Gina Cresse - Devonie Lace 04 - A Deadly Change of Power (12 page)

Gary took a step off the curb and the rest of us started to follow, when it happened.  The explosion was enormous.  The force of the blast sent us flying through the air.  I remember landing hard on my side and rolling the rest of the way across the street, finally stopping only because I hit the curb.

I raised my head to see the jail engulfed in flames.  The heat nearly scorched my face.  I looked around at the others.  “What happened?” I moaned.

Craig rose to his feet and took my arm.  “Are you okay?” he asked, helping me to my feet.

“I think so.  How about you?”

“So far, so good.  How about the rest of you guys?”

Slowly, everyone managed to stagger to their feet and inspect their limbs.  Nothing appeared to be broken.

“Come on.  We better get out of here, quick,” Gary said, herding us toward his truck.

We ran to the pickup and piled inside.  Gary locked the doors and started the engine.

“What happened back there?” Lance asked, looking out the window at the flames shooting into the sky.

Rick cranked his head around to get a better look at the fire.  “Looks like someone found out Ronnie was a guest in the jail.  You guys sure you want to get on a plane with her?”

T
he decision was unanimous to ride back to the States with Rick and Gary rather than risk an air disaster with Ronnie on board.  We drove all night to get as far from Cabo as possible.  By mid-morning, the sound of our stomachs growling was almost as loud as the V-eight engine in Gary’s truck.  We stopped in a small village with dirt streets and searched for a place to eat. 

Over breakfast, Gary recounted the events of the past few days that eventually landed them all in jail.  Apparently, Lance’s group decided to come ashore their first night in town to have a few beers.  They found a little bar not far from the waterfront, and started ordering rounds.  By the end of the night, there were a hundred and fifty empty beer bottles stacked on their table.  Sometime during the evening, they’d gotten into a debate about which was faster
—
a Mexican taxi or a Mexican police car.”

I cringed and looked at Lance.  “You didn’t.”

He gave me a guilty smile and nodded.

Rick laughed.  “These guys are crazier than we are
—
and we’ve done some pretty crazy things.  But we never got drunk and stole two cars in Mexico, one of which was a police car, and raced them on the beach at midnight.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Craig marveled.

“No kidding.  They did it.  That’s how they landed in jail,” Gary said.

Something still troubled me.  “But why was
The Dream Catcher
adrift?” I asked.

Lance appeared to want to slide under the table.  “No one ever taught me how to tie a proper knot,” he confessed.

Jake dropped his fork on his plate.  “You mean they trusted you to tie up that…that very expensive boat?  Do you have any experience at all?”

Lance shook his head.  “It was just the first of many poor decisions made that n
ight.  I can’t say any more than
that.”

I felt sorry for Lance.  I decided to get him out of the spotlight.  I turned my attention to Gary.  “What about you?  How’d you get arrested?” I asked.

“We got into town and found
The Dream Catcher
first thing.  Only problem was the police had a guard on it.  We wanted to look around
—
you know, see if there were any clues on board about where Lance might be,” Gary explained.

“Anyhow, we waited until the guard dozed off, then we snuck on board.  Ran right into a little party the…what would you call him?  Chief of police?  Anyhow, he and his girlfriend were having a good time.  He greeted us with a machine gun aimed at our faces.  Next thing we knew, we were in jail, and Lance and his buddies were our cellmates,” Rick continued.

“That explains your trip to the jail,” Craig said.  Then he looked at Ronnie.  “But you were supposed to come bail them out.  What happened?”

Rick shook his head.  “She’s crazier that the rest of them put together.”

“I am not,” Ronnie protested.

“You show up with a half-dozen credit cards and you think they’re gonna let us out?” Rick sniped.

“Everyone takes credit cards these days,” Ronnie defended.

“Not for bribes, honey,” Gary said.

“I didn’t know it was a bribe.  I thought it was a fine.”

I waved a white napkin over the table.  “Okay.  Okay.  Truce.  That shouldn’t have landed her in jail,” I said.

