He turned and started for the kitchen. “First rule of bein’ on the run is don’t go paradin’ round town.”
“If you don’t want to come, I can go by myself.”
He stopped with his back to me, paused, then turned around. “We can stop, but it’s dumb.”
I covered my head with a John Deere baseball cap and swapped my KJAY polo for one of Bud’s old Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirts. I retrieved my jacket and camera equipment from the van and stored them in the backseat of Bud’s 1971 Plymouth Fury.
“There are whole families living in apartments the size of your car.” I settled into the passenger side of the bench seat and stretched out my legs.
“She’s somethin’.” His hand dropped to the seat between us and massaged the maroon paisley fabric. “Got her off my partner when he bought me out of Squirrel’s Tattoo. Belonged to his grandma. Sat in her garage for thirty years beggin’ to be let out.”
I looked out the windshield across the expanse of gleaming white metal. The front hood seemed to stretch forever. “How much gas does this thing take?”
Bud put on a pair of scratched black sunglasses. “It’s worth it.”
Five minutes later Bud sailed his land yacht around the circular drive in front of the Kern County Museum and idled under the Beale Clock Tower. I’d been there the previous Friday to shoot the annual Clock Tower Wreath lighting ceremony. Some towns light giant Christmas trees the day after Thanksgiving. We light a giant wreath. I love that.
Bud scanned the front of the museum. “Looks okay, but the first sign of trouble you’re back in this car.”
“Sounds good.” I jumped out and zipped my coat up. The winter cold felt stronger now that the sun was setting.
An older woman in a festive snowman pullover manned the counter at the gift shop. She agreed to fetch Leanore out of the basement archives while I waited outside under the clock tower.
Originally constructed downtown, the Beale Clock Tower was rebuilt outside the Kern County Museum after a devastating earthquake in the early fifties. The earthquake is why Bakersfield looks like a snapshot from during the Eisenhower administration. Almost the entire town was rebuilt from scratch after most of the Victorian and art deco buildings were destroyed.
I waited for Leanore under one of the tower’s Moorish arches while Bud smoked a cigarette in the car. After a few minutes an older woman in black slacks and a green blazer emerged form the main building. I stepped out from under the arch and waved. She saw me and hurried toward the tower.
“Lilly?” Her shoulder-length auburn hair formed a soft frame for her round face. “How are things at KJAY?”
I shifted my weight uneasily. “Same as usual.”
Leanore’s lips parted in the center as she smiled like a stereotypical sweet little old lady. “That bad?”
I laughed and lost most of my apprehension. “Worse, actually.”
“Oh, dear. Maybe it is better I’m not there anymore.” She waved a hand in the air. “No, no, that’s not true. I really miss it.”
I took a quick look at Bud in the car. He pulled back one of the sweatshirt’s sleeves and pointed to a tattoo of a watch.
I turned back to Leanore. “I don’t have a lot of time and I need to ask you a few questions.”
She eyed Bud suspiciously, but said, “Go ahead.”
“I need some background on Leland Warner and his family. Callum said you’re the only one at KJAY who ever did a story on him.”
She smiled. “Then he lied to you. I barely started before it was canceled.”
“What happened?”
“Do you remember that series of biography pieces I did? Nice stories about notable residents and their lives in Kern County?”
I nodded. “I remember.”
“Someone kept calling and leaving messages suggesting I do one on Leland Warner.” She frowned. “I was stupid enough to take the bait.”
“You think someone was setting you up?”
“Not me, Warner. I was a tool to annoy him. He likes his privacy.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “I may have heard that before.”
“Well, at the time, I hadn’t. He was a prominent businessman who supported local charities. I thought he’d be a good subject. Boy, was I wrong.”
“What happened?”
“Trent called me into his office and said to drop it.”
“Do you think Warner was giving orders to Trent?”
“I assumed Warner threatened to sue and made it clear that if Trent washed his back, then Warner would pay someone to wash Trent’s.”
“But that’s so wrong. It goes against every principle of journalism. Why didn’t you fight him?”
She smiled. “That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you. Somebody pushes, you push right back.” The smile faded. “But I’m not that brave. I’d already been cut back to part-time. That job meant a lot to me and I didn’t want to lose it.”
“I’m sorry.” I paused, then asked, “During your research, did you find out anything about Warner’s family?”
She shook her head. “Only that his wife died some time ago. A daughter lives here, and I think a son lives on the East Coast.”
I straightened like a bloodhound picking up the scent. “Do you know anything about the daughter? I think she’s married.”
Leanore shrugged. “Not a lot. Her name is Mary.”
“Do you have a way to contact her husband or know someone who might?” She shook her head. “Do you know anything else about them? Even gossip.”
Her lips pursed as she thought about something. “There was some talk a long time back. I think …when the daughter was a teenager.”
“I won’t use it on the air.”
“Apparently she’s a little high-strung. There was talk of an …incident.”
Before I could prompt her to continue, a siren erupted down the street. I dived for the bushes. The siren got louder as the police car got closer, then faded as it passed us.
Leanore cleared her throat. “They’re gone now.”
