Heart of Gold (26 page)

She managed to drive away from the house without too much of an issue, although a lady reporter wearing stilettos wound up diving into the rosebushes next to the garage to keep from being flattened when her truck came barreling out of the raised door. Roni's mirror treated her to a view of the reporters futilely running after her, but she swung onto the street that led to Main and kept going.

Her biggest fear was kidnapping. The world was filled with crazies, and when one put crazies in the same equation with a little girl worth as much money as that gold added up to, there was no telling what they might be capable of plotting. A few years ago, Crystal had been kidnapped and held for ransom. Roni didn't want Zoey to have to go through that, too.

As she turned the truck onto Main, all the traffic choking the road brought her to a dead stop. It was gridlock. Cars were lined up bumper-to-bumper and crammed into the parking lot of the Power Plant, the rec, the school, and the church. She couldn't see the Dog, but she assumed its lot was packed as well. In the vehicles nearby sat grizzled bearded men who looked like they hadn't seen a shower since the Bush administration; tired-faced women driving pickups filled with kids; two guys decked out in camouflage gear, driving a huge blue monster truck with a bunch of baying hounds in the bed; and all manner of strange characters, running the gamut from the ordinary to the weird. It was if someone had filled sleepy little Henry Adams with the cast and vehicles of the next version of
Mad Max
. It was both bizarre and surreal.

The sound of knocking startled her back to reality and she turned to see a woman standing by her passenger window who looked like she'd gone through life ridden hard and put up wet. She motioned for Roni to roll down the glass. Roni obliged but only lowered it enough to ask, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” The grin showed missing teeth. “You know where the little girl found the gold?”

“No.” Roni immediately raised the window. Good lord! Looking down the street, she weighed her options. She could leave the truck and walk to the school, or bully her way into the flow of traffic. Neither were good. If she left the truck, there was no guarantee it would be there when she returned, considering how dubious many of the people appeared, and bullying her way into standstill traffic would get her nowhere. Bernadine's voice came over the sync. “Roni. How close are you to the school?”

“I'm stuck in traffic at the corner of Main.”

“Okay. The kids are at Tamar's, so go there when you can. Sheriff Dalton and his people are trying to get these fools out of our hair, but it may take a while. Watch your back while you're driving. Mr. Patterson's place was broken into and trashed. Trent and some deputies are on their way to our subdivision to make sure there are no break-ins there.”

“Good grief.”

“I know. Also, calls are coming in from the network morning shows, wanting Zoey to come on and be interviewed.”

“Tell them no. Maybe when she's eighteen.”

“My feelings exactly. Text me when you get to Tamar's.”

“Will do.” When the sync ended, Roni whispered, “Wow.”

Reggie's voice came over the sync. She clicked in and told him what was going on.

Bernadine watched the circus below her window and wondered how long this madness would continue. The voice of Sheriff Dalton on the bullhorn floated up to where she stood. “Please leave the area. This town is private property. No digging or camping will be allowed. Turn your vehicles around.”

The county police were out in force, as were men and women of the highway patrol. There were even uniformed national guardsmen on the scene, but law enforcement was probably outnumbered fifty to one. She couldn't tell how many people there were. At the sheriff's urging every building in town had been closed and locked up tight, not only for safety reasons but so the unwanted visitors would have no place to go or reasons to hang around. The large crowds were reminiscent of the ones that descended on the area last summer for the trial of Riley's hog Cletus. These people weren't wearing pig masks, though, and instead of silliness in the air, there was tension. In spite of the sheriff's warning, some people were refusing to leave. There were pockets of people arguing with the deputies, and across the street a belligerent man was handcuffed and escorted to a gray police van that had “County Jail” stenciled in red letters on its side.

“You have five minutes to leave the area,” Sheriff Dalton announced. “If you do not, you will be arrested!”

A wave of catcalls and boos greeted that.

“This is a mess,” she said in the silent office. And she had Astrid Franklin Wiggins to thank.

