Still, he was growing frustrated. Who else would he have to sleep with to get to the president? Yeah, like that killed you. Maybe by the time he ran Farnon to earth he’d have even more evidence. Maybe the flash drive would reveal where Pearce had spent the evening of December 23.
Fortunately, Pearce’s office door was closed, and his secretary—Linda of the casino gambling bus trip—was talking quietly on the phone. Milo laid the flash drive on her desk, mouthed, “Payroll,” and waited only for her nod to get out of there.
Downstairs, Zaffer’s boss from Maintenance was chatting to Leslie. About Milo, it turned out. Considering it was Milo’s buddy who’d taken a vacation day and left Harry shorthanded, could Leslie spare Milo for an hour or so, to do some real work?
No, Leslie could not. “He’s an accounting specialist, Harry, not a common day laborer.”
Milo grinned for what felt like the first time in days. “I’m staying flexible, Leslie. You’ve got plenty of specialists right here and they are unequalled at putting paper into folders.” Amber and J’azzmin had just strolled in, together as always, and weren’t sure they’d been praised or insulted. Milo hustled Harry out while they were making up their minds.
Harry set him to touching up railings with paint. Milo was grateful. He thought better outside. And what he needed to think about was how to get to Zaffer Pawn and Jewelry before it closed. After he read the drive, he could track Farnon down by phone.
At one point Harry had him run a coil of hose up to the Living Roof, which had been closed for lunch for the last two days. Fireworks in wooden crates sat just inside the glass entry tunnel. Towers of folding chairs were stacked against the big glass monitors. Sprinklers sprayed glittering rainbows in the sun as the greenery got one last soaking before the big day.
Milo lugged his hose down to the north end of the roof where the fireworks would go off. People in the parking lot would have a better view but he supposed that was beside the point. Rooftop seats were for VIPs, and the VIPs weren’t there to see but be seen—by each other. A wooden screen stood folded now, but on Sunday it would hide the fat water hose stretching up through a skylight from the Scarlet Ghost parked below, its tank full in case the ground cover caught fire.
More of Harry’s men were up here, sweating in their coveralls. No one would have opted to eat lunch on the roof today. Canvas umbrellas were not much protection against 103-degree heat and air like soup. The workmen rigged hoses and pushed tables around and tried to stay out of the way of the caterers, who were setting up a long table to serve as a bar.
Milo set his hose beside other coils, then walked down the roof toward one of Uncle Paul’s cronies. “Hey, Gus.”
Gus stopped polishing the frame of a skylight and sat back on his toolbox. “Milo! They got you doing anything this stupid? Shining up exterior trim like it’s the First Lady’s silverware?”
“Nah, they only give me important jobs. I spent all morning matching colored paper clips to report covers.”
Gus laughed. “Hell, for $300 million in rail money I’d clean toilets without rubber gloves. Tell you one thing, though.” He jerked his head toward the caterers’ table. “Drinks on a roof with no railings? They better shut down the bar after one round, or they’re gonna have some smashed state senators.” He guffawed. “Smashed, get it?”
“Good one, Gus.” Milo stepped close to the skylight Gus was shining—it was a ridiculous task—and looked down through the glass at the plant floor below. The last of several Scarlet Ghosts was being moved into position. The prototype railcars he’d seen weeks ago were there, too, partially shrouded in canvas, hulking marvels to be unveiled to the public on Sunday night.
Gus followed his gaze. “They’ll send my kids to college, those railcars.”
“They’ll send me, too,” Milo said.
A shaft of sun reflected off the dazzling white nose of the locomotive. Milo blinked. It all came down to that, didn’t it. Railcars. Fire trucks. Jobs. If Wolverine Motors was the engine that turned their town, Alf Farnon was the ignition key. Without him it would all go dead. But if Gordon Pearce kept looting the place, even Alf Farnon’s spark might not be enough.
Milo looked at his watch. He had to get that flash drive.
In the end Milo told Harry that Leslie needed him to run to Office Max, and told Leslie he had to go to Home Depot for Harry. Then he broke the speed limit to get to Monroe. But traffic on the way was terrible and it was 5:17 when he pulled up in front of Zaffer’s Pawn and Jewelry.
