by Lucy Finn
No wonder I started the morning rested and optimistic. And happy. Hell yes, I felt happy. I should have checked my horoscope. It might have warned me to stay in bed and stick my head under the covers. But at the moment, I felt great.
I put a Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs CD on the player. It was a toss-up between them and Garbage. Both groups played music Gene was sure to hate. Tapping my feet to the beat, I created an invoice for Peggy Sue; I kept it under a thousand dollars to cover my hours on Monday, the trip expenses, and the fee for her divorce.
Next, I made a note to call Tawnya Jones during regular business hours. I would tell her I had retrieved Ron’s ashes and was shipping them back to her. I got up and packed the urn in a USPS Priority Mail box and included an invoice for 150 dollars along with Ron’s remains. Ms. Jones’s hundred-dollar retainer barely covered my gas and the postage for the ashes, so I billed her at an hourly rate of 75 dollars, which is 300 dollars less per hour than I used to charge at Withersham, Carlisle. I figured that was about all Ms. Jones could pay. I shook my head when I thought about the slithering boa constrictor and the gun in Queen Nefertitty’s hand. I had learned my lesson about making snap decisions to take on a case, or at least I hoped I had.
Next I started drafting a settlement offer for the Katos’ property so that I’d be ready to negotiate with the Shawnee the moment the Katos gave the okay. I was making a mental note to call them later if they didn’t get back to me this morning, when my phone rang. It was Mihoko Kato. Her voice was frantic as she apologized for calling so early. “Someone came here last night. They had gasoline. We think they were going to burn the barn. Now Ken is in trouble, I think.”
“Slow down. Start at the beginning and tell me exactly what happened.” My words were deliberately slow and calm.
Mihoko said that late last night the security lights—the ones I told the Katos to install—went on. Casey began barking, so Ken got out of bed. Casey rushed outside ahead of him the moment he opened the door, barking very loudly and running toward the barn. The security lights had gone on there too. Mihoko pleaded with Ken not to go out, but to call the police. Just then they heard a voice yelling and Casey barking with an almost wild sound. Ken rushed out into the driveway as a van drove down from the barn at a high rate of speed with Casey in pursuit. Ken jumped out of the way. He called the dog back and Casey stopped when the truck turned onto the road.
Ken went up to the barn to see what had happened. He found an open gas can. Casey had found something also, retrieving it as he was bred to do. It was a piece of fabric; Mihoko thought it was perhaps the cuff of the intruder’s pants.
Ken had come back into the house and almost immediately the phone rang. He answered it. The caller told him that if he didn’t want any more trouble, he should sell the farm. Ken repeated what I had told him to say, that the Katos already had a buyer and to call me.
Even though Ken held the receiver, Mihoko could hear the caller shouting and swearing. She clearly heard him say that he was going to burn the house down if Ken didn’t meet him right away.
My whole body got tense as I asked what Ken did then.
Mihoko said that Ken became very angry, and when he became angry he became very quiet. He said in his strange and quiet voice that he would go meet the man. He wrote down an address and then hung up. Then he left.
I asked when this had happened. “A few hours ago, around five in the morning, I think. Ken hasn’t come back and I am terribly worried.” I was too. I asked if she called the police. Mihoko hesitated, then said she couldn’t do that because she was afraid Ken would be arrested.
“Why would you think that?” My assumption all along had been that she feared for Ken’s safety. But she said in a small voice that when Ken left he took Casey with him—and his bo stick. I didn’t know what a bo stick was, but it sounded ominous.
With soft fast words that I had to strain to hear, Mihoko said that Ken had been an instructor in what Americans called “bo fighting” or “stick fighting.” “This was before he became a Buddhist. He accidentally killed a man during a competition in Japan. That was when he put away the bo stick and embraced the peaceful way of the Budda. He promise me he will not hurt the man who called, but when he fights he is not”—she searched for the word—“reasonable. He fights with another mind, the warrior’s mind.”
I mentally groaned. In one phone call I got put in the middle of an arson threat and now a possible homicide. I asked if she knew where he had gone to meet the man. She said she didn’t know.