The jarring sound of glass breaking somewhere on the street sent her rushing to her computer to pull up the surveillance cameras. It was the recreation center. People began pouring from their cars, and as the numbers swelled, the riot was on.

In the aftermath, Bernadine toured the damage with Trent, Barrett, and Dalton. She felt much the same way she had the night of the Stillwell fire—angry, disgusted, and heartbroken. Fortunately, this time around no lives were lost, but the rec sustained considerable damage. Every window was broken, and areas inside the building and out were covered with shattered glass. Due to the gridlock, the police couldn't get enough officers to the building to put on a show of force when the disturbance began, so the looters helped themselves to DVDs, the sound system, the computers from the senior center, and all the town's emergency supplies—bedding, cots, cases of water, cases of soup, hot plates, small generators. As the thieves loaded their booty into their trucks and others not involved in looting did their best to get out of Dodge, utter chaos ensued, resulting in car accidents and fistfights between angry drivers. To the officers' credit, they did manage to retrieve some of the stolen goods, but the vast majority left town with their new owners.

“Sorry my people couldn't stop this before it got out of hand,” Dalton said.

She waved it off. “You did your best. Imagine what would've happened had you not been here at all? Besides, insurance should replace most of it.”

They moved into the auditorium. The place was littered with empty boxes, plastic bottles of water, and cans of soup, apparently dropped and left behind. Kernels of unpopped corn crunched beneath their feet.

Trent bent to pick up a mangled DVD case. He opened it. It was empty. He tossed it back on the floor in disgust. “At least the rest of the town was spared.”

Bernadine was thankful for that as well.

Trent said, “I think they took one look at that weapon Barrett was armed with outside Gary's store and decided to shop elsewhere.”

Dalton chuckled. “Did you borrow that thing from the Terminator?”

Barrett gave him a small smile. “I'm just glad I didn't have to use it. Unlike Ms. Dancer.”

A couple of men trying to break into the Dog were greeted by Rocky and her shotgun.

“Will she be charged?” Bernadine asked.

Dalton shook his head. “She was protecting her business. My men took them to the hospital. The docs will pry the slugs out of their legs and send them over to the jail—which is pretty full, by the way.”

“How many people were arrested?”

“Eighty.”

“Good.”

That night, while the police sat in cars outside the homes in the subdivision, Bernadine checked her e-mail before going to bed. There was only one—from Astrid Wiggins.
Heard you had a busy day. Enjoy the cleanup. LOL.

In the days that followed, everybody pitched in to help with the cleanup. A steady stream of prospectors continued to arrive, but deputies had cars blocking the road into town and that was enough to make the unwanted visitors turn around. Bernadine also began receiving calls and e-mails from people claiming to be (a) related to Cephas and (b) Zoey's distant relatives. She forwarded all the bogus inquiries to Sheriff Dalton's office.

A week later, over at the Garlands' house, Roni was on the phone, talking with her baby brother and fellow musician Randy about Zoey's gold, the riot, and hooking up with a new producer. Her old one, who happened to be a good friend of Jason's, was suddenly too busy to help with her newest project, and she was sure Jason had poisoned the water.

“You should get in touch with Cassidy Sullivan,” Randy offered. He was in San Francisco.

“Never heard of her.”

“She rolls on the down-low, but she's fabulous in the studio.” He ran off the names of some of the people she'd worked with, and Roni was admittedly impressed.

“How old, and where's she from?”

“Late thirties, I'd say, and from Ireland.”

“Ireland?”

“Yeah. Not your average stateside producer, but I've worked with her in the past. Knows her stuff.”

He gave Roni her e-mail address and said, “I'll let her know you'll be getting in touch.”

Roni had her doubts. “I don't know about this, Randy.”

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“No.”

“Then trust me, okay? And just so you'll know, she's an über Roni Moore fan.”

That made Roni smile. They spent a few more minutes talking about her and Reggie, and then his time frame for flying in for the town's Thanksgiving dinner. When they were done, she bit down on her doubts and sent the Sullivan woman an e-mail.