Rick rolled his eyes.  “No, but when the Mexicans laughed at her credit cards and tried to toss her out, little Miss
Kung Fu
there decided to do her Bruce Lee impression.  Took six policemen to finally get her caught and locked up.  They took Jake, too.”

Gary smiled and pointed at Ronnie.  “She’s good.  I could use her in that martial arts flick we’ve got coming up.”

Ronnie slipped two inches in her seat.  She smiled, but the embarrassment showed on her face.

“She rolled pretty good last night when that bomb went off, too.  Did you see her
?  As good as that little stunt
gal we worked with on the last film.  I just have to get her in the union,” Gary continued.

Rick glared at him over his glass of milk.  “She won’t take direction from you.  She won’t take direction from anyone.”

Lance laughed.  “You got that right.  Must be all that red hair.”

Jake noticed Ronnie’s silence and leaned over to her.  “You okay?”

She nodded.  “I’m fine.  Can we go now?  I just want to get out of this country.”

I raised my hand to catch Lance’s attention.  “Wait.  The other question that still hasn’t been answered is why Ronnie wasn’t told about the change in the departure time from Long Beach?”

Lance shot me a puzzled look.  “No one told her?”

Ronnie shook her head.  “Never heard a word,” she said.

Lance shrugged his shoulders and met everyone’s stares with eyeb
rows raised in a motion of self
defense.  “A guy from the sponsor’s headquarters called all of us the night before to let us know the time had changed.  He told me he’d already talked to Ronnie, so I didn’t bother to call her.  I knew she’d halfway talked herself out of going on the trip.  That’s why I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t show up.”

“Who called you?” I asked.

Lance looked at Jake.  “I don’t remember the guy’s name, but you should know him.  He’s from World Motors,” Lance said.

All our eyes turned to Jake.  He assumed the self-defense posture that only moments before had been on Lance’s shoulders.  “Don’t look at me,” he defended.  “Just because the guy said he was from World Motors doesn’t mean they’re the ones behind all this.  It was probably one of those imposters from the other night
—
you know, Hollers or Pianalto.”

Gary nodded in agreement.  “Probably right.  No use pointing fingers amongst ourselves.  That’ll only make things worse.”

Jake relaxed and pushed his chair from the table.  “Good.  I vote we get out of here.”

We all followed Jake’s lead and got up from the table.  Jake paid the bill and we headed out the door.  The seven of us crammed into the truck and braced ourselves for the long drive.

“If Rick’s theory is right, then how’d they know Ronnie was in the jail?” I asked.

“That’s easy,” Rick said.  “She called you, didn’t she?”

Craig nodded.  “Yeah?”

“Did she say where she was over the phone?” Gary continued.

“You mean our phones are bugged?” I said.

“Could be,” Rick said.  “But they don’t have to actually bug your phones to listen to your conversations.  Cell phone conversations can be monitored remotely, or they can set themselves up to look like telephone repairmen, up on a pole near your house.”

Gary continued to check his side mirrors.  I assumed he just wanted to make sure the trailer was okay, but he seemed nervous.  I wondered if he was worried about someone following us.  I started to watch the mirrors, too.

“One thing’s for sure.  Whoever is doing this has unlimited resources.  I don’t know how you’re ever gonna beat them,” Rick said.

“It’d help if we knew exactly who we were up against,” Gary said.

“It’s the oil companies.  It’s got to be,” Ronnie concluded.

“Oh, that’s a little bigger than a bread box.  I think we have to narrow it down a bit.  If we drew a diagram of the involved parties, we’d probably see oil companies at the top of the page, but we need to start at the bottom.  We need to get our hands on the guy who pulls the trigger,” Gary said.

In all the excitement of the past twenty-four hours, I’d almost forgotten about the information I’d uncovered with my hacking tour of the oil company computers.

“I think we may have a clue there,” I offered.

“How so?” Rick asked.

“Are you guys still on the case?” I asked.

