Broken Boys

by L. J. Sellers

  They gave their orders, both adding black coffee, and the waiter started to walk away. “Hey,” Marty called out. “I have a question.”

  The server turned back. “What’s that?”

  “What do you think of the owner, Isaac Lovejoy?”

  The kid smiled. “He’s great. Why?”

  “I’m considering him for a business venture, and I need to know how he treats his employees.”

  “He’s respectful and fair. We don’t get benefits, but that’s typical for restaurant work.”

  Marty signaled for the server to step closer and lowered his voice. “What do you know about his ex-wife? Is she going to be a problem? I’ve heard rumors.” Marty needed to find out if the restraining order she’d filed had good cause. He and Rox couldn’t deliver a kid from one abusive situation to another.

  “Carrie used to work here as a manager, and I never liked her.” The server didn’t bother to be discreet with his voice. “But I don’t think she’s involved in Isaac’s life anymore.”

  “What was their relationship like? Did they fight?”

  “Not here at the restaurant. Except at the end when they were splitting up.”

  Marty pushed his luck. “Did he get physical with her?”

  The waiter’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask? I thought this was about a business deal.”

  “It is. I need to know who I’m dealing with.”

  The skinny server stared at him for a long moment. “What’s your name? I’ll tell Isaac you’re here.” He obviously felt protective of his employer.

  “Please don’t. I need to be able to conduct due diligence.”

  “Okay.” The guy walked away.

  Bowman gave Marty a peculiar look. “What’s the deal with this case? Rox called me too. She wants to know about a wilderness program called Ridgeline.”

  “Our client’s ex-wife sent their kid to one of those correctional camps. The dad thinks his son might be suicidal and wants to get him out.”

  Bowman lowered his voice. “You’re going to assist her?”

  Marty nodded. “If we can find it.”

  “I wish I could help, but I’ve never heard of it, and the few officers I’ve talked to don’t know anything either.”

  “The program seems to be secretive, which is not a good sign.”

  A waitress walking by suddenly spun toward the center of the room.

  Marty heard fast-moving footsteps and turned in the same direction. Two men in dark suits hustled through the restaurant toward the back. One was Kyle Wilson, a homicide detective and Rox’s ex-boyfriend. What the hell?

  Marty jumped up. “I have to check this out.”

  Bowman stood too, and they followed the detectives into the kitchen. The noise and chaos of prep cooks and servers putting out lunch didn’t deter the cops. They strode up to a tall man in a white chef’s hat.

  “Isaac Lovejoy?”

  “Yes. What’s going on?” The guy looked alarmed, and everyone in the kitchen had stopped to stare.

  Detective Wilson stepped toward Lovejoy and grabbed his arm. “We need to ask you some questions about the murder of your ex-wife.”

  Chapter 12

  After meeting with Goodwin, Rox headed home and ate a PBJ for lunch, feeling too busy to make anything else. She checked her task list to see where she’d left off, then called the Salt Lake City number she’d memorized from Carrie’s phone. After a few rings, she heard the same canned message that had played when she called the number from Ridgeline’s website. Odd! She hung up without leaving another message. Maybe the business used an office system that allowed outgoing calls on several numbers, yet when you redialed them, the call routed to a central receptionist or message line. She hated those.

  The lunch carbs had made her sleepy so she headed for the couch to lie down for a moment. Her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. No caller ID appeared but the digits seemed familiar. Part of it matched the 800 number on the Ridgeline website! They were finally calling her back. Time to get real. She took a moment to practice her background spiel. Jolene McAdams. A troubled son named Martin with a dead father. She could do this. “Hello.”

  “Is this Jolene McAdams?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Ruth from Ridgeline Wilderness Health, returning your call. Are you still interested in our wilderness therapy program for your son?” The woman sounded middle-aged and professional.

  “Yes, thank you for calling back.”

  “The first step is to fill out an application. We have some essay-type questions, so it will take some time. Are you comfortable with that?”

  “Uh, sure.” Rox didn’t enjoy writing essays, but it was probably better than trying to get through an interview.

  “Don’t worry. It’s worth your time. This is a great program.”

  “Where do I get the application?”

  “I’ll send you a link. What’s your email address?”

  Rox gave her the Yahoo account. “I’d like to get going on this right away. Martin has started skipping school, and half the time I don’t know where he is.”

  “I’m sending the link right now.” Ruth made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Before I collect a deposit, I need to read you our policy statement.”

  They wanted money before she even applied? “How much is the fee? And what happens if my application is rejected?”

  The administrator chuckled softly. “Since you have a referral, you’re not likely to be rejected. We want to help people. But if for some reason that happens, you’ll get the money back.”

  “How much?” Rox needed details.

  “Three thousand. That covers the first ten days of the program.”

  Rox hesitated—like any sane parent would. “Okay.”

  “This is our policy.” Ruth sounded less sure of herself. “Ridgeline transports its students from their homes to the base. Let us know in the questionnaire if your child will come willingly. If not, we’ll plan for a strong-arm pickup. Your child is allowed to bring the clothes on his or her back. Nothing else. You will not be given information about the location of the base camp or the routes of the hiking trips. If there’s a family emergency, you can call this number and we’ll get word to the camp. Your child will be escorted back to you, at your expense.”

