Don't Cry for Me

by Sharon Sala

  Her heart began to pound. She was hearing things again, just like she’d heard that chopper. It was plain there was no one here, yet the voices were in her head, murmuring, whispering.

  Oh, my God.

  Her legs were shaking as she stumbled toward the cave opening. She wanted to throw herself into Quinn’s arms and tell him what was happening, but she could see the future. Long, expensive trips back to Fort Campbell to see a shrink. Being readmitted to Blanchfield and watching Quinn drive away. Wondering if he would bother to come back for someone who was going crazy.

  She choked back her fear and, even though her lips felt numb and her words sounded fake, pretended everything was all right.

  “What did he find?”

  “Buried treasure,” Quinn said.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “In a way, but at the time, it really was buried treasure to us.”

  He handed her a large slotted serving spoon. “It was Grandma Foster’s silver spoon, which was actually the only really nice thing the family owned. Supposedly it came from England with her ancestors, who’d pioneered here in the early eighteen hundreds. I have a vague memory of us boys ‘borrowing’ it to play pirates. I have no memory of putting it back. Lord. I wonder what Grandma must have thought when this went missing. She used it for everything.”

  “Oh, wow, Quinn. It really is treasure. I mean, I know your grandmother is gone. Her old house and everything in it are also gone, right?”

  He thought of the killers who’d trailed Beth to Rebel Ridge, remembered watching the old house blow up, believing Ryal and Beth were still in it. Mariah was right. This was a treasure.

  “You know what, honey? You’re right. We did find a treasure today. If you’re ready to leave, let’s head back to the cabin. I can’t wait to get this cleaned up. Mom is going to be so surprised—and hopefully so thrilled enough we found it that she won’t whack me on the head with it for taking it all those years ago without asking.”

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” she said, then slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you for this. It’s the best time I’ve had in forever.” And then she kissed him again.

  “Don’t forget tonight. We’ll have a better time. I promise.”

  She grinned. “I still don’t think that’s physically possible. Have you ever done it before?”

  “No.”

  “Then where on earth did you get such a notion?”

  “From a book called the Kama Sutra.”

  Her eyes widened, and then she punched him on the arm.

  “Oh, my God, no wonder. And just for the record, both my legs won’t go over my head anymore, so you’re shit out of luck on that one. Come on, Moses. It’s time to go home.”

  He was still laughing when they passed the waterfall, and the smile stayed on his face all the way home.

  * * *

  Gertie knew something was wrong with Buell. For the past few weeks he’d been off his food, short with the kids and Portia, and half the time he wouldn’t even talk to her. It had to be because of Lonnie, but she wouldn’t ask for fear of what he might tell her.

  Buell used to hunt a lot at night, but he’d even quit doing that. When he was home he stared off into space, and when he was outside doing chores, she could tell his mind was somewhere else by the way he dropped things and slammed around.

  She stirred a can of peas into the stew she was making for supper. It was already dark outside, and only half the family was even home. She tossed the can in the trash just as her phone rang and answered absently, still thinking about her wayward son.

  “Hello?”

  “Gertie, it’s me, Mae. Have you heard about the Colvins?”

  Gertie sat down, expecting gossip, which was what Mae Looney was known for.

  “No, what about them?”

  “Oh, it’s awful! Just awful. They say Willis went crazy. Killed his daddy with a hunting knife and then headed for his mama when he suddenly dropped into convulsions and died at Sue’s feet. They say there’s blood all over the place and that Sue near went crazy.”

  Gertie shuddered. She’d known the family her whole life. Sue was just a little older than Portia, Willis a couple of years older than Marvin.

  “That’s awful, just awful. Does anyone know what happened or why?”

  “Well, they say his symptoms all point to a drug overdose, but that’s just gossip. Don’t quote me on that, hear?”

  “I hear. Do you know when the funeral’s gonna be?”

  “No. The sheriff took the bodies. Don’t know when they’ll be released for buryin’. If I hear more, I’ll let you know.”

  “Yeah, okay, thanks for calling,” Gertie said.

  Her hands were shaking when she hung up the phone. The stew was beginning to bubble. She could hear it from where she was sitting, but she couldn’t bring herself to get up, because she was afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her. Lonnie hadn’t been back to the house since his first and only visit, although she knew for a fact he came and went at the mine. Buell was acting all weird and pissy, and now this. Maybe it wasn’t connected, but then again, maybe it was. Only time would tell.

  * * *

  Lonnie’s chopper landed just before one in the morning with a new load of baking soda, dextrose and lidocaine, the stuff they were using to cut the pure coke for street sale. The night crew was on the job, waiting to unload.

  As soon as the chopper landed the men came running and began to off-load the fifty-pound bags of soda and dextrose, as well as the anesthetics. Lidocaine was used during the cut to mimic the numbing sensation of pure coke, which led the buyers to believe they were getting the “good stuff.”

  And, per Buell’s challenge, Lonnie had brought muscle: his Chicago driver, Freddie Joseph, and three other very large men, all armed with equally large automatic weapons. Both their presence and their weapons were seriously intimidating to all assembled, and Lonnie knew it. It was what he called good PR. It never hurt for employees as well as clientele to know he meant business. Too bad Buell wasn’t here. It might have helped him, as well. However, when the time came, nothing was going to help Buell, so it didn’t really matter.

