Dead Wrong

by Patricia Stoltey

  Lynnette leaned against the door and stared at Grace, not knowing what to say or do. She had never completely trusted the girl’s story about why she traveled alone, where she had come from and where she was going, but she had never doubted the existence of Grace’s father who would be home from Afghanistan on Sunday. She shifted her gaze to Blue, who watched Grace with her eyebrows raised.

  Blue made eye contact with Lynnette, shook her head and said, “Buckle up, ladies. We’ll work this out after we get to my house.”

  It took another thirty minutes before Blue eased onto a steep road heading up the hill on the west side of Fort Collins. She crept upward, the snow crunching beneath the tires, until she took a sudden turn onto an even steeper driveway. Blue accelerated to fishtail through the snow, barely avoiding the trees that lined the path. When she braked and slid to a stop, the car rested sideways in front of a two-story brick home. Using the remote opener that rested in a cubbyhole below the radio, Blue raised the three-car garage door and pulled the car inside. A burgundy-colored sedan sat in the next bay, and beyond that, a large pickup truck with a snow blade attached to the front end. The garage door slid closed behind them.

  Before she opened the driver’s-side door, she looked over her shoulder at Lynnette and Grace. “Before we go in,” she said, “I want to warn you not to lie to my father. He has a built-in bullshit detector. If you don’t level with him, he’ll call the cops and turn you over without a second thought.

  “Also . . . Lynnette . . . before we picked you up, when Grace went to the bathroom at the house in town, I watched the headline news. I already knew about your problem.” She glanced at Grace, who seemed to take a sudden interest in the conversation.

  “What?” Grace asked. “What was on the news? What problem?”

  “We’ll talk about it inside,” Blue said. She opened her door and got out.

  “What?” Grace turned to Lynnette. “What’s she talking about?”

  “Something bad happened to my husband in Florida, Grace. I don’t know very much about it yet.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Lynnette nodded.

  Blue opened the back door and motioned Lynnette out. Grace slid across the seat and stepped out behind her. As Lynnette followed Blue to the door that led inside the house, she felt Grace take her hand and hold on. Lynnette pulled the girl close to her side.

  CHAPTER 23

  * * *

  Near Fort Collins, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  Blue led them into the kitchen from the garage and stopped when she saw the man sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of steaming liquid cradled between his hands. “Daddy, what are you doing up?”

  Lynnette glanced at her watch, then at the man she presumed to be Blue’s father. He was fully dressed. A set of car keys lay on the table not far from his right hand.

  He stood up to hug his daughter. “I stayed up late to watch an old movie on TV and decided to check my voice mail before turning in. I heard the weather reports and watched the ten o’clock news. Cars off the road, half a dozen accidents. After I got your message and realized you were out in this weather, I wanted to be ready in case I received a call from the police or a hospital.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” Blue stepped away from his embrace and touched Lynnette on the arm. “This is Lynnette Foster. The young ’un is Grace.”

  Blue’s father shifted his gaze to Lynnette and sucked in his breath when he saw her discolored eye and cheek. “I’m Thomas Young,” he said. “What happened to you?”

  Lynnette took his hand, felt comforted by its warmth, sensed safety when he placed his left hand over hers.

  “Teresa said you were in trouble and she had to save you. What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

  “It’s a mess, Mr. Young. I’m afraid I’ve made the situation worse by coming here.”

  “Please. Call me Thomas.” With a sweeping motion of his hand, he gestured toward the chairs around the table. “Sit down. Tell me what happened.” He fetched the coffee pot and two more cups and brought them to the table. “Grace, would you like a cup of hot chocolate?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He heated a cup of water in the microwave and stirred in a packet of cocoa mix as Lynnette related what had happened in Denver and why they might need to leave Fort Collins. When she reached the part where Grace had announced her father’s death, they all turned to look at the girl.

  “Is there anything you want to tell us, Grace?” Thomas asked.

  She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. “I guess.”

