“Me partying with you guys is not a good idea.” Not a good idea at all. I had to get out of here.
He stepped closer, and I could smell the alcohol on him. “Why not? Something wrong with me and my bros?”
“Nope.” I tried to keep my voice casual as my heart raced into panic mode. I was outnumbered…and they were dangerous. “Nothing at all.”
He raised his chin and in that urban vernacular, sneered, “That’s what I thought. So why don’t you come with us? In fact, we’ll move the party right in here. My boys can get inside that place.”
“That’s not a good idea, boys. Believe me.”
“Again, I ask you, why not?”
Would it help or hurt me to mention an affiliation with the police or FBI? Hurt, I decided. To these guys, the authorities were the enemy. I needed to relate to them. I reached deep down inside of myself to do so.
“Because the way to get me on your side is to let me go right now. You want me on your side. Believe me. I’m a good person to know when the going gets tough.”
He sneered down at me. “Why would we want you on our side?”
I licked my dry lips. “Because I’m a crime-scene cleaner.”
He loosened his grip a moment. “You with the po po?”
“No, the police don’t clean crime scenes. The victims’ families hire me.”
He sneered again. “Why do we want a crime-scene cleaner on our side?”
“Because when you get in trouble and you need to cover up a crime, I’m your lady.” Like I’d ever give them tips. I just wanted to get out of here alive.
I had their interest. I could tell by the way T-Bone assessed me before nodding. “Is that right? I think we hit the jackpot boys.” He stepped closer. “So give us some tips? How can we ‘clean’ up after ourselves better?”
My saliva burned down my throat. I stared at each of the leering men around me, and I knew my life was on the line. “Yeah, I’ve got tips. In fact, I can give you some of my solution. It will clean up any blood evidence around.”
“You tripping me?” T-Bone smiled and a row of gold teeth sparkled back.
“No, I ain’t tripping you. Why would I do that? I’m just a girl trying to make a living.”
“A’ight. A’ight.” He nodded and I could tell that I had him. “You give us some of that solution and we’ll leave you alone.”
I pulled my keys out. They tinkered together in my hands. It was no wonder. My hands were trembling out of control. Trying to appear casual, I unlocked the back of my van and pulled out an industrial sized spray bottle, one that I often hooked up to a generator for more effect. “I’ll give this to you. All you have to do is turn this on,” I reached into my van and flipped on my compressor, “then you turn this nozzle.”
The next instance, I sprayed all of them with the solution—right in their eyes. They all groaned and grasped their faces and muttered curses in my direction. I didn’t stick around to listen. I darted to the driver’s seat, slammed the door—locked it—and pulled away as fast as possible. I cut through the overgrown grass, my tires squealing as I jerked the steering wheel to point my van toward the street.
T-Bone grabbed my side view mirror. His angry face smeared against my window as I hit the accelerator. I didn’t care. I gunned it.
Until I spotted a grassy, overgrown ditch.
I swerved the van again, headed back toward the gang. I had to get past them to get to the street. I couldn’t risk getting stuck in the ditch.
Uh-oh. The gang wasn’t moving. Nor was T-bone letting go.
I closed my eyes and prayed for the best. A life in jail seemed better than releasing myself into the hands of men who were boiling mad at me.
I spun the steering wheel into a hard right and my van bumped onto the driveway. The gang members scattered. My right wheel caught the side of the ditch and the vehicle lurched. T-Bone fell into the grass.
But my van kept going. It blessedly kept going. I jerked onto the street, narrowly missing an oncoming car.
And for the moment, I was safe.
My heart pounded furiously in my ears still.
Was Sierra as lucky?
Chapter Twenty
Wednesday morning was getting me nowhere.
I’d spent a majority of my time doing an Internet search for mouth-breather Clifford Reynolds. I’d finally found someone with his name who worked in zoning and permits for the City of Chesapeake. I’d left a message for him. When that didn’t work, I drove down to City Hall. His bulldog of a secretary had insisted he was busy and couldn’t see me. I’d waited outside the office for him to emerge for two hours, but never saw him.
As I’d waited, I’d begun to sketch a timeline for Sierra last week.
Thursday—meeting with Bruce.
Friday morning—Sierra argues heatedly with contractor.
Friday at four—left to meet Henry, but never showed up.
Friday at five—development set fire.
Friday evening—Harrison Developers bombed.
Sierra disappears
Saturday morning—climbs through window into her apartment. Why?
Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer. My dad and his girlfriend, Teddi, were coming over this afternoon for an early dinner. It had been Riley’s idea, and I’d offered the invitation last week, before this whole fiasco with Sierra had started. I’d wanted to cancel, but Riley insisted I should keep this date, that restoring my relationship with my dad was the right thing to do.
And so I hadn’t canceled.
And now everyone would be gathering at my house in an hour. Riley’s friend had given him a recipe for a shrimp boil, and he’d volunteered to cook. Who was I to turn down a man cooking for me?
As I walked back to my van, I spotted someone familiar leaning against it.
Henry.
How did that man always know where to find me?
I scowled at him as I approached my van, thinking of Henry as a fly that wouldn’t go away. He didn’t seem to notice. In fact, his face lit up with a smile when he saw me.
