Don't Cry for Me (25 page)

“Me and the boys will be there within the hour.”

“Thank you, Jake, and I just want you to know that I’m ready to pay you whatever the going rate is for tracking.”

“No, ma’am, you won’t,” Jake said. “We’re friends, Dolly. We go back a long ways. If this was my boy you’d do the same. I don’t want to hear any more talk about money passing between us, is that understood?”

Jake’s kindness was her undoing. Dolly’s chin began to tremble.

“Yes, I understand.”

“See you soon.”

* * *

Ames knew the FBI wasn’t going to be pleased about what he was doing, but in his mind the bureau owed the arrest and successful conviction of crime lord Ike Pappas to Beth Venable’s willingness to testify against him even after the agency had failed to protect her. After Pappas made three failed attempts on her life, she had given up on the feds and enlisted the help of her relatives in Kentucky to keep her safe, which they had done. He firmly believed she would not be alive today if she hadn’t left L.A.

The search he had run through the FBI database on Lonnie Farrell had come up with interesting information, but nothing he could use to get a search warrant for the old mine. He had also done a search on the mine itself, and found the recent sale and the name of the new owner, but that was old news. They already knew Farrell had bought the mine.

Ames was curious to talk to the original owner, a woman named Sylvia Dixon whose current residence was in Louisville, Kentucky. But since he was on the West Coast and the need for haste was strong, there was no time for him to travel down there. What he did have was the name of a DEA agent in Kentucky who could rattle Ms. Dixon’s cage for him.

The agent’s name was Mike Lancaster. He was a former NFL running back and a bulldog when it came to chasing down the bad guys.

He put in the call and then began thinking how he could best introduce the problem.

“Lancaster.”

“Uh, Mike, this is Joe Ames.”

“Hey, Joe, arrested any bad guys lately?”

Ames grinned. “More than you, I’m betting.”

Mike laughed. “That’s a hell of a way to talk if you called for a favor.”

“You’re so right. I take it all back.”

“So, you
do
want a favor. What’s going on?”

Ames began to relate Ryal’s story as it had been relayed to him. He was surprised that Mike never once interrupted or belittled what he was hearing as unworthy of the DEA’s interest.

“And that’s all I know for sure,” he said after wrapping up. “Does your team have anything on Farrell that would get a search warrant for that mine?”

“Hang on,” Mike said, and keyed in some names on his computer, then waited for the info to come up. “Here’s something interesting about Chicago’s drug trade. There are reports of a dealer bringing in some high-quality shit and ruffling a few feathers, but no one seems to know where it’s coming from.”

“That’s not what I needed to hear,” Ames said. “Okay, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Now comes that favor.”

“Talk to me.”

“The previous owner of the mine lives in Louisville. I need you to go talk to her face-to-face. Scare the crap out of her if need be, and see what she says about the man who bought her out. Find out what he paid for it. What he told her he was planning to do with it. That kind of stuff. I know we’re just fishing here, but we’re desperate.”

“Yeah, sure, I can do that,” Mike said. “Give me her info.”

He took down the specifics, then logged off his computer, grabbed his gun and his partner, Louis Townsend, and headed for the door.

They arrived at the condo without incident, rode up in the elevator talking about the upcoming football season, and were still talking odds and players when Sylvia Dixon came to the door.

* * *

Sylvia was feeling good. She’d just gotten a mani-pedi at her favorite hair salon and was getting ready to meet a friend for lunch when the doorbell rang. After a quick peek through the security peephole, she frowned. Strangers.

“Who is it?” she called out.

Mike and Louis flashed their badges. “DEA, ma’am,” Mike said. “We just want to ask you some questions.”

Sylvia’s heart skipped a beat. In the back of her mind she’d been expecting something like this ever since the sale of the old mine had gone through. She was nervous, but she just reminded herself that she’d done nothing wrong as, reluctantly, she opened the door.

Mike took the lead. “Ma’am, my name is Agent Lancaster. This is my partner, Agent Townsend. May we come in?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, and led the way back into the living area. “Please take a seat.”

Mike and Louis sat beside each other on the sofa, opposite the single chair Sylvia had chosen.

“Now, what’s this all about?” she asked.

“We understand you recently sold some property near Rebel Ridge, Kentucky, to a man named Lonnie Farrell. Is this correct?”

She smiled politely, as if rewarding them for the right answer.

“Yes, it is, although to be fair, I never met him.”

“Then how
did
this sale take place?” Mike asked.

“I got a call out of the blue from a man who said he represented a company who wanted to buy my granddaddy’s old mine. I told him that the mine had played out long ago, but he assured me he wasn’t interested in mining.”

