Understory

by Lisa J. Lickel

  The woman was reaching for a phone. “No, ma’am. There’s no currently working phone number available.”

  As the woman’s arm brushed the screen, Cam discovered a peculiar reflection in the transom above the desk. He could easily read backward script, a trick he’d developed as a kid. Kenny Masters was listed in serious condition in a room on the second floor.

  He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair. “Never mind, Lily. Let’s let the lady get back to work. We can go find your sister ourselves.”

  “But—”

  Cam twisted her around. “Thanks!” he called over his shoulder and pushed her into the hall.

  “But—”

  He stopped by the bank of elevators and crouched low beside her. “I caught a reflection of the screen. He’s on the second floor.”

  “He’s—”

  “Shh!” Cam forced himself to hold still. The door swooshed open and Mike appeared.

  “You need some help?” he asked.

  “Nah, we got it. Thanks.”

  “I can grab the chair for you, sir. Are you going up?”

  The kid was acting strange—at least formal, which was out of place compared to his mannerisms earlier. His hands trembled, and his eyes seemed slightly out of focus, flicking to the vestibule behind Cam.

  “If you’ll just wait a minute—” the kid said.

  “Cameron! Behind you!” Lily shouted.

  Before Cam could turn around, he was pressed against the wall by a husky man in a dark ski jacket and black knit hat. A severe-looking woman stood nearby, flashing a badge in her gloved hand. “We’re with the Office of the Inspector General. Federal Agents Deice and Wykstrom. Cameron Aaron Taylor, we’d like you to come with us, sir.”

  FORTY

  Roman’s single overhead light continued to whistle, moan, buzz, and flicker all night. He waved and called during the two a.m. bed check, but the duty officer didn’t acknowledge him. This was a violation that Roman would report immediately upon rising.

  Lights were supposed to be repaired right away. Or within eight hours, or a shift. He’d better not have to put up with that bulb until he got his next yard time and was out of the cell. That wasn’t for twenty-six more hours. Roman sat on the cot with his knees drawn, leaning against the wall, the blanket and pillow over his head, and vowed he could take whatever they’d throw at him for another six and a half weeks. Getting closer to The Day.

  The light began to wink on and off, on and off. Roman put his face against his knees, an unnatural posture for a fifty-three-year-old man who was not in obviously good condition.

  He’d done everything his contact asked. Everything he could do from inside. How was he supposed to talk to Art about fulfilling his part of the plan if Art wasn’t on duty?

  Roman must have dozed off, for when he woke to the sound of the breakfast tray sliding through the door, he rolled off the cot, numb, unable to feel his legs. “Wait!” he shrieked. “Wait! My light is broken!”

  The guard stopped outside his door. Roman couldn’t see him, but he could sense it.

  “Your light looks fine to me,” the voice said.

  So it did. Shone bright and strong now. Roman blinked up at it where he lay on his back on the cold floor. He hadn’t even realized it, he’d gotten so used to the constant light. “It blinked and buzzed all night.”

  “It’s fine now.”

  Footsteps started off. “Wait!”

  They hesitated. Roman leaned over the smell of fake egg food product, oleo cooling on limp toast, and syrupy fruit cocktail to ask through the slot in the door, “Do you know Art Townsend? He should have been on duty last night.”

  The reply was soft and edgy. “I’m supposed to take over for him starting tomorrow. He’s no longer working at this facility. Eat your meal. Check the covered dish. There’s a special treat for you.”

  Roman hadn’t noticed the unusual dome on his tray. He reached for it. His fingers shook so hard he dropped the cover again, splattering some of the contents. Sausages… cloudy grapes…no. A finger with half the top sliced diagonally from a long-ago injury. Roman gagged. Slent’s. And probably his…

  A minute later he picked up the napkin to wipe his mouth. On the underside, in block printing, he read, “We’ll take care of you. No need to involve your former accountant. Do as you agreed. As our neighbor agreed.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Cam had no reason to refuse the agents, wasn’t looking to pick a fight, and went with them. He did not know any lawyers around here, was not interested in calling the one who’d worked with him before, and so he’d called Matt at home before he agreed to talk to Deice and Wykstrom.

