Broken Build (38 page)

“I called you names, too. I lied to you, but I would never hurt you deliberately.”

He glanced at her. “Is this confession time?”

“Maybe. I want to spend the rest of my life making things up to you. I want you to be happy.”

A smile trickled to his face. So, she wanted to spend her life with him, after all. She truly did love him. After they find Christy, he’d take her to an intimate restaurant, the corner booth, get on his knees and open the velvet box. He switched the wiper blades to high as the snow began to fall and turned on the radio to his favorite station of eighties rock. The music reminded him of his dad. Would he be glad to hear from them? He’d call when they were closer.

Jen fidgeted in her seat, possibly embarrassed by her admission. He poked her arm. “I’m going to hold you to what you just said.”

His grin was met by a blush and a forced swallow. Her right hand was tucked in her jacket pocket where she had put the velvet box. He leaned closer and turned the air vent toward her, causing her hair to flutter. “Let’s play twenty questions. Since we’re spending the rest of our lives together, I want to know everything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Her voice quavered. She looked over her shoulder as if someone were sitting in the back seat.

“How about your parents? Where are they from?” He’d start with something easy. Anything to pass the time until they arrived in Reno. With luck, the Reno police would have already arrested Sammy for taking an underage girl across state lines.

“My mother’s family’s from Puerto Rico, but my father’s Cajun from Louisiana.”

“How did they meet?”

“Mami won a beauty contest, and Pop’s band was there for a gig. I guess the Americano swept Mami off her feet.”

“That’s cute. And you’re nine years older than Christy, so they must have stayed together at least until you were nine?”

“Not really. They got married but never divorced. It was off and on, and off and on. I don’t think he really loved us kids.” After a pause she asked, “What about your parents? They’re divorced?”

He told her about his sister and her Down’s syndrome. “Some people can’t accept disabilities. I don’t understand it. When someone is weak and needs help, it makes me care for them more, not less. But I guess my dad felt Vivian reflected badly on him. He didn’t much like me either. Called me a sissy.”

Jen took his hand and traced letters in his palm. I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-S-I-S-S-Y.

“I’m going to get you for that.”

She traced. S-E-E-I-F-Y-O-U-D-A-R-E.

“I can’t wait.” He slid his hand up her thigh, and she slapped it.

As they approached Lake Tahoe, Dave pulled out his phone to call his father. “There’s no signal. How about yours?”

Jen checked her phone and shook her head. “What’s happening? Are we out of range?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the weather.” They drove several miles, but the snow flurries reduced visibility to a few car lengths, slowing traffic to a crawl. “Still no signal?”

Jen bit her lips. “No. Do you think we can make it to Reno at this rate?”

“We’re not far from my cabin,” Dave said. “It’s on the north shore of Tahoe. I have a landline there.”

The wind howled and pushed the SUV around. Dave reprogrammed his GPS, engaged 4WD, and turned on his fog lights. About forty-five minutes later, they pulled up to a small wooden house buried in drifts of snow among a stand of fir trees.

Chapter 37

Jen shoved her hands in her pockets while Dave retrieved a snow shovel from the shed and cleared the driveway. She gripped the velvet box, rubbing it like a charm. She should be curious, excited, and swooning. Any normal woman would have slobbered all over Mr. Dave Jewell’s toes to receive a gift from him. So why was she numb, as if she had been inoculated, anesthetized, almost as if there were a wall behind which she existed, feeling as if Jen Jones was a silent observer into the life of Jennifer Cruz, or was it the other way around?

He bent over with the shovel, his jeans stretching over a nice tight behind. The buzz cut accentuated the angular planes of his masculine face, and the light from the SUV threw shadows of his perfect form on the snowdrift.

Wiping his brow, he turned and cast a sidelong grin at her. Caught! Her heart would lodge permanently in her throat if he didn’t stop bending and flexing up the long driveway.

Too soon, the show was over. Dave moved the SUV into the carport, dragged a log off the woodpile and opened the door. “Sorry, but this place is really primitive.”

He flicked on the lights while Jen stomped the snow off her sneakers. “I do have electricity and plumbing,” he said, “but the gas is off, so we’ll have to build a fire.”

“It’s okay, as long as your phone works.” Jen rubbed her hands, still chilled.