“What did he give you as his reason?” Mike asked.

“He intended to put in a mushroom farm.”

“I see. And what exactly were you asking for it?”

“Oh, I never had it up for sale. In fact, I was surprised to find out he even knew of its existence.”

Mike leaned forward. “He just cold-called you?”

“Uh, yes, I think so, if that means what I think it does.”

“It means he called you and offered to buy a property you didn’t have for sale.”

Sylvia smiled again. “Yes, that’s what he did.”

Mike eyed Louis, then made a few notes before questioning her again.

“So obviously you sold it to him, but do you mind telling me what he paid for it?”

She fidgeted slightly behind the smile she still wore. “I don’t mind at all. It set me up nicely after my recent divorce, so I was glad for the offer. He gave me a half million dollars.”

A muscle jerked at the corner of Mike’s eye.

Louis Townsend leaned forward and grinned.

“You must have thought you’d just won the lottery,” he said.

Sylvia’s smile slipped. “Well, I wasn’t going to turn it down, that’s for sure. After all, it was a played out old mine. If someone wanted to buy it, I was certainly willing to sell.”

Mike didn’t bother to hide a frown. “You knew damn good and well he wasn’t going to pay you that kind of money to grow mushrooms.”

Sylvia’s chin came up. “It was of no consequence to me what he did with it. I had land that was just lying there. He wanted it. I sold it. There’s nothing illegal about that.”

“You’re right. There’s nothing illegal. I’m curious, though. I don’t suppose he was giving you a cut on the ‘mushroom’ profits?”

Sylvia’s cheeks turned red. “I never met the man. I got the amount agreed upon after I signed the papers and that was that. Now, if you have nothing further to ask me, I’d like you to leave. I’m late for a lunch date with a friend.”

Mike and his partner stood up. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “If we have any other questions, we’ll know where to find you.”

Sylvia didn’t comment, and when they stepped out into the hall she slammed the door shut behind them.

Mike looked at Louis and grinned. “I think we hit a nerve.”

Louis nodded. “Let’s go talk to the boss. I’d seriously like to pay a visit to this mine and talk to the owner myself. Maybe take a little tour of the property. I like mushrooms on my pizza. I’d be interested to see where they’re grown.”

“I like them sautéed in butter and piled on my steak,” Mike said.

“Um, you’re making me hungry just talking about it,” Louis said.

“Then let’s see what we can do about rattling this rat cage. I’m curious who and how many will fall out.”

Twenty-Two

M
ariah was still digging through the storage room off the back deck when her cell phone began to ring. She crossed her fingers that it would be Quinn, and her heart sank when she heard Dolly’s voice.

“Hello, honey. I’m just checking on you,” Dolly said.

Mariah stepped outside and stared off across the meadow. It was so beautiful today. How could everything be so messed up when the world was so pretty?

“I’m fine. Moses and I are outside. Have you heard anything?”

“No, but I wanted you to know what I’m doing on Quinn’s behalf. I called Jake Doolen. You remember him? I told him everything you told us, along with what’s going on with the sheriff and the rangers. He and his boys and their dogs are already on the job. He said there’s plenty they can do to help find Quinn. Have faith, honey.”

Mariah pinched the bridge of her nose to keep from crying.

“I do have faith.”

“Then we’re doing our part,” Dolly said. “Either Meg or I will be over later, so don’t worry, okay?”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Mariah said.

“You might be, but we wouldn’t. The only thing we can do for Quinn at this point is take care of you, and that’s what we’re doing, so you’re gonna have to deal with us.”

Mariah managed a chuckle through the tears. “Well, all right, then,” she said. A moment later she hung up, then went back into the storage room and continued to dig.

So far she had a good long length of climbing rope laid out on the deck. A can of neon-yellow spray paint. A hunting knife and a large backpack with an internal frame. It had been a while since she’d carried one, but her muscles hadn’t gotten that soft. She had two flashlights, a set of extra batteries, two bottles of water, a roll of duct tape and a first-aid kit.

What she was looking for, without success, was extra ammunition for his rifle. All she had found in the house was in a box on the shelf in Quinn’s closet. Twenty-two rounds. It wasn’t much if she wound up in a firefight.

She glanced at her watch. It was just after noon. Time to get moving, before someone came back and tried to stop her.

She stuffed everything into the backpack, loaded her rifle and put the extra ammo in a side pocket for easy access, then went back inside with Moses still at her heels.

She stood for a few moments, letting the quiet of the house surround her, then closed her eyes and dropped her head.

“God, You know what I need. All the help You can spare would be appreciated.”