“Thanks.” I stood up, breaking several branches. Bud was giving me a nasty stare from the car. “Can you tell me real fast about Mary’s incident?”
Leanore didn’t miss a beat. “There was talk she attacked another girl in school. Some kind of rivalry over a boy. Rumors ran the gamut from the girl ended up disfigured all the way to she died. It was probably exaggerated or even made up.”
“I understand.” I hesitated for a moment. “Are you going to ask about what just happened?”
She smiled. “It was apparent from your lack of camera, van, and reporter that this was an unusual visit.”
I brushed some dirt off my jeans. “It would take too long to explain, but …I’m sort of on the run from the police.”
She pulled a twig from my hair. “That was apparent from your reaction to the siren.”
I laughed. “Can you do me a favor and not mention to anyone that I came here? At least not for a few hours, anyway.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
Bud effortlessly steered the Fury down the deserted road. An unfinished subdivision, the construction workers already gone home, lined one side of the street with an orange grove on the other. The sunlight had faded, but it wasn’t dark enough for the brand-new streetlights to turn on. The world was in a bluish middle ground between day and night.
“It’s been a long time since I was down here,” Bud said.
“Look at that.” I pointed at a house set back a little distance from the road and surrounded by the orchard. It’s old-fashioned construction, dirt driveway, and nearby chicken coop sat in stark contrast to the newness of the subdivision across the street. They even had an old-time racist lawn jockey. “It’s odd, seeing the old ways right alongside the new.”
“I’m as nostalgic as the next old fart, but some of them old ways stunk.”
We continued several more blocks, then Bud slowed the car. “I think this might could be it.
”
Outside my window the line of orange trees ended and a wall of corn began. “That’s the back side. In another block there’s a big gravel road that leads to the parking lot.”
Bud did a truncated three-point turn and backed the massive car down the small dirt road dividing the maze from the orchard.
“But we’re meeting Marcie at the entrance,” I said.
“First rule of bein’ on the run. Always have a getaway car close, but not too close.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you’re walkin’ into a trap, you don’t want your getaway car fallin’ into the net.”
Bud brought the car to an unhurried stop three-fourths of the way down the dirt road. The engine idled to a slow purr and gently vibrated the white frame.
“It’s not a trap,” I said.
“I don’t mean to be tellin’ you your business.” Bud turned the key and shut off the car. “But I’ve been around the cotton patch a time or two, so to speak. Sometimes people let you down. It’s good to have an escape route. First sign of trouble, come runnin’ back here and we’ll take off.”
I shook my head. “Marcie wouldn’t do that.”
Bud didn’t say anything.
I reached for the door handle. “Okay. I guess there’s nothing wrong with an escape route.”
I walked along the line of corn until I found the back entrance. Bales of straw filled in a four-foot gap between the line of corn stalks. I pushed with both hands and the whole thing fell forward.
I took a last look at Bud in the car as I zipped up my blue jacket. A red dot glowed from the shadow of the interior as Bud sucked on a cigarette. I didn’t want to admit it, but his warnings about Marcie had spooked me. If I was going to end up in police custody, I wanted it to be on my terms, with some proof to back up my story, and not because I’d been grabbed like a runner on Cops.
I raised my leg and took a giant step over a bale of straw. It was much darker inside the maze, and the corn had grown way past its prime. It fell over in places and created narrow tunnels. Worse yet, the straw that covered the floor had got wet, making it brown and slimy. It created the perfect dumping ground for old beer bottles, cigarette butts, and I don’t want to know what else.
I made one wrong turn, but quickly corrected and found the right path. I emerged five minutes later onto a large, empty gravel parking lot bordered by more orange trees. A gravel road disappeared around the corner of the maze, and I knew at the end of it was the unseen street with the new subdivision. I knew this not because I could see through the wall of overgrown corn, but because I’d been coming to the corn maze for my entire life. I came first as a child with my family, then on school field trips, and finally as a shooter doing feel-good stories. It never changed. Every fall a farmer donated his land and a charity sold tickets, candied apples, and donkey rides. The layout was seared into my brain.
If I ran, as Bud wanted, I could find another town to live in. It would probably be a great place with everything that Bakersfield has and more. Maybe they’d even have a corn maze. The thing is, it wouldn’t be my maze. It wouldn’t be the one I’d outgrown at eight. It wouldn’t belong to me. Nothing would.
I stood in the entryway as the light got dimmer and the wind got colder. Over the tops of the corn a streetlight flicked on. I blew on my hands before shoving them in my giant pockets.
I checked my watch. It read five twenty. Marcie had had over an hour to slip out of the station and meet me.
I jerked to attention at the sound of screeching tires and then the crunching of a car going fast on gravel. A KJAY news van turned the corner at a dangerous speed. Its headlights blinded me as the van charged. Bits of gravel flew like shrapnel as it came to a sudden stop.
Over the rumble of the engine a door opened and a single foot hit the ground. “Hurry, get in.” It wasn’t Marcie’s voice.
“Rod?”
“We don’t have much time.”
I couldn’t see him or anything else over the headlights. “Where’s Marcie? Did she tell you I was here?”
