by Laurel Dewey
Sage thought about it. “He’s going to be perched up there, waiting for you.”
Jane ruminated. “Does he miss any meals?”
“Never.”
“Okay. I’ll figure this out.”
They headed out of the area, toward the four-wheeler.
“Hey, I got to tell you something,” Sage offered. “I don’t know if it means anything but I heard Jude talking on his cell phone this morning really quietly.”
“Yeah…”
“He never talks on his cell phone. The last time he did that was right before Gabe took off.”
Jane’s mouth went dry. “Fuck…”
“You really do need to get outta here.”
“I can’t leave without digging up whatever is underneath that dirt.”
A hard south wind swept quickly through the valley, signaling an approaching spring rainstorm. They got on the ATV and drove away. Jude stayed put, never once taking his eyes off of them.
Once back at the CSA, Jane asked Sage to drop her at the van. He sped back to the main house as Jane trudged through the soggy field. The pitter-patter of rain spat against her leather jacket as she unlocked the passenger door. But it was already unlocked. Her heart raced as she dove into the van. Quickly opening her satchel, she found the postcards in the same place she left them. From what she could tell, they hadn’t been disturbed. Digging into the center of the satchel, she felt around for the envelope of photos that Monroe gave her. Finding it, she pulled it out and lifted out the photos. They were all there. Checking the glove compartment, it was still locked and didn’t look as if it’d been touched. Unlocking it, she pulled out the 9mm. That’s when she spied her wallet sticking out from under the passenger seat. Grabbing it, she looked inside. The five hundred dollars was gone. Her two fake IDs had been removed and carelessly put back. Jane felt the tension mount. Suddenly, somebody rapped hard on the passenger window. Instinctively, she grabbed the 9mm up without even looking and pointed it.
“Whoa!” Harlan yelled, holding up his hands and taking a step back.
Jane unlocked the passenger door, waving Harlan inside.
“What’s goin’ on?” Harlan asked, his clothing wet from the rain.
“We got ripped off.” She showed her empty wallet. “And he figures I’m either Anne LeRóy or Wanda LeRóy.”
“He who?”
“Jude. The creepy little fuck is onto us.” She momentarily considered telling him about her disturbing visit with Saul but decided against it.
Harlan glanced around in the back of the van. “Oh, hell, Jane.”
She turned. “Shit!” All the bags in the back of the van had been opened and pawed through. Clothing, blankets, gear for the car, flashlights, food and more was strewn every direction. “Jesus. What in the hell did he take?”
Harlan hefted his body back into the van and feverishly searched through the chaos. “Aw, hell, Jane. He found my bag of stuff and threw it everywhere. Looks like he ripped off my ball cap with the lights—”
“What about the notebook?”
He rummaged through the piles. “I don’t see it, Jane!” His voice became frantic as the rain pounded harder on the roof of the van.
“Calm down, Harlan.”
“Looks like the son-of-a-bitch stole the Vicodin.”
“Figures…”
“Oh, no….oh, God…”
“What?”
Harlan held up the two empty prescription bottles of his anti-rejection drugs. “He tossed them, Jane! I can’t live without them!”
Jane darted out of the van and swung open the back door. The rain pelted her face as she sorted through the mess. “What’s this?” She held up a prescription bottle.
“That’s the Valium. He must have missed it.”
Jane quickly shoved it into her jacket pocket and crawled into the clutter, searching for any sign of his pills. Coming up empty, she jumped outside. “He had to toss the pills somewhere. Tell me their colors.”
“One capsule is light brown and cream. The other is a light purple tablet.”
They searched the surrounding area.
“I found two purple ones!” Harlan exclaimed.
Jane discovered three of the brown and cream capsules but one of them was already halfway dissolved and useless. After half an hour, they were able to gather only six of the tablets and three of the purple tablets, enough to last Harlan three days.
Harlan looked at her with dread. “Jane, what in the world am I gonna do? I’m dead without these drugs.”