  Damn. They were secretive!

  Ruth continued, “Students aren’t allowed to quit unless they have a serious medical condition. Your child will not be returned to you until he or she graduates the program or you stop paying.”

  Students? What a euphemism. “That seems a little excessive.”

  “We’ve discovered what works best, and we know that parents can sometimes be enablers.” Ruth sounded confident again.

  “Will I be able to visit Martin?”

  “After your child passes Phase Two, visitations can be arranged at the base camp, but we don’t encourage them.

  “But you said I couldn’t know the location.”

  “For the first few months, it’s important that you aren’t able to pick up your son and help him quit—should he find a way to contact you. Once he passes important milestones, he may be ready for a visit, but again, we don’t encourage them.”

  “I understand.” Rox needed to find a parent who’d been to the base camp. But the program might have changed locations. It had moved its camps out of Utah, so maybe that was a pattern. Rox’s laptop made a dinging sound, so she opened the new email and clicked the top link. A PDF application opened in a new tab. “Should I start filling out this form?”

  “Yes. Then upload it to the second link in the email.”

  “How soon does all this happen?”

  “As quickly as you want it to. So get started on the questionnaire.”

  Rox had a dozen more questions, but Ruth wasn’t likely to answer any. “Can I call you if I’m not sure about something in the form?”

  “Just dial the main number, and I’ll get back to you.”

  No direct contact. What a r
acket. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Do you have a credit card handy? We prefer to take the deposit up front.”

  Rox reached for Marty’s card, which she’d borrowed the day before, soon after realizing she would need it. “Here’s the number.” She read it out loud, wondering if Marty’s name would come up in their system. If they asked, he was her father-in-law and had agreed to pay for his grandson’s therapy.

  “I’ll email you a receipt. Get the application uploaded, and we’ll proceed.” Ruth chuckled softly again. “Assuming there are no red flags.”

  “Like what?”

  “Serious mental illness is the big one. Our counselors are not trained to deal with that.”

  “No. Martin is just grieving and angry and acting out.”

  “We can help him. Thanks for trusting Ridgeline.” Ruth hung up.

  What a bullshit line. Rox clenched her fists. She’d just spent three grand of Marty’s money and had learned almost nothing. Still, her communication with the program’s office was the most direct line to real information. She just had to devise a way to get Ruth to let location details slip.

  Rox grabbed a diet soda from the fridge and started the application. After filling in the standard demographic and contact information, she listed self-employed bookkeeper as her occupation. It seemed innocuous yet difficult to check out. For religious affiliation, she named the Common Community Fellowship. But the essay questions about her child’s behavior and her parenting style stumped her, and she had to search online for ideas. She pasted in copied phrases about loss of privileges, accountability, and open communication.

  Forty minutes and much irritation later, she uploaded the document. Apprehension immediately set in. What if they accepted it, as Ruth had implied they would? The next step was for the transport people to pick up her son. Which would be an ideal way to find the camp—if she actually had a teenager named Martin. Could she hire someone to play the part and let himself be abducted and driven into the woods? Maybe an eager young actor would take the job as an experience to draw from.

  Rox’s phone rang, and she saw that she’d missed two calls from her stepdad. She grabbed it and headed for the kitchen. “Hey, Marty, what’s up?”

  “Kyle just picked up Isaac Lovejoy for questioning in his ex-wife’s murder.”

  What the hell? “Carrie Lovejoy is dead? When?”

  “I don’t know about the time, but the department obviously thinks Lovejoy is the perp. I was having lunch at his restaurant and watched them cuff him.” A horn started honking in the background, and Marty shouted over it. “I’m headed home now, but I should be able to get more information after he’s been questioned.”

  This was bizarre. She’d never had a client arrested before, let alone twice… and for murder. She wanted to believe Lovejoy hadn’t done it, but she could see why he looked guilty. He was plenty mad at his ex. “What have they got on him?”

  “I don’t know. Kyle brushed me off at the restaurant. Bowman is going to see what he can dig up.”

  “Any details about Carrie’s death?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Stop over when you get home. We need to brainstorm.”

  While Rox waited for Marty, she called Kyle, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He was probably in a small windowless room conducting an interrogation with Lovejoy. She left a message asking for a return courtesy call about her client. If Kyle wanted them to start dating again, he would get back to her. She might as well work that angle. Did Isaac Lovejoy have a defense lawyer to protect him from aggressive questioning? None of it was really her concern, but she felt strangely responsible. Especially for poor Josh. His mother was dead and his father was suspected of murder. She had to get the boy out of the camp one way or another. If Carrie had paid in advance, Josh could be stuck there for months.

  Rox was standing in the kitchen eating a mouthful of leftover lasagna when she heard Marty knock. Without waiting for her to respond, he walked in carrying a six-pack. Marty hustled into the kitchen, sweat shining on his brow. “Beer? It’s damn hot out there.”

