“Aunt Ronnie. Hurry!” She breaks down sobbing and struggles to catch her breath. “R-R-Ronnie, please come!”
I shiver in alarm. “Laura. Easy. Calm down. Are you hurt?” I flip off the air conditioning in the car, which suddenly feels too cold.
“It’s not me.” She’s crying. “I’m fine.”
“Laura, what’s happened?” I grip the steering wheel with fear. “Is it your dad? Please tell me.” I push against the wheel, bracing for the worst.
“Please come,” she sobs.
“Where?”
“To the hospital.” I hear her blow her nose to clear out the stuffiness and tears. “It’s Daddy. The ambulance brought him to the ER.” She starts crying again. “Come, Aunt Ronnie, as fast as you can,” she says through her tears. “I saw the whole thing.”
“What do you mean, saw the whole—” Click. The phone connection goes dead.
~~~~~
I park and run to the entrance of the ER. Laura is waiting for me, and she’s calmed down since our phone conversation. As we walk through the huge glass doors, she says her father is stable, much to my relief, and begins her story back at Meadow Farm.
“I was upstairs listening to my music and getting organized for some tutoring lesson for tomorrow. Dad was downstairs with Juliana in the kitchen, fixing supper.” While she’s telling me this, Laura and I walk down a hall, take a left turn, and head toward a bank of elevators. A nurse pushes a gurney past us.
“All of a sudden, I heard a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking. I ran to my window in time to see Daddy going out the front door to find out what was going on.” She starts sniffling as we get to the elevator bank and hits the Up knob.
“As Daddy walked down the steps onto the gravel, this guy jumped out from behind one of our cars—” Laura breaks down crying again. “And I, and I, and I saw him hit Daddy over the head with a rock.” She grabs me and buries her face in my shoulder.
“Oh, Laura!” I stroke her hair, and she quickly gets hold of herself as the elevator opens. It’s empty, thank goodness. We step in and she hits a floor button. “Go on,” I say.
“Daddy dropped to the ground unconscious. The guy—I couldn’t see his face because he had his back to the house—he was yelling at Dad, something like, That‘ll teach ya, that‘ll teach ya.”
“Laura, did you see anything that might help the police identify him?” I ask.
“Nothing when it comes to his face, Aunt Ronnie. But he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs open, and it looked as if he had a lot of tats all around his wrists.” Wait a minute, that sounds like Bobby Taylor, with those crazy tattooed arms. But I just saw him at the fights in Pennsylvania. How did he get here so fast? Well, Will and I did take our time at supper, so I guess it’s possible the creep beat me back to Willowbrook.
Is Bobby Taylor hunting me down the way he threatened earlier in the evening? No way. Plus I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know I’m connected to Juliana through my brother. This attack had to be about her and my brother.
We get to the seventh floor and another gurney rolls onto the elevator, this time with a patient. We go up one more floor and exit left down a long hallway. “What happened next, Laura?” I take her arm.
“He moved his foot back, as if he planned to kick Daddy, and I yelled out the window that I’d called the police,” she says. “The guy stopped mid-kick and hightailed it out of there. The weird thing was he never looked up at me after I screamed at him. And he had gloves on. In the middle of summer.”
“No fingerprints,” I offer.
We pass a sign pointing toward radiology, where Laura slows me down. “They want to check Daddy for a concussion. Let’s wait here a moment.” We sit on a couch.
“So what happened to the guy with the tattoos?” I ask.
“Well, he ran over to a green SUV, and when he started it, he stepped on the gas so hard the car spit gravel. Then he went so fast, he fishtailed down our road trying to make all the turns. He slid all over the place! And you know the old apple tree at that sharp turn?” I nod yes, wondering where Bobby Taylor got this green SUV. “The car almost hit it,” Laura says. “The guy missed it by a fraction and scraped the entire passenger side of his car. I bet he even left green paint on the tree.”
I squeeze my niece’s shoulders. “Where was Juliana during all of this?”
“I called 911 for real this time as I race down the stairs to go outside, and that’s when Juliana showed up. Something about being in the bathroom and hearing a loud noise? She saw Daddy on the ground unconscious and totally flipped out.” Laura takes a deep breath.
“I felt Daddy’s pulse, and it was strong,” she says. “But Juliana kept on crying and wailing. I yelled at her to quiet down and not move Daddy and that the ambulance would be there soon. He came to while we both sat with him, but he was pretty groggy.”
I just don’t know what to think, not really. “It sounds as though you did a good job, calming Juliana and making sure your father was OK.” I pat her hand supportively. Although outwardly I appear composed for my niece’s sake, inwardly I want to scream and cry.
“Oh, Aunt Ronnie, it all happened so fast. Anyway, the ambulance arrived, and Juliana rode with Daddy to the hospital.”
“And you followed in your car?” I ask.
She nods yes. “But first I talked to the police. They drove in right behind the ambulance. They looked at the rock that the guy used to hit Daddy over the head. You know, took pictures of it for the police report. Then we went inside and found the other rock. Well, that one looked more like a mini-boulder, and it had flown through one of the living room windows. That guy must be really strong. Anyway, it sat there on the carpet, and wait till you hear this, Aunt Ronnie—”
“What?”
Laura takes a deep breath before she tells me. “The word revenge was painted in black on this boulder. Only it was misspelled r-A-v-e-n-g-e, like ravenge.” She pronounces the first syllable rah.
If not Bobby, then surely some old chum of Teresa’s. “That’s really weird, Laura. Either it has some other meaning, or this idiot can’t spell or use a dictionary.”
Despite the seriousness of all this, she laughs a little. “No kidding. And you may be right about the gloves,” she says. “They were having trouble finding any fingerprints on the two rocks by the time I left.”
At that moment, Juliana appears from a door further down the hall. With the revenge theme in this attack against my brother, I really have to wonder if she has a more sinister connection to Bobby Taylor than merely protecting Francesca. Laura and I get up from the couch, and meet Juliana halfway down the hall.
“What’s the latest?” I ask.
“The CAT scan looks good, which means an excellent chance he doesn’t have a concussion, thank god,” she says, sounding quite relieved. “But the doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation anyway. They’ll be moving him to a room in a moment.”
Before we know it, we’re on our way to the sixth floor and a room not far beyond the nurses station, where we sit by my brother’s bedside for a short visit. He holds Juliana’s hand tightly and gazes at her constantly.
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 hold
s 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?
Chapter Twenty-Four
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 w
ith 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.
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