by Jeff Shelby
“I know that, Liz,” I said. “I do. I’m past that.”
“So where are you, then?”
I traced her spine with my fingers. “Trying to figure out what to do next. If anything.”
She shivered against me. “If anything?”
“Why am I doing this?” I said. “Simington’s going to die no matter what I do. Darcy’s dead, and I’m not going to change that. Keene deserves to go to jail—or worse—but I’m not sure it’s my place to see that that happens. If digging any more into what happened puts Carolina or me in jeopardy, I don’t see the justification. So why not just let it go?”
“Do you feel responsible for Darcy?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “I really don’t. She came to me. She had to know what she was getting in the middle of. I’m not saying that makes what happened to her any less wrong, but I don’t feel like it was on my watch.”
“I talked to Klimes this morning,” she said. “They still don’t really have anything.”
“I’m not surprised. It feels to me like Keene knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t have left any tracks.” “You’re certain it was him?”
“Yeah.”
A gust of wind blew against the house, a surge of rain hitting harder and louder with a sound like someone had overturned a bucket of water on the roof.
“You asked why you were doing this,” she said.
“Right. I’m not sure why.”
She propped her head up on her hand, her elbow buried in the pillow. She pushed her hair away from her face, so it fell over to the side, covering her arm. “I think I know why.”
I rolled on my side and matched her pose, putting my head on my hand. “Tell me.”
“You sure?”
“Your opinion matters more than the rest combined.”
She smiled, her long eyelashes fluttering in the dark. “Because it’s right. And it’s a way of helping him. Your father.”
I had blanched every other time someone had called Simington that. But Liz wasn’t saying it to make a point. She was merely stating the truth, and it was time for me to start letting that go.
“How?” I asked.
“You can’t save him from execution,” she explained. “But you can make sure he doesn’t die solely responsible for the murders of those men. You can let the world know Simington wasn’t the only bad guy involved.”
“Is that worth it?” I said. “People will think what they want to think.”
She placed a finger on my chest. “It will change the way you think. You’ll know that even if Simington wasn’t who you wanted him to be, at least it wasn’t all on him. He told you this was going to be the one good thing he does.” She leaned closer. “Maybe it’s up to you to see that that’s what happens. That the one good thing Simington ends up being responsible for is the arrest and punishment of Keene.” She paused. “And maybe that will let you remember him in another way than the way you think about him now.”
I put my hand on the finger she had in the center of my chest. I pulled it to my lips, and kissed her fingernail.
“I’m not sure if you’re right,” I said. “But thank you.” “For what?”
“You’re giving me permission to keep going on this,” I said. “You don’t even know if you’re right, but it’s your way of telling me not to give up.”
She slid closer to me, the mint from her hair washing over me again. “Just do what you have to do. Do what’s right.”
I pulled her close and kissed her. I tilted my forehead against hers. “I love you.”
She pushed me onto my back and slid on top of me, a here-comes-trouble grin flashing through the darkness. “Prove it.”
FORTY-THREE
Thick gray clouds hung outside Liz’s window when I woke the next morning. The rain had stopped overnight but seemed ready to empty out of the low sky at any moment.
I untangled myself from Liz and the blankets, put on my jeans and a T-shirt, and headed to the kitchen. I started the coffee for Liz, poured some cereal in a bowl, and sat in her living room, eating and watching the puffy clouds drift along the harbor, obscuring the buildings on the other side.
Halfway into a second bowl, I knew Liz was right. The reason I was keeping my teeth in this was so maybe I could change the way I thought about Russell Simington in future years. It was probably misguided thinking on my part, but I didn’t have much else. Never having known my father had allowed me to put my feelings in a nice, tidy little box—I hated him. But, now, having met him, even knowing who he was and what he’d done in his life, a microscopic part of me wanted desperately to find something good. If I could bring down Keene, it would give me something.
Liz stumbled into the living room wearing gray sweats and a blue long-sleeve T-shirt. She was hugging her mug of coffee like it might try to escape as she collapsed onto the sofa next to me. Definitely not a morning person.
She finished the coffee and said, “It’s gross out.”
“I’d say.”
“Not supposed to rain like this here. Isn’t that why we tolerate the traffic and earthquakes?” “You’d think.”
She grunted, walked back into the kitchen, and returned with a newly filled cup. She sat down again and looked at me. “Morning.” “Good morning.”
“Think I forgot to say that the first time I came out.” “Well, it’s gross out, and you were focused on that.” She sipped from the mug, nodding. “Plans for today?” I asked.
“Meeting at ten,” she said, grimacing at either the idea of the meeting or having to leave the house in crappy weather. “Then I’ll wait for the bad guys to call me.” She looked at me. “You?”
“I’ll go home and see if Carter and Miranda dug anything up while I was gone. Then I’m not sure.”
“I’ll talk to Klimes again,” she said. “See if he knows anything more.”
