Red Ochre Falls (31 page)

“There’s no way
she’s involved. I don’t think she would hurt anyone. Besides, she’s not strong
enough to have dumped the bodies.”

“What about an
accomplice? Or the association with Ruggiano?”

“Plenty of people
were at the fundraiser, and even more know him personally. The charity might be
a good place to look for other suspects.”

Garrett leaned
closer and held my gaze. It felt something like a spark igniting. My cheeks
flushed.

“What make you
think she would kill someone?”

“She’s hiding
something. And she uses the same kind of paint they found on the victims.”

“Smart
observations, but what’s her motive? Ruggiano makes a better suspect. He’s got
a lot to lose, and he’s proven he can kill.”

“Maybe they’re
connected?” Something about Mrs. Jacobson and Ruggiano felt odd. We needed more
answers.

Cal found a clear spot
and set the helicopter down. He opened our door and I got out gingerly. Garrett
had to help me out. The vibration had aggravated recent injuries, and my legs
were wobbly.

The three of us got
our bearings. We made a plan to head toward the falls together. Cal and I would
help Garrett, only if he needed, as Garrett had insisted he was mostly fine.

Cal set us down on
a small clearing, but we still had to hike a bit to get to the falls. Millie
had insisted that the antidote would only work, if we got the plants that were
by the falls. Something about the trees, and tannins in the water. I had too
much to think about, so I trusted her, and just went with it.

I’d never seen the
falls in person. We’d planned to, the summer Tab tried to force himself on me.
The lake house was a short drive from here—appropriately named,
Paradise—and we thought it would be an adventure to find out why so many
people considered this part of the UP God’s country. Maybe the entire Upper
Peninsula was Paradise. Hard to tell. After the incident with Tab, I headed
home, never to see Tahquamenon Falls.

What I’d seen from
the chopper was breathtaking, and from the ground, it looked even more
stunning.

The place felt
mystical, like elements beyond our earth resided here. It humbled me. I
breathed in the autumn air—the scent of maple, oak, and rain. Already
dressed in deep auburn and gold, the canopy shielded us from a light mist that
had begun falling.

Cal told us we were
less than a quarter-mile from the water. We trekked ahead hearing the falls as
we approached. The place vibrated, giving off secrets in a low, mystical hum,
which became amplified the closer we got.

Garrett took the
lead, leaving me in the middle, and Cal at the rear. I squinted to see if I
could get a glimpse of the water when a boom made me jump. We heard a gasp
followed by a heavy thud. Garrett looked behind us, then at me and yelled.
“Run!”

Confused, I stayed
planted. It took me a second to figure out Cal had been shot. When it hit me, I
followed Garrett’s advice and ran toward the water. My heart pounded so hard
and fast I couldn’t hear anything but the thudding in my chest.

I sprinted past
American Beech, Easter Hemlock, Yellow Birch and Sugar Maples—as I’d read
in the information packet Millie gave me. Was I doing the right thing? Should I
have stayed to help Garrett and Cal? What was I going to do when I reached the
edge of the woods?

All I knew was
Garrett had told me to run. And like a good soldier, I ran. Millie had given me
a higher objective—find the balm and save Garrett. So I ran to save him.

My breath and
footfalls were harder to hear closer to the falls. I gasped upon emerging from
the trees. The water was powerful. Its reddish brown tint, like root beer
streaked with rust, added more color to the landscape. There was no time to
enjoy it. I pulled out a photo of the plant we needed and started searching.

Grass and wild
things were fading. Part of the ground was littered with needles, so it took me
a while to filter those out. Finding the specific seeds proved challenging
because I was nervous and shaking. Millie told me to trim a three-inch section
of root because the seeds might not be viable, and to gather some seeds, just
in case.

