A Bad Day’s Work

by Nora McFarland

  “So you compromised on Val.”

  Sinclair nodded. “Several of his friends from school are in the gang and vouched for him. All he had to do was drive the loaded truck over the grapevine to Long Beach and return with the money. Jason even provided a clean truck the police wouldn’t be looking for.”

  I paused. “Did Val know the cargo was stolen?”

  “Of course. He’s the one who got me in touch with the Eastside Crew in the first place, although he made a lot of noise about not wanting to get involved.”

  I felt an invisible weight settle on me and lowered the bat. Mrs. Boyle thought she knew her son. Would she recover from learning she hadn’t? “I guess he was saving for college.”

  “Yes, and I promised him promotions down the road. He really wanted to impress his mom. . . . Are you okay?”

  “No. I’m not okay.” I raised the bat again. “Because this time Val didn’t make it back from Long Beach. What happened?”

  Sinclair’s face puckered. “It was Val’s own fault. The first robberies went great, but then Leland transferred me out of Dewey Ridge and Val got paranoid. I told him Leland needed my marketing expertise for the Drillers, but Val became more and more convinced we were under suspicion.”

  And Val had almost certainly been right. If Warner suspected his son-in-law, but had no proof, then moving him to a business with nothing to steal from made a lot of sense.

  “Jason’s men had already taken our third shipment from one of Leland’s packing companies up north,” Sinclair continued. “They were holding it until Val was ready to drive to Long Beach, but he kept stalling. Val was convinced we were under surveillance. Finally Jason threatened him. He wanted their money, one way or the other, so Val agreed to go.”

  “And that was last night?”

  Sinclair nodded. “Yes, but Val had a paranoid freak-out on the way back. He called from a pay phone at the base of the grapevine. He’d made the delivery and had the money, but he was sure someone was following him. He was supposed to meet Jason’s people in Bakersfield, but he was too frightened.”

  “Then how did he end up dead in an orchard in Weedpatch?”

  “I tried to calm him down, but he insisted I come meet him. He wanted out of the whole thing and threatened to abandon the truck and the money and hitchhike home. I told him to go to Valley Farms and wait for me. I used to work there and knew it would be deserted.”

  Sinclair didn’t appear to realize he was hanging himself. If he was the only one who knew about Val going to the orchard, then he was the only one who could have committed the murder. “Is it possible Val called Jason and told him what was happening?”

  “Jason denies it, but I think he and his men murdered Val and took the money. Now he’s trying to get paid twice.” Sinclair opened his arms. “And I can’t pay him.”

  It was a good theory, but it didn’t explain why the tape was a danger to Mary Sinclair or why her father would bribe the police to tamper with the crime scene. Those things brought the crime back home to Sinclair.

  I tightened my grip on the bat and now thought of it more as a defensive weapon. “What happened when you got to the orchard?”

  “Val was dead.” Sinclair didn’t sound sorry or even upset. “That was pretty much it.”

  “Was the money there?”

  “I didn’t hang out to check.” He shook his head. “I asked Mary this morning, but she doesn’t know.”

  “You brought your wife to the meeting?”

  “You know that,” he said defensively. “She’s on your tape.”

  Was it possible? Did my video place Leland Warner’s daughter at the scene of a murder?

  “And I had to bring her,” Sinclair continued. “She overheard Val’s call and had an attack. Calming her down took forever and then I was afraid to leave her alone. She kept threatening to call her father.”

  Every nerve in my body came to life. “Did she threaten to call her father tonight?”

  “Yes, but this time I talked her out of it.”

  “She threatened to call her father and you left her alone?”

  “But last night I took her with me and you know how that ended.”

  I didn’t know, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. I dropped the bat and tore out of the office. I ran through the alley and then into the stands. The farther I got from home plate, the less light I had. Soon, the near total darkness forced me to slow down. About halfway to the van I heard a noise and ducked between rows of seats. I cautiously peered back. Skinny and Belly were entering the stands behind home plate. I crawled as fast as I could through the peanut shells and spilled beer.

