Authors: Louise Hendricksen
“Mine too. Any other reasons?"
She flushed and decided the best way to discourage him would be to tell the truth.
“Actually, I'm in love with someone,” she said, and gnawed her lip. “But he happens to
be unavailable."
“Maybe I could help you forget him."
She smiled. “That wouldn't be too easy, Jed. In about five months, I'm going to have a
couple of very lively reminders."
For an instant, he looked startled. Then he let out a hearty laugh. “Cam sure described
you well. A certain Prescott panache, that's what he calls it."
Amy laughed with him.
“I'd still like to see you,” Jed said.
“You've got to be kidding. Before long, I'll be big as a blimp."
“Look, I'm thirty-five years old and right now I don't want to even
think
about
getting married again.” He ran his hand over his face. “Amy, what I really need is a
friend."
She felt a tightness in her chest. “So do I."
“Great. How about sharing a piece of chocolate truffle cheese cake with me?"
She groaned. “I'll probably regret it, but I'm game."
After dinner, they sat in his Porsche while Jed leafed through the contents of Mai's
father's safe deposit box. “Most of this seems to pertain to Mr. Pran's property and
business."
Jed stacked a number of legal documents on the seat beside him. “Hmm, what do we have
here?” The long white envelope had a glob of red sealing wax on its flap. “He instructed
that this not to be opened until his death.” Jed examined the unbroken seal. “I wonder
why Mai didn't look at it?"
“Perhaps she knew the contents."
“How could she?"
“Her father lived several hours after the hit-and-run driver struck him. Mai was with him
most of the time."
“Maybe you and your father are right. The two deaths might be related.” He slit open the
top of the envelope with a pen knife, pulled out a sheet of paper, and scanned it
quickly. “Listen to this,” he said. “It's a letter from Mr. Pran to Mai. âMost precious
daughter, What is revealed here you must tell to no one, not your husband, nor your
dearest friend. The Khmer Rouge's demons of death have found their way to our small
village. It is my fervent hope that a day will come when Kampuchea will be free of the
nightmare the Khmer Rouge has created and Buddha can once again look upon beauty. Then I
beseech you to remember your favorite childhood game and restore the Enlightened One's
sight. One last word, dear child, and I caution you again never to repeat this. After we
came to America, our sponsor died. To insure our safety, I assumed his identity. My
birth name is Taun Keo.'”
Amy crossed the bridge spanning the Wasku River on the way to her
morning aerobics class. Muddy water churned over the banks and surged over a tree that
had fallen into the raging torrent. If the rain didn't stop soon, the valley would be
flooded.
Amy refused to let that gloomy thought dampen her high spirits. Today, for a number of
reasons, the whole world had a rosy cast. She had woken up without feeling nauseous for
the first time in weeks, and Hue had informed her that she may have persuaded the person
who witnessed the hit-and-run of Mai's father to talk to her.
Humming a tune, she parked in the athletic club's lot and dashed inside. She smiled at
Hue as she plopped down on her mat. “How'd you make out?” she asked.
“We can go there after class."
“That's wonderful."
“He has conditions,” Mai added, but when the instructor of the class launched into the
first exercise she whispered, “I'll tell you later."
Although the routine wasn't rigorous, Amy knew she had muscles by the time the session
ended. She gave a small groan as she got into Hue's compact car. “What kind of
conditions?” She asked, picking up where they had left off.
“Many of our people lived in Cambodia during Pol Pot's reign of terror. Ghosts of the
Khmer Rouge's harvest of death still haunt them. This man yearns to live out his life in
peace."
“Will he talk to me?"
Hue drove out of the lot and headed toward the main part of town. “Yes.” She glanced at
Amy and quickly away. “But refuses to give you his name or to let you see his face.” She
sighed. “You do understand, don't you?"
“Absolutely. I'll be grateful for whatever information he can give me."
“Good.” Hue traveled two blocks before she continued. “I arranged for him to meet us at a
friend's restaurant. He'll be on one side of a screen, you and I will be on the other.
I'll interpret.” She turned up an alley and halted behind a two-story wooden building
that housed the Angkor Temple Restaurant.
