Chaos Theory

by M Evonne Dobson

  Risk-taking behavior—shoplifting

  Withdrawing from family and friends—break with Trish

  The other things on that long list are probable. Daniel joins me. I say, “I can’t buy it, but I can’t deny it either.” Using the marker, I circle the words “possible suicide” that replaced “committed suicide” and turn to face Daniel, Sandy, and Sam. “From here on, we’re careful. Very, very careful. Nobody does anything alone. We know where and what we’re each doing at all times.”

  Silence rules as we take in the murder possibility. Then Sam the Ever Practical stands up. “Give me your smartphones.”

  We hand them over.

  “I’m setting the GPS locator app on them. With that we can track where each of us is. It’ll play havoc on your batteries, so keep them charged. Forget about downloading or uploading until this is over. I’m also entering a panic speed-dial that’ll ring everyone as a bat signal. You get it? Go the Bat Cave.”

  Sam gets busy with our phones at his study carrel while Sandy shows me Julia’s smartphone and she says, “We lucked out. No passwords. Everything opens up—Gmail and Facebook.”

  As Sam works, he says, “Same with the laptop. Your sister was naïve to extremes, Daniel. Anyone could have hacked her accounts. Here,” he turns Julia’s laptop to show her Facebook page.

  Her avatar photograph is a shock. The sweet face with the curly hair halo is gone. Her head’s shaved and she’s wearing big dangling skull earrings. This Julia is wearing makeup, lots of it. She looks like an anime figure on the prowl. Okay, add another checkmark to the suicide watch list—change of appearance.

  I say, “Let’s print that photo and add it to the board. Something triggered all this. Maybe something very tiny, but it led to her death.” I wonder about chaos theory and the butterfly effect. What in Julia’s life changed her destiny? I tick off the possibilities. “Daniel gets the DUI and leaves for school. Things go bad at the stable. She drifts away from Trish. Her new friends get her into shoplifting. She has a new boyfriend. Her grades drop. She changes her looks. We have to get these things down on our timeline.”

  “I’ll do it and then work on her Facebook posts,” Sandy says.

  Sam’s deep in his thoughts. “Once I’m done with our phones, I’m going to work on her e-mails. She’s got tons in there. She didn’t delete anything as far as I can tell.”

  And I know what I have to do. “Daniel, we need caffeine. Can you get us coffee?” Outside the front doors and to the left is a small building with twenty-four-hour vending machines. You can’t miss it. Maybe grab some sandwiches too. It’s going to be a long night.” At least, it would be for Sam and Sandy.

  Sam tosses us our upgraded GPS tracker phones. When Daniel’s gone on his errand, I stare at Julia’s new Facebook photo over Sandy’s shoulder. If I’d found that photo first instead of last year’s, I wouldn’t have gotten involved. She looks years older and quite capable of taking care of herself, but it’s too late now. I can’t let this go. Checking my phone, the GPS locator is so accurate I can see Daniel leaving the library. I’ve figured out one way this might work.

  With Daniel and his flash point emotions out of the way, I update Sam and Sandy on my new plan. Then I make the phone call I couldn’t make if Daniel had been here. I call Trish. “I need your help.”

  After I explain, she rants into the phone. “I’ve done enough already. I let you go through her locker!” Her voice drops to an accusing whisper. “I checked it. You took her hair, for God’s sake.”

  “I know, but this is about Daniel now, Trish.”

  That doesn’t help. “It’s all Daniel’s fault! If he hadn’t gotten that DUI and got sent away…She wouldn’t have…” She sobs, but finishes her sentence. “She wouldn’t have died.”

  “Trish, listen to me. It’s not Daniel’s fault. You know that. Nothing I’m finding says he had anything to do with it. And Trish, it’s not your fault, either.”

  I wait out the silence that follows.

  Eventually, she whispers, “What do you need?”

  I fill her in. She’s not happy, but she agrees to help and gives me details from her end.

  I say, “Are you kidding me? FIVE A.M.?” I rub my eyes. “Okay, we’ll be there.”

