Coming Home

by Shirlee Busbee

  “Aston? Skimming? Christ. I always thought of him as a small-time marijuana grower. Real low echelon. Not the brightest bulb in the lamp.”

  “Yeah, he was that too, but apparently, he also acted as a mule between Oakland and your neck of the woods. If my information is correct—and remember it's mostly street gossip—now and then he carried cocaine and other drugs into your area and money back to Oakland. Wasn't a regular, but was trusted enough to do the job upon occasion.”

  Jeb felt stupid. He'd known Dirk Aston and dismissed him as a nuisance. And even though he investigated mainly homicides in the county, he kept his ear to the ground and his eyes wide open for intriguing bits of information that might come in handy down the road. There'd never been a whisper that dirty ole Dirk had been more than just another low-life subsistence grower.

  “So, what about this kid? Was he picked up? Questioned?”

  Gene sighed. “Nobody connected it at the time, but two days after the Aston hit, a black kid, name of Leroy Seely, was found floating in the bay—shot in the back of the head. Same caliber gun that killed your guy.”

  “The kid messed up by killing Aston by mistake so they took care of him,” Jeb said flatly.

  “Yeah, that's our read. Can't prove it. But we're pretty certain that's what happened. Doesn't mean your guy wouldn't have bought it eventually, just not then and probably not in Oakland.” Gene chuckled but there was no humor in it. “Once they'd gotten their money and drugs back, you'd probably have had the pleasure of investigating Mr. Aston's death.”

  “Probably.” Many things were coming together for Jeb. “The money and drugs were never recovered, were they?” he asked after a moment.

  “Nope, not as far as I know, but you gotta know, there's only so much information circling on the street. Bastards don't tell us all the gossip. Just what doesn't matter anymore. You know, throw the poor bumbling cops a bone now and then.”

  “What kind of money are we talking about, Gene?”

  “Best estimate, relying on our informants, is around a hundred thousand, maybe a little less. Part in cash and part in actual drugs.”

  Jeb whistled. No wonder Roxanne's place had been broken into time and again. The damage was now easily explained and it hadn't been just your garden-variety trespasser either. It had been someone dangerous; someone who didn't think twice about murder, someone searching desperately for a hundredthousand-dollar stash they thought was hidden in or around Dirk's old place. A chill snaked down Jeb's spine. Dirk's old place, the place Roxanne now called home. …

  Chapter

  17

  Jeb's first instinct was to drive like a maniac to Roxanne's. Then common sense asserted itself and he realized that Aston's old place had been searched and re-searched numerous times during the past year. The place had been deserted for over six months—anyone looking for drugs and money had had plenty of time to do so. New construction had been going since last September and structures had been torn down and rebuilt; by now it was highly questionable that anyone would still be nosing around. Logic said that the people Aston had double-crossed must have given up on ever finding his stash, or at least decided that Dirk hadn't hidden it on his own place. Roxanne was in no danger, he repeated to himself several times. No danger at all. Trouble was, he couldn't quite completely convince himself and calling himself all kinds of a fool, he picked up the phone.

  Roxanne answered the phone on the third ring and at the sound of her voice the gristle of fear jammed in his throat disappeared. He didn't really have a reason to call except to assure himself that she was all right and since the last thing he wanted to do was alarm her, he fumbled through their conversation. They talked for a few minutes until Jeb had the bright idea to ask if she'd like him to bring home Chinese food for dinner tonight.

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Roxanne said cheerfully. “I've spent the day on the phone and computer trying to find out if my idea of growing flowers and plants for resale locally has any merit—and what the start-up costs would be. Until you mentioned it, dinner never crossed my mind.”

  Jeb glanced at the clock. “I'll be leaving Willits in an hour or so, so expect me home sometime around eight.”

  It gave him a thrill to say those words to her. Almost like they were married or something.

  “Got it. After I hang up from you, the dogs and I are going to take a quick hike to the greenhouses before it gets dark. There's a couple of measurements I want to make.”

