by Rose, Kristi
She stood, and her mouth fell open. “What in all that’s holy has happened to you?”
“I went for fish tacos and tamales.” I tried not to groan as the stitch in my side throbbed. I handed her my phone. “Can you take this to Chuck for me real quick? I see someone I need to talk to.”
She held out her hand and narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll fill you in in a minute. Do you have a camera?”
Stella held up her phone. “Just this one. I’d have to run to the back to get a company camera.”
Using my eyes to plead, I asked, “Can I borrow it?”
“Only if you return it in the same shape I’m loaning it to you.”
I whisked hers up. “I’ll do my best.” I shuffled from the building and down to the park, clutching my side with my hand.
Sean Kleppner looked no different from high school, only less hair. Blond, blue eyes, and sun-kissed from working in landscaping most of his life. He was tall, but showing the beginnings of a potbelly, and he sported a chin curtain. What once had been a soul patch was now a full beard with no mustache. Personally, I didn’t get it.
“Hey,” I said, collapsing on the half wall that ran around the perimeter of the outdoor theater. I tried not to pant but was failing miserably. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you. How’s Shannon and the kids?”
Sean was stuffing dirt into a large pot. He glanced up at me and, hand to heart, I swear he grimaced.
“They’re fine. Busy.” He glanced between his pot and my face. “What happened to you?”
“Fish Tacos.” I said. “Super popular.” I admired his handiwork. “I like what you’ve done here with the bigger pots.” Which was true. Sitting on top of the half wall were eight evenly spaced pots of overflowing plants. Sean was changing two of them out to a larger pot. The larger the pot, the more plants and flowers and the grander the design.
“I’ve been asking the city for years to change these pots into bigger ones, but they’re too cheap,” he said.
“What changed their minds?” Lots of older folks sat on the city council. Cheap was their motto.
“They haven’t, so I took it upon myself to show them how much better it would look if the pots were bigger.” He swept away the dirt that had fallen from the freshly planted pot onto the wall.
“You bought these?” With his winnings? If so, his actions puzzled me.
“Yeah, and once the council gets lots of compliments and tells me how much they like it, I’m gonna ask them to pay up or I’m gonna take my pots and go.” He pounded the dirt in frustration.
Ah, there’s the Sean I expected. In high school, he’d always been the one to bum rides, bum a cigarette, or whatever he could get for free. Silence hung between us.
Had I come over here with a plan, this moment might be going better. “You heard about my hus—uh, Carson, didn’t you?”
Sean glanced at me. “Yeah, Shannon told me. Rotten luck.” He heaved a large bag of soil onto his shoulder and turned away toward another pot. Leaving me with a view of his profile.
I snort-laughed. “You’re telling me. But speaking of luck, I was at the casino the other day. I actually won, but not as big as you did, I hear.”
Sean fumbled the bag, bumping it along his side before dropping it into the pot. Something small and square popped out of his pocket and bounced toward me.
“Who told you that?” he asked, not once looking at me. He paused, presumably gathering his wits, then stabbed a spade into the bag, splitting it open.
By my calculations, Sean had two weeks before word leaked about his winnings. I eased from the wall and said, “The guys I was sitting with at roulette. They were talking about a big slot machine winner. Turns out it was you.”
“Did they tell you how much?” He poured some of the soil into the pot.
With much pain, I reached down and scooped up the box. It was a jewelry box, the kind that typically held rings and earrings. I flipped the top open and was surprised to find a ring with two entwined hearts. Diamonds, microscopic ones at that, dotted one arch of each heart. The ring looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Sean was focused on the soil, allowing me to snap a picture.
“They just said it was a lot. I’m surprised you’re still doing this and not living the life of the independently wealthy,” I said. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do if I won money.”
Sean paused and stared out at the river. “I’d run a fishing excursion company,” he said in a rush of words.
“Hey, you dropped this.” I held the ring out, lid open. “It’s pretty. What’s the occasion?”
