by Nicole Young
37
In my rearview mirror, I watched Brad walk into the house. The newly awakened adult in me felt indignant at the treatment I’d gotten from the men, as if I weren’t mature enough to handle the details regarding Candice’s situation. Puppa hadn’t spoken to her in years. And what did Joel and Brad even know about her? Maybe she’d lied to me, killed a few men in her life, and told me to get a new boyfriend, but we’d also had a lot of good times together. If she needed help, I should be the one to give it.
I drove up Puppa’s drive toward the highway, slowing to see my gentle mare. Heaven Hill Gold grazed in green pastures by still waters, a place I hoped to land someday. I smiled with excitement. Tomorrow Brad and I would go to town, he’d pop the question, and then perhaps I’d begin to see glimpses of my own green pastures.
I pulled onto the main road. I hadn’t spent as much time as I would have liked to with my pretty pony. Life always seemed to get in the way. I made a promise over my shoulder as I drove off that I’d be down to visit every day—starting tomorrow.
Back at the lodge, the gang was just finishing supper. I took the last of the chicken-and-dumpling soup and grilled myself a ham and cheese sandwich. I helped with the cleanup while Missy and Gerard took the kids for a stroll on the beach.
As I waited for the sink to fill with water, the little family of four walked past the kitchen window. Hannah swung between the two adults while Andrew roughed up Gerard’s five-o’clock shadow from his perch on the man’s hip.
“So when did Gerard start doing daylight duty, anyway?” I wasn’t sure I cared to see the very pregnant and newly widowed Melissa looking so content with my rascal cousin.
“I think it’s cute.” Samantha soaked a dishcloth and wiped down the counters. “He’s so good with those kids. And she seems happy when he’s around, not afraid all the time like she used to be.”
I scrubbed the soup pan. Missy was fortunate to have a protector, after what she’d been through. But was my cousin Gerard really a suitable candidate? She’d be going from one drug runner to another. Anyway, it seemed like a woman should know how to be content on her own, without a man around, before getting all cozy in a relationship.
I putzed around with the fry pan, coating it with bubbles. I scrubbed with a wire pad, wondering if my logic applied to my relationship with Brad as well. Had I ever been content on my own, or was I always looking for something more, something better, something to fill the empty ache within? Something Brad might or might not be able to provide?
I flipped the pan over and washed the back, distracted by a butterfly outside the window. It bobbed and swirled and dipped and jogged, apparently headed wherever the breeze blew. It seemed satisfied with its carefree existence. It had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no larger purpose in the universe. And yet, God cared for it and directed its path, however meaningless and circuitous the route appeared from my place at the window.
I picked up a towel and dried the pan. Was God directing my path too? I wondered if I could be happy going wherever the Spirit of God blew me. Could I accept the next situation and place God directed that I go, even if it was jail?
I looked over my shoulder at Samantha sweeping the floor, and realized that as much as I’d bellyached about her coming to stay with me, I’d had fun. And as much as I’d complained about Melissa and her kids hiding out at the lodge, they had really been a blessing to me. I took a deep breath, held it a moment, then exhaled fully. From that moment on, I determined to be content with my life, regardless of the circumstances. I decided I’d be grateful and thank God no matter what. With a smile on my face, I put away the pans and hummed a few bars of “Amazing Grace.”
My new gratification washed over me, warm like dishwater. I said good night to Sam and went upstairs to get some early z’s and rest up for my big day tomorrow. I fell asleep thanking God for everything and everyone in my life. And for all life’s circumstances, just the way they were.
My cell phone rang, jolting me out of a deep sleep. I searched for the sound with my eyes closed, running my hand along the bedside table and knocking over the lamp. I got out of bed and tracked the ring tones to my jeans pocket.
I hit the receive button without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?” My voice croaked with exhaustion.
