Money Creek

by Anne Laughlin

  “That’s bullshit,” Dunning said. “Get me a lawyer and a deal and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “You’re not getting a deal. You tried to shoot a police officer.”

  “Then I’m not talking.”

  She sighed the sigh of the exhausted. Every step in the investigation had been a battle, and they were far from winning the war. Three hours later, Freya and Ben were back in the hospital room. Karl Jenkins was there to represent Dunning, a lawyer from the only other multiple lawyer law firm in Money Creek.

  Freya stood next to the bed and tried to catch Dunning’s eye. He was staring at his lap. “Tell us what you know and we’ll push for a deal, depending on what you say. She rapped the side bar of the bed to get his attention. “What’s the chain of command for your operation?”

  Dunning looked resigned. “I sell all my product to a guy named Stingy.”

  Stingy. The same name Morgan gave them after his arrest. They’d made no headway finding him. Jason had heard of Stingy while he was undercover, but no one seemed to know who he worked for or where he could be found. It reminded Freya of World War II resistance cells—everyone knew only what was necessary to do their jobs.

  “And where can we find Stingy?”

  “Hell if I know. I’ve never seen him other than at my lab.”

  “Then how do you communicate? Do you have his phone number?” Claire said.

  “By now I have about twenty-five numbers for him. He gives me a new one every few days.”

  “Burner phones,” Ben said.

  “Does Stingy work for someone higher up?”

  “I don’t know. That’s about the last thing he’d tell me. I don’t even know who else sells to him. All I do know is he pays me a good price for the product and doesn’t allow me to sell to anyone else.”

  Ben and Freya stepped outside the room.

  “What do you think?” Ben said.

  “I think he’s telling the truth, but it doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know. If there’s a top-down organization run by a few players, they’re going to keep their identities as hidden as possible from the people most likely to get busted.”

  “Agreed. But we need to find this Stingy guy. What kind of name is that?” Ben said.

  “I guess he’s cheap.”

  “I guess he’s pretty smart.”

  “We’re going to have to go through every one of the contacts Jason made while undercover and press them for information. We don’t have anything we can use as leverage, so it’s probably a low percentage move.”

  “And it’s going to let Stingy know he’s in the crosshairs,” Ben said. “Let’s talk to the boss about it.”

  Freya walked out of the hospital frustrated and cranky. She didn’t have to work the rest of the day since it was the weekend and immediacy wasn’t an issue. But she headed to their office anyway. She’d compile the list from the reports Jason had turned in during his time undercover, hoping someone would give them more information. If they continued to make little or no progress, the powers that be in Bloomington would replace them with some fresh eyes. The idea of leaving Money Creek made her even more irritated. It was starting to feel like home, and now there was Clare. She didn’t know what would happen with her, but she wanted to stick around to find out.

  * * *

  Clare worked in the office all Sunday morning preparing for the depositions she was taking in Carbondale later in the week. Maybe Elizabeth would forgive and forget her courtroom catastrophe on Friday if she did a great job. Clare couldn’t. She was ashamed every time she thought of it, which was frequently.

  When she walked home for lunch, she felt like stretching her legs a bit. She went past her house, glad that Sally wasn’t out front, to the end of the block, then turning right and left in a random path around her neighborhood. It was snowing and twenty degrees out, but she barely noticed the cold. The snow started to fall heavier, and she could smell the wood fires burning in some of the homes she passed. It was so different from a stroll around her Chicago neighborhood where she was dodging pedestrians, waiting at crosswalks for the traffic signals, bombarded by the noise of cars stopping and starting and honking. Money Creek suited her.

  Just as she turned around, wondering if she could find her way back, an old Volvo pulled up beside her. She kept walking, thinking it was someone parking. Then she heard her name called. She looked back and saw Henry getting out of the car.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m walking.”

  You’re not walking to somewhere?” He stood in front of her, dressed in his wool coat, with wool trousers tucked into Timberland boots. He was several inches taller than her five eleven.

  “No, I felt like walking.”

  “Can I give you a lift home? Maybe come in for a cup of coffee?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not looking for any company today.”

  He shrugged. “A lift home, then?”

  “I’m out walking to get some exercise. Quite a coincidence you seeing me out here.”

  Henry smiled. “That’s what I thought. There’s something I need to tell you. Ray has cleared his schedule and can meet you at your office at one o’clock tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” She hadn’t yet thought of how she was going to explain her new client to Elizabeth. “I can see him at the end of the week.”

  “Nope. It’s got to be tomorrow at one. I’m sure you can find a way to fit him into your schedule.”

  She shivered, but not only from the cold. She was losing control of her life and didn’t know how to gain it back. “Let me ask this. How’s your Adderall supply? I’m going to need some before too long.”

  “Already? Didn’t I just sell to you?”

  She remembered Casey saying something similar and she was equally as pissed. “I don’t need your editorial on how I use my stash.”

  “Okay. You’re sensitive and I can appreciate that. The fact is I don’t know what’s happening on the Adderall front. Midterms are coming up so I need to get supplied. I’ll keep you posted.”

