I wait, afraid of what he might say.
“He backed over him. Killed his little boy. Convicted of manslaughter. Tragedy all around. This judge said when you get angry, logic disappears. She’s right. I have a temper. I know that. I won’t get in the car mad again. Instead, the hood gets a bash or two until I calm down.”
Not a bad trade-off.
We pull into the MA parking lot. Gravel Voice is in his SUV, sitting in the front seat. The mat rats are already inside. Daniel parks and asks, “Are you ready for this?”
I open the door. “Yes.”
We talk with GV for half an hour. Then he makes calls: first O’Neal’s chairman to get his agreement and help setting up the internship, and, second, he calls his office to set a meet tomorrow morning.
I linger as Daniel heads late into class and, as arranged, palm the baggie with Julia’s hair from my pocket into GV’s hand. When Daniel learns what I’ve asked his handler to do, he’ll go ballistic. Detective Bob and I share a mutual meaningful stare. He says, “I’ll take care of it.” The guy isn’t so bad.
***
After class, where Daniel and I kick butt, he drives us back to the high school and EB. Like the trooper she is, she starts. Her heater grumps and grinds, but manages to blast warm air like a sigh. I whisper, “Hear you, Grandma. I’m worried too.”
Daniel follows me home, but doesn’t leave, “I’m staying.” Entering the house, he sits at the kitchen table while I flip the switch on the hot water heater for chocolate. The cookie jar is empty. Mom’s been there already. I grab some graham crackers instead, and pull out four mugs. Both Mom and Dad wander in, see the setup, and sit down. Eye-contact zingers shoot between all of us.
“I won’t be meeting with Dr. Bartlett tomorrow.” What’s weird is that I finally want to talk with her about Grandma. “There’s a story I have to tell you.”
***
I tell it. Mom wants to scream, but Dad takes her hand and squeezes it—hard—a lot. Then I fill them in on our plan. The parent shared looks increase exponentially. Gotta give them credit. They wait until I’m done.
When it’s all out, Daniel says, “Kami has to go undercover as an intern.”
I say, “Tomorrow at four a.m., Kami, Sam, Sandy, Gavin, and I are meeting with a police task force. I can’t do it without your permission.
“Mom, Dad, I have to do this to make this right.”
Mom reaches for the grahm crackers, but stops halfway there, like she can’t remember what she is doing. Dad stares at the ceiling, seeking divine intervention and says, “I see,” which means Dad doesn’t understand. “Drug dealers? Is this dangerous? Is that why it’s a four a.m. meeting with the police?”
“Not personally dangerous. It’s a big place with lots of people. Four a.m. because, if you sign, I start at nine.”
“I see.” Dad’s repeating himself. He rouses and says, “Tomorrow at four in the morning. We’ll be there, but Kami…your mom and I have to think about this.”
Mom twists her hands nonstop. Dad isn’t much better, but I’m proud of them. There’s no permission yet, but they haven’t said no either. Walking Daniel to the front door, he hesitates as he heads out into the cold. He looks like he might kiss me, but in the end he just grins. I close the door and think about a kiss I sorta want to have.
Twenty-five
The alarm sets off nuclear explosions, and I scramble out of the tangled sheets and open my closet. Dang it. The dirty shirt I’d dropped on the floor in there smells like horses. When am I supposed to find time to do laundry? I spray the closet with Light Blue perfume with its green-apple scent.
Intern wear isn’t comfort clothes. In the back is the black long-sleeved dress from Grandma’s funeral. Perfect—serious, capable, it says it all. I give it an extra spritz of granny smith perfume. I pull my long black hair into a bundled bun, allowing a few loose strays to slip out so it isn’t too bitch ass. It takes time to apply makeup that looks confident and college age. Then I stick my hose-covered feet into low black leather pumps. Hose—that’s true dedication.
I scatter the contents of my backpack across the bed and shift important stuff into an old canvas laptop case of Dad’s. Slinging it over my shoulder, the mirror reflects my version of the perfect intern.