Gary frowned.  “We have
to
be on the set in two days for that picture we told you about.  I’m the stunt coordinator.”

“You need to be there, but you won’t need me for a couple days,” Rick offered.

Gary nodded.  “That’s right.  We could start with the bar-brawl scene first.  Save the car scenes for later in the week.”

Rick turned to face me.  “What’s the clue you think you have?”

B
y the time we reached the border, we were exhausted.  We crossed without incident.  We concluded that whoever had blown up the Mexican jail assumed they’d eliminated Ronnie for good.  Since our release was “unofficial,” and the policemen who’d let us go were likely killed in the explosion, there was no way anyone could know we’d escaped the blast.  Even so, we agreed it would be a good idea to hide Ronnie somewhere safe.  Rick and Gary had a place in mind.  They said they could guarantee she’d be safe there.

After making a quick stop by our house to touch bases with Uncle Doug and give him a check from Lance to repay the ten-thousand dollar loan, Gary dropped Rick, Craig, and myself off at the airport in San Diego.  He took Ronnie, Jake, and Lance to his “safe place,” that even we couldn’t know about.  That’s the reason the place is so safe, apparently.  No one but Rick and Gary know about it.  They don’t tell anyone, even people they trust.

The three of us trudged into the airport terminal and to the ticket counter.  We bought three tickets to Reno, Nevada.  That’s the closest airport to Graeagle.  Rick and Gary had come up with a plan that, hopefully, wouldn’t land us all back in jail again.

We tried to sleep on the flight, but it was difficult.  Reno greeted us with three inches of snow on the ground, and it was still falling.  We rented a four-wheel-drive Blazer and headed west.  Rick appointed himself the official driver.  By the time we reached Hallelujah Junction, the snow was nearly a foot deep.  Rick didn’t slow down.

“I know you’re a stunt driver, but have you done much driving in snow?” I asked.

Rick didn’t blink.  “Grew up in it.  My first car was a snowplow.”

From the back seat, I glanced over to the front passenger seat and noticed Craig’s death-grip relax a bit on the door armrest.

Rick took the turn onto Highway Seventy.  I felt the Blazer slide sideways before he straightened it out.  “I made sure we got a model with a roll bar.  Wish we had helmets, though,” Rick admitted.

Craig checked his seatbelt and grabbed the overhead handle.

Rick smiled at him.  “Just kidding.  Don’t worry.  I won’t roll it.”

Craig returned his smile.  “I’ll hold you to that.”

The snow was two feet deep as we passed through Portola.  The wipers were frantically trying to keep the windshield clear, but the blizzard conditions made it nearly impossible to see beyond the hood of the Blazer.

“How much farther?” Rick asked, squinting to see out the window.

“About fifteen miles, I think,” I said, gripping the back of Craig’s seat.

“Good.  If this gets any worse, we’re gonna have to pull over and wait for it to let up.  I can’t see the road.”

“If you can’t see the road, why don’t we pull over now?” Craig asked.

“Because I can’t see beyond the side of the road either.  If I pull off, it might be right over a cliff,” Rick said.  “I’ll just keep between the snowplow poles and we’ll be okay.”

“Great,” Craig replied, not sounding too convinced.

We finally reached Graeagle and found the post office.  The one good thing about the current blizzard was that it kept everyone at home and off the streets.  Since it was after hours, even the postmaster was gone.  The place was literally deserted.

I pulled the list of postal addressed out of my purse and handed it to Rick.

“Are you sure about this?” Craig asked, worried.  “Tampering with mail.  Isn’t that a federal offense?  I think that’s how they finally got Al Capone, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly.  Income tax evasion.  Completely different,” Rick replied.

I gave Craig a concerned look, then turned my eyes to Rick.  “Should we be doing this?” I asked.

“You’re not doing anything.  Just go over there and pretend you’re buying stamps out of that machine
.  Don’t watch me.  See no evil..
.”

I took Craig’s arm.  “Okay.  We’ll just be over here, buying stamps.”

