Stunner (9 page)

“What does that have to do with anything? And where would you get that idea?” His voice is measured and as cold as his eyes. “Come to think of it, I believe a grant for my drug program is the last thing on your mind.”

Joe Taylor gets up from his desk again, walks around it and stands facing me. I’m frozen, entirely unsure what I ought to do next. He leans down, takes both arms of my chair, and gets right in my face. I smell coffee on his breath with a touch of some kind of booze. Whiskey? Not sure.

He never raises his now menacing voice. “One thing I don’t like is being toyed with. Lady, really, what is your story?”

I don’t say a word. I’m scrambling for a way to make a quick exit. He creates a way out for me, when he straightens.

“This appointment is finished. Show yourself out.”

~~~~~

The entire drive home, I chastise myself for blowing the meeting with Joe Taylor. I’ll never be able to call him again to ask any other questions. Man, I need to learn when to back off.

Will had offered to handle the interview, and I probably should have let him do just that. Still, I did learn a few interesting things about Teresa’s life in Florida.

I pull onto the drive to my house and see another car come up behind my Mustang. Frank jumps out of a blue, not black, Porsche and quickly circles to the other side to open the door for Juliana, calling to me, “Hope you don’t mind us dropping by.”

“Never, big brother,” I say, as he walks over to hug me. Juliana and I give each other quick smiles and wave. I nod to the car. “Loaner while yours is being repaired?”

“Yep,” he says. “Have an admission to make. I wanted Jules to see where you live.”

Noticing they’re both dressed casually in jeans, I ask, “Hey, how was New York?”

“Change of plans. Meeting got rescheduled at the last minute, so we’re going tomorrow.” Frank winds his way back to Juliana’s side and takes her hand.

I recall that blur in a baseball cap and sunglasses in the Toyota with the dent along the Pennsylvania highway. So that could have been Juliana.

“Sis, I told Jules all about Warrior. She loves animals and works with a couple of rescue organizations on the Coast,” he gushes. Well, not really gushes. It’s subtle, since Waspy guys don’t gush.

“I’d love to meet Warrior,” Juliana says, “but only if now is a good time.”

“It’s a great time,” I say. “First, I’ll let him out in the pen to do his business. You two go into the garden through the gate, and I’ll bring him in to meet Juliana. Then we’ll all go inside for a look around.”

In a few minutes, Warrior and I walk into the garden, where he circles Frank and Juliana for several quick sniffs and then stops in front of Juliana. All of a sudden, he howls, issuing the most sing-songy noise I’ve ever heard come out of him. The three of us freeze. Then his tail wags, and we laugh, realizing he was just being goofy. Warrior then heads to his usual spot to plop down.

After we tour my cottage, I send Frank and Juliana again outside to my garden, while I open some beers in the kitchen. Frank pops back in. “Thought you might need a hand, Ronnie.”

“Got it, Frank, but thanks for the offer.” I stop what I’m doing. “Don’t mean to be nosy, but why were you and Juliana in such a hurry to get over to the lawyer’s office right before that guy ran you off the road?” I laugh nervously. “I thought you two were maybe intending to elope!”

He sidles over and squeezes my shoulder as he scoops up two of the beers. “Don’t worry about me, Sis.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, about my so-called love life.” He smiles at me. “You’re a real mama bear, always worrying about all of us. She’s good people, Ronnie. You don’t have to worry about Juliana.”

I smile back. “If you say so, Frank. Anyway, you don’t have to be in a rush to get to know someone, do you?” Frank says nothing. “Do you?” I ask again. “Have to be in a rush, I mean.”

He shrugs and smiles. “I don’t have to rush, but, Ronnie, life is short. The older we get, the more we realize we shouldn’t waste time. Anyway, Juliana needs a good lawyer for a confidential family matter she wants to resolve…”

My thoughts swirl as I listen to him. If you only knew my suspicions, Frank, but it’s too soon for me to share what I’ve learned. “Just want my big brother to be happy. That’s all.” I take the bowl of chips and my beer, and we go out.

The three of us sit in the garden enjoying our cold beers, shooting the breeze. The most interesting aspect of our visit is Warrior. He’s usually next to me no matter where we are, but right now he’s practically glued to Juliana’s side and flirting like crazy with her. I’ve never seen Warrior behave this way toward an absolute stranger. I remember though that my son told me some years back that Warrior was first raised by a young woman. I wonder if my brother’s girlfriend reminds Warrior of that person.

Juliana enjoys every moment of my German shepherd’s attention. I can see that she’s honestly a real dog person. She doesn’t mind when Warrior pushes his wet nose against her rolled-up sleeve for more rubs between his ears. She doesn’t scoot away when my dog wiggles his behind against her leg, shedding hair all over her jeans as he invites more butt-scratching. Juliana complies, which sends him into ecstasy.

Finally, Warrior lays his head in her lap and gazes up at her with his beautiful brown eyes. A deep look of understanding passes between them, and she leans over to whisper something secret into his ear. An audible sigh comes from my dog. He lies down at Juliana’s feet and falls asleep.

It’s not just Warrior who fascinates me. Watching Juliana meet my pooch, who usually makes most newcomers nervous, I see her being more open and down to earth than at any time since we’ve met. The wall is down, at least for these few passing moments. Animals have a solid sense of people, I believe. So is Warrior telling me that Juliana is a decent person—one I can trust is worthy of my brother?