“I’ll be right over. Stay by the phone in case Ken calls. I’ll take a look around and try to figure out what to do.” I crossed my fingers that Ken would be back before I got there.
“Arigato. Thank you,” she said and hung up.
Suddenly my good mood had gone all to hell. I stood up, took a deep breath, and squared my shoulders. I had to go talk to Gene.
“I’m thinking about painting the kitchen,” Gene said as I walked in. Brady was on the floor banging together the lids of some pots and pans. “Do you want to pick a color?”
“Maybe later. I have to go out,” I said.
Gene looked at me with narrowed eyes. “It’s not even eight in the morning. Where are you going?”
“There was trouble last night at the Katos. I’m going over there.” I saw his body stiffen. The tension was building between us already. “Before you get all worked up,” I said, “I’m not going to do anything risky. I plan to calm Mihoko down and try to convince her it’s time to call in the police.”
“Police? What happened?” His voice took on a hard edge.
“An arson attempt. Maybe Scabby wasn’t the one who set our fire. Ken has gone after the guy.”
“Ravine, we talked about this. You promised.”
“Yes, I did. And I’m keeping that promise. I’m only going over to Jade Meadow Farm. I’d ask you to go, but we can’t take Brady. I need you to watch him.”
“I don’t like this. I feel like we’re back to square one. Look, I’m not yelling—”
“It’s beginning to sound like yelling. Look, I’m sorry, but I really have to get going.”
Gene didn’t say anything right away. He gave me a long, hard look before he nodded and asked me to call him before I did anything. He promised to answer the house phone. “Don’t go off alone and do anything stu—anything risky. Can we agree on that?” he asked.
“I don’t see a problem with that,” I told him. I put an old barn coat on over my jeans, jammed a cap on my head, and grabbed my purse and cell phone as I headed for the door. Gene walked with me. As I kissed him goodbye, I said, “Of course I’ll call you. I told you, I’m going over to talk to Mihoko. Nothing more.”
Famous last words.
Chapter 16
When I arrived at Jade Meadow Farm a few minutes later, Ken hadn’t returned, and Mihoko still had not heard from him. I honestly didn’t know what I could do there, but I asked to see the piece of pant leg that Casey had torn off the intruder. Mihoko pointed to where it lay on the low table. The fabric was a black polyester or cotton blend, cheap-looking. I don’t know why I brought it close to my nose, but I did. It smelled of tobacco—and Jean Naté cologne.
I looked over at Mihoko and asked if either of them had gotten a look at the intruder. She shook her head. Ken had jumped out of the way of the truck—maybe he had seen more.
I stood there holding the fabric in my hand. “I wonder if—” I mused. I asked Mihoko where Ken wrote down the address.
She went to the nearby desk and brought me back a small white notepad with a blank page on top. I took it from her. I figured if I was lucky, the old trick of rubbing a pencil over the surface might show us what he wrote.
She quickly found a pencil. I took the side of the point and lightly rubbed it over the surface exactly as I’d seen it done in numerous old movies. To my surprise, the impression of letters did appear. I turned on the desk lamp and canted the pad to see better what was spelled out. Suddenly I could r
ead it clearly: “Interstate Exit 188.”
“I have a hunch where Ken went,” I said to Mihoko. “What is he driving?”
“A white Toyota Camry,” she said.
I mentally groaned. That’s a big help, I thought. One of the most common cars on the road.
“Look. I’m going to take a ride to see if I can spot him. But if I can’t, Mihoko, we really have to call the police. I mean that.”
She nodded. “Yes, Ms. Ravine. Can I come with you?”
I told her no, that she needed to stay at the B and B in case Ken returned. If he did, I instructed her to call me immediately and had her write down my cell phone number. Then I rushed out into the weak early morning sunlight and cold air of November.
True to my promise, as I started the car I called Gene. I didn’t expect him to sound happy. He didn’t. I told him I was taking a quick ride out past London’s Junkyard on the interstate because I thought that’s where Ken might have gone. I promised I wasn’t even going to get out of the car. He wanted to know if I had called the police. I responded that I felt that was up to Mihoko. I’m not sure he bought that but he didn’t argue with me.
