“We’ll brainstorm in the library and document each possibility as we go,” Steve said.
Chapter 20
In Sedona Callie sat facing a red sandstone formation at dawn. Scattered around the area, her classmates and her spirit leader attempted to tap into the curative qualities of the rocks and reputed energy vortexes. She selected a woman who descended from the Pueblo tribe to help her on this journey because her syllabus stressed nature as a tool to discover your true self. They enjoyed daily exercises with a yoga master who concentrated on stretching, breathing and slowing the thoughts down to seek the truth amidst the emotional jumble.
Each evening she recorded her perceptions, wanderings and observations in a spiritual journal. Every day she spent time with the head of the program. Sometimes they sat on the patio without talking, depending on what Callie wanted to explore. The woman honed in on the progress Callie made within herself, not on discussing her problems.
Having Mathew fly in to talk with her gave her an added incentive to resolve her issues. Since he had never opened up before about his childhood home life, the conversation with him aided her recovery. Taking the time to fly in to explain his parentage told her how much he cared for her. With understanding the rejection and coldness filling his adolescence, her heart warmed to him even more. Sad as she felt hearing about his dreadful birth mother, Alisha put them on a more equal footing since John Henry lurked in her past and present while Alisha taunted Mathew for money.
Callie stood when her hips cramped up from immobility. The dawning lit up the buttes in a buttery glow, suffusing their natural redness with shades of gold and pink. She turned to face the rising sun, closing her eyes. She stretched her arms straight out, letting the warmth flow into her, then she turned and let her back heat up as well. She was comforted here where the Arizonan hoodoos welcomed her.
Her great-grandmother on her father’s side was a full-blooded Cherokee. To be accepted in her tribe, she must prove she was directly descended from one of the Cherokee peoples listed in the Dawes Rolls, a census taken in the early 1900s. She decided to trace her heritage, explore how to become a citizen of their Native American Nation and learn more about their legacy.
Callie moved around, seeking a new angle to concentrate on the chunky spire. She chose one of the lesser ones permitting her to walk around and view it from all aspects. While the power of the spiraling energy ascribed to Sedona left her skeptical, the red rock formations spoke to her with their rugged beauty. The air skimmed over her skin, pure and dry, as daylight chased away the dark coolness of night. She loved the Northwest’s greenery and lush landscapes as a place of home and shelter. This dry region stood out as a place of opening up, of stripping yourself bare and of letting any badness bake out.
When she expressed these percepts to her leader, the woman regarded her assessingly and said, “The blood of your people flows strongly in you. You are gifted with an atavistic awareness going beyond inheritance. This is a generational quality gliding down on the feathers of the eagle and on the winds from the forests visited by our forbearers. You should make a pilgrimage to your people’s lands where your ancestors will speak to you.”
When Callie sat back down to continue her ponderings, her attention now centered on making decisions and forming plans for a life separate from what troubled her. Those plans were also focused on a life without John Henry. Their life together and its many difficulties receded.
She expected the restorative process to be heralded by a big bang. Instead the healing happened with quiet murmurs as the bad times slipped down the incline of her past to find corners and shelves in memory’s archives. As she turned her face to the prospect of the opportunities lying ahead of her, the past slid into perspective, becoming more distant and less important.
Steve had said to reach back inside herself to find her goodness. She found her soul returning to her by reaching forward. She would have to trust herself to take the slow glide of this walkway to the better prospects on the next plateau of enlightenment.
When she signed up, three weeks seemed too short for her to make headway. With this the next to last day, her self-exploration travels moved far enough to give her the confidence to rebuild her life when she returned home. Once she shoved the years with John Henry into the background, her life seemed full of plump buds ready to bloom on promising new shoots. She had her role at Lindquist estates and her planned work for a Master’s degree in viniculture. She was lucky to have her Uncle Rick’s and Aunt Sassy’s support. In front of her was the promise of an enduring love with Mathew. Most importantly she had Susannah. She breathed in, allowing herself to believe in the possibility of building a home with Mathew where they could give Susannah the happy life she deserved.