  When Daniel returns, I take the coffee caddy and vending machine goodies. “We’ll leave these. Sandy and Sam need caffeine, but we’ll need sleep. Come on. I’ll fill you in as I drive you home. You have a phone call to make.”

  ***

  The phone call to GV doesn’t take long. Daniel hands it to me. I explain my plan and he agrees to be near the stable, but not too close. It’s a small town and he’s known. He can’t just plop down in the common room and wait for it to happen. Other officers will be on call for backup if it goes down.

  As to the rest of the plan? Daniel isn’t happy. “I don’t have any boots for cleaning stalls.”

  “You must have something.”

  “I’m not wearing my hiking boots, but I can wear my Tony Lama’s. Julia bought them for me when I saw her at the state fair show. She made everyone come to see her off—even Dad and Uncle Charlie. In fact, Uncle Charlie sparked her horse interest. His own daughter hated the horse scene, but my uncle loved it. He loved the people, the money, the horse shows. Can’t ride worth shit, but he liked being at the stable. Julia was his way in. I tried it, but it didn’t take. Horses aren’t my thing, Kami.”

  Trish told me he’d had a chunk taken out of his arm trying. “For the time being, they’re going to be. Cowboy hat too?”

  He nods. “I wore it once. I’m not wearing it.” Daniel shifts in his seat, pulling one leg over his knees. Even having moved EB’s passenger seat back as far as he can, his tall, muscled body doesn’t fit. He has to tip his head to keep from pushing against the roof. “I’m going to suck at this.”

  Now I laugh. “It’ll work. Just wear what I said. And being the rich bad boy isn’t going to hurt.”

  Daniel shifts his leg again and tucks a knee up to his chest. “I’m not rich. My dad is.”

  “They don’t know that.” I pull up in front of his mom’s nice-but-nothing-fancy house.

  With relief, he opens his door and unfolds his body into the open, stretching his muscles. “You think this will work?”

  It’s cold. I pull my coat around me. “If it doesn’t, I’ll wear your cowboy hat for a week.”

  Daniel stands there with my car door open, letting in frigid air. He says, “It’s a deal. Meet you at five—a.m.” He closes the door, but waits until I drive off before heading in.

  ***

  Mom and Dad aren’t back from their date night. There’s a note on a full sheet of paper stuck on the refrigerator. Huge, so I can’t miss it.

  “Appointment w/Dr. Bartlett - Thursday at 4.”

  Dang it. Another week would have been nice. Dad pulled some major you-owe-me debt card to get into Dr. Bartlett that fast. I take it down and write on it. “Skipped band trip to Ft. Carroll.” I pause and reread that. They’ll freak. “Important—research @ college library. Don’t worry. Meeting Trish at five a.m. to help with stable chores. Love you, Kami.” I underline five a.m. Mom waking me up to chat wasn’t on my to-do list.

  I leave the note on the kitchen table and the light on over it. They’ll know it’s my second band strike. I write another short line. “PS. It was important.” College recruitment letter quality it ain’t, but it’ll work. They’ll let me sleep, probably after they hold another late night argument session.

  A short time later, I strip, climb in the shower, and enjoy hot water washing over me. That’s when the image of Gavin with the Emerald Green Eyes drifts up out of the hot steam. He’s sitting in the back of the band bus—alone. Outside the wind picks up, rattling windowpanes.

  ***

  Saturday morning at 4:30 my alarm rings. I swear, climb out of bed, pull on my jeans
, and tie my hair back. In pitch black, EB starts up with a roar that’ll make Mrs. White next door complain to Mom. EB’s heater doesn’t work and the fifteen-minute drive to the stable is a nasty fight as my breath frosts the inside of the windshield. I have to keep scraping it to see.

  At the stable, I turn toward the trailer entrance with its two huge double sliding doors rather than the front lobby. Daniel’s headlights swerve back and forth as he follows EB down the long curvy drive. He parks beside me, gets out, and knocks on my car window. I climb out, slipping Grandma’s knit red scarf over my nose and mouth. The temperature is twenty-below with windchill. Who rides in this weather? Even inside? The human door window offers a warm glow against the black night. The sun won’t rise for hours.

