Chapter 14

 

AS I FIXED breakfast for the kids, I was so preoccupied that I almost burned the pancakes. The smell of smoke startled me out of my reverie and I flipped the hot-cake onto the stack sitting next to the range. A little crisped, but hey, Nanna always said that a little charcoal was good for the digestion.

Kip sidled into the kitchen. He silently placed a jar full of coins and dollar bills on the counter next to me. I glanced at the money.

“I take it that’s half of your savings?”

He winced. Yep, that was my son, a mercenary little goober if ever I met one. “Yes ma’am. And an extra dollar for Suzy and one for Tyler.”

I motioned for him to sit down, then flipped through the phone book until I found the number for The Bread & Butter House. As I dialed, Kip watched me, his lower lip jutting out. A woman answered the phone and I told her that we were interested in volunteering for a few weeks during September or October.

“Okay, we’re set for the first three Sundays in October.” I hung up the phone and placed his jar of money on one of the shelves high in the cupboard. No use leaving it around within temptation’s reach.

“Mom, what happens to people who don’t have any money or lose their jobs?” Kip began setting the table, unasked.

I wiped up a drip of batter that had fallen on the counter. “I suppose it depends on where they live. Some people ask for help from their families or the government. Other people end up losing their homes and have to rely on shelters, like the Bread & Butter House. And there are some folks who live on the streets and beg for help.”

He considered this for a moment. “In some countries, little kids die because they don’t get enough to eat. I saw it on an ad on TV.”

I put my hands on his shoulders and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Yes, honey,” I said gently. “In some countries, children die from starvation. Kip, life can be very hard, and we should never begrudge helping those in need.”

“If we give money to the Bread & Butter House, then we’re helping people who are hungry, right?” A spark flared in his eye. He was making the connection.

I nodded. “We sure are. And people who are homeless can stay there for a while.” The local chapter of the Inter-faith Coalition Against Hunger—ICAH—had turned a rambling, old Victorian on Sepia Street into a homeless shelter and a food bank. There weren’t many people in Chiqetaw who needed a free meal, but we banded together to make sure that help was there for anybody who needed it.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Kip raced up the stairs. When he returned, he had the rest of his money. “I want to help them—the hungry kids.”

I gulped down the lump rising in my throat. My son was growing up. Even though I knew he’d eventually regret giving away all his money, right now he needed to make the gesture, and I’d find a way to reward him without being obvious. “I’m so proud of you, Kip. And there are people you may never know who will be so grateful for what you’re doing. Now, why don’t you feed the cats and then wash up for breakfast? We’re having pancakes today, at least we will if I don’t burn them all.”

As I flipped the last of the hotcakes onto the warming plate, Randa wandered in. She retrieved the butter and syrup from the refrigerator and placed them on the table. The phone rang and I winced when I heard the voice on the other end of the line.

“Emerald? Why didn’t you return my call?”

Oh joy. Roy, the cretin. Hugging the phone to my ear with my shoulder, I transferred the pancakes to the table and motioned for the kids to dig in. “I’ve been busy the past few days. I own a business, remember?”

He snorted. “Right. You’re the tea lady. Big whoop.” Before I could say another word, he blurted out, “Did Kip give you the news? Tyra’s pregnant.”

I squelched the urge to pass on my condolences, more to the kid than either one of them. “Yeah, he did. Congratulations. When’s she due?”

“February third. The doctor said she’s small-hipped and may have to have a C-section. Tyra’s upset. She doesn’t want a scar.”

No scars, huh? That sounded about right, even if a scar meant an easier delivery. “Well, if the C-section is safer, then she shouldn’t worry about it.”

Roy cleared his throat. “Some people care about their looks, Emerald.”

I knew right then that it wasn’t Tyra who was concerned about a scar. Roy was worried his little trophy wife would be damaged. Impatiently, I asked, “So, what else is up? You have any time to see Kip and Miranda before summer’s over?”

“That’s why I was calling, actually. I’m making a business trip to Bellingham on the twenty-seventh. I’ll book a room and I want you to bring them over the next day.”

Amazing! The invisible father was actually uncloaking for a day. I glanced at the calendar. The twenty-eighth was a Thursday. I’d have to take off work but that was okay. We’d dodged the bullet of Labor Day, when the kids and I made our annual pilgrimage to Murray’s family fish fry over on the Quinault Reservation. We all looked forward to the holiday and I wouldn’t have been very happy if we had to cancel.

“I’ll put it on the calendar. Call me with your hotel and room number, and I’ll bring them over.” Roy wasn’t setting foot in or near my house. I’d happily drive the kids a hundred miles to see him, if it kept him out of my private life.

