15

 

Unwilling to ask Citrine for any sort of favors, I opted not to wash my muddy clothes at the Lightning Bug. Instead, I hauled everything to the coin-operated laundry in the center of La Foudre. The trip took all of ten minutes. I bought a terribly unhealthy lunch at the mini-mart next door. I settled into an orange plastic seat straight out of the sixties to wait out the machines.

I needed to get out of that house. If I still had to be here in La Foudre after the harvest festival ended, I was moving to the first hotel room that opened up, even if it meant driving to a nearby parish to find one.

I sat in the back of the Mr. Sudsy Laundromat reveling in the smell of breezy-fresh detergent and snack machine junk food. The scents, sounds, and sticky warm air took me back to my college days at University of Washington. I lived in the dorms and hung out, with no greater worry than my next exam. I smiled a little. I still wore the same ratty Star Wars shirt to bed. Not much had changed, and yet everything had changed.

Tipping the extra-large slushie towards me, I sipped the cherry goodness and opened my laptop. Waiting for my programs to start up, I thought about this morning’s visit with Everest and felt more unsettled than before.

He moved in my social circle, often invited to charity balls and events affiliated with some of the causes my parents promoted. I knew him, to nod at him, but not much more than that. His Eco-Warriors were more flashy, more rock-star, as my mother called it, to really be a large part of the more established charities and activist organizations. Something about him put me off. Maybe he was too slick. Maybe he just wasn’t Jake.

Stop it. Jake made it clear where you stand.

The bell over the door jangled and a young man, tubby and vaguely familiar, walked in with a black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder.

He caught sight of me, nodded slightly, “Red,” he said, and ambled towards the row of washing machines at the other end of the room.

I smiled reflexively, but he didn’t see it. Too busy feeding coins into the mini-detergent box machine to notice.

I took in his uniform and spikey hair and remembered where I saw him before. At Verona’s. He was eating breakfast outside on the lawn when I went in the first time with Jake. Dirty brown hair, freckles across his ample nose, and close-set ice-blue eyes. He looked young.

My program pinged and pulled my attention back to the laptop. I typed in Reyna’s web address, navigated her web page, and punched in the number code she’d given me over the phone.

A text bubble popped up, a message from Reyna.

 

Hey there, Riley,

This is what I have as of this morning. I’ll upload more as it trickles in. Let me know if you have any questions.

RC

 

I opened the first document, Randy’s transcripts from Tulane, and skimmed them, taking notes on a pad of paper next to my laptop. Next document looked like a compilation of information floating around on the internet. News articles with Randy in them from awards he’d won at school, scholarships, and things like that. I came across a snippet from the Tulane newsletter naming the Drake Foundation as a large contributor to the school’s new sciences wing. I jotted down the name of the department head. I’d never heard of this donation, not that I knew everything my parents’ foundation did, but I should have known of something this big.

The Drake Foundation is funded by fundraisers, grants, and generous donations from stars and wealthy activists. My mother’s speaking fees and my father’s law firm monies are separate. It’s always been that way, so seeing a donation by the foundation on behalf of my brother struck me as unusual.

The bell dinged again.

A black woman with two small kids pushed through the door. She wore her short hair in a neat bob, her two girls identical in every way except clothing color. Twins.

I smiled.

Doing a double take, she squinted, her brow furrowing. “Who’s that?”

Was she asking me my name?

“I’m sorry, what?” I stared, bewildered.

The young man in the waders looked over, his face going tense. “How’re you doing there, Sierra?”

“How do you think I’m doing, Kale?” She didn’t look at him; she kept her eyes locked on me, anger palpable. “Why don’t you ask the girls how they’re doing without their daddy?”

I knew then I was a surrogate for Randy. My presence here meant fire and hate and sorrow.

Kale stepped between us. “Hold on now,” he put his hand on her shoulder. “She’s here to help Jake figure out what happe—”

She batted his hand away. “That’s not what I heard,” she cut across him, her voice cracking with anger. “I heard Jake was investigating her, that she had some part, after all.”

I stood where I was, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You heard me,” she seethed.

I could feel the pain roll off of her.

“Was on the news.”

Really?

“The news said I was a suspect?”

“What, you’re denying it?”

“Yes, I’m denying it. It’s not true. I tried to stop my brother. I didn’t help him!”

Kale reached into his waders and pulled out a cell phone. He pressed a button and held it to his ear, watching us with wary eyes.

I didn’t catch what he mumbled into the cell phone because Sierra threw her box of dryer sheets at me and I had to duck.

“Have you lost your mind?” I yelled, flabbergasted.

I saw the anguish on her face and knew to some extent, she had lost an essential part of her life.

My throat constricted with the knowledge that she and her babies would never be the same. I bent over, picked up the box of dryer sheets and put it on the counter.

