“Why do you want a gun?”
“Oh well. This’ll do.” He pulled out a yellow LED flashlight, pushed a button. The bulb end lit up. He turned it off and slipped it into his coat pocket. Then he opened the door and said over the yapping dog, “It’s time to go, Cor.”
“Go where?”
“Brazil. France. Talla-fucking-hassee. Wherever the hell we want.”
“How can we go to Brazil? We don’t have passports.”
“Don’t be a dick. You know what I mean.”
“You’re serious?”
A woman walked out of the restroom. She was short and round. Not Stellah.
Ty said, “Dead serious. Because if we don’t leave, that’s what we’ll be.”
“What are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Cor. As if Detective Donut didn’t draw you a picture.”
“He didn’t.”
“Bullshit.”
Ty exited the car. The dog went into a frenzy.
Cory unclipped his seat belt, climbed out. Another woman exited the restroom. She stared at the two boys, one with his face two inches from an extremely agitated dog.
Ty walked away. It looked like he was headed for the dense forest behind the rest stop. A waist-high chain-link fence marked the tree line. One man stood by the fence, baggie in hand, watching his poodle pinch a steaming one in the grass. Cory thought about running to the women’s room, calling for Stellah. Ty was cutting across the grass, fifty yards from the fence. Cory decided to run after him instead. Catching up to Ty, he panted, “We can’t do this to her.”
“Dude, she can’t stop us.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve seen it on TV. These CPS people. If the fosters run, they can’t touch us.”
Cory didn’t know if that was true or not. He decided it didn’t matter. “She’s found a good place for us. Let’s give it a chance.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”
“You never have a good feeling about anything.”
“True. But some bad feelings are worse than others.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know enough.”
They stopped at the fence.
“Ty, the dude’s a judge.”
“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?”
Cory had to admit that his brother’s point was valid. Ty and judges were not a good fit. But agreeing with him would be counterproductive. “We don’t have any money.”
“But we have skills. You can kill zombies for hire. And I can do this.” Ty pulled a packet of beef jerky out of his coat pocket. Then two chocolate bars and a pack of Chiclets. And a Red Bull. “I believe the basic food groups are covered.”
“Where’d you score that?”
“The Circle K.”
Cory had only shoplifted once. Ty had waited outside the Gas Mart while he took twenty minutes to stuff a snack bag of Cheese Nips under his shirt. He left sweating like a racehorse but amazingly undetected. Three minutes later in the alley behind a strip club, Cory yacked up most of those Cheese Nips while Ty laughed and smoked a stolen cigarette.
Cory said, “We can’t do this to Stellah. It’s not right.”
“Not right? After she drops us off, that’s the last we’ll see of her. See ya, Bic bros. How right is that?”
“She’s been good to us.”
“She’s doing her job.”
Cory didn’t agree with that. He believed Stellah was doing more than her job. She could’ve just dropped them off at that teen facility in Hood River and headed back to Portland. Instead she drove another two hours out of her way. She didn’t bail on them then, and he refused to believe she’d bail on them now. He said, “Let’s give this a chance, okay? Stellah said we’d be together. That’s all I care about. We can always bail later.”
“Remember what Benny said about later?”
“Blink yer eyes an’ it turns into too late.”
“Exactly. And I’m thinking we’re just about there.”
Ty placed his right hand on the fence, flexed his knees.
Cory grabbed his coat. “What’s wrong with you?”
Ty shrugged his hand away. Swung a leg up and easily vaulted the fence. Landed ninja-style in the mud on the other side. Cory knew there was no way he could do that. He’d have to climb over. It would be a struggle. Probably tear a hole in his new used pants. Then fall and get mud on the sweater that was too small for his gut. The fence extended for a hundred yards in both directions. He glanced at the man with the dog. He was focused on scooping up dog crap with a plastic bag. No help there. He looked back at the rest area. No Stellah.
Ty said, “Anyway, I’m the one in the shit. Not you. You’ll be safer without me.”
