His eyes accuse me. “You did this? Without telling me? Without Dad’s okay?”
“Your dad signed off on any testing the night Julia died.”
Daniel turns and leaves with the lab reports balled up in his hands.
Oh God. Maybe I should have waited. No. It’s bad enough I did this behind his back.
Sandy sighs. “I’m going to save you the you-guys-can’t-be-there speech. You don’t want us at the stable tonight, right? It’ll be you and Daniel?”
I nod, hearing the closing door creak behind Daniel on the other side of the bookcases. “But go to the mall. It’s a public place. They can’t order you away. Stay safe. There’s a chance I’m wrong.”
Sandy latches her arm through Gavin’s and Sam’s arms. “And you call in the cavalry if they show up at the stable. We’ll take Brute for protection.”
Wow, Sandy has given up her exclamation points. She sounds…professional.
Beside her, Sam the Previously Slobbered Upon groans. “So Brute can slime me to death?”
I don’t care what Sam thinks; it’s a good idea. “Great plan.”
Sandy shoves me. “Now, go get Daniel. You can’t do this alone. I’m hoping the meet is at the mall.”
I say, “No, it has to be the stable.”
Sam the Curious asks, “Why?”
“When the DEA catches Ink and proves he’s involved, he’s going to talk. He’ll implicate everyone but himself. He’ll disappear into witness protection. The meet has to be at the stable where we can listen and record the conversation. We need more data to tie Greg up with what he did to Julia.”
My BFF gives me a hug. “Go find Daniel.”
***
Logic says to head down the stairs and race for his car, but I’m not following logic. I’m following Daniel. Looking up through the metal mesh steps, I see him. He’s two landings up sitting with his back against the door. My footsteps clink. Clink. Clink.
He says without eye contact, “You should have told me.”
Yeah, but I knew it was going to break him in half. I try to explain. “That photo of Julia—the angel one; it haunts me. I couldn’t let it go.”
I ease down next to him, invading his space, but leaving a tiny buffer area. He’s flattened the crushed report out and stares at it. I breathe in his familiar scent and wish I hadn’t hurt him with this news. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”
“Sorry you stuck your nose in where it doesn’t belong or sorry that Julia was using?”
That little space between our bodies feels like miles. “Both.”
Below, I hear the crew head down the steps. Through the metal mesh, I can see them. Gavin shoots me a thumbs-up before he ducks out the door into the main library.
“Test can’t be messed up?”
“No. She was using, Daniel.”
“Damn it. If she lied, maybe…Maybe she wasn’t giving the drugs back either. Dad will find out now, won’t he?”
That part I don’t know. “They can’t prosecute her. She’s dead. So maybe not. But your dad has to know those weren’t your drugs, Daniel. You have to be honest with him. You have to clear your name. Julia wouldn’t have wanted you to take the blame. She’s gone, Daniel. You have your whole life.”
His stiff shoulders collapse and, with the release, his arm presses against mine. It feels good. It feels right. “I need you, Daniel. I can’t go tonight by myself.”
“You really think Uncle Charlie is going to stop it tonight? That Julia’s boyfriend will be at the stable?”
“Yes, I do.”
Sad, he shakes his head, but his back straightens. “Time to see this jerk in person.” Fist. Fist. Fist.
“To punch his face in? You can’t. It would jeopardize the case against him.” He stands up and offers me his hand. He doesn’t promise anything.
Settling his arm around my shoulders, I lean into him and take a deep breath of woods, Irish spring soap, and that musty scent that makes my body tremble.
He asks, “What’s your plan?”
I share it with him and then say, “But Ponytail is right. Doing this our way can have unintended consequences.” Luis had said: Innocent bodies and unintended consequences that can’t be changed afterward. “Am I doing the right thing? Not sharing this with the DEA?”
He runs his hands down his jean clad thighs. “Nah. This is our collar.”
Tipping my head up, I purse my lips. “Don’t tell me, Sandy gave you Mom’s film noir DVDs?”
“Nope. Straight from TV cop shows. Let’s do this.”
