* * *
The group kept its momentum till Skinny’s closed at eleven. The pickups left, ferrying people like open-air buses. Some cheerleader-types drove out in a big Lexus SUV full of giggling girlfriends, followed by the Mustang with Tim and the blonde. Mick tailed them to the river park where they got out and took a waterside bench, kissed and diddled for another hour. He was a few hundred yards behind when they returned all the way through town and took a right onto Blue Hills Road toward the country club. Mick stopped when they made a left onto Sylvan Circle. He set the straw hat in the seat, got out, waited for Cassel to finish his goodnighting and come back to the intersection.
* * *
“The hell do you want?” Not much of a greeting but at least he’d stopped, let his car idle in the street beside the Bronco.
Mick crossed in front of the car over to Tim’s side. “I want to explain how JJ got crossways with you and Edmonds.”
“There is no me and Edmonds!”
“I know.” Mick held his hands up like surrender. “I’ve told Paint and so has JJ.” Probably not true but it would be soon.
“Tell my dad, dickwad. He’s in my face every day and he doesn’t know shit.”
“I will. It was a mistake.”
Tim was staring a hole in Mick but at least he was listening.
“I’m sorry. Okay? Tell Cunneen and your stubby buddy to back off. We’re fixing it.”
“You tell him. The suck’s gone.”
“What…”
“Some scholarship. You believe a high school scholarship? Sports? Cunneen’ll be a senior. Yeah. He’s moved.” Tim was shaking his head. Looked like a mix of anger, disbelief, disappointment. He rammed the car in gear and spun around the corner, tires pelting Mick with gravel.
67
PAINT WAS INSIDE, sitting again. Rubbing his hands on his pants like something had gotten them dirty. “They found a car. Turned out to be the wrong one. Unlucky kid who was driving may have to have his pants dry-cleaned.”
Dovey smiled. JJ didn’t. What if they got her and didn’t realize she was the wrong one?
Dovey filled him in. “I told her about Gary and Tina. Puts her in a tough position. What do we do here?”
“We keep her out of Mackler’s hands.”
“I know, but what’s her status? Does Bolton determine that?”
Paint snorted. “You have a place to stay for a week or two while we sort this?” he asked JJ.
She shook her head, coughed to cover her mix of embarrassment and fear.
“What the hell? What do we have?” Paint to Dovey.
“Domestic violence shelter or the Methodist basement,” Dovey said. “Neither seems … how old are you?”
“Sophomore,” JJ said, not really lying, avoiding the question. She watched a look pass between the elders.
Turned out Dovey had an extra toothbrush to go with an extra bed. JJ didn’t mention her things were back at the garage. Wondered how Mick was doing. Tried to put it out of her mind.
* * *
JJ woke in the morning to the smell of coffee and cinnamon bread. Note on the table. Meet at lunch—courthouse steps.
The shower felt great. JJ wolfed the bread and burned her mouth on the coffee. Couldn’t wait to get to the garage.
* * *
She noticed the Bronco had taken the Pontiac’s place parked at the far side. Good news. Dialed the combo lock and found Mick using a screwdriver to jimmy the locked metal cabinet. It wasn’t working. The look on his face when he saw her was worth burning her mouth twice over. He was glad to see her. She could tell. It was more than the smile. He’d missed her. Was that a first? Made her wish she had taken some time with her hair or face or something. She had no idea how she looked. Probably like a lumberjack.
“You have keys for this thing?” Mick rapped on the cabinet with his knuckles.
“No. What’re you looking for?”
“Rifle, handgun, bat. Anything that’ll even the odds when I find Larry Cassel.”
JJ watched his face. He was kidding, wasn’t he?
Mick didn’t smile.
“Gary had that rifle at the trailer.”
“The shotgun?”
“I guess so. Paint’s giving me the key this morning. I’ll look for it.”
“Want me to meet you there?”
“You’ll get caught.”
“No way. I found some scissors on the workbench. Help me cut my hair. Coveralls and this straw hat? Instant farmhand.”