Her years with John Henry had become a life without dreams. Now as the fog enveloping her future lifted, life gleamed as an inviting vision in front of her. She cleared a passageway that now twinkled as charmed as a trail through a spring-green meadow dotted with white and yellow wildflowers.
She walked around the towering column, sometimes stopping until she circled and arrived back at her starting place. After tilting her head back to catch sight of the flat pinnacle, she stepped up, planted a hand on the gritty surface and leaned forward, whispering a thank you and brushing the rock face with her lips. After paying her tribute, she turned to find her way back to the group with her newfound insights glowing inside of her like a precious gemstone in her heart.
Late that afternoon back in her casita, Callie called her attorney to check on progress on her divorce proceedings.
“Callie, John Henry is again making noises about being due more compensation. He wants to see the offer terms for the sale of your house. My guess is that he will want the lion’s share of the capital gains,” Callie’s attorney said.
“He is already getting 50%, which is more than he deserves. I paid for the house, all of the maintenance on it, the taxes and the improvements.”
“He claims his tax situation suffered because you wouldn’t let him claim a deduction for a home office. Do you want to give me some background here?”
Callie thought back over the preceding years and then said, “If John Henry actually worked at home for more than an hour a week, I would be surprised. Whenever I saw him in it, he was on the internet with a glass of scotch in his hand. From what I understand, the IRS scrutinizes home office use, and I wanted to avoid an audit. He never kept a log of what he did at home or how much time he spent on actual work, be it reading student papers, working on lecture plans or doing research.”
“How large was the office?”
“Not large, maybe 10 by 10. More of a den really. Filled with books. It was a nice setup if he had chosen to use it for work.”
“I’ll translate the size of the office into some numbers to counter his claim,” her attorney said. “Otherwise we will get into a debate about what your husband did or did not do while in the office. You are already more that compensating him for the loss of that deduction.”
“What else?” Callie asked impatiently.
“I talked with the attorney representing the estate of your friend Mathew’s late father. He confirmed Mathew’s impressions of the Alisha Turner. So far has she kept quiet?”
“As far as I know.”
“Then all we can do at this point is wait and see.”
“Mathew is seems to think she will do something to stir up trouble. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
Chapter 21
Around 7:15 on Saturday morning just before a cloudy daybreak, Steve heard the door click shut when Mathew went out to walk with Lenny as he made his morning rounds. Steve strode out on the roof deck with his coffee, staring first to the west and turning to scan the Spook Hills land. In the dim light he saw the two men tramping up the knoll towards the tree house, coffee mugs in hand. Once there Steve expected them to survey the area before walking down to Casper’s Cottage.
When they arrived at the tree house
and climbed the stairs, he waved an arm high in the pale morning light as their eyes raked the property from their vantage point. At that instant their body language changed. They froze and then eased out their weapons, Lenny drawing a little faster. Mathew grabbed the binoculars from around his neck to peer down at the nearby dense salal.
Steve yanked his roscoe out of the holster. He watched the two men creep down the steps and walk crouched over to the undergrowth. A dull thwump resounded. Mathew’s left leg wobbled. Lenny dove on top of him, spreading himself out to protect him from any more bullets. He spun over to his side, sprang up and fired in the direction of the sniper. Steve began shooting over their heads. Two more thwumps and Lenny crumpled from bullets to his thigh and arm.
Mathew squirmed out from under Lenny and pounded out a few bullets. Lenny went to worm his way up into a shooting position, but Mathew pushed him back down. Steve ran through the house to the garage, yelling for Ivy to call 911. He jumped in the Suburban, backed out, floored it and fishtailed up to the two men, cursing that the night FBI agents failed to come running. Maybe they were on the other side of the vineyard or even over at Rick’s.
