The Forgotten (John Puller 2)

“No. But I’m here working. You’re not.”

“I’m not a sun worshipper. And I’m here because you’re here, so let’s get to work.”

“All right.”

“So where to?”

“Where it all started. My aunt’s house.”

CHAPTER 61

“ What are you looking for?”

Carson was staring at Puller, who was searching through his aunt’s closet.

“Things that aren’t here.”

He went back outside, dug through his duffel, and pulled out the stapled pieces of paper, rifling through them. He counted down the items on the list and nodded his head.

“Breakthrough?” asked Carson.

“You could say that.”

Puller slid the papers into his pocket and stared over at Cookie’s house. Yellow police tape was still up, but there was no police cruiser parked out front. They were probably over at the new crime scene at the Plaza.

“John, what’s going on?”

“Just trying to piece something together.”

“About the murders?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

She followed as he walked over to Cookie’s house and through the gate into the backyard.

The house was dark.

The door was locked.

Ten seconds later the door was no longer locked.

“Army teach you that?” whispered Carson over his shoulder as he eased the door open.

“Army taught me a lot of things. Most of them useful.”

She followed him inside.

“While I’m here I might as well get some stuff for the dog,” he commented.

He opened some cabinets in the kitchen, found the doggie supplies, and piled them in a plastic bag he pulled from the recycling bin next to the pantry door.

“So you just came for the dog stuff?” asked Carson.

Puller didn’t answer. He went over to the cabinet housing Cookie’s watch collection. He counted off again.

“This is getting to be a little tiresome, Puller,” Carson said, a bite in her tone.

“Just trying to add up the pieces before arriving at a course of action.”

She looked at the watches. “And those figure in all this somehow?”

“They figure in something. But we’ve got one more place to check.” He looked at his watch. “It’s still too early yet. We’ve got some time to kill. Let’s take a drive.”

“Where?”

“Not where, really. More like how far. Five miles.”

They left Cookie’s house and climbed back into the Tahoe. Puller checked the rearview.

“See the two guys anywhere?”

“No, but I didn’t expect to, really.” He looked at his odometer. “Okay, five miles out, five miles back. We’re going to head east. At least that seems to be the direction based on what Jane Ryon told me.”

They left Orion Street and then the community of Sunset by the Sea. Three miles out they left any semblance of civilization behind. Four miles out it was only them, the sand, and the ocean.

Five miles out Puller stopped the truck and looked around. They were on the main street. To the north looked busier, with some buildings visible in the distance. To the south was a row of palm trees.

“The ocean has to be on the other side of those trees,” said Puller.

“Provides a natural screen from the road,” observed Carson.

They pulled down a side road and quickly found that beyond the trees was a section of thick brush, more trees, and some surface roads running through them.

And then the sand.

And then the ocean.

Puller swung the Tahoe to a stop on an asphalt park-off and they climbed out. He looked in all directions except toward the ocean.

“Pretty isolated here,” he said. “No people.”

“I wonder why?” asked Carson. “The beach looks pretty enough.”

They walked toward it and quickly found out why the beach was not very popular. The sand was gritty, the beach was covered with sharp rocks, and then there was the smell.

Carson covered her nose. “Sulfur.”

“Must be some geological quirk around here that makes this stretch of beach the way it is. And then there’s that.” He pointed at the large sign erected on a dune.

It read, Warning. Strong riptide. No swimming allowed.

“So not all of Paradise is a paradise,” said Carson.

“I think we might have left Paradise about a half mile ago. Not sure what this place is called. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“It’s a wonder that sulfur smell doesn’t foul up the other beaches.”

“Wind probably doesn’t carry it that far,” said Puller. “Or there might be some sort of meteorological reason. I didn’t smell the sulfur until we got near the beach.”

“Me either, come to think of it. But why in the world would your aunt come here?”

“I don’t know. She was old, disabled. Used a walker.”

“So walking on a beach like this would be problematic. I’ve almost fallen twice.”

They stopped and looked around.

Puller fixed his gaze directly out at the ocean. “Any shipping channels out there?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s the Gulf of Mexico. I would imagine there are lots of ships coming and going. And then there’s all the oil drilling platforms.” “Right. Like the one that popped and kept spewing oil for a long time.”

“I remember when the BP well burst open. J2 was tracking it for security reasons. And we did some background on the area. There are thousands of oil platforms out there. Most of them are concentrated off the coasts of Louisiana, Mississippi, and Texas. But some extend over into the Panhandle.”

“Oil is king.”

“At least for now, yeah.” Carson bent down, picked up a chunk of rock, and tossed it into the waves. “Can we go? I’m about to puke with this smell. And I’ll need a shower to get the stink off.” “A lot of smells more gross than this in the military,” said Puller dryly.

“True. But that doesn’t mean I have to endure them when I’m on vacation.”

They walked back to the Tahoe. Before they got in Puller stopped and knelt down.

Carson said, “What is it?”

“The king.”

“Excuse me?”

She walked around to join him.

He ran his finger over the asphalt and it turned black. He lifted his finger to his nose and looked up at her.

“Oil. Not from a platform. From a vehicle.”