The metal window grate was padlocked, the neon sign off. A card on the door said, “Sorry we missed you! Open 9 a.m. Saturday.”
Dammit to hell. Milo pressed his face to the mesh-covered window. Something heavy slammed the other side of the wood under his fingers, and ferocious barking made him leap backward. Titan’s giant paws rattled the door in its frame. A safe six feet away Milo pretended to tie his loafer until his breathing returned to normal. Mr. Zaffer thought Titan was better than the burglar alarm at scaring crooks off. Mr. Zaffer was right.
“It’s just me, girl,” he called. Titan bayed harder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Milo drove through McDonald’s and then took his time heading back to Valeene. He passed the turnoff for his house but kept going, out to the quarry. There he sat on a boulder at the end of the gravel drive and watched people—people his age or older, it was not a jump for kids—take turns leaping into the water far below. They leapt from the same patch of cliff where his father’s car had gone over.
But nothing else was the same. Instead of blackness and fog, hot sunlight bounced off parked cars. Kids shouted and laughed, and from his rock Milo could spy the bare legs of a couple down below who must think they were hidden by bushes. It comforted him, all this life and bustle. This was normal Valeene; this was how it should be. He leaned back and closed his eyes against the sun.
“Have another sausage, Milo, there’s plenty left.”
“Milo, look, I’m swimming!”
“Watch Milo now, he’s got the knack of it.”
That had been a good day. He would give a year of his life to live that day again.
The twins wouldn’t even remember, he bet. Too bad they hadn’t filmed it, made a video, and kept it on a shockproof, waterproof drive.
Milo sat up so fast he got dizzy. Why would Pearce have needed to rob their house to steal the flash drive? If he’d met Tim that night and killed him, why hadn’t he just taken it then? Didn’t he know Tim had it? Maybe he thought it would be ruined in the water.
Again Milo was glad he’d been forced to read Dostoyevsky. Look at Raskolnikov! Any murderer could lose track of a detail or two. Misplace the weapon, confuse alibis, kill a person not in the plan. Nothing Milo knew so far, including the existence of this waterproof drive, exonerated Gordon Pearce. Of anything.
At home his mother met him at the door.
“Shh! They’re finally asleep—” she knocked softly on the screen frame—“and I just sat down for the first time in hours, so don’t you dare start telling me about your day.”
Milo raised an eyebrow. Normally Gloria complained she had to pry information out of him. “Deal,” he said.
She laughed and went off to the kitchen table and her computer while he collapsed in the den. He flicked through TV channels, stopping on an exercise class dancing to the same Latin beat he’d heard over the Keyes’ phone. He was admiring the pectoral muscles of a redhead in harem pants when someone pulled on his sleeve.
The small sunburned figure in the Dora the Explorer nightgown had made no noise. Jenny made the same finger to lips gesture their mother had used, throwing a stealthy glance toward the kitchen. “I can’t sleep,” she said.
Milo patted his lap, and she crawled up. He muted the TV. The harem pants swiveled in silence.
“Tell me a story,” Jenny commanded in a whisper. “And not about animals!”
“Once upon a time,” Milo began, making his voice as monotonous as possible, “there was a king.”
>
“Is there a princess?”
“Shh. I’m telling it. This king was popular and his subjects loved him, because he had started a factory that made…chariots. People came from all over to buy these chariots. While other countries were starving because there was a food shortage, this kingdom was full of happy, working people.
“Now this king had a daughter,” Milo went on.
Jenny gave a satisfied wriggle. “What’s her name?”
“Esmeralda.” She liked that. “Princess Esmeralda had a lot of boyfriends, but she was fussy. Like you. Everyone knew she would only marry someone who could help her run the chariot business someday. But there was trouble at the factory.”
Jenny toyed with her bracelet. It hadn’t been off her wrist since Milo had given it to her.
“Someone was stealing the gold people paid for the chariots. Pretty soon the king wouldn’t be able to pay his workers. The factory would close, and everyone would be poor and hungry again. And the princess might have to marry some rich prince she didn’t love, just to help out.”
“They should get guards. With guns.”