“Meaning what?”
“Call Detective Donut and ask him. You still have his card, right?”
Cory blinked.
Ty said, “See ya, bro. Gotta go.” He waved and walked away.
Cory refused to believe this was happening. Ty wouldn’t leave him. Not like this, not now. He shouted at Ty’s back, “Hey! What do you want me to do?”
Ty stopped and turned. “Well, there is this one small thing.”
“What?”
“Tell me what Detective Donut said on the phone.”
“I did.”
“I think you skipped some parts.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“Basically.”
Cory paused for a breath. “Okay. But not now.”
Ty turned his back to Cory, walked two steps.
“Okay! Okay! He…he said the autopsy was done.”
Ty slowed but didn’t stop.
Cory said, “The fire didn’t kill him.”
Ty stopped and turned. Cory glanced at the guy with the poodle. He was staring at them, mouth hanging open, a baggie full of moist dog turds dangling from one hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I…I don’t know.”
Ty frowned, walked back to the fence. “What else did he say?”
Cory nodded to his right. “Can we do this later?”
Without taking his eyes off Cory, Ty shouted, “Yo, poodle dude! Have some fuckin’ manners already! We’re tryin’ to have a private discussion here.”
Cory felt a chill run through him. Ty, with his face hard like that, the force and cadence of the words—it was like his brother had dissolved and Benny was standing there in the trees. The man picked up his dog and hurried away.
Ty said, “Did he say how Benny died?”
“No. Just theories.”
“What theories?”
“Blunt force trauma to the head. They think he fell, or something fell on him.” Cory swallowed, tried not to picture Tirk bouncing a bloody hammer off Benny’s skull.
After a beat, “What’d he say about me?”
“Same as at the station. You saw something, you’re in shit up to your chin, blah blah blah.”
Ty smiled as if that made perfect sense—or maybe no sense at all. He jumped the fence. Popped open the Red Bull, offered Cory the first hit.
Cory said, “I’m good.” Thinking there was no way he’d keep it down. Ty took a long pull, walked toward the parking lot. Cory fell in beside him. Fifty feet from the lot he said, “I hate it when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like him.”
Ty looked at his sneakers. They were covered with mud from the jump. “I hate it too, bro.” A few more steps, then: “Did you seriously think I’d really leave your ass?”
Cory considered his three possible replies: yes, no, maybe.
He said, “No,” and hoped more than anything that it was the truth.
Ty wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Hell no is a better answer.”
They walked that way to the car.
The truck with the yapping dog had been replaced by a Mercedes sedan with Florida plates. Ty peered through the
rear passenger window. “Hey, there’s an iPhone on the seat.” He tested the door; it was locked.
They didn’t feel like sitting in the car, so they waited for Stellah under an eave next to a vending machine. Ty checked the coin return, pocketed thirty-five cents. When Stellah returned a few minutes later, Cory could smell the cigarette on her. He wanted to know what the problem was, but decided from her grim expression that she wasn’t in a sharing mood.
They got in the car and drove away. Stellah was unusually quiet for a few miles, then said out of the blue, “So, Ty? Where’d you get that fresh mud on your sneakers?”
“We went for a chat.”
“In the rain?”
“Aww, this ain’t rain.”
“Was it a nice chat?”
“Very nice. I learned a few things.”
“Did you mend any fences?”
“Some.” He looked at her and cracked a slow Benny smile. It made Cory’s stomach hurt just to see the thing. “But, yo, check this out.” Ty dug into his pocket, showed her a quarter and a dime. “I found it in the vending machine.”
“Won’t get you very far.”
“True that.” Ty drained the Red Bull, and after a burp, he said, “But it’s a start.”
LUSTER, OR.
ELEVEN MONTHS AGO
24
The sign carved into a slab of wood on two log posts welcomed them to their new home: LUSTER, OREGON, POPULATION 8,648. A painted plank under it read: MAKING DREAMS COME TRUE SINCE 1902. Cory wondered how good those dreams could be if the population was only 8,600 after a hundred-plus years of existence.