“No, she told the police in exchange for an exclusive.” Hurried footsteps crunched through the gravel and suddenly Rod was there. “The detectives are right behind me.”
“I thought she might not come,” I said quietly, “but I never thought she’d turn me in.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s ugly, but we have to get out of here.” He started back to the van, but stopped when he saw I hadn’t moved. “Hurry.”
“I don’t suppose you brought the hidden camera?”
He patted his suit pocket. “It’s right here.” He looked nervously over his shoulder. “Now come on. We need to go.”
I shook my head. “Thanks for coming to warn me, but I have a car on the other side of the maze. Give me the brooch and then you get out of here.”
We both heard the soft crunch of tires on gravel at the same time.
“Too late,” Rod whispered.
Neither of us moved for a few seconds as we listened to the slow, hesitant sound. Then, almost simultaneously, an engine roared and a piercing siren cut through the quiet.
I sprinted into the maze. I heard footsteps behind me and hoped they were Rod’s. I didn’t turn around to find out.
About halfway through I came to a crossroads and had to stop. The darkness and my own fear were playing tricks and I was unsure of the way.
Rod almost ran me down. “I’m sorry—”
I clamped my hand over his mouth. “Keep your voice down,” I whispered. “They’re probably in the maze with us.”
He nodded and I dropped my hand.
“You know the way out, right?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“And you have a car waiting?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” He cheered for a moment, but then a crease formed on his forehead. “Why are we stopped?”
“I don’t know the way.”
He did a double take. “But you said—”
I covered his mouth again. Footsteps were coming closer. I looked down the darkened path and Rod followed my gaze.
“Tell me again why we didn’t wait for backup?” I recognized Lucero’s voice.
“Because that pretty boy was running down here to warn her,” Handsome replied.
“Are you sure you’re not a little ticked your girlfriend turned out to be playing you?”
Light from a flashlight cut through the gaps in the corn. Rod and I instinctively plunged into a crouch to avoid being seen.
“She’s not my girlfriend and I didn’t let her play me,” Handsome shot back.
“This must be tough on you, Handsome. Women usually run in your direction, not away. Maybe your honey’s playing hard to get.”
“You won’t be calling her my honey after I put her in the county lockup for a few nights. She’ll be fresh meat in there.”
I rocked backward and Rod reached out to steady me.
On the other side of the corn wall Lucero stopped and abandoned his teasing tone. “All kidding aside, I don’t like that kind of talk.”
“I don’t care.”
“Do you care that we’re lost?” Lucero started to turn back. “We should retrace our steps to the entrance and see if the black-and-whites are here. Then we can set up a perimeter.”
“You do that. I’m going through.”
“Fine.” Lucero’s footsteps faded away.
Handsome’s flashlight cut through the corn separating our two paths. Shards of jagged light illuminated small pieces of Rod and myself and then disappeared. We each held our breath and waited till we were sure he’d moved on.
“What now?” Rod whispered.
I motioned for him to follow me and made a left at the crossroads. If I was right, we would be out of the maze in less than a minute. If I was wrong, we would find ourselves at a dead end. I didn’t tell Rod and he followed without asking questions.
The final turn came and my muscles tensed in anticipation. A
surge of adrenaline rushed through me as I spotted the fallen bales of hay at the back entrance. I jumped over them and ran for the Fury. I didn’t care so much about making noise as getting to the waiting car before Lucero had time to set up his perimeter.
I pulled open the passenger door with Rod close behind me and got a nasty surprise.
The keys were in the ignition and Bud’s flip-flops sat on the driver’s seat, but otherwise the front seat was empty.
Rod tapped me from behind. “Shouldn’t we get in and, you know, flee?”
I got in and slid to the driver’s side.
Rod followed and shut the passenger door. “Is something wrong?”
“My uncle was here. I don’t understand.”
“Your uncle?” His head swung around and he looked out the back window. “Where would he go at a time like this?”
Suddenly every irresponsible thing Bud had ever done flashed before my eyes, and those were only the ones I knew about. “It doesn’t matter.” I turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.
“Are you sure we should leave him?” Rod asked. “He could be in trouble.”
I pulled out and down on the gear shift lever coming out of the steering column. “We’re in trouble.”
“Good point.” Rod looked behind us and his whole body jerked. “Drive.”
Handsome forced his way through the wall of corn behind us. I mashed the gas pedal and mowed down several stalks before spinning out into the street.
“He’s coming,” Rod warned.
I hit the gas again. We got almost a block before I had to slam on the brakes. A dark, shapeless blob came at us down the middle of the road.
I flicked on the headlights and Bud took the place of the blob. His bare white legs reflected the light as he ran toward us with something in his arms.
“He’s still coming,” Rod cried.
I turned in time to see Handsome clear the dirt road and start down the center of the street.
“I don’t believe this.” I stuck my head out the open window. “Bud, the police are here, hurry.”
He threw open the backseat door and tossed something in. “Yeehaw,” he yelped, and leaped in headfirst.
Handsome reached us at the same time.
A Bad Day’s Work Page 12