Low Tide (14 page)

“Well, keep safe.”

“You, too.” Wyatt raised a hand over his head to Maggie and walked to his truck. He opened his door and glanced back at her, then got in and drove away, leaving Maggie and David standing in the yard.

Maggie watched Wyatt pull onto the dirt drive, then looked at the man who used to be her husband. He looked good, and so familiar. His glossy, black hair was just below the collar of the flannel shirt he wore open over a tee shirt. He would look much younger without the closely-trimmed beard. He was much shorter and slighter than Wyatt, only five-ten and athletically slim.

Maggie looked at him as he stood there with his hands in his jeans pockets, and her son’s big, pretty eyes looked back at her.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he said. “Sky and I were texting today and she said they were spending the night with your folks. I figured you were alone.”

“It was just work,” Maggie said.

He half-smiled at her and shook his head just once. “No, it wasn’t. But you have the right, Maggie.”

Maggie sighed. “Well, we were just talking.”

“I’m sorry I barged in. Mostly sorry.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and walked up, put his arms around her.

“How are you?” he asked as she hugged him back.

“I’m okay. How are you?”

He stood back, scratched Coco on the neck.

“I’m good. I just got back from two weeks in Mobile, wanted to check on you.”

“What were you doing in Mobile?” she asked.

“I helped a guy rebuild the engine on his shrimp boat,” David said. “He’s gonna give me a good deal on a boat in return.”

“You’re buying a boat?” Maggie asked, surprised.

“Well, yeah. I’m not living on that houseboat just ’cause I’m cheap,” he said, almost shyly. “I’m saving up to pay cash this time.”

“That’s good, David. I’m glad, really.”

David nodded at her. “You look tired, babe. Are you sleeping?”

“Yeah. I’ve just been working a lot.”

“I heard about Gregory Boudreaux. That must have sucked.”

Maggie kept from rubbing her arms by sheer force of will.

“Yeah. Well.”

“I guess I feel sorry for the guy, but he was kind of an ass. I’ve seen him at Papa Joe’s a few times, hammered out of his mind.”

Maggie avoided saying anything else by squatting down and scratching Coco. David watched her for a minute.

“Hey,” he said quietly. She looked up at him. “I’m buying that boat.”

“You should,” she said.

“You’re trying to look encouraging, but I see you chewing on your lip.” He smiled and shrugged. “Hey, they’re gonna make pot legal, anyway.”

Maggie didn’t want to answer the question he was thinking. She knew they’d never get back together, even if he did stop running pot.

“Do you know Richard Alessi?” she asked.

“I don’t deal with meth heads, Maggie, you know that.”

“But you know who he is.”

“Yeah, I know who he is. But I told you, I don’t even hang around with the pot people. Why are you asking about Alessi?”

Maggie stood up and shrugged. “I’m just working on something.”

“He’s a freak, babe. You need to stay away from him,” David said. “And he needs to stay far away from you.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

Suddenly, she was reminded of the time they’d gone to see
Silence of the Lambs,
when they were in sixth grade. They were supposed to be seeing
Point Break
, but snuck in to the R-rated movie instead. It had scared the crap out of Maggie, but she’d refused to leave out of pride. Through all of the frightening scenes, David had tucked her face into his shoulder and put his arms around her, and it had had nothing to do with feeling her up or looking cool. She’d known then that he would always make her feel safe, that he would always be her sanctuary. She’d thought she’d known it, anyway.

An unexpected tear crept down her cheek. David stepped close and took her face in his hands, tilted it up to look at him.

“Hey.”

“I’m just tired. I need to go in,” she said.

“You’re not all by yourself, Maggie,” he said. “Wyatt’s got your back, you’ve got your folks.”

Maggie stared into his eyes, eyes she could still draw perfectly from memory, and nodded.

“And you’ve got me,” he said. “In one form or another, it’s always us. Always has been.”

Maggie put her hands on his and took them away from her face, kissed his palm and let them go.

“I know.”

David kissed her forehead.

“I love you, babe.”

“I love you, too.”

She watched him walk to his truck, Coco right on his heels. He leaned down and rubbed the dog’s neck. “Love you, Coco. Go to Mama.”

Coco ran back to Maggie, and David waved and got into his truck. Maggie turned and walked away, feeling like someone had been punching her in the chest all day long. She was pretty sure that she’d never be able to be with David again, boat or no boat, pot or no pot. But, God help her, he was still the best friend she’d ever had.

Maggie had just fallen asleep when her cell phone woke her. She reached over and picked it up, recognized the number as Grace’s.

“Grace,” she said.

“Ms. Redmond, I’m really sorry it’s so late, but this is the first chance I’ve had to call you.” Grace’s voice was hushed.

“It’s okay,” Maggie said, getting out of bed. Coco jumped down and followed her out of the room.