Amy touched her arm. “Thank you for your help, Hue."
Hue met her gaze. “It's nowhere near enough. Mai was a good friend,” She stepped out onto
the shale-covered roadway and looked around quickly before beckoning to Amy. “We'll go
in the back door. It'll be best if we aren't seen."
Inside, Hue led her down a corridor to a room with a wall-sized painting of the temples
of Angkor Wat. On other walls, images of richly adored celestial maidens, their arms and
fingers held in graceful curves dancing for Khmer royalty.
At one end of the room, a white silk four-panel screen blocked off a corner. Hue took one
of the low stools beside a short-legged table, motioned Amy to the other stool, and
poured tea into thin chinaware cups. “Now, what do you need to know?” she asked.
“Anything he can tell me about the car."
Hue took a sip of tea, then started to speak in Khmer to the man behind the screen.
The man replied in a thin, quavery voice. Hue turned to Amy. “A Japanese model. Fairly
new. Blue like spring sky."
“Did he see the license?"
“Only an A and a four."
“That's better than nothing. Did he know the driver?"
After Hue had asked the question, the man was silent Hue frowned and shook her head.
Finally, Amy heard the man answer in a whisper. Hue said, “He didn't know him then, but
he's seen him since.” Hue stared down at the table for several minutes. “He is one of
the
yavana.
If the shopkeepers don't pay them, their shops are burned."
Hue's remark didn't surprise Amy. Nathan had sensed the people's fear. Although she
guessed what the answer would be to her next question, she felt she had to try. “Will he
identify the man if he's arrested?"
To Amy's astonishment the man responded to her directly with a hissed “No.” Then he
reverted to his own language.
When he stopped speaking, Hue stood up. “That's all he'll say."
They left the restaurant then, and Hue drove Amy back to her station wagon in Fenwick's
lot. Amy thanked Hue again, then remembered the mysterious woman with whom Cam said he'd
spent the evening the night Mai died. “Hue, do you know a Chea Le?"
Hue shook her head. “She's not from around here.” She waved and drove away.
Amy stopped off at the courthouse to pick up the list Cam had made her of his friends,
then headed for home. As she cruised along the two-lane road, she ticked off items on a
mental list. The caretakers of the greenhouse had been eliminated. Cam said the three
men were elderly and had worked for Pran for years. Tomorrow, she'd have to start
questioning Cam's acquaintances.
She topped the hill and started into the switchbacks. As she came out of the first curve,
she braked to slow her speed. The pedal smacked the floorboards.
No brakes.
She pumped the pedal.
Nothing. Shift down. Shift down.
Metal
ground against spinning metal, refusing to mesh. Adrenaline racing her pulse, she
steered toward the pavement's edge, hoping the gravel shoulder would slow the car.
Crushed rock caught her tire, jerked her to the right, sent her skidding toward jagged
basalt slabs.
Amy spun the wheel frantically and the vehicle straightened, picked up speed, and veered
into the outside lane. On the incline below, she glimpsed a logging truck.
Cold sweat broke out along her spine. Blasting title horn, she yanked the steering wheel,
swinging the station wagon back to the inside lane. It pulled sideways. One fender
grating a rock shelf, she careened around a corner and angled into a sweeping S-turn.
Too fast.
Tires squealing, the car jounced off a guardrail and corrected its course. She grabbed
the hand brake. Acrid fumes billowed through the air vents.
Fir saplings growing at the road's edge slapped the windows as she raced by. The speeding
automobile created its own deep-throated roar. She fed in the clutch again. Metal
screeched in protest. The station wagon fishtailed and spun in a wide arc toward the
ravine.
Please, Lord, I can't die now.
The car caromed off a boulder, whipping her head
back, then veered back toward the cliff face. Brown water cascaded down from the bluff
above, carrying bushes, rocks, and debris. She swerved and the fender raked a screeching
scar.
Ahead, the logging truck rounded the curve, its massive load of cedar logs swinging into
her lane.
No room. Can't make it. Nathan, help me, help me.
The station wagon ripped a path through the dense vegetation. Limbs snapped and thudded
against the floorboards. Thundering on, the machine plunged up and over a talus ridge
and for a horrifying moment became airborne. Amy gripped the wheel and prayed.