He glanced at the ring box on my palm and paled. Sean dropped the bag and whipped the ring from my hand. He narrowed his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s for Shannon.” He ducked his head. “I’ve been an ass lately, so I thought I’d make a grand gesture and apologize.” He cut his eyes to me and sighed heavily. “You know my dad, Sam. He’s not the easiest man to be around and sometimes Shannon catches my grief.” Sean’s shoulders slumped. His dad was one of those guys who was quick to ignite, blaze a path of destruction, and then ask questions later. My dad did not hold him in high regard.
Even when someone knew their parents were a piece of work, it didn’t help to hear others agree. I said nothing.
Sean shoved the ring back into his pocket and kicked the wall. “If he’d just retire already. But no, he has to micromanage every step I make. I’m so sick of it. Sick of him.” He picked up a rock and chucked it across the length of the park toward the water.
Being disgruntled with one’s job did not excuse infidelity or lies. But I was pretty much done with trying to understand human nature. Also, I was in no place to talk. I didn’t know what it was like to have a demanding and demeaning parent, not really, though I’d been the subject of teasing as a kid. I hadn’t enjoyed it. Who was I to make assumptions about Sean and the journey he was on? I made a note to see if Shannon was wearing the ring next time we met.
“If I see Shannon, I’ll keep this to myself,” I said, pointing to his pocket.
He gave me a half smile. “Please do,” he said before turning his back to me.
I nodded once and shuffled back to my dad’s business. Before going in, I gave the park one last look. The new planter stood tall and large, extending upward like a middle finger. Sean’s eff you to his dad and the town. I bet there was some satisfaction that came with creating a look that people were going to love but secretly had a double meaning. Ugh, I was empathizing with a womanizer. I needed a video on how to read people if they were lying.
24
Tuesday
Stella was waiting for me inside the lobby when I returned. She handed me my phone. Before returning her phone, I texted the ring picture to myself.
“You owe me thirty bucks,” she said. “Also, Evergreen Jewelers called. Your necklace is ready. They said they’ve been trying to reach you. You need to pick it up or they’re going to put it in their consignment display to cover the cost of your bill.”
I groaned. I’d forgotten all about that necklace.
I paused by Stella’s desk to catch my breath and pressed my hand to my side.
“I could use some water,” I said, then mumbled, “or a stiff drink.”
Stella’s gaze swept over me, and she crossed her arms. “Russ!” Her voice boomed throughout the building. I supposed the anger in her voice spurred my dad into action. He came flying out of his office, papers in his hands, his glasses perched on his lower nose like an old schoolmarm.
He did a double take when he saw me. He peered over his glasses. “Samantha?”
“I’m fine, Dad. I was mugged downtown. They stole my backpack and knocked my fish tacos out of my hands. Can you believe that?” No need for him to worry more than he had to.
“You shouldn’t lie to your father,” Stella whispered. “He can handle the truth.”
I couldn’t meet her gaze. “I’m going to lie down
on your couch, if that’s okay.”
Dad helped me into his office and cleared off a box of papers taking up space on the end of the couch. I stretched out with a groan and a sigh.
He stood over me and stared down. “Did you call the police?”
“Yep, I even saw the paramedics. I was cleared.” Letting my body relax into the cushions felt oh so good.
“Are you okay, Sammy? Do you need help? Is this about the money Carson owed?” Dad’s bushy brows were pushed together as he studied me, clearly worried. I hated to see him like this. He’d never been the parent who did the worrying. That was Mom’s job.
“I’m good, Dad. Seriously. I was mugged. Next time I won’t fight back.” I held my gaze steady with his.
He grunted as if he didn’t believe me, then ambled back to his desk where he shuffled papers.
“What are you working on?”
He loved to talk about breaking stories, and doing so would take his mind off me. “Remember that fire that happened up in the Olympics. A senator’s son was killed?”