“I’ll figure it out, goddammit!” She ran her fingers through her black hair. “First things first.” After giving it serious thought, she devised a precise plan for later that night. When she told Harlan her plan, he regarded her with slack-jawed awe.
“Damn, Jane. I hope I never get on your bad side.”
By dinnertime, both of them were ready to see the CSA in their rear view mirror. But Jude was nowhere to be found. It was hard for Jane to believe he was still sitting on that ridge in the pouring rain waiting for her to return. Darkness had already descended as the group grabbed their plates and made their way down the food line. Sage hovered close by but kept his mouth shut. Jane was impressed by his ability to stay so cool, while still being aware of her situation. As the guests filled their plates, Blythe reminded everyone of “The Singing Bowls” meditation that would take place after the meal. From what Jane gathered, seven glass bowls representing the seven chakras would be “played” as they “sang” and the vibrations would “clear the cloudy corners” of everyone’s body. As much as Jane had misgivings about the New Age world, Blythe’s “singing bowls” were the perfectly tuned foil she needed.
Ninety minutes later and bloated from too much gluten-free pasta and three-bean salad, Jane and Harlan were still waiting for Jude’s arrival. Blythe instructed the group to file into the room just off the kitchen and sit in a circle. Sage ducked away and up the stairs, hanging on the landing for a little bit, before retreating into his bedroom. The outside kitchen door opened and Jude walked in just as Jane carried her plate and cup to the sink. She pretended to be preoccupied with the dishes but she saw every move the skinny little asshat made. He was wet and covered with mud from the soles of his boots to his knees. She wasn’t sure whether he got his ATV stuck on the trail or if he just barreled through muddy runoff. Either way, he looked fit to be tied as he scooped up what was left of the food, slammed it onto his plate and sat down at the long table. Harlan eyed Jane and she tilted her head toward the meditation group. Reluctantly, he followed the other visitors into the next room, closing the door behind him.
Jane felt her body shaking but not from fear. All she wanted to do was wrap a belt around Jude’s scrawny neck and pull it tightly until she pressed the last peep out of his throat. Instead, she crossed to the thermos of spicy, hot apple cider and poured it into her mug.
“Might ask me if I’d want a cup,” Jude declared with a slimy tenor.
Jane turned. “Who do you think this is for?”
He eyed her carefully. “Why you being so nice to me?”
“You’re wet. You must be cold. Figured you’d want something hot.” She set the mug in front of him.
Jude shoved a mouthful of food into his ragged little mouth and washed it down with a gulp of cider. “Ain’t even that hot!”
“You got a lot of complaints, don’t you?”
Gradually, a strange tone began to emit from the next room. Jane likened it to an armada of alien spacecraft hovering above the farm as their galactic engines whirred. With each passing second, the tones increased in intensity. Part of her wanted to lay back, relax and let the mesmerizing droning pulse from the “singing bowls” sweep her into dreamland. But focus was paramount right now. She got up and poured herself what was left out of the coffeepot. After a few good swigs of black coffee, she felt
more centered, even as the buzzing hum grew louder and deeper. Jane moved to the side and reread all the homey plaques she’d already committed to memory. Looking at the “You are here” plaque again with the longitude and latitude written out, a piece of the puzzle possibly clicked into place. Once she got back to her computer, she could verify it.
“You know,” Jude said, after fifteen long minutes of slurping his food and cider, “for someone who don’t look like they know their way ‘round a kitchen, you sure are hangin’ out in this one a long time. Don’t you have someplace you need to be?”
The cycling droning tones from the “singing bowls” deepened. Jane pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from Jude. Turning back to the wall, she checked the clock.
“Whatcha doin’?” he griped, plowing the last bite of food into his mouth.
“How was your dinner?”
He regarded her with an indifferent sneer. “Why you care?” Downing the last drop of cider, he slammed the mug on the table and wiped his mouth with his filthy hand.
“Did you grab everything you wanted?”