I didn’t slow down to greet him, but went to the door and stuck my key in. “How’d you find me? Are you the one following me?” I called over my shoulder.
He appeared at my side, his smell coming with him. “Someone’s following you?”
“Don’t sound so innocent.” I looked beyond him, wondering how he got here. A maroon sedan perhaps? “Did you give up on your grease-powered car and get an economic one the color of flowers in the autumn instead?”
“What?” He stared at me a moment before shaking his head. “That would be dastardly of me. Of course not. I’ve been riding my bike lately anyway.”
I opened my door before I turned toward him and crossed my arms over my chest. “How’d you find me then?”
“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I frequent the library across the street. I saw your van pull up—at least, I thought it was your van. When I saw you hop out, I decided I should say hello.”
“The library, huh? I suppose checking out books is free, so it makes more sense than buying them.”
“Now you’re coming around to my way of thinking, Gabby.”
“But waiting around for me for two hours? That’s strange. You must really want to talk to me.”
He shrugged, any playfulness gone. “Maybe.”
“Henry, are your friends responsible for this mess?”
His smile disappeared. “My friends? What are you talking about?”
“I know you’re way into the environment. Like, crazy into it. Do you know what’s going on here? Because so help me if you do and if you’ve hurt Sierra in some way—”
He held up his hands. “I would never hurt Sierra. She’s like a sister to me. I want her to be back here and safe just as much as you do.”
“Then give me some answers. Help me to find her.” I wanted to shake him until the truth came out, like apples falling from a tree.
His jaw twitched. “I did talk to a mutual friend of our
s today.”
“And how are you doing all of this without the FBI finding you?”
“I’ve been avoiding the law since I was 15. I’m pretty good at it.”
“I’d say.”
“Anyway, I talked to a mutual friend. She told me that Sierra went to talk to someone she works with. You know, another animal rights activist.”
“Name?”
“Tree Matthews.”
“Tree?” I actually remembered the name. Sierra had mentioned him before. Who could forget a name like Tree? “Is that all you know?”
“It’s all I know. I thought you might want to check it out. I was going to sneak over to your apartment tonight to let you know, but I saw you here instead. Coinkidink, huh?”
“Yeah, coinkidink.” This man still was not off my radar. There was just something about him that made me ask questions. I wondered, only for a moment, what he would be like without all his craziness. If he were “normal.” Probably not a bad looking guy. It was just hard to get past his smell and outlandish ways of doing things.
I wondered again if we’d gone to high school together or something. There was just something about him that seemed familiar, and I couldn’t help but feel our paths had crossed at some time or another before Sierra showed up with him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just trying to figure out if we met before.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. It’s a small world.”
“Where you’d go to high school?”
“Maury.”
“Really? Me too.” Our paths probably had crossed before. At least that mystery was solved. I opened my van door. “I’ve gotta run.”
“Good seeing you Gabby.”
“Yeah, stay out of trouble.”
Something about his stare penetrated me. “Yeah, I will.”
I couldn’t shake the idea that Henry was trying to tell me something more than goodbye when I exited. Was he warning me of impending danger like everyone else seemed to be? Did that look say that he knew more than he let on? Was he some kind of strange stalker? I just didn’t know.
***
I should have known something was wrong when Riley walked into my apartment with a bag full of groceries and a trashcan an hour later. I didn’t even ask.
Okay, I tried not to ask, but I’m not very good at that. So I did ask, only in an assertive kind of way.
I pointed to the trashcan. “Explain.”
Riley laughed and set everything on the countertop of my crowded kitchen. “We’re going to use the trashcan as a pot and layer the food inside. It’s good. I promise.”
I stared at the shiny, silver wastebasket that was the approximate size of a basketball hoop on my counter. “Is the trashcan new?”
He gave me a pointed look. “Of course it’s new, Gabby. Who do you think I am?” He began pulling food from the bags, and I half-heartedly joined in the efforts. “This is going to be fun, Gabby. You’ll see.”
“I think you’ve been hanging out with Henry too much.”
He paused from his sorting for long enough to laugh and turn toward me. “You’re funny.” He kissed my forehead.
“Just one more thing to love about me… not that you love me or anything.”
He chuckled again and pulled me into a gentle hug. He always made me feel so warm and fuzzy, yet grounded and secure. I was pretty sure I did love Riley Thomas, regardless of whether or not the sentiment was mutual. I wondered if it was, though.
Someone pounded up the steps, so I stepped back from Riley. He nodded toward the door. “You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I mustered all the energy I could in order to open the door and offer an enthusiastic greeting to my dad and Teddi. My effort must have paid off because they both smiled widely as they stepped inside. “Glad you guys could come,” I mumbled as I took their coats.
“Thanks for having us, Gabby. This means a lot.” Teddi, who’d always reminded me of a pint-sized former Texas beauty queen with her trim figure and beehive hairdo, handed me a newspaper. “You asked for this?”
I took it from her hands. “I sure did. At Riley’s request.”
“Well… enjoy.”
