Last Track, The (11 page)

Not that the Partner flinched when spending the proceeds. Oh, hell no. The Partner planned small, but chewed operating cash by the truckload. Expenses ballooned each quarter, swelling as fast as sales increased. Four million this fiscal year, three million the last, and two point seven five the year before that. If it shined in the light and cost lots of money, the Partner bought it, probably twice to spite Crotty. The bleeding never stopped.

If Crotty were sitting across from the Partner right then, he would have driven the phone straight through the Partner’s skull.

“We need to talk about the situation,” the Partner said.

“Agreed,” said Crotty. “We’re going to bleed red ink soon if you don’t reel in these costs.”

“Not the money.
The situation.
”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Crotty knew exactly what the Partner meant.

“And what about the searchers?”

“Do you bother to listen to the police-band chatter? They’ve got nothing,” Crotty said, sure of himself. “They never find anything.”

“Maybe,” the Partner said. “How did the background check come out?”

“Mike Brody might prove useful. Do you want to review the key details now?”

The Partner ignored Crotty. “I can’t see how he’s going to be an asset. I’m worried.”

“God forbid you worry about something,” Crotty said, his strong voice dripping with disdain. “Natural selection has been very good to us so far.”

“Listen to me, Crotty. It’s not like the other times. We’re up against someone who has a different deal with nature.”

Such claims were blasphemy to Crotty. What had worked before still worked. Nothing had changed. Of course the results would turn out the same.

“They say he’s the man you want when the one you love is missing,” the Partner said.

Crotty smirked. “Oh, that’s just so precious. Just because he has a cute tag line doesn’t mean he can find a goddamn thing before it’s too late.”

“We can’t risk it,” said the Partner. “Neither of us can.”

Crotty shook his head. “Actually, you could do a hell of a lot more. But once again, I guess I’ll have to pick up the slack. You know, I really like this Mike Brody guy. Ex-Delta Force. Seven years as an Army Ranger. Smoke jumper. A real adrenaline junkie. I say we use him.”

“Everyone says he’s incorruptible. Believe me, I listen for the cracks in character.”

“Hearing declines with age,” Crotty said. “Like your logic.”

“Whatever is to be done, it needs to happen quickly,” said the Partner. “The sooner the search ends, the better.”

Crotty said, “Let’s just get to the heart of this. You’re less worried about what Mike Brody is looking for than what else he might find.”

A long pause, then a concession from the Partner. “Maybe.”

Satisfied with the exposed bluff, Crotty continued. “Stop worrying. I’ll take care of it.”

“How exactly are you going to handle this?”

“The fastest way to anyone is through the people they love.”

“Wait a second. What are you going to do?” the Partner asked.

“You mean,
we
.”

12:27:55 PM

Andy’s rapid progress in the riding pen delighted Jessica. The boy, while not a natural, needed far less instruction than the other guests. Mr. Jones was more horse than Andy could handle, but he grasped the basics. She was proud of her son’s ease.

What satisfied Jessica most was that Andy got this trait from her. Mike could not claim it came from him. Watching Andy in the saddle, feet hooked through the stirrups, hands clutching the reins, she saw herself. This was an unusual experience; she welcomed it. One way or another, Jessica had committed herself to learning a little more about Andy on this trip. To Jessica, these were the sort of moments that were only possible on vacation. If Mr. Mike Brody passed on the opportunity, well then that was his loss.

Lunch was homemade chili around the fire pit, just as the Pine Woods brochure outlined. Sizing up the crowd at breakfast, the chef, Chappy, had estimated the number of people who wanted seconds and prepared exactly the right amount for lunch. A biker with a grayed-out ponytail and tattoos peeking past the ends of a long-sleeve shirt—Chappy was a model of food-service efficiency.

The woman ahead of Jessica asked Chappy, “Is this vegetarian?”

Chappy heaped a massive glob into her wooden bowl and said “There’s vegetables in it, sure, uh-huh.”

Douglas fir pines cast long shadows over the group as they sat cross-legged in a circle; the shade cooled them. Many leaned against the tree trunks for support. The scent of chili powder and leather polish filled the air. The food was delicious, the blend of herbs and spices warm and rich. Serving the last wrangler, Chappy dropped the cast-iron lid into place, snuffed the fire by kicking dirt over the embers, and left.