Downstairs, the kitchen is a pool of light with a dead-black view out the windows. Mom and Dad have bacon, eggs, and toast ready. I pick at it. At three forty a.m., I say, “We’re taking two cars. If you give your permission, Daniel will take me in EB. His uncle might recognize Daniel’s car. His is kinda flashy and obvious.” My heart pulses as I put on my church coat and head for the door.
Dad says, “You should drive our car. It’s more reliable.”
“No, EB means Grandma’s with me today. I like that.”
They share a tired smile. It’s obvious they haven’t slept at all.
***
Our old police station is two-story brick and impressive. There’s an outside flight of stairs with round globe lights on turn-of-the-last-century pillars like fantasy sentinels. I toured the building in third grade. The jail cells had been the highlight.
Gravel Voice, without comment, leads us past the municipal court and into the jury room, with its long oak table, dark with age and surrounded by walnut chairs. Twelve. I count them, while GV introduces everyone.
My crew opted for business casual wear. No jeans in sight. I have a premonition of future college recruitment interviews. The police contingent isn’t in uniform, but are in sweats. They must plan to work out after this.
I sit in no-man’s-land at the end; Sam and his laptop are at the other—my crew on one side, and the police on the other. Mom and Dad opt for seats on either side of me.
All the police are men—bored men. A few are angry, probably for being called in for a meeting this early. We aren’t exactly following their normal confidential informant protocol. The one female cop isn’t there. Ponytail leans against the high window seat, leaving his chair at the table empty. He nods with vague disinterest. Disinterest—right.
Sam the Prepared’s laptop is attached to an overhead audiovisual devise. He speaks from memory as pictures and documents roll across the larger screen. He’s precise and official; his hands firm, guiding. The police side of the table perks up, exchanging glances. They grab pads of paper and pencils from the table’s center—apparently pre-sets for the jury. On the overhead, Saturday’s potential drug-buyer photos layer one on top of the other. Sandy hands out copies with prepared fact sheets.
The license plates are clearly visible, but Sandy has names and addresses for those she knows. She moves onto the meat of the case. “Julia’s boyfriend targeted her, a fifteen-year-old, via the Internet for sex.”
The officers’ chicken scratches stop and tension ratchets up as Sam explains further, “Our possible lead died when we couldn’t get through the college security walls. You’ll have to pursue that.”
We had talked about that. What we gained from Ponytail’s questionable information hadn’t found Ink, so Sam soft-plays it. Ponytail doesn’t point out the omission.
Sam continues, “We did figure out his address.” A photo of the apartment building comes up on the screen. “He hasn’t been there since Christmas break, which is when Julia Jamison died. As far as we know, he’s gone.
“So we moved on to another lead. This is information you probably already have.” Now my phone’s drug photos are slipping and sliding across the screen.
Sandy hands out paper copies. On the last sheet is O’Neal’s name and address.
From how they react, this is old news. A few stand up, thinking the presentation is done, but GV’s supervisor says, “The deal was for the supplier.”
Daniel stands up, while Sam the Great sits down. Behind his back, Daniel’s hands lock together like he’s strangling something. Sandy passes out another paper packet.
<
br /> Inside I’m aching for Daniel. He has to say what he’s never said. He drags every word out like they’re daggers in his gut.
“It was Julia selling the drugs—not me. You want the suppliers. I’m not your guy. I’m not hooked in.”
GV lets out a long sigh. Dad reaches out over the table and takes Mom’s hand, giving me a gentle grin. It’s the first time they’ve heard it too. My black dress is suddenly too hot. No reaction from the other officers. Great poker faces.
“We’ve been tracing Julia’s steps,” Daniel leans over the table. His hands press hard against it. The daggers are gone, but the pain of talking in front of people remains. “Kami found her drug stash at the stable, where I hadn’t been. Detective Bob came and picked it up on Saturday. As Sam said, we got a list of potential buyers, but Julia’s supplier didn’t contact me. We hoped he’d offer to switch his deal with Julia over to me. It didn’t work.”