“Good.  Keep an eye on the door.  If you see anyone coming, give me a signal,” Rick said.

Craig and I exchanged glances.  “Accomplices.  We’re going to jail for sure,” Craig said.

I nervously pressed buttons on the stamp machine, constantly glancing out the window to the street.  Rick was busy picking the locks on the four boxes from the list of addresses I’d printed.

Rick finally stepped around the corner.  “Come on.  Let’s go,” he said, stuffing a bundle of envelopes inside his jacket.

We followed him out to the Blazer and piled in.  I shook the snow out of my hair and peered over the seat to get a better look at the envelopes Rick had “liberated.”

“We’re lucky.  This blizzard kept everyone away.  Normally, those boxes would have already been emptied by now, I’m sure,” Rick said.

He handed the envelopes to Craig and started the engine.  “I’d feel better if we got out of here.  I’d hate to be caught with this stuff right in front of the post office.”

“Good thinking.  Uncle Doug gave me the key to his place.  Let’s head over there and get some sleep.  I don’t think I can keep my eyes open another minute.”

Craig offered to light a fire in the fireplace while I heated water to make instant hot chocolate I’d found in the cupboard.

“Where’s the knob for the gas?” Craig called to me as I busied myself in the kitchen.

“Gas?” I questioned.

“Yeah.  You know, to light the fire,” he replied.

I smiled to myself.  “No gas, honey.  Gotta do it the old-fashioned way, with newspaper and kindling,” I called back to him.

There was a brief moment of silence.  “Where’s the newspaper?” he finally asked.

I checked the fire on the stove, then walked into the living room.  “I’ll get some.  The property management company makes sure there’s always of supply of papers and firewood during the winter.  The firewood’s stacked out back, but I think the newspapers are in the garage.”

I flipped the light
switch on in the garage and glanced around for a stack of newspapers.  I spotted the supply piled in the far corner.  I grabbed one off the top and carried it back into the house.  Amused, I read the headlines to Craig and Rick as though I were a news commentator reporting serious, earthshaking news.  “Our top story tonight: Portola High School seniors hold a carwash to raise money for a senior trip to Disneyland.  In other news, the mayor has agreed to appear at a public inquiry to answer questions as to why he has registered all his vehicles in the state of Oregon, when he obviously is a resident of California.”

Craig chuckled.  “What paper’s that?”

“
Portola Reporter
.  A lot
different than the
Union Tribune
,” I noted.  I pulled the small classified section out and handed it to Craig to build a fire.  I wanted to save the rest of the paper to peruse through later, just for kicks.  First, we had important business to attend to. 

We sorted through the envelopes for the four businesses.  There were checks from five oil companies in addition to the original four that we already knew about. 

I pulled another envelope out of the stack and gaped at the return address.  “Look at this.  Western Gas and Electric.  It’s gone even beyond the oil companies.  The power companies are in on it too.”

“Let me see that,” Craig said, taking the envelope from me.  He opened it and studied the check.  “It’s for thirty thousand.  Didn’t they just file bankruptcy?”

I nodded in disgust.  “Our bills go sky high, and they’re crying bankrupt while they’re paying this kind of money to some fly-by-night mercenary group.  Makes me sick.” 

Rick tossed another envelope on the pile.  “Here’s one from Madison Electric.  Fifty thousand and change.  Your friend Ronnie’s in big trouble.”

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.  The odds seemed insurmountable that we’d beat what we were up against.  “What do we do next?” I asked.

Rick gathered the envelopes back into a neat stack and placed them in the center of the table.  “We stake out the post office.  We need to find out who comes to claim the mail from those boxes.  When they do, we follow.  The more we know about them, the better.”

“How are we going to do that?  We can’t just hang out all day in the post office.  That’ll look too suspicious,” Craig said.

“We’ll do it in turns.  We’ll wait outside.  This is a tiny community.  There won’t be a lot of action.  When someone goes in, one of us will follow.  When you get inside, fumble with some keys like you’re looking for the right one, but keep an eye on the boxes.  If our guy goes to one of the four, then we know who to follow.”