  Jeb didn't like that idea at all and he muttered, “Look, I know you're used to taking care of yourself, but be careful, OK? Bad things happen even in Oak Valley and you're out there all by yourself. Keep your eyes open and it wouldn't hurt if you kept in mind some of the safety principles you used in New York.”

  Roxanne was touched by his concern. “I will,” shesaid softly. “And don't forget that I have Dawg and Boss. Besides, you're the one fighting—now what did you call it—ah, the minions of evil. You be careful.”

  Wearing a silly smile, Jeb hung up the phone. Man, he had it bad. Just the sound of her voice and he was floating on air. He gave himself a shake and turned his mind back to the conversation with Gene Cartwright.

  A grim smile crossed his face as something occurred to him. Bet he knew the name of the fellow overseeing the search of Roxanne's place. Milo Scott. Yep. Good old Scott strikes again. Not only had Scott had months to hunt for Aston's stash but getting the contract for cement work had given him free rein to continue searching. Had he found the money and drugs?

  Jeb didn't think so. Not only did Gene's street gossip not give any hint of success in the search for the stolen goods, but the fact Milo Scott was still sniffing around would indicate that the stash hadn't been found. Jeb shook his head. By now someone had to have realized that the stuff couldn't have been hidden in the house or the outbuildings. Besides, had Dirk really been dumb enough to hide the stuff on his own place? Knowing if his thievery was discovered that his property would be the first place anyone looked?

  Before talking to Gene this afternoon, Jeb would have said yes, Dirk was that dumb, but now he wondered. Aston had been smart enough to skim off al most a hundred grand in money and drugs before his theft was discovered. Maybe Aston was smarter than he gave him credit for, and yet it didn't feel right. Just the fact that Aston had thought he could steal from his employers and that they wouldn't find out showed that Aston had been as dumb as Jeb had always thought. Smoked one joint too many, Jeb mused, and came up with a wild-assed plan that got him killed. Yeah, that sounded like the Aston they all knew and loved.

  So. Was the money and drugs still hidden on Roxanne's place? And if it was, where in the hell was it? Couldn't be in the house. Whatever secrets the original A-frame had held had been lying right out in the open all during construction. Someone was bound to have stumbled across it. The dilapidated garage had been demolished. Don Bean was ready to start building the new garage and woodshed any day now. The pump house had been pretty well vandalized, too, so it wasn't likely that the stuff had been concealed there. Which left the greenhouses. But the greenhouses were, well, clear as glass. Their floors were dirt, however … Jeb grimaced. Unless a backhoe was brought in and the floors dug up, no one would ever know if Aston's stash was buried there. He pictured the expression on Roxanne's face if he asked if she minded if he looked for stolen money and drugs in her greenhouses—with a backhoe.

  He sighed. Even if his actions enraged Roxanne, now that the possibility existed that her place was thelikely site for a cache of stolen drugs and money, he was going to have to investigate. Or at least talk to the drug guys in the department and get their take on the situation. He looked thoughtful. He didn't have anything concrete. When you boiled it all down it was just street gossip from a fellow cop in Oakland. They might dig up the floor of Roxanne's greenhouses and find nothing. Zip. Nada. Squat. Maybe he'd wait a few days. Aston's stash had already been hidden for more than a year. A few more days wouldn't hurt.

  An abstracted e
xpression on his face, Jeb left the Willits substation and drove to the Chinese restaurant. Pulling into the parking lot, he recognized Sloan's black and silver Suburban parked in front of the long redwood-sided building.

  Entering the restaurant, he smiled as he walked up to Sloan, where the other man stood waiting at the small counter just to the left of the double-glass doors. “Takeout?” Jeb asked.

  Sloan nodded. “Yes. I had to go down to Santa Rosa today. Shelly wanted to get some painting done so she stayed home, but pleaded that I bring home dinner.” Sloan shook his head, adding, “When she gets in her studio and gets lost creating magic with brushes and paints, food becomes an abstract idea.”

  The waitress came up just then and Jeb placed his order: chicken and black mushrooms; sweet and sour barbecued pork; beef and green beans, and shrimp and snow peas.

  “My four favorite food groups: chicken, beef, pork, and shrimp,” Jeb said as the waitress turned away and headed to the kitchen.