  “Of course.” She had the air conditioning on, so she skipped her usual offer to head out to the back deck. Rox reached for the brew her stepdad held out and sat down at the small table. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I saw Kyle and another detective, Crider, I think, walk into the kitchen at the Steelhead Bistro. I followed them and heard Kyle say he wanted to ask Lovejoy questions about his ex-wife’s murder. They cuffed him and walked him out—right in the middle of lunch hour.” Marty took a long drink of dark ale, then let out a loud “Ahhh!”

  Another of his annoying habits she ignored. “You said Kyle brushed you off. What does that mean?”

  “Just like it sounds. I tried to get him to step aside and give me some information, and he waved me off.”

  She could see Marty’s disappointment. Or was that hurt feelings? She still wasn’t an expert at facial expressions. “I’m sure it’s because the arrest was in a public place.”

  “I know. Hopefully Bowman will call soon with a few details.” Marty leaned forward. “How did it go at the church last night? Did you actually see Carrie?”

  “I talked to her and learned a few things.”

  “Like what?” Marty cut in.

  “She confirmed that she’d sent Josh to Ridgeline and said it had camps in northern Nevada and Oregon. Apparently, they used to operate out of Utah, but they had to move because the state cracked down on those programs.”

  “A sign that they’re probably not ethical.” Marty made a face.

  Disgust?

  Her stepdad continued, “I was doing some reading online and discovered that a lot of those programs have closed because of problems that led to bad publicity and reduced demand.”

  “It’s surprising that anyone still sends their kids.” Rox needed to tell him about finding the Nevada transport office number, but she was a little worried about his reaction to her cell phone caper.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  Marty was good at reading people—and she was still terrible at masking her emotions.

  Rox plunged in. “I had an opportunity to take Carrie’s phone so I did. I scanned it for out-of-state calls, then gave it back. Sort of.” Rox gave a don’t-be-mad grin. “I found the number to a transport office in Reno. If we can con them into telling us where the local vans are, we can follow a driver to the camp.”

  Marty rolled his eyes. “I don’t even want to know what sort of returned it means.” He suddenly looked worried. “Please tell me you masked your identity.”

  “Of course.”

  He took another long drink of beer, then swore. “Now that Carrie’s dead, the missing phone could become a big deal in the homicide investigation.”

  Rox swallowed hard. She hadn’t thought of that. “Let’s just be glad Kyle is handling it.”

  “You got lucky there.” Marty stood and put his empty bottle in the recycling. “As bad as this is for the kid, having his mother die will get him sprung from the camp. We shouldn’t have to do an extraction.”

  Rox was less sure. “They don’t let kids quit. And if the police hold our client in jail, who’s going to contact the camp and tell them Carrie’s dead?”

  “Lovejoy’s lawyer?”

  “He may not have one.” Rox got up and paced the small dining room. “Ridgeline is secretive and hard to contact, but I talked to an office person this morning. Then I filled out an application for my son Martin.” She turned to her stepdad with another grin. “I can’t call the office about Carrie’s death because the administrator might recognize my voice. So you’ll have to.”

  Marty shrugged. “Let’s wait and see what happens with Lovejoy. He may be released and be able to handle this himself.”

  “Call Bowman. We need to know what they have on our client.”

  “He said he would get back to me.”

  Rox had another dark thought. “What
if the camp won’t release Josh because he has no custodial parents to release him to?”

  Marty heaved a sigh. “What a mess.”

  Rox finished her ale, processing several possibilities. “Ridgeline is in the business to make money, and it’s unlikely Carrie paid much in advance. They won’t keep Josh if no one is footing the bill.”

  “What about the fiancé? He might have some say in all of this.”

  An image of him flashed in her mind. “I met Curtis Fletcher last night. He gave me the creeps.”

  “I’ll check him out.” Marty’s phone rang in his shirt pocket and he grabbed it. “Bowman.” He set the cell on the table and put it on speaker. “Hey, partner. What have you got for us?”

  “Rox is there?”

  She leaned in. “Yes. Thanks for helping.”

  “Don’t get your expectations too high. Here’s all I know. Carrie Lovejoy left a prayer meeting last night to go home and pick up some stuff before going to stay with her boyfriend. Instead, she ended up strangled in her SUV, which was parked behind a tavern. A bartender noticed the vehicle and found her dead around two in the morning.”

  “They questioned Fletcher, her fiancé?” Rox asked.

  “Extensively. Fletcher said he left the same meeting and stopped to see his mom on the way home. His mother claims he stayed several hours to help with a computer problem. And Fletcher texted his girlfriend several times to let her know he would be late, but she didn’t respond.” Bowman’s volume faded, as though he had moved his phone. “They won’t have an exact time of death until the autopsy is completed, but Crider says the victim had been dead for a couple of hours when they arrived at the scene. Fletcher also pushed the detectives to question Isaac Lovejoy, because of some recent altercation.”

  “Thanks.” Rox glanced over at Marty.

  Her stepdad picked up the phone. “What do they have on her ex?”

  “I’m not sure,” Bowman said, sounding impatient.

  “Let me know if you find out.” Marty hung up and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

  Rox felt a tightness in her lungs. “I wish I’d never bailed out Lovejoy. I don’t think he did this, but I worry that he’ll get blamed.”