Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [14]
My purse was still downstairs in Rae’s office, where I’d left it before the partners’ meeting. I’d grab it and head out for Ravenswood Road in San Benito County.
* * *
Once I was past Daly City and out of the fog belt, the early evening turned hot and sunny. Traffic was slow all the way down the Peninsula and came to a near standstill in San Jose. Many years of dealing with northern California’s varied climate zones have conditioned me to keep a couple of changes of clothing in the car, and as I breathed exhaust fumes I thought longingly of the tank top and shorts in the trunk. But joining one of the long lines of exiting cars on the shoulder in order to get to a gas station and change seemed like more trouble than it was worth, and even if I could easily have reached my overnight bag, I’ve never thought much of disrobing in front of the curious eyes of dozens of fellow motorists. In the end I just kept pulling my sweater away from my sticky back and chest, and turned the blowers on the MG’s vents to max.
Then San Jose—sprawling tracts and office parks where orange groves once stood—was behind me. The highway paralleled railroad tracks for a while, fruit stands heaped with early-summer produce lining either side. A newish section of freeway bypassed Morgan Hill and Gilroy—farm towns turned bedroom communities—and narrowed in the lower reaches of Santa Clara County. At the first turnoff for Hollister, I thought of a tragic case of mine that had its roots in that area, and felt a brief touch of regret.
The stand of eucalyptus and boulders was farther south than I remembered. By the time I got to it, it was well past seven-thirty. I made a U-turn at the first opportunity and drove north in the slow lane. Ravenswood Road branched off to the east about a hundred yards beyond where the rocky wooded area began.
I pulled onto the shoulder and stopped, not making the turn just yet. Across the pavement to my left the graffiti-splashed boulders and towering trees were cloaked in shadow. Only an occasional car sped by, its air currents making the little MG shudder. I looked to the east; mellow evening light spread over the flatland that the secondary road bisected on its way toward distant craggy hills. This was farm country—fields of tender green crops and uniformly tilled soil, occasionally interrupted by clusters of utilitarian buildings where combines and tractors stood idle.
Hy, I thought, why did you come here? Where did Ravenswood Road take you?
After a moment I turned the MG and started east. The pavement was poorly maintained, cracked and potholed. I kept my speed down, searching for anything that would provide an indication of where Hy had been headed. The road ran relatively straight for about five miles, then took a sharp southward bend and dead-ended in seven-tenths of a mile at a pasture fence. The field beyond the fence lay fallow, deserted except for some sort of rodent that scurried into its burrow as I stopped the car. I got out and looked around.
Nothing here except for a distant two-story gray house and barn. A single barren tree that looked as if it had been split by lightning stood in the foreground. Nothing moved over there, nothing made a sound; not even a dog barked in warning of my intrusion. The place looked as dead as the tree. I could see no access to the property; in order to get to it, I supposed, one would have to take another county road out of Hollister or Salinas.
This, then, had not been Hy’s destination. Logic told me so, but I also knew it on a deeper, more elemental level. From the day Hy and I met, there had been an odd emotional connection between us. At first I’d resisted it, this tie to a man who wouldn’t permit me to know him, from whom I also felt compelled to keep secrets. But as last winter wore on—even