I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. Drumming my fingers on the counter, I asked, “Is there something more you want to talk about?”

Roy snorted. “Just can’t wait to get me off the phone, can you? By the way, I hear you’ve got yourself a boyfriend. I hope you aren’t exposing the kids to any unsavory influences.”

Oh jeez! He’d found out about Joe. I focused on the silent mantra that I always used when talking to Roy. Calm, calm, calm, remain calm, he’s just an idiot, he’s just a jerk. This time, it didn’t work. After counting to ten, I exploded. “Unsavory influences? I’m not the one who had sex in Miranda’s bed with my lover right when my daughter was due home from school!”

Oh God! Me and my big mouth. I cringed as Randa and Kip jerked their heads up, staring at me. How could I have been so stupid? I motioned for them to finish their breakfasts. Randa toyed with her pancakes and I knew she was fighting away the tears that still spilled out every time she remembered walking in on Roy while he was screwing Tyra, right on her little wicker bed. I’d burned that bed, along with Roy’s suits and underwear, right on the front lawn.

Roy was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was unusually restrained. “You’re never going to let me off the hook for that, are you?”

He had me there. I’d never let him forget. Randa had to live with the memory and so should he. However, that little fiasco had guaranteed me custody of the children. Roy hadn’t even bothered to fight the order, glad to have us all out of his hair. He didn’t like losing control, but neither did he want us around. Since this was the first time in over a year that he’d expressed any interested in seeing the kids, I figured that somebody must have shamed him into calling.

I slipped into the pantry and lowered my voice. “Roy, let me tell you one thing. You better not disappoint them. You may have a new baby on the way, but you fathered two children who are already on this earth and by God, you’d better start taking responsibility or I’m taking you back to court to terminate your visitation rights.”

After a moment, he broke the silence. “I’ll have my secretary call you to make arrangements for my visit. Oh, and Emerald—a piece of advice. Don’t get too serious over this guy. Once he figures out what a bitch you are, he’ll wise up and get out.” The phone went dead in my ear; Roy usually didn’t bother with niceties like “good-byes.”

I returned to the kitchen and replaced the receiver. “Your father will be in Bellingham on the twenty-eighth and wants to see you guys. I’ll drive you over.”

Kip perked up; he so very much wanted his father’s approval, even while he struggled to deal with feelings of abandonment and betrayal.

Randa just stared at her plate. “I don’t want to go.”

I winced. If only I could grant her wish. “I know you don’t, baby. It’s only one day, though, and the court said he has the right to see you. Afterward we’ll go out and do something special, okay?”

She nodded, silent. The rest of breakfast was a quiet affair. As I took off for the shop, the kids began to whisper while clearing the table. I wished I could have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

 

 

I HAD NO more than reached the shop at a few minutes after nine, when Jimbo and Murray pounded on the door. Murray was her usual stoic self, but Jimbo had a look on his face that could melt stone. Cinnamon glanced at them quizzically, then at me.

“Finish writing up the menu for the day, would you?” I told her. “Then you can do a little dusting and make sure the plates and napkins are out.” I hurried over to Murray and led them into the tearoom.

Jimbo swung his leg over the chair opposite me and leaned in close. “Clyde’s disappeared,” he said, his voice low. “I got a call this morning from Terry-T, his right-hand man. He told me that Clyde was supposed to gather everybody together for a meeting this morning, but then he didn’t show up. Terry-T searched his trailer… nada. What with what happened to Scar, the boys are worried. They don’t want to call the cops, though.”

Well, hell. Another missing biker. “Do you think… could Clyde and Scar have known each other back in—where was it? Grand Rapids? Could there be a connection to what went down back there?”

Jimbo shook his head. “Nope. Clyde lived in southern California most of his life until he joined the navy. That’s where I met him. We kept in touch when we got out, and when the boys started congregating in Klickavail Valley, I told him about it and he rode on up. We’ve never been really good friends, but I know his past and it doesn’t include any state east of Montana.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Murray spoke up. “We wanted you to come with us. We’re going to search the meadow while it’s daylight.”

Oh joy. My desire to head out to Klickavail Valley again was pretty much nil, but last night’s adventure in astral land had left me little choice. Not only was I involved, but I’d been asked for help and I knew better than to turn away from the request. The Warriors of the Mountain knew how to find me if I tried to ditch them. And then there was Scar. It was too late for him, but if Clyde was in danger, we might be able to intervene before it was too late.

“Okay, I finished up most of the paperwork on my desk yesterday. Let me tell Cinnamon I’m taking off.”