  This sounded too iffy. What if he didn’t have any by the time she ran out? Fear gripped her.

  “Do that. I’m freezing so I’m going to push off.” She turned to resume her walk.

  “No good-bye? You’re a tough nut, Clare. But we’ll become friends. You’ll see.”

  She picked up her pace to gain some distance from him. She didn’t think the gooseflesh on her arms was because of the cold. It wasn’t a coincidence he’d seen her on a street blocks from her own house, in the opposite direction of his parents’ house, and far from any main road. Had he been following her? Why was he so keen to be friends with her? Couldn’t he simply be her blackmailer? She walked briskly home and slammed the door behind her. The rest of the day stretched bleakly in front of her. She gathered her iPad, books, and a beer and stretched out for a long afternoon on the couch. This had been one of her favorite ways to spend time, but now a knot of fear had taken up residence in her chest. Maybe the beer would help her feel at ease, and if not, she’d try something harder. Today was a day she did choose to drink.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jo lived in one of the few apartment complexes in Money Creek. It was a relatively new neocolonial building, two stories high with a center entrance and a parking lot in front. Freya stood at the door, raising the courage to press the buzzer. The last time she’d seen her had been over a week ago, and then only briefly for coffee. Since then she’d been getting increasingly desperate texts from Jo asking, and then demanding, that they get together to talk. She couldn’t put if off any longer.

  As soon as she pressed the intercom she was buzzed in. She could hear the door opening to the second-floor apartment as she climbed the stairs. Jo stood at the door, one hip jutted out and her arms crossed over her chest. It was like walking to the principal’s office.

  “Hello, stranger. I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.” Jo’s tone of voice was ominous.


  Freya walked through the door. “Don’t be like that, Jo. I’ve been busy on this case.”

  “What else is new?” She closed the door and followed Freya into the living room.

  “There’s a lot going on.”

  Jo flopped onto her leatherette sofa. One end of it had an attached La-Z-Boy chair. Freya sat on the edge of it. Last night’s takeout was on the coffee table, and there was a sickening sweet smell from an air freshener.

  “There’s being busy and there’s being absent. I can feel the difference,” Jo said. Her voice was firm, but her eyes looked frightened. “You never answer my texts anymore. Are you so busy you can’t type a few words?”

  Freya was silent. The situation seemed so obvious to her, but Jo was going to need to have it spelled out for her. It had been a couple of weeks since they made love and practically no communication on Freya’s part since then. She didn’t like being a cad, but she knew Jo was not the woman she wanted.

  Jo carried on. “It seems to me you can’t say you’re dating someone if you never hear from them, never see them.”

  “I agree with that. I think we should quit pretending we’re dating.”

  Jo sprang up from the sofa. “I knew it. It’s Clare Lehane, isn’t it? This all started when she arrived in town.”

  “Clare is straight. There’s nothing going on with her.”

  “Wake up. She’s about as straight as I am.”

  “You think she’s queer?” Freya barely managed to keep the hopefulness out of her voice.

  “I know you think so,” Jo said. “Otherwise why have you been sniffing around her?”

  Freya nearly laughed. “Sniffing around? In your imagination maybe.”

  “The dinners, the running into each other, who knows what else.”

  Freya wondered if Clare thought her interest was as obvious as Jo did. She hoped not. She didn’t want to seem like she was pursuing her. She still wasn’t sure what she thought of Clare after her drunken night with Ben. She should be cautious, but something about Clare made her want to be reckless.

  “There is no what else. As I said, Clare’s straight and I have no reason to believe she’s thinking of joining our team. That’s not what’s going on here.”

  Jo sat down again, subdued. “Then what is?”

  Freya took a breath. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing more than realizing after spending time with you the relationship isn’t right for me.”

  “What isn’t right?”

  Christ, she had to say more? Was she a masochist? “I don’t see the relationship going anywhere, at least from my perspective. I’m sorry.”

  Jo closed her eyes and leaned against the back of the sofa. Freya went into the kitchen and grabbed a bourbon bottle and two glasses. When she got back she saw a few tears sliding down Jo’s cheeks. Was there a good way to break up with someone? “Here, Jo. Have a drink.”

  “It’s not even noon yet.” She sniffled. Freya poured herself a short drink and swallowed it.

  “I hope you know this has nothing to do with you. The chemistry wasn’t right, and none of us can control that. It’s there or it isn’t.”

  Jo was still plastered against the rear of the sofa. She gave Freya a sour look. “Don’t say more. You’re making it worse.”

  At least they could agree on that. She put the bottle back in the kitchen and stood in front of Jo. “I’ll see you around. Maybe one day we can be friends, because I really like you.”

  “Get out.” She pointed toward the door, her face held tight to keep from crying. Freya left and trotted down the stairs, relieved when she pushed open the door and was able to breathe in the cold, fresh air.

  * * *

  Clare opened another beer and started reading the final chapter of her book, Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd. She liked to challenge herself by reading the classics, interspersed with mystery novels. Her phone rang and she reluctantly picked it up. It was Freya.

  “Put your long johns on,” she said. “We’re going snowmobiling.”