“When do we start?” I asked.

Rick glanced out the window.  The storm was still heavy.  “Tomorrow morning.  It’s late.  I doubt anyone will be checking their mail tonight.”

I checked my watch.  It was nearly eight.  “I found some soup in the pantry.  Anyone interested in dinner?”

“I’m starved,” Craig said.

“Sounds great.  I’ll put more wood on the fire,” Rick offered.

After dinner, Craig and I retired to the master bedroom.  Rick said he wanted to stay up to watch a sprint-car race on ESPN.

I brought the six-month-old
Portola Reporte
r
with me to bed.  Craig read over my shoulder as I leafed through the pages.  When I got to page four, a photo of a local resident standing next to his collection of off-the-wall costumes and props caught my attention.  “Wait a minute,” I said, pointing at the picture.

“What?” Craig asked.

I looked closer at the photo.  “I’ve seen this before,” I stated, jamming my finger on the page.

Craig studied the picture.  “Sure.  I remember that too.  That’s the big hamburger from those old commercials back in the late sixties or early seventies.”

I shook my head.  “No.  I mean I’ve seen it recently.”

Craig gave me a curious look.  “You saw the hamburger?”

“No.  I saw a picture of it.  It was hanging on the wall in that shop Ronnie took me to the other day.  Larry, the man we went to talk to about Ronnie’s dad
—
he built it.”

“He built Mayor McCheese?”

“Yes, and Big Mac too,” I said, glancing down the page to find the story that accompanied the photo.  “The question is, who is this guy, and what’s he doing with it now?”

Craig placed his finger on the story.  “There.  His name’s Cameron Boxer.”

We both read the short article silently.  The story indicated that Cameron Boxe
r was a local resident newly re
located to the Graeagle area from his previous home in the Hollywood Hills.  He owned his own public relations and advertising firm, and hinted that he may be interested in featuring local talent in some up-coming commercials he had been hired to produce.  The costumes appearing in the photos with him were purchased at auction over the years for his collection.  He’d been gathering old items from studios since he was a young man in the late fifties and early sixties.  He’d gathered so many that he had to build a huge warehouse on his property to store it all.

I slipped the page out from the rest and folded it over so the story and photo were the only items visible.  “I don’t think we need to stake out the post office tomorrow,” I said, setting the newspaper down on the nightstand next to the bed.  “This has got to be the guy we’re looking for.”

Craig reached over and switched off the lamp.  “I think you’re right.  We’ll show the story to Rick in the morning.  I bet he’ll agree.”

I was out the minute my head hit the pillow.  I don’t know how long I’d been asleep when the banging on the bedroom door woke up both Craig and I. 

“Get up!  Come on!  We’ve gotta get out of here!” Rick’s voice boomed from the other side of the door.

“What’s wrong?” Craig called out.

Rick burst through the door.  “No time for questions.  Come on.  Now!” he reiterated.

We jumped out of bed and searched in the dark for our shoes.  I laced mine up.  Craig grabbed our jackets and tossed mine to me.  I got one arm through when Craig grabbed my hand and led me toward the door.  “Come on,” he said, pulling me along.

“Wait,” I said, rushing back to grab the newspaper page off the nightstand.  We hurried down the hall to the living room.

Rick grabbed the stack of envelopes we’d taken and ran toward the fireplace, ready to toss them in the flames.

“Wait!  What are you doing?  We might need those for evidence,” I demanded.

He opened the screen.  “There is no way in the world any good can come from you or I being caught with these.  We got the information we wanted.”

Craig squeezed my hand.  “He’s right,” he said.

Rick paused long enough to catch my expression.  I knew he was right, too.  I nodded.  “Go ahead,” I said.

Rick tossed the envelopes in the fire and closed the screen.  Then he grabbed his jacket and led us to the door.  “Watch your step.  Don’t trip over this guy,” he said, stepping over an unconscious man lying next to the woodpile.