I instructed Cinnamon to open at ten as usual. “I have to head out for a few hours; something important has come up. I’ll take my cell phone in case of an emergency.”

We piled into my Mountaineer. As I drove along the road at a good clip, I asked Murray, “How did you get out of work today?”

She gave me a big grin. “Apparently, Coughlan got drunk yesterday and fell off the deck onto his woodpile. He broke his leg in three places and it looks like he’s going to have to have surgery. I’m free from his prying eyes for a couple of weeks, and the guys in the division aren’t all that thrilled with the wage freeze, so they won’t tell.”

The freeze on city employees’ salaries had been a subject for hot debate lately, and the paper was filled with Op-Ed pieces on the move. Thanks to reduced revenue from ill-advised tax cuts and rollbacks, Chiqetaw was feeling the pinch just as much as the entire state of Washington. Budget crunches were trickling down everywhere.

“Hmm… I’d say ‘too bad’ but it’s hard to feel sorry for the man. He’s such an ass. Hey, I’ve got a story for you.” I filled them in on last night’s sudden jolt onto the astral.

Jimbo let out a grunt. “O’Brien, you better watch your step. You may be a hoodoo woman like my granny, but you’re not invincible.”

Murray gave me a worried glance. “He’s right, Em. These spirits aren’t from our world. They’ve never been human and now they want you to help them? I dunno. Could they be setting you up?”

Could it be a setup? In my unusually addled state the night before, that thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Wonderful. Something new to worry about.

“Yeah, I guess it could be, but you know, I just don’t get the sense that they’re trying to fool me. They meant business.” As I turned the thought over in my mind, I knew for a fact that they wanted my help. The energy had been clear, if a little spooky.

“Watch your back, Em. I mean it.”

We fell silent as I followed Murray’s tire tracks, which were still visible from Wednesday night. We eased into the meadow and turned right, in the opposite direction of the enclave, toward the tree line. As we jolted along the rocky path that led through the copse buttressing the mountainside, Murray patted her pocket, checking her gun.

“If Clyde is out there hurt, we may be his only hope. I just pray that the Warriors won’t be there to greet us, because bullets won’t affect them.”

“We should be okay.” I glanced at the clock. Not quite ten. “I think they come out during the night.”

Just then, we entered the thin strip of meadow girding Klickavail Mountain. I stopped the car and we waited, looking at one another. After a moment, I took matters in hand and clambered out onto the grass. Murray and Jimbo joined me. The air was still, with only the whisper of a breeze. The drone of the bees and chirping of birds reverberated through the area, echoing with a torpid resonance.

Fighting the urge to jump back in the car, I cautiously rounded the fender and looked to my left, then to my right. No sign of the Warriors. Maybe they only came out if somebody mucked with the psychic energy field around here. Maybe they only came out in the dark. Maybe they really did want me to help them. Banking on luck, I hoped my balance was enough to prevent an overdraft.

I took a deep breath. “Now what?” Everybody jumped when I spoke, even though I’d kept my voice low.

Murray glanced at Jimbo, then at me. “We search.”

As a unit, we moved toward the mountain. Jimbo and Murray stepped back, letting me lead so that I could open up and try to pinpoint Clyde’s energy. Reluctantly, I let myself slide into trance, slowly dipping below the clear edge of consciousness. The droning of the bees became louder, and the hovering waves of heat intensified. Suddenly, I found myself heading toward a thicket of huckleberries and fern that covered a large boulder the locals called Turtle Rock. Mur and Jimbo followed close behind.

I let my feet follow the draw of the energy, skirting around a dense patch of brambles that jutted out from the woods, into the grassy meadow. Cautious, feeling like I was nearing something very cold, very dark, very—oh jeez! Up ahead, on the other side of the thicket, a biker was sprawled on the ground, his tank top covered with blood. And right beside him sat George, looking sick as a dog and totally out of it.

“Here!” I rushed forward. The biker wasn’t moving. George stared at me, bewildered, as I dropped to the ground by the body. I didn’t have to be a doctor to see that the man was dead.

“Clyde!” Jimbo hurried over to my side and grabbed the man’s wrist, trying desperately to feel for a pulse. He sat back, dazed.

Murray immediately pulled out her cell phone and began searching for a vantage point that would give her a clear signal. Jimbo glared at George, his eyes flashing. George cringed, but didn’t move. I scooted over next to the young man. He was sporting a purplish black eye and a few bruises, and he looked like he’d been through the wringer. Dried vomit covered his shirt, but I could see no other immediate visible damage. I looked around for his glasses, but couldn’t find them.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?”

He tried to fasten his gaze on my face, then blankly shook his head. I was about to ask him what happened when Murray tapped me on the shoulder.

