would be great! Who are you interviewing?”
“Can’t say. It’s part of an ongoing murder investigation.”
“Can I help?”
Decker held back a smile. “Uh, I think I’ve got it covered.”
“I’m sure you do.” Gabe laughed. “Thanks for letting me come. I promise I won’t get mauled by a lion.”
“Maybe you’d rather face a lion than face Yasmine’s father?”
“We’re back there again?”
“All I’m saying is we both could use a good steak dinner and everyone’s entitled to a last meal.”
“Nothing is going to happen!” Gabe said.
“Yeah, yeah, famous last words.” Decker parked the car in front of a kosher steak house. “Let’s go, Romeo.”
The two of them got out of the car. Gabe said, “Thanks for taking me out to dinner.”
“My pleasure.”
“And thanks also for being a cool guy.”
“I’m a cool guy?”
“Peter, you are the essence of coolness. If everyone was as cool as you are, we’d never have to worry about global warming.”
Sliding up the on-ramp of the 210, Decker followed the Foothill freeway for forty-plus miles until it hit Highway 15, a dividing line between Angeles Crest and the San Bernardino Mountains. The range, going north and south, cleaved Southern California into Pacific Ocean to the west and the Mojave Desert on the east, the lowest place in the United States at 282 feet below sea level.
The road climbed upward until the elevations were measured in thousands instead of hundreds. In the late fall, the dogwoods, maples, and oaks had lost their leaves, standing dormant and skeletal. But there was still plenty of green provided by the plethora of pines and cedars. The air was cold and crisp, the sky was overcast, and as the car scaled the heights, the road twisted and curled. A sprinkling of snow attempted to cover brown detritus of rotting leaves, pine needles, and animal scat.
It was slow going. Then the road forked into two unpaved lanes. The navigation system became unglued and Decker had to rely on directions and a two-year-old hiking map. The car bumped along a rutted strip at about ten per hour. After twenty minutes, he saw the weathered post topped by a makeshift sign: global earth sanctuary 3mi. An arrow pointed the way.
The temperature had dipped to the low forties, and Decker cranked up the heat. Assuming they’d be outside most of time, he had packed scarves and gloves and had given Gabe one of his bomber jackets. The length was okay, but being that he outweighed the kid by eighty pounds, the girth was way off.
Gabe had been listening to his iPhone most of the way. As they passed the sign to the sanctuary, he took out the earbuds and stared outside, rubbing his arms. “This is Southern California?”
“It’s a big state. You can get just about any climate you want except glaciers.”
“Sometimes … when I see unspoiled terrain like this … I just want to jump out and lose myself in nature. The problem is with my body weight and mountain man skills, I’d probably last about a day.”
“Did you ever go camping with your family?”
Gabe laughed. “Are you kidding me? Chris Donatti camping?”
“The man knows how to shoot.”
“Only two-legged prey. No, I grew up suburban, urban. How far is this place?”
“According to the directions, it’s three miles from the sign.”
“Thanks for taking me. Sorry if I’ve been bad company.”
Decker smiled. “You’re exactly the type of company I like. The quiet helps me think.”
“Yeah, you don’t even turn on the radio or anything. I couldn’t last more than ten minutes without something filling up my ears.”
“When it’s silent, your brain fills in the music,” Decker told him. “After all these years, I think I’ve finally learned how to listen.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The lane finally dead-ended in a dirt lot that had been cleared for parking. There were several vehicles—a white van, a four-wheel drive, a Honda, and a golf cart that sat underneath a naked sycamore. The property held three trailers along with miles of chain-link fencing crisscrossing the trails. He and Gabe got out, the boy sticking his hands in his pockets. Decker adjusted his scarf. A bald, stoop-shouldered man came out of one of the trailers and walked over to a white chest refrigerator. He opened the lid and began to stuff plastic bags of meat in a leather pouch.
“Excuse me,” Decker said in a loud voice.
The man looked up. “Can I help you?”
Decker walked toward him so he wouldn’t have to shout. “I’m looking for Vignette Garrison.”
The man pointed at the trailer in the middle. “Her office is there, but I think she’s out with the animals.”
“Okay if we wait inside her office? Little chilly out here.”
“Fine with me, but you won’t find it too much warmer inside. All we have are floor heaters.” Despite the slumped posture, the man was tall with cornflower blue eyes and white stubble.
Decker said, “Do you work here full-time?”
“Volunteer. I make my money as an accountant. Used to be at this time of the year, I’d never see daylight. A heart attack later, I found myself thinking about things other than quarterly estimates. Too bad shoveling shit doesn’t pay as much as manipulating numbers.” He closed the flap on the pouch. “Mealtime for the kitty cats. Wanna come see what we have here?”
At that moment, Decker saw a woman with long hair in the distance walking toward them. She wore a knitted cap, a thick jacket, tight jeans, and hiking boots. “Is that Vignette Garrison?”
“Yep.”
“We have an appointment. Thanks for the invitation though.”
The accountant gave Decker a wave. “I’m off.”
Gabe said, “I’ll come with you. I’ve never seen lions and tigers up close.”
“Well, come along and enjoy the experience.” The man stuck out his hand. “Everett James.”
“Gabe Whitman.” He took hold of the man’s right wrist with both hands and gave him the musician’s handshake. “Thanks a lot, Mr. James.”
“You can call me Everett.” The man took out a set of keys. “This way.”
James opened the gate to go in just as Vignette was about to go out. They spoke for a few seconds, and when it was over, Vignette