My dad and Riley decided to do the next best thing to manning a grill. They had “man talk” over a trashcan while cooking our food on the stove. Teddi and I sat in the living room, sipping on peach tea.
Teddi seemed so normal. What could someone normal possibly see in my father? What had she told me last week? She worked at Wal-Mart and had for the past 15 years. She belonged to a book club. And, for some reason, she liked my father.
“It means so much to your father that you invited us today,” Teddi whispered.
My heart leapt into my throat. “Does it?”
“He’s a good man, Gabby.”
I bit my lip. How did I respond to that? I couldn’t exactly pour out the grisly details of our floundering relationship, which included alcohol and neglect and self-absorption. But Riley’s words echoed in my mind. People change. The thought was so hard to hold onto sometimes.
I wished Sierra was here. Not that she would eat the shrimp or anything cooked with the shrimp, for that matter. But she always made social gatherings more interesting with her save-the-animals stories. She’d been a good friend to me, and I felt a little guilty carrying on like normal right now. The driven part of me wanted to spend every moment investigating. But I knew dead ends when I saw them. I needed some new leads and none were dropped in my lap—not that they should.
The next few minutes were spent with small talk. How long did it take this shrimp boil to cook, I wondered? Because small talk really wasn’t an attribute I claimed to have or be good at. Teddi didn’t seem to have that problem, though, because she rambled on and on about the weather and church and reality TV shows and a worrisome mole on my dad’s back. Too. Much. Information.
Finally, my dad asked Teddi if she’d like to walk to the store with him for some ice. She said yes—and looked exceedingly happy to be spending some time with my dad. To each their own, I guess.
As they walked away, Riley wrapped his arms around me from behind and nuzzled my neck. I drank up the attention. “You okay?”
“I’m trying to be.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I’ve only considered putting a laxative in my dad’s drink twice. That’s good for me.”
“Gabby…”
“I wouldn’t really do it. But it’s fun to think about. Riley, he’s never even apologized for anything. He hasn’t apologized for being a crappy dad, for allowing himself to live off my goodwill for these years, for asking me to give up my dreams to support his habits. I didn’t realize all of that had affected me as much as it had. But it has.”
“He may never apologize, Gabby. I hope he does. But even if he doesn’t, you still have to forgive him—for your sake if no one else’s. By not forgiving him, you’re hurting yourself more than you’re hurting him.”
I didn’t say anything. I just processed what Riley said. Or I tried to process it, at least. There still seemed like a major wall stood between me and forgiveness, and I wasn’t sure how to get over it.
One inch at a time, I supposed.
***
Thirty minutes later, we all sat down at my kitchen table, where Riley had stretched the newspaper out like a tablecloth. Riley walked over with the trashcan and dumped out the shrimp boil in the middle of the table.
“Dig in!” he urged.
Okay. I was into trying new experiences. And I got that Riley was trying to be authentic with this. I did.
I pulled out some shrimp, potatoes, link sausage, and corn. All of it had been seasoned with spicy Old Bay and some other herbs.
I had to admit that it didn’t taste too bad. Maybe having my dad and Teddi over was a good idea after all.
Teddi grinned. “I had no idea when you asked for my newspaper that it was going to be our dinnerware. This is very inte
resting.”
“This is the way I was instructed we had to eat the shrimp in order to be authentic,” Riley offered.
“If I’d known this is what you wanted the newspaper for, I wouldn’t have pulled it out of my trash.”
I stop mid-bite and stared down at the table. Out of the trash? You mean, there had been gross, unsanitary objects touching this newspaper, which now touched my food, which had already been in my mouth? I resisted the urge to gag. Or to grab a bar of soap and start scrubbing my mouth clean.
Riley must have sensed how I bit my tongue, because a steady hand appeared on my back. And it worked. The neurons firing at full speed in my brain slowed slightly, and I took a deep breath. How did I proceed from here?
“Maybe the homeless man downstairs would like to eat.” Teddi pointed out the window. I glanced over her shoulder, even though I already knew who she was talking about. Henry.
Everyone stared at me. They really wanted me to invite Henry up? Really? Finally, I shrugged. “Fine.”
Teddi cracked the window open and called down to him. The next thing I knew, Henry stood in my apartment.
I frowned. What would the feds do if they found out Henry was here? Arrest him? Arrest me?
What would Jesus do?
With that thought, I offered a smile and extended my hand to invite Henry to the table. Baby steps. That’s what I was taking.
Henry looked totally at ease as he glanced around my place. His eyes stopped at the food piled on a dirty newspaper on my kitchen table and the trash can on the stove. “That’s my kind of food—cooked in a trash can.”
“A clean trash can,” I added. Never mind the newspaper.
My dad was staring at him, so I realized I should probably introduce everyone.
“Dad, this is—”
“Tim,” my dad muttered. He rose to his feet, looking a bit dumbfounded and wide-eyed.
Tim? Was my dad losing his mind?
My father walked toward Henry, his arms outstretched. What had gotten into my father? Had he traded alcohol for drugs?
I had to intervene. I stepped in front of my dad and shook my head. “No, this is Henry, Dad. He’s Sierra’s friend.” Also known as “The Smell.” A total weirdo with bad body odor.
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