***
We drive through the stable’s open entrance with its two long sliding chain-link and barbed-wire gates. The long drive allows plenty of views of the barn through the snow-covered trees. EB smells like Grandma tonight: sweet honeysuckle and earthy sage.
“Trish is here. Lights but no cars.” Daniel says. The arena lights shine through the clear plastic ceiling panels like military chevrons. The soft light spills through an open trailer entrance.
I say, “Drive past the front lobby. See the loafing sheds for the pasture horses? You can park on the other side and no one will see EB.”
Once parked, Daniel and I hike the long way back to lobby entrance. The bright moon is huge with wispy trails of clouds visible on either side of it. Air-suspended ice crystals make intersecting moon halos; the science behind them as beautiful as their huge ice-bow rings. Grandma called these nights riding nirvana. In the stable, horses munch hay. Only half the overhead lights are on. Knowing what might happen tonight, it feels eerie and kinda scary.
I breathe deep and slow, taking in the familiar scents of horses and hay. Those are Grandma scents too, and Mom’s, and mine. Entering the aisle, we don’t see Trish. Despite the late hour, Diamond is saddled up in the tacking area. Beside her is Henry. I say, “She’s already riding Diamond. Thank you for arranging that, Daniel.”
He nods. “Haven’t told her yet, but Dad wants her to show Diamond. He’ll pay for it all.”
I hear Trish overhead, dropping hay through the traps.
“Trish!” I call out and head up the hayloft ladder with Daniel on my heels. He boosts me up the last rung with a hand on my butt. I frown back at him. “I should kick you down that ladder.”
His laugh teases. “Try it. Take you down with me.”
“Kami?” Trish calls back.
“It’s Daniel and me.” I follow her voice through the hayloft toward the arena wall, while Daniel pops the giant fan flaps to look out toward the main gates, acting as sentry but we’ve a good hour before anything happens. I say to Trish, “Head home. Daniel and I…”
“Kami!” He pounds down the hayloft toward us. “SUVs on the driveway now! Two of them.”
Trish’s eyes widen. “No one comes to the stable this late.”
Daniel says, “It has to be them.”
I ask, “Now? It’s only 10. The meet’s at 11.” Even so there’s a tight excitement in my chest. I was right. It’s here. The meet will be here.
The playfulness from earlier is gone and Daniel’s agitated. “Greg and Uncle Charlie must use an hour earlier just in case the appointment is seen by someone. And Uncle Charlie’s paranoid.”
Trish looks scared. It’s too late to get her out of here. I say, “Stay here. Be invisible. There’s a meeting tonight between Julia’s drug dealers. It could get ugly.” Outside, tires crunch on frozen gravel by the trailer entrance.
Trish says, “But Fiona’s down there. She’s soaking Tracker’s injured hoof. We were going to ride.”
OMG, that’s why Henry’s saddled. They were going to ride when Trish was done with chores. The complications stack up—innocent bodies and unintended consequences that can’t be changed afterward. “There isn’t a car parked outside. How did she get here?”
“Fiona’s car isn’t working. Her mom
dropped her off and my mom is picking us up after we ride.”
Daniel swears. “Show me. Show me where she is.”
Headlights shine through the open door like thousand-watt spotlights. The new light makes the aisle seem dark and filled with shadows. Trish heads past two trapdoors and points down into Tracker’s stall. There’s Fiona bent over her bay’s right leg, stroking it to encourage him to stand steady. His right hoof is soaking in a bucket of water while the horse munches his hay.
“Crud.” I lean over the trap. “Fiona. Hide. Stay down. It’s about Julia and drugs!”
Face frightened, she stands up in full view of the beams of light streaming through the open trailer door. The steel bars of the upper stall camouflage her face—I hope.
“Kneel down! I’ll be right there. Don’t say a word. Promise me.”
She crouches beside Tracker’s leg.
There’s no time to head back to the ladder. “Daniel, help me down through the trap.” He hesitates. It is quite a drop.
“Help me or I’ll jump it and probably break a leg.”
He grabs my hand and stands with his feet straddling the hole. His shoulders and hands take the brunt of my weight as he eases me down. My shoes touch the top bar of the hayrack, but slip off. I swing at the end of my lifeline, his hands. I whisper. “I can’t balance on it.”