I wracked my brain for the story. I’d read it when I was looking for information on Carson’s accident. “Vaguely,” I said.
“It happened on Tuesday, the day before Carson died,” he continued and stared at a paper. “It seems the senator’s son, an aspiring politician himself, was staying in the family cabin, going to do some hiking. He was a big outdoorsman.” Dad waved his hand as if to bring himself back on track. “Anyway, looks like the fire started when the son, a man about your age named Benjamin Fulton, fell asleep smoking in bed.”
“Not unusual,” I said and closed my eyes. “These things happen more than we like.”
“True,” Dad said, but something in his voice made me open my eyes and look at him. His cheeks were pink and his eyes bright from the scent of a story. “Except the son didn’t smoke. The senator swears by it. Said Ben might have tried it when he was younger, but he was too much of a health nut to smoke. If that’s true, it would also beg the question of why there was a handful of empty whiskey bottles in the cabin as well.”
“I’m not fully following,” I said, wondering if it was because I did have a concussion.
Dad sighed like he was sad his youngest child was daft. “Both police and fire marshal reports claim Ben likely passed out while smoking in bed. The senator says that’s impossible. Look at these.” Dad came around and tossed two large photos on my chest. I held them up.
Dad pointed to the first one. A man in his mid-fifties stared hard and tired at the camera taking his picture. He had a large, bulbous nose, the type one gets from drinking, rheumy eyes, and red splotchy slack skin. “That’s the senator about twenty-five years ago. He was early-forties. At the height of his career. When I exposed the sports world for pushing performance-enhancing drugs, Senator Fulton came out as a recovering alcoholic and talked about how poor our medical treatment for addiction was. That it was shameful corporations were doing this to players because there’s no treatment. He’s still an advocate. Even for Indian Health Services, he’s trying to make sure Native Americans have options.”
He held up a second picture. “This is the senator now.” The hard expression remained, but the Senator was healthier. No red booze-nose. No slack skin. No blotchiness. The picture of a fit man in his sixties.
“The senator believes that his kid would never drink and smoke because of his own addiction?” I shrugged. Lots of kids hide things from their parents. Like me, right now, not telling Dad the entire truth about what happened today.
“Exactly. And he makes another good point. What avid outdoorsman gets toasted the night before he’s about to take on a sixty-five-mile hike in the Olympic mountains?”
“An alcoholic one?” I’d learned that nothing was as it seemed in life, and people were great at hiding what they wanted no one to know.
Dad bopped me on the head with one of the photos. “Think about it, Sam. This kid, Ben, he’s hiked Rainer. He’s done the Pacific Crest Trail, the Appalachian Trail, and the Continental Divide Trail. He wants to do Everest. Is that the kind of person to get soused the night before? I can see him having a few beers on the trail or even keeping a flask during the hike, but I can’t see him drinking a bottle of scotch the night before. It doesn’t sit right in my gut.” To prove his point, he jabbed his fingers into his midsection.
I pushed to a sit with a groan. “I know it doesn’t seem likely, but Dad, Carson seemed like a dream come true, and he left me with a mess. Besides, what are you going to write about that’s fact? It’s the senator’s word against the police. And the senator is grieving. He doesn’t want to believe his kid could have been an alcoholic.”
Dad leaned against his desk. “I always listen to my gut, and it says there’s more to this story than we know. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
I shrugged one shoulder and grimaced. “I might be able to help you with that. Do you know Toby Wagenknecht?”
Silence from his part of the room. “I do. Are you trying to get your old man to buy you pot?”
I laughed and felt the ache in my ribs. “No, but I need to talk to him. I also think he can help you do some digging.” My phone was on the other end of the couch, and I made a halfhearted attempt to reach it.
“I’ll call him.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “But I doubt he’s available. It’s his high time.”
I glanced at my watch. It was smack in the middle of high time and it was disturbing that Dad knew about these things.