The GPS on Stellah’s phone guided them to Constitution Ave, which appeared to be the main street through town. Shop windows were decorated with Christmas ornaments and fake snow, and the old-fashioned lampposts had big candy canes that glowed red and white. Shoppers prowled the sidewalks, enjoying Black Friday sales and a break in the rain. Stellah pointed to a coffee shop named the Drip ’n’ Sip and said, “If the coffee’s as good as the shopping looks, I just may move here myself.” Other than not seeing a store specifically offering video games, Cory liked what he saw. It wasn’t dead like Moro, Oregon, where they lived before Benny sold the house out from under them, and not choked with traffic and noise like downtown Portland. He hoped Ty agreed. So far he hadn’t commented, one way or the other.
They took a left and drove past a big park with a duck pond, a huge gazebo strung up with blinking Christmas lights, and walking trails woven among the trees. Four blocks later was a busy restaurant named Bravo Burgers with an illuminated cow waving on the roof. The sign in its hoof-hand promised Bottomless Sweet Tater Fries. Two blocks past Bravo Burgers, the buildings changed from retail shops and restaurants to Mott’s Lumber and Landscaping, a giant fenced-in place selling Christmas trees starting at $29.99. Next came an old brick church, and then two blocks later, Luster High School. According to the flickering marquee out front, it was Home of the Soaring aptors.
Stellah’s phone buzzed.
She asked Ty to check the screen because she needed to focus on the road.
Reading the display, Ty said, “It’s a text from Dale. He says ‘I’m taking the kids to Nanna’s if you’re not home by ten.’ ”
“Shit!” Stellah slammed the steering wheel.
“Who is Nanna?”
“The mother of my soon-to-be ex. If a cave troll and a Komodo dragon mated, she’d be the fire-breathing spawn.”
“Want me to answer?”
“No. I’ll do that later. Thanks.”
“Dale sounds like a dick.”
“Actually he’s not,” Stellah said, “but I won’t deny that the potential is there.”
The GPS told them to make a right on Chatham Road, then their destination would be a quarter mile straight ahead. They followed split-rail fences bordered by empty fields on both sides of the road. As Stellah closed in on a point of light in the distance, Cory tried to remember what she had told them about their future home. It was even less information than what she had on the Wainwrights. The last name was Mott, and they were recently licensed to foster teens, so Ty and Cory would be their first. They had two kids of their own, a boy and a girl, but neither was high school age. Harvey Mott, the dad, was a judge. His wife, Charlene, was a stay-at-home mom.
The split rail ended at an intersection with a stop sign. Across the way in the headlight beam was a mailbox and a narrow gravel road that headed up through pine trees on the side of a hill.
“This looks interesting,” Stellah said.
The gravel road turned out to be a very long driveway that ended in front of a two-story log home with massive windows and a brick chimney with smoke rising into a half-moon sky. Cory counted four vehicles: a Mercedes SUV, a red truck with MOTT’S LOT painted on the driver’s door, a green VW Bug, and a station-wagon–shaped car under a cover next to a mountain of split wood.
“Holy crap!” Ty said, staring at the home. “We’re moving into a ski lodge.”
“Says the guy that’s never been skiing,” Cory said.
“I’ve seen pictures, dumbass,” Ty said.
“Hey, tone it down,” Stellah warned. “Or I may decide to live in the ski lodge and drink good coffee while you guys move into my crappy condo with stinky diapers, a broken dishwasher, and no parking.”
“Sign me up,” Ty said.
The front door swung open, spilling warm light onto the expansive front porch. A man, woman, two kids, and a distressingly large brown dog walked out and arranged themselves into a perfect wedge, the man and woman in back, then the kids, then the dog. The formation was executed so perfectly that Cory decided it was either rehearsed or wired into their DNA like migrating geese. A movement on the floor above the porch caught his eye. A curtain pulled back far enough for a face to peer out. Backlit by interior light, the face was framed by long black hair. Older, definitely a teen. The curtain closed. The light switched off. Cory wondered why she wasn’t part of the welcoming wedge. There was nothing in Stellah’s report that mentioned a teenage girl.
