The Anger Meridian by Kaylie Jones

Author:Kaylie Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2014-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

Part Two

“Doomed enterprises divide lives forever into the then and now.”

—Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

THE DAMN PHONE WON’T STOP RINGING. I’m sitting on the flagstones with my back up against the parapet, trying to get my bearings. The sun has vanished around the corner of the house but the terrace is still bathed in crimson light. Through the great room I see Tenney approaching, Blueberry in the crook of her arm; she runs toward me through the open doorway. I stand on shaky legs and take hold of her, blocking her way. The ravine and the valley and the reservoir below lie in deep shadow.

“B-Bibi took him,” she says. “He was on her desk upstairs. The money’s still there . . .” Her voice trails off as our eyes lock, then Tenney turns to see Bibi’s one shoe, tipped on its side and lying some six feet away, the ostrich feathers trembling as if in their last throes. There is a large spider-shaped crack in one of the windowpanes, where the heel must have smacked into the glass.

“Bibi’s had an accident,” I say, wrapping my arms around her shoulders.

On the top of the stone parapet is Bibi’s ashtray. The bottles of tequila and tonic stand on the wrought-iron table, three-quarters empty, the blue handblown glass ice bucket beside them, as if still waiting, along with a tumbler that holds a few fingers of liquid. The portable phone is lying there too, finally silent. Condensation has formed a puddle on the glass tabletop under the bucket, and one chair is pushed back at an angle, as if Bibi just got up to get something. Time still seems to be passing in slow motion.

I have to call the police. I don’t know how to call the police in Mexico.

I lower myself into the chair opposite Bibi’s and take hold of Tenney’s cold hands. Her tawny eyes stare into mine, showing the lower crescents of white. She’s got one arm around Blueberry’s neck in a chokehold. I take deep breaths, trying to slow my heart.

“Bibi was very drunk. She was sitting on the parapet yelling at me and then she just . . . fell backward.” I call Faye who is #1 on speed dial and Faye says she will call the police. Then I call Dr. Steve and he says he’ll be here in ten minutes.

“Mom,” says Tenney soberly, “you need to tell them you were with me the whole time. That you weren’t here at all. That’s what you need to tell them.”

“I—”

The doorbell sounds but I can’t move. Tenney disengages herself from my grasp and runs off through the great room to answer the door. Within moments, dozens of policemen—perhaps the entire police force of San Miguel—pour into the house. They’re in short-sleeved, dark-blue uniforms and they spread out and run through the patio garden and into the great room and kitchen as if in hot pursuit of a murdering thief.

I rise from the chair as Tenney runs back to me and throws her arms around my waist, burying her face in my stomach.

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