JJ could picture it, thought it would work.
“I got to talk to my dad.”
“Why?” Didn’t sound like a good idea.
“I think I’m going to need his help.”
68
THE HAIRCUT MADE THE HAT FIT BETTER, sit lower. Perfect disguise. Mick parked off Main beside the Conoco, watched for a couple of minutes to spot a stakeout. Didn’t see anything that made him suspicious. Walked behind the station around the fence that secured used tires, around the side of the garage where two cars sat waiting for repair. Guessed the owner was in the office with the cash register and phone.
Mick had time to think this through. Knew what he wanted to say. Approached his dad, who was over a fender, leaning into an engine compartment.
Fitz grunted, something gave, and he glanced up holding a rusty water pump. Didn’t seem surprised to see Mick. Set the pump on the floor and went back to work.
Mick came closer, close enough to talk, but not close enough to get hit by the closed-end wrench his dad was using. “I thought … we had to leave. Right then. Nothing to take but the Bonnie.” It was a poor start. Not the way he had planned.
Fitz ignored him.
“I’m sorry I took your car without telling you.”
Fitz swore at a belt that was in his way.
“You called Scott Cassel when you saw us last night. We don’t do that.”
That brought Fitz out of the engine compartment. “Are you nuts? Cassel thinks I could’ve killed that blond bitch. I wouldn’t call … Piss off.”
Mick thought about that. Who called if not his dad?… Went on. “I’m getting my stuff out of the studio.”
“It’s locked.”
That was a lie. Mick had never seen his dad lock a door. Always said: “Somebody wants in, they’ll get in, and then you got to replace the glass or frame.” If this kept going badly, there was a possibility Mick might not talk to his dad again. Was there anything else he needed to say? He wiped oily sweat from his forehead, remembered he hadn’t showered for days. “Uh, thanks for taking care of me all this time,” he said.
No response.
“You didn’t have to,” Mick said. “I appreciate it.”
Fitz cursed at the engine.
“I’m in a lot of trouble now. I might need your help.”
“Tough tits, Bucky Boy. Shoulda thought about that a few days ago.”
“No, I mean it.” Mick looked around to be sure this conversation was private. “I think Larry Cassel killed that girl we found.”
Fitz stopped work. Rested forearms on the car fender, listening.
“We, uh, JJ found something there on the river. Pretty sure it belongs to Larry. He’s strong enough. Temper. Big ladies’ man. I think the girl refused him and he snapped and killed her.”
Now Fitz straightened. “Not my business. I got his dad running checks in Idaho and Oregon trying to sew me to a whole mess of trouble. If he connects the dots, I’m doing time.” He waited for Mick’s reaction. Mick didn’t give him one. “I can’t leave the city limits.”
Mick realized he’d often wished for something like this. Do the crime, do the time, something to knock his dad out of this stupid life. But not now. Not today. Today he needed his dad hard and ornery. “Grace is missing,” he said. “Larry may have got her, too.”
His dad pulled a red shop rag out of his back pocket and began wiping his hands.
“I’m going to find him and make him tell me what he’s done,” Mick said
.
His dad snorted.
“I have to. Otherwise they’ll pin it on me.”
“You set me up,” his dad said, pitching the rag in a laundry barrel, “somebody set you up. Goes around, comes around. Little late for begging.”
Mick thought about wishing his dad good luck. Realized he didn’t mean it. Walked out.
69
MICK LEFT THE BRONCO in an empty driveway a couple of streets over, walked to the studio. The door was unlocked, like he thought. Went straight to his bed and felt under the mattress for his paychecks. Lifted the whole mattress. Looked like his dad had helped himself. Okay, so Mick was keeping the Bonnie if it didn’t get impounded. Wasn’t much else in the studio worth his time. His winter jacket, winter boots, a better pair of jeans, a couple of button shirts. As usual, everything he wanted fit in a grocery bag.