The cabin was like a place out of the 1950’s. The kitchen table was laminate surrounded by a chrome frame with two-toned red and white vinyl chairs with chrome legs. The refrigerator and stove had that rounded look, again trimmed with plenty of chrome, knobs, and dials. Not a keypad or digital display anywhere. A black and white cat wall clock, the kind with eyes that move back and forth with a pendulum tail, watched from the cabinet wall. There, on the laminate countertop, sat a black telephone with a rotary dial.

Jen went straight to the phone to call the Reno police. She dialed 4-1-1, turning each number around until her finger hit the silver hook and waiting for the dial to rewind back to starting position. The handset was heavy enough to knock someone out cold. The automated voice transferred her.

“Reno Police Department, how may I direct your call?”

She gave the case number assigned by the San José police and asked for an update on the Christy Cruz search. A few seconds later, she was put through to the sergeant in charge.

“We have good news,” he said. “Your sister is safe with her father.”

“Father? Where?” Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you sure she’s safe?”

Why would her roustabout father, who wouldn’t even speak to her, be meeting Christy in Reno? And why would Christy rather have her father than Jen at the wedding chapel?

The sergeant shuffled some papers in the background. “We consider the case closed.”

“But… she’s underage, and there’s a young man she’s with who’s involved in a gang.”

“Hold your horses,” the sergeant grunted. “Ms. Cruz was not with any young man.”

“Maybe he’s posing as her father. Let me speak to her. She’s not answering her cell phone.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you. Are you sure you’re her sister and not a reporter?”

“I swear I’m her sister. My mother’s name is Maria Cruz. I’m sure no reporter knows this. My father is Len Jones of Patterson, Louisiana.”

“That’s not her father’s name.”

“What do you mean?” Dizziness overflowed Jen, and she leaned back on Dave.

She cupped the phone. “He says Christy’s with her father, and his name is not Len Jones.”

“Keep talking to him,” Dave said. “Get him to tell you where she can be contacted. She’s a minor.”

“Sergeant?” Jen said. “Please tell her, Jennifer Cruz, her sister, is very worried about her and I’m stuck in a snowstorm trying to find her. Oh, and my cell doesn’t work, the tower must be down.”

“Sure, and I’m Big Foot. A number where you can be reached?”

Jen gave him the cabin number, and he promised to contact her immediately. She hung up and shivered in Dave’s embrace. “I should have known. Christy was acting weird after finding her birth certificate. She shoved it in her purse like it was nothing.”

Dave rubbed her shoulders. “You couldn’t have known. Did they say she’s safe? Maybe I should call my father. See if he heard anything on the news.”

“No. Keep the line open until after I hear from Christy. When the roads clear up, we can go get her.”

“I’ll make a fire. You’ll be okay?” He kissed her.

Jen sat on the barstool next to the phone. Moments later, it rang and she snatched it off the cradle. “Christy?”

“I’m okay, Jen. I found my father, and he’s really nice. I can’t believe no one told me.”

“Slow down. Where’s Sammy?”

“Sammy left already. He saved me. His friends were after
your
memory stick. A bunch of us copied poems and turned it into English and Mrs. Sanders was suspecting us. The next I knew, Sammy asks me where the stick was. I told him I didn’t know, and he took me to his house saying it would be the last place they’d look for me. And sure enough, they beat up Mr. and Mrs. Walker, but I heard they’re okay and they ransacked my room. So Sammy says this isn’t safe and I looked up my father, and you know he’s Dave’s father? I’m like I know a guy named Dave Jewell, and—”

Jen dropped the handset with a loud thud. The black and white checked floor turned and hit her as the chrome stool toppled.

Alarm bells clanged in her head, and a pesky hand was gently slapping her cheek and dripping water over her forehead.

She pushed the hand from her face and coughed. “What happened?”

Dave cradled her head. “You passed out. Are you okay?”

“No! How can I be okay? Did you speak to Christy?”

His face was grim and his eyes serious. “I also spoke to my father. I don’t know what to say. It’s a big shock.”

Jen fanned her face, feeling faint again. “How could this be? I feel like I’m in some strange nightmare… nothing is what it seems. And you! Did you know?”

His eyes opened wide and his nostrils flared. “Me? No! Who would have thought? I mean, I knew my parents had problems, especially after Vivian was born…”

Jen covered her eyes. “I can’t believe my mother would do such a thing. She was a devout Catholic.”