I pulled out the
jar Millie sent, unscrewed the lid, and bent near the ground. Using a pair of
her clippers, I dug at a thin layer of earth a couple feet from the base of the
tree until the roots revealed themselves. A gentle tug allowed me access to
clip a section off. It went in the jar and I sealed lid. I placed the jar in a
dry bag, sprayed the cut roots with something Millie gave me, patted some earth
over them to help keep out insects, then scooped up some seeds.

I made sure to get
extra knowing Millie could probably reanimate just about anything. Sultan was
likely to come after us, and we might need them.

When all was
finished, I closed the dry bag, and—

Someone knocked me
down.

I moved to get back
up, but whoever was there pushed my cheek to the ground and held me there.

“I came for you,
Mattie,” he cooed.

A little bile came
up in my throat. “How did you find me here?” I tried to act like I had things
in control, but I was terrified.

“You should know by
now, I can find you anywhere.” He enjoyed the threat.

“Please, you don’t
have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do. You
left us no choice.”

“Us?”

Tab didn’t respond.
He looked in the direction of an observation deck—at no one— and
applied pressure until my spine felt like it would snap.

“We finally get to
see just how much you want me.” He bore down and the pain in my back burned.

“I don’t! Stop it!”

“Why don’t you make
me?”

I tried, but
couldn’t move or do anything. Garrett ran out of the woods and tackled Tab.
They scrummed on the ground, but quickly shot up and stood to fight.

Tab swung. Garrett
blocked him. Then Garrett threw a punch. They went back and forth, swinging and
blocking. Every time Tab lunged forward, Garrett had a response, until Tab
caught him with a body shot that took his breath away. I gasped. Garrett looked
to see if I was okay, and Tab punched him in the kidney.

Tab watched Garrett
fall. I grabbed a thick branch that littered the ground and ran toward Tab. I
swung it like a bat. Tab blocked it with his right arm. Then with his left, he
shoved me backwards.

Tab threw the
branch toward the trees and reached for me. I moved to avoid his angry grasp.
Not fast enough. He grabbed me from behind and lifted me off the ground. I
struggled to break free, but couldn’t remember training. Any of it.

Tab carried me to
the water. I shouted for him to stop and pounded my objection on his arms. He
kept going even after we left land for shallow water.

We were at the top
of the falls. I saw the drop. He planned to throw me over. I had no idea if it
would kill me, but roughly 50,000 gallons per minute of rushing water might
drown me before I reached the bottom, or before I figured out which end was up.
I fought, wiggled, screamed, and then by accident, head-butt him. It did more
damage to my head than his.

“Crap!” he yelled.

“Ouch!” It felt
like I broke my skull on his stupid head.

I had my bell rung,
banging inside my head. Tab got mad as a hornet and pushed me down. He grabbed
me by the neck. An icy shock pulsed from head to chest as he shoved me facedown
under the water.

He was drowning me.
I resisted, arms flailing, struggling to break the surface for a breath. I got
hold of his plaid shirt and yanked. It didn’t do anything, but I kept fighting.
He brought me up once to yell something about being stubborn while I coughed up
water.

His tirade was the
break I needed. The impact and cold water must have shook something
loose—I remembered something from the gym. I linked my hands and used the
power behind both arms to shove my elbow into Tab’s groin. It must have worked,
because he squealed and let go. While he tended to his family jewels, I got up,
soaking wet and coughing, and trudged through the water toward shore.

Just before I got
there, Tab reached out and pulled me down. I faced the sky for a few seconds
while he climbed on top of me. I’d seen that look on his face once before and I
would do anything to stop him.

His eyes widened as
he bent to whisper vile things in my ear. My fingers desperately stretched until
they found a large rock. When it was in my grasp, I lifted the weight and
hammered it into Tab’s skull a couple times. He fell to the ground either
passed out, or dead. It was hard to tell and I didn’t care. The rock dropped.

I rolled over and a
double barrel shotgun was pointed at me.

“Damn shame you
made such a mess.” The southern drawl was unmistakably Thibodeaux. So were the
crazy eyes. He ordered me to get up. Instinctively, I looked back at Tab, still
frozen on the ground.

