by J. Conrad
“Did you see anyone?” I ask.
“No. I saw what you saw. Anything else you want to tell me?” Trent smiles, and I wonder how he could possibly find anything about this situation amusing.
I take a deep breath as sweat trickles down my face. “I already told you everything I know. But that car looked like Nick Pearlman’s Mercedes. I saw it the day he showed up outside the office.”
Trent nods. He pulls his cell phone from his back pocket and calls the police. While he speaks to the dispatcher, I analyze him. Standing fairly still, he only moves his foot now and then or twists to look behind us or out into the prairie on either side. He’s placed his free hand on his hip. He explains our situation slowly in a calm, clear voice, as though calling in shootings is something he does every day.
Of course, he loves this sort of thing, which was why he started at the police academy to work as a deputy sheriff for Williamson County. He wants to call in shootings every day. Well, that’s peachy. I wipe my forehead, my core smoldering at his secret exhilaration. That guy could have killed us.
Trent hangs up. He gazes across the field of dried, brown grass.
“Did they advise you on what we should do now?” I lean against the barn to steady myself. The salty odor of sweat touches my nose, and my eyes burn. My hairline is soaked.
“She said to stay put if we’re safe here, but I don’t like the idea of being on this guy’s property. I think Tim knows him, but I don’t. We don’t need to get shot at again, this time for trespassing,” Trent says.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say. I blink to clear my vision.
“Come on, we’ll walk back, but we’ll go this way.” He nods in the direction of his house.
We amble through the tall grass and bur marigolds. With my senses heightened from running for my life, I notice the yellow wildflower’s light vanilla scent more than usual. And it’s curious that despite how the terrain is rocky, uneven, and peppered with cacti, we ran with no trouble. Nothing like a brush with death to give your feet wings, I guess. Soon, the barbed-wire fence looms into view. The narrow road lies behind it, and on the other side, I can make out part of Tim’s ranch. It holds a graying, dilapidated building and a dark pond with a decaying dock. About a dozen sheep of different colors huddle around the sectional feeder.
I scan the road but don’t see any sign of the black Mercedes. Every time a vehicle passes, I nearly faint. My pulse increases and a wave of lightheadedness threatens to crush me. A red truck drives by. Then a blue car. A larger, white delivery truck with “Fish” written on its side in blue letters rattles alongside us and then disappears up the road, heading toward the small town of Weir, Texas. The luxury car never reappears.
By the time we cross over County Road 152 and step onto the gravel driveway leading to Trent’s house, something flashes in the corner of my eye. A black and white Williamson County Sheriff’s vehicle is turning in. Its red and blue lights revolve, but the siren isn’t engaged. The officer pulls up close behind Trent’s silver Chevy Colorado pickup.
The deputy sheriff who introduces himself is a man named Bennet. Trent and I brief him on what occurred. With the Mercedes long gone and both of us unharmed, if shaken, Deputy Bennet takes down the information and soon leaves.
Now the sun sinks below the horizon. In the fading light, a dark cobalt and violet haze lingers in place of the sunset. I reach the porch before Trent and unlock the door, quickly locking it again after we’re both inside. It’s still in the lower eighties outside, but the air conditioning sends an unnatural chill down my back. I sit on the couch and wrap my arms around my middle. Shuddering as I draw a breath, I fill my lungs deeply like I’m just now remembering to breathe.
Trent’s frown drives a dark valley between his eyebrows. He hesitates by the doorway, brooding, but then springs to life. He dives onto the sofa next to me. “Aria, I have a strange question for you.”
“All right.” I rub the stress from my face. We aren’t hurt, after all, and I need to calm down.
“You mentioned that Nick was threatening you about the Lamar property, saying you should have somehow broken the contract with Epstein and sold to him instead. But you went ahead and sold to Epstein, and then later that same day, the place gets torched. You mentioned Nick drives a black Mercedes, and today someone shot at us from one. But there was something else you told me. Your buyer seemed concerned with an annex of those warehouses—that he kept asking about permits for work done in that section, almost like he was looking for something specific. But he never said what. How would you feel about me having a look at that burned building?” he asks.
My hands still shake too much, and I slide them under my legs. “Are you joking?”
“No,” Trent says. “I think it’s worth a look. The reporter on KXAV even said the fire was being investigated as arson. But there’s something we’re missing. We won’t know what it is until we find it, and the only way to find it is to look. Don’t worry—I don’t expect you to come with me, and I’m not going to do anything besides have a look around.”
My breath tremors as I exhale. “Trent, I don’t think you realize what you’re saying. The police taped off the area. It might still be off-limits. Like you said, it’s already being investigating for arson. We don’t need to go tampering with that. And I’m sure Nick is hoping I’ll do something stupid, and no offense, but that’s what you’re proposing. That we step right in it and get caught. I can’t prove he shot at us today, but I’d be thick to believe otherwise. He has it out for me, for Rance Epstein, and soon he will for you too, if you’re not careful.”