Roni got a response later that day. Cassidy was honored to be considered and wanted to fly in later in the week. She sent along her phone number so they could talk in the meantime. Roni was also looking for a manager to replace Jason, but she decided that could wait for the time being. The producer was more of an immediate need, because she really wanted to get going on the tribute CD.

When she looked up, it was time to pick up Zoey from school, so she hurried to get her jacket and left the house. Life had seemingly gone back to normal. Bernadine hadn't received any more claims from people posing as Zoey's relatives, so Roni hoped the insanity had run its course.

“How'd the day go?” she asked once Zoey got in and did up her seat belt.

“Good, but I keep bumping this stupid cast on stuff. How much longer do I have to wear it?”

“Going to be a while.”

Zoey blew out an exasperated breath. “Can we eat dinner at the Dog?”

“Yes. I've been on the phone most of the day, so not having to cook would be awesome.”

“Did Uncle Randy help you find a new producer?”

“He did. Her name's Cassidy Sullivan. She's Irish.”

“Never met anybody from there before.”

“Neither have I.”

“Is she nice?”

“Randy says she is.”

“Then I think I'll like her.”

On the afternoon Ms. Sullivan was set to arrive, Roni and Zoey drove up to the Hays airport to meet her flight from Miami. Roni still wasn't sure they'd mesh—after all, what did an Irish woman know about jazz? But because of Randy's recommendation, she was willing to give her a chance.

When Cassidy Sullivan walked into baggage claim, everyone stopped and stared. She was thin, of average height, and decked out in black leather pants, a black vest over a green silk blouse, and knee-high black leather boots accented with silver buckles. Her jet black hair was short and cut close to her pretty face, with emerald green highlights that matched her eyes.

Zoey whispered, “Wow!”

“Wow is right,” Roni echoed.

Cassidy had a confident, breezy stride, and when she spotted Roni, her smile lit up the room. “Ms. Moore?”

“Call me Roni.”

“Thanks. Call me Cass.” Her voice was pure Ireland.

“Welcome to Kansas.”

“I'm so honored to meet you.” She glanced down at the staring Zoey and asked, “And who might you be, a fairy princess?”

Looking dazzled, Zoey blinked. “Um, no. I'm Zoey Raymond Garland.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Zoey. I'm Cassidy Grace Sullivan. All that dark hair and dark eyes, you could be one of my nieces. You wouldn't happen to be Irish, now, would you?”

“Um, no. I don't think so. I love the way you talk. You're so awesome.”

“No, I'm just Cass. How'd you hurt your arm?”

“Crashed my bike.”

“Can I sign the cast later?”

“Yeah!”

Roni chuckled. “Cass, do you have luggage?”

“A lot, I'm afraid. When your brother's a rocker and your mum's an old-school rocker too, you travel with a ton of stuff, even if it's only for a few days. Genetic, I think.”

“Your mom's a rocker?” Zoey asked.

“Yep. Way before your time, though. She was lead guitarist for a group called Emerald Isle.”

Roni said, “I know that name. They were a force back in the day.”

Cassidy smiled. “Mum's a huge fan of yours too, and she sends her regards.”

“I'm flattered. Be nice if I could thank her in person sometime soon. Let's get your bags.”

Zoey continued to stare as if frozen in place.

“Zoey, you coming?” Roni asked.

She shook herself loose. “Yeah.”

On the drive away from the airport, Zoey was glad to be riding in the back seat because she couldn't stop staring at Cassidy Sullivan. She loved her clothes and her hair, the black paint on her short manicured nails, and especially the Irish accent. She wondered how long it would take her to learn to speak that way. She knew she was being a geek but couldn't help herself. She'd never met anyone like her before, and in that moment, Danica Patrick dropped down a notch on Zoey's fan-girl crush poll because Cassidy Sullivan ruled.

Cassidy turned in her seat and asked, “So what do you like to do, Lady Zoey?”

“Work on cars and play music.”

“Work on cars, really?”

“Yes.”

“And you're a musician, too. That's pretty fabulous. Do you play an instrument, or do you sing?”