I admit Gene sounded worried, more worried than I was at that point. All in all the call didn’t go badly. I thought he would be a lot more upset. In truth, I didn’t want to drive out there and search for Ken. All I wanted to do was get this over with and get back home. Maybe part of the day could be salvaged after all. Besides that, waves of anxiety were washing over me, and I was getting cold. The car heater seemed on the fritz. My feet were freezing in my sneakers, and my barn coat wasn’t well-insulated.
Even though the sun was up completely by now, the daylight was murky, and low clouds were threatening some kind of precipitation. I started to worry about slick roads, mostly to keep my mind off of whatever might be going on at London’s Junkyard. There were plenty of omens telling me to turn around and go home. I ignored them all. As soon as I hit the interstate I found myself in rush hour traffic and by the time I reached exit 188 my nerves were doing a tap dance under my skin.
Finally I pulled off the main road into the junkyard. I slowed to a crawl as the Beemer’s tires splashed through the rusty water on the unpaved driveway. I didn’t see Ken’s Camry in the parking lot by the office, but I was nervous about being spotted by Joann, so I veered left and cautiously steered between rows of derelict cars. I had gotten only about twenty feet when something smacked down on the top of my car with a huge bang. The needles on the dashboard dials started swinging back and forth wildly, and the car stopped, refusing to move forward even though I was giving it gas.
I could clearly see that nobody was near the car. I figured I better get out and see why I wasn’t moving. I tried the door. It wouldn’t budge. I threw my shoulder against it, figuring the damned lock was jammed again. Nothing moved—at least, the door didn’t move. Instead the entire car started to slowly lift off the ground and was soon swinging gently back and forth. I sat there puzzled for a moment; then I realized what was happening.
The huge industrial magnet hanging from the crane in the junkyard had picked up my car and was carrying it to the crusher. My heart started going like a trip-hammer. I clawed at the window controls. Nothing happened. The windows wouldn’t lower. I couldn’t get out. I frantically grabbed my cell and called Gene.
“Gene!” I screamed into the phone. “I’m at the junkyard. My car is being sent to the crusher.”
“What? There’s a lot of static. Say again? A crusher?”
“I’m in my car. I can’t get out. The car’s being picked up by a magnet. It’s going to drop me in the crusher!”
“Get out! Just get out!” he ordered.
“I can’t. The doors won’t open. I can’t get the windows down.” Hysteria was making my voice a screech.
“Open the glove box. There’s an emergency hammer. Break the window. Hit it hard,” he said, his voice unnaturally calm.
I reached over and opened the glove compartment. “Oh, the window breaker thingy! I got it!”
“Ravine! Get off the phone. Get out of the car!” His pretense of calm had slipped and he was screaming.
By that time the car was a good fifteen feet off the ground and swinging even more as the crane holding the magnet turned toward the crusher. Don’t panic, I told myself, trying to make my fingers work instead of shaking. Take the hammer and hit the window. That’s it. Don’t give up. Hit it again harder.
On my second try, the driver’s window cracked crazily into a sheet of square pellets made by the safety glass. I hurriedly pushed them out with my hands and released my seat belt. I stuck my head out of the opening. I pulled myself up by gripping the roof until I was sitting on the window. I looked down. It was a long way to the ground. I was going to get hurt when I dropped, but it was better than being dead.
The crane was nearly to the crusher. I grabbed the driver’s side mirror and maneuvered the rest of my body out of the car until I was stretched across the car door. Slowly, I lowered myself as I clung to the mirror, stretching my arms as far as I could and letting my legs dangle. The crusher was nearly beneath me. It was now or never. I started to pray—“The Lord is my shepherd”—and let go of the mirror. The air rushed around me as I dropped.
I didn’t hit the ground. I fell into Gene’s arms. He pulled me against his chest, holding me to him as tightly as he could. I held on to him for dear life.