His feet fidget, but those fingers never leave the table. “It doesn’t add up. These potential buyers from the stable? They aren’t typical drug addicts. Only one of them wants a large quantity. The rest are buying a couple pills to get over a test coming up, or something to handle stress at home. Illegal, yes—but not serious enough to make it profitable. But we know Greg Matthew Jacobs, Julia’s boyfriend, targeted her on purpose.”
Daniel hands the presentation off to me, sinking into his chair. There is a tiny quiver in his fingers as they rest on the table.
I stand up. “We have another lead. There’s someone who knew Julia and who has a connection with O’Neal Pharmaceuticals. In fact, he works there—Daniel’s uncle. He’s the worldwide sales distribution manager. He has a grudge against Julia’s dad. He might have involved her as payback.”
No one’s bored now and the excitement in the room sends goose bumps down my arms. Sandy hands out her last sheet, a photo of Daniel’s uncle taken from the pharmaceutical’s public online directory and his biography.
“You want people up the ladder, and it looks like Charles Jamison could be one of those people. You need someone on the inside to get hard evidence.”
My hands are sweaty. Wiping them on my dress doesn’t help. This is much harder than standing up in front of a judges’ panel to talk about science projects. “The pharmaceutical company has a two-week college intern program that started yesterday. One position is with Daniel’s uncle. Technically, I qualify because I take one AP class from Iowa College.”
To my left, Mom’s other hand reaches over and clamps down on to Dad’s. Yeah, this is going to be hard.
“Gavin found an underground intern-rating site. Last fall, Daniel’s uncle dumped everything on his intern. Hopefully he hasn’t changed. Officer Bob contacted O’Neal Pharmaceutical’s chairman last night. He got me into the program and assigned to Charles Jamison’s office.
“From there, I can access records to see if drugs are being redirected and reaching the streets. If we’re lucky, I’ll find it. If not, no harm done.”
Dad and Mom’s eyes are vacant like zombies. I say, “I want to do this. I want to do this for Daniel and for Julia.”
***
It’s Mom that settles it. “Kami talked with us last night. She wants justice. We won’t stand in her way.”
Details get settled fast. GV will be my official backup. Daniel’s skipping school and setting up shop at the Sip N Go not far away. Luis will haunt the area too. Technically, O’Neal is in the next county and that sheriff’s office will receive a formal snail letter explaining why we’re working on their turf. Apparently, courtesy and communication between government police agencies is complicated.
I feel like a rodeo bull rider, climbing into the tiny shoot onto a deadly bull’s back, waiting for the gate to swing open. Then the meet is over. Sandy, Sam, and Gavin leave for school with Sandy pouting—she wants in on the action.
Mom and Dad walk Daniel and me out of the jury room. Daniel says, “I’ll get EB,” and leaves us alone.
My hand tightens on the over-the-shoulder laptop bag. Clinch. Clinch. Clinch, channeling Daniel again.
Mom drags me into a hug so tight my lungs can’t expand. I clutch her back and whisper, “I love you, Mom.”
When she releases me, Dad drops an arm around my shoulder. “You stay safe. You hear me?”
My eyes tear up. “I’ll do my best.”
Dad snorts and wipes at his cheeks. “Text us, Kami—when you can.” They head out the massive police doors and disappear down the steps out front. The outside globe lights make the gold-etched glass doors look like old-fashioned photo frames around them.
There’s only one person left in the hallway. Ponytail. He simply nods.
I say to him, “I’m scared.”
“Good. Keep you sharp.”
***
Daniel drives me to O’Neal’s in EB. She purrs and the heater works. My car is flirting with him.
Sandy texts from school: Next time it’s my turn.
Me: Your turn for what?
Sandy: Kidding me??? My turn for going undercover!!!
My fingers and brain aren’t working together. I give up texting and call her, “There isn’t going to be a next time. This is it.” In the background, there’s the normal early morning school hallway stuff. Wish I was there with her.
“Remember to check my locker.” I left my precious data notebook with her. “If stuff is there, add a marble, and record it.” Chaos Locker’s in her hands now.
