Archer had to make a decision: Follow the man, which would be tough to do on a narrow canyon road in broad daylight without being spotted. Or take advantage of his absence and see what he could find on the property. Archer decided on the second option and drove back to the Bonhams’ house. The old pickup truck he’d seen was parked at the curb.
He parked behind it and made his way quickly to the Bonhams’ rear yard. He saw a short and stocky man in his fifties pushing a wheelbarrow with gloved hands. He had on a broad-brimmed straw hat, faded dungarees, and a dark blue work shirt. When Archer drew closer he saw the man looked to be of Japanese descent.
In the wheelbarrow were a shovel and a bush with long green leaves. Along both sides of the rear yard were thick hedges that formed a boundary line. To the left was a line of fruit trees with dark green oranges dangling from the limbs. Raised flower beds and terraced shrubbery sat in well-designed configurations. The rugged, dry canyon walls soared behind all of this manmade horticultural pleasantry. To Archer, it was simultaneously lovely and tragic looking.
The man stopped the wheelbarrow next to a spot where a bush had clearly been. A mound of shoveled dirt lay next to the hole.
“Hey, pal,” Archer said.
The man looked at him from behind thick-lensed, round spectacles. “Hello.”
“Are the Bonhams in? They were expecting me, but no one answered the door.”
“I do not know. I just work here in yard.”
“Right, planting that bush. What happened to the other one?”
“It died. Something killed it.”
“Well, that happens. To plants and people. What kind is it?”
“Coffeeberry.”
“Coffeeberry?”
“The seeds, they look like coffee beans.” He lifted his hands high over his head. “It grows to fifteen feet. Birds love coffeeberry fruit. And it is quite good against fire. It grows good just about everywhere. It is very, very pretty.”
Archer looked around the lush grounds. “You did a real good job back here.”
“Thank you.” The man lifted his shovel out of the wheelbarrow and set it next to the hole where the bush would be going in.
Archer knelt and looked at the ground around the bush, where there were traces of something white. “What’s that, some sort of plant food? Or maybe a fungus? Maybe that killed the bush.”
“I do not know what that is. It was on ground, I guess.” Archer straightened. “You got moles?”
“What?”
“Over there where the lawn is lumpy.” It was the patch that Archer had seen previously.
The man shook his head. “There are no moles here. That is Mr. Bonham’s bomb room.”
“Bomb room?”
“He is very afraid of them dropping bombs here. Big bombs. You know. Like they do on islands out there.” He pointed toward the Pacific, his expression turning somber. “They can kill many, so many.”
“So he has a bomb shelter over there? Can you show me?”
The man led him over to the spot. Archer knelt and saw a clasp in the lawn with a large padlock on it. He touched the grass around it and saw that it was fake. That was why it was lumpy. It was covering a metal plate — the entrance to the shelter.
“Who has the key to the lock?”
“Mr. Bonham.”
“You ever been down there?”
The man shook his head. “No. I like sky and sun. Not dark places.”
“How do you know it’s a bomb shelter, then?”
“I ask Mr. Bonham when I try to cut the grass there, and it all go bad. It is not real grass, see. Then he tells me to not worry about this part of the grass. See?”
Archer stood. “Yeah, I see. Hey, you need some help getting the bush in the ground?”
“Sure, mister, sure. Thank you.”
Archer helped him lift the bush and its root ball out of the wheelbarrow and they got it situated level in the hole. While the man was fetching his shovel, Archer used his handkerchief to scoop up some of the dirt laced with the white powder, and thrust it into his side pocket.
“You leaving now?” asked the man, turning to him.
“I’m leaving now.”
“Hey, mister, you got bomb room where you live?”
“No, but in light of things, I might seriously think about getting one.”
Chapter 51
Archer sat in his car and looked at the white powder. He couldn’t be certain what it was without getting a lab to test it. But from the look of it and the smell he thought it might be heroin. And maybe that was what killed the coffeeberry. The question was, how did heroin get in Bonham’s backyard? He had some ideas about that. Maybe the connection he was looking for between Paley and Bonham was starting to solidify.
He parked in front of Danforth’s house, got out, and knocked on the door. He heard the pitter-patter of her little feet and the door opened. She had on a creamy white day dress and slippers. Her fake hair was in a bun and she had reading glasses on and a Life magazine in her hand. Two cats trailed her.
“Mr. Archer, you’re back.”
“I am. Can I come in and ask a few more questions?”
“Certainly, certainly. Would you like something to drink? I have lemonade, coffee.”
What, no scotch? “Lemonade will be fine, thanks.”
She brought it to him in the same room they had sat in before.
He sipped on the drink for a moment as she perched in a chair across from him. Her cats formed a protective circle around her, though one did jump up next to Archer to make inquiries with a paw lightly tapping his arm. He responded by scratching its ears.
“I met Mr. and Mrs. Bonham.”
She took off her specs and stared at him dumbly. “You did? Did you go all the way to France? And you’re already back?”
“No. They’re back. You didn’t know that?”
“No.”
“He just drove off a few minutes ago in his Bentley. He actually got back into town on December thirtieth. The missus came in a few days later.”
“Why would they come back separately? And why come back at all? They’re usually gone much longer than that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t know that and they didn’t say. But maybe they’re worried about something. They do have a bomb shelter in their backyard.”
“A what?”
“A bomb shelter. You know, if the Soviets decide to bomb us they can go and hide in a little metal box underground.”
“I never heard of such a thing.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure how much protection something like that would be with an atom bomb dropped on your head.”
She let out a sigh. “Mankind has gotten so very sick. Sometimes I’m glad that I’m very near the end of my days on earth.”
“Don’t say that. What would your cats do without you?”
She smiled. “That is very kind of you to say. And for your information I’ve made suitable arrangements for each of them when I die.”
“That’s good of you. Look, it turns out that Peter Bonham was married before. At least that’s what his wife told me.”
“Really. To whom?”
“I don’t know. Why did you think he hadn’t been?”
“Well, he never spoke about another wife. I’ve been to their house several times. There were no pictures of his first wife or children from a first marriage or anything. And Bernadette never mentioned anything like that.”