Ransom River (26 page)

Seth said, “Twenty-five million. I can buy it.”

Rory said, “I can’t. Because a heist that took place when I was in fourth grade has absolutely no connection to me.”

For a second, Lucky’s expression was zealous, as though he was about to spring a trap, or hit her with the last, triumphant bit of evidence. But his ardor dimmed. He looked almost sad.

“It does,” he said. “Nobody could prove it, and nobody would talk. But rumor has it, the man who got away was your uncle Lee.”

“L
ee?”

“Lee Mackenzie. None other. I’m sorry, Rory,” Lucky said.

She felt stunned. “That’s crazy. Lee isn’t a bank robber.”

“He was a person of interest in the investigation.”

Seth turned from the window. His face was dead solemn. Her heart sank.

Uncle Lee—sweet, crazy Uncle Lee, who was half-assed at everything he did. She really knew nothing about him. Except that he had been in jail several times and had scooted across the border to Mexico and stayed there.

She closed her eyes. “What did the police know about him?”

“Nothing tangible,” Lucky said. “A few bits of hearsay, mostly from unreliable characters. His previous run-ins with the law were…let’s call them small-time but aspirational attempts at criminality.”

“Aspirational. Meaning he was looking to get into things in a bigger way?”

“He liked money,” Lucky said.

Rory put her elbows on her knees and leaned her head against her hands. “Person of interest—so, a suspect. But you had no evidence against him.”

The silence was pounding. She looked up.

Lucky had shed his jolly exterior. She saw the stony resolve he must have had as a cop. The teddy bear had teeth.

“Lee got busted three or four times over the years I was a detective,” he
said. “Fencing stolen property, one time using a stolen prescription to obtain Vicodin, I think it was. Things like that. He pled out, got probation the first time, did a couple of months in county lockup for one of the other charges. Small-time stuff.”

“So why, if none of the others involved in the robbery would talk…”

“Sometimes it’s what
doesn’t
get said, as much as what does.”

“Oh God.”

“Nobody had heard about Lee being involved with the heist. The other robbers were from L.A. But they had Ransom River connections. They ran in the same circles. And Rory, there’s one big stonking clue in all of this.”

She knew but hated to say it. “No. Lee left town before the robbery. I’m sure of it.”

“Your uncle left town right
around
the time of the robbery. And he hasn’t been back.”

She wanted to argue. It was the thinnest of links. But she also suspected that Lucky had more evidence than he’d revealed. Maybe much more.

And worst of all, she could believe it.

She could believe Lee would be involved in the heist. But there was one thing she couldn’t believe: that her uncle was behind the courthouse attack, or any attempt to hurt her. That still made no sense.

“How am I going to tell my parents?” she said.

Lucky simply looked at her. Almost, it seemed, with pity.

“You don’t have to tell them,” he said. “It won’t come as a surprise.”

Her limbs went cold. She felt like she was shrinking inside. And then she felt stupid. Blind.

Of course her parents suspected. How could they not? And the low conversations, the mutters in the kitchen that stopped abruptly when she walked in, the awkward glances and forced smiles that came from mentioning Uncle Lee—the entire Mackenzie way of doing emotional business took on new shades of gray.

The night of the meteor shower, the night of Freddy Krueger, she and Seth had hidden in the countryside for an hour before she snuck back into her room through the window. She’d paused, listening, but the house was quiet. In the morning, at breakfast, she said, “I heard a noise last night.”

“It was nothing,” her mom said.

“There was a van out back. A guy got out.”

Her mom’s smile looked like a jack-o’-lantern. “It was a man from your dad’s work. He was drunk. He just needed to sleep it off.”

And her mom stood and took her dishes to the sink and left the kitchen.

A random fragment of memory bloomed, full color. Her mom, coming into her room to tell her good night, after the Memorial Day barbecue. After Boone and Riss had gone home. After the postcards from Uncle Lee had been ripped from her corkboard.

Sam had strolled in, smiling. Rory was sitting on her bed with a book in her hands. Sam bent, kissed her on the top of her head, smoothed down her hair, said, “Don’t read too late.” Rory had nodded, feeling roiled and disturbed. Sam stepped back, and her gaze snagged on the corkboard. The bits of postcard stuck beneath the tacks, all that remained. Rory waited for her mom to say something. She herself did not want to mention her cousins. Did not want to start a
thing.
Just let it all stay quiet.
Shh. Nothing to see here.

But Sam stared at the corkboard for a pensive moment and forced a smile again. “Sleep tight, sweetie.”

Turned and left.

What had Sam thought? That Rory had torn down the postcards herself? They never mentioned it aloud. It was one of those things that just floated past, a piece of emotional junk that the family presumed would degrade and sink to the bottom.

No more postcards arrived from her uncle after that. The supply on the corkboard was never replenished.

Sam didn’t know, however, that Rory had another postcard from Uncle Lee, one she kept in her desk drawer. It was particularly colorful and adventurous, and Rory had kept it as a special, secret message from her uncle.
So Boone and Riss hadn’t been able to rip it down. As far as she knew, the postcard was still there, in her old desk or in a box in her closet at her parents’ house.