  Sloan glanced around the restaurant and said, “There's still several empty tables, why don't we grab one while we wait.”

  They chose a white Formica-topped table near the register and sat on the red-cushioned black chairs. The fact that they shared some common ancestry a few generations back was obvious. Both were big men, tall and broad-shouldered with black hair and dark complexions. Facially they didn't look much alike, Jeb's features a trifle more refined than Sloan's rough-hewn good looks, but there was a general resemblance physically and an air of toughness and purposefulness about both men. Good men to have on your side in a fight.

  Sloan looked at Jeb, a funny half smile on his face. There was an expression in his eyes that made Jeb shake his head disgustedly. “She told you, didn't she?”

  Sloan grinned and nodded. “Sure did. The moment she came in the door. She was spilling the beans so fast, I had to have her slow down and back up.” It was Sloan's turn to shake his head. “You and Roxanne. Even in the coldest weather, the air seemed to sizzle whenever you two came in range of each other. I always thought that there might be something going on between the pair of you. Just never thought either one of you was smart enough to realize it.” Sloan laughed. “Oh, man, are all the folks going to be jumping with joy when they find out about it. Mom's been terrified for years that one of these days Roxy would bring home an empty-headed pretty-boy husband. She'll be thrilled, fall on your neck when she finds out you're going to marry Roxanne. And as for the Judge. …”

  “Whoa. Wait. Who said anything about marriage?” Jeb said hastily.

  Sloan's grin slid away and a hard light came into those golden eyes that so resembled his sister's. “You don't want to marry her?” he asked carefully.

  “That's not the point,” Jeb muttered. “Just because you and Shelly got married, doesn't mean that marriage is for everyone. That's the problem with deliriously happy newlyweds, they think everyone else should be married, too.” His face bitter, Jeb added, “I've tried marriage—twice, remember? I don't think I'm a good candidate to be anyone's husband, let alone Roxanne's.”

  Sloan sat back in his chair and stared at Jeb. “You want to elaborate on that subject just a bit more?”

  Jeb shot him an unfriendly look. “Think about it, Sloan. You gotta be nuts to believe that your sister would ever be happy married to a guy like me. Twice divorced and determined to stick with a career I love in an area that doesn't offer a lot of advancement. My roots and home and career are all anchored in Oak Valley. Someday I might run for sheriff, but I'm never gonna be famous or rich.”

  “What makes you think Roxy wants someone who's rich and famous?”

  “Come on, Sloan! We're talking about Roxanne here, the toast of New York and all that shit. Sure, right now she's happy as a bug in the rug playing in her new house, but that's not going to last. Sooner or later, she's going to get bored and go flying off to New York or Bermuda or some other place at the other end of the world and leave Oak Valley behind. You know it. She's done it before. Done it any number of times these past twenty years. What makes you think this time is different? Nothing's changed.”

  Sloan sat back and regarded Jeb. “You know,” he said slowly, “I never thought of you as a stupid guy before, but what just came out of your mouth is one of the stupidest things I've ever heard.” He bent forward. “I know my sister and she may act crazy at times, but she's not nuts.”

  Jeb smiled wryly. “That's a compliment I'm sure she'll be glad to hear.”

  Sloan shrugged. “So I guess that no wedding bells are in your future, huh? You and Roxy are just going to shack up together for a while and that'll be that.”

  Jeb's face tightened. “I'm not just shacking up with her.” He glanced away, his jaw working. “She means the world to me, Sloan, but despite what you think, I'm not stupid. When. I can think clearly about her, I realize that what I have to offer wouldn't be enough and that sooner or later she's going to grow bored with the valley and … me and take off for the glamorous life again. It's inevitable.”

  The waitress called to them, motioning that their orders were ready. Sloan stood up. “I'm not going to argue with you. She might do just that. But think about this: what if you're wrong? What if you screw around and mess up something that might have been wonderful and lasted forever? And how about giving Roxy a chance to say how she feels? You're making a decision for her—something that will really piss her off if she finds out about it.” He bent forward. “I lost seventeen years with Shelly because of the interference of other people. You don't have that problem. You're running a chance of losing a good thing; probably the best damn thing that ever happened to you, because you're too damned scared to risk getting hurt. I never thought you were a coward.”

