Stunner (18 page)

Once again, just like after the road-rage accident, I ask, “Frank, did you get a look at the guy?”

“Not at all. One second I heard the crash and breaking glass. The next moment I glanced in the living room to see the broken window and then rushed outside. Next thing I knew I was flat on the ground with Juliana and Laura kneeling beside me, wondering how I got there.” He puts his hand to the top of his head. “Man, my head is pounding.”

“Daddy, that’s hardly a surprise.” And Laura recounts a shorter version of what she witnessed from the window in her room at the house. She finishes with the word
Ravenge
painted on the rock that crashed through the window in the living room.

“That word revenge is our only clue, and who would spell it that way?” Laura asks. “It’s all got to mean something.” She glances at everyone, but holds a beat longer on Juliana…or maybe that’s my imagination. Do I see Juliana react with an imperceptible flinch? Or is that my imagination, too?

All of us say goodnight to a very tired-looking Frank and leave. Once in the parking lot, I split off from Laura and Juliana, who head for my niece’s car. Halfway to my Mustang, I turn back and see Juliana staring at me while Laura walks the last few steps to her vehicle and gets in.

I go for it and walk back to Juliana. She stands still.

Once I reach her, I say in a calm voice, “Juliana, there’s a lot I don’t know. But I feel sure you know the person who attacked Frank.”

She responds in an equally calm voice, “You’re right, Ronnie. You don’t know me or anything about me.” As she walks away, I swear I hear her say, “You never knew me.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

Blending with the attack, I deflect the punch using a brush of my hand at my partner’s elbow as I glide closely past him and grab his shoulder. My other arm raises up and across his neck and head as I continue my full-body entry displacing my Aikido classmate, Evan. With my body alongside his, I have the option of choking him or throwing him. I decide on the throw, and he falls onto the mat with a
thump
.

“Whoa, Ronnie,” Evan grunts. “You nailed that one. Awesome.”

“Thanks,” I grunt back and repeat the
tsuki irimi nage
(rough translation is
thrust enter throw
). This time, as Evan comes at me, I imagine it’s Bobby Taylor, not Evan, who is my opponent.
Don’t you dare mess with my brother
, I think to myself, and I throw him down again, but harder.

Evan gets up from the mat, and it’s still Bobby Taylor I see coming at me. As I execute the technique one more time, I mutter, “That’ll teach you.” I move with all my force and hurl him down again.

Evan takes a little longer to get up. “What did you say?” he asks. “Couldn’t hear you.” Watching him knead his lower back, I’m momentarily stunned by my power.

I walk away, in my mind working on my own revenge scenario against Bobby Taylor. “Hellooo, earth to Ronnie,” my foe says.

My mind snaps back to the dojo and I turn to Evan. “Oh my god, so sorry. Are you OK?” I look at him meekly, as he nods. “Your turn. Please be kind when you throw me.” I smile lamely, hoping he won’t use the same amount of force that I just used with him.

After class, outside at our cars, Will Benson hands me yet another folder. “Here’s everything I could find out about John Palmer and his Salt Lake City firm.”

Evan walks by, and he waves. “See you later, Ronnie. Will, don’t mess with her. She’s tough!” He laughs and gets into his car to leave.

“Are you all right?” Will looks at me with concern. “I’m sorry about the attack on your brother.” He sees my surprise. “A buddy in the department told me about it. I could tell in class that you’re upset.”

“Frank’s better today. Thanks for asking.” I put the folder in my car.

Will says, “It looks as if John Palmer hit a second home run with the Utah company. That guy must have the Midas touch. Anyway, you’ll find addresses, contacts, phone numbers in the folder. I can follow up in the field or by phone for you—”