The vehicle landed with a grating, shuddering, teeth-jarring crash. Her head snapped
forward, hit something hard.
Darkness.
“Lady. Hey, lady."
Amy felt a cold wet cloth on her face. Someone shook her shoulder. When she opened her
eyes, pain ricocheted inside her head. “What happened?"
“You damn near scared the shit outa me, that's what happened.” The man's sandy hair
bristled from his scalp like an angry porcupine. “Never saw such crazy drivin'. You
trying to kill yourself or somethin'?"
“Brakes failed,” she said in a whisper; talking any louder caused rockets to go off in
her throbbing skull. She took the sodden red bandanna from him and pressed it against
her forehead.
“No shit!” The man grinned. “Lady, you sure as hell got balls. I get nightmares about my
rig goin' wild. Them friggin' logs would squash me flatter than a piss ant at a picnic.”
He peered at her. “You want to ride into Wheeler with me?"
“No,” she motioned to her cellular phone, “I'll call a tow truck in Ursa Bay.” She
switched the wet bandanna to her left hand, retrieved her purse from the floor, and took
out her notebook. “What's your name?"
“Doug Hawley. I work for Cascade Logging. You sure you shouldn't see a doctor?"
She cleared her throat and managed to speak in a stronger voice. “I
am
a
doctor."
“Okay, I hope you know what you're doin'.” He closed her car door.
“Thanks for helping out,” she said and held out his bandanna.
“Keep it. You need it worse than I do.” He started off, then slogged back through the wet
salal, bracken fern, and huckleberry bushes. “I'll tell the sheriff you're here."
“Oh, God.” She wrinkled her nose. “I'd rather not see him, but I guess I'll have to."
Smile lines spread across his craggy features. “Yeah, he's a real double-domed fathead,
ain't he? If he knew half as much as he thinks he does, he could graduate from the third
grade. You take care now."
She stretched her legs and moaned. Everything ached, her fingers, her knees, her legs,
her feet. Closing her eyes, she tried to form a plan of action. Her father would have to
know. She gathered her strength and called him first. “I've had an accident,” she said,
in as steady a voice as she could muster.
“Were you hurt?"
“A few bumps is all.” She began to shiver and had to concentrate on every word. “I'm
going to have Northwest Auto Repair give me a tow."
“You want me to come get you?"
She braced her quaking body against the door frame. “That's not necessary. I'm waiting
for Sheriff Boyce."
“You sound funny. Are you sure you're okay?"
“I th-think so-so. Dad,” she stammered.
“Like hell. Where are you?"
“W-West side of file first hill out of Wheeler,” she replied.
“You got a blanket?"
“Yes."
“Wrap it around you and prop your feet up. I'll be there as soon as I can."
By evening, she had seen a doctor and her car had been examined.
Miraculously, both of them had come through the ordeal with only minor scrapes and
bruises. She still felt a trifle rocky, but didn't know whether that was due to the
accident or to the fact that she had decided to call Nathan.
She picked up the receiver twice before she overcame her nervousness enough to punch in
his number.
When he answered, in the background, she heard a Patsy Cline ballad. Her flesh began to
quiver. “Nathan, this is Amy."
“Amy!” She heard a thud, a thump, and the singing stopped.
The raspy sound of Nathan's indrawn breath made her pulse race. Without being in his
room, she knew where his mind had been, how his body had reacted to the sound of her
voice. In the one night they'd spent together; she'd learned the depth of his
passion.
“Amy, what is it? Has something happened?” he asked in a shaky voice.
Swallowing to wet her dry throat, she said, “No. Everything's fine. Just fine.” She dug
her nails into her palm. Lying to someone as perceptive as Nathan didn't come easy. “I
only called to find out if you saw all five of the employees who work at the Fenwick
Athletic Club?"
He hesitated for a moment. “No. One of the Asians works the evening shift. Why? What's
wrong?” he asked, his tone rising an octave.
“I was there today. I parked my car at Fenwick's and later at the courthouse. On my way
home, my brakes failed. The garage mechanic said I have a punctured brake line."