A Box Full of Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

  Moral support. Right. Erin rolled her eyes. The woman just wouldn't give up. What if her father had married Julie? She imagined Julie fawning over her father, trying to pretend to honor Erin's mother's memory, while at the same time relishing her relationship with Erin's father. At least Shelby Rae didn't pretend much. Shelby Rae cared about Shelby Rae. Everyone but her father was clear on that.

  Uncertain about what to do next, she spent the next couple hours cleaning up from the party, and wondering if they would ever see Shelby Rae again.

  * * *

  “Noah Daly, please come to the service desk.”

  Noah looked up from the computer that was diagnosing the shimmying Ford Focus he was working on. Nothing was coming up, which happened sometimes. He would have to get the car up on the lift to take a look.

  The page was disconcerting because no one ever came to see him at work. He took his phone out of his coveralls. No worrying messages or texts. His mother always texted if she needed to be in touch. Leaving the computer to finish its work, he walked to the gray steel door leading to the service desk. The door's head-high, square window revealed the man waiting at the desk. Noah sighed.

  At the sound of the door opening, the man gave Noah an overenthusiastic smile. "There you are!"

  "What are you doing here, Dad?" He knew he sounded like a sullen teenager whose father had shown up at a party looking for him. That’s about how he felt.

  "Can't a man visit his hardworking boy? It's lunchtime, right? Let's go eat."

  Jeb Daly was nearly six feet tall, but he hunched his shoulders like a man who wanted to be invisible. It was as though he were afraid of being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. Which, of course, was too often true. He and Noah shared the same brown eyes and chiseled, cleft chin, but Jeb's face was long, his jaw as delicate as a woman's. In the week since he'd been released from jail he'd started a beard that, to Noah's surprise, was growing in with patches of gray. He hadn't worn a beard in prison because, as he said, "You don't want to give people something to grab onto."

  Behind the service desk, Earl busied himself at his computer, but Noah could tell he was listening. Everyone at the dealership knew Jeb Daly was the person responsible for Rita Walsh's death. Noah hoped Bruce Walsh would remain in his office until they were out of the building. He had promised to keep his father away.

  It was ten minutes till noon, and Noah wasn't usually one to ask for special privileges, but he guessed Earl would be okay with him leaving early.

  "Mind if I take my lunch now? That Ford won't need more than another thirty minutes, and I'll get it done as soon as I get back."

  Earl raised a wooly eyebrow above his smudged glasses and shifted a glance from his computer screen to Jeb and back. Some of the guys called Earl a Hobbit behind his back, but he was one of the sharpest minds at the dealership. He could make parts appear like magic and always knew which mechanic was right for which job. It was Earl who had exposed the transmission guy as a slacker.

  He nodded to Noah. "Don't forget to clock out."

  * * *

  “Does Mom know where you are?" Noah was hungry despite his father's unwanted company. He swiped a French fry through the puddle of ketchup on his burger wrapper. His father surprised Noah when he had used cash from a thick sheaf in his wallet to pay.

  Jeb laughed. "Your mama knew where I was for almost seven years. She ain't my warden."

  When Noah returned home the night before, he'd found his mother asleep and her car gone from the driveway. While it was a relief not to see his father on the couch, Jeb's being gone meant that Noah had to get up at five-thirty to drive his mother to work. He'd tried to go back to sleep for an hour, but the sleep hadn't come. Between thoughts of his father's return from prison and the memory of Erin Walsh's calm green eyes, he lay, restless, until it was time to go to work.

  "How goes working for Bruce Walsh? He give you a hard time? Seems to me he must want something from you to give you a job like that. Like he wants to stick a thumb in my eye." Jeb smiled without warmth. It was a familiar smile to Noah, one that meant he wasn't happy at all.

  "What do you want, Dad?" Noah had stopped visiting his father in prison three years earlier. The distance had made him stronger, but there was still a seed of fear in his mind. He was several inches taller than when his father had gone in. But his father, unlike so many men in prison, had shrunk some, rather than bulked up. But he was still dangerous. Noah's childhood bruises were long gone, but the scars on his soul would never go away. "Cash? Isn't it part of your parole deal to get a job?"

