Page 28 of A Map to Paradise

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Though she had been to Palm Springs often in the past, the stark beauty of its treeless foothills as golden brown as toasted bread and the larger snowcapped mountains that towered above still took June’s breath away each time. The little city itself was an oasis of hotels and mansions and palm trees situated like a shining gem on an immense swath of tawny-hued velvet that seemed to reach forever in all directions.

Elwood’s hideaway was at the farthest edge of Old Las Palmas, a neighborhood set against the base of the San Jacinto Mountains and home to dozens of Hollywood elite who’d wanted, like Elwood had, a haven far from the rat race.

Kirk Douglas had a place a mile away from Elwood’s bungalow; so did Cary Grant, and Judy Garland, and others. The movie stars’ homes were immense and gated, and Melanie now drove past several of these as they motored toward Elwood’s place, a little two-bedroom house on an acre of land that was far smaller than the estates they’d driven past, and nowhere near as posh.

But the tile-roofed, white stucco bungalow tucked away behind a stand of acacia trees was exactly what Elwood had wanted.

Elwood hadn’t been here since before the accident. After it, June and Frank went only a couple times to check on the place. Once Frank died, only Max and the occasional old friend of Elwood’s would ask to use it. June had wanted to come following Frank’s passing but she never felt good about leaving Elwood for very long. And especially not for that purpose. Just the mention of Palm Springs could send Elwood into a somber mood that could last for days.

Now, again, she was impressed by the desert’s odd grandeur. But then the circular drive of Elwood’s place came into view. It was filled with cars and her heart began to beat faster.

One was Max’s, two belonged to local Palm Springs police, and two more to Riverside County law enforcement. Three other vehicles parked off to the side June did not recognize.

Uniformed officers looked up as they approached, as did several people in plain clothes—neighbors, perhaps. Max was there, too, watching them pull in. His suit clothes were dusty and dirty; he’d no doubt been out in the brush behind the house looking for Elwood. All of these people probably had been. They’d probably come in anticipating June’s arrival to find out from her what had transpired between her and Elwood the day before. What had he said? What had he done? How did he seem when she left him?

As Melanie pulled in behind the parked cars, she turned to June. “You ready?”

“I just want this part to be over,” June whispered.

Melanie cut the engine and they got out.

Max hurried over, taking June into a quick hug before guiding her toward a pair of Palm Springs policemen. One of the officers had a clipboard with Elwood’s handwritten note attached.

“We’ll find him, June,” Max was saying. “I promise. We’ll find him.”

June felt at once like she was floating above the scene in Elwood’s driveway, listening in on a conversation between Max and a woman that looked like her but was not her. She felt detached from both the moment and everything swirling about it—the fear, the urgency, the unknown. It was all happening so fast.

She was vaguely aware of Melanie at her other side as they moved toward the officers.

“Mrs. Blankenship, I’m Officer Vargas.” The policeman was dark haired and younger than June, with just a hint of silver at his temples. He motioned toward the other officer, a man who was probably closer to Melanie’s age, thin and lanky, with short, curly hair. “This is Officer Truett. A search party has already been out looking for your brother-in-law but what we really need right now is help figuring out where he might have gone, all right?”

June nodded mutely.

“And you are?” Officer Vargas turned to Melanie.

“I’m Melanie. I am June’s neighbor. And a friend.”

“All right. Well, if we could just step inside, please?” Officer Vargas said.

They entered the bungalow, and everything looked just as it had when she’d left it less than twenty-four hours before. The staged dishes in the sink, Elwood’s slippers by the back door, the tweed jacket on a hook—all was right where she’d placed it.

Everyone sat down in the open living room. Outside, one of the patrol cars’ radios squawked and June jumped in her seat.

“It’s going to be okay, June. We’ll find him,” Max, sitting next to her, said again.

It occurred to June, her demeanor was successfully convincing everyone that she was shocked out of her mind that Elwood had walked off into the desert to end his life.

“Mr. Goldman here has informed me of your brother-in-law’s… condition,” Officer Vargas said carefully, nodding toward Max. “We understand he hasn’t left his house in almost a decade but decided to come here for Christmas and then spend some time alone. Working and thinking, is that correct?”

He looked from June to Max and back to June again.

“Yes,” June said. “This is where he’d been headed the night of his car accident. I thought…I thought maybe he’d finally turned a corner. I didn’t know he would do something like this. If I had, I wouldn’t have left him.”

“Of course you wouldn’t have,” Max said, patting her arm.

“And just so I’m understanding you correctly, your brother-in-law asked you to bring him here after not going anywhere, not even out to his own front yard, in nine years?” the police officer asked.

“I…he took a sleeping pill before I opened the garage door. He was asleep when we left Malibu. He wasn’t awake for the traveling part.”

“And when you arrived, what happened next?”

“He struggled a bit to come inside, but it was nothing we could not manage. He wanted to be here, Officer.” The lies were tasting bitter on June’s tongue. She swallowed hard. The cop didn’t seem to notice.

“And Mr. Blankenship gave you no indication at all what he was planning to do after you left last evening?”

“She already said she wouldn’t have left him if she’d known,” Max said defensively.

“It’s all right, Max,” June said, her tone sounding as though cloaked in regret. “They’re just doing their job.” She turned to the officer. “He seemed fine. At peace.”

The officer nodded, wrote something down. “Does your brother-in-law have any favorite hiking trails or vistas or spots here in the desert?”

June told him Elwood loved it all. Back in the day.

“Does Mr. Blankenship own a gun?”