Trent nods. “Okay. You’re right. But first of all, we’re not going to tamper with it. And secondly, we don’t have to do anything. I can go by myself. I don’t mind. I have a gun, and I’m not going to be doing anything I shouldn’t be, just looking. I’m only asking you because you probably know a way in. Maybe one of your keys to a back door still works. I’d prefer that to climbing in one of those broken windows.” He glares at me, poised on the edge of his seat at the thrill of this idea.
I sigh, pull my hands out from under my legs, and run them through my hair. We don’t retain keys to a property once it’s sold, but I don’t feel like explaining right now. I cover my face to stall before looking up again. “It’s almost like you’ve learned nothing from everything that’s happened. It’s like you find new ways to put yourself in danger, and then you do it. Why not just leave it alone? Leave it for the police—I mean, the police on duty now, who aren’t still in training.”
“I could ask you the same question. Why didn’t you just leave it alone—this thing with Nick and Rance? Who gives a shit if they kill each other? Let them. It’s their life, not yours,” Trent says.
“It’s not right to sit by and do nothing while someone who’s probably innocent gets his property torched and maybe gets killed. That’s way too much ‘leaving alone’ for me.” My chest twinges, and I glower at him.
“Aria, you don’t always have to try and save everyone. Not everything is your fault,” Trent says. He slides his arm around my waist.
So that’s what he thinks. If he knew everything about me, he might reconsider. My ears burn, and I don’t feel like examining whether he’s right or not. I tuck my trembling hands back under my knees. “No, it’s not that. I don’t want blood on my hands if Nick kills Rance. He might do it anyway, but to stand by and not let Rance know Nick was after him would be gross.”
“Fair,” Trent says. “But why are they both so concerned with this property? What are they hiding? What’s the big secret? If we can answer that question, we’ll find out what all this is about.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why Nick has some weird vendetta against me for what happened with Ayden. He knows. And I don’t know how he could possibly know. There was no media coverage. We told no one. The police said I acted in self-defense, and Ayden’s family didn’t file charges. Now I’ve got a stranger after me, saying I’m supposed to pay f
or what I did. But it doesn’t add up.”
“Exactly my point. It doesn’t add up. That’s why I want to go and have a look. If I find nothing, great. If I do find something, I’ll just report it. It’s true I don’t have permission, but as long as I don’t touch anything, I don’t see it being a problem. Come on, Aria, humor me.” Trent pulls me closer, giving me a little squeeze.
Another chill runs through me. He knows he’s supposed to have a warrant. “Well, you shouldn’t have to go by yourself. I want to tag along, and you need to bring your gun. Not that I need to tell you that.”
I give him a brief smile. The only reason I’ll accompany him is that the thought of something happening to Trent seems worse than allowing it to happen to myself. But it’s not funny at all. It isn’t amusing that the guy who saved my life wants to be a cop and likes seeking out danger for a thrill. He might have given other reasons, and although those reasons are also true, I know the rush he gets fulfills some need for him. I don’t know what it is. But it’s there. And that need seems to be there for him all the time.
“Now you’re talking,” he says. He grins at me, studying my reaction. “How does tomorrow after dinner sound to you? You know, so we’ll have light. Oh... you thought I was going to head over there right now?”
I guess the way I’m digging my trembling hands into the couch cushion tipped him off. “I did think that. Tomorrow after dinner sounds terrible. It’s a date.”
I pull up to the curb on Collier Street in Austin after eating an early dinner. I told Trent it would be best to park here, a street adjacent to Lamar Boulevard, so our vehicles won’t be noticed. I got permission from Kyle to leave not long after four o’clock. I said I needed to attend to a few things, but I didn’t say what. Although it’s going on 5:30 p.m. now, it’s still blazing hot, with a fiery sun dipping below the buildings downtown.
As I wait with my fingers curled around the steering wheel, I watch Trent’s silver pickup truck pull over on the side opposite me. He gets out in a blue flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots. He pulls a brown, leather tool belt from the cabin and straps it on—police cadet turned construction worker. Trent strides my direction across the asphalt, and I swing out of my sedan.
“That’s a good look for you,” I say. “You’ll blend right in.”
“I’m counting on it,” he says. He gives me a crooked grin. The excitement emanates from him. Oozing from his pores, it hovers around his body in an almost tangible glittering, fuzzy cloud. He’s in his element, and we haven’t even started yet.
Trent asks, “Did you bring the key?”
“No, Median no longer has one. I looked to see if there was a spare we may have forgotten to give to Rance, but there wasn’t any. So, we might wind up climbing in a window after all.”
“Okay. Here, slip these on real quick.” He hands me a pair of latex gloves. I tug them on as he pulls on his own.
We step onto the dusty parking lot of the warehouse building, the chalky gravel turning our shoes white wherever it touches them. The yellow police tape flutters in the tepid breeze, and I duck underneath it. Trent follows. We study the outside of the main building as we make our way to the front. Windows grin darkly with teeth of broken glass. The black carbon residue reaches above them to the roof like shadows left by the flames. At least the structure isn’t falling in on itself, and when we arrive where the front door used to be, I see there’s no door. The firemen must have broken it down to get in. Well, that solves the problem of not having a key. A black, yawning entryway greets us with the foul breath of a thousand ashtrays.
