Tuesday Morning Collection, The: One Tuesday Morning, Beyond Tuesday Morning, Remember Tuesday Morning

by Kingsbury, Karen

  And there he was, the stern-faced deputy who had once been the boy she loved. The photo showed him accepting an award, but it might as well have been a cry for help. His expression was so closed off. The phone began to ring, and in a rush Holly closed the Internet site. But before she could reach for the receiver, Ron and Dave stormed through the front door. Ron stuck his head in her office. “We need you out here.” His expression was all business. “It’s urgent.” He continued into the house after his father.

  She glanced at the Caller ID, in case the call was from one of her appointments. But the window read Michaels — a name she wasn’t familiar with. She would have to let the machine take the call. She hurried past the computer, where the image of Alex’s face remained. “Coming,” she announced. She found them sitting at the dining room table, poring over a piece of paper. Whatever the problem, they both looked stricken. She hesitated as she reached them. “What’s going on?”

  Ron’s face was several shades paler than usual. “Remember the phone threat we got the other day? The one that said we would be targeted for a fire up here?”

  “Of course.” Holly’s heartbeat doubled. She sat slowly in the chair opposite them and looked at the paper on the table. “What about it?”

  Dave handed the paper to her. “One of the framers found this tacked to the back of the house across the street.”

  “I didn’t think the threat was serious before.” Ron wasn’t panicked, but he was definitely concerned.

  Holly took the paper and studied it. The person had typed the brief letter, and Holly scanned it quickly, wanting to get to the point.

  Developer:

  Since you have chosen to violate the natural resources of our canyons and hillsides, and since you persist in creating homes that meet the gluttonous needs of the over-indulgent in our society, we are hereby giving you notice. Tear down your homes, or they will be burned to the ground. Don’t think your gate can keep us out. We’re everywhere.

  The letter was signed only, “The REA.”

  Holly felt sick to her stomach. There were often nights when she worked later than the others, up here alone. Day or night, she was terrified at the thought of being here when a fire might be set. “Have you called the police?”

  “Of course.” Ron took the letter from her. “They’ve promised increased security, but still …”

  “They found a way to get up here and tack that threat onto one of our homes.” Dave’s forehead glistened with a faint layer of perspiration. He’d never looked this upset in all the time Holly had known him. “That could just as easily have been a match, and — “

  “And there’s no telling how much we would’ve lost.” Ron stood and walked to the window at the back of the room. For a while he stared out at the hills behind the development. Then he turned back to them. “We’re surrounded by dry brush.”

  “Which we’ve known about from the beginning.” Dave sounded as if he were trying to calm himself down. “Every hillside home stands in the line of fire danger. Same as homes in the Midwest stand in the line of tornado danger. People buy these houses knowing that. But an arsonist?” He stared at his son. “We never planned for this.”

  Holly was grateful they’d included her in the meeting. The danger was as much hers as theirs, but neither of them was looking to her for comments or thoughts on the matter. She sat back in her chair and listened, trying not to give way to the anxiety building up inside her. “We have the gate, don’t forget. And the security fence.” Dave stood and paced to the nearest window and back. “That’s gotta be worth some sort of protection.”

  Ron waved the paper at the front door. “Neither one did us any good last night, or whenever this was left here.”

  Dave anchored his forearms on the table and uttered a heavy sigh. “Tell her what the sheriff’s department said.”

  Ron shifted his attention, and for the first time — maybe the first time ever — he had genuine concern in his eyes. “They said we need to be very careful. Report any suspicious activity … be aware of people wanting tours and then not following through. That sort of thing.”

  “Not following through?” Holly felt overwhelmed at the idea. “I’ve given tours to hundreds of people. We’ve sold only a handful of homes.” She felt bewildered, and her nervous laugh conveyed the fact. “So everyone who comes up for a tour is a suspect?”

  Ron maintained his concern. “They told me we can’t be too careful. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “They’re afraid someone’ll start a fire in the middle of the day? With the gates wide open?”

  “That’s why we wanted you in on this.” Dave tapped his knuckles on the table, his voice tense. “This is very serious. Every person who makes it up that road must be greeted. We must get names and addresses. Phone numbers.” He shot a questioning look at Ron. “Maybe even license plates and descriptions.”

  Ron jabbed his finger in the air, and his eyebrows lifted. “I like that.” He looked at Holly. “You could do that, right? I mean, there’s not that much traffic up here.”

  Holly didn’t mind, certainly, but she had her doubts. “Most of the time that would work, but … I have to say that on the weekend there are times when I can’t get to everyone. Some people come up, drive around, and maybe get out of their cars for a few minutes. They leave before I can get to them.”

  Dave and Ron seemed to think about that for a minute. “That should be okay.” Ron walked back to the table and sat down. “No one would start a fire when it’s busy, when people are all around.”

  Holly tried to imagine an arsonist coming up the hill. They might avoid the crowded days, but they would hardly want to be the only visitor here, either. Catching a lone visitor would be easier than catching someone who slipped into a crowd. But before she could say so, Dave threw his hands up, his tension high. “Crowded or not, it doesn’t matter. The point is we need license plates and descriptions. Some way of tracking the people who come up. I can’t stand the thought of someone getting hurt in our development.”