“I’ve lost more than you can ever know, thanks to you and your corrupt family,” she screamed. “You were here when it happened, you have secret notes that you hid from the FBI, and Channel Five said they had a source. One close to the investigation.” She spat the last part at me and a bitter grimace distorted her pretty face. “And we all know how close you and Sheriff Ayers have been getting. Maybe that’s why you’re not rotting in a cell, right now.”

Her girls stared at their mama with wide-eyed worry and their lips trembled.

Kale closed his phone and glanced out the window.

“Arrête, Sierra,” Kale said to her. “Leave her be.”

“She’s out here to cover things up for her family,” Sierra growled. Reaching into her laundry bag, she grabbed a handful of clothes and threw them across the row of washing machines at me. “How could you do that? How can you live with yourself?”

I side-stepped the rain of dirty laundry, hands balled into fists. I felt sick as a wave of frustration slammed into me. I was tired of being lumped with the rest of my family. I was tired of taking the blows for what someone else did.

“I’m not in jail because it isn’t true.”

Sierra didn’t answer; she whipped her head around, eyes searching frantically for something. She grabbed a pile of hangers on the washer next to her.

“Sierra,” Kale yelled, but it was too late.

She hurled the stack at me, the metal hangers pinging and bouncing off the dryers as I ducked.

I lost my temper. I grabbed the first thing I saw and hurled it at her. Red slushie burst everywhere as the cup smacked her square in the chest. She gasped with the cold or the shock.

Her girls jumped back with dual squeals and burst into tears.

I felt like a complete jerk for a split second, before she lunged for me.

“Come here!” She scaled those washers like she did it every day, her arms wind milling, reaching for me.

Jake yanked open the glass door in a full run and he grabbed her by the waistband before she made it over.

“Whoa.” He grimaced with the effort as he pulled her. “Mrs. Benson…Sierra!”

She froze, her eyes going watery, and then she went limp, letting Jake help her off the washer. She whimpered, and then cried in his arms.

Her daughters ran to hug her legs. Their small mouths turned down as they joined in.

Over her shoulder, Jake shot a look of complete exasperation at me.

I stood there panting, a hanger dangling from my knotted hair.

“Did you throw your slushie at her?”

“S-She threw stuff first.” I sounded like a bratty kindergartener.

“Go wait for me in the squad car, Riley,” Jake said with a calm that didn’t match the look on his face.

I pointed to the hanger swinging by my ear. “I didn’t start th—”

“The car.”

I shot a look at Kale, who put tremendous effort into keeping his eyes on the detergent box in his hands.

Frustrated and shaking, I ripped the hangar from my hair, grabbed my laptop and purse, and strode out of the Mr. Sudsy.

I sat in the car simmering for a few minutes before opening up my laptop and forcing myself to read through the documents from Reyna. Work made me strong. The focus pushed problems aside. At the very least, I could get something done while I waited for Jake.

I scanned Randy’s DMV records, some stuff about his engineering fellowship and a blurb in the department newsletter about him being a part of some sort of safety commission. This didn’t sound familiar. I made a mental note to check it out later.

Reyna also managed to find a copy of his recent bank statement, which surprised me, considering the FBI investigation. I read through it, but nothing jumped out. Mostly gas and grocery store names.

A half-hour later, Jake strolled out of the laundromat with Sierra. He held her daughters, one in each arm, and walked them to their car. I watched him help them buckle, and then Sierra got in and drove away.

Kale ran out with a garbage bag, handed it to Jake, and then turned to give me a smile and the thumbs-up sign before running back inside.

Jake opened the trunk, tossed the bag in, and then slipped in the driver’s seat. He looked at me with tired eyes. “Are you OK?”

Expecting a tirade, I nodded dumbly, not sure what to say. “I’m fine. You have good timing.”

“I was just down the road.”

“Oh.”

“Kale bagged your clothes. The dryer dinged when I was in there.”

“OK.” I raked fingers through my hair and tried to smooth it out. “Thanks.”

Jake turned, his face sad. “Kale told me what happened. I know it wasn’t your fault.” He didn’t seem convinced.

I looked out my side window. I didn’t want him to see the tears. I didn’t want to look weak after so small an incident. Hadn’t my father faced down Japanese harpoons? What’s a box of dryer sheets compared to that?

“Are you going to talk to me, Riley?”

I shook my head, not facing him.

His radio squelched. Toughie’s voice came through small and far away. “Coroner’s report came in on Dauby,” he said. “And I got a line on Faulk.”

“I’ll be in.”

“You want me to send Rick over to the medical pl—”

“I said, I’ll be in,” Jake interrupted him.

I turned at the tone of his voice.

“I’ve got Riley in the squad and I’ll talk to you later.”

A slight hesitation, then Toughie came back, “See you when you get here.”

“What was that about?”

“It’s nothing.”

I didn’t believe him.

He’d made a point to let Toughie know I was in the car, that I was listening.

Who was Faulk?

I decided to ask him after the slushie incident had some time to fade.

“Are you going to tell me what the coroner said?” I asked.

Jake leaned back against the headrest, his face to me. “Once I know, yeah.”

