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Leigh’s mother came up and rapped on the door. Leigh called out, “Entrez at your own risk.”
“Your father wants to talk to you,” Rebecca Hubbel said.
Leigh slid off the bed, pushing her feet into a pair of flip-flops.
“He’s upset,” her mother said.
“Why?”
“He’ll tell you.”
“See you in an hour if I’m lucky,” Leigh said, handing Kat a magazine devoted to woodworking. Rebecca Hubbel gently closed the bedroom door behind herself and Leigh.
Kat looked at the pictures, sometimes reading the captions. Twenty minutes later, Leigh reappeared.
“What did your dad want?”
Leigh pulled out a suitcase, threw open her bureau drawers, and started filling it. “Oh, the usual horseshit about Tom and me. They’re worried. They heard about us going up to Idyllwild together. Things are progressing too fast and seriously, according to my dad. I told him I’m moving out.”
“Really? Where?”
“Can I stay with you and figure that out for a bit?”
At that time, Kat lived in a studio apartment in Manhattan Beach. “Of course,” she said, her heart sinking. Where would she put Leigh?
“It’s been good, living here. No rent. Happy parents. I’ve saved some money. They wanted me to stay home until I’m married, I guess, but geez.”
“Your folks were upset.” Kat hated to think of that.
So did Leigh, who stopped packing for a moment to wipe her eyes. “They both practically cried.”
“Our ma expected us to leave after high school. When it took longer, I think she held it against us.”
“I don’t want them in my sex life anymore.”
“What will you do?”
“Whatever the hell I want.”
She actually bypassed Kat’s studio and went straight to Tom’s Balboa place.
Fifty-three hundred feet high in the San Jacinto Mountains, Idyllwild boasted hundreds of miles of hiking trails, horseback riding venues, shops, and an eclectic selection of restaurants, plus fishing and distant access to two flanking lakes, Lake Fulmor and Lake Hemet. So said the brochure they picked up at the Visitor Center, anyway. They cruised along a tree-dominated main street filled with chalet-style shops displaying paintings and gift items. Tourists wandered about.
By the time Kat and Ray arrived at the Hubbels’ rustic cabin, they had between them drunk four waters, eaten three PowerBars, and squabbled twice rather bitterly, eventually descending into silence.
Ray pulled the Porsche into the gravel driveway and slammed on the brakes. Kat lurched forward as they came to a halt. “Holy shit, Ray.”
He stared at the cabin. They both did. Wooden shutters closed the front windows. The place looked deserted.
“Maybe she’s in the village and she’ll be back,” Kat said. “She sure doesn’t seem to be here. Wait a minute. We may have just eradicated some tire tracks. Back up.” Ray backed into the street and left the motor idling as Kat jumped out to check. The gravel was compacted and she couldn’t see any tracks from either Leigh’s van or the Porsche.
What they could see, once they pulled into the driveway again, encompassed less than a quarter of the large, heavily treed lot. The cabin had once been painted barn-red, but the paint had weathered and peeled. A shuttered, ramshackle porch kept sunlight from entering the place in front. Behind the cabin, the hill sloped precipitously down, and the pylon Kat could see didn’t look thick enough to keep the cabin from sliding down the hill in the first rain.
And yet it had endured for sixty-five years. A For Sale sign had been placed by the driveway by the real estate agent, with a plastic container for holding sales brochures tacked to it, but any glowing descriptions that might once have filled it were long gone. Kat remembered Leigh telling her about feeding jays on the back porch. She wondered briefly about the Hubbels, their lives, whether they had enjoyed coming here with their little girl years before.
The pines, brown and rustling in a late-afternoon wind, appeared close to death. They must have something strong in them, Kat decided as she mounted the wooden steps, because they were living on almost no water. Ray slammed the car door and followed.
“Shoot,” Kat said. “I assumed the realtor would have a lockbox on the door. I have a master that will open just about any lockbox.” She showed it to him and he turned it over in his hands.
“Nice,” he said enviously.
“Now what?”
“No problem,” Ray said. He turned and his eyes sought out the porch’s hiding places. Then he went down the stairs to a round granite stone to the right of the porch. He bent over and pushed it aside. And there sat a dirty house key.
“How’d you know?” she said.
“I like keys. This is where they would keep it.”
“But you went straight to it.”
“I have never been here before. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Kat knew, had known the minute they pulled up, that no living being resided inside that boarded-up cabin but that didn’t stop her from looking around hopefully as she entered.
The cabin felt chilly. Ray, doing the guy thing, immediately went to locate a thermostat or heat source. Kat pulled her sleeping bag inside and shut the door behind herself.
The entryway, meager, held a small closet which hid coats. She peered inside, noting coats for every season, light, dark, thin, thick. Musty smelling.
The first room past the entry, presumably the living room, had a red leather couch, comfortably worn, two floral chenille chairs, and a coffee table with an undone puzzle on it. She reflected, casting a cold professional eye on it, that this look would not appeal to the desirable market, an affluent suburbanite. It looked to be exactly what it was, a moldy old cabin nobody had ever improved. No wonder the Hubbels had no nibbles. Instantly, turned on like a faucet, she imagined the possibilities. Paint the paneling a light taupe or soft apricot. Replace the moldy carpet. Replace the lighting fixtures, dated and dusty. Replace the appliances. Spend twenty grand and make fifty.
Ray stood in the doorway. “I got the heat going.”
“That’s a plus,” she said. “Shall we have a look around?” They went together, turning on lights and opening shutters, glancing into the tiny kitchen, the upstairs bedroom with its pink chenille-covered queen bed. The downstairs area was shut off from the rest of the house by a closed door that led off the living room. The staircase down, narrow and rickety, bothered Kat. Maybe it was the harsh, naked lightbulb that lit the stairwell, or the lack of windows. She followed Ray down and they found themselves in a large room with a fireplace at the far end, a den, perhaps, with a couple of couches and a window with a nice view of the nearby hillsides.
“This isn’t so bad,” Kat said. They went into a narrow hallway. Way in the back was a small bedroom with a double bed complete with pillows but no overhead light, just a dim lamp which Ray snapped on. “The second bedroom,” Kat said. One window faced out from the hillside, covered with a cotton curtain. A closet took up one corner. Kat looked inside. No bodies.
“She’s not here,” Ray said. He sat down on the bed, which creaked alarmingly, and put his head in his hands.
“We haven’t looked everywhere yet.”
“You mean, the cupboards, in case I stuffed her under the sink or something?”
“Let’s make sure you didn’t,” Kat said. “You’ve surprised me before.”
It didn’t take long. They found old clothing in the bureau drawers and a storage closet filled with things the family had left behind. They wandered around the property in the gathering darkness. A sliver of moon shone down as Kat held a flashlight under the house. Then they went inside and found an opening to the low attic in one of the closets, and took a look up there. A lot of insect droppings, signs of asbestos. Probable termite infestation, a sale-killer. But no sign of a body.