Clean Lines (Cedar Tree #4) (11 page)

The past few days have been a little surreal. I'm out of my element; living out of a suitcase in Gus and Emma's guesthouse, not having my own stuff around me. No regular schedule, so I feel like I'm flying by the seat of my pants most of the time. And Fox is home so there isn't even his schedule to depend on, to help keep me grounded. I feel adrift and sinking. It doesn't help that I haven't seen Joe since our little escapade in the cornfield. Good grief what an explosion of pent up frustration that was. All wrapped in about two minutes of lips and hands, but two minutes that left a deep impression. A deep craving for much, much more of
that
. But despite a phone call to let me know he had received some good information from Michael and would likely be busy until he had a handle on these guys, there hadn't been much from him. A daily drag into work, which is becoming more and more taxing—despite the love I have for my job—and one trip to Arlene's Diner with Fox, to meet Katie and Caleb for dinner before I had to leave for Cortez again. Also, still no word on James. When I saw Gus in the driveway yesterday morning, he mentioned his buddy with the Phoenix PD was being extra cautious, checking some 'stuff' out; whatever that means. So yeah, I'm spinning... in a downward spiral and I don't like this feeling at all.

"Mom! Joe's on the phone."

I shoot up straight in the bed. Must've finally fallen asleep after all. Still groggy, I grope around the nightstand for my phone but come up empty.

"MOM! Phone!"

Right. I left it on the kitchen counter on purpose when I went to bed. I pull on some yoga pants and pad into the living room, where Fox is making a sandwich in the kitchen, my phone on the counter.

"Please tell me you weren't hollering into the phone?"

He just shrugs. Great, Joe must be deaf by now. I pick it up and sink down on the couch.

"Are your ears ringing?"

The low chuckle on the line has an instant effect on my lower belly.

"I'll live."

"Good to know."

"Doc," his voice suddenly turns serious, "We received a report from one of your neighbors this morning."

I sit up straight, tension immediately clamping down on my body.

"Why? What's wrong?"

I notice Fox throwing me a concerned look and lightly shake my head, but it apparently, I’m not convincing enough to throw him off because he’s now glaring.

"They knew you were gone for a couple of days..."

"Yes. I told them we would be until next week."

"Right. So when they saw some debris on the back lawn and blinds hanging out from a broken window on the upstairs level, they called it in. I went and checked. Wanted to do that before calling you in, because I know you just got off shift. I checked to see if you were still at the hospital first. Honey, it looks like someone broke in and vandalized your house."

I'm already on my way to the bedroom to get dressed, the phone still plastered to my ear.

"I'm on my way."

"Actually, no.
I'm
on my way. I'm turning onto County Road G now and will be there shortly. I think it's better if Fox stays there though. Trust me on this." His voice sounds so solemn, it's making my chest compress with fear.

"I've called Caleb and he's heading to your place now to take him to the shooting range for a distraction. He'll love it."

"Okay."

I'm too stunned to object to the prospect of my son handling an actual gun. Something I'd be dead-set against under normal circumstances. God knows I fought against that stupid Xbox long enough before finally caving. But this wasn't the time. Plus I was fast becoming scared enough to think maybe having Fox able to handle a real gun was not such a bad idea after all.

"Babe?" Joe's voice breaks through my running thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I'm hanging up now. Be there soon. Go talk to Fox and prepare him?"

"Okay."

I pull on some jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, not even checking to see if it's clean or dirty. Who the fuck cares? When I walk out of the bedroom, Fox is still in the kitchen looking at me.

"What happened?"

Trying to pull myself together, I plaster as neutral of an expression as possible on my face.

"Well, seems someone thought it was a good idea to make use of the fact that we’re not home and broke in. Joe doesn't know what exactly is missing if anything, so he's coming to pick me up to go check it out. But the best part is that Caleb’s apparently on his way here to pick you up. He's going to the shooting range to practice and thought you might like to go."

The play of emotions on his face is almost comical, changing from shock to anger to excitement and finally settling on suspicion.

"Why are you okay with that all of a sudden? What's going on? You hate guns, hate me around guns. You've told me often enough. You don't even like me playing 'Call of Duty.'"

Yup. My son is not stupid. That and sixteen-year-olds are not as easily distracted as three-year-olds are; not by a long shot.

"Look, I don't know exactly what's up with the house. Joe didn't say, so I'm going to check it out with him, but I think you heading out to the range with Caleb isn’t such a bad idea. You've been cooped up here long enough. You could do with some 'man-time' or whatever, and I really need to check this out without having you worry about me, or me worrying about you. Fair enough?"

After a long stare, he finally nods and then a slow smile spreads over his face. "You're gonna let me shoot a gun?"

I suppress a full-body shudder. "Just don't look so happy about it."