  He got out of the chopper, transferred the suitcase of money he was carrying to his other hand and glanced at his watch. This trip had served double duty, because he was expecting a new shipment of Mexican coke in tonight. It should be here any time within the next half hour. He’d already spoken to the driver while they were inbound and knew the drugs were close.

  “Uh, is there anything we can do for you, Mr. Farrell?”

  It was a man from the night crew, but Lonnie didn’t remember his name.

  “Yes, actually there is. You can go down to the road and unlock the gate. There’ll be a van coming shortly. Wait there and let them in, and when they leave, lock the gate behind them.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, and started off at a jog.

  Lonnie turned abruptly and called after him. “Hey, you!”

  The man stopped. “Yes, Mr. Farrell?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sydney Colvin, but everyone calls me Syd.”

  “Thanks for helping out, Syd.”

  Syd jogged off into the dark.

  Lonnie made a mental note. He was going to need another foreman after Buell’s demise. This was a man with initiative. He might be a good replacement.

  Lonnie went back to the office to wait, and less than thirty minutes later he saw headlights at the gate. He smiled, watching as the van came up the road and pulled to a stop at the entrance to the mine.

  He stepped out onto the threshold and waited for them to get out. The door at the back of the van opened, and two armed men got out, quickly taking up guard positions on either side of the opening. Three more armed men got out and stood at the front of the van. The driver, a short, stocky Latino wearing blue jeans and a denim vest over a bloodred T-shirt, walked toward him as Lonnie’s hired muscle stepped up beside him.

  �
�We meet again, Señor Farrell.”

  “Hello, Miguel. It’s good to see you again, but we can skip the chitchat. I’m ready to do business.”

  The man smiled. “We do not chit the chat, either, señor. As you say here in the States, show me the money.”

  Lonnie swung the suitcase he was carrying into the light. “It’s all here, just like last time.” He flipped it open for Miguel to see, then locked it and handed it to one of his guards. “I assume it’s all right that I check what I’m paying for?”

  Miguel stepped aside.

  “Of course, señor. A smart man always tests the product before he pays. Luis! The lights, por favor.”

  One of the gunmen swung a searchlight into the van’s interior.

  Lonnie got hard just thinking about all the money he was going to make, then waved at his guards.

  “Tell the men to start unloading.”

  The night crew came running, anxious to get the coke into the lab and out of sight. About halfway through the process Lonnie stopped them and chose a tightly wrapped brick out of the stack. He stabbed a switchblade into it, then pulled out a powdery substance on the knife blade to sample.

  The night was still. No wind was blowing. He licked the tip of his finger, stuck it in the coke, then put it into his mouth, rubbing it into his gums.

  The kick was instant, as was the numbing sensation.

  “Good stuff,” he said, and waved the men on.

  As soon as the last load was gone, he opened the suitcase and set it in the back of the van for Miguel’s approval.

  Miguel checked the bills’ denominations and then counted the stacks. When he shut the suitcase and turned to Lonnie, he was smiling.

  “It is a pleasure doing business with you, señor.”

  “And you,” Lonnie said. “See you in two weeks. Same amount, same money?”

  “Sì, we can do that. But if I lose any more to the federales, the price might have to go up.”

  Lonnie shifted his stance. His chin went up, his shoulders went back. There was no mistaking the threat in his voice or that his hand was now hovering on the pocket of his jacket.

  “That loss is yours to absorb. You don’t pass it on to your buyers. Same amount, same price, or no deal.”

  Miguel smiled. “So, for you, we make the exception.”

  Lonnie nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Safe flight,” Miguel said.

  “And a safe trip back home to you, as well,” Lonnie said.

  And just like that, two men who’d been toying with the thought of murder calmly parted ways.

  As soon as the van drove off the property, Syd Colvin locked the gate and ran back to the mine.

  “Good job,” Lonnie said. “You can join the others.”

  The man hustled off into the shadows and disappeared into the mine.

  Lonnie went back in, turned off the lights inside the office and gave orders to the guards to board the chopper. Production was moving smoothly. New product was in the house. It was now up to his men to turn it into salable blow.

  “Are you ready, Mr. Farrell?” the pilot asked.

  “Yes. Start it up,” he said, and climbed into the chopper moments before it lifted up, flying blind into the night. Until they’d cleared the airspace over Rebel Ridge, it was lights out and radio silence.

  After that it was back into Louisville, where Lonnie would switch from the chopper to the charter jet and fly back to Chicago. He would sleep on the plane, pop a couple of uppers to get himself going in the morning and be good for the day.

  But the time was coming, and he knew it would have to be soon, when he would have to make the break with Uncle Sol. The old man had been good to him and for him, but he was branching out on his own. He already had Sol’s blessing, but it was still going to be a big change. He hadn’t decided where he would make his new home, although he had to be closer to the mine than Chicago. What he did know was that he would never live on this mountain again.

