Dance Away with Me(32)

She’d liked matching wits with him. It made her want to go up against him again and badger him for answers to the questions he seemed determined to dodge. What hold did Bianca have over him? Or did he have a hold over Bianca? And why had he tried to isolate Bianca?

For the next few days, she barely saw her housemate. His car disappeared and reappeared. She heard his steady footsteps overhead in the studio where he might or might not be working. She heard him behind the closed doors of Bianca’s almost bare bedroom when she got up at night to feed Wren. She’d see evidence that he’d eaten—a dirty plate, an apple core in the trash, but she never saw him do it. He disappeared into the woods for hours, and once she suspected he stayed out all night.

The Eldridges hadn’t brought Eli back, and that made her uneasy. What if the wound had become infected? She looked out the rear window and saw Ian clearing brush from behind the schoolhouse. He attacked the larger branches with a hatchet and stacked them for firewood.

She bundled Wren and ventured out the back door. The day was overcast with the smell of snow in the air, but he’d discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his denim shirt. A pale white scar formed a half-moon above his wrist.

“Where did a city boy like you learn to chop wood?” she asked.

He wiped his shirtsleeve over his sweaty forehead. “I might have spent too much time at various schools for recalcitrant youths. They’re great places to pick up basic skills.”

“Wilderness survival?”

“Along with hot-wiring cars and making a shiv out of a toothbrush. Most people don’t know this, but there’s a right and wrong way to mug an innocent citizen.”

“The scope of your knowledge leaves me breathless.”

“It’s nice to be appreciated.”

“Except you never mugged anyone.”

“But I could have if I’d wanted to.” He shifted his view toward a stand of trees that edged a gully behind the house. “I’m thinking about building a tree house in that oak over there. Kind of an open-air studio.”

She didn’t know much about artists, but she did know something about human psychology. Building a tree house studio might be productive or it might simply be another form of procrastination—a way he could make himself feel as though he was working without actually doing it.

“I’m concerned about Eli,” she said. “The Eldridges were supposed to bring him back. Have you seen him?”

“No. But I can hike up there and check on him.”

“I’d feel better if I saw him myself, but my Honda might not be up to the climb. Can I borrow your Land Cruiser?”

“I’ll go. Paul tends to greet visitors with an assault rifle.”

“Why would he do that?”

“The Eldridges are what’s known as preppers or survivalists. They want to be self-sufficient, so they’re prepared for disaster: pandemics, nuclear attack, economic collapse, World War III, a meteor strike, whatever. In fairness, some of what they do is common sense—having extra food, batteries, water. Most of all, taking care of the land. But too many of them are paranoia propagandists. Tell me what to look for, and I’ll stop in.”

“No. I need to see him. It won’t kill you to watch Wren for an hour.”

“You don’t know that for a fact.”

She sighed. “Fine. We’ll go together.”

He wasn’t happy about that, but he seemed to recognize a losing argument when he was caught up in one.

*

The interior of Ian’s ancient Land Cruiser with its faded leather seats, missing radio knob, and dinged-up dashboard wasn’t quite as beat up as the exterior, but that was the best she could say for it. She settled in the backseat next to Wren, with one hand clutching the armrest. “Did you ever think about using some of your millions to put new springs in this thing?”

“Wouldn’t feel the same.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

Wren, however, didn’t mind the bouncing and jostling. She’d fallen asleep.

The Eldridge farm looked as hardscrabble as Ian had described it. With the exception of the solar panels on the roof and the antediluvian Dodge Ram truck, it could have been a homestead from the early twentieth century. As Ian pulled up outside the fence, a pair of furiously barking fecal-brown dogs charged toward them.

Rebecca appeared unarmed at the front door. Not so for Paul Eldridge. He emerged from the weathered barn holding the assault rifle Ian had warned her about. Eli scampered after him, showing no ill effects from his accident.

“Stay here,” Ian ordered as he got out of the car and walked toward Paul and Eli.

Rebecca approached the fence, moving slowly, as if each step were an effort. Ignoring Ian’s order, Tess got out of the car. She reached the gate at the same time as Rebecca.

“I’m sorry you had to come all the way up here.” Rebecca’s dull complexion, unwashed hair, and fingernails bitten to the quick testified to a hard life. “Eli’s leg is healing fine. I should have let you know. Would you like to come in? It’d be nice to have a woman in the house for a change.”

Tess extracted Wren from the car seat and followed Rebecca inside.

Unlike the unpainted exterior, the interior had soft green walls and a few feminine touches: a handmade throw pillow in brightly colored chintz and a string of pastel paper lanterns over the serviceable family dining table. A smaller table stacked with textbooks and pens marked the site of Eli’s homeschooling. His artwork hung next to it, mounted in simple frames decorated with painted twigs and pebbles.