~~~~~

They’ve left, and I stand in a guest room that I converted into a spacious walk-in closet, staring at endless hangars of clothes, cubbyholes of shoes, and overflowing shelves. I make a mental note to clear out what I no longer wear for the annual town rummage sale. Then I grab my favorite sweatshirt and almost fall over Warrior as I exit the closet. I kneel down to scratch his head.

My lovable seven-year-old German shepherd happens to be a highly trained bomb-sniffing dog that once belonged to my son. Tragedy arrived two years ago when the military notified my now-ex-husband and me that our twenty-seven-year-old boy, Thomas Livingston Lake, had died in combat in Afghanistan. Warrior, my dear Warrior, was next to Tommy when he died. He’s a link to my son during his final moments, and for that, I more than treasure this 85-pound furry creature. I scratch his neck, which he loves. I scratch the top of his haunches, which he loves even more.

My son was a Marine Corps dog handler. He and Warrior stuck together like glue during their many missions. Unfortunately, Taliban sniper fire hit Tommy during a patrol. His commanding officer wrote me that Warrior climbed on top of Tommy to protect him from additional gunfire, but my boy still didn’t make it.

The military granted Warrior early retirement because of canine post-traumatic stress disorder, and he came to live with me. The PTSD symptoms this four-legged veteran still exhibits are hypervigilance when it now comes to my safety rather than Tommy’s and a strong reaction to sudden loud noises—a reminder of the gunfire that fatally felled his beloved handler.

My gaze falls on my favorite picture of Tommy as a soldier. I unpacked it yesterday, and it sits on the nightstand next to the photo of the girls when they were little. In the photo, Tommy, in fatigues, relaxes on a cot while listening to music on his iPod. Warrior sprawls out between his legs, which encircle the dog like a big soft nest. Oh, my precious son…he had so many plans for his life after the military.

I bury my face in Warrior’s neck, partially to dry my tears. Even though my heart is slowly mending, I cry at the most unexpected moments.

Yes, the loss of Tommy does get a little easier with time. The pain doesn’t go away, but the days very slowly become easier.

“Daddy left for the city. He’s got a business appointment this morning, and Juliana was supposed to go with him. But she changed her mind and asked to borrow a car to visit a friend in Pennsylvania,” Laura says in a low voice over the phone. “Wonder if it’s that mystery person who sent her the dead bird.”

“Maybe.” Who knows? But I’m thinking she’s probably going to see Bobby Taylor. “Which car is she driving? Is it that loaner-Porsche your Dad got from the dealer while his is being repaired?”

“She wants to take the Toyota,” my niece says, sounding puzzled. “I mean, who would take a Toyota when a sexy blue Porsche is sitting there practically calling your name?”

“Maybe someone who doesn’t want to attract attention,” I answer, thinking about the dented Toyota-sighting the other day when I drove up to Scranton to meet Joe Taylor.

I guess I have to let Laura in on one of my little secrets. So I tell her that I’m thinking of doing a little hands-on detective work. Today I plan to track Juliana. “Daniel’s working around my place right now,” I add. “I’ll see if I can trade cars with him and use his van. How much time do you figure I’ve got to get on her trail?”

“Well, they’re eating breakfast now,” Laura says. “Half an hour maybe?”