“Good idea. They did, but the guards didn’t see anyone stealing. So the princess asked a young man she trusted to come work in the factory and keep an eye out. To catch the thief.”
“Would they kill him?” Jenny asked. “The thief?”
“No. Just cut off his hands.”
“Yuck.”
“Only one hand for a first offense. The young man said he’d do it. Esmeralda also told him—”
“Princess Esmeralda.”
“Princess Esmeralda said, if you don’t find the thief within one month we’ll throw you in jail. So the young man went to work in the wheel department, and sure enough, before long he saw the manager in charge of…spokes, staying late after work every night when he should have gone home. This guy was taking part of the gold that came in from customers and putting it in his own locker.”
“His locker?”
“They had lockers for their lunches. Be quiet or I’ll stop. Anyway, the young man—”
“What’s his name?”
He was out of names. “Hero. Hero’s all excited that he found the thief. He tells the princess and she says, good job! Tomorrow we’ll catch him red-handed, and my father will be happy.”
Milo stopped, struck by an unwelcome thought. He was no psychologist—thank God—but was that why Ellie liked him? Because Milo might discredit Pearce and force King Alf to pay more attention to her?
“Keep going!” Jenny tapped his chin imperiously.
He kissed her fingers. “Right. When the factory guards arrested the Spokes Manager and searched his locker, it was empty. The manager said, why don’t you look in Hero’s locker, he’s the thief. Well, the princess didn’t want people to know she had a spy, so she made the guards look. And guess what?”
“They found the gold!” Jenny cried.
“Have you heard this before? Somehow the thief figured out Hero suspected him, so he made it look like Hero was doing the stealing. They threw Hero in jail.”
“But Hero wasn’t even there when the gold got stolen.”
Smart kid. “True. But Thief was an old friend of the king’s, and the king believed him.”
Jenny laid her head against his chest. She smelled like warm strawberry bubble-bath. “How did he get the gold into Hero’s locker,” she yawned, “if they were watching him all day? Did Thief have a helper?”
“No, he was just sneaky. He did it when everyone was at lunch.”
“Oh. So then what?”
Yes, then what? “The gold started disappearing again.”
“So it can’t be Hero! He’s in jail!”
“That’s what the king said, so they let Hero go. Anyway, Hero decides to follow Thief everywhere.” Milo’s leg was asleep. The rest of him was sleepy too; better wrap this up. “He finds out Thief volunteers to collect extra food from restaurants to give to the poor. Hero thinks this is suspicious, especially since one of the restaurants Thief collects from is the chariot factory cafeteria. So Hero watches, and those food bags look too heavy even for canned soup.”
“It’s the gold!” Jenny said through another yawn. Milo could see her tonsils, and small white teeth crowded together. How much did braces cost?
“Yep. Thief was sneaking out the gold in loaves of bread. So they caught him and cut his hand off—don’t worry, they made him a good artificial one—and everyone loved Hero because he saved the factory and the kingdom.”
“Does he marry Esmeralda?” she asked sleepily.
“Princess Esmeralda. No, she was too bossy. But he did get a better job. The end.”
Milo resettled her on his lap and turned the sound back up on the TV. The dance class was over, though, and when their mother came in, he and Jenny were sound asleep.
A mosquito was buzzing in his ear. He swatted at it but the noise continued. Milo opened one eye. Dawn light was visible through his open window. On the nightstand his cell phone was buzzing.
“Hello?” Milo said groggily, but politely, in case it was Wolverine calling.
“Shoe.” Milo almost didn’t recognize the husky voice.
“Zaffer? What’s wrong?”
“The pawn shop burned down. To the ground. Titan’s...gone.”
Milo looked at the bedside clock. 6:15 a.m. “Where are you?”
“Here in Monroe. We’re all here. It’s a mess.”
“I’m on my way.”
***
Chapter 19
Milo drove through the empty Saturday morning streets hardly seeing them. Some coincidence, the pawn shop burning down. On the same day they’d learned it might hold evidence that could convict someone—someone who’d once been arrested for arson.
Milo no longer believed in coincidence.
Outside Monroe he stopped to buy a dozen doughnuts. The smell of warm sugar filled the car as he made a call.
