They Came With the Rain

by Christopher Coleman

  And these days, the quiet airwaves of the town were the attraction, a novelty, so anyone who couldn’t tolerate being away from social media for more than an hour usually didn’t pick Garmella as a weekend destination.

  “Well, not really my problem if the rest can’t get through,” Ramon said. “Nothing I can do about a hole in the ground. Man, I can’t wait for the day when they can just send drones in or something.”

  “Drones? Isn’t that radio signals or something? I think that might defeat the purpose.”

  Ramon snickered. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

  He walked from his office into the main area of the station, dumped a quarter cup of cold coffee into the small kitchenette sink across the hall, and then he strolled to the Mr. Coffee for a refill. In mid-pour, he could see Allie Nyler pulling up to the station, and Ramon reflexively glanced to the clock on the wall. 5:21. Late.

  He set the pot and his cup on the counter and walked to the glass window front of the station where he stood with his arms crossed, watching Allie fumble herself together as the sun began to rise behind her, stretching her eyes clear as she examined her face in the rearview mirror before tying back a quick, ragged ponytail. She then shrugged a huge breath and made her way inside the station.

  “Morning, deputy,” Ramon blared before Allie had even closed the door.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” Allie replied, her eyes focused forward, not yet ready to meet those of her boss. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Most days when Allie was late, which was at least twice a month, Ramon offered some type of rebuke, the severity of which depended on his mood that morning and usually ranged somewhere between a lecture on punctuality to the veiled threat of suspension. But today he didn’t have it him. He had too much on his plate already to spend the effort correcting Allie Nyler’s behavior. Besides, in his heart, Ramon knew the reprimands only made him feel better and were doing little to improve Allie’s circumstances in life. She had a drinking problem—maybe drugs too, he wasn’t entirely clear on that—and nothing he said was going to change it.

  “You been out to the sinkhole on 91 yet?” Ramon asked.

  “I thought Luke and Randy were gonna set up the block,” Allie replied quickly. “Figured you gave it to them last night?”

  Ramon put his hands up in mock protection. “I’m not blaming you for anything, Allie. Just asked if you’d been out there?”

  Allie opened her mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it; instead she frowned embarrassed by her defensiveness. She shook her head. “Sorry, Sheriff. No, I haven’t been out there. Want me to check it out when the sun gets up? See if it’s spreading or whatever.”

  That hadn’t been Ramon’s implication, but now that Allie had mentioned it, it sounded like a good idea. He had intended to give it to the Carson boys, as Allie had announced, but he hadn’t seen them yet today and they weren’t due in for another hour. “Why don’t you. I set some cones out but we need something a little more permanent. A sign at least. And make sure there’s no mountain of cars piled up coming into town either. Hopefully, DPW had at least enough sense to close the road at Simonson. Anyone who gets past that town is gonna have a hell of three-point turn to get back down the mountain.”

  Allie nodded, and then, as if the idea of a lifetime struck her, her face lit into a broad smile, her eyes gleaming. She stretched her arms wide, shoulder height, palms to the sky. “How ‘bout that rain last night? Huh?”

  Ramon and Gloria both whooped in unison, having forgotten to discuss the momentous occasion amongst each other.

  “I swear I thought the roof was gonna come in at one point,” Gloria shrieked. “It’s been so long I barely recognized the sound.”

  “It was a barrage,” Allie added. “Came hard and fast and then was gone within the hour.”

  “Sounds like most of your boyfriends.”

  Allie squinted at Gloria, hands on hips, trying to squeeze back a smile that ultimately erupted into a blaring laugh.

  Ramon blushed, keeping clear of that part of the conversation, and when the locker-room portion sputtered, he added awkwardly, “I can’t believe my home phone wasn’t ringing off the hook with accident reports. I figured people would be sliding and crashing all over town.”

  “It’s still early,” Allie answered. “I’m sure the calls are coming soon.”