Erich appeared halfway through the meal. “How’s everyone doing?” Bringing his hands together, palms clasped tightly for punctuation. A dramatic gesture from an engaging man.

The crowd concurred that everything was going well. Erich stood at the edge of the circle, closest to Jessica. At least that was how it seemed. She decided his proximity was coincidental, that it meant nothing. Erich just needed a place to stand, she told herself. Yet the glare of his charm was infectious, almost addictive, as was his effect on an audience when he spoke.

“Remember this is just the beginning,” Erich said. “Now that everyone has a feel for riding, tomorrow is a half-day excursion. We’ll take you down to the base of the lake. We might see a bit of rain, so please bring a jacket with a hood or a hat. Afterward you’ll learn a little bit about tending cattle. And don’t forget the bonfire tonight!”

Jessica had a question, and hesitated. Her own recalcitrance was surprising. For the third time today, she wondered what was wrong with her.

Killing time between activities, she went back to her room to wash her face and make some phone calls. On the way she got Mike’s voice mail and had some ideas for Lisbeth, how she might help the search. Jessica had a lot of contacts and it sounded like they were needed.

Heading toward the room with Andy, she saw a woman with twins in the hallway. Jessica had noticed them at meals, but had not yet been introduced—only caught a mention that the trio lived in Utah. To keep the woman and the face straight in her mind without a name, Jessica dubbed her Utah mom.

“Do you want to play with us?” one of the twins asked Andy.

Andy smiled at the two girls. “Can I, Mom?”

Although she had overlooked Andy’s skill at this, he had mastered one of the most crucial concepts in social life already: he was very approachable. The boy genuinely liked people, so people liked him.

“Stay near the main building,” Jessica said. As the three tore off, she called after them. “Just for ten minutes. Okay?”

The women sat on the porch—a comfortable space between them on the oak bench—to watch the kids play.

“I’m Cara Isham, by the way.”

“Jessica Barrett.”

Cara’s clothes—so perfect—said designer label, straight from the finest New York stores. Her jeans probably cost more than Jessica’s entire outfit. “I guess our kids are trying to tell us it’s time to meet each other,” Cara said.

“I think so,” Jessica said, with a little laugh.

When the children were out of earshot, Cara said, “I bet you’re a reporter. You have that look of someone who likes asking questions.”

“Freelance work mostly.”

“Oh, that’s so exciting. Gosh, I always wanted to write.” Vibrations from her cell phone distracted Cara for a second. Checking the caller ID, she ignored the call. Like her wardrobe, the cell phone was top-shelf, so new, it was unavailable to most service providers.

This was cutting-edge gear Cara possessed and Jessica approved.

“Normally,” Cara said, “I’d answer that, but I’ve had enough fights with my partner today. Always harping about my spending habits. Please.” Her eyes rolled, the deep brown irises almost lilting. “I’m very sorry for the interruption.”

“It’s okay.” Returning to the subject of writing, Jessica said, “It’s amazing what can happen when you allow yourself the time.” She indulged those who fantasized about the writing life, rather than betray the truth about the drudgery and isolation the job required. By not dispelling a myth about the trade, she reinforced it. Telling newcomers writing was really work was pointless, anyway. Beginners fixated on the good points. She remembered doing the same herself a dozen years ago. She had not listened when a kind mentor told her hawking one’s words was the last profession a sane person should pursue.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Cara said. “I just don’t have the time. My work keeps me busy. And my kids, of course!”

“What do you do?” Jessica asked.

“I have a minority interest in a few small companies,” Cara said. “One makes GPS equipment and other high-tech gear. They hook me up with gadgets.”

“Have you been here before?”

Cara explained. “Months ago, I was in the area checking on some investments and there was a black-tie affair at the ranch. It was so much fun, I decided to bring the family back as guests.” She paused. “Say, I could help you with your story, even if I can’t write. I can proofread. That’s almost writing.”

“Did I mention a story?” Though surprised—and a little taken aback—at Cara for being so direct, Jessica stuck with her cover. At least for now. She wanted to know if she could trust Cara first.