“Thanks, Will, I’ll take it from here.” The tone of my voice is sharper than I intended, and he looks at me funny. I try to soften it. “I’ll let you know what I find out, and then we can decide what to do next.” Yeah, I get it.

~~~~~

It’s Daniel’s day to work around my place, and we’ve traded vehicles yet again. First, I stop by the old apple tree on the road into Meadow Farm, and Warrior hops out, too. Sure enough, I see flecks of green paint on the gnarly bark from when the SUV tore out of here after the attack on Frank last night and sideswiped the tree.

Now I’m on a tear, driving as fast as I can to Scranton with Warrior next to me in the van. He sits up, attentive, eyes on me. He knows something’s going on. I can’t see straight I’m so mad at Bobby Taylor. First, for almost killing my brother on the highway, and second, for knocking Frank unconscious as the lowlife tried to break in yesterday at Meadow Farm. Well, I can see straight enough to drive.

Plus I have Pat Benatar blasting “Invincible” from the van’s speakers, and that’s just pumping my anger even more.

I head first to the Moosic Motel, but I see no sign of Bobby Taylor’s motorcycle there. Putting my dog on a leash, this time I take Warrior for protection. We nonchalantly slip around the back of the motel, and I discreetly peer into all the windows. No sign of Bobby, and thank god, no sign of that stoned maniac, Jimmy, who attacked me last time I visited this dump.

I put Warrior back in the van and run into the café next door, where I order a cup of coffee to go. No Bobby Taylor here, either, among the several people sitting at tables and at the counter.

I slide back into the driver’s seat and hit the button. You got it: more Pat Benatar.

I drive over to Stan’s Diner and park. Walking in, I quickly see that my buddy Mary isn’t on duty. The place is empty at the moment. I order another cup of coffee to go.

Back in the van I replay “Invincible,” and the speakers thump as Warrior and I cruise up and down the streets of Moosic looking everywhere for Bobby Taylor. But no luck. We finally end up at the stadium, and I pull into the vast expanse of an almost empty parking lot. My head and heart are pounding. I turn off the ignition and take several deep breaths.

Ronnie, get a grip. What is it you’re really trying to do here? Stalk Bobby Taylor the way he stalks Juliana? Still, he almost killed Frank, the only brother I have left. And that makes the situation completely different. But seriously, what would I do if I ran into him face to face here in Moosic or in Scranton? Confront him? Yell at him? Threaten him?

Get real, Ronnie. He’s a maniac.
He could physically hurt me. Especially because he’d probably recognize me from the confrontation at the mixed martial arts fight the other day. He’d try to make good on his threats to come after me.

I quietly sing to myself this morning’s anthem. I wish I could wail the way Pat Benatar does when she sings. Hey, didn’t she wear a lot of black leather? Could be a good purchase for all this P.I. work…

And then I spot it. Over in one corner of the parking lot. A green SUV. And I remember Jerry and Tony from my last visit to the stadium. I hadn’t thought of their car when Laura told me about the attack on Frank and the guy driving off in a green SUV. The vehicle looks empty now, and I don’t see the two punks anywhere.

I drive over and circle the car, spotting scrape marks on the passenger side. I hit the brakes, put the van in park and jump on out. I inspect the side of the SUV and touch the grooves from the scratches. Sure enough, it looks like wood slivers embedded in some of the paint. I shoot pictures with my phone.

I move around front to snap the license plate, and my anger grows. No way is this a coincidence. I take more photos.

I allow for the slim chance it wasn’t Bobby Taylor who attacked Frank. Maybe one or both of these two kids did in retaliation toward me after our meeting here, and Frank was the collateral damage… But how’d they end up at Meadow Farm?

I walk back to my van and pull a metal fingernail file and small writing pad from my bag. “Pay dirt,” I say to Warrior, who stares at me intently. I rip a piece of paper off the pad and go back to the SUV.

My file is the perfect tool to pick off samples of the paint and wood slivers in the scrapes, and I catch the flecks on the piece of paper. Folding it carefully, I slip it into my pocket.

“Hey, dude,” a voice yells at me from across the parking lot. It sounds like the kid who believes himself to be god’s gift to women. “What-cha doin’ to my wheels?” I turn to see Jerry and Tony running toward me, each holding an open beer bottle.

I jump into my van, which is still running, and hit the lock button. Warrior growls as I drive toward the two men, feeling pure fury growing inside.

They stop when they see my vehicle race in their direction. Frozen with arms in the air still holding the bottles, mouths hanging open, they look as if they can’t believe that in this gigantic empty parking lot a car would purposely head straight for them.

I screech to a halt, Warrior barks, and I glare at them through our front windshield. Warrior’s hair rises on top of his head, neck, and back, as if he’s sporting a snake-long Mohawk. He snarls at Jerry and Tony, baring his teeth.

“Wh-wh-wh-whoa,” the awkward Tony bleats. “You tr-tr-tryin’ to hit us?”

I lower the window slightly. “Do not move.” Warrior barks some more. “Easy, boy,” I say.

Jerry blurts, “Hey, lady, we don’t want any troub—”

“Where’d those scrapes on the side of your SUV come from?” I demand.

“We di-di-didn’t do it,” Tony whines. “Bobby—”

“Shut up,” Jerry hisses.

“Bobby who?” I stare them down, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Was it that guy, Bobby Taylor?” They look at the ground and each other. “It was, wasn’t it?” They both nod nervously. “Why was he driving your SUV yesterday?”

“We don’t know why he needed our wheels,” Tony spits out. “He just said he needed it for a d-d-day to d-d-do something. And that he’d give us some really good weed…”

Jerry glares at Tony. “If we kept quiet about it, moron.”

“So he br-br-brought the car back last night,” Tony says. “It was dark. We didn’t even see the scrapes until this morning.”

Jerry pipes up, “Like we said, we don’t know why he needed our car—”

I cut him off. “You lend your SUV to just anybody? No questions asked?”

“You know Bobby Taylor?” Jerry asks me.

“No, I do not,” I answer.

“If you did, you’d know he’s a mean f—. And you don’t ask him questions. Like where he’s going with your wheels or where the scrapes came from,” Jerry says. “We just try to lay low and stay out of his way.”

“Where is this Bobby Taylor?” I spit out the name.

“Do not know,” Jerry answers with a smug look on his face.

I stare at him, crank the steering wheel to get around the two of them, rev the engine, and drive out of there.