It was the closest thing she had to a prayer.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, she tied a jacket around her waist, filled up a third water bottle from the tap and grabbed the last two oatmeal cookies from the batch she’d made the other day. It felt like a lifetime since that evening. God willing, they would have another day like that again—and soon.

She went out, carefully closing the door behind her, then shouldered her backpack, grabbed the rifle and headed off the porch. Moses was right beside her, bouncing through the grass and looking up at her as if to say, “Isn’t this grand?”

She stopped suddenly, realizing she couldn’t take the puppy where she was going.

“Oh, Moses, I’m sorry, buddy, but you can’t go with me this time,” she said.

She dropped her backpack and rifle in the meadow, then called him and started back toward the cabin at a jog. Moses didn’t care which direction they went as long as they were going together. But when she stopped on the deck and tied him up with a length of soft cotton rope, the look on his face broke her heart. It was a combination of shock and betrayal.

She dropped to her knees and gave him a hug. “I’m sorry, Moses, but this isn’t just a walk. I’m going to find Quinn, and I need you to stay here. Be a good boy and don’t cry, or you’re going to make me cry, too.”

When she walked off the deck, the pup barked once. She kept walking, refusing to look back. He barked again and then whined. Blinded by tears, she staggered as she picked up her gear and kept on going. By the time she reached the trees, Moses was howling. It was the saddest sound she’d ever heard.

Once inside the tree line, she couldn’t walk fast enough. Her search couldn’t even start until she’d reached the cave, and that was a good thirty minutes above her. And now that she was officially in search mode, it was only prudent to let someone know what she was doing in case she didn’t make it back.

She punched in Ryal’s number, pacing her steps so she wouldn’t be breathless while she talked, and when he answered, she said what she had to say quickly before he could argue.

“Hey, Ryal, it’s me, Mariah. I’m on my way up to the cave as we speak.”

“What the hell are you—”

“Just listen, because I’m not going to say this twice and I don’t want your opinion. I know in my heart Quinn is in that mine. I believe that the passage in the cave leads into that mine, because I’ve heard voices twice in that cave, and there’s no other explanation for where they’re coming from. If Quinn’s in there, I
will
find him. If he’s alive, I
will
bring him back. If they’ve killed him, I swear to God I
will
take as many of them as I can with me. Tell everyone how much I love them, and how I appreciated the love with which I was accepted into your family. Moses is tied up on the back deck. Don’t let him starve.”

Ryal was in shock. He was yelling at her not to hang up when the line went dead.

Beth came running. “What’s wrong? Is it Quinn? Have they found him?” she cried.

“No. It’s Mariah. She’s convinced the passage in the old cave is connected to the mine Lonnie Farrell bought. She thinks Quinn is in there, and she’s going after him.”

Beth gasped. “No. You can’t let her. That’ll get her killed.”

“She’s already aware of the risks.”

Beth started to cry. Ryal wanted to cry with her, but there was no time. He needed to tell the sheriff. It might be helpful to know he had a soldier bringing up the rear.

* * *

Quinn’s eyes were swollen shut, and he didn’t know how many ribs were broken, but it was enough to make breathing normally an impossibility.

He’d quit thinking of escape. He wasn’t even trying to stay alive anymore. He was in so much pain it would have been a blessing to die. Even Farrell had given up on the beatings, accepting the fact that Quinn wasn’t going to tell him a thing. But instead of shooting him on the spot, he seemed to have abandoned him to his fate. Quinn knew that however long it took for his heart to stop beating, that was how long he would lie there before he died.

The only thought in his head now was Mariah, remembering how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. How upset and angry she was when she woke up from a PTSD episode. She would heal, but she was going to have to do it without him.

His big regret was that once they buried him, he knew she would leave. She wouldn’t stay on the mountain without him, and he couldn’t bear to think of her out in the world on her own.

Something crashed to the floor a few yards away, and then a long string of curses followed. He’d heard Lonnie ordering the men to get the last stuff cut and packed up. He suspected they would be abandoning the mine after dark. Everyone there felt the urgency, including Quinn. He so desperately wanted to be dead before that happened. Dying alone in the dark was the closest thing to hell he could imagine.

* * *

Everything was spinning out of control, and Lonnie could feel it. In hindsight, the worst move he’d made was coming back to this godforsaken mountain. He’d been so sure of his initial plan, and he’d been wrong. But he was a survivor. They’d counted him out at fourteen when they’d hauled his ass to jail, and he’d come out and turned a rap sheet into a résumé. He could do it again. All he needed was to cut his losses and regroup.