“Isn’t that what the tape recorder and camera are for?” Cara asked, smiling. “I figured you were researching.”

Jessica laughed. “Just taking a few notes. For personal reference.”

“Taking many notes about Erich?”

“Erich?” Jessica fumbled, and had trouble containing her surprise here. Apparently Cara had no problem sharing blunt observations with strangers.

“Ah, well,” said Cara, shaking her head. “I notice. He’s been watching you from the word go.”

“I’m not absolutely sure about that.” Jessica expressed this a bit dubiously, yet leaned closer toward the woman. Hearing that Erich noticed her—someone else was validating what she suspected herself—made Jessica want to hear more from Cara. She could not deny her bias.

“Well, from what I saw today,” Cara said, “it’s pretty obvious.”

In part, she wondered if Cara was teasing. There was a trace of playfulness in her voice, perhaps, but her demeanor was so gentle Jessica did not dismiss her new acquaintance’s words as pure jest. Also, Cara smiled a lot, which was disarming.

Minutes spent in conversation passed quickly; the kids played well beyond their allotted time. Then Jessica realized she needed to make a phone call.

Hailing Andy over to the porch, Jessica said, “This has been very pleasant, and I hate to cut this short, but I need to take care of something.”

“The kids are having so much fun.” Cara stared at the blur of children dashing toward the bench. “If you want, I can watch Andy. I know how exhausting it is being a single mother, trying to juggle everything by yourself. You deserve a little break, right?”

Jessica felt relieved that at last someone understood—even recognized, bless her new cherubic friend—her plight. Thanking Cara, Jessica left and made two phone calls in her room. Both the numbers she needed were inside her planner on the nightstand. First she called Lisbeth, to find out what she could do for the search.

“The one thing I need desperately is a helicopter,” Lisbeth said. “Every time I think I have one lined up, somehow it falls through at the last minute.”

The second call Jessica made was to a well-placed friend in the National Guard. He and Jessica had traded favors in the past, and he was a good friend of the family. “Briggs,” Jessica said, “I need a miracle in Montana.”

“I haven’t walked on water much lately,” Briggs said, “but for you, I’ll try.”

“There’s a search for a missing child in some rough terrain and the local PD can’t get any helicopters. Any chance you have a spare one under a rock?”

“How long has the kid been in the wild?” Briggs said.

“Over twenty-four hours.”

“That’s too long. Give me the search lead’s number and I’ll work out the details with them. It might not be there until morning, depending on what we have on hand locally.”

After Jessica thanked Briggs and hung up, an odd sense tugged her. It took a moment to pinpoint it. The planner on the nightstand. She noticed because she set the planner beside the hospitality basket on the bureau that morning.

Certainly, she did. Right after she wrote down Lisbeth’s number. And since she had no need for any information inside the organizer since then, it should have been just where she left it.

Odd, perhaps a bit strange, yet not impossible. Maybe she had a brief lapse of short-term memory, moved it herself, and had forgotten doing so. Nearly any other cause was better than her one great fear of losing the planner. After all, her whole life was available in it at a glance. For reassurance, she flipped through the pages quickly, pausing at a see-through divider. She ran her finger over the plastic sleeve that held pages of photographs. Looking at them almost always lifted her mood. And it worked then, until she hit the third page.

Where there should have been a picture of Andy at a water park this past summer, there was an empty spot.

Jessica rushed back to the porch to find Andy.

12:28:20 PM

Sean discovered more than one thighbone in the soil. Femurs, gray and pallid, littered the trail, each picked clean as if acid had dissolved every ounce of muscle and flesh.

He had zero experience with death. It was different than on television or at the movies. School had failed at preparing him, too. True, there had been a partial skeleton in the junior high biology lab, but that model looked fake, and so he ignored it. These skeletons were real, though, and belonged to real people, who were now really dead.

Two skeletons, or rather a set of rib cages, spines and skulls, terrified him. Exposure to the sun and wind had bleached the bones a pale light gray. The bodies were seated. A nylon line looped through the clavicles and thighs, fastening the slumped torsos to tree trunks.