  I reached the outfield wall and turned around. Skinny and Belly had split up. Each walked slowly through his half of the ballpark, methodically searching the seats. The fog was getting thicker and highlighted the beams of their flashlights. Skinny was closest to me, but even he hadn’t reached third base. I hit the dirt and hoped the darkness provided cover as I sprinted to where I’d come over the back wall. I jumped up and pulled myself over the fence. I held on tight, stifling the urge to cry out as the wood cut into my abdomen. I lowered myself onto the roof of the news van and then slid to the ground.

  I was breathing hard, but felt a surge of relief as I opened the driver’s-side door.

  That’s when the world fell down on me.

  I stumbled and reached for the car door. More than anything else I was confused. At first I didn’t even understand I’d been hit. I felt a pair of hands pull me up and knew for the first time I wasn’t alone.

  He half pushed, half dragged me. I fell onto the dirt and tried to raise my head, but felt a stabbing pain and immediately lowered it.

  Voices. He was calling for help.

  I made one last attempt to raise myself. I lifted my head and pushed up with my legs. A wave of nausea burst from my empty stomach, and I doubled over with the dry heaves.

  It was the last thing I remember.

  NINETEEN

  You awake back there?”

  I flirted with recognizing the voice, but the elusive identification disappeared when I tried to move my head. Pain shot down the back of my neck and into my shoulders. I must have cried out because the voice returned.

  “You are waking up. Good, we’re almost there.”

  I opened my eyes. I was lying across a backseat breathing in new-car smell. My hands were cuffed behind me.

  The voice had come from the front seat, where I made out the back of a man’s head. My first thought, that I was under arrest, filled me with horror. I would be stripped, searched, interrogated, and finally left to spend the night in a locked cell with criminals—and all that was if Skinny and Belly didn’t kill me while in custody. But looking around, I realized there was no protective barrier between the front and back seats, no police scanner rattling in the background, and no signs of wear to the plush interior. This wasn’t a police car, but something about it felt institutional.

  We turned off smooth asphalt and onto something rough and uneven. Through the windows I saw only darkness and realized we were out of the city—probably on a dirt road in a rural part of the county. This frightened me more than being handcuffed.

  After a few minutes we turned onto another dirt road and stopped. A man’s voice called from outside the car, followed by a loud mechanical sound. I tried to raise my throbbing head so this person could see me, so that someone would know I was there. I forced myself up onto an elbow and almost passed out from the effort.

  The mechanical sound stopped and the car began to move. With my last bit of strength I forced myself into a sitting position and looked out the back window. A large gate closed behind us as a man in a uniform walked toward a small booth.

  I took a deep breath and yelled, “Help.”

  The uniformed man jumped at the sound of my voice, but quickly looked away and entered the booth.

  “You should have saved your strength,” the driver said. “Travis is the only one on guard tonig
ht because he’s very good at not seeing things.”

  The large gate finished sealing itself shut. I fell back onto the seat, out of breath and disappointed. We drove for several minutes before the driver slowed the car again and then came to a complete stop.

  “We’re getting out now.” The voice sounded familiar, but once again I failed to identify it. “Don’t cause me any trouble. It wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

  He opened his door and I heard the soft scuff of shoes touching dirt. A few seconds later he’d opened my door. “I think it’s best if you help yourself out of the car. No offense, but you put up quite a fight back there. I think I’d rather give you a wide berth.”

  At that point I couldn’t have swatted a fly, but my pride swelled a little.

  “Come on now. Your feet aren’t tied.”

  I turned onto my back and managed to sit up. My head felt like a lead weight and I almost fell backward.

  “That’s good. Now step out of the car.”

  I swung my feet out the open door and sat, half in the car and half out. The air was cold and smelled of earth and manure.