  His mouth grim, Jeb stood up, pushing his chair back with a violent movement. For a tense second, Sloan thought Jeb might deck him. “Think what you want to,” Jeb growled. “It's my business.”

  “Yeah, but it's my sister you're involved with,” Sloan said softly. “And I won't stand by and let you break her heart—think about that.”

  They paid for their food at the counter and silently accepted the brown paper bags packed with steaming hot Chinese food. An air of restraint between them, they walked out of the restaurant and to their vehicles. They didn't speak again. Just gave each other a curt nod and got in their vehicles.

  Jeb sat there in the parking lot for a few minutes, staring after Sloan's disappearing Suburban. He was angry with Sloan, but he couldn't refute Sloan's words. Maybe he was a coward. Maybe he should just grab Roxanne and tell her he loved her like he'd never loved anyone before in his life and that if she was willing to take a chance with a two-time loser and a guy who aspired to nothing more exciting than being a good cop in a rural county that he wanted to marry her. His mouth twisted. Sloan was right. He was a coward. He didn't want to risk losing Roxanne and so he was hanging back and letting her make all the moves. He certainly hadn't given her any sign that his heart was in her hands and that he was terrified when she found out, she'd toss it away.

  His cell phone jangling at his side distracted him. Punching it on, he said, “Yeah.”

  It was his mother, Karen-Catherine, called KC practically from the moment of her birth.

  There were a few minutes of chitchat and then KC asked, “What are you doing on Saturday? I've already got a commitment from your brother and sister for dinner that night. I'm making pot roast, mashed potatoes, lemon broccoli, and carrot and raisin salad with rhubarb upside-down cake for dessert. Clean jeans and boots optional. You want to join us?”

  Despite his bad mood, Jeb smiled. His mom must want to see him—she'd just listed several of his favorite foods. His first instinct was to say no, but then he hesitated. Sloan's words stung. “Mind if I bring a guest?” he asked before he could think about it.

  “Well, sure,” his mother answered, surprise in her voice. “I'd sort of thought that it might just be the family, but if you have a friend you want to bring, why not?”

  H
is jaw set, Jeb took a deep steadying breath. “Mom, it's more than just a friend.” And jumping in with both feet, he added, “It's Roxanne Ballinger.” “Oh.”

  There was silence for a second before Jeb asked, “Is that a problem?”

  “Uh, no. I'm just stunned that you're bringing any woman home for dinner and that it's Roxy is, well, mind-boggling. You want to talk about it?”

  “Nope. What time do you want us on Saturday night?”

  One of the things that Jeb loved about his mother was that she didn't pry. He knew she was burning up with curiosity and he was certain that she was biting her tongue to keep from asking questions, but to her credit all she said was, “Six o'clock ought to be fine. I'm going to experiment on all of you with new hors d'oeuvres—and you know your father doesn't like to eat late.”

  “Want us to bring anything—wine?”

  “No, just yourselves.”

  They hung up and Jeb looked at his cell phone. Well, he'd stuck his neck out. Sloan thought him a coward, did he? Ha. Only a brave man—a very, very brave man at that—brings home a woman to meet his mother. After Saturday night, there'd be no turning back. His relationship with Roxanne Ballinger would be out there for everyone to see. He grinned. Hell, he'd bet that at this very minute his mother was running into the Judge's study with the news that their eldest son was bringing home a woman. Jeb knew KC would be discreet; she'd keep the news within the family, but his relationship with Roxanne was no longer a secret. It felt good. Like the tightrope he'd been tottering on had become solid ground beneath his feet. He started the vehicle and nosed out into the traffic, heading north. Heading home. To Roxanne.

  For those unfamiliar with the road, it could take over an hour and fifteen to twenty minutes to reach Oak Valley from Willits. Jeb had driven the narrow road nearly thirty years and he was comfortable with its many twists and turns and could usually make it to the valley in well under an hour. Today was different. Today he was preoccupied and the truck just loafed along at a leisurely speed.