Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [75]
“What in the world happened to you?” she asks.
“It’s a long story.”
I know how I look. While I’m wearing new clothes, and most of my injuries are not visible, I imagine that my overall weariness has become obvious. That, and I haven’t shaved in several days.
Espy leans toward me and says, “She’s pretty.” She doesn’t sound pleased about it.
Angie rises to greet us. She looks many shades darker than when I saw her last, and she wears relaxation like a second skin.
“Hi, Jack.”
“Hi, Angie.” I glance around at the empty beach. “I wouldn’t have pictured you here. Isn’t Bondi more your style?”
“Let’s just say I’m spending the last few days of my vacation recovering from my vacation,” she says with a wink. “What about you? This is a far cry from being holed up in your apartment.”
“Aren’t you the one who told me I need to get out more?”
She chuckles and turns to Espy. “Hello, I’m Angie.”
“Nice to meet you, Angie. I’m Esperanza.”
“So what brings the two of you here?”
Angie is still taking in my condition, and there is genuine concern in her question, alongside the curiosity about my traveling companion.
“Angie, I need a favor.” I offer my most charming smile, but Angie knows me too well.
She looks back and forth between Espy and me and I see her fixate on my shoulder.
“You’re bleeding,” she says. “Jack, what’s going on?”
Blood from the wound in my shoulder has seeped though the bandage and is staining my new shirt. I sigh. It’s just another minor complication in a growing list, and it’s not one I’m going to worry about right now.
“Let’s take a walk,” I say.
The three of us walk up the beach, angling for the thick tree line and rising ground of Barrenjoey Head. I tell Angie about the last few weeks, giving her the highlights only. The more I share, the more her eyes widen. I remind myself that of all the friends I have called on since this job began, Angie knows less about my past than any of them. To her, I’m just a typical archaeology professor with no social life. Picturing me in the field, much less engaging in something this dangerous, must be difficult for her. What’s more, many of the details I leave unsaid are ones that would likely send her to the unbelieving camp. What I give her is enough for her to see that we’re in trouble without making it sound like some James Bond adventure. When I’ve finished and we turn to head back toward the parking area, leaving the rough terrain and treacherous cliffs behind, Angie is silent. She is walking next to me, her eyes on the sand.
“So what do you need?” she asks when we have neared the parking area.
I half register that Angie’s car is not the only one there. I don’t see anyone else on the beach, but it’s just a short walk to the other shoreline, where the ocean meets Palm Beach.
“We need money, Angie. Otherwise, we won’t be able to finish this.”
She nods, giving my words consideration before saying, “And would that be such a bad thing? Not being able to finish? Teaching archaeology seldom causes blood loss.”
I think that even as she asks the question, she knows the answer. In the short time we’ve talked, my guess is that she’s picked up on the fact that I’m not the same person who walked out of her apartment two weeks ago.
“How much do you need?” she asks with a resigned sigh.
“You’re my girl, Angie. I’ll make good, I promise.”
With a laugh, Angie wraps her arm around mine and leans in close.
“You’d better. And I think you have yourself a new girl now.” She delivers this last in a stage whisper, meant to be heard by Espy.
As Angie gathers up her belongings, she makes certain I know how irritated she is that I’m taking her away from the beach. What redirects her is when Espy asks about her hair, and the two of them enjoy a conversation about current styles as we walk to Angie’s car.
The other