  “Where am I?” I tried to gently shake my hair out of my face.

  “Someplace very few people ever see.” A bright light shone behind the man, highlighting his outline, but keeping his face in darkness. In one hand he held my blue jacket, and I remembered the camera and Sinclair’s confession with a dawning awareness of my failure. I was captured, bound, and the piece of evidence that could clear me was now in this man’s hands.

  “Come on. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  I raised my head and looked around. The harsh light flooding the entire area came from the top of a large two-story, Craftsman-style house.

  “Where are we?”

  “Stand up, you can do it.”

  I turned my head and took a long look around. Fog was rapidly descending, but it hadn’t dramatically affected visibility yet. In addition to the main house, two garages and a stable ringed the large clearing. Surrounding everything were trees. Not small orchard trees, but huge monsters full of branches and foliage that blocked everything. Behind us a dirt road cut a path through the woods and disappeared.

  I leaned forward and pushed up with my legs. I stumbled slightly, but leaned against the open car door for balance. “Why am I here?”

  “At this rate we’re never getting inside.” He opened a Valsec Security jacket and turned his body to the light. In a holster under his arm rested a small gun.

  I tilted my head up and got my first good look at him. Unlike his voice, which had hovered on the edge of being identified, I recognized his face immediately. He’d radiated the same kindly innocence the night before—over the police tape at the entrance to the orchard. His eyes even had the same sly twinkle as when he’d offered the tip about sneaking into the crime scene. This man didn’t look like a thug. He didn’t look like someone I should be afraid of. He looked like someone you’d confuse for a friend of your dad’s.

  He smiled. “See, I wasn’t kidding about the gun, so don’t try anything.”

  He let the Valsec jacket fall closed over the same khaki uniform he’d been wearing the night before. “Name’s Frank, by the way.” His arm went around my waist and he helped me toward the house. “I got to hand it to you kid. I’ve seen big guys go down faster. That part where you were retching and still trying to stand was great.”

  “Thanks.” We’d taken several steps and I was leaning heavily on him.

  “You didn’t have a chance, but you kept at it. That’s nice to see.”

  “Glad you liked it.” I turned and glanced at the car. It was the same one he’d been sitting in with the female guard the night before.

  “I should have guessed you wouldn’t go down without a fight. You’re a persistent little thing. When you started throwing pebbles at my car last night I couldn’t believe it.”

  “You could have ignored me.”

  We reached three small steps leading up to the porch. On the other side of the railing, plants overflowed from pots and tumbled down from hanging baskets. The lighting here was subtle and carefully designed to highlight the plants and the wood.

  He shook his head. “Too risky. I needed to get rid of you.”

  “That’s why you told me how to sneak in?” I raised my right leg to the first step. “And here I thought you really liked me.”

  I felt a boost as he helped me up. “It should have been a win-win. I get what I want; you go away; and you get what you want; a better story. Why you had to stick around and take those pictures of me and Mrs. Sinclair sitting in the car, I’ll never know.”

  “Mrs. Sinclair?” Understanding broke through my clouded and overworked brain. “You don’t mean your partner in the car? Sleeping beauty?”

  “The very one.”

  I glared at him. “That’s what this is all about? Those shots I pretended to roll off. I did it for the cop so he wouldn’t get suspicious. There wasn’t even enough light.”

  “And all you have to do is produce the tape and prove it.”

  We reached the top of the stairs and stood before a pair of double doors with beautiful stained-glass inserts.

  “I can’t do that,” I said.

  He sighed and reached for the doorbell. “That makes everything so much harder.” Movement flashed from behind the glass and his hand paused in front of the bell.

  Mary Sinclair threw open both doors at the same time. Her shoulder-length hair hung limp around her pale face. Her talonlike hands were in perpetual motion. They darted from the crisp collar of her oxford shirt to the seam of her khakis as she took several steps back.