“Tell Zanella I said hello, too. I miss him.” “Grow up. What did he say to you anyway?” “You don’t wanna know.” “Actually, I do. That’s why I asked.” “Forget it,” I said, sorry I’d brought it up.
“Let me guess,” she said, holding a finger to her chin like she was thinking hard. “Something about you and me? Maybe something sexual? Something insulting? I’m sure I’ve never heard anything like that before.”
Liz took a lot of crap for being a woman in a job that was traditionally reserved for old-school men. She liked to act like it didn’t bother her, but I knew the barbs sometimes got through.
“You got the gist of it,” I said.
She shook her head, staring into her coffee. “Zanella’s not the brightest guy. Figured he was working with a limited repertoire of derogatory remarks. Next time, let it go.”
“Next time, I’ll break his jaw.”
“No, you won’t,” she said, moving her eyes from the coffee to me. “I don’t need you defending me. I appreciate it, but I don’t need it. Especially not with a guy like that. I can handle him fine on my own.”
I nodded, but I knew if he popped off again, I’d hit him again. Testosterone isn’t rational.
“I need to get in the shower and get moving,” she said, sighing, glancing at the window.
“Me, too.”
I found my shoes and sweatshirt, wishing we could just spend the day like we’d spent the night. But I didn’t know if that was because I wanted to stay or because I wanted to avoid the problems I needed to go solve.
Liz met me at the front door. “Call me later and let me know what’s going on.”
“I will.”
“And be careful,” she said, her eyes warning me not to do anything stupid. “If you need help, ask for it.”
I put my arms around her waist and pulled her to me. “I will.” “You won’t, but I thought I should say it anyway,” she said. I leaned down and kissed her.
“I will,” I whispered. “I promise. I won’t let you down.” She held my face in her hands. “Don’t worry about letting me down. Just do what you need to do.”
When it rains in Southern California, we drive as though we’ve never seen rain before. We go about ten miles an hour, jam on the brakes at every opportunity, and try to rearend as many other cars as possible.
That’s why the normally twenty-minute drive back to Mission Beach took me over an hour on the wet freeway.
I walked up the boardwalk to my house. Storms had a way of wreaking havoc on most everything else, but they stirred up the ocean in a good way. The swells rose up with a little more intensity than on sunny days, their usually unspectacular waves coming in higher and heavier, crashing with an attitude.
I was thinking about pulling my full wetsuit from the closet when I walked into my place and found Miranda straddling Carter on the living room floor, his arms pinned above his head and his eyes full of fear.
“I told you you’d go down like a rag doll,” she said to him. Carter’s eyes shifted to me. “Help.”
Miranda turned around. “He bet me I couldn’t throw him to the floor.”
“Good bet,” I said.
Miranda slid off him, and he jumped to his feet like nothing had happened.
“Lucky,” he said.
Miranda grunted and pushed some of the black hair away from her face. “How’d it go?”
“Awesome,” I replied, making a face. “You two learn anything?”
“I learned Magilla Gorilla isn’t that tough,” she said, glancing at Carter.
Carter looked like a child whose favorite toy had been taken from him by a bully. “Whatever.” He looked at me. “It was Keene who was down here.”
“Positive?” I asked, unsurprised.
“Pretty positive,” he said. “We talked to about thirty people. Houses on the walk and a couple in the alleys. We got several descriptions that match the guy.”
“The night before Darcy was found?”
Miranda nodded. “Yeah, and one guy who swears he saw him two days before.”
I looked at Carter. “Who?”
“Dude up on Cohassett. Said he saw him at Roberto’s and on the beach.”
“Believable?”
“Complete stoner, but he seemed somewhat lucid when we talked to him.”
Two days prior. Which meant Keene had been keeping tabs on me. Again, not a surprise, but not something I was thrilled to hear either.
Miranda looked at Carter. “You owe me a meal.” Carter grimaced. “I know.” “I want it. Now.”
“So order a pizza. It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll pay.” She shook her head. “Not a chance.” She turned to me. “Where’s an expensive place down here?”
“Lamont Street Grill is good,” I said. Carter gave me the finger.
Miranda turned back to him. “That’s where we’re going.” “Have fun,” I said, walking into the kitchen. “You’re not coming?” Carter asked, both curious and hopeful. “Don’t want to ruin your date,” I said. “And I’m not in the mood.”
“Why not?” Miranda asked.
There were a lot of reasons, but I didn’t feel the need to get into them at that moment. I needed to clear my head.
“I’m tired,” I said. “Go. I’ll fill you guys in later.”
“On what?” Carter asked.
I didn’t answer because I wasn’t sure.
FORTY-FIVE
Call it maturity. Call it good decision making. Call it whatever you want, but I’d come to the decision that no matter how badly I wanted Keene myself, I wouldn’t be able to do much with him. The smart course of action was to talk to Klimes and tell him what I’d learned.
It took a sandwich and two beers before arriving at that conclusion. Keene wasn’t going to be phased by any more threats I made. There wasn’t any guarantee that Klimes would help me out, but I thought he’d at least be honest with me about whether he could do anything.