By the time he got to the Stovall trailer, JJ had it open, airing it out. He called her name at the porch steps so he wouldn’t startle her, and she came to the door, clothes dirty, smudged face, wet rag in one hand, Pine-Sol in the other.
“Guess what? This place is a pigsty.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand to keep sweat from dripping.
“I remember,” Mick said. “Never knew how you and Grace could stand it.”
JJ winced at the word “Grace.” “Get used to anything.” She stepped out of the way. “Come in before somebody sees you.”
Couch and furniture cushions leaned against porch banisters in the sun. Inside, the place smelled like disinfectant. JJ had swept the rugs and mopped the linoleum. The bathroom door was propped open, the kitchen counter was clear. Gary’s table was empty and the garbage was gone.
“Wow. Somebody could actually live here,” Mick said, nodding appreciatively.
“Yeah. Me. Course, there’s two bedrooms.”
That reminded Mick. “You got Gary’s cell? I want to call Larry’s office. I’ve been driving around looking for Grace, looking for Cassel’s Lincoln. Didn’t see either. You know anybody that’s seen Grace since we let her out?”
JJ shook her head.
“I think he’s got her.”
“Why?”
Mick went back to his theory about the ring owners and who would be the most likely person to have killed Evelyn in a burst of anger.
“There’s a loose string,” JJ said. “Dovey says the ring I saw Hammond wearing is a new one. He upgraded.”
Mick frowned, not understanding.
“More diamonds. So, did he lose the old one’s setting when he dumped the girl at the river, or did he keep his old one and it’s in his jewelry box, or what?”
“Did Paint or Dovey tell you anything about those rings?”
“Yeah, V-Club for sure. Like Grace said, from a long time ago, high school. Hammond, Scott Cassel, Greer, Bolton, and Mackler.”
“What else did Grace say when you first showed it to us?”
JJ looked away, trying to remember. “She named Hammond and somebody else from that group.”
“Didn’t she say Larry had one?”
“I don’t know … hey, I couldn’t find the shotgun. Probably the police.”
“That’s okay. Maybe it’s better without it.”
“I’m meeting Dovey for lunch and then I’m getting money out of my account to bail Gary. He’ll help us.”
“Your account?”
“Long story.” JJ looked around the trailer, assessing what still needed to be done. “Hey, give me a hand? I finish wiping stuff here in the living room, you go through the fridge and toss anything that doesn’t look right?”
Mick’s first reaction: wrinkled his nose. Second, resistant. Didn’t want to get sidetracked from his search for Grace and Larry.
“Leave their bedroom and sheets till I can stand it. Help me finish the kitchen, I’ll get cleaned up, you make your calls. Deal?”
Hard to argue.
* * *
While JJ showered, Mick found a phone book, got the number for the county building inspector. When he called, he got a phone message: Out of the office for the rest of the week. Leave name and number. His message: “This is Mick Fitzhugh. You’ve got Grace and I’m coming after you.” He hung up wondering if that was another mistake. His dad would have said so. “Never let them see you coming.”
Mick fidgeted while JJ showered and dressed. When she came out of the bedroom, he was a little surprised. Had she gotten taller lately? She looked good in T-shirt, jeans, and sandals. He hadn’t had that thought before. When she turned to close her bedroom door, he added to his appraisal. Still looked like a boy from behind, but …
He dropped her off a block away from the courthouse. Couldn’t sit still. Started a street-by-street grid search of Portage. After fifteen minutes he parked. Too much territory, too much gas, and Cassel could be anywhere. Back to the ring. Hammond? Still didn’t fit Mick’s theory. Damn it, what had Grace said? Hammond got Larry on as inspector. What else did Larry do? Mick had seen him try to intimidate Dovey. Looked pretty good at it. With no son on the horizon, would Hammond give Larry that ring and make him an honorary club member? Just might.
The question Mick kept avoiding: Was Grace already dead?
70
COULD SHE EVEN MOVE? How could someplace be this dark? Grace was scared of the answers. How did she get here? She felt her pulse climbing. Breathe!