  They talked about the idea of a guard station and decided it might be a good idea — at least when the gate was open. That way, every car up the hill would be accounted for.

  “Paying a security guard to screen every visitor would cost considerably less than the damage a fire would cause.” Dave seemed to settle down some. “I like the idea.”

  The conversation wrapped up, and Dave and Ron congratulated Holly on closing another deal that morning. “There’ll be a bonus in your next paycheck,” Ron told her. “You’re really quite good at what you do, Holly.”

  Holly wished his compliment made her feel warm and special inside, but it didn’t. The way he delivered his lines — even to her — made him sound like a college math professor declaring some sort of algebraic theory.

  Ron and Dave left to check the progress on a home at the far right end of the street, across from the large model they’d just sold. After they were gone, Holly returned to her office. She was terrified at the thought of an arsonist. No matter how the note had gotten tacked to the back of the new house, a fire setter could do his work alone or with people all around. The idea was way too possible.

  She sat back at her desk and positioned herself in front of the computer again. But what scared her more than a fire in the hills was the possibility of settling for a man she didn’t love. A nice guy with a nice faith and a nice job who knew how to take her out on the town and show her a nice time. A guy who hadn’t once dug deep enough to know her heart, and who seemed to handle dating like another to-do list. Settling for just okay, when once upon a high school romance she’d had a love that seemed to have slipped right from the pages of a storybook.

  That scared her.

  Holly stood and stretched. She needed fresh air, needed to clear her mind before she could focus on selling houses again. A quick look through the window told her the development was pretty quiet for now. Light work crews at either end of the street, but otherwise no one in sight. She s
tepped out the front door and breathed in deeply. The canyon had a sweet smell, mesquite mixed with wild grass and clear air. She sauntered down the walkway, out of the shadow of the house and into the sun. Her mind drifted to the situation with Ron. The right girl would fall over backwards trying to win the attention of a guy like Ron Jacobs.

  But maybe that girl had never hiked along a deep blue lake in the Adirondacks beside a tall handsome boy who could see straight to the center of her soul. She was about to turn around and head back in the house when something caught her attention. She turned toward the movement in time to see a shiny, full-size black pickup truck spray gravel as it headed back down the hill.

  She caught just a glimpse of the driver’s profile before the truck disappeared behind a clump of brush, leaving only a cloud of dust to mark its place. There was something strangely familiar about the guy, but Holly wasn’t sure why. She felt her stomach tighten. Maybe he’d been up here before, casing the development. She could get his license plate number. She took a few running steps toward the place where the truck had been before she stopped herself. It was too late for license plates. The guy was probably halfway down the hill. She needed to tell Ron and Dave. What if the driver was part of this whole fire threat thing? This was when a guard at the gate would’ve been perfect. She could’ve radioed him to stop the truck and ask the driver a bunch of questions.

  She hurried inside, her heart racing ahead of her, and radioed Ron. After she explained what she’d seen and how the guy had seemed in a hurry to leave, Ron calmed her down.

  “An ecoterrorist wouldn’t drive a full-size truck Holly, my dear. Definitely not.” The sound of loud hammering and men’s voices made it hard to hear him. “Probably just someone curious about what’s up here.”

  He had a point. She finished the conversation, turned off the radio, and stared out the window. What was it about the driver, the way he’d looked familiar? A few seconds passed, and suddenly it hit her. Her heart thudded in response, and her breathing became fast and shallow. She slid her chair over to the computer and moved the mouse, bringing the screen back to life. The picture was still there, the deputy and his dog, the award. The image was the same as the one in her head, but it couldn’t be him. Alex would have no idea where she worked, and certainly if they were going to send a deputy up to look around for anything suspicious, they’d send one in a marked car.

  The resemblance was all in her head, and what did that say about her feelings for Ron? She could tell herself she needed time, or that her mother was right — real love took work. But her mind must’ve had other ideas. There could be only one reason why a quick glance at a perfect stranger in a truck she’d never seen before would remind her of Alex Brady:

  Her heart had never forgotten him.

  SEVENTEEN

  Alex had to will himself to slow down, because if the rush of urgency in his veins had its way, he’d be flying a hundred miles an hour. He’d done what he set out to do today. He’d gone to the Oak Canyon Estates to check out for himself the danger and layout of the property.

  What he’d found had shot terror straight through him.

  He and Bo weren’t there long, just enough time to drive to the end of the street and back down again. But that’s all it took to tell him what a fire would do this high up in the hills. It wouldn’t work its way down the street — it would explode through it. The wood-framed homes and construction materials would go up like so many fireworks, and the hillside would be instantly on fire. Alex didn’t need fire training to understand that such an inferno would roar down the steep, sloping brush and become a firestorm in minutes.

  “It’d be a fire like nothing LA’s ever seen.” He spoke the words out loud, and from the back Bo whined. “It’s okay, Bo … we won’t let it happen. We’ll get the bad guys.”