  He gave her a firm but sympathetic, fatherly look. “Just the truth, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Lynnette glanced at her watch again. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning.

  Grace looked at Lynnette first. “I’m sorry I lied, but if I’d told you the truth, you wouldn’t have believed me. I know I should have stayed on the plane, but I felt sick and that creepy fat guy stared at me, and I thought the flight would get cancelled and I wouldn’t get to Los Angeles in time . . .”

  “In time for what?” Thomas asked.

  Grace started to cry again, but she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and coughed, then looked directly at Thomas. She cleared her throat. “In time for my father’s body to arrive. If I’m not there, he won’t have anyone.”

  By then, Lynnette was tearing up, but noticed Blue’s eyes narrow. The older girl didn’t seem touched by Grace’s story. Lynnette looked at Grace and watched her more closely.

  Thomas said, “I’m so sorry, Grace. I realize this is hard, but we need to know the truth. If there’s any way we can help, we will. You’re telling us your father’s body is being flown into Los Angeles on Sunday?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Was he in Afghanistan, like you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he really in the FBI?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what he was doing in Afghanistan?”

  “No. It was secret.”

  “What about your mother? Where is she?”

  “I don’t have a mother.”

  Thomas looked at Lynnette and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged. “Grace told me her mom took her to the airport and then left for a vacation with her new boyfriend.” Lynnette turned to Grace and stretched her arm across the table.

  Grace took her hands out of her lap and clasped them on the table in front of her but did not touch Lynnette.

  “If you don’t have a mom,” Lynnette said, “then how did you buy a ticket and get through Security and board that plane by yourself? It’s not possible for a kid to do that these days.”

  Grace sighed. “I told you about my Aunt Maxie. She’s real. She’s my mom’s sister. I live with her. None of the stuff I said about my mom is true except what Aunt Maxie says, that Mom is a slut. She left when I was a baby. I don’t know where she is.”

  “So your Aunt Maxie took you to the airport and sent you to Los Angeles all alone to meet your dad’s flight? Grace, that doesn’t make sense,” Thomas said. “Who was supposed to pick you up in L.A.?”

  Grace took a deep breath, then blew it out. “A friend of hers.”

  “Does your aunt know where you are now?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ve been calling her. She’s mad. I keep calling her and telling her I’m okay and she keeps yelling at me to tell her where I am and who I’m with and threatening to call the police.”

  Lynnette’s stomach clenched at the thought of Grace’s aunt calling the cops. “What about all those calls you left for your dad? The messages I left?”

  Grace lowered her head to her hands. “I don’t know. His number is still working, but I guess nobody answers it.” She raised her head and glanced at Thomas, Blue, and then Lynnette. “I’ve only got two days left. I have to get to Los Angeles.” Tears were once again streaming down her cheeks.

  “You’re sure not the same kid I met in the bus station in Denver,
” said Blue.

  Grace raised her head and stared. “What?”

  “The kid I met there was smart and tough and had everything under control. Now you’re like a street kid. You change your story and your plan depending on the circumstances and who you think you can fool. When one plan fails, you come up with another one. What went wrong between Denver and here, Grace?”

  “Teresa,” Thomas said. “Don’t.”

  Blue ignored her father. “Seriously, Grace, nobody changes this fast. First you’re strong and now you’re all weepy? Will the real Grace please stand up?”

  Grace stood, her hands clenched at her side. “What do you know about it, Blue? You pretend to be someone you aren’t all the time and act like it’s all for school or something. It’s still lies.”

  She turned to Lynnette. “You aren’t what you pretend to be, either. If you were, you wouldn’t be running away and you wouldn’t have all these scary people after you.” She looked at Thomas. “Did you see anything on the news about Lynnette? Are the police looking for her? Do they think she killed her husband?”

  Grace backed away from the table. “I don’t care about any of you. I only want one thing. I want to get to Los Angeles by Sunday. How can I do that?”

