Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [51]
I threw my cold coffee away and followed the music, taking the wooden bridge over the creek. I found its source on the wide steps of the mission. Nick Cooper sat alone, playing his beat-up guitar.
“Hey,” I said, sitting down beside him. “You don’t have a hat out. Where am I suppose to put my money?”
He shook his head slowly and kept playing. “Free concert tonight, folks. I’ll share these blues with anyone.”
After the song was over, he laid the guitar aside and stared out over the creek. “Gabe called me and said they might be able to release Nora’s body next week and that he’d speed it up as much as possible.” He nodded slightly. “Thanks for taking care of that.”
“No problem,” I said, stretching out my legs. “How’re you doing?”
He shrugged. “Not so good. I can’t sleep. I’ve been living off coffee and glazed doughnuts. I feel like I’m walking through a fog.” His sharp laugh seemed to bounce off the shadowed walls of the mission. “Other than that, I’m on top of the world.”
I slipped my arm around his shoulders. “Let me buy you dinner.”
“Thanks anyway, but I’m not hungry.”
“I know food has no taste right now, but you need to eat.”
“Yes, Mom,” he said, giving me a slight smile.
I slapped his back playfully and laughed. “You know, I am beginning to sound like someone’s mother, but I have a good excuse. Let me tell you what’s going on at my house.” Hoping to take his mind off his sorrow for a moment, I told him about Gabe and Sam and Rita and Dove and Aunt Garnet and Uncle W.W. By the end of my story, we were both laughing.
“It sounds a lot funnier when I tell it to you,” I said.
“You’re lucky to have such a large, caring family.”
“We are large, I’ll give you that.”
“I’m thinking about leaving San Celina,” he blurted out.
I pulled my knees up and rested my chin on them, staring out at the dark trees shadowing the creek. “I felt the same way after Jack died. Everywhere I went, something reminded me of him. But I think you shouldn’t make that decision for a while. Everything’s too raw right now.”
He ran his plastic pick softly over the guitar strings. “Actually, I’m just wishing. Gabe pulled the old don’t-leave-town-without-reporting-to-us bit on me. He was nice about it, though.”
“I don’t think he really suspects you. Why should he?”
Nick held the guitar pick up and studied it as if it were some rare artifact. His hands were soft and white and long-fingered. “The land I’m going to inherit. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you about it.”
“What land?”
“The land that Nora owned. A little bit of dirt that’s causing a lot of ruckus with Peter and his friends.”
“Which one?”
“Bonita Peak and the land surrounding it.” He ran the guitar pick along the edge of his jaw. The rasp of his whiskers against the plastic sounded loud in the quiet evening air.
“Nora owns Bonita Peak? Since when? How did she get it?” Bonita Peak, next to Laguna Lake, where I’d found Nora’s body, was a popular hiking spot for locals. Covered with oak trees, monkey flowers, wild raspberries, and Indian paintbrush, it held a lot of personal memories for me as well as a lot of other San Celinans. From the peak you could survey the town of San Celina, watch the sun glint off Morro Rock as it protruded stark and black from the gray Pacific Ocean, while turkey vultures gracefully cruised air currents. The absentee owner had, for as long as I could remember, allowed public access. But in the last few months, something changed. A fencing crew had come in from Santa Barbara, strung barbed-wire fencing all around the bottom of the hill, and posted large “No Trespassing” signs. Local hikers, mountain bikers, and rock climbers had been attempting to find out what was going on. So far, all they’d gotten was a lot of double-talk from some L.A. law firm. Somehow one of them discovered that an expensive housing development complete with private golf course was being considered, with the peak being open only to the owners of the half-million-dollar homes.
“Since about three months ago. And she got it the same way I did,” he said, shrugging. “Someone died, and she