Sky Zone: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) (9 page)

17

Festival Arena, October 6

Shakespeare was huffing by the time he got back to room 5-A, lugging a heavy backpack over his shoulder. Clarissa’s jaw clenched when she saw it, but she ignored it and quickly explained to him that she’d sent Jack upstairs with Lester’s party.

“Once we hear they’re situated, you’re moving out with Sterling,” she said. “I want you up there as fast as possible. I don’t like this at all.”

“What about doors?” Shakespeare looked at his watch.

“We moved it to seven o’clock. Sterling’s furious.”

“It’s almost seven now.”

“He wants those people in here,” Clarissa said.

“That guy’s got some screws missing. We need to
wait
.”

Two journalists came jogging down the hall—the ones Jenny had called Derrick and Daniel.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Clarissa said.

Derrick nodded at the door to 5-A. “We’re covering Sterling … for the
Gazette
.” He held up his plastic photo ID, and Daniel did the same.

“I know who you are, but this is—”

“It’s okay.” Jenny King stepped into the hallway with her arms crossed and a clipboard against her chest. “I promised them a few minutes with the senator.” She motioned to Derrick and Daniel. “Come in, gentlemen.”

They passed into the room, and Jenny leaned toward Clarissa. “Senator Sterling insists the doors open at seven.”

As Jenny slipped back into 5-A, Lieutenant Wolfski stepped out. He glanced at Shakespeare and squared up to Clarissa.

“My men found one of your guy’s radios in the Sky Zone.” His tone was low and serious. “No sign of your people yet.”

“Where was the radio?” Shakespeare asked.

Wolfski continued looking at Clarissa. “In the small stairwell leading to the roof.”

“These guys are in the building. You know that, don’t you?” Shakespeare said.

“My men are still canvassing the Sky Zone.” Wolfski continued to address Clarissa. He obviously didn’t need or want Shakespeare’s opinion.

“Sir, if I may …” Shakespeare waited for Wolfski to face him. Shakespeare didn’t want to say the words he was thinking, that it was a mistake sending Lester and Sterling to the club level. So he spun it. “There are more exit points for the senator and Everett Lester down here.”

Wolfski’s eyes widened. “More exit points mean more
entry
points—”

“But entry points don’t matter if the bad guys are
already in
the building.” Shakespeare felt the heat rising in his face. “Two EventPros are missing. That’s a fact. Until they’re accounted for, don’t you think this building should be cleared of all civilians?”

Wolfski stepped closer to Shakespeare, his boots pointing outward like a penguin’s feet, his thick hands and big thumbs hooked on to his leather utility belt. “Mister”—he squinted at the ID badge hanging around Brian’s neck—“Shakespeare.” He smirked. “The fact that civilians are in the building was not our idea, but we’re going to keep them safe. Let us finish our sweep in the Sky Zone and make an assessment at that time. Would that meet your approval?”

Smart aleck.

“It would,” Shakespeare said. “As long as you postpone doors at least another fifteen minutes, to quarter past.”

Wolfski blinked slowly. He had the wide, wet mouth of a slobbery bulldog and one of those five o’clock shadows that seemed always present, probably even right after he shaved.

“I’m about to discuss that with the senator,” he said.

With a burst of static, Shakespeare’s radio came to life. “This is Jack to Clarissa. Everett Lester and his party are safely in suite 213. I’m stationed outside the door. Over.”

Clarissa’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Ten-four. Over.” She nodded to Shakespeare. “Okay. Get the senator and his party to suite 227—ASAP. Keep me posted.”

Shakespeare shot Wolfski one last glance and ducked into room 5-A.

Up on the plush club level, with its recessed lighting and expensive glass, chrome, and wood finish, a person could be fooled into thinking there was nothing at all going on at the arena that night.

Several of the familiar black-clad caterers hurried along the wide, cool concourse, pushing silver food carts and talking on radios. The suite Jack had just opened for Everett Lester had been fully stocked with a line of hot entrees in silver warming trays, plus a variety of snacks and beverages.

Jack got out his phone to call Pam. Her cell rang and rang, and then her voice mail came on.