“Tish. It’s Candice.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “Candice? Are you all right? Puppa—”
“Tish, listen,” she interrupted with a stern voice. “Your grandfather brought me a black box tonight. But, Tish”—her voice was filled with something between desperation and urgency—“it’s the wrong one. What did you do with the box I gave you?”
I scratched the back of my neck. “I brought it down to Puppa’s today. I left it with him.”
“Exactly. But it was the wrong one. I need the other box, Tish. It’s life or death.”
“What time is it, anyway?” I rifled around in my brain trying to understand the box conundrum.
“It’s almost midnight. Concentrate. I need that box.”
“I don’t know where it is, Candice. Why did you give it to me if you needed it?” I set my lamp to rights on the bed stand and turned it on.
“Don’t ask why. Don’t ask why. Remember?” Her voice pleaded with me to understand something. But I had no idea what she was getting at.
My eyes burned in the lamplight. Over by the window, I spotted a black box. “Oh, sheesh. There it is. I’m sorry, Candice. I must have picked up the wrong one this afternoon.”
“Please bring it to me.”
“Tonight? It’s kind of late.”
“Yes, tonight. The box I have is filled with all the pictures of you and your mother. I’ll trade you.”
Candice must have figured I’d do anything to get my mother’s photos back, even if it meant putting myself in harm’s way. She was right. I pulled open the bedside drawer and toyed with the torn edges knifing across Beth Amble’s young face.
My mind raced through the scenario before giving Candice an answer. Majestic’s gang must have searched Candice’s house for the convicting photos. When they didn’t find them, they alerted backup, who managed to get a hold of Candice before she could slip away. That’s when she called Puppa for the photos, hoping to buy her life. Puppa brought them to her, but it was the wrong batch of photos. And now, the person with the right box just happened to be the daughter of Majestic’s nemesis, Jacob Russo.
“Tish. Please.”
I was about to be delivered into the hands of the enemy.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Candice?” It was an order, not a question.
“Don’t ask why. Don’t ask why. Do it for me. Do it for Jellybean.”
I leaned my head on my palm. Candice wouldn’t lure me into a trap. Not deliberately. She must have some grand escape plan in mind. “Fine. Are you at home?”
“No. Meet me at the Watering Hole.”
I swallowed. That was the bar my parents met at the night my mother died.
She gave me directions. “And come alone, Tish.”
Don’t go without Brad, my instincts warned. But Brad would never let me go at all. Then what would happen to Candice—and my box of prized snapshots? “Yeah. I’ll see you there.”
“Hurry.”
The line went dead.
I picked up the box of narc photos and sorted through for the one of my mom and dad. It was the only one I had of them together, and the only picture of my dad I’d ever seen. I swiped it and a few others out of the pile and tucked the prints into the top drawer of the bedside table.
I put on jeans and a sweatshirt, brushed my hair, grabbed the black box, and tiptoed downstairs. A splash of water on my face at the kitchen sink gave me some energy until I could stop at a service station and pick up a cappuccino-to-go.
The kitchen door squeaked as I closed it. The boards on the deck practically shrieked as I crossed them. I’d never noticed the clatter before—but then I’d never had to sneak out on the sly in the
middle of the night before. On the gravel, I looked back at the house. All seemed quiet. I walked to the Explorer, breathing in the cool night air. Stars blinked across every square inch of the sky, and I thanked God for the opportunity to be awake at midnight to see them.
I slammed the car door, flinching at the sound. The engine churned and I drove off, hoping I hadn’t disturbed my guests. Five minutes later I turned onto US-2 and set my cruise control at fifty-eight miles an hour.
Time crawled by. It seemed eternity passed before I hit Rapid River. An all-night station provided an opportunity for gas and a cappuccino—amaretto cherry. The delicious scent filled my nose as the froth filled my cup. I paid and left. Streetlamps lit a stretch of highway on the outskirts of Gladstone. A few miles later, I turned north where Candice had designated. The road ducked under a train viaduct. SOO LINE, it said in big white letters on the side.
