Where'd You Go, Bernadette(66)

I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him. Instead, I gave him money and told him to wait outside for Lincoln and Alexandra and take them out for pizza. Kyle was halfway down the stairs when I had an even bigger idea. “Kyle,” I called, “you know how Soo-Lin’s an admin? Do you think we have enough information to take over, say, her boss’s computer?” “You mean Bee’s dad?” “Yeah, Bee’s dad.” “It depends,” he said, “if she has access to his in-box. Let me check.”

Warren, I’m not joking when I say that within five minutes I was looking at Elgin Branch’s computer. Kyle checked his calendar. “He’s having dinner with his brother right now, so he’ll probably be off-line for at least an hour.”

I furiously read correspondence between Elgin and Soo-Lin, his brother, and that psychiatrist. I discovered the plan for an intervention the next morning. I wanted copies of the documents to add to my new, comprehensive narrative, but there was no printer. After everyone was asleep (except Soo-Lin, who’d called to say she wouldn’t be coming home that night), Kyle opened two Hotmail accounts and taught me how to take something called a “screen shot” and email the image from one Hotmail account to the other… or something. All I know is, it worked. I printed them out from a computer at the Safeway.

The intervention was happening at Dr. Neergaard’s office. I didn’t want to interfere with an FBI investigation. But there was no way Bernadette was going to get hauled off to a mental hospital because of my lies. At nine a.m., I headed to the dentist’s office. On my way, on a hunch, I drove by Straight Gate.

There was a police car in the driveway as well as Soo-Lin’s Subaru. I parked on a side street. Just then, a familiar car zoomed by. It was Bernadette, behind dark glasses. I had to get this file to her. But how would I get past the police?

Of course! The hole in the fence!

I ran down the side street, climbed through the fence, and clambered up the naked hill. (An incredible side note: the blackberries had begun to grow back. All that work for nothing!)

I clawed my way across the watery mud until I reached Bernadette’s photinia. I grabbed the branches and hoisted myself up onto the lawn. There was one police officer at the far side of the house, with his back to me. I crept up the lawn to the house. I had no plan. It was just me, the manila envelope in the waist of my pants, and God.

Commando-style, I slithered up the grand stairway along the back of the house and onto the rear portico. Everyone was gathered in the living room. I couldn’t hear them, but it was clear from their body language that the intervention was in full swing. Then a figure crossed to the far side of the living room. It was Bernadette. I ran down the steps. A light turned on in a small side window, about twelve feet up. (The side yard slopes down steeply, so from the back of the house the first floor is the equivalent of several stories high.) Crouched down, I ran to it.

Then I tripped over something. I’ll be damned, but it was a ladder, lying across the side yard, as if God had placed it there Himself. From that point on, I felt invincible. I knew He was protecting me. I picked up the ladder and stood it against the house. Without hesitation, I climbed up and tapped on the window.

“Bernadette,” I whispered. “Bernadette.”

The window opened. Bernadette’s gobsmacked face was in it. “Audrey?”

“Come.”

“But—” She couldn’t pick her poison, coming with me or being locked up in a loony bin.

“Now!” I climbed down, and Bernadette followed, but not before she shut the window.

“Let’s go to my house,” I said. Again she hesitated.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“Because I’m a Christian.”

A radio squelched. “Kevin, see anything?”

Bernadette and I made our break across the lawn, dragging the ladder with us.

We skidded down the muddy hill and into our backyard. The floor guys were quite surprised to see us mud creatures stagger through the door. I sent the men home.

I handed Bernadette my completed dossier, which also included a newly published article Kyle had found on the Internet about Bernadette’s architecture career. “You should have told me you won a MacArthur grant,” I said. “I might have been less of a gnat if I knew you were such a genius.”

I left Bernadette at the table. I took a shower, brought her tea. She read, expressionless, with furrowed brow. She spoke only once, to say, “I would have done it.”

“Done what?” I asked.

“Given Manjula power of attorney.” She turned the last page and took a deep breath.

“There’s still boxes of Galer Street gear in the living room if you’d like to change,” I said.

“That’s how desperate I am.” She peeled off her muddy sweater. Underneath, she was wearing a fishing vest. She patted it. Through the mesh pockets, I could see her wallet, cell phone, keys, passport. “I can do anything,” she said with a smile.

“That you can.”

“Please see that Bee gets this.” She slipped the documents back in the envelope. “I know it’s a lot. But she can handle it. I’d rather ruin her with the truth than ruin her with lies.”

“She won’t be ruined,” I said.

“I have to ask you a question. Is he fucking her? The admin, your pally, what’s her name?”