  * * *

  Mariah had been unable to sleep after she and Quinn made love, although he’d quickly passed out, sated in body and soul from their passion. Knowing that her tossing and turning would only disturb his sleep, she got up and slipped downstairs with Moses at her heels.

  She prowled through the pantry until she found some cookies, then got a can of pop from the refrigerator and curled up in the living room with the pup at her feet, watching every bite that went into her mouth.

  She grinned and finally broke off a small piece, which he promptly inhaled.

  “Silly puppy,” she whispered. “You didn’t chew it. You didn’t even smell it. You don’t know what that was you swallowed. All that mattered was that we shared it, right?”

  The pup’s tail swept back and forth across the hardwood floor in agreement.

  “That’s all,” she said, brushing away the crumbs, then popped the top on the can and took a slow sip.

  The burn of the cola made her eyes water, and she hiccupped as the first swallow went down. But after that she was good to go. She sat surrounded by the silence of the house, thinking to herself how blessed she was, after a lifetime of being alone, to finally belong.

  The man she loved with all her heart was asleep up in the loft. The puppy at her feet worshipped the ground she walked on. It was the first time in her life she felt safe and loved.

  She finished off the pop, set the can on the table, then curled her feet up under her and closed her eyes, letting the peace envelope her.

  She was somewhere in between sleep and semi-consciousness when she realized she was hearing a chopper. Still groggy and confused as to whether it was in her head or part of a dream, it took her a few moments to wake up. By then the sound was beginning to fade. She ran to the window and, just like before, saw no sign of lights, not from a chopper or a plane—no lights anywhere in the sky but the flickering lights of a billion stars.

  Moses eyed her from his spot on the floor.

  Once again her heart was pounding as she looked up at the loft. Quinn hadn’t moved, and neither had the pup. Obviously it wasn’t real or they would have heard it. She was the only one hearing things that weren’t there.

  She thrust her hands into her hair, tugging at the short strands in growing panic as she began to pace. This was the perfect hell. On the outside, she appeared to be healing. On the inside, she was coming undone.

  Scared in every fiber of her being, she went up the steps, then got into bed, snuggling as close to Quinn as she could. If she was going crazy, she wanted to get all she could out of her life before she lost it.

  Quinn must have felt her presence. He muttered something she didn’t understand, then laid his hand over hers and softly sighed.

  She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry, and finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  When Mariah woke, Quinn was already dressed and getting ready to leave for work. The time to confess was once again gone.

  He leaned down to meet her eyes.

  “You don’t know how much I’d like to join you in there,” he said, and kissed her on both cheeks before he settled a long kiss on her lips. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be home at the regular time, and if I’m delayed, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. “I love you,” she added.

  He grinned. “I love you, too, pretty girl. Take care.”

  She nodded, then fell back against the pillow and listened to him going down the stairs, talking to Moses as he went.

  “I already let Moses out, so you don’t have to get up until you’re ready,” he shouted up at her.

  “Okay, thank you,” she called back.

  Then he was out the door, and a minute later she heard the Jeep start up. She listened until the sound faded completely, then grabbed his pillow and rolled over, hugging it to her and wondering if this was the day she would finish going insane.

  Eighteen

  The little green Mountain Mushrooms truck was becoming a familiar sight
around the area. It delivered organically grown portabellas as well as criminis, which were just portabellas in an immature stage, to several businesses in Mount Sterling, including one organic grocery store, and there were new orders coming in from a couple of restaurants in Lexington. The carefully packed boxes of the brown-capped fungi were selling at high prices, and the men working the nursery had caught on quickly to the process of growing them at optimum rates. Once the delivery truck had unloaded the mushrooms, it went back up the mountain with a fresh load of the bags of compost and bales of straw used to nourish the spores.

  The main workers in the nursery were the four men who had opted out of Lonnie’s dirty business. They had become used to the long, narrow work space. They kept their mouths shut and their heads down when the other men were around. It was dicey being the only ones who had openly disapproved of what the others were doing. None of them wanted to wind up dead at the bottom of a mine shaft, but the situation had definitely driven a wedge between them and their friends who’d accepted Lonnie’s offer.

  Bad news had a habit of spreading fast, and by the next morning, when the day shift started up the mountain, everyone coming on duty had heard about the tragedy at the Colvins and that Willis had died from an apparent drug overdose. Syd Colvin, who worked the night shift, was Willis Colvin’s uncle and Faris Colvin’s brother, but he’d already gone home and had yet to find out.

  The whole thing had left the men stunned. It wasn’t like drugs were a rarity here. It was just that no one had ever gone off the deep end like that before, not from smoking meth or popping prescription pills. They’d died in plenty of accidental ways, but not foaming at the mouth in violent convulsions after killing a member of their own family.

  What was worse and completely inexplicable, Willis Colvin hadn’t been a druggie. He’d been an honor student at the high school in Boone’s Gap and had never been a bad kid. So what kind of crazy drug could he have gotten hold of that would have caused such violent behavior?

  They didn’t believe it had come from here. There was no way any of them could sneak coke out, but even so, the guilt was on all their shoulders. All they could feel was the sadness and the shock of knowing they were a part of the business that had caused two deaths.