  Just as the words finished leaving Allie’s mouth, the phone on Ramon’s desk rang, and he looked at Allie and Gloria suspiciously, as if he were on some hidden-TV prank show and they were both in on it. Each smiled and shrugged.

  “Sheriff Thomas,” Ramon answered.

  “Hello, I...uh...I’m not sure if you’re the right people to call, but um...I think there might be a problem.”

  The voice on the other end was male, young, maybe only a year or two out of his teens. His voice pitched up at the end as if his statement were a question, another indicator of his youth.

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Riley. Riley Tackard.”

  Ramon knew the Tackard name, though not anyone named Riley. That wasn’t unusual, though; the Tackards seemed to have a never-ending stream of family members up at their place beginning in the middle of May and running all the way through September.

  “What can I do for you, son?”

  “Um, I’m working over here at the Grieg for the summer. At the telescope. I’ve been here only about two weeks, I guess, since school let out. I’m working the guard gate.”

  Ramon wasn’t aware of this, but he also wasn’t entitled to know about everyone who arrived in town or where they worked. “Welcome to Garmella, Riley. What seems to be the problem?”

  “The guy that works the shift before me—Jerry...I can’t remember his last name...”

  Ramon knew Jerry Kellerman well, well enough to consider him a friend even, though it had been a while since he’d seen him socially. “It’s Kellerman. What’s going on, Riley?” He felt that first bubble of disquiet form in his gut, the dull, queasy boil that arises when trouble is somewhere in the distance, marching steadily forward like a somnambulant soldier.

  “He ain’t...isn’t here.”

  Ramon processed the report in an instant, picturing the layout of the Grieg at the guard gate, reconstructing the grounds of the compound, considering the many possibilities of where Jerry Kellerman might have gone, assuming he had made it there to begin with. “Is he making his rounds or something?”

  “Uh...we don’t really do rounds, I guess. We just kinda sit at the gate.”

  “What if you see something, Riley?” Ramon snapped. “Or hear something? Do you still just sit at the gate? Do you wait for the thieves to load up the telescope and drive off to Vegas or Albuquerque or Mexico City?”

  Ramon realized his reaction was a tad over the top—and it made no sense regarding stealing the telescope, which was five times heavier than a California redwood—but Riley’s reply had come off as slightly sarcastic, and Ramon was in no mood, already burdened with the weight of the day that lay ahead.

  “I...I was just told if we see or hear anything to call it in. To my company. Or to you guys if it was an emergency.”

  This was right, of course, technically, but Ramon knew Jerry would never have followed that protocol to the letter, not without checking things out on his own first. Ramon backed off his hardline approach. “Listen, Riley, do you see his vehicle there? His truck? It’s an F150. Gray.”

  “Yeah, it’s here.”

  Ramon didn’t know whether that was a good sign or not, but at least Jerry had shown up for work, which meant he wasn’t lying dead in his house having suffered a massive stroke at his dining room table or something. “Is it where he normally parks it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Front lot, across from the gate.”

  Ramon thought back to Riley’s mention of the protocol. “Why didn’t you call your company first, Riley? What made you call me?”

  “I did call them. They told me to call you. They said
it qualified as an emergency.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because of the truck. Jerry’s truck. The tailgate was down when I got here, and his gun locker was open.”

  Now the boil of concern in Ramon’s belly was at a simmer.

  “And there’s a shotgun on the ground right behind the truck.”

  Ramon’s gut heated to a steady rumble at the last addendum, but Ramon kept his mind from racing, allowing instead for his brain to explore all the possibilities, to factor into the equation each of the elements Riley had just offered. At the moment, however, nothing came to mind that didn’t involve distress.

  The phone rang on Gloria’s desk now and Ramon watched absently as she answered it, noting the wrinkled concern on her brow a few seconds later.

  “All right, Riley, we’ll send someone over. Have you been up to the telescope yet?”

  “Uh, no. For what?”