When the Suburban slid sideways to a stop, Mathew motioned Steve to the right. Ivy raced up in her SUV. She pointed the nose of the vehicle at the Suburban, giving them shelter on three sides. She crawled over to the passenger door and got out with her cell phone in one hand and two blankets and a big first aid kit in the other. Steve seized the supplies and did a rapid triage.
Lenny was swearing and trying to get up. Steve firmly pushed him back down. “Stay there. Got to stop this bleeding.”
“I want to get that son of a bitch.”
“You couldn’t even crawl after him,” Steve said, ripping off his pullover and throwing it over Lenny’s chest. He then tore off his undershirt and twisted it into a tourniquet above Lenny’s leg wound, aiming to squelch the blood spouting into a pool on the grass.
The bleeding from the leg slowed to a trickle and Steve moved on to assess the bullet hole in his arm. It too was bleeding freely.
Using some gauze pads, Steve put pressure on the gouge in Lenny’s arm with one hand, using the other hand to make calls. He kept an eye on Ivy as she edged around Mathew. The shot penetrated Mathew’s left thigh – the same one suffering a shattered femur two years before. Even though the slug made a tidy entry and exit, having new damage next to an old injury could not be good. The shooter must have guessed they wore bulletproof vests and went for their exposed limbs. He probably intended to go for their heads to finish them off after they fell down. Steve shuddered at the thought.
Three police cars screeched up. An ambulance turned into the driveway and bounced its way up the grassy road with Ivy giving them directions by cell phone. One officer stood guard while the rest went off to join the manhunt. A second emergency unit approached.
The first team of paramedics took over Lenny, who though fading still cursed at them. The second pair ran up to examine Mathew.
When the night agents huffed up from their last round on the other side of the acreage. Steve sent them to check out the underbrush halfway down the slope.
The head of the local FBI office pulled up next, jogged over, shook Steve’s hand and said, “I live up in Newberg – my head guy called me. Your men going to recover?”
“Think so. Lenny here got hit the worst, but he should heal up with sound medical attention and time. Mathew’s is only a gash in the muscle. They both blasted back after they went down.”
“Squad car ran down a suspicious vehicle speeding near Highway 240 heading northwest. Judging by the guns and ammo in the car, we believe him to be your sniper. We’ll need you to give us an update before we start questioning him. You think he operated alone here?”
“Guess so,” Steve replied. “Must be a felon we arrested. Even the same guys as last year, although the modus operandi is different,” Steve said. “I’ll follow the ambulances to Providence Hospital. After my guys are tended to, I can swing by the office. That work for you?”
“Apprehended gunman isn’t going anywhere. Enough to hold him. Any new cases you folks are in on?”
Peering around the medic cleaning up his injury, Mathew said. “Kidnapping in San Francisco last June. I worked with a CARD team out of the office there where I did the money/drop and pickup, plus the interface with the parents who are related to our neighbors.”
“They apprehend the perp?”
“Mob boss operating in California,” Steve said. “He and his thugs are pending trial for, among other things, collecting a drug and gambling type debt incurred by a relative of the father. The gang runs the upscale angles including fancy houses of prostitution, bucket-shops for betting on stock performance, drugs of choice and so on. I’ll give you the particulars when I’m downtown.”
Steve searched around on his phone. “Sending you the contact info on the San Fran senior agent for the case.”
Rick drove the next car up the track with Susannah and Sassy squeezed in next to him. Right behind him Fred and Federico sped up. Steve shook his head, first thinking they needed a severe reprimand, then realizing friends did just this -- they came over in times of trouble to provide support.
“Mueller in on this stuff?” the agent asked, “he informed our Chief?”
Steve bobbed his head down once in confirmation and said, “He helped open doors for us.”
The paramedics slid Lenny on a stretcher to take him to the boxy ambulance.
“Our guys are getting loaded up,” Steve continued. “Let me fill you in later. We want to hustle up to Portland. We need protection on them at St. Vincent’s.”