I nod to myself. “Juliana will probably follow your dad out to Hard Scrabble Lane, where they’ll split off in different directions. It’ll be tight, but I’ll be parked there waiting.”

“Don’t you think they’ll spot you?” Laura asks.

“Not if I’m parked near the Smith cottage in Daniel’s grey work van. Text me when they leave the farm.” I hang up, grab my camera, and signal Warrior to come with me.

~~~~~

I follow Juliana through the Delaware Water Gap, and forty-five minutes later we approach the outskirts of Scranton, Pennsylvania. So far, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t noticed me tailing her.

Rather than heading into town, Juliana drives west toward, where else but good old Moosic. My van follows her in the dented Toyota, both of us trying not to stand out in our forgettable vehicles.

We drive through the more commercially prosperous part of Moosic and then transition into the shabbier section of town. She parks in front of the Moosic Motel. Why am I not surprised?

I get lucky and slip into a parking space a few yards from the hotel—the better to watch and listen from a reasonably unobtrusive spot. I unclip Warrior’s seat belt, and he curls up on the front seat for a little nap. Soon I hear his baby snores.

Juliana finally exits the Toyota, wearing faded jeans, flip-flops, and a loose v-neck tee-shirt. Rather than showing off her fabulous long hair, she’s opted to twist it into a sloppy bun and stuff it into a baseball cap. Strands have fallen loose and hang around her face and in her eyes. Still, it isn’t easy hiding how beautiful she is. Juliana walks into a grubby-looking coffee shop next door to the motel, and I wait with Warrior.

Pretty soon a motorcycle roars up, and a guy with shaggy black hair and a leather jacket shuts down the engine and gets off. He removes the jacket, revealing a torn tee-shirt. His arms are loaded with tattoos all the way down to his wrists. His jeans hang low on his behind creating a sight that only a mother could love. Is that Bobby Taylor? If so, he and Juliana are like night and day. He also walks into the coffee shop, and I wait.

Thirty minutes later, still sitting in the van, I consider the fact that I’m conducting my first actual surveillance, and it sure is boring. I don’t dare read and risk missing something happening. I can’t nap like Warrior while I wait, and I forgot to buy the standard P.I. cup of coffee. I check my phone camera. I put the radio on low and listen to the news. Then I search the channels for some decent music. Unable to find any, I switch back to the news.

Another thirty minutes go by before Juliana and Mr. Butt-Crack come out the door of the coffee shop. I click off the radio and partially lower the passenger window in the hope of picking up their conversation. Fortunately, the van windows are tinted, so I don’t think they’ll notice me. To be on the safe side, I slide down a little more in the seat while remaining able to watch what’s going on.

“…he even bought me a cell phone to help me get back on my feet. No more calling from pay phones all over the place.” Bobby, if it’s he, pulls the phone out of his pocket to show Juliana. “Hey, if he thinks I can do it, so should you,” he tells her. She glances around what appears to be an empty street nervously, as if she’s checking to see whether or not they’re alone.

“Come on, say something.” The guy looks as if he’s close to Juliana’s age, and he’s got a swagger in his walk as they move toward her car. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime deal,” he purrs. “If I don’t show up with the money, he’ll be really pissed and cut me out.” His cocky purr turns into a whine. “You said you’d help me after I got out.”

“What do you mean once-in-a-lifetime deal?” As she walks swiftly, Juliana’s slightly raised shoulders and clenched fists at her side clearly reveal her state of tension. “I don’t want anything to do with giving you money for a drug deal.”

I stay low and discreetly snap pictures from the shadows of the van’s interior. As Juliana’s agitation increases, the volume of her voice goes up. “He always makes everything sound so easy. You know that. Don’t believe him, or you’ll end up back in prison.”

I wonder, who is the
he
they’re both talking about—the
he
who bought Mr. Butt-Crack a phone, and the
he
Juliana says makes everything sound so easy. Warrior moves to get up, and I slide my arm over his shoulders. “Stay down,” I tell him in a low voice. “Quiet.” I slide further down, too, to remain unseen.

Juliana opens the Toyota’s passenger door and leans over as if she’s pulling something from under the seat. She stands up holding a large brown envelope and slams the door shut, telling the guy in a firm angry voice, “You said you need money to go to school…get a fresh start. That I’m willing to pay for. This isn’t for some hair-brained drug scheme. If it is, I can’t give you this cash. Do you understand?”