  A blast of wind almost rips EB’s door out of his hand as he opens it for me. Inside the stable, hooves bash against stall walls, telling me that Trish is already at work feeding the horses. We join her, but she ignores Daniel. I show him how to take Trish’s filled feed scoops to the right stalls.

  Trish isn’t happy. Feed scoops bang with extra force as she feeds horses. She refuses to look at Daniel.

  He says, “Thank you for helping us, Trish.”

  She nods, but stomps away toward the bins for more feed. Daniel starts to follow her, but I grab his arm. “Give her time.”

  “She was like…”

  “A sister. I know, but right now she’s ticked. Give her time.”

  With three of us, we make short work of the feeding. Then we hit the hayloft. The ladder is located behind the end stall, hidden from the aisle near the trailer entrance.

  I follow Daniel up the rung ladder. The view from below is nice, really nice. A guilty flash of Gavin’s emerald greens races across my mind. Gavin hasn’t texted and I don’t have his number. In a small town you know everyone, but we’ve never exchanged phone numbers. I could have called his phone book number and say what? Sorry, blew you off—again?

  Fifteen

  In the loft, haying is a two-person job. I leave Trish and Daniel to dropping the measured hay through small trapdoors into each stall below. Slowly, Trish shifts from barely civil to grudging acceptance.

  As we finish the job, Gravel Voice announces his arrival with a shout from the empty stable below. We join him, leading the way to the tack room. Trish undoes the padlock on Julia’s locker, but it’s Daniel who reaches to open it. He looks at the posted photos inside and touches a blue ribbon. “I saw her win this at the state fair.”

  “Is that when she bought your boots?” It’s hard to miss the new Tony Lamas he’s wearing.

  “Yeah.” His sigh carries so much sadness. Trish reaches out, but her hand trembles and can’t cross the emotional distance to touch him.

  GV reaches into the small locker for the grooming bucket, digs deep, and pulls out the single riding glove. Holding the cache of drugs, he pauses, and then opens it. Daniel let’s out an agonized sigh. Trish gives up her anger and comforts him with a hug.

  GV bundles up those drugs and also those in the Bute container. There is no special care as he gathers the evidence. I’ve already trashed whatever evidence might be there. He nods at me, and disappears back out to his car. He’ll drop them off at the police station, and then take up his stakeout position in a nearby farmer’s machine shed.

  Looking after him, Daniel says, “If this works, I’ll meet the bastard that got Julia involved in this shit.”

  “If he or she does, you can’t pound on them, right?”

  He shoots me a grim look, “No promises.”

  “And I can’t promise this will work.”

  Trish says, “It’ll work. Everybody who comes here knows Julia. They’ll put two and two together when they find out who you are.”

  Still not believing it, I ask, “And Peggy has no idea all this was happening?”

  Trish shakes her head. “Too many riders up. She spends her days teaching in the arena. Unless a fire starts out here, she’s too busy.”

  That doesn’t seem possible, but it’s a big place and she can’t be everywhere. I look down at Daniel’s boots again. They are top-of-the-line with shark lowers and accents along the leathers. “Geez, Daniel, couldn’t you wear something better to scoop horse manure?”

  “I’m not ruining my hiking boots.”

  Trish says, “Julia would laugh that you’re cleaning stalls.” And they share sad smiles.

  I check my smartphone time. Six thirty a.m. “Come on. Lessons start at seven.” We collect the wheelbarrows and apple pickers.

  ***

  Wheelbarrows and apple pickers are every pilot’s tools. As in pile it here and then pile it there. Daniel follows me and listens as I show him what to do. Then I point to the stall next to mine and watch him work.

  Daniel opens the stall door, fastens the chain, and says, “Back.” The horse complies. The animal gives another huff and nuzzles his shoulder. Daniel strokes the horse’s neck with an uneasy friendliness. Trish is two stalls ahead of us. Eventually, Daniel’s shoving curious horses out of his way like a pro. I leave him to it and set to work on my own, while staying in earshot and eyeshot of Daniel.

  The hook is set. Now we wait…while we work.

  Trish’s twice-a-day manure pickup only goes so far. On Saturdays, the stalls are stripped, removing all the wet shavings to the dirt base. Once that’s done, you fill the stalls with fresh shavings from commercial shaving bales. It’s hard, back-breaking work.