  “We’re not finished here, Grace. Please sit down.” Thomas turned to Lynnette. “Your turn. What’s Grace talking about?”

  Lynnette started with Carl’s unexpected temper tantrum on Wednesday and briefly touched on all the events that followed. Blue seemed to sigh in relief when Lynnette explained that she didn’t know of Carl’s death until she got on the Internet at the library. Even Grace visibly relaxed as she heard Lynnette out. By the time Lynnette had answered all their questions, it was after five o’clock.

  Thomas remained silent for a few minutes. Then he pushed his chair back and stood. “We’re not going anywhere until this storm lets up. Last I checked, we were getting over an inch of snow an hour. The weather report said the winds should die by mid-afternoon and the snow change to light flurries. The security system is on, we have electricity and heat, and there’s plenty of food. I suggest you all try to get a little sleep.” He studied Lynnette’s bruised face for a moment. “Did you take pictures?”

  “No.”

  He picked up his phone and aimed it at her face from several angles. “You might need these later,” he said. “Always take pictures.” He put the phone in his pocket. “What else do I need to know?”

  Lynnette pulled Sammy Grick’s phone out of her pocket and showed it to him. “They’re probably using this phone to find me,” she said.

  Thomas took the cell phone and looked it over. He turned it off and removed the battery. “It might be too late,” he said, “but it’s worth a try. If you need to make a call, put the battery in and turn it on.” He handed it back.

  “Are you sure that’s the way it works?”

  “Not one hundred percent. The technology changes too fast for me to keep up.”

  “What do we do if the guy from the library shows up here?”

  Thomas pointed to a narrow, locked cabinet tucked between the refrigerator and the pantry door. “Do you know how to handle a shotgun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Sack out on the couch if you want. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  * * *

  Denver, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  In the Denver hospital, Albert awoke to the clatter of rolling gurneys and supply carts. His elbow pain had been reduced to a deep, intense ache. Apparently he’d be released with only a sling because his left arm was bandaged with his elbow bent.

  It was nearly five. He needed to get to his phone. By now Ortega had probably worked himself into a snit. Albert chuckled. Maybe he’d have a stroke and die.

  Albert pushed himself to a sitting position with his right hand when he realized his IV had been removed while he slept. After dangling his feet from the side of the gurney for a couple of minutes, he slid off the bed and stood. Other than a bit of residual grogginess from the extra painkillers he’d taken, he felt steady enough. No dizziness. No disorientation. As a matter of fact, he felt as though he’d had the best night’s sleep of his life. A cup of coffee and his pipe would make things much better.

  A nurse poked her head through the curtain, then whisked it open. She pulled a package off the shelf of a metal cabinet, tore it open, and unfolded the fabric sling. Once she fastened it around his neck, the nurse patted his arm as though to admire her handiwork. “You’re free to go, Mr. Getz, but you need to keep this on for the next couple of days. Don’t drive for the next twenty-four hours. This packet contains four more Vicodin. If the pain persists beyond two days, you’ll need to see your own doctor.”

  Los Angeles, California

  Friday, January 24

  Earlier, after Benny spoke to his tracker and identified the location of the phone Foster hopefully still had in her possession, he left three messages for Getz. His phone rang five times before going to voice mail on the first two calls. On the third, the voice mail bimbo said, “The party is not available.” Had Getz turned off his phone?

  Benny had gone to bed, but he was so pissed off he couldn’t sleep. All he could think about was how Fat Ass Sammy had screwed up his operation and croaked before Benny could dish out an appropriate punishment. Along with his other business ventures, Benny ran one of the biggest check-theft rings in the country. Losing over three million bucks as a result of one stupid mistake could not be tolerated. And to have those checks in the hands of this Foster broad, who might even snoop through them and figure out where they came from, was even more of a disaster. She might turn him in. She might try for a share of the take. She might fucking blackmail him for the rest of his life . . . at least until he got rid of her.