The Fit rolled to a stop. Stellah said as she unbuckled her seat belt, “This’ll have to be quick. It’s a four-hour drive, not including a mandatory stop at the Drip ’n’ Sip.”
“Sorry if we’re causing problems with Nanna,” Cory said.
“My personal issues are not your fault,” she said as she opened her door.
The Motts tumbled down from the porch as the Fit emptied.
Cory heard a deep voice bellow, “Welcome to Luster!” just before two muddy paws planted on his sweater and a wet tongue slobbered all over his face.
After the introductions were made and hands were shook, Stellah asked, “What happened to the local caseworker?”
Harvey said, “Tony’s brother is on leave from a second tour in Afghanistan. He goes back tomorrow. I told him not to worry, we’d be fine for tonight. He’ll stop by in the morning and introduce himself to the boys.”
Stellah frowned, checked her phone. “The text I got was from a Lacey.”
“Lacey told us about Ty and Cory. But Tony helped us with the licensing and got us lined up with the right classes, so I asked that he be assigned to this case.” Harvey flashed an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. I just sounded like a judge. I asked that he work with us on this new addition to our family.” He grinned at the boys. “You’ll like Tony. He was the best shooting guard this county will ever see.” Then to Stellah: “Is that a problem? I could call Lacey—”
“No, that’s all right. Just have him text me tomorrow. Thanks for helping out on short notice.”
“That’s how these things work. We’re happy to open our doors.”
Charlene shot him a look. “And our hearts.”
“Right,” Harvey said. “Thanks, honey, for clarifying that point.”
After a silence that threatened to turn awkward, Charlene said, “Speaking of open doors. Shall we take this gathering inside? I have a pizza ready to come out of the oven. Are you boy
s hungry?”
Ty said, “Pizza sounds great. Thank you.”
“I’d love some pizza,” Cory said.
“I’ll take mine to go,” Stellah said. “I need to get back to Portland. May I use a bathroom first?”
“Of course,” Harvey said. He looked at the boys holding their Goodwill duffels. “Is that all your gear?”
“We travel light, sir,” Ty said.
Justin, the younger of the two children, said to Cory, “We have a real pizza oven.”
“That’s cool,” Cory said. “I like real pizza.”
As they moved toward the porch, Cory saw a door open next to the garage. A girl in a long brown coat stepped out and walked to the VW. The kids yelled, “Bye, Kayla!” and waved. She stood by the driver’s door and waved back. Seemed to hesitate for a moment as if she might join them, then climbed into the VW and drove away.
Ty asked, “Who was that?”
Harvey said, “The babysitter.”
“Former,” Charlene said. Then to Cory, as they entered a home that he thought only existed in magazines, “I bet you’d like to get out of that muddy sweater.”
Later, after Charlene promised to take them clothes shopping tomorrow and they said good night and thank you a hundred times and climbed the steep squeaking stairs to the remodeled attic bedroom and crawled bone-weary into their parallel beds, after the downstairs voices stopped and the dog barked and the house settled into an unfamiliar silence that promised to put an end to this day, Ty said, “If you could have one do-over in your life, what would it be?”
Cory didn’t have to think very long. All he had to do was breathe. The answer was right there, in the bruised flesh between his ribs. “I’d get on the motorcycle like Benny asked.”
“How would that change things?”
“He wouldn’t have punched me. You wouldn’t have kicked him in the face. He wouldn’t have been too busted up to stop whatever happened to him. The shed wouldn’t have exploded. Our house wouldn’t have burned down. We’d be in Portland instead of here.”
“You know my opinion on that?”
“What?”
“Not getting on the bike was the balls-out bravest thing I have ever seen you do.”
Deadfall Page 12
