Dead Girl Moon (24 page)

It worked! JJ couldn’t believe it. All this time she’d thought the Chevy was a junker. No, it was one more piece of Gary’s getaway plan. All these years. Made her wonder what else she didn’t know about him.

It took him another half hour to inflate the tires, connect the battery, put water in the radiator, add quarts of oil, and spray starter fluid in the carb. When he cranked it over, the wreck rumbled blue smoke for a minute and then calmed into an idle. He came back inside for a final look around, grabbed the suitcase, and left without a word.

JJ yelled, “Hey! My money!”

If he heard her he didn’t care. Slammed the car door and rolled out of the compound without a backward glance.

No way. Yes, she bailed him out to help her, but no, she wasn’t going to let him skip with her college fund. Call Dovey! But Mick had Gary’s cell and the land line in the trailer was dead. Looked like time to start getting in shape for school sports. She lit out across the parking area to the alley and up to Main. Saw the Chevy speeding east toward Plains. Going to get Tina? Didn’t matter. She headed west toward the sheriff’s office at a fast jog.

Paint immediately ordered roadblocks on the three highways north, south, and east of Portage. While he was busy with that, JJ went to Dovey’s office and told her what Gary’d done.

“The tank’s pretty hard on child abusers and he looked awful when he came out,” Dovey said. “No reason for him to stay. Hammond’s probably already severed their association. He wouldn’t want anything public that would tie him to illegal activity.”

JJ’d wondered whether to tell her what Mick was up to, worried he was going to get seriously hurt. “He’s going after Larry Cassel.”

“Gary?”

“Mick. He’s asking his dad to help him.”

“You think you can find him? Talk sense?”

“Maybe. Unless he gets to Larry first.”

“Well, according to the note on his office, Larry’s off somewhere.”

“So I’ll start looking.”

“Wait for me to close up. I bet Cardwell’s got an idea about this.”

72

M
ICK DIDN
’
T WANT TO STAY
parked in one place too long. Couldn’t afford to attract attention. Something his dad had said was bothering him. They’d been talking about finding Larry and Fitz said, “I can’t leave town,” or near that. Why would that matter? Was Cassel out of town? Or Hammond? Mick realized he didn’t know where either of them lived. Should have thought of that.

Who would know? Dovey? Would she tell him? Probably not. Phone book? Where could you find one anymore? The motel on the west end of town that Hammond didn’t own? He went there first. The front door tinkled when he entered and shortly an older woman with obviously dyed black hair came to the counter from the apartment in back. She was happy to give him the book to look at, but neither man was listed.

He didn’t realize he’d groaned.

“What’s the matter?” Soft voice, reaching out as if to touch him.

“I need to talk with Sam Hammond or Larry Cassel about a … county problem, uh, but they’re not in their offices and this doesn’t have their home phones.”

“That’s common,” she said. “Most public officials don’t list private lines.”

“Well, I’d leave them a note in their mailboxes but I don’t have their address.”

“Let’s see,” she said, turning around and yelling through the apartment door. “Lester?… Lester? Didn’t Scott Cassel’s boy buy one of those places west by the river? Other side of the highway from the country club?” She waited for an answer but none came. She returned to Mick, said, “I’m pretty sure he did and that’s a new area, aren’t that many places, so somebody out there ought to be able to tell you which one’s his.”

“Thanks. I appreciate—”

“And Hammond,” she went on, “everybody knows that. He’s on that island east of town. First big one. Only one that anything’s built on. Gets across by boat. I want to see it one of these days. His dad had it built. They say it looks like one of those lodges.”

“You’ve been won—”

“You want to stay for a cup of coffee, I don’t mind,” she said, smiling, hopeful.

“Another day,” Mick said, already at the door. “You’ve been great.” He didn’t hear her exact words, but it seemed like she was still talking as he started the car and headed for Larry’s neighborhood.

She was right. There weren’t many houses yet, and half of the streets had staked lots ready for construction. He asked a grizzled man in a ball cap who was putting a hasp on a new backyard gate.

“Across the street and two down, but I ain’t seen him past couple a days and I been out here a lot. No lights. Probably up at the lake. He likes them casinos.”

