Alan and Faye Plebney stared at him, wrestling with the decision. And while they were, Clara came up and touched the picture in Alan’s hand.
“That’s my mommy,” Clara said. “Is she coming to get me soon?”
“She asked me to get you, Clara,” Marty spoke up quickly, before the Plebneys could answer. “My name is Martin.”
Clara looked up hesitantly at Marty. She wanted to believe him. “What’s the secret word?”
“Please,” he replied.
“No, the other secret word,” Clara said.
Marty had no idea what it was.
The Plebneys and Clara were staring at him, waiting. Like it was a challenge. Like they all knew he didn’t know.
Why didn’t Molly tell him? She had to know her kid would ask.
“She said not to go with a stranger who doesn’t know the secret word,” Clara repeated, just in case he needed reminding.
In a few seconds, Clara was going to turn against him, and then the Plebneys would follow suit. Marty couldn’t let that stop him, even if it meant calling in Buck and using force. Because if Marty didn’t leave with Clara, he’d be haunted for the rest of his life with that last image of Molly, holding that picture out to him, her eyes pleading, calling to him with her last breath…
And by remembering that, what didn’t make sense before now was perfectly clear. Molly did tell him.
“Angel,” Marty said.
Clara nodded.
“Is that the secret word?” Alan asked Clara gently.
“Yes,” she said, then looked up at Marty with big, wishful eyes. “Will you take me to see my Mommy?”
Marty looked at the Plebneys. It was up to them now.
Alan glanced at his wife, who gave her nod of acceptance, then he turned to Clara. “Martin is going to take care of you for a while.”
“Where’s my Mommy?” Clara asked, stuffing the burnt, wrinkled picture into her pocket.
The three adults shared an awkward moment of silence. None of them wanted to tell Clara the horrible news yet. Some day soon, perhaps even today, Marty would have to tell Clara that her mother was dead. And on another day, a long time from now, he would have to tell her how her mother died and all the things she said to him. Eventually, he’d have to hurt her and it was a pain he knew would never go away, for either of them.
“We don’t know,” Alan replied. “But we know that wherever she is, she loves you and wants you to be safe. That’s why she sent Martin to take you home.”
Faye gave Clara a kiss on the top of her head. “That’s from me and Mr. Plebney. You’ve been a very, very good girl. Now you have to be a good girl with Martin too. We’ll see you soon.”
Clara nodded shyly.
Marty held his hand out to Clara. “We’re going on a long walk, but I’ve got a problem. I hurt myself and I need someone to help me. Would you be my helper?”
She nodded and took his hand.
He squeezed her hand and let her lead him out again through the sideyard.
They found Buck pacing nervously out front, waiting for them. Buck flashed Clara his biggest, most winning smile.
“This is my friend Buck,” Marty said. “He’s going to walk with us.”
“So this is the beautiful princess I’ve heard so much about,” Buck said. “You are even more enchanting than I imagined, your highness.”
Buck did an elaborate bow. Clara didn’t say anything. She was obviously intimidated. Marty couldn’t really blame her.
“See those big shoulders? You know what they’re for?” Marty asked. “Giving beautiful, little princesses rides so they don’t get tired on long walks. Would you like him to give you a ride?”
She shook her head no. “You said you wanted me to help.”
“So I did,” Marty turned to Buck. “Sorry.”
Buck flashed his smile at Clara again. “Well, if you change your mind, your Highness, you just snap your fingers.”
The three of them walked in silence for an hour, working their way west on Ventura Boulevard as darkness fell. Marty was afraid to say anything to her for fear it would lead back to questions about her mother.
Silence was much safer.
Each step was more painful than the last, but feeling her tiny hand in his somehow made him feel stronger, that he could take on anything if that’s what it took to keep her safe. With just that touch, his own life took second place to hers.
Clara unknowingly emboldened him when they came to the inevitable moment when they had to cross the LA river again. He didn’t want to show any hesitancy or fear in front of her, so he simply hustled her across the overpass as quickly as he could without fainting from the pain.
If Buck sensed any of this, he kept quiet about it, but not silent. He whistled Disney tunes as they walked. Marty didn’t know if it made Clara feel better, but it helped him. He wished Buck had started whistling downtown instead of talking. The whole journey would have been a lot more pleasant.
The moon shone brightly over the frontier storefronts and wood-plank sidewalks of old town Calabasas, a collection of over-priced restaurants, antique stores, and real estate offices. The small street was designed to replicate the ambience of the stagecoach stop that existed there in the 1860s. Despite its genuine historical underpinnings, the street still looked like an abandoned movie set and, as it turned out, was about as sturdy. Against the quake, the buildings folded up flat like cardboard boxes. The wood planks of the sidewalk splintered violently, snapping with such force that torn boards were thrown into the trees, snagging in the branches.
But this wasn’t the real Calabasas, which was more appropriately symbolized a few blocks further west by a Mediterranean-style shopping center that boasted the world’s largest Rolex timepiece, mounted over a Ralph’s Supermarket that had its own full-time sushi chef.
They were so close to home now, Marty wondered if Beth would hear him if he screamed her name.
“We’re almost home,” Marty said excitedly.
Clara stopped. “You said you were taking me home.”
“I am,” he said.
“But I don’t live here.”
Marty looked at her and suddenly realized the terrible misunderstanding they had. They were so close to home, in a few minutes it wouldn’t have mattered. Why couldn’t he keep his big mouth shut?
“I’m taking you to my house,” he said as sweetly as he could.
“I want to go home,” Clara said, her little chin trembling, her lips drooping into a frown.
“I know you do. I’m sorry you misunderstood,” Marty said to Clara. “Your mommy asked me to take you to my house.”
“Why?” she cried.
He looked to Buck, who shrugged helplessly. This was Marty’s problem.
“Because she wants you to be safe,” Marty replied.
“I want to go home!” Clara jerked her hand away from his and marched off in a crying fury, stomping her feet.
Beth would know how to handle this better than he. She was great with kids. All he had to do was get Clara to go a few more blocks and it would all be over.
Marty turned and whispered to Buck. “Maybe you ought to grab her and carry her the rest of the way.”
“I don’t know how to carry a child,” Buck replied.
“You carry them like a bag of groceries.”
“So I hold her by the hair and swing her beside my leg?”
Marty was about to reply when he realized something. He didn’t hear Clara crying any more.
He didn’t hear her at all.
“Clara?”
Marty turned to see her standing absolutely still a few yards away, staring in horror at the tiger, a dead Labrador in its slavering jaws.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
N o.
At first, Marty thought he was hallucinating, then he remembered the circus banners along Ventura Boulevard, and knew this was real. The tiger must have escaped during the quake.
The big animal let out a low, rumbling growl, its eyes locked on Clara.