Jake made an effort to remain calm. “That was nice of you. Getting back to Red…”
Veronica’s eyes got teary. “He was dead. Poor dumb bird. He was lying in his cage with his little chicken feet sticking up.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I meant to, honest. I just didn’t get a chance, and then things started happening so fast. Besides, when Lulu brought the chicken soup in, I figured she’d found him.”
“What are you talking about? Where was he?”
“Well, I didn’t think it was right to leave Red in that cage. He was dead. Real dead, if you know what I mean.” She stuck her arms straight out and puffed up her cheeks. “Bloat city.”
Jake bit his lip. Allen made a strange sound in the back of his throat.
Veronica smiled smugly. “Everyone thinks I’m dumb, but I’m not. I’m pretty good at figuring things out. I said to myself, Veronica, what should you do with this smelly chicken? The answer was simple. You treat it like any other chicken. So I wrapped it in aluminum foil and put it in your freezer.”
“Omigod. You mean that bird’s been in our freezer all this time?”
Veronica looked puzzled. “Unless Lulu used him for soup. I only labeled it chicken. I didn’t put his name on the package. I stopped back the following night to see if Red was still here, but there was someone in the office. I was afraid it was a burglar, so I drove away and called the police. Then I went to Brian’s house and told him about Red, and he almost had a cow. He was yelling and screaming at me, telling me how I was just a chicken killer, and how I was going to ruin his ratings. I thought if Red wasn’t already made into soup he deserved a decent burial, but Brian said no, no, no. He said it wouldn’t look good. He said I’d get arrested and sent to jail for breaking into the clinic. Then, the next day, the rotten son of a creep fired me.”
Jake and Allen looked at each other and simultaneously turned and ran to the small kitchenette. Jake opened the freezer door and extracted the package marked chicken. “How could we have missed this?”
Allen shrugged. “I thought Amy had brought it in. She was always bringing us food.”
Jake unwrapped the aluminum foil and grimaced. “Veronica, how could you think Amy would make soup out of Red?”
“It did seem pretty weirdo, but you have to admit, it was a strange coincidence for her to bring that soup in.”
Jake rewrapped Red and put him back in the freezer. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
Veronica turned to Ponytail. “So you see, this was all my fault. It’s not right that Dr. Elliott’s romance went belly-up.” Veronica jiggled a little in her excitement, catching Ponytail’s full attention. “I thought, maybe, you could do another show about the real story of Red, and I could be the star. It could be an exposé. We could get that creep Turner where he lives. And Lulu would see the show and come back and everyone would live happily ever after.”
Ponytail smiled. “I think that’d be a great idea.”
It was a great idea, Jake thought, but what if Amy didn’t see it? It was a local cable station. What if Amy was far away? What if she had bigger fish to fry at nine o’clock Friday night? Lord, how he missed her. Especially at night when there was nothing else to occupy his mind, and the bed felt cold and empty next to him. He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t sleep. He looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, uttered an expletive, and thrashed under the covers. Two o’clock.
From the foot of the bed, Spot belligerently opened one eye. Now what? he seemed to say. Better not be another marathon nocturnal walk.
Jake grunted and reached for the brand-new remote. He punched up a pillow behind himself and sullenly turned on his TV. He flipped through the stations looking for something boring, and settled on a news station from Baltimore.
“… news and weather live from Baltimore, every hour on the hour,” a fat little man announced. “And now here’s the weather.”
The camera panned to a slim young woman with tousled blond curls. The woman blinked in an obvious effort to stay awake. “Here’s the weather,” she mumbled. “It’s going to rain. Big deal. Do you care?” She moved to a wall map of the United States and pointed to Kansas. “There’s a high over the Great Lakes.” She moved the pointer to Florida. “And a storm front coming in from the Rockies.” She squinted into the camera. “Is anybody out there?”
Jake had stopped breathing. It was Amy. Coming to him live, every hour on the hour, from Baltimore. The worst weather girl in the history of television. Out on her feet and cranky. His lips curved in a stiff smile.
Two hours later Jake found the station and parked next to Amy’s red car. It was a small operation. Not much more than a warehouse in a light industrial complex. The night watchman directed Jake to a door at the end of a short hall.
“Be quiet,” he said, “it’s time for the news. It’s live, you know. And watch out for the weather girl. She’s not used to keeping these hours. She’s a little… accident prone.”
Jake silently eased into the shadows at the back of the room. The dirty cement floor was littered with used coffee cups and cigarette butts. Ten or twelve tan folding chairs had been set up for an audience that didn’t exist. Two cameras focused on the brightly lit platform against the far wall. A shelf-type desk with a blue bunting skirt occupied half of the platform, the blue screen the other half. A little man with a perfectly round face sat at one end of the desk.
Amy sat at the end closest to the screen, staring steely-eyed at a spot on the desktop. She was tired. Physically tired and emotionally tired. She missed Jake. She’d moved from place to place throughout her entire childhood, leaving people and places she’d loved, but she’d never experienced anything like this. This was agony. Empty, desperate, incomprehensible agony.
She lived in a constant haze of painful longing, wondering what Jake was doing, if he was well, if he thought of her. It had only been a week, she told herself. Could that be possible? She could barely remember the reasons for leaving. Something foolish about his business and clairvoyant vibrations.
No, that wasn’t really it. Be honest, Amy. She’d bailed out when the going got tough. That was the worst of the pain. No faith in their love. No guts. It wasn’t like her. Why had she been so weak just at the time when she should have been strong?
She was going back on Saturday to try to make amends, but first she had to sleep. If only she could sleep for more than an hour at a time…
“… and now here’s the treat you’ve all been waiting for, Amy Klasse with the weather.”
Amy smiled at the announcer. “Thank you, Ed.”
There was a guffaw from one of the cameramen. “His name’s Ben,” he said in a stage whisper.
Amy sighed. “Thank you, Ben. Well everybody, the weather hasn’t changed any since three o’clock. It’s… um, it’s nice out. And it’s dark.” Her eyes slid closed and she gave herself a small shake. “About the map. Here it is,” she said, gesturing with the pointer. “It’s got weather all over it.”
The red light winked off the camera, and the cameraman called, “Cut.” Amy slumped in her seat. “How do you ever get used to this? How do you guys stay awake all night?”
“Don’t worry about it,” the cameraman said. “You’re doing great. People are actually staying up to see you mumble through the weather and demolish the set. They especially liked the time you caught your heel in the desk skirt and trashed the whole platform.”
The round-faced man grinned at Amy. “Our ratings are going up because of you. People think you’re funny.”
Amy returned the smile, but it didn’t extend to her eyes. There was a numbness to her face that went beyond exhaustion. Even her curls seemed limp.