June bit her lip and nodded. “A pistol. He keeps it under his mattress at the Malibu house. In case someone tries to break into the house. He’s never used it.”

“What kind of pistol?”

She had no idea. “It’s black.”

“Do you know if he brought it with him on this trip?”

“I don’t know. He packed his own things.”

The questions continued.

Had he ever attempted suicide before? Was he having financial troubles? Had he made any new friends lately? Had there been any suspicious activity in any of his bank accounts? Did he have a passport? Did he owe anyone money? Had there been phone calls to the house? Had she noticed anyone watching the bungalow yesterday?

When all the questions had been answered, the officer rose and thanked June.

“The county might investigate to rule out foul play,” he said. “This information will be helpful if we can’t find Mr. Blankenship. If you think of anything else that might help, just call down to the station. And when you return home to Malibu, we need for you to see if the gun is still under the mattress.”

The officers went back outside to confer with the other authorities and to get an update on the search party’s progress.

Max watched them go, shaking his head. “I should have insisted we get Elwood help when I was out at your place the other day. I shouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

“I should have insisted,” June said. “This is my fault.”

Max swung back around. “No it’s not. You were too close to him. You weren’t about to ruffle his feathers. But I could have made the call. I could’ve brought someone in. So what if he might’ve hated me for it? At least he would’ve gotten the help he needed and this wouldn’t be happening right now.”

Across from her, Melanie got to her feet. “I’m going to look for him, too.”

“I’ll join you,” June said, also rising.

Max stood as well. “The cops might say leave it to the pros to look.”

“I’m going anyway,” Melanie said. “Sitting here isn’t helping.”

“I don’t care what they say, either,” June said. “You can stay here, Max, if you want, and in case Elwood changes his mind and shows up.”

Those in charge of the search weren’t in the driveway to tell them to stay at the bungalow if they’d been of a mind to say so, so June and Melanie set out in a different direction than the search team to look for a man whom they both knew was nowhere in the desert.

When twilight began to touch the sky with shades of rose, violet, and peach with no sign of Elwood, Melanie and June drove into town to use a pay phone to call Eva for an update on the fire.

Eva didn’t know much more about the Malibu blaze other than multiple fires were still burning and all of Malibu had been evacuated. Nicky had asked about Melanie several times after he awoke from his lap nap, but he was fine now. He’d had fun splashing in his undies on the steps of Max’s pool, they’d taken a couple of walks in the neighborhood, played with his Christmas toys, and were now about to eat scrambled eggs and toast with jam for dinner. Max didn’t have much else in his kitchen to eat.

“How are things there?” Eva asked.

“The search party is still out,” June said. “I guess they’re going to continue until midnight and pick up again tomorrow. We’re sleeping at the bungalow tonight. You and Nicky can stay there at the house. Max says the sheets on the guest bed are clean and there are linens in the hall closet if you want to change the sheets on the bed in the master bedroom.”

“Do you think you will be back here tomorrow?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

As they drove back to the bungalow, Melanie fiddled with the radio dial until she found a Los Angeles station relaying the latest information on the fire. The news was grim. A man had died that day trying to flee the flames, and more than thirty homes had been destroyed in the Zuma Beach area alone. Hot spots were popping up everywhere. The fire was predicted to burn its way into Ventura County, northwest of Los Angeles. Nine hundred firefighters—including two hundred and twenty-five Navy volunteers—were engaged in battling the flames, and an end was not yet in sight.

The second and third days in Palm Springs ended like the first had, with no sign of Elwood Blankenship despite a twenty-mile radius being searched by both trained professionals and teams of volunteers. June was told that without water, food, or shelter, a man Elwood’s age and health was not expected to survive beyond three days. The arrival of the fourth day would signal the end of the official search and rescue. If Elwood had indeed wandered out into the desert without any food, water, or shelter, and if he’d not been picked up by someone or been aided by someone, and even if he’d not used the gun, he’d most likely perished.

At this news, delivered by the search and rescue team captain, June broke down and wept. Both Max and Melanie immediately put their arms around her.

Elwood was alive to no one now. He’d been gone from just her life for almost three weeks, and now he was gone to everyone.

Presumably deceased wasn’t the same as officially deceased, though. June was also told it might be some time before Elwood was actually declared dead since no one saw him enter the desert and no body had been recovered.

Max said he’d stay a few more days in Palm Springs; he wasn’t giving up just yet. June said she wasn’t giving up, either—it seemed the right thing to say—but Melanie and Nicky had airplane tickets to Omaha for the next day. Their flight left at noon. And June was desperate to be reassured that the house was okay. Scores of homes in Malibu had been scorched or severely damaged, but so far Elwood’s house hadn’t appeared on any list of lost homes published in the daily LA Times .

“I understand,” Max said when she told him this. “I’ll keep looking for Elwood during the day and I’ll read the script at night. He had to be close to being done before he did this. And I want him to be remembered well for his last screenplay if it’s really going to be his last one. Where would he have put it? I’ve looked pretty much everywhere in the bungalow and I don’t see it.”

A jagged bolt of panic darted through June’s body at the mention of the script.

“June?” Max said. “Where’s the script? You said Elwood came here to think and work. So where’s the script?”

In June’s mind’s eye, she saw herself grabbing Frank’s Purple Heart, her purse, the rainy-day money, Nicky’s toys, the photographs on the hi-fi, because there was a fire headed in their direction. There’d been no time to ponder what to take. All that was really on her mind at that moment was that she’d just told Max that Elwood was in Palm Springs.

The Plan had been set in motion and everything was about to be different.

She’d completely forgotten to grab the script.