  “Don’t worry. I got your back,” Matt had said. “Give me some time to gather the troops. Don’t say anything.”

  Matt wasn’t allowed to sit in on the discussion. “No press,” Deice had said.

  Cam knew he could have refused to cooperate. He knew he could walk out, but where would he go? They’d just hound him at home, upset Lily even more. And he was curious.

  Though Lily’s last cry of “Caaam” as they escorted him away haunted him, Wykstrom said they’d wanted to ask a few questions, wouldn’t take too long. Cam said he’d think about answering, but hopefully, his counsel would show up soon.

  Where was Lily now? The agents were concerned about his knowledge of computers and search engines and questioned him extensively for two hours.

  “So, are you arresting me? What for? What are the charges?” Cam asked after saying that he’d taken some computer workshops at Northern and that he had a fair amount of experience using various research techniques. Several times. “What is this about?”

  “An arrest warrant is coming,” Deice told him.

  “For what? Using a search engine isn’t a crime. And how would you know I was using a computer in the first place?”

  “Do you own a personal computer?” Wykstrom asked.

  “Yes, of course, but I don’t have Internet at home. No signal…” Ah…it began to make sense, when he recalled Matt’s revelation that computers were being hauled out of the library. But what had they thought he’d done? Maybe he’d forgotten to log out of his personal use code and some punk who used the same machine after him went on terrorist sites.

  “You haven’t told me what I’m being charged with.”

  They played coy, came left a few times until he put his head on his arms about two a.m. and said he’d had enough.

  FORTY-TWO

  Tuesday, December 19

  Cam sniffed. Coffee?

  He raised his head and blinked. And groaned.

  “Back at ya, buddy,” Forbes said, the same smirk from last night—rather, the night before—pasted on his thin lips.

  Cam rubbed his cheeks and flexed his shoulders, wincing. “Where is everybody? Do you know what’s going on?”

  “I’m just running coffee detail.”

  Cam reached for the grande paper cup. The agent had gone through the Jumping Java booth. “Thanks.” A bracing hot sip reached his toes. “I left Lily Masters at the hospital last night,” he said, with a cautious query left hanging.

  Forbes drank from his own cup and checked the big clock on the back wall of the conference room. “It’s only five thirty. I made an appointment to talk to her at nine at the hospital.”

  Cam felt his eyes go wide.

  “After she’s had a chance to visit her family.”

  “Oh?” Cam asked around another mouthful of hot coffee.

  He nodded.

  “And you don’t happen to know where she is now?”

  “The phone she used fifteen minutes ago to set up the appointment with me showed Eunice Iversson on the caller ID.”

  “Who?”

  Forbes stood and tucked his chair in. “Isn’t that the last name on the snowplowing invoice you received?”

  “Unnh…” Cam dropped the involuntary shudder over the fact that Forbes had apparently been in his house again, long enough to nose through files. Hope
d there’d been a warrant involved. Sven and Ole must have gotten Lily from the hospital. But Eunice? Forbes was halfway to the door.

  “Hey, Forbes…uh, what happens now? Do you know what’s—”

  “I don’t see anybody else here, do you?”

  “No, but—”

  “That’s good, then.” The agent flashed a grin.

  “What sec, about Findley—any word? What did you mean back there? It sounded like you knew him.”

  Forbes took in a breath and studied the far wall. “Mr. Findley made some inquiries about certain activities which led to our connection.”

  “And you’re worried.”

  “I am concerned.”

  “That body wasn’t his. Who was it?”

  “We’re going through the missing persons reports. There are some leads.”

  “But—”

  “It was a message. That’s all I know right now. We’ll do our best to track down your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend,” Cam muttered.