16
My stomach wriggles like a fish as I aim the flashlight beam into the burned Lamar warehouse building and step inside. The place is black from ceiling to floor, with charred, crumbling beams and bits of indiscernible debris piled everywhere. Interestingly, the high-pressure water hoses caused the greater part of the mess. Since the building was mostly empty before the fire, there’s room to walk.
Being familiar with the property, I lead the way, and Trent follows. Although I still faintly hear the traffic on Lamar, as we shuffle inside, our footfalls take on an intrusive thump within the ruined surroundings.
“The fire probably didn’t start here,” Trent says.
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“If it had, it would be a lot worse. When we find the source, there will probably be a big hole or something similar.”
My only experience with fire was what happened with Ayden, and since I don’t remember it, maybe that doesn’t count. The police said a spilled can of gasoline ignited, and that’s what lit up our unfortunate shed like a Christmas tree. It was black from top to bottom, the fire raging long enough to burn through the wall and part of the floor. Because of that fact, which I observed the day after, I agree with Trent’s reasoning. The side area near the shelves, where the police said the fire started, took the most damage.
“Where’s the part Rance was so concerned with?” Trent asks.
“It’s toward the back. We need to go through this building, through a small adjoining hallway, and into the next building. The annex is back there.” I point.
“Interesting,” Trent says. He coughs into the crook of his arm.
“It is,” I say. “Especially since it’s the least interesting part of this whole uninteresting place.” I’m kind of relieved that Trent also finds Rance’s behavior strange, per my description. Kyle couldn’t see it.
When we arrived, I was so preoccupied with what to do if we couldn’t get in that I forgot I brought masks. I pull them from my back pocket. “Here, you’ll need this.”
I hand one to Trent, holding my flashlight between my knees while I slip on my own. “These aren’t the right kind. I got them from our cleaning caddy at home. But they’re better than nothing.”
Trent takes it. He heaves out a relieved sigh. “They’re perfect.”
Having my mouth and nose covered helps more than I thought. I’m now taking regular breaths instead of shallow ones to minimize the offensive stench. I shine the flashlight beam along the walls. We can see the old, exposed insulation—what’s left of it—and the old wiring. But a lot of what we illuminate isn’t decipherable as anything but a charred, sooty mess. The burnt blackness surrounding us hangs palpably like air composed of thick ink we can reach out and touch. I begin dragging myself along with effort as I wade through the dense atmosphere. While gripping the flashlight tightly in my right hand, my shaking fingers make the beam dance around erratically.
I stop and aim the light at a gnarled patch of wall. Speaking through the dust mask, I raise my voice. “You see this old wiring? In looking for a cause, besides arson, I would normally say this is something for us to keep in mind, except there’s no electrical service right now.”
“What’s wrong with the wiring?” Trent asks.
“None of it’s to code. I know from the inspection report. This was one of the many things that needed to be fixed. But since there’s no power, knowing this doesn’t help us much.” I continue, lighting the way in front of us. “The hallway is up here.”
We walk to the wall, where I find the edges of the hall doorway. I stop, my breathing and heart rate so fast I don’t know if I can keep going. Whereas the part of the building we stand in currently is a dark and confusing mess, at least it’s large and open for the most part. The doorway drops away from the wall like a slit into some rotting dungeon or another dimension. The smallness of the space unsettles me.
“You want me to go first? I can. I don’t mind,” Trent says. He places his hand on the small of my back.
I envy his normalcy. He doesn’t get hit with a panic attack every time he does something adventurous. Taking a deep breath, I strain the smoky reek through my mask. I can almost taste the carbon on my tongue. Bitter. My gaze darts around for a moment, and I bend over to put my free hand above my knee and lean my weight on it.
“Yeah, why don’t you go ahead,” I say. “I’ll be right behind you.�
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Trent shines his own flashlight beam into the ominous hallway. I follow, but I don’t forget about the space behind us. As bits of dreck grind under my sneakers, I glance in all directions, swinging the light over every surface and trash pile. I’ll be damned if someone’s going to sneak up and catch us off-guard. It isn’t going to happen.
Fine soot covers the hallway from ceiling to floor, but it’s free of debris. We only have to walk about thirty feet before entering the more open annex area—the wooden building. This first room is about five hundred square feet with bare, uninsulated walls punctuated by charred studs. The wet floor gleams. A pool of black water has accumulated near the center.
Trent turns to me. “Is this it?”
“Yeah. This is the first room of the add-on portion,” I say. “What should we be looking for?”
Trent swings the light around, searching the corners, along the wall, and across the smoke-blackened floor. “Something which won’t be obvious to us. Something hidden. Anything that looks a little bit odd, we should investigate it. It doesn’t look like the fire started here either.”
“I agree.” I crouch down to look at the concrete. There’s nothing unusual about it besides how coated it is and that the foundation has shifted and is no longer level.
We wander into the next room, but it’s empty like the others we’ve seen. There are no obvious hiding places and nothing that looks worthy of further inspection. My lungs ache, and sweat mists my face. The mask sticks to my skin, and I wish I could take it off. But the stink is noticeable with it on—without it, the smell was overwhelming.
Trent asks, “Is this all there is to the part Rance wanted more specs on?”