The route curved up a hill. My headlights shone on a low cover of vegetation protected by a rail. In the distance beyond the barrier was a wall of white rock. I gasped. Mead Quarry. I shuddered at the black abyss that fell just past the edge of the road. Instinctively, I slowed and gripped the wheel. I relaxed at the top of the hill with the return of trees and a few scattered houses. Then it was fields and fences. Finally, a sign pointed the way to the Watering Hole.
The bar appeared in the middle of nowhere. A single light at the top of an electric pole illuminated the parking lot. The building itself looked like an old Western saloon that had seen better days. But the clientele didn’t seem to mind its out-of-the-way location or its dilapidated state. The parking lot was packed with late-model trucks, sporty cars, and even a few minivans. I angled in next to a fancy Lincoln.
I turned off the engine and sat for a minute, looking at the box. Should I bring it in with me or leave it in the car? The photos made a valuable trade to that nasty drug runner. I’d scope out the place, and if something was amiss, I could use their safe location to buy time.
I opened the car door and stepped into the night. Country music drifted on the cool air, accompanied by crickets in the fields. Fireflies blinked in the darkness beyond the parking lot.
I took a deep breath for courage, then headed toward the entrance.
38
I entered the Watering Hole, the first saloon I’d ever been in, and God willing the last. A woman’s voice twanged over top of the deafening music, creeping a tad sharp on the high notes. I winced to have been lucky enough to land at the Watering Hole on karaoke night.
I searched the myriad of faces sitting at the bar and gathered around tables scattered randomly throughout the building. A smallish dance floor, occupied by the shrill vocalist and a feisty drunk and his date, took up one corner.
Toward the back, a bright red exit sign glowed against the wall. Just in front of it, big letters spelled restrooms. An arrow pointed off to the right. At the table directly beneath the sign, where my parents had sat together years earlier, were Puppa and Jellybean. A black box rested on the table between them.
My instinct was to rush over and embrace both of them and tell them how wonderful it was to see them together again. But I held back, searching the faces nearby at the door. A man locked eyes with me. Fear flashed down my spine. He could be one of the bad guys. He raised his mug of beer and smiled, beckoning to me with lifted eyebrows to join him at his table. I shook my head and turned away, laughing inside at his come-on, despite my paranoia.
A hand grabbed my shoulder. I gave a mini-scream and turned. A huge biker-type dude wearing a black tee, tattoos, and a bandana grunted at me. “Three dollars.”
“Pardon me?” Maybe he was just hoping for a handout. I couldn’t imagine anyone actually paying to get into this place.
“Three dollars cover charge,” he repeated and crossed his arms like an all-powerful genie.
I dug through my pockets and rounded up the required bills. He nodded the okay. I dodged in and out of bodies and chairs as I made my way over to the corner table. I plopped down in a vacant seat. Goose bumps crawled over my skin as if eyes watched secretly from every shadow.
I leaned toward them. “What’s going on? Puppa, what are you doing here?”
Neither Puppa nor Candice made any sign of greeting. They must know which set of eyes behind me posed a threat.
“The box, Tish. Where is it?” Candice asked in a strangled whisper.
“Safe in the car. I didn’t want to bring it in until I knew you were okay.” I reached for the box of photos of me and my mother and pulled it toward me.
“Put it back.” Candice’s eyes grew large as if she’d spotted some threat over my shoulder.
I pushed it back to the middle. “So what’s your big plan? How are we all going to get out of here alive and still make sure your pictures get to the police?”
Puppa blinked in surprise.
“Yes, I peeked.” I stared at them in expectation. Neither rushed to explain the strategy. “Please tell me we’re going to get out of this alive.”
“We are. As soon as you bring the other box inside.” Candice nudged my grandfather.
Puppa nodded at me to comply.
“But if they take your box of photos, how are we going to make sure these guys end up in jail?”
“Things don’t always work out like we expect.” Puppa nodded toward the door. “Let’s worry about getting out of here safely before we worry about what happens to Majestic. He’ll get what he has coming.”
