Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) (8 page)

“Maybe Pam could even get together with Sheena. I could talk to her about it.”

Shakespeare gave a half smile. “I take it you don’t mean for drinks …”

15

Festival Arena, October 6

From a corner of the drafty room where Everett and Karen Lester talked quietly and their son read a book on the floor, Jack made a quick call to the house to fill Pam in on what was going on—but he got no answer.

How could that be? Unless they’d run out for dinner. But Pam hadn’t felt like going anywhere, especially at night—in the cold.

What had she meant in her text about having a surprise for him?

Could she possibly be in labor—early? On the way to the hospital?

But no, she would want him there.

A wave of dread rolled over him.

Surely Margaret would let him know as soon as possible.

What about the girls? The hospital was no place for them.

He should’ve left when Clarissa gave the option. Idiot. It was too late now; he was needed here. But if Pam really was in labor, he would have to go. But … just leave?

He thumbed to his favorites for Pam’s cell number.

“Jack, we’re switching things up.” Clarissa strode into the room and got right in his face. “I want you and Sid to escort Lester and his people to suite 213
now
. Use the service elevator.”

He nodded, his mind racing.

She continued, “As soon as Shakespeare gets back, he will bring Sterling up. Lieutenant Wolfski thinks this is the best play right now.”

“But if the bad guys are already in the building, shouldn’t we stay put?” Jack said.

Her shoulders collapsed, and her head dropped in frustration. “Mr. O’Dell says we are to do everything SWAT tells us. That’s the order from the top.”

Wolfski was in the hallway, talking on his radio. Sterling was in a deep and private conversation with Jenny King.

“So let’s roll.” Clarissa turned to face Everett and Karen. “Mr. Lester, Jack and Sid are going to escort you and your party up to the club level now. We have a nice suite waiting for you.”

“Clarissa.” Jack couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Can I talk to you one minute?”

She scowled at him and asked the Lesters to excuse her. “What is it?”

“My wife’s eight months pregnant. She’s not answering the house phone. I was going to try her cell.”

Clarissa rolled her eyes as her head tilted back, then evened her gaze at Jack and breathed out before speaking. “Just get them up there safely, make sure they’re comfortable, then go outside the door and make your call.” Her voice was amazingly calm. “If she’s in labor, tell me. We’ll figure something out.”

Jack’s whole body eased. “Thank you, Clarissa.”

With renewed zeal he instructed Sid to follow behind the Lester party as he led them all out the door into the long concrete hallway. Stopping, Jack counted nine people in all, including Everett, Karen, Cole, Gray, and five security and staff members. The rest of Lester’s entourage were backstage preparing for the show.

He glanced at his phone again. Nothing from Pam or Margaret.

“Okay, folks, just follow me.” Jack began to walk at a good clip. “We’ll have you up to your suite in no time.”

“Daniel!” Derrick yelled to his cameraman over the clamor of the crowd, jabbing a finger toward the helmet-clad SWAT soldiers jogging single file into the arena lobby, carrying shields and armed with clubs and heavy artillery.

With the fluidity of a cat, Daniel weaved his way through the crowd, shooting frame after frame of the SWAT officers as they stationed themselves along the front doors of the venue.

“This way, folks. This way. Keep moving,” called one of the orange-jacketed EventPros, his hands held high in the air as he motioned for people to move deeper into the facility. Down the way, other EventPros stood at the open doors leading into the bowl, calling and waving their hands for guests to file into the seating area.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the spectacular Columbus Festival Arena!” a booming voice echoed over the PA system. “If you will, please make your way inside the event hall through the many sets of double doors. This is a general admission event and we have many guests to accommodate, so again, please make your way
inside
the event hall while the best seats are still available.”

Derrick went with the flow through the first set of doors and, once inside, hopped out of line near the top of the steps, where he stood next to a large column to get a bird’s-eye view. All around the oval-shaped arena, people were making their way down the long rows of steps, many filling in the seats around the stage.

His cell phone vibrated, and he glanced down to read a text from Daniel:

Where did you go?