She’d disarmed Larry, gotten in the car with him. A car accident? Is this the morgue? Do they think she’s dead? She heard herself cry out. Didn’t mean to. And then she did. Started yelling her head off. Stopped, afraid she was lying on something she might fall off of. What if Larry had put her in a well and she was balanced on a ledge, squirm and she’d tip over and drop the rest of the way? She needed to move very carefully. Get some information.
Her left hand first. The right seemed like it was wedged between her body and a wall. She felt her hip, then up to her stomach. She was dressed. Down to her butt. She was on something leather or vinyl. Felt like a wood frame beneath. What? Too flat and hard for a couch. What are those places in cemeteries? Slots for bodies in a big marble building? Her grandmother’d been put in one. Forced her mind off that. A shelf or a table? What kind of table would have a little padding covered by leather? None she’d ever seen.
She pressed her head down. Felt like a thin pillow. Pressed her feet. Same thing. Lifted her hand. Nothing above her that she could feel. She would sit up. When she did, her right hand came up short against a metal chain. A handcuff. Attached to … a pipe running along a cold wall. Should she swing her feet over the side? Feel for the floor? Good questions, but what she really wanted to know right now was how long would her bladder last? She closed her eyes and focused on hearing and smell. She needed more information about her predicament.
* * *
A sharp sound jolted Grace out of uneasy sleep. A door opening. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust. The light hurt, wavered, finally formed into an image. Hammond, standing in a doorway in a chichi tracksuit. Now Grace could see she was lying on a massage table, cuffed to a drainpipe in a wine cellar.
“Larry thought you might want to use the powder room. My bad. Should have thought of that before.”
Grace took him in: gold chain at the neck, tracksuit, BOSS brand on the sweatshirt, matching pants, tan leather Air-something-or-others. He looked like a Nordstrom’s ad from her hometown.
“Sorry about the cuff. Didn’t want you to hurt yourself. We’ll explain everything whenever you’re ready.”
“Where’s—?” Grace’s voice was rough. She stopped and tried it again. “Where’s Larry?”
“Upstairs.”
“What did he do to me?”
“Nothing. He didn’t touch you. Really. Odorless. Like chloroform. We needed to have a serious conversation. Someplace private. Needed your cooperation.”
Grace watched as his face colored. That was a first. “This is the way you get cooperation?”
Hammond’s face hardened. “There’s a
lot you don’t know. Things you need to understand. You want to hit the can or not?”
71
JJ AND DOVEY WAITED FOR GARY on the sidewalk in front of the jail. When he appeared, JJ hardly recognized him. He looked smaller, older and crippled. Shuffled as he came toward them like he’d recently been badly beaten.
Dovey stepped back, letting JJ greet him. “Grace is missing,” JJ said. “Maybe she’s run again, but I think Hammond or one of his people took her to shut her up.”
Gary shook his head like it was going to take him a while to readjust to brighter light and pot-free thinking. “Hammond … that’d be crazy.”
“Maybe,” JJ said. “Or maybe she knows something and those guys don’t want her around anymore.”
Gary grimaced like he was getting a headache, said, “Don’t mess with those guys.”
“You’d know?” Dovey asked. Didn’t sound like she expected an answer.
“Just making a living,” Gary said, scanning the nearby area to see if anyone was looking or listening. “I got people that depend on—” He stopped talking as Bolton walked out the front door, saw him and scowled.
“Let’s go home,” Gary said. “Talk there.”
This wasn’t the Gary JJ knew. If he was going to be super-careful about Hammond, then he couldn’t help her.
“You two be okay?” Dovey asked, looking at her watch.
“We’ll walk home,” JJ said. “I’ll call you tonight.”
“You can’t sleep there with him in the trailer.”
Gary glared at the woman.
JJ thought she understood. Dovey’s deal with Paint to keep JJ out of the system for a couple of weeks. “So let me know when you’re home and I’ll join you.”
Dead Girl Moon Page 18