“Em, can I speak to you over there? Jimmy, there’s nothing you can do. Clyde’s dead. Stay where you are please, so you don’t disturb the crime scene.” She led me aside, and when we were out of earshot said, “Did you ask George what happened?”

I shook my head. “I was about to when you came up. Why?”

She looked uncomfortable. “The M.E. is on his way. I need to question George. Officially, he’s going to be a suspect, and I don’t want anybody else bothering him until I decide whether I need to haul him in on a murder charge.”

George, a suspect? I stared at her, unbelieving. “You’re kidding? You think that George killed Clyde? I can believe that Clyde could kill George, but look at that dude. He’s a wimp. And look at Clyde.” The biker had been wearing a tank top and jeans, but no jacket. Even in death, it was easy to see how much time he’d put into sculpting his arms into formidable shape. “Compared to George, Clyde was a giant.”

“Remember the story of David and Goliath, Em.” Murray let her gaze trail over the scene. “This is so bizarre. You know, I got a good look at Scar’s body. Clyde’s injuries are suspiciously similar.”

“What? Now you’re saying George might have killed Scar, too?” My mind refused to accept the thought that George could have overpowered even one seasoned biker, let alone two. Maybe a grandma, or a paperboy, but the rough-and-tumble twins? There had to be another explanation. But then, reason countered, why else would George be sitting by Clyde’s corpse?

Murray leaned against a nearby stump. “Em, Clyde is dead, and who should be sitting right next to the body? George. I’m not saying he did it, but I have to consider him a suspect. If he’s innocent, why didn’t he go for help? We have to consider the possibility that he killed Clyde and then, realizing what he did, went into shock. And remember—we found him out at Miner’s Lake, near Scar’s body. He could have already known Scar was there.”

True, very true. And Murray was right, out-of-character acts could send a person into shock. So could some forms of psychosis, and if anybody seemed on the edge right now, it was George. I glanced back at him, he was casting looks at the dead biker to his left and at the very alive and angry biker to his right. “You’d better call off Jimbo or he’s likely to throttle the guy.”

Mur gave me a bleak smile. “Thanks. Would you go out to the main meadow? Keep a watch out for Deacon and Sandy? Show them the way here when they arrive. Meanwhile, I’ll go rein in Jimmy.”

Her cell phone rang and she flipped it open. After a few, brief words, she snapped it shut, looking stoic. “That was Chief Bonner. It appears that I’m now in charge of the investigation. Coughlan went into surgery for his broken leg this morning and he just had a heart attack on the table. They’re going to have to perform a triple bypass, and the doctors say his prognosis doesn’t look good.”

“Holy hell. What next?”

Shaking her head, Murray pulled out her notebook, and headed over toward George. I trudged back through the patch of woods that led to the main valley, trying to fit all the pieces together. Scar had been killed, even if Coughlan insisted on labeling his death as accidental. Now Clyde was dead. Surely, there had to be some connection between the two deaths?

And just how did George fit into all this? True, Jimbo had seen him get into a fistfight with Clyde, but had he known Scar? Coincidences happened, but something told me that everything going on here was interconnected. I just couldn’t see the threads yet.

I plunged out of the thicket right as the squad car pulled up. A line of bikers stretched across the entrance to their enclave, watching as the police arrived. Though their expressions were shaded from where I stood, their energy hailed loud and clear. Not happy. And they’d be even more unhappy when they found out their leader was dead. Of course, one of them might already know. One of them might just be the murderer.

Deacon Wilson was driving the cruiser, with Sandy Whitmeyer riding shotgun. I led them back through the thicket, where Murray filled them in on what was going down. Deacon glanced at Clyde’s body. “Stryker will be here in a while. He’s having brunch with his country club buddies.”

Murray nodded. “That figures. Okay, get George on his feet, if you would. Sandy, start looking around the scene for evidence.”

Deacon helped George to his feet, steadying the young man as he swayed and almost toppled over. George muttered something incoherent as Sandy bent over where he’d been sitting. Abruptly, he straightened and snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then took a picture of something lying in the grass before he picked it up. “Detective? I found a knife,” Sandy said, holding up the object he’d found. The blade was covered with a reddish substance. Blood. I knew it was blood.

Deacon frisked George and pulled out a plastic bag filled with tablets out of his left pocket. “Add to that a bag of roofies, and it looks like there’s blood on his jacket.” He said something to George, then helped him take off his jacket. I could see red splotches on the hem and one elbow as Deacon carefully folded it and placed it in the paper evidence bag. Uh oh, that couldn’t be good.