  Ramon closed his eyes and rubbed his hand across his eyes and forehead. “To see if there’s been a breach, Riley. The point of you being there—of any guard being there—is to protect the telescope. And if Jerry wasn’t there when you got there, that means someone could have entered the compound, right?”

  There was silence on the other end, and Ramon could hear the fear in Riley’s breathing. No doubt he’d been told the job was nothing more than an eight-hour session of reading magazines and doing crossword puzzles, with maybe a couple of credential checks throughout the day when the maintenance staff—of which there were very few—arrived for their day shift.

  And ninety-nine percent of the time, that was the gig.

  “It’s okay, Riley, just stay at the gate. We’ll get over there as soon as we can.”

  Ramon hung up and then watched Gloria do the same with her receiver almost simultaneously.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  “It was Melissa Godwin.”

  “She’s calling early.”

  “Said Amber didn’t come home last night.”

  “Is that unusual? Isn’t she still with that Zamora kid?”

  “Yeah, but she said she can’t get a hold of him either. She didn’t sound too concerned, just wondering if we’d gotten a call that anything had happened. But then...”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. She hung up kind of abruptly. Like the phone went dead suddenly.”

  Ramon shrugged. “All right, I’ll add it to the list. Maybe have Luke or Randy take a drive out to the Zamora house to see if anyone’s there. Do you know if anyone else is staying there right now ‘sides Derrick?”

  “Not sure. He lives with his mom, Monique, but she’s been known to disappear for a few days at a time.”

  Ramon nodded. “I’m sure them kids are shacked up there and hungover. Or maybe not yet home from doing whatever kids do nowadays.”

  Gloria grinned mischievously. “I think it’s the same as they did thenadays.”

  Ramon snickered. “I’m sure. All right, let’s send one of the boys out to Derrick’s house anyway. Just to be sure.”

  “What was going on your end?”

  “Issue at the Grieg. Jerry Kellerman’s MIA. I’m gonna head up there and see what’s what.”

  “MIA?”

  Ramon nodded. “That’s what the new kid said.” He walked back to the coffee pot, finally replenishing his fix for the morning. “Didn’t sound like a mental giant, this kid—some kin of the Tackards there for the summer—but I’m gonna check it out anyway. Jerry’s not one to leave his post for nothing.”

  Ramon grabbed his hat and stepped out to the front parking lot of the station, breathing in the dampness of the night air that still lingered, only twenty minutes old now as the breaking sun shot in from the east. He scanned the street for a moment and then closed his eyes, studying the silence of the new day.

  And then a thought struck him like a hammer, and he flashed his eyes wide. Where was everyone? It was early—most people were still in bed, for sure—but still, it was a weekday, and even though school was out, there should have been some cars on the road by now.

  Ramon fired up his cruiser and sat in the driver’s seat idling for a moment, considering again the troubles already on his slate for the day. The life of small-town policing, he thought. It was a good thing no one in town was expecting soon or he’d probably be scrubbing down and delivering a screaming newborn before the day was over.

  He put the sprawling issues aside though, focusing instead on the task at hand—Jerry Kellerman—and then he shifted the car to drive and began his trek up to the to the highest point in Garmella, the point at which the only artery into town dead ended at the Grieg telescope.

  As the small downtown area of Garmella opened up into the sprawling space of the mountain landscape, Ramon studied the scenery with fresh eyes, acknowledging the green leaves and white flowers popping all along the roadway, the glisten of last night’s rain still glimmering in the morning sun, barely risen. That shine would be gone in a few hours, Ramon knew, but the sparkle of water was invigorating to him, as if he were drinking in the moisture with his eyeballs.

  He passed the home of Winston Bell, a sprawling estate of stone and timber that blended seamlessly with the landscape, the hillside hugging it from behind with large trees that shrouded the house on all sides, giving it an almost camouflaged appearance. It was by far the largest home in Garmella, and Ramon always considered it the gateway to the Grieg, as it was the last private structure before the landscape flattened to barrenness, setting the stage for the desolate climb to the telescope.