He tried for nonchalant, but I read the guilt in his eyes.

“What aren’t you telling me, Jake?”

His gaze slid away. “Nothing.”

A lot of “nothing” going on.

I bit my lip and debated whether or not to share what I hired Reyna to do. Running a palm across the cover of the laptop, I decided to tell him everything. Maybe something Reyna uncovered would make sense to him. Maybe I was too close to the whole investigation.

“Jake I have to tell you about someth—”

“I’m sorry about the fax.” He interrupted me. His expression was apologetic; it caught me off-guard. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I should’ve believed in you.”

My lip trembled as relief washed over me. My hand went over my racing heart, and I worried that it mattered so much to hear him say that.

“Thanks,” was all I could muster without my voice cracking. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

He ran the back of his index finger down my forearm to my wrist. “Can you forgive me?”

His touch sent my stomach fluttering, but his question stunned me. No one asked for that anymore, did they?

“Y –Yes.”

“Sorry I couldn’t say that sooner. I left before you woke up this morning.”

“No, I left early. I had to drive into Thibodaux.”

“Why’s that?” His brow furrowed over his dark eyes.

“I went to see Everest Jones.”

“The activist guy?”

“Yeah, I went to show him this…” I dug in my purse and pulled out Randy’s letter. I pointed to the symbol I burned over the light bulb. “It’s made out of milk.”

Jake took the letter, squinted at the symbol, and looked at me. “What is it?”

“I have no idea.”

“But you showed evidence to a member of the media?” He shook the letter at me. “You showed this around?”

“He’s not a member of the media, Jake, he’s an activist.”

“Whose face shows up on the news every two days?” He muttered something under his breath.

I didn’t like his sudden annoyance for such a small thing.

“Yes. I showed it to him, why is that so terrible?”

Jake shook his head and threw the letter on the dashboard. “Your name is all over the news, Riley, as a possible accessory to the plant explosion, and now this?”

That’s right. Sierra just said that.

“Where is this accusation coming from?” I didn’t understand. “Why now, and not a month ago?”

“I got a call from the Staties. They want to know about your stay here prior to us finding Dauby.” He shrugged, concerned. “Sheila said the FBI called this morning, too.”

“They’re running down rumors, Jake.” I waved his worry away. “Probably some reporter desperate to break a big story.”

It bothered me that I struggled to reach the truth while others, apparently, printed whatever juicy tidbit came their way.

Jake looked at me, frustrated. “Yeah, well it doesn’t matter to the FBI, does it?”

My voice hitched up. “What is the matter? I showed Randy’s symbol to one guy…” Then I winced.

“What?”

“I sort of asked him to show it around to his volunteers.”

Jake pressed the heel of his hand to his right eye, sighing. “Aidez-moi,” he breathed.

“What?”

“I said, help me,” he snapped. “Help me, Riley, to understand why you keep sabotaging this investigation?”

“I’m not.”

Jake leaned towards me, stopped himself, and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “I’m trying not to lose control of this whole thing and you go around showering the airwaves with confidential information.” He looked at me like I was a stupid child. “Did you leak to the news? Was that you?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that.” I was shocked and hurt.

“You just did with that Everest guy, why not Channel Five?” He picked up his radio, but I pulled on his sleeve.

“Who is Faulk?”

Jake shook his head. “No.”

“You can’t freeze me out, Jake. You can’t.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing for now, Riley. This goes further than your brother, now. It got that boy, Dauby, killed, and me almost beheaded.”

“Jake, you can’t shut me out of the investigation. I can’t walk away from this, not now.” I fought to keep the tremor from my voice.

“Did you and I just witness the same disaster in there?” He nodded towards the Mr. Sudsy.

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“It’s not a matter of fault.” He looked sad again. “You being here, you make things…harder, for us.”

“Us,” I repeated.

Jake and his parish, no room for anyone else.

I chided myself for hoping for more.

“Maybe you should just…maybe you should just step back and let the authorities investigate.” His words cut through me, tearing at my heart.

“You want me to leave?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want.” He looked down, his face pained.

“What about what I want?” I touched his face with trembling fingers. “What if I’m not ready to leave here?”

“I told you, the investigation—”

“What if that’s not the only reason I want to stay?”

He brought his hand up, took my fingers, and brushed his lips across my palm. The anguish in his dark eyes made my heart stutter.

“Je suis désolé, Riley,” He answered. “I’m sorry.”

“Jake,” I breathed, wounded.

He didn’t answer, he just let go of my hand, gripped the steering wheel, and shook his head slowly.

My breath caught. I blinked the tears back and gathered my things. I walked ramrod straight to the rented sedan. As I pulled out of the lot, I caught a glimpse of Jake.

He had his elbows on the steering wheel, his head in his hands.

My phone buzzed and I pulled it out. Reyna’s number and picture flashed on the screen.

“Hey Reyna,” I said, through sniffles.

“Uh-oh,” she said slowly. “Bad time?”