I glanced in my driver’s-side mirror and didn’t see anyone following me. “Callum, I need Trent’s phone number.”
There was an uncharacteristically long pause before he spoke. That should have warned me. Callum didn’t like to waste time. “Why did you send David and Rod back? Did you get an interview?”
“Yes,” I lied. “You’ll love it. Now text me Trent’s phone number.”
Callum’s voice faded as he yelled at someone in the newsroom, “Hey, get off your butt and fax these.” Some papers crinkled in the background, then Callum returned to the phone.
“Text me the number,” I ordered.
“No.”
One of my hands jerked to the right. I quickly corrected and picked the phone up. “We had a deal. You promised.”
“You’re on suspension. Talking to Trent isn’t going to change that, and you’re acting way too erratic. You say you’ve got an emergency, but won’t tell anyone what it is. You send David and Rod back to the station. Now you sound almost hysterical.”
“I think there’s another reason you don’t want me to talk to Trent. I think you’re taking orders from someone. Is it Leland Warner? Is he the one behind all this?”
“Forget almost hysterical. Now you’re one hundred percent hysterical.”
A stop sign whizzed by and I slammed on the brakes. The van narrowly missed a Volvo and came to a screeching halt in the middle of the intersection. Several cars honked at me, but I barely noticed them. “I want that number, Callum.”
“Get your video back to the station,” he said, ignoring me. “And then go home. You can talk to Trent in two days when your suspension is over. Hopefully you’ll have calmed down by then.”
I didn’t think about my response. I didn’t calculate what the right thing to say was. “I don’t know how involved you are in this, but you give me that number or I will come back to the station, and you won’t like me once I’m there.”
Background static crackled. “Are you threatening me?”
“Yes.”
His voice got low. “Lilly, you’re out of line.”
“I’m so past caring, Callum. You give me that number or else.”
The line went dead. He’d hung up on me.
I drove only to put distance between myself and Jason. The shakes had leveled off, but now a weird metallic taste was in my mouth. After a few minutes, I decided to return to the station. I pulled into the KJAY lot and didn’t pause to examine the damage to the van. I bypassed the newsroom and headed for the main staircase. I got halfway up to the HR office before I stopped.
When her shift ended, Marcie sometimes updated her résumé DVD if the show had gone well. I found her in the small room off Playback with the station’s only digital editing computer.
She saw me as I came through the door. “Lilly, what’s going on. Callum is really angry.”
“I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“I know. It’s all over the station that you’re having some kind of meltdown.”
“No, you don’t know. I’ve been beaten up and threatened and it all has to do with last night’s murder.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“It sounds outrageous, but it’s true and I need to find Trent. I’d give anything for his phone number or even an address.”
“Can’t you talk to someone else?” She returned to the computer and began packing up her things. “What about Callum?”
“I don’t trust him. He may have given information about me to the men who beat me up, and now I think he’s purposefully keeping me from Trent.”
“Are you sure?”
“When has Trent ever told Callum not to call? Last time he went on vacation, they were on the phone every day.”
“You’re right. That is weird.” She frowned. “But there must be someone else you can talk to—someone above Callum.”
“I was on my way up to HR, but I got worried they won’t believe me.”
“They probably won’t. Everyone thinks you’re having a nervous breakdown over the suspension.”
“I know, but I thought …maybe if you came along. You could vouch for me.”
She paused and thought for a moment. Then all at once she smiled. “If all you need is an address, then what about those magazines Trent is always leaving in the break room?”
“What magazines?”
“The industry ones, about broadcasting and journalism. He brings them from home so his address is on the labels.”
I started to run out, but stopped. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “It’s okay, go.”
I walked quickly through the newsroom. Conversation pretty much stopped.
Callum hung up a phone and stood up. “I want that interview with the family and then turn in your—”
I ignored him and walked straight out the door to the break room. A stack of old magazines sat on the round table by the vending machine. I picked one up and looked at the label. Marcie was right.
It took me about twenty minutes to get over to the southwest side of town. The only car keys I had were to my own busted news van. I doubted Callum would give me another, so I had to drive the dented wreck. The van got a lot of stares, but nobody stopped me.
Trent lived in the Grassy Knoll planned community. The lawns were perfectly maintained and the houses adhered to a strict color palette. Some owners had decorated for the holidays, but the lighting was restrained and nothing that would attract the carloads of sightseers who cruised holiday displays this time of year.
I parked in the driveway and checked the damage to the van. A huge dent ran across the rear, and one end of the back fender was unattached and hanging down. Most of the windows were either cracked or gone. Trent wasn’t going to like this, but at least the station had insurance.
I approached the large double doors and rang the bell. Almost immediately I heard a lock turn, then one of the doors opened.
“Come in,” Trent invited. He wore his usual khakis, but had switched out his dress shirt for a green polo. “Callum called and told me you were on your way.”
I crossed over the threshold and into warm, flowery-scented air. “How did he know?”
“Didn’t say.” He closed the door on the chill outside. “Just that you were very upset and coming to see me.”
