High-Caliber Concealer (31 page)

“Why didn’t the sheriff tell me?” he asked
looking up at Nikki, puzzled.

“That is an excellent question,” said Jane.
“Many of the sheriff’s actions seem a little strange to me.”

“That’s because he’s an arrogant prick who
thinks he owns everything in the County,” said Cooter. “But why
wouldn’t he tell me if Ylina was dead?”

“We think Ylina had something that the
sheriff really wants, but that he didn’t find in her room.”

“Something bad?” Cooter still looked
puzzled.

“Possibly something bad for the sheriff,”
said Nikki. She was trusting a lot on Cooter’s innate distrust of
law enforcement.

“Well, let’s go look for it,” said Cooter,
standing up and dropping the hood ornament into the dust. “I never
liked that guy,” he said, yanking open the door to the shed. “If he
had something to do with Ylina’s,” he hesitated, “with her not
being here, then I want him to go down in a fiery ball of
flames.”

“We can help with that,” said Jane.

“Good! I mean, I figured you would since he
screwed Nikki’s dad so royally, but you never know about
people.”

The shed-turned-office was filthy, except
for the desk in the corner. A stray sunbeam sneaking through a
grimy window illuminated the dust motes in the air. It smelled of
grease and mildew.

“Ylina sat there,” said Cooter, pointing to
the desk that was organized in a grid of papers, computer, stapler,
and pens that would have made an engineer happy.

“On it,” said Jane.

“Cooter, what did happen with my dad and the
sheriff?” asked Nikki, ignoring the desk in favor of the customer
counter with the cash register on it.

“Bastard planted weed on your dad,” said
Cooter with a shrug. “Then he said a bunch of bullshit in court and
got him extradited. Which, since your dad was one of my best
customers at the time, hit me kind of hard. I’m sure it didn’t do
you any good either.”

The cash register had been left open, the
change and the small bills had been ignored.

“What did she take?” asked Nikki, poking at
the cash register.

“Just the hundreds,” said Cooter with a
shrug. “About five hundred bucks. I’m not happy about it, but it’s
not the end of the world.”

“Who’s your best customer these days?” asked
Nikki.

“Pedro Alavar,” said Cooter. “Buys a lot of
cars.”

“Hangs out with a guy named Milt a lot? They
both stink like weed?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy. You know him?”

“We’ve met,” said Nikki. “Jane what have you
got?”

“Nothing, so far,” said Jane, her fingers
flying across the keyboard of the computer. “If there’s something
on here, then it’s been wiped. It would help if I could take it
into the office.”

“You should probably stay away from Milt and
Pedro,” said Cooter, looking uncomfortable.

“They’re the kind who wait for people
outside of bars,” said Nikki.

“If you mean that they don’t believe in
fighting fair and would sneak up on you in a parking lot, then
yeah, that’s them. Not nice guys.”

Nikki stepped back and stared at the
register. There was something odd about the whole thing. Ylina had
gone out into the junkyard to get whatever it was out of that car.
It had been a black bag. Then she’d heard the cops and gone running
back in this direction. Nikki looked around the room, trying to put
herself in Ylina’s place. She’d been scared, rushed. She’d come
back into the office. If the sheriff had found her here, what would
she have done? Hidden the bag? Nikki glanced at the pristine desk.
She wouldn’t have hidden it in her area, she would have hidden it
somewhere it could be overlooked. Nikki surveyed the room: two
grimy chairs by the door, a deer head on the far wall, looking
motheaten, one book case with a large collection of car owner
manuals and National Geographics, and one table with an incomplete
375 piece puzzle on top. Nothing was out of place, just the
register cash drawer hanging open.

“If she hadn’t left the cash drawer open,
would you have known anything was missing?”

“Not for most of the day,” said Cooter. “I
think she busted it. I tried to close it, but it just popped open
again. That’s actually the worst part. Cash registers ain’t
cheap.”

Nikki pushed the drawer shut gently, but met
resistance about an inch before the drawer closed. Frowning, she
pulled the drawer back out and then lifted out the cash tray.
Sliding her hand into the back of the till she felt along the back
wall of the drawer inch by inch. On the far right corner she felt
something hard and pulled it out.

“Yes!” said Jane, already reaching for the
thumb drive in Nikki’s hand.