Jack shook the phone. What good were cell phones if people didn’t answer them!

Now he was officially worried.

The only positive thing he had to cling to was the text she’d sent him earlier. He punched his messages and read it again.

I have a surprise for you!

Okay … whom else could he call to find out what on earth was going on?

Just then, his phone vibrated once.

A text message … from Pam!

His heart raced as he opened it.

What section are you in?

18

Trenton City, one day earlier

It was a brisk fall afternoon, and the red traffic light above Pamela’s car in downtown Trenton City swayed in the wind. Leaves danced across the street, and people pinched their coats tight around their necks and pulled their hats and scarves close as they walked and jogged across the intersection.

She had gotten to work early that morning so she could break away in the afternoon to get to the bank. She phoned her mom to make sure the girls had made it home from the bus stop safely. Margaret said they were doing homework and she was ironing.

Before she hung up, Pamela said, “Now, Mom, I don’t want you vegging out on that computer the whole time I’m gone.” It was like having another child. Sometimes she wished they’d never taught her how to use the computer. “And be sure to unplug the iron when you’re done with it.”

The light changed and Pamela drove, resting a hand on her tummy, feeling the baby’s elbow or a knee. Jack was going to be upset when he learned that she had discussed their financial situation with Margaret. She dreaded telling him. But it was a conversation she had already put off too long.

She wheeled the red Accord into the bank parking lot, feeling more alert and energetic than she had in days.
Bring on this baby
, she thought. Last night she’d slept better than she had in weeks, months maybe. Nine hours straight without waking. She attributed it to the chamomile tea Jack had prepared for her before bed. Of course, Shakespeare had suggested it, and Jack had made a special trip to buy some.

She entered the bank, got a deposit slip, and found herself standing at the desk, staring at the check her mother had written:
Pamela Crittendon, $5,000.

Pamela’s father had worked hard for that money, and the sad thing was, it wouldn’t go far. She and Jack had burned through virtually all of their savings in the past year, and it wasn’t as if they were eating out every night or buying new clothes at Nordstrom. They ate at home most of the time, and she shopped at secondhand stores for many of the girls’ clothes.

Both cars were paid off. But they had a mortgage and bills—and taxes were higher than Pamela could ever recall. Another good reason to vote for Martin Sterling. The dirty SUV she’d parked behind had featured a crooked bumper sticker: Sterling for President—Sterling for America! She hoped it was foreshadowing.

She got in line to make the deposit, thinking how down Jack had been. The financial stress was getting to him. Although he might think Pamela was disappointed in him, it wasn’t true. She knew he was trying everything within his power to find a good job.

It was up to God.

Was she frustrated with God?

She thought about it for a moment and concluded maybe she was.

He could produce a job. On a silver platter. In a snap.

Why was he putting them through this?

Yet another trial by fire.

Like a battleship at war, their marriage had taken some jarring hits.

First it was the whole home-invasion nightmare with Granger Meade. Then her dad passing away. Then Jack and Derrick’s frightening investigation of the crooks at Demler-Vargus. Now her mom was living with them, and all of the money they’d saved for weddings and college educations was gone. And her mom was struggling with dementia.

Frankly, it had been excruciating for Pamela to go from being a stay-at-home mom to a full-time career person. She gave 100 percent of herself at work and didn’t have much energy or patience left by the time she got home.

She finished her transaction, put the receipt in her purse, dug for her keys—and felt a contraction.

“Pam?”

She looked up and felt her mouth drop open. “Jeanie?”

Her friend Jeanie Sorenson embraced her, then stepped back, holding Pamela’s hands and looking wide-eyed at her tummy. “Look at you! I had no idea you were expecting!”

Pamela nodded. “One more month. And right now …” She paused with a hand on her lower back, concentrating on breathing through the pain. “… I’m having a Braxton-Hicks.”

Jeanie’s mouth and eyes were open wide. “Are you kidding me? You’re having a contraction right now?”

Pamela nodded, trying to smile. “I’m sure it’s Braxton-Hicks. I’ve been having them for the past week.”

“So is it a girl or a boy?”

“Don’t know!”