  We stretch the chore out, to give anyone looking for drugs plenty of time to realize that Daniel is here. We haul countless inefficient half-empty wheelbarrows out to the manure pile. If we have to, we’ll make the job last all day. The faintest outline of the sun shines through clouds as the temperatures continue to drop. As it rises, the light through the clear plastic sunroofs overhead lets in some solar heat. Working inside, we strip clothing layers. By the time the hunter/jumper students trickle in at seven a.m., Daniel’s down to his jeans, a down vest, and gloves. The beginner and little kid classes follow and last all morning. Parents wander through the barns as they wait. Starting at noon with kids and parents gone, young women and older girls begin to pass by where Daniel is working. Oh, yeah. This is will work fine.

  The girls bombard Trish with questions about who the cute guy is, and one or two of the adults listen in. Most of the girls back off—probably because of the rumors—but a few of the high school girls keep circling back. I see cell phones come out and hide my smile when one girl gets off a secret shot of Daniel’s sexy derriere bending over in a stall.

  Sandy texts, D is live on FB and twitter. It’s going to work!!!! Nice butt, BTW.

  I hope it does. Around one p.m., someone asks Daniel, “So you’re Julia’s brother?” I take a peek over the stall wall through the bars. The girl isn’t a riding student. She’s wearing sneakers rather than boots, and looks like a college student.

  “Yeah.” Daniel sets down his apple picker and stretches.

  The girl’s eyes shift up and down the aisle, but she doesn’t spot me. “Julia was a big help at midterms…”

  Daniel plays it cool. “You’re looking for something?”

  “You’d be a lifesaver.”

  “I’m out—waiting for my guy to make a delivery. You’ll have to wait until I have some. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you.” Unbelievably, she does, and then takes off fast.

  The conversation happens between one scoop of manure and the next. I push a half-load out to the manure pile, but pause to snap a photo of her and her car with the license plate visible.

  When I come back inside, Daniel’s scooping again. Down the other direction, Peggy is in the arena with ten students on ten horses. She never knew a possible drug buyer was in the barn.

  In the next hour, three more potential buyers trickle in. Not students, they come through the trailer entrance and disappear the same way,
a routine they’re comfortable with, no doubt because they think they’ll score fast and drive off. Encouraged, we stay on high alert. This is going to work. The plan is to wait for the news to spread that Daniel has taken over Julia’s territory and is looking to resupply—news that we hope will attract Julia’s old supplier.

  Another potential buyer appears, but that’s it. Surely the word is out that business is up and ready to run again? Our enthusiasm fades as the day wears on. At four, GV texts us with encouragement, but it doesn’t work. I’d hoped we’d be done with this whole case by now.

  As I bring in the last empty wheelbarrow, one of the queen bees, Victoria, leans into the stall Daniel is stripping. She’s a senior with a reputation for breaking the rules. I climb the hayloft ladder to a good listening spot at an open trapdoor.

  Vampy V, as Victoria is called, is one person I’d love to catch buying drugs. She’d been prominent in Julia’s locker photo from the mall. She and her two friends had circled throughout the day, eyeing Daniel.

  “You’re Julia’s brother?” That’s the preferred code for I-want-drugs.

  “Yeah.” Daniel scoops up shavings and manure, his rear to the stall door. That’s when the routine changes. The queen bee slips under the stall’s chain.

  She places her hand on Daniel’s butt. Daniel bobbles his scoop of manure, twisting away before plopping his load in the wheel barrow.

  I want to pummel the redhead.

  Vampy V hooks her thumbs into her jodhpurs, leaning against the stall’s inside partition. “I hear you’re carrying on the family tradition.”

  Daniel fights to control his anger. No backpack, so no clink, clink, clink. “You could say that.” He goes back to apple picking.

  Victoria looks good. Little pearls twinkle in her ears which is an odd choice for the stable. She wears them to school sometimes. One time, I heard a jock say, “Vampy V’s got her pearls on, man. Her secret signal.” Then he went to hang at her locker.

  It isn’t hard to guess what they mean, even for thick-headed me.