“Thank God, thank God,” he kept saying into my hair. “I didn’t think I’d get here in time. Are you all right? Let me see. Are you hurt?” He stood me up and put his hands on my shoulders to look me over.
“I’m fine. I’m okay, really I am.” Suddenly I had a moment of panic. I looked around wildly. “Where’s Brady?”
“He’s home. He’s safe. I put that protective curtain around him, but it took a minute. I was so scared I had taken too long. I thought I had lost you. I love you so much,” he said and pulled me to him again.
Time stopped. Everything stopped. My face was pressed into his chest but I felt light and floaty. I lifted my head and gazed into his eyes. “I love you too,” I said.
“I know,” he said with a smile. “You talk in your sleep.”
Just then I heard the terrible roar of the crusher destroying my car.
“My Beemer!” I cried, tearing myself out of Gene’s embrace. “Oh no. My car, my poor car!”
“It’s only a car, Ravine. You can get another one,” Gene said. “Don’t cry about it.”
“But I’ll never be able to afford another BMW,” I wailed. “I know I’m being silly, but that was my Beemer!”
Suddenly we heard a woman’s piercing screams and a loud staccato of dog barks. Fear stopped my thoughts. “Let’s get out of here!” I cried and began to shake from head to toe.
“That sounds like Casey! Wait here,” Gene ordered, pushing me behind him and sprinting toward the salvage yard office. I refused to be left standing there alone and ran after him on wobbly legs.
From ten yards behind I watched Gene throw himself at the office door and crash through it. I came breathlessly into the room behind him in time to watch a gun materialize in Gene’s hand. He held it in a shooter’s stance. “Okay. Everybody freeze!” he ordered.
I saw that Ken had Mr. London backed against the wall, his bo stick across the older man’s throat. London’s eyes were bulging and his face was turning blue. A few feet away Casey stood stiff-legged, his hackles standing up on his back and his teeth bared. He was barking ferociously at Joann, who was pinned in her desk chair, afraid to move.
“Ken!” I called out. “Stop! Don’t hurt him!”
Ken’s chest was heaving. He looked at me with wild, unfocused eyes. I called out again. “It’s Ravine. It’s all okay. Please put the bo stick away.” He shook his head and looked at me again. Then slowly, deliberately, he put the bo stick down.
Mr. London rubbed his throat and bent over gasping for air. “Mr. London!” I said loudly above the noise of the barking
dog. “I know about the Shawnee. We’ll have a deal with them by the end of the week. Your scheme can’t work. You cheated the Sikorskys, but it’s over. Do you understand? Leave the Katos alone. It’s over.”
He looked up at me, his eyes red and filled with hate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This madman rushed in here and threatened to kill me.”
“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “You called him to come out here. What were you going to do? Force him to sign a land transfer? It doesn’t matter now. The dirty tricks won’t work anymore.”
Gene spoke in a voice that rolled thunder. “Listen, you no-good sonofabitch. If you or any of your people set foot on Ms. Patton’s land again—or on the Katos’ land, for that matter—I personally will blow your bloody head off. You got that?”
London didn’t answer, but his face turned pasty white.
I walked over and gently touched Ken’s arm. “Get Casey. Let’s go home,” I said.
While Gene kept the gun on Joann and Mr. London, Ken grabbed Casey’s collar and pulled him outside. I turned to follow, but before I did, I walked over to Joann. Her face was terrified; her doughy cheeks were trembling. I looked her up and down. Below the purple caftan draped over her immense bosom, she was wearing a pair of black slacks. The right cuff had been ripped away.
“Better get yourself some new pants, Ms. Kawatchski,” I said. “Count yourself lucky that the dog didn’t tear your leg off.”
Ken drove us home in his white Camry, which had been parked on the far side of the office building. I sat in the back; Gene got in the passenger seat. Throughout the trip I was crazy with worry about Brady. Even though Gene assured me he was completely safe, I envisioned him crying and alone with no one to comfort him. I understood that Gene couldn’t vanish into thin air without provoking questions with no believable answers, so I fidgeted in my seat and watched the dashboard clock.