There’s a heart-wrenching thump as Daniel shifts and I spin out from the hayrack. “Lower me some more.” He drops to his knees. I drop the two feet, but I lose my grip and fall into the thick shavings, managing not to scream. Tracker dumps the water bucket as he moves out of my way. The stall door is open and only the door-chain keeps the horse inside the stall. Water seeps through the shavings and hits my butt. Great.
Car doors slam. I press my finger against my lips and let my terrified face tell Fiona she has to be quiet. I pull her toward the front of the stall and we huddle to the side of the chained stable door. Tracker follows and leans down, huffing in my ear. I swipe at him.
Someone says, “I’ll check. Do they normally leave the lights on?”
Uncle Charlie says, “This place is run by kids half the time. They probably do.”
My chest tightens. Someone walks down the aisle, his footsteps thump on the concrete. He doesn’t stop to check inside the stalls. Thank God. Tracker helps by popping his head over the stall chain to investigate. The startled man swears and moves to the other side of the aisle.
A quiet sigh slips past my lips. This guy doesn’t know horses. Maybe if Uncle Charlie stays at the far end, we’ll be okay. The guy rattles the locked tack-room doors. His footsteps echo as he checks out the office and gathering room hall. Crouching in the dark, I hear him kick open the bathroom door, the one that sticks. I hold my breath and peek out beneath the chain. His tattoos are black against his light skin in the car’s headlights. It’s Ink.
Across and down from Tracker’s stall, Diamond and Henry’s heads stick out from the tack area. Ink takes the long way around the horses to check the arena. Even a rank newbie should have questioned two saddled and bridled horses left for the night with one rein quick-tied to the upper metal stall divider. This guy isn’t just a novice, he’s dumb.
Having made the rounds through the arena and down the other stall aisle, he returns to the open garage door where Uncle Charlie waits. I risk a look through the stall metal bars. There’s also a woman. Her dress visible is a dark silhouette with the headlights behind them. Ducking down, I look up at Daniel and Trish, who stare down at Fiona and me. Through the shadowy dark, I raise three fingers toward Daniel; three fingers, three people total. Then I repeat it. Daniel nods back.
Masking the light it makes under my coat, I reach for my smartphone and the pre-set message waiting to call in my cavalry from the mall eight minutes away. My cavalry: my crew, Ponytail, and GV. They’ll bring the DEA and the police.
“I want out. It’s over,” Uncle Charlie sounds in control.
Rather than the come-to-the-rescue text, I hit the record button. Whatever I record could help convict Ink and show that Uncle Charlie wanted out.
“There isn’t any getting out. We have an agreement.” Ink’s voice is young—tough, husky, with lots of cocky attitude.
“I don’t care. We’re done.”
The next voice shocks me. “I heard you talking with our new intern.” It’s Mrs. F! “I believe you said, ‘I’m going to make it right.’ There’s no going back. Mr. Garcia wants to discuss the situation personally. He’s on his way now.”
The name Garcia blows away Uncle Charlie’s confidence like a tissue in a storm, atomizing it. His voice squeaks out, “Mr. Garcia?” He backs toward the open door. “Here? Why?”
Mrs. F’s voice isn’t peaches and cream sweet anymore. It’s…well, it’s forceful and hard like ice in a grinder. “I told him that you’re having second thoughts.”
Another set of headlights briefly flashes from the drive. Uncle Charlie makes a drunken dive toward the open trailer door, but Ink blocks him with a shoulder butt, shoving him back into the stall aisle.
Mrs. F’s voice grinds on. How had I ever thought she was sweet? “You’ve forgotten how your life was in shatters: divorced, only daughter in rehab for the second time, no job, your reputation tarnished by Martinson’s get-rich scheme. You didn’t even have a house because it was sold in the divorce.
“Little Miss Martinson pushed your name so hard that they gave you the job. They gave you a position that should have been mine. A year ago, Mr. Garcia made me an offer with a lot of money. You got it instead.”
Motive. Mrs. F has motive.
