Meadowlark by Sheila Simonson Read Free Book Online

are
lower on his personal totem pole than cowards.
    "Plenty of anti-freeze in his system."
    "College student," Jay muttered. "I've seen him on campus."
Jay drove on. He stopped in Shoalwater and talked to the deputy
there. I had the feeling the pickup driver would be taking a
Breathalyzer test soon.
    We chugged on home. Later, as we twined warmly in bed,
Jay murmured, "I'm sorry you had a rotten time, Lark."
    "Me, too." I'd been thinking. "McDonald was pretty obvious
and crude. You were right. He was using me, but not to get at you, or
not exclusively."
    "Who?"
    "Bianca." I flopped back against my pillow.
    "'S possible."
    "I won't say anything to her about it."
    "And you're going through with the workshop?"
    "Yes. That woman needs help." I thought of Keith and Del
with their heads together, smirking and watching, and of the
free-floating hostility in the air.
    Hugo Groth had drawn most of the fire because he wasn't
there. Bianca was probably partly to blame. She said she had been
trying to re-create the commune--or the hotel she'd lived in as a
child. If they'd all chosen to live together that would have been
different. Bianca's wealth made her naÏve desire to create a
community look a lot like coercion. At least Hugo had had the sense
to move out.
    Bianca called me two weeks before the workshop was
scheduled to begin.
    I had gone in to the store to sort new stock and enter it into
my inventory. "Is everything set?" I hoped neither of the speakers
had backed out.
    "I think so. Lark, have you seen Hugo?"
    "He came in last week to pay the rent."
    "He hasn't showed up at work for three days." She sounded
tense.
    "Has he gone off like this in the past?"
    "Twice, but I traced him easily both times. Now I don't know
what to do. Nobody knows where he is, not even his ex-wife. There's
no sign of him here, and he doesn't answer the phone, either."
    "Better call the sheriff." The police would not be impressed.
Hugo was a mature adult with a bank account. "Where's his
bicycle?"
    "I haven't seen it here. Do you have a key to his
apartment?"
    "Yes, but I'm not going to barge in on Hugo if he's taking a
little vacation. I'll run up and knock, if you like, and look for the bike
in the hall."
    "Will you? I'd be grateful."
    "I'll call you back," I said, resigned and not best pleased.
    The bike wasn't on the landing, and Hugo didn't respond to
my knock. I tried Mr. Williams, too, but he must have been out.
Downstairs, a utility bill addressed to Hugo and a couple of
advertising circulars lay in the little basket below the mail slot. Mr.
Williams' mail was gone.
    I went back into the store to report my failure. "He hasn't
picked his mail up recently."
    At the other end of the line, Bianca heaved an exasperated
sigh. "Damn Hugo. He went off before because he got restless, or so
he claimed, but he never left me when there was anything crucial to
do. I'm going nuts nursing this broccoli, getting his starts ready to set
out, supervising the other digging--every one of those huge beds has
to be composted and double dug before we can plant. I wish we'd
never started that experiment."
    I was trying to envisage Bianca in her vivid designer tunic
digging up spadefuls of the Good Earth.
    "It's almost the end of the term," Bianca wailed. "He has to
evaluate the interns."
    "Lawsy."
    "What?"
    "That must be difficult for you." I started to ask how I could
help and bit back the words. I was already doing the woman a large
favor by running the workshop.
    I could hear Bianca gulping at the other end. She said in a
muffled voice, "I'm sorry. If I come to town, will you at least let me
into the apartment?"
    That was doubtfully legal. I was not a cop, however, and
landlords do have rights. I sighed. "Okay, Bianca, but make it snappy.
I want to go home." I was fixing boeuf en daube with mixed
veggies. The vegetables were organic, the beef just beef. Probably full
of steroids.
    "Half an hour?"
    "Okay."
    She showed up forty-five minutes later in jeans, a
sweatshirt,