  Something hard flashed in his father’s eyes, but was quickly gone. "You're a plain-speaker, boy. Just like your old man. Just like your Grandpop. I like that."

  "So?"

  "No worries on the job front. I'm getting on at the fish hatchery. They call it ‘habitat and custodial engineering,’ but it's going to be mostly cleaning up fish shit."

  Noah smirked. It wasn't the worst job his father had ever had, but it was right up there. At least it was legal. He made a ball of his empty burger wrapper and stuck it in the French fry cup.

  "Yeah, go on. Laugh at your old man. That'll get you far."

  "Nobody's laughing." Noah leaned forward. There was no humor in his voice. "Listen, I need to get back to work. Next time you want to buy someone lunch, take one of your drinking buddies. Better yet, toss me a five and I'll take myself out. I’m good with it if Mom wants me to sit down with both of you to eat. But you and me have got nothing to say to each other." Putting his hands on the table in front of him, he started to get up.

  Jeb's hand was surprisingly strong as he squeezed Noah's wrist and held him in place. "Sit down."

  Without thinking Noah did as he was told, but immediately regretted it. Old habits.

  "Don't push me," his father said. "I'm back, and I'm living in my house. You're a big boy, and your mama says you can stay as long as you want because you're saving up to go to school or some bullshit. That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.

  Irritated with himself that he'd responded so automatically, Noah jerked his hand away. "Just tell me what you want. Money?"

  "I don't want any of your grease monkey money, son. Not a penny. I'm fine for cash. Your mama's also made it clear that what's hers is mine, too, which is the way married people should be."

  "She works too hard to be giving money to you."

  "Well, I guess if you don't like how we live, you can move your ass out. Or start paying rent."

  Noah wasn't about to get into the family bills with his father at the concrete table in front of the Hoof 'n Whip. His paycheck paid his mother's utilities and monthly mortgage. It remained to be seen if the fish hatchery job his father mentioned would pay, or if the job even existed at all.

  "I gotta go." Noah stood again.

  "Hey, hey. We got off on the wrong foot here, son. It's like that with a man and his boy. I missed most of those terrible teen years. I'm sorry about that."

  Noah remained silent.

  "Listen. I need you to do me a big favor. I've got an eleven p.m. curfew, right?" He went on. "So you know I was out last night, blowing off a little steam. It's been a lot of years, and to require me to be in by eleven like some little kid is just stupid."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "I went by your mama's work first thing today, and she already agreed. If anybody asks, I was sound asleep on the couch when you came home, okay? And every other night. I doubt it will come up, but I really don't want to screw up this parole. You understand. I'm a stand-up citizen, but they can't expect me to live like a friggin' five-year-old."

  Noah's immediate thought was that his father wouldn't know a stand-up citizen if he walked into a church full of saints. But he also didn't want to spend any more time talking to him. "Yeah, whatever."

  He left the restaurant without responding to his father's cheery, "See you at home, son!"

  * * *

  When Noah clocked back in, Earl—who never s
eemed to eat, even though his round stomach strained at the buttons of his white, short-sleeved shirt with its Walsh Motors logo on the pocket—grunted in response to Noah's quiet, "Thanks, man," without looking up.

  Because he'd gone to lunch early, he was alone in the garage area for a while. He threw himself right into working on the Focus to keep from thinking about his father. But it didn't work. His father got to him every time.

  He'd been five years old the first time his father had demanded that he keep a secret. When the front door opened with a blast of cold air, Noah and Buzz Lightyear were under a living room table on a mission to rescue The Little Engine that Could. Noah’s mother was making dinner in the kitchen. His father came inside the house and shut the door behind him with extra care. He tiptoed into the living room, which made Noah laugh because he'd never seen his father tiptoe before.

  "Hey, buddy," his father whispered. "Shhhhhh." He pulled a shiny black handgun from his coat pocket. Then he took two volumes of the set of Encyclopedia Britannica that had belonged to Noah’s grandmother from their shelf. Noah watched him, unblinking, as he slid the gun behind the other books and replaced the two volumes.