He glanced over at Ivy standing in her robe, a fuzzy fleece garment damp around the hem from the dewy meadow. “Ivy, drive down and get ready to go. We need to make sure Mathew and Lenny receive quick medical attention.”
Steve turned to Fred and Federico and said, “Would you take your car and the Suburban down and put them in the garage? Could you then stay at the house until Ivy and I return? We’ll be a few hours. Raid the refrigerator, turn on the TV, whatever. Just don’t go wandering around outside.”
He walked over to Rick and Sassy and said, “We’re driving to the hospital. Cops picked up the gunman. Even so, the feds will be crawling around here for the rest of the morning. Best if you go home and stay inside with the alarm system on and the doors locked. Rick keep your weapon handy just in case. I’ll get an agent staked out at your house pronto. Callie coming back today?”
“Around ten this evening,” Rick said.
“Tell her after she arrives. No sense worrying her before her flight back. Mathew will be okay. The laceration is clean from the bullet he took.”
“Callie will want to see him,” Sassy said.
“Will they really be okay? Mathew and Lenny?” Susannah asked from where she stood clinging to Rick’s and Sassy’s hands. Steve squatted down to look her in the eye. “Mathew will heal quickly. It is no more than a scrape. You’ll have to watch over him when he’s back home.”
“And Lenny?” Susannah asked, her voice tinny with worry.
Steve took her hand and said, “He should be okay after the doctors patch him up in the hospital. It is my job to see he gets the best doctors and care. Do you trust me to see that he pulls through?”
Susannah threw her arms around Steve’s neck. “You helped save me. So did Mathew and Lenny. You have to make Lenny get all better.”
“I’ll let you know if they admit him or if he comes back home,” Steve said as Susannah let go of her grip.
The orange door of the second ambulance closed. Steve walked down to the house, pausing to watch the parade of emergency trucks and cars head down to the road. Ivy managed a rapid change into jeans and came out to her SUV with a clean fleece top for him draped over her arm, two mugs of coffee and a paper bag full of muffins still warm from her early morning baking.
She started the car and said. “Different this time. No black Ford Cruiser full
of hired attackers carrying assault weapons and explosives.”
“Makes me wonder . . .” Steve replied.
“Not the Fuentes?”
“Perhaps. On the other hand, the cousins might do things their own way, which means they could have hired a lone assassin. Might be from the gang in California or another criminal. Let’s hurry up to the admittance room for a status update on Mathew and Lenny. Afterward I need to stop by the FBI office to talk with them.”
Steve dug into the sack and started eating one of the earthy concoctions layered with goodies like shredded carrots, apples, coconut, raisins and walnuts. He remembered Ivy taking them out of the oven when he ran through the kitchen on his way up to the site of the attack.
“You better call the Chief too,” Ivy said.
“Did on my walk down,” he said between bites. “Got voicemail. Left a message. I hate having those guys hurt. Glad Fred or his dad weren’t out on patrol.”
“They are dedicated. Right here in case they might be needed.”
Steve took a hefty swallow of coffee, pulled a second muffin out of the bag and bit into it.
“Are you going to share those?” Ivy asked in a teasing tone. “I thought we might save a couple for Lenny and Mathew too.”
He peered over at her with a guilty expression, passed a muffin to her and peeked in the bag. Five remained. He always ate two of the extra-large muffins. Ivy was razzing him. Even in a dead-serious situation, she kept a sense of humor.
Steve grunted. “Time to put our full attention on this for any number of reasons, not the least of which is having two good men gunned down. Let’s hope they recuperate without too much long-term impairment.”
“They will,” Ivy said. “You helped Mathew mend last year with your attentive ministrations. It revealed a tender side of you that I hadn’t anticipated.”
“And I never thought I possessed.”
New Growth (Spook Hills Trilogy Book 2) Page 19