He squinted his eyes toward her. “What in the hell is up with you?”
She leaned forward on her elbows. “I’m asking because I see you got what you wanted out of our van.”
Jude casually yawned in a dismissive manner, sliding his plate and cup to the side. He smiled, licking his thin lips as he tipped his chair back. “Yeah? What proof you got?”
Jane looked at him for a hard minute. She was reminded that people really do take on the grime of their connections. Experience really does wash over each of us and color the unseen aura that shadows and compels us. She leaned closer to him. “Let me ask you something. How long have you been a piece of shit?”
He righted his chair. “You got a lot of nerve, bitch,” he said with a lazy drawl.
She felt her blood boil. “You know what? You’re right. I do. I got a lot of nerve. And when someone corners me, I fight back.” She stood up, checking the clock one more time.
“Why you keep lookin’ at that damn clock?”
Jane glanced around the room, making sure they were alone. She maneuvered around the long table and stopped directly behind Jude. Leaning closer to him, she spoke clearly above the din of “singing bowls.” “I’m waiting for it to kick in, Jude.”
“What kick in?”
Jane reached into her pocket and slammed the empty bottle of Valium on the table in front of him. “You missed this one when you ripped the Vicodin. There were nineteen pills in that bottle. And now those nineteen pills are percolating through your stomach and into your failing liver where they will surely not succeed.”
Jude turned around in his chair, eyes wide as saucers. “Are you batshit crazy, woman? That’s a fuckin’ overdose!” He started to stand up but wobbled as the room spun around him.
“Yeah, it’s a fuckin’ overdose.” Jane snatched up the empty orange prescription bottle and shoved it in her jacket pocket. Without any effort, she slammed Jude’s bony ass back into his chair. “I figured you had it coming after what you did to us…and our other friend?”
The pulsating sounds from the adjacent room intensified until it felt as if they were swimming in the center of a swarm of bees. Desperate, Jude put his index finger down his throat. Jane grabbed his wrist, twisted it and pulled it out of his mouth.
“No way, you son-of-a-bitch. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”
Jude tried to fight her but the Valium was quickly creeping up on him. He fell back into his chair. Spying his dinner knife, he grabbed for it, but Jane was way ahead of him. She skimmed it down the long table before reaching into her rear waistband and revealing the 9mm. With his collar in a vice grip, she pressed the tip of the pistol into his temple.
“Did you call them?” she said to him, inches from his haggard face. “Did you give us up?”
Jude glared at Jane, moving in and out of consciousness.
“What were we worth to you this time?” she spat at him, tightening her hold on his collar. “Talk to me!” She slapped him hard across his face. “What are you gonna get out of this deal, asshole! Another fucking case of whiskey?” She yanked up on his collar, moving her finger to the trigger. “Tell me, you motherfucker!”
His face was turning beet red as she slapped him again, leaving a palm print against his cheek.
“What did you tell them?!” Jane yelled, pulling the gun off his temple and aiming it in the middle of his forehead. “Tell me before you fucking die!”
“No—” Sage softly said.
Jane jerked backward, letting go of Jude and looked up on the landing. Sage stood there, eyes pleading for her to back off. The pulsating hum reached an almost deafening drone. Jane glanced down at Jude. He’d collapsed over the table and was barely conscious. She bent down so he could easily see her with his one open eye.
“As you drift off to sleep right now,” Jane whispered into his ear. “Know in your heart that you’re gonna wake up in hell.” She shoved the pistol in her waistband, buttoned up her jacket and waved goodbye to Sage.
He raced down the stairs. “I’ll drive you up on the four-wheeler!”
“No. I’m not dragging you into this any more!”
“The rain makes that road almost impossible to drive up—”
“Enough!” Jane stated. “You stay here. And if I catch you up there, I’ll shoot you,” she said flippantly. She jutted her chin toward the meditation room. “Go in and get him for me.”