A search warrant was undoubtedly imminent, but he knew the law well enough to know how slowly it worked, so he was betting he had at least one more night. He had two choppers inbound, both due to arrive just after dark with armed guards on board. He would have his coke loaded and gone before daylight, leaving the men and the mushrooms to their own devices. He was disappointed, but such was the business of crime. Fair play was never part of the equation.

He glanced out the office window, keeping an eye on the gate at the end of the driveway. Even though he’d seen more traffic than usual—along with some men with their hunting dogs howling up the road—it was a case of so far, so good.

The little green delivery truck was being loaded for a trip down into Mount Sterling. It was ironic that the business meant to be nothing but a cover was beginning to thrive, while his big-money operation had turned into a hot mess. As he watched, Buell came out of the nursery carrying an armload of flats and loaded them into the truck.

“Score one for Mountain Mushrooms. Zero for the coke express,” Lonnie muttered, then realized he’d never seen a single flat of mushrooms going out and decided it was now or never.

He left the office and strolled out to the truck.

“How’s it going?” he asked, as Buell slid the flats inside.

“Fine,” Buell said, and headed back inside for another load.

Last night he’d checked his boots after hearing what Quinn said and realized he was about to catch shit for poaching on top of everything else. He’d thought of every reason he could come up with to go home, change shoes and throw his boots down the old well out beside the garden. But with Lonnie there pushing everybody to the breaking point, there’d been no hope of getting off the property. During the night he’d developed a sort of fatalistic attitude about the whole thing. He might as well quit worrying about something he couldn’t change.

Lonnie watched his brother-in-law’s molasses-lazy stride and wondered what the fuck Portia had ever seen in him. As he turned, he noticed a mushroom had fallen out of a flat onto the ground. Curious to see what was coming out of here with his name on it, he reached down to pick it up.

When he saw the footprint beside it, he froze. The muscles in his chest began to tighten, then he straightened up and turned toward the nursery, his face expressionless as he waited for Buell’s return. At that moment he was a very dangerous man.

Buell saw Lonnie waiting by the truck and wished he would go back into the office. The man got on his last nerve.

He sauntered by Lonnie without meeting his gaze and slid the flats into the truck, then turned right into the blow Lonnie launched and dropped like a felled ox. Before he could get up, Lonnie was kicking him—in the ribs, in the face, in the balls—anywhere he could land a blow.

Buell was screaming like a girl with his hands cupped over his groin, willing to take the kicks anywhere else but in his balls again.

It was Davis who hobbled out and pulled Lonnie off.

“Stop, boss!” Davis yelled. “Stop! You’re gonna kill him. Whatever he did, you don’t wanna kill him. He’s your family.”

Spit was glistening from the corner of Lonnie’s lips. His eyes were wild, the pupils dilated to the point that they appeared to be black.

“There’s no Farrell blood running in that pissant’s veins!” He turned back to Buell. “It’s your fault.” Then he pointed at Buell, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the fucking poacher they’ve been looking for. You knew it. You knew it, and yet you still brought the law into my house and pulled it down around us. If you’d been half the man you should be, you would have walked out of here and turned yourself in without ruining my setup.”

Davis gawked. Even the others who’d begun gathering on Buell’s behalf started backing away.

“Fuck,” Buell moaned. “Somebody help me up.”

Lonnie’s hand slid toward the gun in his pocket, and then he remembered where he was and closed his eyes, shuddering over and over as he struggled to maintain control. Once he could breathe without shaking, he opened his eyes. There was no one left at the truck except him and Buell. He kicked him once more, then walked away and disappeared into the office.

At that point Buell passed out.

Lonnie walked back out of the office and yelled at the top of his voice for someone to get over there. A half dozen men came running. He pointed at Buell.

“Get him out of my sight.”

“What do you want us to do with him, boss?” one of the men asked.

“Drag him into the back of the cavern. I don’t want to see him every time I come out.”

They dragged Buell Smith’s body behind the office while Mountain Mushrooms continued to come undone.

* * *

Sometime later Buell regained consciousness. He crawled to the back of the office on his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and slowly dragged his battered body into a standing position. Everything hurt, and the world kept tilting on its axis, but he finally managed to take that first step. Once he did, he couldn’t get to his truck fast enough, expecting, with every step, to get a bullet in the back.

When he finally got behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition, he was shaking. It took all his concentration to start the engine and put the truck in gear. The moment it started to roll, he stomped the accelerator and just hung on. Instead of getting out at the gates to open them, he drove through them, hitting them square in the middle, shattering the chain and the lock. The gates buckled on impact, and then one got caught on the front of Buell’s bumper as he sped through the opening. He dragged it down the road until it finally fell off into the ditch.