“That’s right, you never wanted to know.”

“Okay, okay, this is getting better. Getting better. Whew.”

“Are you sure it’s not the real thing?”

Pamela shook her head. “Not yet. But soon, I hope. I’m ready.”

“Well, how is everything in your world, girl?”

Jeanie and Pamela had met in college and ended up sharing a house with two other girls their junior and senior year’s. Jeanie’s husband was a dentist in Columbus, and they lived in one of the enormous nineteenth-century homes approaching the square in downtown Trenton City. Needless to say, Pamela did not mention their financial woes when catching her up to speed, but she did tell her she was back in the workforce.

“Why haven’t we gotten together?” Jeanie said.

In truth, it was because Jack and Jeanie’s husband, Quinton, never hit it off. Quinton was a prep schooler, Ivy Leaguer, and country clubber. Jack was a public schooler, attended a state university, and got along better with the guys at the paper than those in suits and high-rises. Otherwise, Pamela would have loved spending more time with Jeanie. They each had two children and a lot in common, including their faith.

“What have you been up to? You look fantastic,” Pamela said.

Jeanie shook her shiny highlighted auburn hair over her shoulder and held up a red pouch. Pamela couldn’t help but notice her heavy, expensive-looking bracelets, rings, and glossy french manicure.

Jeanie looked around the bank lobby and leaned in close. “I’m working with Martin Sterling. These are deposits. We’ve been supporting him for, oh gosh, almost two years. Right now it’s just crazy.”

“That is so funny. Jack just met him!”

“Really? Where?”

“He was …” Oops. She really didn’t want Jeanie to know Jack was out of work. “He ran into him at the
Gazette
… when he was meeting a friend. Do you know Derrick Whittaker?”

“Sure! I mean, I don’t know him as a friend, but he’s covering Martin’s campaign.”

Oh, she and the senator were on a first-name basis … Perhaps Quinton was rubbing off on her. Pamela hoped not.

“He gave Jack an autographed picture to give to my mom, and she freaked out. She’s a huge fan.”

“Are you guys going to the rally at the arena?”

Pamela deflated. “No, I wish we could …” Again, she was dodging truths that she really didn’t want to share. “I thought about taking Mom and the girls, but”—she glanced at her huge tummy—“I don’t want to be too far from home. Plus, it’s a lot of walking.”

“I’ll take you! Quinton’s out of town—teaching at some dental convention—so I’m taking the kids.” Jeanie bounced and bubbled with enthusiasm. “I can pick you guys up. It’s practically on the way!”

Pamela shook her head. “That is so nice of you, but no, it’s too much to ask. Plus, really, I don’t know if I’d be up to it.” She rested a hand on her tummy, doing a circular motion, again feeling an elbow or a knee or a heel.

Jeanie’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned in and gave Pamela a sneaky grin. “What if I told you Everett Lester’s going to be there?” she whispered.

“What?” Pamela was floored and instantly taken back to the Everett Lester concert she and Jeanie attended together at Blossom Music Center, an outdoor amphitheater near Akron, not long after the bad-boy rocker had become a Christian.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Jeanie grinned ear to ear and shook her head.

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Pamela said.

“We just found out! Sterling invited him a long time ago, but Everett said he couldn’t come. He called just this morning and said he would be there. Sterling’s PR people are scrambling. They’re going to make a big announcement tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Remember Blossom?”

“One of the best shows I’ve ever seen.”

“We’ve
got
to go, Pam, for old time’s sake. The kids’ll love it. Your mom will love it. I’ll probably be able to get us backstage to meet Martin. Who knows, maybe we’ll get to meet Everett!”

Pamela had to laugh. The whole idea was crazy—but maybe a little crazy was what she needed right now. “Jeanie, I didn’t tell you, but Jack lost his job. He works part-time at the arena. He’s working the rally tomorrow night.”

Jeanie’s jaw dropped open and she gushed her apologies, but she kept it light. “That’s all the more reason we should go. We’ll surprise Jack. Heck, between my connections and Jack working there, we’re sure to meet Everett!”

The two women giggled as if they were back in college.