track her down, traveling such a distance and so forth.” His final words cut through me like a blade. ”You must have loved your brother very much.”

Chapter Nineteen.