~~~~~

A guy in a black leather jacket on a motorcycle pulls up to my right side as I drive home on a twisty Pennsylvania road. Warrior and I glance over to see him giving me a thumbs-up. I can’t see his face because of the helmet…and then he smiles. I know that smile. Helmet-head flips up his visor, and it’s Will. My jaw must drop, because he laughs. I open the window and yell, “Hey, I want to speak to you.”

“Dairy Queen four miles up the road.” He flips down the visor and speeds off. I lose sight of him as he rounds a bend.

What is Will doing here on this quiet country road? This can’t be mere coincidence. Three hours before, I left him at the dojo. Oh my god, has he been following me the entire time? I feel a slow boil coming on.

Minutes later, I pull into the Dairy Queen parking lot. The engine off, I jump out, slam the van door shut, and leave Warrior watching me through the windshield. I march over to the smug son-of-a-gun, ready to explode with anger. Will’s helmet hangs on one of the handlebars, and he casually leans against his motorcycle seat, licking an ice cream cone. I catch my breath over how sexy he is.

“Will Benson, how dare you follow me without telling me,” I practically snarl.

“Why, Mrs. Lake, that’s a pretty big presumption to make.” His smile is even wider this time and more annoying. “Now, how do you know I don’t have business for a different client up this way? You’re not the only person I work for, after all.” He reaches behind, plucks out another cone that’s sitting in a paper cup on the seat and offers it to me. “Come on, lighten up. You look like a woman who prefers chocolate chip cookie dough.”

We stare at each other. I don’t move. He shrugs and starts to take the ice cream back, and I grab for it. “Not so fast, buster.” I have a lick, but I’m still mad. “Seriously, what’s going on here? This isn’t a coincidence that you and I’ve run into each other.”

He nods his head in agreement. “You’re right, Ronnie. I could tell you were upset back at the dojo. I thought I’d keep a friendly eye on you.”

I don’t like it. “You mean to tell me you’ve been following me the entire time I’ve been going all around PA?” I ask, annoyed.

“You bet your ass, Ronnie.”

Whoa. “But I never knew you were there,” I protest.

He might be at ease, but I’m still not. “That’s the point,” he says. “I wanted you to have backup in case you ended up in another situation like Bobby Taylor coming at you at the mixed martial arts fight. Remember last night?” He licks his cone again, and I try not to stare.

“For a while I thought you might actually lose it when you lurched from place to place looking for that guy.” He grins. “But you calmed down, played it safe from what I could see when you were talking to the two bozos back at the stadium. Good work, Ronnie. You’re learning. Not so much bull-in-a-china-shop.” Will takes another lick and then bites into the cone.

“Well, just give me a gold star, why don’t-cha?” Note to self: Do not watch Will lick ice cream cones. Hard to stay focused on the business at hand.

The Great Salt Lake stretches below as the plane circles, ready to land. I stare out the window at the vast open space of the valley, and my mind is on runaway bride Terry Jones. I need to figure out a way to talk to John Palmer, Terry’s chess partner at Club Nucleus and her fiancé thirteen years ago, to see if he has information on what became of her. But he’s known to be notoriously reclusive. In fact, when you Google him, you don’t find much.