  At four a.m., before he’d even had his first cup of coffee, Benny tried to call Getz again with no success. He wondered what the reading would be if he took his blood pressure.

  After room service arrived, he took his coffee to the hotel room window and looked through the glass toward the ocean. The early-morning haze seemed lighter than it had been in years past, but Benny still couldn’t see the water. He thought about Sammy again. Fat Ass Sammy Grick had been an outstanding screw-up all his life, but a useful screw-up. Benny usually hired him to do courier jobs, or to deliver a message. People who owed Benny Ortega knew all about Fat Ass Sammy and his temper. Sammy scared people. Benny liked to scare people.

  Why in hell, of all the people in the world, did his stuff end up in the hands of a woman being sought for the murder of her husband, a woman who would be caught in a matter of days? He had to find her before the cops did.

  Time was running out. The only way to steal big checks was to establish a network of employees in critical jobs and strike fast. Take a check (preferably not a computer-generated document), alter it as needed, transport it out of state as fast as possible, deposit it in a new account under a fictitious name, buy a commodity such as gold coins with the funds, close the account, and move on. The checks he’d sent Sammy to pick up had been delivered to his home on Tuesday evening. They should have been in his hands before the banks opened on Thursday.

  It was only a matter of time before the intended recipients questioned their customers about the missing payments. Customers might blame the post office for a day or so, but eventually they had to stop payment and issue a new check. At that point, the stolen checks would be worthless.

  He had to get the checks back fast. To do that, he had to get them away from Foster. Getz had to find her. Before trying the assassin’s phone again, Ortega called his tracker to find out where Foster and her little friends had gone after disabling Getz and driving away. He dialed Sammy’s cell phone, hoping to confirm what the tracker reported, but no one answered.

  Before he could dial again, the phone rang. “This is Ortega.”

  “This is Getz. Do you have a fix on Foster and the kids?”

 
; “I’ve been calling you all night!” Ortega yelled. “I told you not to turn off your phone!”

  Getz sighed. “I spent the night in the hospital, Mr. Ortega. They must have turned off the phone after I conked out from the drugs.”

  “I don’t care if you just got off the fucking Space Shuttle. If you can’t follow orders, you don’t work for me.”

  “Okay. I got it. Tell me where they are.”

  Ortega wasn’t sure Getz’s tone sounded sufficiently subservient, but that would have to wait. Right now, he needed the man to track down the envelope and do what Fat Ass Sammy had failed to accomplish.

  “They’re in Fort Collins,” he said. “It’s north on I-25, maybe an hour from the library where those little girls took you down. Here’s the address.”

  CHAPTER 25

  * * *

  Denver, Colorado

  Friday, January 24

  Albert had no intention of heading north on I-25 to Fort Collins until he’d shaved, brushed his teeth, and had breakfast. He stopped at a McDonald’s near the interstate and took his sweet time doing everything he felt needed to get done before setting out to do Benny Ortega’s bidding. The same article about Lynnette Foster he’d skimmed on the Internet at the library the day before appeared on the second page of the newspaper he read while drinking his coffee. A person of interest. Who would have guessed? Maybe he was damned lucky he only got a dislocated elbow out of their brief encounter.

  He wondered who the other woman and the kid were. The article didn’t mention anyone traveling with Foster. He saved that section, then folded the rest of the paper and dropped it in the waste can with his trash. Sammy’s phone number still went directly to voice mail. Albert left a message requesting that Lynnette call him back. He took the on-ramp to I-25 and drove into a heavy snowstorm at a quarter to six.

  Halfway to Fort Collins, the storm intensified. The wind blew the heavy snow sideways, and Albert drove into a white-out. The car tires slipped on the road. He eased his pressure on the accelerator. A bit further north, deep piles of snow lined the road. He scraped the passenger side of the car along the plowed banks that were barely distinguishable from the road before steering into the truck tracks he strained to see. An occasional abandoned car loomed before him, some trapped in snow banks. He slowed even more.