The shrinking, sinking sensation intensified. Lee hadn’t withdrawn from his family. He had run.

She felt Seth and Lucky staring at her.

She exhaled. “So what do we do?”

Lucky said, “I’ll ask the department to pull the file on the Geronimo Armored robbery.”

“No,” Seth said.

Lucky sat back, stung. “I haven’t been put completely out to pasture. The department has a cold-case crew—some of us old-timers look at open cases from time to time. And this is a big one.”

“Don’t,” Seth said. “Not yet.”

“You got to trust somebody, son.”

“Dad, I trust
you.
” For a moment Seth looked hurt. Then he crossed to the sofa and put a hand on Lucky’s shoulder. “Just let me think about this for a while.”

Rory stood. “Seth’s right. Don’t excavate the file yet.”

Lucky seemed regretful. “If your uncle’s involved, you won’t be able to keep it buried forever. And you won’t be able to protect your folks. Or your aunt.”

“I don’t want to. I want to find out the truth. And if Lee’s involved, the chips will have to fall where they may. But let me talk to my parents first.”

She nodded at Seth, indicating she was ready to leave. To Lucky she said, “Thanks. I appreciate your help. And your honesty.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” he said.

“It is what it is. Nothing to do with you.”

At the door she gave him a hug. He squeezed her and thumped her on the back, then turned guardedly to Seth.

“Good to see you.”

After an awkward pause, Lucky gave him what Rory’s dad called the Great American Buddy Pat: a hearty cuff on the shoulder.

The phone rang as Seth opened the door. They were halfway to the truck when Lucky called to them and came outside.

His expression was cool. “I know you want time to think about having me talk to the department. But time’s up.”

Seth said, “Who was it?”

“Another old-timer. Detective who still punches the clock. He pretended he was calling just to chat, but he gave me a heads-up. The detectives who interviewed Rory last night—”

“Xavier and Zelinski?” Rory said.

“Them. They wanted him to feel me out, find out what you’re up to. And find out what’s going on between you two. Word’s spread that you’re here, son.”

“What the hell?” she said.

“Watch yourselves,” Lucky said. Then he looked at her. “Just a second. Rory, Seth’ll catch up with you.”

Seth looked wary, but Rory nodded and said, “I’ll be in the truck.” She walked toward the pickup and heard the men’s voices behind her.

Lucky said, “I know you’re going after the truth. And I know it’s futile to try and stop you. But don’t get Rory killed.”

“Dad.”

“Listen to me, Seth.”

Rory forced herself not to turn and stare. Lucky lowered his voice. But she heard it, as clear as glass.

“She loves you,” Lucky said. “And you love her even more. You couldn’t live with her death on your head.”

In the sun, as Rory approached the truck, her reflection warped and winked back at her, distorted and semitransparent. She saw beyond it. She saw that by returning to Ransom River, Seth might put himself in danger. And she saw why he had returned despite that risk: for her. The sun jumped from the windows and stung her eyes.

T
hey rolled through flat farmland striped with rows of strawberries. Irrigation sprinklers rainbowed the air in the warm autumn afternoon. On the stereo the Black Keys pounded out hard blues. Rory stared out the windshield.

You love her even more.

She didn’t want to bleed in front of Seth. She listened to the music.

“Lee,” she said. “That night.”

“Freddy Krueger,” Seth said.

“If that was him…Goddamn it.”

In her hermetically sealed memories, her uncle had delighted in seeing her. She remembered a man who always had a moment, a smile, a laugh for her. He could have ignored her, as adults sometimes did, and paid attention only to her parents, but he was generous with his affection. She clearly remembered her sense of soaring when Lee came through the door. He was fun. He was young. He tickled her. He made her laugh.

Maybe he just never had a job, so he always had the time. Maybe her parents were too busy being responsible to engage in lighthearted mischief with her. But that didn’t seem right either. They’d delighted in her too. A warmer, calmer enchantment, but one that was solid, that always bore her to safety.

Even if her uncle had been part of the gang that robbed the Geronimo Armored car, what could that have to do with an attempt twenty years later to abduct her?

“Why would anybody want to grab
me
?” she said. “I know nothing about the money from the heist.”

Seth watched the road. “You’re a bargaining chip.”

“But who’s trying to drive the bargain?” She shook her head. “Not Lee. Presumably, if he was the fourth man on the robbery, he’s the one who got away with the money.”

“That’s the bottom line, literally and figuratively. If he got the money and got himself over the border, he’s the big winner.”

“And the surviving members of the gang, who are about to get out of prison, want their cut. So they use me…I still don’t—” She stopped, her lips parted.

“What?” Seth said.

“Oh my God. It makes sense now. What the gunmen whispered in the courtroom.” She half turned in her seat. “They mentioned ‘payment’ and ‘consequences.’ And then they very clearly said something about ‘drawing him out.’”