“Roofies?” I whispered to Jimbo, who was standing next to me. “What are those?”

He leaned close enough to whisper in my ear. “Rohypnol. Roofies. Commonly known as the date rape drug. Some of the boys… well… some of them aren’t all that choosy when it comes to how they make their money.”

I shuddered. I’d heard of roofies, all right, but never knew their name until now. I dreaded the day Randa started dating. There were so many dangers in the world.

Murray handed the camera to Sandy and looked at the knife, then at the bag of pills. “Bag these and mark them.” She asked George for his wallet and, still looking thoroughly confused, he handed it to her. Money spilled out onto the grass as he pulled the tri-fold out of his pocket.

“I think it’s about time to put Mr. Pleasant here under arrest. Read him his rights, Deacon, and make sure he understands them.” She slipped on a new pair of gloves and began picking up the money that had scattered onto the ground. “Sandy, count with me.”

After they’d sorted through all the bills, Murray jotted down a note in her book and the cash went into yet another bag. “About a thousand dollars here,” she said. I motioned to her and we moved aside.

“You really think George did it?”

She shrugged. “That’s not up to me to decide. But Em, the fact that they got into a fight last night and Clyde blackened George’s eye… well, it looks bad. He’s got a lot of answers to come up with, and so far, he’s barely said a word.”

“What about one of the other bikers? Now that you’re heading up the case, you can question them.”

With a curt nod, she said, “Don’t worry. We’ll question them, all right. But Em, face it. A bloody knife? Blood on George’s jacket, and a bag of pills? Toss in a thousand bucks, which is just about what those drugs are worth? I’m looking at this and the pieces are starting to add up.”

I stared at her. She’d shifted into that professional Murray-as-cop status I knew so well. Resigned, knowing she was following procedure like she should, I flashed her a tight smile. Just because my intuition was screaming that George was innocent, didn’t mean it was true.

“What do you think happened?” I asked.

She shrugged, motioning for Deacon to take George out to the squad car. “Looks to me like a drug deal gone sour. The kid decided he didn’t want to pay for them after all, so he killed Clyde and planned to take off with the roofies.”

“What’s wrong with George, though? He seems really sick. Why would he have stuck around if he killed Clyde?”

Mur gave me a gentle smile. “Emerald, I thought you could tell. George is hopped up higher than a hot-air balloon. He’s stoned out of his mind and I’m surprised he didn’t OD, he’s so high. Of course, they’ll do a drug test at the station, but ten to one, he’s had his fingers in the candy jar. There could be a dozen reasons why he’s still out here—I’m sure we’ll find out eventually.”

Stoned? Of course, it would explain George’s strange behavior, but a niggling suspicion of doubt worked away at my brain. Yes, George was annoying, and yes, he was a downright nuisance, but I had my doubts that he was a hardcore drug user. Then again, logic countered, you never could tell with some people. At any rate, there wasn’t much more to do here except wander around, waiting for the medical examiner.

Murray had Sandy take statements from Jimbo and me, but we couldn’t add much to her official report since she’d been with us when the body was found. We finished up by the time Stryker arrived. As they clicked away with their cameras, I felt my stomach lurch and excused myself. I hightailed it to the bushes, where I said hello to my breakfast again. With my mouth tasting like sour coffee, I poked around in my truck for a bottle of water and then popped a couple of breath mints. Jimbo gave me the first smile I’d seen since we found Clyde.

“Can’t handle the rough stuff, can you? Just like a broad.”

I glared at him. “Next time you need somebody to go ghost hunting, look elsewhere, would you? I’ve found just about all the dead bodies I care to, thank you muchly.” I stared at the technicians who were working up their report. “I wonder if Bear might know anything about what happened. He was out in this part of the meadow the other night when Murray and I came out here and he says he lives out here in the woods.”

Jimbo looked mystified. “I still can’t figure out which one of the guys you’re talking about. Here comes Anna.”

Murray wandered over. “Clyde’s wallet is missing,” she told us. “He’s not wearing a jacket, either, and though the days have been hot, it gets chilly out here at night.”

“I think George’s glasses are missing, too,” I said.

She jotted another note in her book. “Are they? I didn’t realize he wore glasses. Listen guys, we’ve got a lot of work to do here, so why don’t you head back to town? I’ll ride in with Stryker.”

Jimbo gave her a long look, and I knew it was the best good-bye they could manage with other people watching them. As he and I headed back to my Mountaineer and we pulled out of the woodland, I gave a last look backward. An inescapable feeling that we were being watched rushed over me. I glanced from side to side, but could see no sign of anyone—human or spirit—observing us. Glad to be leaving, I started the car and we headed out of the woods.