“Don’t be too hard on her. She must have been lonely.” He picked Jen up and put her on the furry rug in front of the fireplace. “Lie down and relax. I’ll go get pizza. Is that okay, or do you want to go out?”

“Whatever you decide. Is there a bathroom?” Jen refused to think about her mother. Just flat refused. This couldn’t be true. It had to be a cruel, cruel joke. Christy was yanking her chain. Dave’s brain was abducted by aliens, and well, the sergeant, he was plain mean. Big Foot… more like the Abominable Snowman.

Dave pulled Jen to her feet. “Oh, I’ve been so rude. The tour.”

Everything from the tin signs along the wall advertising “Moxie” and “Remington Shotguns” to the Western Tin table lamps and the duck decoys spoke of antiques. A collection of lunchboxes, a Marilyn Monroe round fashion tote, Gumby and Pokey and Felix the Cat toys lined the shelves. The furniture was comfy and worn, chintz sofas covered with psychedelic afghans and tie-dyed chair coverings.

“Uh… the bathroom?” Jen prodded him.

He steered her to the bedroom. “The bath’s in the back.”

Jen bypassed the rustic four-poster bed and hurried to the toilet. The bathroom was vintage with a clawfoot tub, nosegay blue wallpaper and knotty pine cabinets with old fashioned hardware brackets. After she flushed, she picked up a Betty Boop soap dispenser and squirted pink soap on her hands.

She emerged from the bathroom, freshened up, and realized she had no change of clothes. In fact, no toothbrush, no underwear, no contact lens case, nothing. The Victoria’s Secret bag sat on the pillow with a note.

Hoping to find some slippers or at least a robe, she opened the bag and pulled out a slinky red dress that barely covered anything. Her face flushed, and she shoved it back. She’d have him know she wasn’t that kind of girl!

The note read:
Be right back with dinner and supplies. Love, Dave.
A heart enclosed his name. A warm, soothing feeling made her smile as she kissed the note.

Her hand crept to the velvet box in her jacket. What would happen if she opened it? Just a peek. Perhaps it wasn’t what she thought it was. It’s not like he would know her finger size. Would she be disappointed if it were a necklace, or a pair of earrings? Like Pandora, she pondered the box and flipped it every which way.

But Dave deserved to watch her open it. And if it were a prank, he’d get a laugh. He’d been so kind to her, believing her innocence all along. A flurry of expectation heated her insides. She set the box on the pine dresser and rummaged for a towel. The water would be freezing, but she could remove the grime of the day and relax in front of the fire and not think about her family.

To her surprise, a switch pointed to an electric water heater. Thank goodness for modern conveniences. She flipped it on and found a bar of lavender soap and lavender mint shampoo.

After a refreshing shower, she emerged from the bathroom. The Victoria’s Secret bag beckoned. Had he gotten her size right? Curious, she wiggled into it without wearing underwear. Shockingly the strips across the chest covered just the right places while the ladders up the sides left her feeling confidently exposed with her wounds entirely covered. Digging in the top drawer, she found a couple of bottles of nail polish. She pulled her hair into a vintage hairdryer, the kind with a bonnet and hose, just like the ones on
I Love Lucy
, and sat back to crank open the nail polish.

After several bottles, she found one that flowed a flaming red.

* * *

Dave shook off the snow and dragged in the groceries, pizza, wings and drinks. He had picked up a sweatshirt and sweatpants for Jen to sleep in and even hazarded to buy panties, hoping he guessed the right size. He needed to use the bathroom. As he approached the bedroom, the sound of a small motor reached him.

“Jen? You decent?” He asked. There was no answer.

Worried, he cracked the door open. Jen sat on the bed painting her toenails, her head encased in the old-fashioned hairdryer. A poker shot straight to his loins. She wore nothing but the slinky laddered dress. And she was smoking hot. The onrush of blood through his ears drowned the drone of the hairdryer. His fingers tingled to touch, and his legs flexed to leap on her, but if he didn’t get into the bathroom he’d explode. Without greeting her, he ran for the bathroom door and slammed it, breathing as if he had just run a marathon.

The hairdryer turned off. She had no doubt seen his mad dash. Should he come out? Or was she changing? The thought of her naked had his body on full alert. He zipped his jeans with difficulty and washed his hands.