  “Taylor!” Matt Heuer burst into the room. “Am I glad to finally see you. They wouldn’t tell me anything. What’s going on? Are you okay, man?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, man. Hold on a sec. Forbes—” was disappearing around a corner. “Never mind. Let’s get out of here.”

  “You can just leave?” Matt looked disappointed underneath a Nordic blue and snowflake-patterned knit hat with earflaps and pom-poms on the ends of its ties.

  “Apparently.” Cam grabbed his coat from a nearby chair and put it on while they walked. “What happened to finding me a lawyer?”

  “I couldn’t get anyone to listen last night, but I think we’re gonna be happy with the one who called back this morning.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  He said the name like a love-struck teenager. “Minerva Thorsten.”

  “So?”

  They were headed down the before-sunrise darkened Main Street toward the diner. Matt stopped short and Cam ran into him.

  “So? Are you messing with me?” Matt exclaimed. “She’s the one who got those Otterlys off last year after they’d turned in their neighbor who was planning to bomb the airport at Eau Claire. The neighbor was mad because they wouldn’t give him an upgrade to first class when the seats were too small—”

  “What’s that got to do with me?” It was so cold Cam’s lips went numb. He started walking again, around the bulk of Matt.

  “The Otterlys were accused of hacking the neighbor’s Internet account to spy on him.”

  “I didn’t do anything like that. In fact, I still don’t know what they thought I did.”

  They’d reached Lou’s and automatically wiped their feet of salt and slush and grabbed menus before finding a table. Early on a Tuesday morning after a blizzard and extreme cold hadn’t put a damper on business, and the chatter sounded happy.

  “Be right with ya,” a server yodeled on the way past.

  “You mean, they didn’t arrest you?” Matt’s smooth, fervent face under his receding gray hairline sported a look of exasperated frustration. “I called in a ton of favors on this one. After what I saw going down at library last night and heard your name connected to it, I thought your goose was cooked. Whatever it was you did.”

  “Thanks.” Cam hoped Matt picked up on the irony. “It’s nice to have support like yours.”

  “Okay, then.” Christy appeared beside their table like she’d emerged from a puff of smoke. “Coffee?”

  They both held up a china cup. “Yes.”

  She poured, sending Cam a shy smile. She’d never been rude to him. Maybe a little short, but not snotty like Rose, another server. “I liked the pictures you took for the paper.”

  Cam relaxed his scrunched brows. “Uh, thanks.”

  “Ready to order?”

  Matt started his rant again as soon as Christy left to take their requests to the kitchen.

  Cam held up his hand. “Sorry. I’m in the dark as much as the next guy.”

  “Well, the least they did was crash your civil liberties. Minerva can take them on. She’s coming tomorrow to meet with us—you, you—at the office. After what happened to you up north—”

  “Not going there, Matt. My heritage is one whole civil liberties disaster. Say, do you know Eunice Iversson?”

  “Sven and Ole’s mom?”

  Cam laughed. “No kidding?” Lily would probably have a few words to say. If she ever spoke to him again.

  FORTY-THREE

  “Visiting day, Romy,” Gruden said after he’d unlocked Roman’s door in the middle of the morning. Roman sat up, groggy from his nap after his sleepless night and upset stomach.

  “Oh?” He wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who?”

  “She’s a looker, that’s all I know. C’mon.”

  “I hope you’re not referring to one of my daughters, Gruden.” Roman went along the corridor in his prison slip-ons. A hole threatened to open in the toe of the left one, but he would thankfully be released before he had to request a new pair.

  Gruden led him to the booth room, so it wasn’t Berta or Lily. He’d been allowed face-to-face visits with them. In a way, he was glad not to have to go through the consequential search ordeal after a personal visit. Especially with Gruesome on duty.

  He scanned the bank of visitors before he went to his cubicle but didn’t recognize anyone. The dark-haired woman who sat waiting on the other side surprised him.