Please God, please God, please God help us, I chanted with silent lips as I worked my way back through the crowd and out to my Explorer. Bip bip. The doors unlocked with a press of the remote. I looked at the box on the front seat, and wavered. Why would the drug runners let us live once they had the box in hand? We’d all seen the pictures. Left alive, we’d all be able to testify against the criminals. So really, in their eyes, we were better off dead.
That meant they probably planned to kill us once they had the photos anyway. So why give them the photos?
I dumped the contents of the box onto the passenger-side floorboards, mashing the prints under the seat. They pushed out the back and sides, but I kept stuffing until they stayed. Then I opened the glove box and took out my SUV owner’s manual, a bunch of renovation shots from the last house, and miscellaneous bills. I layered them in the box with the house photos on top, then pressed the lid over them.
I auto-locked the doors and headed back into the Watering Hole. I stepped through the entrance and began my march to the rear. A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the bouncer asked with a menacing face.
Busted. How had he known I’d switched out the photos?
“I, uh, I . . .” Only squeaks of fear came out of my mouth.
“It’s three dollars.”
I blinked. Slowly I let out my breath. He was just collecting the cover charge. I gave a smile of relief. “I just paid, remember?”
“Let me see your stamp.” He held out his huge, gruff hand, just about the right size to wring my neck.
I cleared my throat. “I just paid to get in a few minutes ago. But then I had to go back to my car. I didn’t realize I needed a stamp.”
“That’ll be three dollars.” The genie-of-the-lamp-look appeared again.
“Okay.” I dug through my pockets and coughed up just enough change and bills to get in for the second time.
“What’s in the box?” he demanded.
“Just, um, pictures.” At his look of doubt, I babbled on. “My aunt is sitting over there and I wanted to show them to her.”
“Open it.”
“What? I’m not going to open it.” I gripped it to my chest.
“We have the right to search all items large enough to conceal a weapon.”
I hesitated, looking around for bad guys. Nobody seemed to take particular interest in the box. I set it on a table and lifted the lid. “See? Just pictures.”
He grabbed the top wad of photos and li
fted them. Then he peeled back the bills to reveal the owner’s manual.
“Fine. Go ahead.” He nodded me in.
I scurried to put the lid back in place. I glanced up at my previous admirer, still sitting alone with his beer. He stared at the box and rubbed his chin. Then he looked in my eyes with a squinty glare.
I gasped and stumbled backward with the box in hand. I launched through the crowd and dove into the open seat across from Puppa and Candice.
I slammed the box on the table and switched it for the one with the photos of my mother. “Let’s not hang around. I dumped the other photos out in my car, and that guy by the door figured it out.”
Candice looked as if her eyes were going to pop from their sockets. “Then we’re all dead.”
Puppa jumped up. “Leave now, Patricia. Drive straight home.”
“I can’t just leave you guys. I’m sorry. I thought I was being clever. I’ll go back out and get the photos.”
Candice started toward the emergency exit. “Too late. Leave through the rear. Let’s go!”
She and Puppa bailed toward the back door, as energetic as a pair of oldsters could be. A chair tangled my legs on the way out, bruising my shin.
Outside, darkness blinded me. I stumbled away from the building.
“Get home, Patricia,” my grandfather shouted from the blackness.
I clutched my box of prized photos and sprinted around the back corner of the bar toward my vehicle. In a fog of slow motion, I threaded through parked cars under the glaring spotlight. Just ahead was the Explorer. I fumbled with my keys, hitting buttons at random on the remote. The car alarm sounded, the blaring honk honk honk marking me like an audio target.
I clawed for the door handle.
Disengage security. Insert key. Turn ignition. I talked myself through the process, calming my mind but not my nerves. I threw the car in reverse. The Explorer bucked as I shifted gears and shot onto the main road.
“Get me home, get me home, get me home,” I uttered my desperate plea.