“That’s one of Ylina’s doohickies,” said
Cooter. “I’m not supposed to touch them because I make technology
die. That’s what Ylina always says anyway. Said, I guess.” Changing
to the past tense brought up tears again and Cooter abruptly turned
and went outside.

“I feel really bad for him,” said Jane.

“I feel really bad for Ylina,” said Nikki.
“Now let’s find out what’s on the thumb drive.”

Jane plugged the drive into Ylina’s laptop
and quickly tapped open the file. “It’s audio files. All different
dates. She seems to be organizing them by some sort of code. INC+5,
INC+4, INC-2. I don’t know what that means. Maybe she left some
sort of key?”

“Hit the INC-2,” said Nikki. “Let’s try one
while you’re poking around.”

Jane shrugged and opened up the file.

“I don’t know,” said a male voice. Nikki
thought it was probably either Milt or Pedro’s, but couldn’t be
sure. “I didn’t think Jar Jar Binks was that bad.”

“Not that bad? Not that bad?” The other
voice sounded outraged.

“What? He was funny. I mean Jedi had Ewoks.
I thought Jar Jar was the prequel version of Ewoks.”

There was an inarticulate squawk and then
the recording cut off.

“He makes a point,” said Jane.

“Possibly if Jar Jar hadn’t sounded so much
like a 1920s black-face performer I might be able to go with that
theory.”

“I think that’s unfair,” said Jane. “He was
an alien.”

“But the cultural lens through which we view
him is white America,” said Nikki. Jane gaped up at her. “What? I
do listen to you occasionally. Hit another one. Try that
INC+5.”

“I don’t care,” said Merv’s voice. “I don’t
care if his grandmother is in the hospital. Go to the hospital and
drag his sorry ass over here.”

There was another voice, but Nikki couldn’t
quite make out the words.

“No,” said Merv. “No more chances. He either
gets the job done or I’m burying him out next to Luis. He’s
becoming a liability. I can’t have him shooting his mouth off every
time he gets drunk.”

The second voice murmured something else,
and then the recording shut off.

“Well,” said Jane, “We’ll probably need a
larger sample size, but I’m going to guess that the plus and minus
rating has to do with how serious the conversation is.”

“The fact that Luis is buried somewhere is
fairly serious,” agreed Nikki. “Hit the one with the most recent
date.”

Jane did as she was told and there was a
second of pause as the file loaded. The audio software displayed a
sine wave of rising and falling bars that matched the voices.

“We just need a farm,” said Merv.

“But it can’t be too out in the open,” said
another voice. “We can’t have people poking around.”

“That’s why I think the Connelly place is
about perfect,” said Merv. “It’s an orchard. We leave the outside
perimeter of trees and then we take out the middle sections. Lots
of room to subdivide. Lots of good sunshine. Easy to keep nosy
neighbors out of our business.”

“You said she wasn’t interested in
selling.”

“She’s old,” said Merv. “She’s been talking
about retiring and moving to the Westside with her daughter. We
just have to find the right price. Plus, there’s a nice symmetry
considering her son-in-law started all this.”

The other voice grunted. “I’m worried about
certification.” This time the voice was clearly recognizable as one
of the voices from the previous conversation. Nikki thought it
might be Milt.

“Don’t be,” said Merv. “I know the inspector
for this region. I know whose table he’s parking his feet under and
I know his wife’s phone number. We’ll get the property. We’ll set
up a legal-size grow operation. We show it to George and get him to
approve it. And then we expand, expand, expand. If he wants to come
back and re-inspect I’ll dissuade him. After the plants come in, we
can cut off our Canadian friends and start shipping directly
South.”

“What about Pims? He’s a liability.”

“We’ll see,” said Merv. “It depends on how
stop-happy the state patrol in Idaho and Oregon are. Now that pot’s
legal they’ll be stopping every Washington license plate they see.
Pims and his clever cars are still useful, for now. We’ll
re-evaluate next year.”

“The Canadians won’t be happy.”

“Screw the Canadians,” said the sheriff
forcefully. “They’ve been nickel and diming me for years because
they know I’ve got nowhere else to go. Meanwhile, I’m the one
taking all the risks. Not anymore. Ylina, get your ass in here.
It’s time to hit the road.” There was the sound of a door
opening.

“I look like a soccer mom,” said Ylina.