“Milo?” On the other end of the phone, Ellie yawned. “What time is it?”
“Early. Want to meet me at the pawn shop? We could see what’s on the flash drive.”
“You said you wanted to do that on your own.”
“Changed my mind. I’d like you there.”
“Really? Well, sure.” Just pleased surprise, he’d swear. No alarm. “Couldn’t you just bring it by here after you get it?”
“Can’t. I told Zaffer’s dad I’d help him out today.”
“Oh. Okay, then.” She yawned again. “Are they open yet? It’s not even…jeez, Milo, it’s not even seven o’clock.”
“They’re there. I checked.”
“All right. Let me wake up, and I’ll be over.”
“Hey,” Milo said, as if he’d just thought of it. “Won’t your dad wonder where you’re going?”
“No.” Now she sounded…not alarmed, exactly. Defensive. “Not this weekend. He left a while ago to play golf with the governor, I heard his car. Now remember—no looking till I get there.”
“So hurry.”
Fire trucks and police cars and gawkers were so thick in front of the shop that Milo had to park a block away.
He smelled the mess before he saw it. The air stank of wet smoke. Greasy rivulets of ashy gray water ran down the gutter at his feet. Zaffer’s Pawn & Jewelry was a free-standing cement block building on the corner, separated from its neighbor by a narrow alley. This design had saved the restaurant next door. But the pawn shop was gutted. Milo was no expert, but surely it took a bomb to do damage like this?
Even so early, people had come out to gape. The sirens must have woken everyone. A crowd on the opposite sidewalk was murmuring, sharing a fascinated “isn’t it awful” reaction. In front of the shell of the shop a knot of people clutched coffee cups, and each other, as though otherwise they might fall down. All the Zaffers were there: the five brothers, Mrs. Zaffer and the two younger girls, Mr. Zaffer and his day manager. The girls wore pajamas with sweaters on top. They must have driven in from Jackson in th
e dark, Milo realized. Two firemen in rubber coats and helmets were talking to a grim-faced Mr. Zaffer, pointing at the damage.
A late model Wolverine Scarlet Ghost, its 100-foot water hose now neatly coiled away, hogged the curb in front of a hydrant. Milo wished he’d seen it in action. On someone else’s misfortune.
Zaffer saw him and came over. They exchanged the kind of awkward male hug common at funerals. “Thanks for coming. Is this shit or what?”
“Yeah.” Milo offered the doughnuts. Zaffer looked at them in a daze, as though trying to recall the word for doughnut. Milo put one in his hand and saw that his knuckles were scraped and bleeding.
“What do the firemen say?” he asked.
“They’re still looking, but you can tell they think it’s arson.” Zaffer choked on the doughnut. His voice shook with outrage. “They wanted to know if we had a lot of insurance. Like maybe my dad set the fire himself. Twenty years in business here! I said, if we were going to burn it down for money, don’t you think we’d have let the fucking dog out!”
Milo steered him down the sidewalk to a bus stop bench. “No sign of her?” Instantly he cursed his tactlessness. If there were charred dog remains in there he didn’t want to make Zaffer say so.
“No. I was digging, but nothing. It’s like a meteor hit.”
“I’m sorry, buddy.” Milo hesitated. “You think this was because of the flash drive?”
Nothing dazed about Zaffer now. “Hell, yes. I think Gordon Pearce paid us a visit last night and killed my dog. But how’d he hear about it, that’s what I want to know. My dad just thought I was returning your computer bag. He didn’t know there was anything in it. Who did you tell?”
Ben Zaffer was his best friend. Milo owed him more than he owed a girl he’d met a few weeks ago. Even if he had slept with her. “Ellie was there. She heard you say it would be here all night.”
“But Ellie hates Gordon Pearce. Doesn’t she?”
Milo paused, then turned. “Ask her.”
The familiar engine growled as the low red car turned onto the street a block north of them and drove their way, looking to park. The top was down. Milo watched Ellie’s shocked face as she took in the gutted shop, the knots of people, the Scarlet Ghost. The stink. Either she truly hadn’t known, or she was a hell of an actress. But she is a good actress.
Unaccounted For Page 18