He checked the sign above him and texted back that he was at the top of section 103. While he had his phone out he thought of calling Zenia, but it was too loud to hold a conversation, and he couldn’t explain it in a text.

Daniel came through the doors wide-eyed, jockeying his way to Derrick. “Man, this is nuts. Those people outside are ticked off.”

“It’s gonna be an interesting night,” Derrick said. “You have any reservations?”

“What do you mean?”

“It could get dangerous …”

Daniel shook his head. He had a shiny brown baby face with huge brown eyes, the whites of which were crystal clear. “This is what we do. I’m all in.”

Derrick nodded, wishing he felt the same. Of course, he would have when he was young and single like Daniel, but now he was over thirty and married—both good excuses.

“You think anything’s going on up there?” Daniel nodded up high, toward the top of the arena, where a black curtain gusted and a black railing ran the entire circumference of the venue.

Derrick exhaled aloud. “I hope not.”

“You think we ought to catch back up with Sterling?”

“Yeah. We’ve seen what the public’s seeing. Let’s find out what’s going on behind the scenes.”

16

The Crittendons’ house, three days earlier

“What was that?” Pamela asked.

Margaret clicked the mouse, quickly closing the screen she’d been viewing when Pamela came around the corner into the family room. “What?” She continued to look at the computer and clicked open something new on the screen. “Just checking the old email. Shakespeare’s been sending me links. You don’t know how survivor savvy I’ve become.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What was that video you were watching?”

“YouTube.”

“Did Shakespeare send you that link?”

“No.”

“What was it, Mom? It looked like a close-up of someone with a gun.”

“He was sliding the rack on a nine-millimeter semiautomatic.” Margaret pronounced every word like an expert at a gun show. “It interests me, that’s all. Gee whiz, can’t a girl have a little fun—and privacy?”

Ha. Privacy! It was something they’d had none of since Margaret moved in with them so many months ago.

Pamela was sorry the second she thought it.

“Mom, yes, you can have privacy. I just don’t want you to get carried away with all that Shakespeare survivalist stuff. It’s not healthy. I’m fine with your buying some extra food, ordering the water filter. But watching videos about guns?”

“It’s not healthy to ignore the threat.” Margaret continued to work the mouse, examining the screen.

“Yeah, well, if your little food stash gets any bigger, we’re going to need to rent storage space.”

“Very funny. You won’t laugh when the stores are all closed and my little stash is what’s feeding your girls—and the baby.” She’d purchased dozens of jars of baby food.

“You heard what Sheena said. It’s an obsession with Brian. And now look at them—they’re totally unhappy.”

“If you ask me, she’s the one who’s a little off-kilter,” Margaret said. “I wonder if she isn’t clinically depressed. It’s no surprise he’s found … other interests.” She quietly murmured the last few words.

There were times Pamela had to count to ten to keep her mouth shut. She took out her frustration by fluffing and straightening the big pillows on the couch. Then she picked up crayons and coloring books the girls had left out, all the while trying to process the fact that her mother was watching YouTube videos of rednecks firing guns.

But then again, what difference did it really make? Her mother was old. She wasn’t bothering anyone. She was harmless.

“Look at this. Even CNN is saying Sterling won Monday night’s debate,” Margaret said. “If
they’re
saying it, you know he dominated.”

Ever since Jack had gotten to meet Senator Sterling at Derrick’s newspaper office a week ago, they’d all been following him on the news, cheering him on, knowing that if he remained strong in the polls through Thanksgiving, Jack would have a full-time job as an editor at the
Columbus Gazette.

The thought of being able to stay home with the baby made Pamela’s heart soar. She would be a full-time mommy again for Rebecca and Faye. Laundry and housecleaning and grocery shopping had never looked so good. She would be able to nurse the baby, change her, put her down for naps—all day long.

It was funny, but the whole pregnancy Pamela had been referring to the baby as “she.” That was probably because they were just so used to having girls. They certainly had all of the clothes and toys a girl would need. But what if it was a boy? She smiled. Jack would be ecstatic.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take me to Festival Arena Friday night? I bet Jack could get us backstage,” Margaret said.