“I’ll deal with him
later. Ladies first.” Thibodeaux prodded me with the shotgun to move us closer
to the tree line. “You look surprised to see me, Mattie.”

Surprised? I was in
shock. The man being groomed to take over the governorship of Louisiana had me
hostage in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. “Did you follow us?”

“Those were my guys
back there. They called when they saw you two heading out of the city. Ruined a
perfectly good Mercedes, no thanks to you.” He relaxed and let the shotgun hang
a little low. He caught me eyeing it. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.
Most self-respecting southern gentlemen are taught to handle rifles at an early
age.”

“Most
self-respecting gentlemen don’t go around shooting cops and taking hostages.
So, now that we know you’re not respectful, or a gentleman, why don’t you tell
me why you’re here?” I was wet, cold and my head felt like it would explode any
second. I had no time to mince words.

“If I were my
daddy, I’d backhand you. But I’m not my daddy. Guess you got lucky.” He had an
air of nonchalance that bothered me.

“Guess so.” I waved
my dirty, scraped up arms and sounded irritated.

He adjusted his
grip on the gun to remind me of my place. “Answer my questions, and we can make
this quick. How much do you know?”

“I must not know
much if I’m standing here with you and your shotgun.”

“My boy has a soft
spot for feisty ones.” He snickered. “Now, tell me what you know before I wake
him up and have him beat it out of you. Or do whatever else is necessary to get
you to tell me what I want to know.”

My stomach turned
sour. I didn’t know if it would be that easy to wake Tab up, but I sure as heck
didn’t want to find out. The voice in my head was screaming ‘Get out!’ But he
had a gun.

I stared at Mr.
Thibodeaux and his gun. Images flashed in my brain. Brampton Corp. was a
sponsor of the Children’s Literacy Coalition. The company held a variety of
assets, mostly concentrated in gas and oil. Then it hit me. He must have been
one of Brampton Corp.’s shareholders.

Chloe had a map of
oil pipelines in Michigan. Looked innocuous at the time, but then I remembered
a terminal for Brampton Oil a short distance from the planned casino site. He
didn’t want the casino built; he was trying to stop it.

Along with the map,
Chloe made notes about complaints of groundwater contamination. Apparently,
there was an aging pipeline and the locals were convinced it had started to
leak. A “guaranteed environmental catastrophe” she wrote. I assumed she was
working on another case, but the cases were connected.

“You keep quiet
much longer and I’m gonna get mad. You don’t want to see me mad.”

He was right. Tab
had told Chloe stories about how mean his dad could get. She had seen enough of
Tab to know the truth. It was one of the reasons she was so forgiving of his
abuse. She would argue anger begets anger, and plead for us to show him
sympathy, but it didn’t matter when we saw her bruised and bleeding.

“You know you’re
not going to win the governorship when they find out you killed people.”

“Killed people? I
have plenty of people willing to do that for me.” He shifted the gun to one arm
and held up his hand. “I don’t see any blood.”

“I know you’re
guilty. There’s dirty oil on your hands.”

“Now we’re getting
somewhere. Tab thought she spilled her guts to you.”

He meant Chloe and
he was wrong. She hadn’t told me a thing, but she wanted to before she died.
Even after, she had me following the clues. It was taking time to put the
pieces together—maybe something to do with all the bad guys chasing me
lately.

Thibodeaux didn’t
look very patient, so I winged it.

“Sure. I know
you’re a shareholder in Brampton, and Brampton is big oil. Big enough they have
a terminal station a stone’s throw from the site of a new tribal casino.
Problem is, the pipeline is old. If you don’t get a new one in soon, you’ll
have an environmental disaster to clean up, which would be a political mess for
you even as far away as Louisiana. You’d be the face of another catastrophe,
people would be reminded of the gulf oil spill, and a bunch of angry voters
would elect someone other than you.”