But Toby must have answered because Dad identified himself, told him I was there, and asked him to come to the paper. Then he hung up.
His expression curious, he said, “He’ll be right here.”
“Did he sound high?” I asked, wondering if this was the best time to tell him he was in trouble, too.
“He always sounds high,” Dad said.
True. I situated myself in the corner because I needed the support on both sides. I kept my expression bland so I wouldn’t worry Dad further.
The good thing about downtown Wind River was that from anywhere in the city limits, town was only a ten-minute drive. The bell over my dad’s front door chimed, and he went out to inspect, returning a few minutes later with Toby in tow. The bell chimed again, and Dad groaned as he left to handle it. I’m sure he sniffed a story with me, too, and thought this was his chance to hear it. I gave a silent thanks to whoever had come in behind Toby.
“Dudette! What happened to you?” He sat on the edge of the couch, his vape pen swinging from the lanyard around his neck.
I kept my voice low. “You know that research I asked you to do?”
He nodded vigorously then took a hit from his pen. “Yeah, I did some simple searching. No biggie because I noticed someone was following me.”
“What do you mean?” When it came to tech, I was an ignoramus.
“I mean someone was following my searches. I had to go deep web and try to cloak myself. They also tried to scan my files. I shut them down lickety-split.”
“You need to be careful. They”—I pointed to the bandage—“know who you are. They told me to tell you to knock it off.”
Toby, naturally pale, went gray. He took a long inhalation from his pen. “Sssshhhheeeet,” he said, drawing out the curse word the same time as he let out the smoke. “I hate bullies.”
He had a history of trouble with bullying so I understood where he was coming from.
“I’ll admit that they spooked me. Couldn’t even get high today because I was so busy trying to figure out who they were.” He took another puff.
I sniffed the air. “Is that s’mores?” The aroma was a bit chocolaty with a cinnamon smell. Reminded me of camping.
Toby took another puff and blew it out. “Called Cowboy Campfire. I picked it because things are about to get real western around here.” He made like he was shooting dueling guns, stopped to blow off their tips, then tucked them in imaginary holsters at his side.
“Well, if you’
re up for it, for more action, my dad needs some help, too.”
“Oh, I’m up for anything.” He then pulled out his laptop from the knapsack on his back and said, “Let me tell you about Tyson Lockett and when I became aware of being followed. Our story starts in Seattle.”
“Seattle?” The city was close enough for Carson to make a day trip without me knowing.
Toby continued, “Your lawyer friend is currently under investigation by the Office of Disciplinary Council. He could be suspended and possibly disbarred. He’s charged with using fear to force clients to pay thousands of dollars to keep him on retainer and then not following through.”
25
Wednesday
LC was still hanging with the crime scene people, which meant this gave Precious a chance to jump back into the fray. She’d given me a scathing set-down when she learned about what happened. Mostly, she was upset because I’d kept her out of the loop and claimed she could have been there, could have been watching my back, and this might have been avoided blah blah blah. Basically, she was right.
“Where to first?” she said with her high ponytail almost touching the roof liner of her high-end SUV. Her makeup was perfect. I hadn’t bothered, figuring any color I chose would be in direct contrast with the purplish and green bruise alongside the right side of my face. Feeling naked, I swiped clear gloss over my lips.
“Let’s go by Keys Bank, main branch. I’ll make a deposit into the business account and see if this account number from the clue is a checking account or what.” I tapped the picture on my phone of the bar with the account number.
“Are you sleeping?” she asked as we pulled out of my driveway.
“Not really. Last night I stayed up late watching videos on how to tell if someone is lying.”
“Stayed up late for work, right? Not because you’re scared to go to sleep?” Typical Precious, getting right to the point. There was no reason to deny it.
“Maybe I should have let them have the townhouse. I lie in bed and see images of someone moving through the house, or I wait for the alarm to go off.” I settled back against the soft leather of her car seats. It was another beautiful day in the PNW. Too bad my mood didn’t match.