Okay. Hammond. Was Mick ready?

73

B
AIL SPECIFIED
G
ARY COULDN
’
T LEAVE THE COUNTY
. He might have forgotten. The powder he’d inhaled came on stronger as he crossed the Salish, reminded him to give himself another toot. He slowed to sixty for Plains, goosed it again after on the straight two-lane. He would be in Missoula in less than an hour.

Fortunately for its citizens, the streets of Dixon were summer mid-afternoon empty when he blew through a half hour later. Deputies argued whether Gary saw the roadblock a few miles out of town, just past the Sanders County line. Most said it didn’t seem like it. Others said he had to have but that he was too far gone to care. Whichever, he hit the seam between the two cruisers parked nose to nose. Going close to a hundred miles an hour, he shot through his own windshield and sailed another fifty feet before hitting the fence that nearly tore him in half.

The news of his death didn’t reach Portage till evening.

74

M
ICK SLOWED AS HE PASSED THE
C
ONOCO
. After three his dad could probably take the rest of the day off. Was it worth another try? He turned on the side street and found a shady spot to think about it. A few hours ago he was never going to talk to his dad again. His dad stole his checks. Mick guessed he couldn’t get too worked up about that since he’d stolen his dad’s car. If he kept the Bonnie it was worth more than six hundred dollars. So were they even?

His dad hadn’t been anyone’s idea of a model father. He’d made Mick join him on two or three major jobs. If they’d been caught, Mick would
still
be in juvie or on some work farm and he’d have a record that would mess up the rest of his life. On the other hand, his dad had kept him. That hadn’t been exactly convenient, dragging an anchor you had to take care of.

Had he been a decent son? Mick wasn’t sure. Was Fitz proud of him? Didn’t seem like it. Did he love him? Hard to tell. But it wasn’t the worst relationship. Did his dad beat him? Had, sometimes. Did he literally scare the pee out of him getting mad and sticking a pistol in his mouth? Yes. But he’d done some good things, too. Especially when Mick was younger. Made lunches to take to school, washed his clothes, babied him when he got sick. Were they even? Mick guessed with family you never ever got even.

He would ask his dad again for a couple of reasons. One, he was scared to go against either Hammond or Cassel, more afraid if they were together. Two? His dad was a rugged guy, good at going against people. Sometimes too good.

Mick walked around back into the garage and froze. His dad was in a pissing contest, trying to stare somebody down.

JJ had her hands on her hips, not buying it. “Look at me hard as you want, you know I’m right.”

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you and I don’t owe him. You guys pulled the pin when you ran. Screwed Gary and Tina, dropped me in the shitter. May have got Grace killed. Now you want me to fix it. Too late, Buttercup.”

He turned back to the car he was fixing, saw Mick in the process. “Bloody hell, the Bobbsey Twins.”

JJ saw Mick then. Colored.

“You’re wrong, Dad. You do owe me. You brought me here. Taught me everything I know. This is the next lesson. Suck it up.”

Fitz stared at Mick like he had two heads. Mouth open. Tiniest head shake side to side like: no, no way, I didn’t just hear that. Started to say something. Stopped.

Everything stopped. Mick could hear the shop clock go from second to second.

His dad raised the torque wrench he was holding, pointed it at Mick. “If you’d said ‘man up’ I would have shoved this two feet up your butt.”

75

A
SHORT DIRT ROAD CONNECTED THE HIGHWAY
to a wide gravel parking area at the riverside, creosote posts kept cars thirty feet from the water. Mick put the Bronco between the black Town Car and a slick SUV knockoff he didn’t know the name of.

“Don’t clip the silver one. It’s worth more than the Conoco.”

JJ, silent in the backseat, was out first and over to the river. She shaded her eyes. “The house must be over that rise,” she said, pointing across the water at a road that climbed away from the island’s shoreline.

Mick had imagined a footbridge, had even thought the channel might be wadable. No, that’s what the boats were for. Two of them, with ground marks where two others had rested. The problem? A plastic-covered metal cable looped through the eye ring on the front of each boat, ending in an industrial padlock on a thick metal post set in a concrete pad. Hammond didn’t want passersby hijacking his ferries.