“I’m checking it now.” Sandy’s muffled voice reaches me over the hallway noise. I hear her crack open my locker. “But we are way too good at this sleuth stuff. We’re doing this again…” There’s a pause as I hear her rip open a letter and paper crinkles. Then she screams, “Oh my God. Sam!”
My chest seizes up. “Sandy, what’s going on?”
“We’ve got it. Don’t worry.” Then she screams Sam’s name again as she disconnects.
BFF didn’t use exclamation points. Before I can call back, Daniel pulls into the research park. It’s too late; it’s time to play intern.
Twenty-six
The vast, single-story, mini-pentagon replica sits on open prairie. According to the company website, the jutting Plexiglas ridgeline is filled with saltwater vats for solar heating. There’s also a modern wind tower that produces enough energy to handle nearby Sandove’s needs. Elsewhere, banks of thin film collect sun energy.
Daniel picks up my hand and a different energy hums. His thumb strokes along my wrist, blasting my pulse rate. “You’ll be fine,” he says.
“They’ll know and kick me out.”
“No, they won’t. You won the regional science competition two years in a row and the state spelling bee contest in sixth grade. You rocked your first freshman Lincoln/Douglas debate before you gave it up for science. You might suck at playing jazz flute, but you ace everything else. You’ll be fine.”
He Googled me. Isn’t that beyond the call of duty? Then he pulls me over. My seat belt is fastened and I fall onto him, my shoulder landing on his chest. He holds me tight. “Need me, I’m right here.” He taps his O’Neal Pharmaceutical security card, which matches mine. Getting the IDs in time had been a nightmare, but the chairman had made the arrangements himself, delivering them to the police station. The IDs are lime-green and say “Intern.” With them, either of us can pass unchallenged through front desk security. Gavin had seamlessly attached our photos: mine a school ID photo, Daniel’s his school’s military uniform. Uniforms really are sexy.
He says, “Two minutes—I’m here. I memorized the floor plan. I can get to you in the dark.”
His voice vibrates from his chest to my ear. “They’re watching,” he says. I glance over to the front door. A few people with intern green IDs are looking our way. “Let’s convince them.” He kisses me.
At first, I’m stiff, but then a nice slow cinnamon-roll-warm
th spreads wherever we touch—not electric fire bolts like Gavin’s kisses, but delicious.
Then he says, “Now, get going.”
I step out of EB not knowing if my shaking is because I’m terrified or from Daniel’s sweet kiss. The parking lot off to the left has basketball hoops, and people are playing. Not what I expected.
As I walk from the entry into the atrium where the other interns head, someone yells, “On your right!” I and several interns scatter as the tall, athletic man and his female companion run by in sweats. What the heck?
One of the interns grins at me. “I was told this would be crazy! The whole place is one giant pentagon and employees use it like a track—day or night. This is going to be a blast! There’s even a climbing wall in here somewhere.”
The concrete walls are broken up with great expanses of glass walls, doors, and windows. Another couple races past us. They wave and I wave back.
Inside the atrium, I join the other interns beneath the overhead water solar collectors. It’s like the Omaha Zoo’s ocean exhibit. Moss-green light ripples and refracts around us. It smells kind of earthy. The chairman promised that no one would know that I hadn’t been there yesterday. Interns had been set up in small groups for the facility tours and interviews from the day before.
“Hey,” says a rugby-shaped man with a broad open face. In fact, he is wearing a rugby shirt. It isn’t intern-worthy.
Beside him is a slender black woman with classic strike-you-dead beauty in a snazzy business suit jacket and skirt. Unlike Rugby, she’s imminently intern-worthy. I huddle in my church clothes and worry she’ll point at me, screaming fraud! Instead, she holds out her hand. “Hi. I’m Jurnee from Chicago. I didn’t see you yesterday.” Then she introduces Rugby. “This cretin is John. Isn’t this exciting?”
I’m saved from talking, as a man in a lab coat steps up to the podium. “Good morning!” The muffled microphone words echo.
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