  He squatted down in front of Noah, who was still beneath the table. Buzz Lightyear lay blinking on the worn gray carpet between them. "You ain't seen that. You don't touch it. And you don't tell your mama, or I'll spank your ass so hard, you'll wear it for a hat, hear me?"

  Noah nodded. Two days later, he conveniently forgot the promise, and his mother found him aiming the gun at a front window and an imaginary boogey man masquerading as a clown. Startled by her scream, Noah dropped the gun and it went off, sending a bullet deep into the maple baseboard.

  The spanking came, but not until after the fight between his parents ended with his mother escaping to her bedroom, crying and afraid. He would never forget it—the sound of her crying together with the pain of his father's leather belt against his bare skin.

  * * *

  The afternoon dragged, and all Noah had to look forward to was going back to the house where his father would be watching TV while his mother made dinner. Maybe it was time to get his own place after all. But the idea of abandoning his mother made him sick to his stomach. Noah worried that she couldn't protect herself. Prison hadn't seemed to change his father for the better.

  At least he could delay going home.

  * * *

  A stripe of rain-heavy clouds cut across the lowered sun on the lake, casting a shadow over the dock. The lake was still, except for the bugs tickling the water's surface, and the occasional fish breaking to capture them.

  How to tie flies and fish was the one useful, happy thing his father had taught him. The irony of going fishing to get away from his father wasn't lost on him. Usually the first thing he would do was to tie a fly to his hook, but today he had energy to burn. Sitting reflectively, waiting for the fish to bite wasn't what he wanted to do.

  Of course he was also sitting on one of the Walsh docks. That was no accident. Seeing Erin the day before had made him strangely happy. It made him want to create something. Something beautiful.

  Today he had his sketchbook and pencils, so he could draw.

  He was deep into it when he heard the faint jingle of dog tags. Shaking his focus from the page, he turned to the bank. He was startled to see the black cat, Trouble, sitting serenely on the dock just a few feet away from him, staring out at the lake as though he'd been there for hours. Beyond the cat, Jocko trotted down the steps to the dock. His tiny feet clicked across the boards as he approached Noah.

  "Hey, guys." Noah squatted to scratch Jocko behind the ears, and the dog jumped up to lick his face. "Out for an adventure?"

  Jocko ducked away from him and went to the end of the dock. He stood for a moment as though thinking. Then he dove into the water.

  Alarmed, Noah stood up. Did Jack Russells swim?

  A voice came from the bank. "Jocko, come!"

  Noah turned to see Erin walking down the path from the direction of the house. If he'd been sitting on the other side of the dock, he would have seen her coming from far off. Spotting him, she lifted her hand in a tentative wave, and he waved back. Why was his heart beating so fast? Was it the dog? Damn. He'd momentarily forgotten the dog. Fortunately, the dog was paddling back to shore, all but smiling.

  "Are they bothering you?" Erin called. "Trouble's figured out how to get through Jocko's dog door, and they took off."

  "It's a nice day for an adventure." Did I really say that? That sounded really dumb.

  Erin came down the steps and picked up Trouble, scolding him playfully. Her face and arms wore a hint of pink from being outside the previous day. Noah guessed that with her fair, freckled skin, she didn't so much tan as burn in the sun. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back from her face, and she didn't seem to be wearing any makeup. He thought she was beautiful without it. Her clothes were simple: brown leather sandals, cargo shorts that hung low on her slender hips, and a gauzy, V-neck tee the pristine white of blackberry blossoms.

  "Catch anything?" she asked. Trouble jumped from her arms and sniffed at the sketchbook Noah had hurriedly closed. Erin glanced at it, curious, but looked quickly away. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

  Flustered, Noah bent to pick up the book. "Sometimes I come down to fish but end up drawing. This place is..." He hesitated. "Inspiring."

  "I didn't know you were an artist." Then she tilted her head. "Wait. I remember. You did a bunch of posters for the recycling program in school. They were beautiful."

  "They came out okay." In fact the art teacher had encouraged him to put together a portfolio to submit to get into college, but he'd known he was going to have to work full time to help his mother.