Sage obliged. Jane double-checked Jude’s status, holding a stainless steel spoon under his nose to confirm he was still breathing. Harlan quickly walked into the room, followed by the kid.
“Damn,” Harlan said, his head swirling, “you pulled me out of there just in time. I thought I was gonna shapeshift.”
Jane motioned Harlan toward the back kitchen door. He glanced over at Jude.
“Come on, Harlan! Let’s go!”
He raced outside. Jane turned to Sage and thanked him before following Harlan into the darkness and pouring rain. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small flashlight and they raced as fast as they could to the van. Soaked to the bone, Jane sped out of the field and back up the dirt road toward Highway 17. Turning on her high beams, Jane retraced their earlier steps and came to the bottom of the hill that lead up to Gabe’s location.
“It’s gonna be slick as snot, Jane!” Harlan yelled above the din of pelting rain on the roof.
“Do we have a fucking choice?” she yelled, sticking the van in reverse. Rolling it backward twenty feet, she kicked it into gear. “Let’s see what this vanilla van can do.”
She gunned it, fishtailing immediately and sliding sideways fifteen feet. It lurched to a halt and started to sputter.
“You know,” Harlan suggested, “sometimes the softer approach is best in situations like this. Push the accelerator gently.” He looked at her. “You know how to do that, right?”
Righting the van, she gathered her thoughts and lightly tapped the accelerator. The van moved forward, sliding just a bit before Jane was able to smoothly correct the direction. Midway up the hill, a torrent of muddy water poured down the side embankment, forcing her to hug the other side of the road. Slowly and steadily, she kept moving forward and crested the hill. Not wanting to risk getting the van mired in the muck, she turned it around so it pointed downhill. Racing across the drenched meadow, Harlan and Jane located the “Sunny Farms” metal sign with the flashlight. They took turns digging into the soaked earth, pulling up clumps of roots and grass shoots. Finally, the shovel tip hit a large metal box. Harlan reached into the hole and drew up the heavy, locked box.
Racing back to the van, they got in and secured the box. Jane slid it into low gear and gingerly worked her way back down the quickly disintegrating road. After catching a rock that pitched the vehicle sideways, Jane s
lowly eased the van back into place and continued inching down the treacherous incline. She drove for another few miles before finding a pullout off Highway 17 and parking.
Turning on the interior light, they examined the unearthed mystery. It looked like it might have been used as an ammo box during a past war, with its olive drab color and multiple dents and scratches. A simple combination padlock was the only thing between them and the contents.
“I say shoot the son-of-a-bitch off,” Harlan chimed in.
“Wait. Just try one combo. How about zero, one, seven.”
Jane shown the flashlight on the lock as Harlan spun the dial around and back. After coming around to seven, he lifted the hinge and it opened.
Harlan handed the box to her. “You look through it. I’m too nervous.”
Jane pulled the box closer and opened the lid. A letter-sized white envelope sat on top of the contents. Attached to the envelope was a square sticky note that had a small drawing of a pinecone in the upper left corner. On it were the handwritten words, “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” She showed it to Harlan.
“Who do you think he’s writin’ that to?” he asked.
Jane opened the sealed envelope and brought out the contents. “It’s five, one-hundred dollar bills.”
“That’s impossible, Jane,” he said, stunned. “How could—”
“Bank of Gabriel? Remember?”
“Yeah, but how could he know—”
“Oh my God,” Jane mumbled. She lifted a heavy, boxed and wrapped package out of the box that measured twelve inches square and eight inches high. Fingering the edges of the package, Jane knew exactly what was inside. “It’s more cash. A lot more cash.” She carefully unwrapped it and they stared at the box of greenback. “There’s gotta be more than half a million dollars here.”
“What’s that?” Harlan pointed to a folded note attached to one of the piles of cash.
Jane opened the note. Inside, she saw two words: “FOR MARION.”
“Look at that, Jane. Is that not a beautiful thing he did?”
Jane didn’t say a word. Her head was spinning with options.