My thoughts about Marcie’s possibly repeating our conversation were quickly obscured by the distraction of Trent’s house. The entryway led into a great room with vaulted ceilings and an open kitchen. Everything was color-coordinated in hunter green and milky taupe.
Trent gestured to a seating arrangement in the great room. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
I threw myself onto the oversize sofa. “I wouldn’t bother you at home except it’s an emergency and I don’t trust Callum.”
“I can see you’re upset.” Trent stood behind an armchair. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Maybe in a minute. You’re not going to believe everything that’s happened.” I sank into the couch and let the stress fall out of my body. “I don’t even believe it myself.”
“Is this about the suspension?”
“I wish that was my biggest problem. The real trouble started when I got home. Two men broke into my apartment and threatened me. It was horrible. They wanted the tape I made last night.” I sat up and pointed to my eye. “They even hit me.”
Trent shook his head. “Unbelievable. Did you give it to them?”
“How could I? There’s no tape to give. It was black.”
He nodded and smiled. “Right, right. Sorry.”
For the first time since arriving, I gave all my attention to Trent. What jumped out at me wasn’t the doubtful crease between his eyebrows or the slight smirk of his mouth. No. It was the darkening circle around his eye—like mine, but maybe an hour ahead of me in its bruising.
“What happened to your eye?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything.
My exhausted brain tried to process the e
normity of what that bruise meant. It tossed the revelation back and forth, rejecting and passing, but finally took it in. “I owe Callum an apology. You’re the one. You sent them to my house.”
He still didn’t say anything.
“Answer me.” I jumped up. “Or are you afraid to admit it?”
Trent’s indignation propelled him forward and he grabbed the back of the chair. “I was lured home and attacked. They wanted the footage from the orchard and said they’d kill me if I didn’t hand it over.”
“So you told them I had it and where to find me? Way to throw me under the bus.”
“Once I realized what you’d done, I didn’t see any reason to protect you.”
“What I’d done? I haven’t done anything.”
“You lied. You turned in a fake tape and held back the real one.” His voice shook. “If you’d been honest, none of this would’ve happened. We’d have aired that video and then those thugs wouldn’t have bothered either of us.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“The company did a background check when you were hired. It’s in your file. I know the kind of debt you’re carrying and I know how much money you make.” He shook his head and looked almost sympathetic. “I understand it must have been a huge temptation.”
“Who cares how much money I owe? You’ve been my boss for two years. How can you think I’d do something like that? Don’t you know me at all?”
“Know you? Are you crazy?” He laughed. “Nobody at KJAY knows you. That intern who left after a day had more personal relationships than you.”
“Then why bother suspending me for incompetence if you don’t believe the tape was black?”
But then I answered my own question. “You bastard. You only suspended me so I’d have to go home and they could ambush me.”
For the first time, he managed to look a little guilty. “Honestly, I didn’t think they’d hurt you. I thought you’d sell them the tape and we could all go on with our lives. I thought you’d be thrilled to have a buyer fall right in your lap.”
“There is no tape. I screwed up last night. I swear.”
Trent took a long, slow breath. “I don’t believe you and you’re fired.”
“Fired,” I repeated. “You can’t do that.”
He straightened and spoke formally. “That tape is company property. When you failed to turn it in, you were technically stealing. That’s grounds for immediate termination.”
“You can’t fire me.” I advanced on him. “I got threatened and beat up and practically strangled for this job today, and I’m not going to let you fire me. I’ll take you to court for discrimination.”
“You’ll be in court, all right, but not suing me.”
I stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what it sounds like.”
Up until now I’d been too angry and defensive to feel fear. Trent’s last statement changed that. “What did you do?”
“I called the police. I should have done it this morning, but I was afraid.”
“And now you’re not?”
“I made a deal. I’m being offered protection from those men in exchange for what I know.”
I felt myself swaying slightly and tried to regain my balance. “And what is it that you know, exactly?”
“That at best you’re conspiring to suppress evidence and at worst you’re an accessory after the fact in last night’s homicide. Someone’s on the way. They said to try and keep you here.”
“Do you know what you’ve done? I’m as good as dead.”
“Don’t be melodramatic. If you really are innocent, it will all come out if you cooperate with them.”
I slowly walked around the chair. “Those two thugs, the ones you’re so terrified of, are going to kill me.”
Trent backed away. “In police custody you’ll be safe.”
“The thugs are police officers, you idiot.”
He froze. “What?”
“They are the police and they’re mixed up in this murder with Leland Warner and a gang who tried to kill me an hour ago. And I can identify all of them. How long do you think I’ll live in police custody?”
Trent stared at me for a moment. “I don’t know if you’re a liar or delusional.” He ran for the hallway. “And I don’t care,” he yelled before disappearing into another part of the house.
I focused on taking deep breaths. Was this really happening? Had everything gone completely to hell in a few hours? Then a voice inside me answered, “Yes, run for your life!”