  Mr. Bell was unquestionably the town’s wealthiest resident (Ramon always granted Winston the status of “Mr. Bell,” mostly due to his fortune and age, the latter of which, conservatively, couldn’t have been a day younger than eighty), as well as its most reclusive, though, since February, Ramon had seen him several times, personally making the drive to his house to issue yet another transmission warning.

  But the man was rich—quite—and a hefty supplier of property tax revenue (not a small thing), and though Ramon had reached the point where Mr. Bell’s infractions against the Garmella-Grieg agreement warranted a citation, to this point, Ramon had issued only warnings, about which Mr. Bell was always very appreciative. Nevertheless, at some point the agreement had to be enforced, and with the pressure coming down on him from the directors at Grieg HQ, that point had almost certainly been reached. Mr. Bell had lain low for the past couple of months, but the next violation would include a fine, at least, and possibly even a home inspection.

  The thought of Mr. Bell’s transgressions elicited a reminder to Ramon of the Grieg monitors who were scheduled to arrive some time tomorrow or the next day (and the ones which had apparently already arrived), and that thought brought him back to the sinkhole, which, he decided, needed the full thrust of his focus when he returned to the station. DPW needed an ass-kicking.

  Ramon pulled up to the gate at the compound, but the guard house was empty; Riley Tackard was nowhere to be found.

  The barrier arm was down, so Ramon parked his vehicle in the roadway directly in front of it and stepped from his car slowly, studying the scene with intensity, giving it the full three-sixty perusal before beginning his slow stroll onto the Grieg property.

  He saw Jerry Kellerman’s F150 in the lot across from the gate, the tailgate of the truck still down as Riley had described, and the shotgun still on the ground. Good boy, Riley, he thought; leave the scene alone.

  On the back end of the guard station, parked vertically with the booth, was a tan Toyota Corolla, which Ramon assumed was Riley’s, considering the out-of-town license plates. Colorado.

  Ramon walked toward the warehouse beyond the gate, immediately noting the open door to the structure. He bristled with suspicion and placed his hand on his weapon as he approached, the sickening feeling from earlier emerging in his belly. He prepared himself to see the body of Jerry Kellerman strung up inside, and possibly Riley Tackard’s beside him, but the wareh
ouse was empty, save for the usual supplies and clutter, and Ramon took a deep breath through his nose, relaxing just a bit.

  “Officer?”

  Ramon spun now as his hand reached for his sidearm, snapping the .9mm from its holster in one smooth motion and holding it up at eye-level.

  “Don’t!” Riley Tackard cried, his voice cracking like a log on a fire.

  Ramon lifted his hands away from his body, holding them high, point of his weapon to the sky, showing the rookie guard he planned him no harm. He grimaced. “Riley, I presume?”

  Riley managed a nod.

  “Good. I’m Sheriff Thomas.”

  Riley gave an understanding nod.

  “Where were you just now?”

  The boy was sweating, out of breath. “I...I was going to walk up to the...the thing. The telescope. Like you told me. But I just kept walking and the road kept going. I never made it. I didn’t know it was so far.”

  The telescope was a good four and a half miles up the mountain, not a stroll most could take easily, and certainly not this kid, who, though young and thin, looked like he’d never run a hundred meters on any given day of his life, let alone hiked four plus miles up a mountain. “It’s not really walkable, Riley. And I told you to stay put.”

  Riley said nothing and looked to his feet, shuffling them.

  “Why didn’t you take your car?”

  Riley shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been up there, so, like I said, I didn’t know it was so far.”

  Ramon gave the surroundings another scan, squinting as he did, trying to take in some unseen clue that perhaps he’d missed upon first arrival. But he found nothing out of the ordinary, and he nodded to the guard. “All right then, today you get the tour, I guess.”

  Ramon and Riley began their trek up the mountain road toward the Grieg telescope in Ramon’s cruiser, Riley sitting nervously in the passenger seat, already looking exhausted despite having several more hours of his shift yet to work.