“They’re meeting some guys out off of Burnt Bridge Road, out there in Tate’s Hell? Ricky was talking to Joey about it over here at the house, then I heard him giving directions to somebody else on the phone.”

Maggie grabbed a notepad and pen from the counter and sat down at the kitchen table. “Okay, do you know when?”

“Eleven o’clock tomorrow night. At some old lookout tower or something the rangers use.”

Maggie scribbled on the pad.

“I didn’t hear everything he said to the guy on the phone,” Grace said. “But I know he said there was a turn-off, like an ATV trail, 1.4 miles in. I’m not sure if that was from Burnt Bridge or not, though. I never been out there.”

“Okay, Grace. I’ll find it. Do you know who’s going to be there?”

“Not exactly. I know he will, and Joey and Gary. That might have been Gary he was talking to. But the guys they’re meeting, I don’t know anything about that.”

“Okay,” Maggie said, writing it down. “Where’s Ricky now?”

“He went to get some beer.”

“Do you what they’re doing tomorrow, exactly?”

“They’re selling these guys a bunch of crystal. Guys Ricky’s never dealt with before. Ricky’s real excited, but I think he’s kind of nervous, too,” Grace said. “Joey said something about ten keys and they were talking about what they were going to buy after they paid the guys that work in the lab.”

Maggie did some quick math on the notepad. She’d been out of narcotics for five years, but she figured ten kilos was worth about six hundred thousand dollars on the market. Ricky was a wholesaler, but he was making some big money. A lot more than he was used to.

“Okay, Grace. I talked to the Assistant State’s Attorney, and he’s agreed that there’s no reason to ask you to testify or anything if this goes to court. He’s also fairly sure Richard won’t get bail this time, but you need to think of somewhere to go if he does.”

There was a long silence, with the exception of Grace’s breathing.

“Grace?”

“I’m just gonna pray they don’t give him bail.”

“Listen to me. You call me or you call 911 the minute you even think you need to, do you understand?”

“If he gets out on bail, will you know right away?”

“I’ll go to the bail hearing myself.”

“You could call me right away and tell me? I could leave the phone on that day, you know?”

“Yes.”

Maggie heard the girl take a deep breath and let it out quickly. “This is what I need to do,” she said.

“Okay. Get off the phone and stash it, okay?”

“I am.”

Maggie was going to say something reassuring, but Grace had hung up. She disconnected and speed-dialed Wyatt. He answered on the second ring.

“What’s up?” he asked groggily.

“Grace called. They’re meeting at eleven tomorrow night, out in Tate’s Hell.”

She heard a rustle of sheets or covers, and the sound of a mattress squeaking.

“Alright, I’ll call James and we’ll all sit down tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.”

“Okay.”

There was a pause. Maggie wasn’t sure what to say to fill it.

“Everything alright with David?” Wyatt asked, saving her the trouble. She heard him trying to sound casual.

“Yeah. He just stayed a few minutes. Checking on me.”

“Well, we’ll continue that conversation soon.”

“Okay.”

“Doors locked? Freaky rooster on duty?”

Maggie couldn’t help smiling. “Everything’s battened down, as usual.”

“Good. Then get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Sheriff.”

“Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

E
veryone was piled into the conference room at the Sheriff’s Department. Wyatt stood at one end of the long table, flanked by James from narcotics, and Frank Pittman, captain of the SWAT team.

Standing along both sides of the table with Maggie were five deputies from Narcotics, two SWAT guys, and four other deputies who just happened to be scheduled for duty later that night.

Capt. Pittman unrolled a large map, laid it down in front of Wyatt, and took out a pen.

“Here’s the old ranger station here,” he said, using the pen as a pointer. “It’s no longer in use. Really more of a lookout than a station, not much bigger than a good deer stand. It’s the only one even remotely close, according to the directions you got from your contact, so we’re saying this is it.”

He dragged the pen along a barely visible line that ran north and south a few hundred yards from the ranger station. “Right here, we’ve got an ATV trail that’s currently closed because of downed trees. Access is from this road over here, about a quarter mile from the target location. I believe the trail your target’s supposed to use is the one on the other side of the lookout. As you can see, it’s right off Burnt Bridge Road, and you run about five hundred yards before you get to the location.”

“So are we going in via this closed trail, then?” Wyatt asked.

“That’s what I’m thinking, Sheriff. It means circling around the long way from town, but the likelihood of being spotted is minimal, I think.”

Wyatt leaned over and peered at the map. There were a few trees penciled in to indicate woods between the closed trail and the lookout.

“What kind of cover are we going to get from these woods here?”

“None, unless you’re sending some toddlers in. This is all new growth scrub pines, some no bigger around than my arm,” Pittman said. “Most of these losers are totally fried in the head, but these guys actually picked a pretty decent spot. Very little cover, not a widely used area, and the lookout’s called a lookout for a reason. It’s on stilts, approximately twelve feet high. Good visibility all the way around, with a window here and one on the opposite wall here.”