Mick gave the cable a tug. Even more solid than it looked. He heard an engine start and turned to see his father backing out and rolling away in the Bronco. He was too surprised to yell. Just stood there watching the car disappear.

JJ came to him, reached for his hand, led him to a rock big enough for both to sit on. There was nothing to say.

Mick would have cried if JJ hadn’t been there. Helpless frustration. He could try to swim the damn channel but he’d probably drown. That wouldn’t help Grace. Nothing to do but sit there and hate himself for not being smarter, more careful, more of a goddamn man.

JJ knew enough to keep the silence.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later his dad was back. Put the Bronco in the same place. Now tears did leak and Mick stood and started walking, clearing his throat to mask a single sob. He stopped halfway to the car, watched his dad pull out a tool kit and buck it to the metal post.

“Can’t remember the trick with these,” his dad said, sitting on the kit and studying the lock. “Can’t just cut ’em. They’re case-hardened. Heat ’em first maybe? It’ll come back to me.”

While his dad considered the lock, Mick and JJ went to the newest-looking boat. Stepped in over life jackets and old fishing rods. The engine was a five-horse Honda with an electric start. Mick knew it had to be in the water before you turned it on. Checked the gas can chained to the transom. Had more than enough for back and forth to the island. Battery in a watertight case. Spark plug? No. Empty hole. Now what?

Fitz joined them at the boat with a hacksaw in his hand. “Hell with the lock,” he said, kneeling at the bow and studying the ring that the cable went through. “Much easier.” He began sawing.

“Something else,” Mick said, watching him work. “No plug. JJ checked the other boat, too. Hammond pulled them.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’d do. Careful guy. Smart.” His dad glanced back at the Bronco. “I brought some. One of ’em might fit.”

76

H
AMMOND FOLLOWED HER
as Grace climbed steps to a higher floor. She entered a kitchen with a large butcher-block prep island in the middle that had a sink and enough counter space to hold food for a banquet. Light-colored oiled wood cabinets, built-in fridge, another sink, rows of spices and jars of uncooked pasta on two sides. The other two sides opened into a dining and living area with glass walls. The huge rooms were bright enough that Grace needed to squint for a minute or so.

“Ahead.” Hammond came to her side.

Pleated couches surrounded a metal fireplace in a far corner. Grace could see two coffee cups on the side tables.

Hammond gestured for her to sit wherever she liked. She took the nearest couch edge, thinking at least she wouldn’t be totally trapped, could run from there if she needed.

Larry walked in from another room, picked up a straight-backed chair from the dining room table and sat next to her, blocking the open route to the kitchen. “Sorry,” he said, a small embarrassed smile. “Couldn’t take a chance. You understand.”

Grace hated herself. She did understand. She’d probably have done the same thing.

Hammond joined them, placing a glass of ice water on Grace’s side table. “Coffee if you want it.”

She would have liked coffee but did not want to be beholden to the bastard. Didn’t answer.

Hammond sat across from her. “So, we have a situation.” He gave Larry an I’ll-do-the-talking look. “This Evelyn thing’s not what you think.”

Grace glanced away, barricading her feelings against the lies to follow. She’d listen closely enough to maybe glean the truth from what he spun, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes, let him see into her. He was too persuasive and she wasn’t sure how to protect herself. Instead she’d focus out the window on the jay patrolling the deck and the tree-covered hill beyond.

“Neither Larry nor I had anything to do with Evelyn. In fact, Larry tried to stop it. That’s when he lost the ring set. Kicking the punk’s ass, but he was too late. She was already dead and in the water.”

Grace had not expected that. She had to keep her curiosity from making her gullible. The first time with her brothers they’d told her they just wanted to see what it was like to kiss a girl. She stayed quiet and let them sit on her bed. Huge mistake.

“So Larry beat the … punished the moron that did it, but then what? We, none of us, wanted an investigation that … none of us wanted any investigation. Larry brought the guy here and we shipped him off. He’ll never hurt anybody in this town again, and that was a pretty good plan until you kids got involved. The boy is clueless and as soon as some time passes we’ll undo the trick we did with his little bat, but you, you’re too familiar with things. You have to go.”