  The smell from the interior of the house came pouring out on warm air. It was a strange combination of foul and sweet. Like wet dog and potpourri.

  My escort closed the doors behind us and casually tossed my coat on a nearby chair. “See, Mrs. Sinclair, no problems.”

  She didn’t even look at me. “Where’s Tom?”

  “He’s right behind us.” Frank guided me down a step into a sunken living room with a leather sofa and several arts-and-crafts-style chairs. The room’s light was soft and came from a fireplace and stained-glass lamps. “He had to lock up the ballpark.”

  “Where’s my news van?” I’d already totaled one today and didn’t relish telling Callum I’d stolen a second and then lost it.

  “I left it there. Keys are in the ignition.”

  Mary’s hands came together as if in prayer. “Oh, Frank, I wish I knew where Tom was.”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be along any minute.”

  “But I’ve been calling his cell and all I get is voice mail.”

  “He’s right behind us. I promise.” With his back to Mary Sinclair, Frank helped me onto the leather sofa and moved a pillow out of my way.

  “Is she always this batty?” I whispered. “She seemed pretty mellow last night.”

  Frank rolled his eyes and whispered back, “She’d had a Xanax by then. You should have seen her when I got there. If she hadn’t been so damn hysterical, we would have gotten away before the police arrived.”

  I looked at the nervous wreck across the room. She stood at the window pulling back the drapes, looking out the window, then replacing the fabric, only to start again a few seconds later.

  Frank ran a hand over the back of my head. “You’ve got a bump there, but it’s nothing serious.”

  I leaned back onto the sofa cushion and adjusted my hands so I wasn’t sitting on them. “Can you unlock these handcuffs?”

  “No.”

  “Please. My wrists and shoulders are killing me.”

  “I take those off and you’re out the door.” He laughed. “Not that you’d get far, but I don’t particularly want to chase you. Those cuffs are staying on.”

  He was right, of course. I saw my coat by the door and wondered if Frank had found the camera. Splitting head or not, it would be worth grabbing the coat and making a run for it. To do that I’d
have to get the cuffs off.

  “Not that I want you to be uncomfortable.” Frank placed a pillow behind my head, then turned to the window. “Mrs. Sinclair, why don’t you come and sit down? Can I get you something to drink?”

  She didn’t move. “If he was right behind you, why isn’t he here yet?”

  “Maybe he decided to stop at your house. He didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “This isn’t your place?” I asked.

  “No, it’s Daddy’s,” she said without looking away from the window. “I don’t like this. The fog’s coming in. What if he’s had an accident?”

  Frank lowered his voice so it sounded soothing and confident. “I’m sure Mr. Sinclair will be here very soon.”

  I felt a little guilty for what I was about to do, but I had to get the cuffs off. “He mentioned something about looking in on Gladys.”

  Mary Sinclair dropped the drape and fell back against the window. “What?”

  Frank’s bland features lit up with surprise.

  “I don’t know,” I continued. “But I think he said something about meeting her when she got off her shift at the restaurant.”

  “That’s impossible.” Frank took quick steps to Mary. “She doesn’t even live here anymore. We paid her to leave town.”

  “Maybe I got the name wrong, but I’m pretty sure he said Gladys.”

  “No,” Mary cried.

  “Mrs. Sinclair,” Frank pleaded. “Think it through and you’ll see how ridiculous this is.”

  Mary started sobbing.

  Frank tried to guide her to a chair. “He can’t be with her because she’s long gone. I’d know if she came back.”

  She pulled away from his gentle grip and ran back to the window. “Where is he? What if he’s left me?”

  I pushed up with my legs, almost losing my balance, but managed to stand. This was my chance and I marshaled all my energy to take it. “You need to send Frank out to look for him.”

  “Nobody is going anywhere.” Frank stepped down into the living room and casually pushed me off my feet. I fell backward onto the couch. “Mr. Sinclair is probably driving through the gate as we speak.”