Dispatch patched me through to his cell. “Klimes.” “Klimes, it’s Noah Braddock. Am I catching you at a bad time?” I heard paper crumple through the line. “Nope. Just finishing a shitty lunch. What’s up?”
“Remember that name I asked you to check? Keene?”
“Sure.”
“He’s your guy.” “On the dead girl?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me.”
I started with what Simington told me at the prison, including Keene and the smuggling, and ended with Carter and Miranda’s door-to-door.
“We didn’t get anybody to give those IDs when we asked,” Klimes said, annoyed.
“What can I tell you? Tight-knit group down here. They know Carter. They don’t know you. And Zanella’s an asshole.”
He chuckled. “I suppose. Gonna need to talk to those folks your friends talked to, though.”
“Okay. I’ll make it work.”
“And I had Keene on my short list.”
“How’s that?”
“Son, you asked me to run a name and then gave me a bullshit story about it. I may be fat and ugly, but I’m not dumb. I did my own, more extensive check. I tied some loose ends together with him and Simington.”
“You talk to him?”
“Not yet. Elusive little fella.”
“You have an address?”
“A bad one. And if I had a good one, I wouldn’t give it to you. You’re a bit too close to all this, Noah.”
He was right. Having Keene’s address would probably be too much temptation for me.
“That’s fine. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thanks. Get me the names of your neighbors. ASAP.”
I told him I would and hung up.
A cannon of thunder boomed outside. The thrashing ocean looked like a giant bathtub beneath the storm. It should have been a great time to hit the water.
Stupid rain.
FORTY-SIX
Ringing.
In the distance.
I forced my eyes open. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. And the phone was ringing.
I scrambled around in the dark living room and found the phone on the dining room table. “Hello?”
“Well, I decided I’m not the patient type,” Landon Keene said.
The fogginess from sleep lifted immediately, and I gripped the phone tighter.
“Kid, you listening?” he said.
“Fuck you.”
“Good, good,” he said. “Like I said, I’m not good with patience. Decided I couldn’t leave it to you to make the right decision. Know what I mean?”
My fingers tingled. “No.”
“You seem a little stubborn. Just like your old man. Couldn’t risk that you’d do something dumb. Like repeating what he told you.”
“You better run, asshole,” I said. “I’ve already told the cops about your operation. They’re coming for you. And I hope they have to shoot you to catch you.”
“That right?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Guess I made the right decision then.”
My skin went cold and I couldn’t find any words.
The line buzzed. The room lit up for a moment as lightning struck in the distance. He knew he had me.
“The look in her eyes,” he said, a soft laugh drifting through the phone. “She was so surprised to see me.”
The room hollowed out. My heart rate accelerated like someone had pushed a button. Spots started flashing between my eyes. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Carolina and left her alone.
“If you—”
“I did. Maybe now you’ll get it.” He hung up.
FORTY-SEVEN
I dialed Carolina’s number twice as I sped from Mission Beach to Bay Park. No answer.
I called Carter. He answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” I yelled.
“Driving around,” he said. “I’m showing—”
“Get to my mother’s! Now!”
“Ten minutes,” he said and hung up.
I threw the phone at the floor of the Jeep, so angry for listening to her and letting her convince me s
he could take care of herself. Not taking Keene seriously enough.
I’d fucked up.
The Jeep hydroplaned through the puddles on Morena, spraying water like giant rooster tails. People were honking and flashing their brights at me as I swerved around them.
I slammed on the brakes in front of Carolina’s house, sliding nearly twenty feet before coming to a crooked stop. Carter’s Ram Charger did the same on the opposite side of the street.
“What happened?” Carter yelled through the rain.
“Tell her to stay in the car,” I yelled back, gesturing at Miranda as I drew my gun.
He yelled something to her and produced his own gun.
I sprinted up the walk and saw a light on through the front window. I felt Carter right on my heels.
I hit the front door with my shoulder at full speed, and it collapsed like cardboard. I went down with it and somersaulted into the living room.
There was a clatter in the kitchen, and when I looked up, Carolina was aiming her own gun at us.
FORTY-EIGHT
“Noah?” Carolina said, lowering the gun and looking at us like we’d lost our minds. “Carter? What are you doing?”
I got to my feet, the blood pulsing in my ears, and scanned the room. Everything looked fine.
“I’m not sure, Ms. B.,” Carter said, his gun still up. “Noah told me to meet him here. I followed him in.”
I kept my gun level, moving it back and forth. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I ran to the store,” she said, bewildered. “Noah, what is going on?”
I moved into the back of the house and checked the other rooms.
Was Keene screwing with me?
“He wasn’t here?” I asked when I came back out.
“Who?” Carolina asked, still looking at me like I was crazy.
“Keene.”
She blinked several times. “No. I was home all day. I ran to the store to get eggs. I haven’t seen him.”
“Did he call you?” I said, hearing the frustration in my voice. “No. There was nothing on the machine.”