I stumbled to the window and looked out. No SWAT team lining up. No police tape roping off the block. I ran outside and got in the news van. A few blocks from Trent’s house I noticed something in my side mirrors—sparks. The trailing bumper created the bursts as it scratched along the pavement.
I pulled into the parking lot at the subdivision’s swimming pool. I tried to push the dangling end back into place, but the whole thing fell off. I threw it into the back of the van and prepared to leave. I didn’t get past putting on my seat belt. An unmarked police car came to a standstill at a nearby stop sign. Handsome and Lucero didn’t see me—probably because they were arguing.
I held my breath for what felt like forever. Then Handsome floored it toward Trent’s house. I waited until they were out of sight, then escaped the Grassy Knoll planned community.
NINE
News vans are designed with as many bright colors and images as can fit on their frames. People are supposed to notice them. Mine was also missing a rear fender and several windows. If Handsome and Lucero got an APB out before I got the van off the street, I wouldn’t last five minutes.
I took Coffee Road past the old, abandoned power plant and the suburban big-box stores. I crossed into orchards and continued until I hit Merle Haggard Drive. Merle was my ticket to Oildale.
The Dale, as my dad always called it, sprang up around 1900 as company housing for one of the nearby oil fields. As long as I can remember, it’s been the rough-and-tumble place across the river from Bakersfield where hardworking blue-collar workers fight off blight and crystal meth. It’s also where I grew up.
The part of Oildale I sought was a mix of valiant little old ladies trying to keep the neighborhood respectable and the seedier element that moved in when they died. I passed the big blue house my parents bought when we moved off the farm, but didn’t pause or slow down.
Two blocks ahead I found the house I was looking for and stopped. It had been built by my grandfather, who died even before my father was born, and had been inherited by my uncle Bud. I didn’t know if he still owned it, but I couldn’t imagine him living anywhere else.
To judge from outward appearances, whoever did live here wasn’t in the respectable-little-old-lady category. Large swaths of yellow paint had peeled off the house. An old recliner and a sofa sat on the brown lawn amid a sea of beer cans, rusted scrap metal, and weird kitschy lawn ornaments. In one tableau a garden gnome appeared to be doing something obscene to a pink flamingo.
I turned into the driveway and drove all the way to the backyard.
I stepped in dog poop getting out of the van.
The back door to the house was open and I walked toward it, wiping my shoe on the grass as I went. Something creaked behind me and I swung around. “Bud?” The only structure in the yard was a crude tin shed in the corner. “Bud? Is that you? It’s Lilly, your niece.”
The tin door flew open. “Lilly?” Bud’s dark brown, shirtless self climbed out of the darkness. He wore jagged cutoff jeans and four days’ worth of gray stubble.
I instinctively ran toward him. “Uncle Bud.”
His massive, tattooed arms reached out and took me into a giant bear hug. “Little Sister. I’m sorry about missin’ Thanksgivin’, but what’re you doin’ here?”
No one except Bud ever called me Little Sister, not even my actual big sister. It felt good to hear it again after all these years. “I’m sorry not to call first.”
“That�
�s okay.” His happy face fell as he shot worried glances around the backyard. “Your mama’s not with you, is she?”
I shook my head. “No. She’s in Fresno.”
He nodded. “I heard she moved up there with your sister. I’d feel sorry for Fresno, but they might try and give her back.” He laughed. “You know I don’t mean no offense about your mama. We were never partial to one another, is all.”
“I know.” I laughed nervously. “I’m sorry to show up like this when—”
Bud took hold of my face. The smell of stale beer filled my nostrils. “Who gave you that shiner?”
I laughed again. “A police officer.”
Bud’s hand dropped. “Crud.”
“I know. I know,” I said between bursts of increasingly panicked laughter. “I’m in so much trouble.”
Suddenly I was crying instead of laughing. Bud put his arm around me. With his free hand he raised one of my arms and tried to blot out the tears with my sleeve. “Calm down, Little Sister. You just need somethin’ to eat and a little sleep.”
“You’re right.” I got control of myself. “Sorry.”
“The cops give you those marks on your neck too?”
“No. A gang leader tried to strangle me.”
“Ah, crud. Come on.” He marched toward the house. “Watch where you step.” He pointed to a pile of dog poop, then looked back at my big feet. “Never did grow into those things, did y’ah? Always thought you’d get a growth spurt and even out, but I guess it wasn’t in the good Lord’s plan.”
As we climbed the steps to his back door, I glanced into the next yard. “What about the neighbors? Will they ask questions if they see my van?”
“Mrs. Foote’s son might be a problem.” Bud walked through the open door. “She lives across the way and I got a feud goin’ with her boy. He’ll cause trouble if he can.”
Bud disappeared into the house and I followed. His kitchen was surprisingly clean and smelled of Pine-Sol. “What kind of feud?” I asked.
“That young punk decided he didn’t like his mama havin’ to look at my house on account of it needin’ a coat of paint.” Bud washed his hands in the sink. “So he tries to push me around, figurin’ I’m an old man. Well, I showed him. I made myself a whole white-trash lawn for her to look at.”
A Bad Day’s Work Page 10