Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [103]
Spotting a gas station on the corner, I return the blanket to my shoulder, then reach for Espy’s hand, and together we head toward the station. Two cars are parked at the pumps, and a middle-aged man stands near one of them, attending to the tank. He slips his hand under his cap and scratches his head.
“You all right?” he asks.
I try to speak but can’t utter anything beyond a croak. Instead, I nod and then push through the store entrance. There are two people inside: a young woman at the cash register, and an older woman buying cigarettes. The conversation between them comes to an immediate stop when they see us. Neither of them says a word as I pull Esperanza through the store, toward the cooler along the far wall. A blast of icy air hits me in the face when I swing open the cooler door. I grab two bottles of apple juice, noticing how weathered my hands have become, and give one to Espy. It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever tasted. Deprivation enhances the senses; I had no idea that the flavor of something as basic as apple juice could be so satisfying. By the time I’ve drained the bottle, I feel immeasurably better, enough to notice the stares directed our way from the vicinity of the cash register.
“What on earth happened to you?” the clerk asks.
My initial response consists of a raspy chuckle—a sound which means to convey that condensing what’s happened over the last two weeks so it fits in the span of a short answer is near to impossible. How can I describe even the last five days of walking through much of the night and early morning, huddling beneath the tarp, following the hint of road and hoping for a car in the hazy distance, taking the risk to leave the road and cut a half-day’s travel from the journey, watching my companion fall three times in the space of an hour and trying to force warm water past her lips? Even fresh from the ordeal, much of it is a blur.
“Good morning,” is about all I can muster, my voice carrying the timbre of a heavy smoker. “Can you spare a few sandwiches?”
CHAPTER 22
The estate is enormous. Seen from where I’ve been studying it over the last four days—from a hilltop half a mile away—it’s a colossus of windows and gardens and well-manicured labyrinths, all surrounded by an imposing yet tasteful wrought-iron gate. It is as if some force gathered all the old buildings back at Evanston to form one complementary structure of aged stone and tiled roofs with Italian influences.
Using binoculars I scan every inch of the place, as I have numerous times in committing it to memory. Once again I count seven security cameras, but there’s likely several more than that, just not that I can see from here. Either way, it’s clear that there is little chance of anyone entering the grounds of the estate without attracting notice.
I lower the binoculars and return to the van. Esperanza is leaning against the fender, adjusting the ill-fitting legs of her borrowed pants. The rightful owner of the white uniform is taller, forcing Espy to roll up the pant legs to keep from stepping on them.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
She nods. The time for arguing logistics is over, finished sometime during our six-day convalescence. We spent a day in Kent Station, the only occupants of a run-down motel, licking our wounds and doing our best to avoid others’ curiosity. There was also the problem of money. Everything Espy and I owned went up in flames with Jim’s house, including the money we borrowed from Angie. And I couldn’t think of a safe way to get a message to Duckey, not with the likelihood that, having lost track of us, the ones pursuing us would turn to bugging our friends and family. It was Espy’s chance now. Through her network a message found its way to Romero, and soon we were five thousand dollars richer. Thus fortified, we bought a ride to Adelaide, then caught a bus to Ballarat, where we disappeared, allowing the city to swallow us up.
The Manheim estate begins ten miles south of the city limits and stretches for miles beyond that. From what I’ve been able to learn, most of the land is