  "Can I see?" Erin gestured to the sketchbook.

  He opened it and held it out to her. They sat on the dock, their legs dangling over the edge. As she slowly paged through the book, he tried to keep his eyes on the water and the sky, but they could have been blank walls for all he noticed them. His gaze kept straying to her calm, lovely face.

  "Why, they're buildings. They're beautiful. I didn't expect that." She laughed nervously. "I mean, it's not that I didn't expect them to be beautiful.”

  Noah smiled. "It's okay. I know what you meant."

  "This one by the lake. Is that here? It looks almost like a collection of tree houses."

  "It could be anywhere. The point is that they blend with their environment. Too many people live in jungles of concrete. They don't get the advantage we have. Being close to all this." He spread his arm to indicate the lake and opposite shore. As they watched a duck flew across the cove, causing the very wet Jocko to bark. "Even if people have to work near the city, they could live in nature. Suburbs that have less concrete and more dirt and grass. There'd have to be good public transportation, but the communities could be ecologically sustainable, with community gardens. Family homes, but also bigger places where people could have their own private sleeping space, but share kitchens and living spaces."

  "Like a dorm?" Erin made a face. "Dorms are a nightmare."

  "Way nicer. I want these to feel like homes, not people warehouses. There are places like this in San Francisco and other big cities, but nowhere that makes a priority of the surroundings. People lose touch with themselves when they can't touch nature." Wanting to take the focus off himself, he asked after her father and stepmother.

  Now it was Erin's turn to look uncomfortable. "Dad's okay."

  Noah read her hesitation. "You were looking for your stepmom last night. You found her all right?"

  Erin shook her head. "We're expecting her any minute, if everything goes okay."

  "If what goes okay?"

  Erin shut the notebook. "It's complicated." When she handed it back to him their fingertips brushed, and Noah felt a pleasant hint of electricity shoot through his body.

  "People say I'm a pretty good listener. I won't say anything to anybody."

  Erin took a deep breath, a
nd the words rushed out of her—the details of the ransom, Julie Berry accusing her of being involved, the bloody shirt, following her father to the barn. Taking out her phone, she showed him the image of the man on the four-wheeler headed away from the barn.

  "Can you tell who he is?" she asked. "Look at that weird morph suit mask. It's so creepy."

  Noah shook his head. "I don't recognize the four-wheeler either. Everybody has them."

  "Do you work on them at the dealership?"

  "Not very often because your dad doesn't sell them. Some of the farm equipment places do, and there are a couple dealers around Louisville and Lexington. But without a clearer picture, it's hard to tell what kind it is." He touched the screen. "Is that the bag with the money?"

  "Yeah."

  "What time do you think Mrs. Walsh went missing? Any guesses?" It freaked him out that she'd probably been taken while he and so many other people were around.

  "You can call her Shelby Rae. At least with me, anyway. Dad says he looked for her right before the fireworks, but it was dark, and there were so many people. He was surprised she didn't come find him. We think she was taken during the fireworks. I found Jocko in the kitchen afterward. The poor little guy was shaking, he was so afraid of all the noise."

  Hearing his name, Jocko came over and leaned his wet body against her leg to be petted. "Somebody's going to need a bath," she said.

  "Your dad won't go to the police? Why not?"

  Erin shrugged. "The note said if he paid the ransom by noon today, she'd come home. I guess my dad's a trusting guy. I can't say I agree. He thought if he paid, they wouldn't kill her."

  "Does he have any guess who might have done it?"

  Now Erin looked steadily at him. "I think it has something to do with Bryn and Tionna Owens."

  Why was she looking at him that way? What did she know?

  Bryn and Tionna went to the same church his mother attended, and he knew them from around town. They often had dinner or drinks at Gerald's on the Square, the pub in town where he hung out a couple times a week. That spring, a few weeks before Tionna died, he'd been at the pub when Tionna and Bryn were eating dinner. But then Bryn had left their booth looking angry, leaving Tionna on her own. His own friends had gone, and he was finishing up a beer when Tionna caught his eye and waved him over.