like this, with drones and satellites and spyware everywhere these days. And strangers who might know more about you than you do yourself.
I shoved the little bag and its fragments of peaty earth into my pocket.
As for what else was buried on our property, I didn’t even dare go near that deep part of the woods—I hadn’t since Juan’s accident, over six months ago. It was far enough away from the house, I’d managed to resist. Anyone could be watching. Had the drone caught sight of something? It was telling what subtleties you could see from above that you couldn’t catch at eye level. What would a drone catch flying over my land? Would it spot the difference in the earth? The part dug up and covered again? No, that was ridiculous, of course it wouldn’t with the camouflage of bushes and trees. But I’d been a fool not to get that gun. What if the drone returned?
I knew there had been a visitor. Just knew it. The cleaning lady, Mrs. Reed? No, she came on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Had always worked those days at Cliffside, for years. She’d come as part and parcel with the sale of the house. Finding new people to work for you around here was no easy feat, especially in the colder months. Something about the woman and her shoe-button eyes intimidated me. She was brisk, efficient, and made me feel that by chatting with her I was wasting her time. So I didn’t dare ask anything out of the ordinary from her, like cleaning the floor-to-ceiling windows, even though the window cleaner had never showed up. I tried to stay out of her way, not be here, or leave soon after she arrived. Mrs. Reed, of course, had her own key. Could she have come on her day off? Or what about Sam, the contractor? He knew this house inside out. But I certainly hadn’t given him a key, and the other contractors who had done quotes had only come to Cliffside once. Unless Sam knew about the key’s hiding place?
I sniffed the air again and smelled a heady whiff of… what was it, jasmine? I thought again of calling the police and telling them about the anonymous text and the drone, but instantly remembered what a crazy idea that would be. The last thing I needed was them firing questions at me. I sure as hell didn’t want to open up that can of worms.
Five
Every day I half expected to see the drone again. But it didn’t reappear. Or another menacing text message to pop up on my phone, but none came.
Hush, hush, I told my clattering mind. Let sleeping dogs lie.
The backpack baby and her parents didn’t resurface on the beach over the next few weeks. Nor the young sibling trio. Perhaps they had just been on vacation like most people passing through Big Sur. Even in town, now that vacation season was well over, I saw fewer families and more boring, retired people—people with more money than they knew what to do with. And a lot of the fun people—the Brazilians over the hill, for instance—would usually stay away during wintertime and they certainly wouldn’t come now, with the thunder and dangerous sloshy roads of late. Big Sur used to be home for so many artists and writers, like Jack Kerouac and Henry Miller, but these days few artists and writers could afford to live along this coast. Hence the retreat plan.
Pippa hadn’t called, thank goodness. I guessed I’d iced her out somewhat. But I couldn’t deny how lonely I felt.
On the days I wasn’t working for Mr. Donner, I spent my time surfing the Internet for retreat ideas, as if on automatic pilot, knowing I’d never go through with it anyway. Everything revolved around good weather. Yoga, Pilates, painting courses. We had a lot of sunny days, too, the sky a crystal-cut blue, but never guaranteed. We had as many days of fog. People wouldn’t want to be here in blustery, damp weather with mist rolling in from the ocean, sometimes so thick you couldn’t see three feet in front of you. No, people on vacation want full-on sunshine and swimming pool weather, every single day. And the rain hadn’t let up.
I thought about my own predicament. What would I do this Christmas, all alone?
A faint but insistent beep-beep of a vehicle in the distance interrupted my thoughts. Funny how the wind can carry sound if it’s blowing in