  At that, Bo released a single sharp bark — the way he was trained to do on command whenever Alex mentioned bad guys. It was one more thing that set Bo apart. He shared Alex’s passion for getting the job done. At the base of the hill, Alex made two quick rights into a housing tract literally carved into the mountain. The homes sat on lots barely larger than the footprints of the houses, with maybe ten feet between them. At this afternoon hour, the neighborhood had kids everywhere — riding bikes along the narrow street, playing basketball in the driveway of a house that backed up to the hillside, and walking with their parents along the neatly manicured sidewalks.

  Alex took the road through the development, driving slowly enough that he could see a handful of cul-de-sacs that branched off on either side of the street. He was stunned at the danger the place posed. There were tons of homes bunched together on maybe six or seven acres, and there were only two ways out. Two exits for the entire neighborhood.

  He pulled out of the development and realized his hands were shaking. Sure the homes had tile roofs, but roofing wouldn’t stop a tidal wave of fire barreling down the hillside. Add winds to the formula, and a neighborhood like the one at the base of the mountain could be swallowed whole — taking dozens of lives with it. Hundreds, even. He rolled down all four windows so he could breathe. From the backseat, he heard Bo walk to the window and stick his face out — the way he loved to do.

  The faces of Owl and the other two came to mind, and he felt the anger again, felt it driving him to do something. Anything but sit back and let Oak Canyon Estates become victim to the REA. At the next stoplight, he grabbed his iPhone, swiped his finger across the lock bar, and dialed Clay Michaels.

  Clay picked up just before the call went to his voice mail. “What’s up, Brady?” His voice was raised above the noise of what sounded like a restaurant.

  “Something big’s about to happen, Sarge. I had to call.”

  “Hold on.” There was a pause, and the background noise dimmed some. “There. I can hear now. Say it again?”

  “We’re on the verge of something big … I had to call. Somebody’s gotta be on this.”

  Clay uttered a muffled groan. “A wave, you mean? A big wave? Tell me you mean a wave, Brady, ‘cause you’re supposed to be on a beach, remember?”

  “Sarge, I’m serious.” Alex expected this, the reminder that he had a week left before he was even supposed to be thinking about police work. But he had to get the information to the department one way or another. He was using his Bluetooth, so he had both hands on the wheel as he talked. “I met with the leaders of the REA.”

  “What?” Clay raised his voice, and then quickly brought it back down again. “What do you mean? Like you put on a green T-shirt and pretended to hate trucks?”

  “For a few minutes, yes.” Alex wasn’t worried about getting in trouble. He hadn’t represented himself as a deputy, and he hadn’t done anything illegal. “Remember I told you about Owl, how I was talking to him?”

  “Brady, you’re crazy. Deputies don’t infiltrate into terrorist gangs on their off-hours. Nobody does that, and if they do they — “

  “Wait! This is important.” Alex had never taken a sharp tone with Clay, but in this moment he came close. His breathing came faster than before. “They didn’t know I was a deputy. We met at a park off Kanan Road. I taped the whole thing. Had a recorder in my pocket and got it all.”

  “You what?” This time Clay shouted the question. “What if they’d found it on you? They could’ve killed you, Brady.” He was seething. “Besides, that won’t be admissible, you know that.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Respect returned to Alex’s voice. “I’m not trying to build a case; I’m trying to stop a tragedy before it happens.”

  Clay was quiet at that, as if maybe, finally, Alex’s words hit their mark. “Okay … what’d you learn?”

  “A lot. They’re gonna hit the Oak Canyon Estates.” Alex worked to regain control of his emotions. He was halfway down Las Virgenes Road now — headed for Malibu. He had his surfboard in the back, because he really did plan to hit the waves tonight. The trip to the Oak Canyon Estates had been on the way, and he just couldn’t resis
t checking out the development.

  “They said that?”

  “In so many words.” Alex reached back and patted Bo, but he kept his eyes on the curves of the canyon. “Check it out. Please. See if anyone from the development has called the department. My guess is the REA is making threats. That’s sort of their calling card.”

  “So you’re sure.”

  “Absolutely. I just drove up to the development. Sarge, it’s terrible. The houses sit right in a clearing surrounded by sky-high brush. And at the base of the hill are a hundred homes. I mean, if the winds are right, we could lose the whole neighborhood and half the people living there.”

  This time Clay was quiet for several seconds. “You know what I thought when I saw your name on Caller ID?” He sounded suddenly tired. “I thought, ‘Well look at that. Alex Brady is taking time out of a stroll with his mother through Central Park to call me on my birthday.’ “

  Alex remembered the restaurant sounds. “It’s your birthday?”

  “It is.”

  “Oh.” Alex put both hands on the steering wheel again. Traffic was light in the canyon, but he liked full control for the last curves. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.” He sighed. “We’ve gone over this before. Fire danger is high all around LA this season, and everything you’re hearing could be nothing more than false tips.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way.”

  “Okay. So … you want me to check for complaints from the developer, and then what? Tell Lost Hills to send out a patrol every hour to keep an eye on the place?”