He fist pumps his good arm in the air. Still a kid after all.

"Holy shit, Joe."

He warned me the place had been ransacked, but I'm not quite prepared to see the utter destruction of all my belongings. Not to mention some substantial damage to the house itself. This goes light-years beyond vandalism. Whoever has done this has no interest in stealing any property; they were out for devastation. I'm sure once the shock wears off, that's exactly what I'll feel; total and utter devastation at the loss of my home, my things. Little fragments of recognition peek at me from the ruins of my living room. The torn corner of a picture of Fox riding his first bike, a shard from a replica of Ute pottery I bought at Mesa Verde years ago. I could go on, as I step around the broken bits and pieces of my trampled life around me.

"I know, honey. Try not to touch anything. Cortez PD lab guys have gone through briefly already, but we want to keep everything as is for now. Is there anything here that jumps out at you?"

"Just that this doesn't look like any ordinary burglary to me. Looks like a wrecking ball came through."

"Yeah. Looked that way to us too. Okay, let's head upstairs."

The landing is deceptively untouched and I'm thinking maybe they left the second floor untouched, until we step into my bedroom. This is obviously the window the neighbors saw broken out, since my blinds are bouncing in the wind, against the siding on the outside of the house. My beautiful rustic queen-sized canopy bed that I bought at an estate sale four years ago, has two of the four posts splintered and broken. The gauze canopy is shredded, my bedding ripped and tossed around the room and the nauseating smell of bleach alerts me to what I'm likely to find in my drawers and my closet. No piece of clothing seems to have gotten away unscathed. When I look into the bathroom, it's in no better state.

I'm numb and am barely registering what my eyes are seeing. Self-preservation, I'm sure. If I let the full impact of what happened here penetrate, I will lose it. I will. I will lose my ever-loving mind for good this time.

I turn to Joe. "What about Fox's room? His things?"

Joe winces. "This is where it gets weird," he says before he opens the door to Fox's bedroom.

I stand in the doorway, stunned. After everything I've seen in the past ten minutes, this one has me floored. Fox's room is completely untouched. Nothing. Wait... there's something written on the wall over his bed.

Feeling guilty? Good. Be glad your mother wasn't here.

"Holy shit..." is all I manage as cold child ripples down my spine.

"Yep... this is why I didn't think Fox coming here would be such a good idea," Joe mumbles behind me.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Let's get out of here..." Joe urges my numb body down the stairs, out the door and into his truck.

I take a look back at the house that has been so welcoming to me for years, now suddenly a place I can’t imagine returning to. Not ever.

“Take me away from here, Joe”

I thought the almost cold detachment Naomi showed inside was worrisome, but the shaky little voice asking me to drive off really has me concerned. She's holding on by a mere thread. I had questioned whether bringing her here would be a good idea, but those were my feelings talking. I know it was necessary 'cause she is the only one able to know for sure if anything’s been taken. Besides, she has a right to know what is done to her home.

My mind is going a mile a minute, trying to flit through the possibilities of who is behind this. The intended message is clearly for Fox, there's no mistaking that, but the threat is against Naomi and it makes the blood run cold through my veins. My first thought had been the punks who were trying to build a drug network in our relatively quiet town and apparently were not afraid to use deadly force to get their way, but it almost seemed too contrived for them. I would expect a more direct and physical approach. Then there was the Phoenix case. Still no word from Fox's father, but I've had a chance to go over the trial transcripts and Maxim Heffler, the guy he was defending, is a scary piece of work. Never had anything stick to him, but the list of suspected involvements is a myriad of major crimes; including kidnapping, rape and murder, were enough to make you shudder. This was the second time in the last ten years he was acquitted of murder charges. The first time, two material witnesses for the prosecution changed their testimony on the stand, throwing the prosecution's case completely off course, and this last time, the witness ended up dead. All testimonies leading up to this witness had been circumstantial and setting the stage for him to tie it all together, but without his testimony, the case fell apart like loose sand. Within days Maxim walked out of court; another acquittal to his name.

I have to get Fox to open up about Phoenix, because if this man, this Maxim Heffler, has anything to do with James' disappearance—has anything remotely to do with the reason Fox left Phoenix in a hurry—then Naomi and her son may well be in deep trouble. And what is giving me heartburn right now is that the kind of sick little mind game that was played in Naomi's house back there, is probably just the kind of thing a psychopath like Heffler would get off on. Fuck what a mess.

When I look over at Naomi, I notice that while she is staring unseeingly out the window, tremors are starting to go through her body. I put my hand on her leg yet she barely responds.

"Honey? Naomi, look at me."

When she finally lifts her eyes, they are dull. I pull the truck over to the side of the road, put it in park and turn to her, taking her face in my hands.

"Talk to me. You're worrying me."