The Husband

of branches. From high above, the floor of the canyon had appeared to be choked with greenery, but Mitch hadn't expected large trees. Yet in addition to some of the scrub trees and brush that he had envisioned, he found an eclectic forest.
    California buckeyes were garlanded with fragrant white flowers. Bristling windmill palms thrived with California laurels and black myrobalan plums. Many of the trees were gnarled and twisted and rough, junk specimens, as though the urban-canyon soil fed mutagens to their roots, but there were acer japonicums and Tasmanian snow gums that he would have been pleased to use in any high-end landscaping job.
    A few rats scattered on his arrival, and a snake slithered away through the shadows. Maybe a rattlesnake. He couldn't be sure.
    While he remained in the cover of the trees, no one could see him from the canyon rim. He no longer was at risk of immediate apprehension.
    So many branches of different trees interlaced that even the raging wind could not peel back the canopy and let the sun shine in directly. The light was green and watery. Shadows trembled, swayed like sea anemones.
    A shallow stream slipped through the canyon, no surprise this recently after the rainy season. The water table might be so close to the surface here that a small artesian well maintained the flow all year.
    He untied the plastic trash-can liner from his belt and examined it. The bag had been punctured in three places and had sustained a one-inch tear, but nothing seemed to have fallen out of it.
    Mitch fashioned a loose temporary knot in the neck of the bag and carried it against his body, in the crook of his left arm.
    As he remembered the lay of the land, the canyon narrowed and the floor rose dramatically toward the west. The purling water eased lazily from that direction, and he paralleled it at a faster pace.
    A damp carpet of dead leaves cushioned his step. The pleasant melange of moist earth, wet leaves, and sporing toadstools gave weight to the air.
    Although the population of Orange County exceeded three million, the bottom of the canyon felt so remote that he might have been miles from civilization. Until he heard the helicopter.
    He was surprised they were up in this wind.
    Judging by sound alone, the chopper crossed the canyon directly over Mitch's head. It went north and circled the neighborhood through which he'd made his run, swelling louder, fading, then louder again.
    They were searching for him from the air, but in the wrong place. They didn't know he'd descended into the canyon.
    He kept moving—but then halted and cried out softly in surprise when Anson's phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, relieved that he hadn't lost or damaged it.
    "This is Mitch."
    Jimmy Null said, "Are you feeling hopeful?"
    "Yes. Let me talk to Holly."
    "Not this time. You'll see her soon. I'm moving the meet from three to two o'clock."
    "You can't do that."
    "I just did it."
    "What time is it now?"
    "One-thirty," Jimmy Null said.
    "Hey, no, I can't make two o'clock."
    "Why not? Anson's place is only minutes from the Turnbridge house."
    "I'm not at Anson's place."
    "Where are you, what are you doing?" Null asked.
    Feet planted wide in wet leaves, Mitch said, "Driving around, passing time."
    "That's stupid. You should've stayed at his place, been ready."
    "Make it two-thirty. I've got the money right here. A million four. I've got it with me."
    "Let me tell you something."
    Mitch waited, and when Null didn't go on, he said, "What? Tell me what?"
    "About the money. Let me tell you something about the money."
    "All right."
    "I don't live for money. I've got some money. There are things that mean more to me than money."
    Something was wrong. Mitch had felt it before, when talking to Holly, when she had sounded constrained and had not told him that she loved him.
    "Listen, I've come so far, we've come so far, it's only right we finish this."
    "Two o'clock," Null said. "That's the new time. You aren't where you need to be at two sharp, it's over. No second chance."
    "All right."
    "Two o'clock."
    "All right."
    Jimmy Null terminated the call. Mitch ran.

Chapter 63

     
    Chained to the gas pipe, Holly knows what she must do, what she will do, and therefore she can pass her time only by worrying about all the ways things could go wrong or by marveling at what she can see of the uncompleted mansion.
    Thomas Turnbridge would have had one fantastic kitchen if he had lived. When all the equipment had been installed, a