“A soccer mom with fifty pounds of weed in
the under carriage of her minivan,” said the sheriff. There was a
chuckle from the other man in the room.

“I think it’s the wig that really sells it,”
said Milt.

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have
to wear it,” said Ylina. They heard the sound of footsteps and then
there was the rustle of cloth and the recording ended.

“Incriminating,” said Jane.

“Yes, very,” agreed Nikki.

“No, that’s what INC stands for. I found a
text doc with notes. That was an incriminating level of plus five.
The Jar Jar Binks conversation was a negative two. She also makes
the following statement:

I have been coerced into smuggling marijuana
for the sheriff of Pend Oreille County, Mervin Smalls. I was
brought to the United States as a small child. My mother died in
2010. I have no other family in the US, and I do not know my family
in Colombia. The sheriff threatened to deport or kill me if I
didn’t work for him. I believe he is fully capable of carrying out
either threat. Mervin Smalls imports marijuana from Canada inside
cars modified by Bill Pims. He then sells it to gangs in Idaho.
Using false passports and documentation, I drive the cars into
Canada, put marijuana into a concealed compartment and drive them
back into the US. I have made fourteen trips in the last year. The
dates are noted below. I have made recordings of the Sheriff and
his associates without their knowledge as proof of their crimes. I
intend to—” Jane stopped reading.

“Intend to what?” asked Nikki.

“I don’t know,” said Jane. “She didn’t
finish the sentence. Presumably she meant to give it to someone who
could stop the sheriff.”

“We need to get this to Donny,” said Nikki.
“Come on, let’s take it next door and see if he’s up yet.”

Nikki tucked the thumb drive into her pocket
and exited the junkyard office. Cooter was staring at the hood
ornament he’d formerly been polishing as if it were a crystal
ball.

“Do you think the sheriff had something to
do with Ylina’s death?” he asked looking up.

“Yes, I do,” said Nikki.

“Are you going to stop him?”

“Yes, I am.”

Cooter squinted at the sun as if checking
the time of day and then back at Nikki. “That’s not going to be
easy. He’s top of the food chain around here.”

“Lions always think they’re top of the food
chain until they meet a crocodile,” said Nikki. “I should have
stopped him before he hurt Ylina, but I promise he’s not going to
hurt anyone else.”

“You seem really confident,” said Cooter
frowning. “But you’re an itty bitty thing and someone said you were
a Carrie Mae lady. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“She has help,” said Jane. “And you are
underestimating Carrie Mae ladies.”

Cooter scratched his head and then shrugged.
“Just make it happen then, I guess.”

Nikki nodded and got in the car. It felt
anti-climactic to go out to the road and then one driveway to the
left, but she needed Donny on board. He was the one who could take
credit for all her investigating and keep Z’ev in the dark about
her adventures here in Kaniksu Falls.

Mrs. Fernandez opened the door.
“
Hola
, Nikki,” she said smiling. “I’m so
happy to see you. I didn’t get to say hello at the party.”

“I’m happy to see you, too,” said Nikki,
returning the proffered hug. “And I really want to catch up, but I
need to see Donny about something.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Fernandez leaned out and
inspected the row of cars in the driveway.. “I’ll check his room,
but I’m pretty sure he spent the night at Jackson’s. You know they
haven’t had much of a chance to catch up since Donny’s been
home.”

Nikki threw her hands in the air in
frustration. “They never tell me anything.”

“That sounds like the boys,” said Mrs.
Fernandez nodding placidly. “Do you need his cell phone
number?”

“No, I’ve got it in my phone. Thanks, Mrs.
Fernandez. I’ll go find him at Jackson’s.”

“OK, but when you talk to him, remind him
that we’re all going to Spokane tonight for his cousin’s
Quinceañera
tonight. We’re leaving at six,
so he has to be home by then or drive himself.”

“I’ll let him know,” said Nikki, backing
toward the car. “Thanks.” Nikki flipped through her contact list as
she approached the car door and dialed, but Donny didn’t pick up.
Nikki tapped her nails on the roof of the car and waited for the
beep.

“Donny, it’s Nikki. I’ve got a serious
situation. I need your help. Call me ASAP.” She hung up the phone
and went over to Jane’s car. “He spent the night at Jackson’s.
Which means that they’re probably ignoring their phones and playing
video games. We’ll have to go back up to Jackson’s and roust
them.”