  She sat up from the couch and looked out the front window. Snow was coming down in thick, lazy flakes. A couple of inches had already accumulated on the porch railing.

  “I don’t have long johns.” She was smiling, though Freya probably couldn’t hear it in her voice.

  “Layer up as much as you can. You don’t want to miss this.”

  She didn’t, but some incorrigible part of her played hard to get. “I don’t? It’s awfully cold out.”

  “It’s all arranged. I’ve spoken to the farmer and he’s pulling the machine out of the barn now.” Freya paused for a moment. “You’ll love it.”

  “It’s snowing pretty hard.”

  “That makes it perfect. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.” She hung up.

  Clare tossed the phone down and headed to her bedroom. This was what life was supposed to be like—a friend calls out of the blue and suggests something fun to do and you go do it. Don’t fret about whether you’ll enjoy it or not. And definitely don’t fret about how it will interfere with your drug use. She pawed through her clothes and pulled out her sturdiest jeans and three layers of shirts. By the time Freya rang the doorbell, she was as ready as she could be for doing something she’d never done before. She pulled on her down coat and locked the door behind her. She was tingly all over. Anticipation, she guessed. This was what it was like to look forward to something.

  “We have a forty-minute drive to the farm,” Freya said, “but that should still leave us a couple of hours of snowmobiling”

  “Do you know how to ride one of those things?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve been out there a few times. We’ll only take one out so you don’t have to worry about driving. Unless you want to, of course.”

  “No, I’m good. I’ll be the passenger today.”

  Freya put the Jeep in gear and headed north out of town. The snow was coming down harder now, and the roads were getting slippery. There was no brigade of salt trucks being deployed on the streets of Money Creek like there was in Chicago. Clare leaned forward and peered through the windshield. “My life is in your hands. I hope you’ll be able to see where you’re going on the snowmobile.”

  “Relax. We’ll have fun.

  She looked at Freya as she drove, her profile strong with a firm jaw and a slightly Roman nose. One hand lay casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. She didn’t doubt her competence for a moment. “I’m glad to see you doing something other than work. No drug busts this weekend?”

  “Only one. And I’m not your stereotypical workaholic detective. I find the work is always there whether I step away for some personal time or not. It doesn’t seem to make a difference.” She glanced at Clare before turning back to the road. “I’d rather have a life.”

  So sensible and well considered. She hoped Freya wouldn’t catch on to how chaotic her life was, especially now that she was being blackmailed.

  Freya parked in front of a picturesque farmstead. The house was a pristine white with black shutters, the barn and other outbuildings a classic red. Tractors and other equipment were John Deere green and looked freshly polished under the gathering snow. It was like a reality TV farm. A huge red snowmobile sat in front of the house with the key in the ignition. She handed Clare a balaclava and enormous leather mittens.

  “Your only job is to hold on to me and lean when I do.” Freya straddled the machine and brought it roaring to life.

  She thought about wrapping her arms around Freya, holding on for dear life, and a frisson swept through her. She climbed on and kept her arms to herself as they drove slowly through the farmyard.

  “Hold on!” Freya said. She was poised in front of an empty cornfield, a pack of snow covering the furrows. The snow was now coming down lightly. Clare tentatively put her arms around Freya’s waist just before the snowmobile shot onto the field. She clung tightly as they picked up speed, racing through a great nothingness toward a stand of trees far in the distan
ce. Clare’s heart accelerated with the thrill of the ground racing by. She was flying, a grin plastered on her face.

  The powerful machine ate up the mileage and soon they were approaching a copse of trees. When Freya came to a stop she looked behind her at Clare. “How’re you doing?”

  Clare kept her arms around her. “Fantastic. Let’s do it again.”

  Freya laughed. “I knew you’d love it.” She put her hand on Clare’s arm and squeezed.

  They spent the next hour speeding through the fields, skirting around wooded areas, stopping occasionally to catch their breath and chat. When it started to snow harder again, Freya headed back to the barn. Clare climbed off the back of the machine and immediately missed holding her, felt it as a loss. The physical contact she had with others was virtually nil. She’d forgotten how good it could feel. Like anything that made her feel good, she wanted more of it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clare was first in the office the following morning. By eight thirty, others had started arriving, including Elizabeth, who stuck her head in.

  “Good morning, Clare. Can you stop by my office in about fifteen minutes?”

  “Sure, I’ll be down in a bit.” She casually laid an arm over the book she’d been reading on commercial law.

  “What are you reading? It looks like a law school textbook.”

  She wasn’t quite ready to tell Elizabeth about her new client. “I’m reading some case law ahead of those depositions on Wednesday.”

  “How quaint to read out of an actual book. I miss it. It’s hard on my eyes to read off the screen all the time.”

  Clare nodded. “I hear you.”

  Elizabeth moved on. How was she going to tell her about Ray Barnes? How had they met? Why did he hire a litigator to do commercial work? It was bound to raise suspicion, the last thing she wanted. What she wanted was for life to be simple again, though when she considered it, life in Money Creek so far had been anything but simple.

  There was a knock on her door and Clare raised her eyes to see Jo standing inside her office.