This must’ve been the fourth time she’d mentioned it.

“I told you, he can’t do stuff like that while he’s working, Mom. They’re strict.”

“Oh, I know. I’m just teasing you. I would never ask you to go out at night in your condition.”

Pamela had secretly contemplated surprising her mother and taking her and the girls to see Senator Sterling at the rally. It was free. She knew her mom would love it. And it could be an educational field trip for the girls.

But she was so tired at night after working all day. She knew she wouldn’t feel up to it, especially making the long walk from the parking lot to the venue and back again late at night. Plus, it was getting colder, and it was getting dark so early. She just knew she wouldn’t want to make the thirty-minute drive into the city. And what if, by chance, she went into labor? She just wanted to be close to home.

“Where are the girls, anyway?” Margaret said. “I haven’t seen them all day.”

Pamela’s heart sank. She paused—longer than she meant to. “At piano lessons.”

“Shouldn’t they be home by now?”

Miscues like this came out of the blue. And they were happening more frequently. Pamela was learning to just get on the bus with her mother and ride.

“I’ll get them in about thirty minutes. You can go with me if you want.”

“I don’t think so.” Her mom had finished on the computer and was standing at the window, staring into the backyard. “What about Jack? What time does he get home?”

“He’s running errands, remember?” Pamela said. “I need to start thinking about dinner.”

Margaret turned around and faced Pamela with her arms crossed. “It’s been eight months since I’ve had a drink.”

Okay … shifting gears.

“Eight months—today?” Pamela said.

Her mom nodded. “I don’t miss it. I really don’t.”

“You should be so proud, Mom. Eight months. Wow.”

“My clothes don’t smell anymore. My breath doesn’t reek. And I’ve saved a whole bunch of money. What a monkey off my back. A big part of it’s been the girls. Reading to them. Helping with homework. Just talking. It’s been like therapy.”

“They love having you here.”

She smiled and nodded, but creases formed on her brow. Her head dropped.

Pamela went to her.

“I just hate getting old,” Margaret whimpered. “I want to be able to take care of myself. I know I … I get a little off at times. It’s scary.”

Pamela rested a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I know, but you’re doing great, Mom. You’re in good shape. You’re still very independent.”

But Pamela did question—even doubt—whether her mother would be safe living alone again. Margaret was on the waiting list at an assisted-living home in Cleveland where several of her friends resided. But Pamela couldn’t imagine leaving her up there alone.

“Okay.” Margaret sniffed and threw her shoulders back. “Enough of this pity party. I’ve got things to do in the nursery.” She headed for the stairs.

“Like what?”

The phone rang.

“I’m in the middle of building that mobile thing that hangs over the crib.”

“Oh yeah.” The phone wasn’t in its cradle, so Pamela pressed the Page button.

“Speaking of the crib, that thing is a relic,” Margaret said. “Are you sure you don’t need something newer? They’re probably much safer these days.”

“No, Mom. It’s fine.” Pamela found the phone buried between the seat cushions on the couch and answered it.

“Hello, is this Mrs. Crittendon?”

“Who’s calling?” Pamela said.

“My name is Alan Bingham, with Triple A Credit. I’m calling for Mr. Jack Crittendon. Is he in, please?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Pamela spoke in as kind a tone as she could muster. “Can you take us off of your call list, please?”

“Oh, I apologize. I didn’t communicate clearly. This is not any kind of telemarketing. I am
returning
Mr. Crittendon’s call. He contacted me about having Triple A help consolidate his debts.”

Pamela felt the wind go out of her. She sat down at the kitchen table.

“I can call back if he’s not home …”

Margaret had paused at the steps, listening.

“Or you can just tell him Alan called from Triple A Credit.”

Pamela mumbled something and turned the phone off in a daze.

“Who was that?” Margaret said.

“Someone for Jack …”

“Oh … okay.” Margaret started up the steps.

“Mom, wait … can you come here? I need to talk to you.”