The third set of headlight beams fracture and split, creating shafts of light and dark. I peek cautiously through the stall’s bars. Mrs. F waves a hand that makes giant shadow puppets against the ceiling. The SUV door opens and closes. Footsteps crunch on the snow.
Uncle Charlie backs up like live dinner in front of a mountain lion.
Thirty-five
The new man’s shiny leather shoes reflect the headlights—that’s about all I can see except he’s big, really big. I lift my eyes to Daniel and Trish in the hayloft. His face is revealed by the odd lighting. He looks scared, like me. Trish? She’s praying—at least her lips are moving silently. Fiona’s back presses against the stall partition, her eyes closed.
Ponytail’s words echo in my head: innocent bodies, unintended consequences, innocent bodies, unintended consequences…
“Second thoughts, Charles?” The giant’s voice is deep and he gives the word “thoughts” three beats—th—oug—ghts. Like a PBS special, his words clash like giant boulders carried along in a volcano’s lava flow. Great, Mrs. F’s ice counterbalances his molten lava.
In further contrast, Uncle Charlie’s voice warbles like a tiny insignificant songbird. “I didn’t count on what happened to Julia. I want out.”
Fiona fidgets, probably looking for a more comfortable position. I whisper, “Don’t move.” But my legs are aching too.
Uncle Charlie whispers, “I want out.”
Lava Voice says, “Really. Maybe you forget—you’re the one who insisted your brother’s family be dragged through the muck. Pay him back for firing you. We did that.”
I dip back down into the dark stall and recheck my phone’s recorder function. It’s good. I don’t call the cavalry. Not yet.
Uncle Charlie dances from foot to foot and his voice squeaks—from songbird to mouse. I’m starting to hate him again. “But not Julia! I didn’t know Greg would seduce her—a fifteen-year-old girl. Or that he’d hook her on drugs. I didn’t know she’d commit suicide!” The mouse roars. “I am stopping this.”
And with my recording, that is the prosecutor’s coffin nail for Ink.
“No, you’re not.” Lava Voice continues to roll and clash. This time the “no” gets the three-beat treatment. The giant’s got an accent too, but I can’t place
it.
Uncle Charlie sticks to his plan, but he’s wobbling a bit on his feet—probably from drinking before the meeting. “Well, I’m getting out.”
Molten Lava’s voice rolls again. “No, you’re go-ing to keep do-ing what you’re do-ing now.” The –ing syllables are like bell gongs. “There’s nothing you can do about it.
“Our O’Neal connections are profitable. No one is stopping anything. Still, if a threat clarifies matters…”
Charles Jamison lets out a terrified gasp. I pop my head up over the wood paneling as Ink pulls a gun. A gun. Like a freaking cartoon—it’s multiplied a hundred times in the fractured-beam light and shadows. Even Mrs. F grabs her chest. Ducking down and frantic, I make my hand look like a gun for Daniel overhead. His lips move, probably swearing under his breath. No more waiting. It’s cavalry time. I hit the text SEND button. The bat signal goes out.
Those boulders roll again. “The gun isn’t necessary, Greg. Put it away.”
Ink doesn’t put it away. Instead he moves it to his left hand and his right forms a fist. His shoulder braces for business as Molten Lava continues, “You see, Charles, when your niece inconveniently died, we made other arrangements. Your daughter recently returned home from her second drug rehabilitation stay. She’s doing remarkably well. Greg met her online. They’ve become quite…close.”
Daniel’s uncle sways a bit.
Molten Lava picks at his coat like he’s found a horse hair on it and flicks it away, watching it fall. “She’s not back on drugs yet, but we can arrange for that to happen. Greg is very good at that, as you know.”
All in silhouette, Drunk Uncle Charlie screams and charges—or more accurately stumbles—across the aisle toward Lava Mouth. Ink, with his gun in his flaying left hand, uses the right to punch him in the stomach. Uncle Charlie drops, sprawled across the aisle way. Mrs. F screams.
Again the boulders clunk as he turns to leave the barn, “Mrs. Foster, you might want to come with me.” The woman huddles, afraid.
“Leave your grandson to his business.” He takes the older woman by her elbow and guides her out. “Warn him, Greg, but don’t kill him.”
Chaos Theory Page 22