  He sat slowly. After about twenty seconds, he realized she’d allowed him to look his fill, but a feral gleam in her eyes told him he’d pay. If she was a Mexican stunner Limm arranged to help get him set up after release, he’d certainly be willing to give whatever, to a limit, she asked. He tilted his head. From this angle, she didn’t seem quite Spanish. Her long black hair was too smooth and shiny. Her coloring was creamy but not brown enough. Her eyes…

  She picked up the phone and he followed suit.

  “My father sends greetings,” her faintly accented silky voice crooned in his ear.

  Roman crossed his legs. “Si, senora,” he managed with what he knew was a terrible accent. Maybe she’d teach him better. One could hope. He smiled.

  She smiled, crimson lips parting over pearls for teeth. “I am not married,” she replied. “My father wanted to express his sorrow for the recent loss of your partner. And your family members.”

  Roman’s heart stopped and started with a stutter, and he struggled for a breath. He uncrossed his legs and dropped the phone, causing her to jump and frown. This was no Mexican beauty. He picked up the phone, sparks tingling along his fingers. “Excuse me? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  “Children are precious gifts, my father says. To lose a child must be grievous.”

  “I haven’t lost…who are you? My children are fine. Just fine.”

  She continued speaking in a melodious voice as if he hadn’t interrupted. “But to lose a grandchild is torture.”

  “You must have the wrong person, lady.” Shaking, he put the receiver on the hook and stood. “I’m done here!” But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She sat there, still as a cobra.

  Art had done something wrong. Terribly wrong. Roman had little love for Berta’s spawn, true, but there had been nothing about them in the plan. Only Lily. He wasn’t dealing over little kids. He wasn’t that much of an idiot. They did things to people in prison who were in for messing with minors. What had Art done? Slent…well, he should have been more careful.

  “I need my phone call,” Roman told Gruden when the guard came to take him back. If Art didn’t answer, there’d be blood to pay.

  * * *

  Art turned his head as keys clanked outside his cell. His face was a screaming splinter of pain, and he shivered despite being so hot he’d strip if he could move.

  “Time to get up, Townsend. Got a date with the judge.”

  He opened his mouth but his throat felt too raw to let out words for the security guard.<
br />
  “Come on, you should clean up so you don’t scare anybody.”

  “Wahahter.”

  “You’ll get breakfast soon. Hey, man, rise and shine.”

  A short pause or a hundred years later, Art heard shouting and running footsteps.

  “We got a problem,” the guard said over Art’s head.

  “Not so loud,” Art would have screamed if he could.

  Someone said something about an ambulance. At least, that’s what it sounded like while the words swirled around the giant toilet bowl of the cell.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Lily sat on the far side of Kenny’s bed, holding his white hand and shaking with fury and horror that Berta had never shown up after the boys were brought in. That other child, a neighbor boy, was in a medically-induced coma. Something about his heart and brain. What had the two of them been up to? Kenny hadn’t come around yet, but the doctor said he should when he was ready.

  Sven and Ole had known about Kenny the whole time yesterday. She would have killed them if they were here now. Bad enough Ole came right after Cameron was nabbed by the feds, like he’d been watching and waiting for something bad to happen. He vouched for her at the hospital right away, probably trying to distract her from Cam’s “situation,” and the nurse let her see Kenny.

  Then that dratted Ole’d given her no choice when he dragged her to his mother’s place despite her loudest protests. Didn’t anybody care what she wanted? Cam. Where was he now? She had to put him and that kiss on the back burner, impossible as it was. Everything happened at the same time. All the good things and bad things jumbled together in a way that forced a person to choose what to think about. Right now, Kenny needed her the most. She could sort through her feelings about Cam later. If he stuck around.

  She squeezed Kenny’s cool fingers with a smidgeon of pain, careful not to break her blisters. She brushed the hair from his smooth forehead.

  Kenny’s core temp dropped to about eighty degrees, the night shift nurse said. The doctor had to use a warm IV and carefully brought it up to close to normal levels.