Bitter Rain (Kate Fox Book 3)

by Shannon Baker

I didn’t feel like conversation anyway, so I opened the soda cooler near the front door and grabbed some bottles.

  I dropped four twenty-ounce bottles of Mountain Dew in front of the cash register, and Starla banged on the keys, croaking out a total several dollars higher than the gas station in Hodgekiss would charge.

  Starla still hadn’t so much as grunted a conversational word by the time the bell jangled on the door announcing my departure.

  From the frustration lining Kyle’s face, I gathered he hadn’t come up with any more information.

  He stepped back to give me space to distribute the Mountain Dews. As expected, the guys weren’t thrilled with the freebies. Grumbling and leaving them on the pavement seemed the generally accepted thanks. Maybe they’d soak down the calories after we left, but not while there was still a chance I’d come to my generous senses and supply them with forty ounces of real charity.

  The heater felt good after the damp air, though Kyle didn’t seem to notice. Far from defeated by lack of progress, his thumbs drummed on his knees, an outward sign of agitation I hadn’t seen from him before.

  I glanced to the west before pulling out of the parking lot and heading back to Hodgekiss. Just beyond the speed limit sign outside of town, two old Monte Carlos, one turquoise and one gold, parked end to end at the side of the road. I headed toward them.

  Kyle glared at them. “Now what?”

  “Gonna check this out.”

  Eyebrows ducked. “Let’s get back to town. You’ve got a date, and I’ve got stuff to do.”

  “It’s not a date,” I grumbled. Not enough of a date to put Baxter into a saddle, anyway.

  Two dust motes of men tumbled on the roadside in front of the gold Monte Carlo, a whirl of camo, gray hair, and flying weeds rolling toward the ditch.

  I pulled behind the turquoise car and shut off the engine. “Newt and Earl.”

  “Newt and Earl,” Kyle agreed, with the same resignation in his voice.

  Bachelor brothers, not more than a year apart in age, they’d gone to high school with Dad. After a tour in Vietnam, they lived together in the decrepit ranch house they inherited from their mother. Mostly, they got along all right. But when they didn’t, Nelly bar the door.

  Rain had begun in earnest again, and we stepped out into it.

  I squinted to avoid direct raindrop hits to my eyes as I advanced on the wrestling brothers. “Nice day for a civil war.”

  They froze and, in unison, whipped their heads to me with expressions best described as “duh.”

  Newt, the younger brother, scrambled to his feet. Despite a smear of mud down his left side and grass ornamenting his hair, he looked about as clean as I’d ever seen him. With the rinse from Mother Nature, he smelled a darned sight better, too. He smoothed his camo jacket over what appeared to be five feet, eight inches of bones. “Katie.”

  Earl jumped up next to him, and slapping the back of Newt’s head, he corrected him. “Sheriff Kate, you pencil dick.”

  Newt didn’t return fire, just ducked his head toward me with a grin that reminded me of the skunk saying to Bambi, “He can call me Flower if he wants to.”

  I sensed Kyle’s impatience next to me.

  I folded my arms in a stern way, like I’d do with Zeke and Mose, my eight-year-old twin nephews. “What are you doing up here?”

  They looked at each other as if afraid to reveal the secret location of buried treasure.

  Newt opened his mouth and Earl elbowed him. Newt kicked back and Earl cocked his arm for a punch.

  “Knock it off.” I had to bring out The Look, and this time it worked as intended.

  Newt tucked his chin and blinked in righteousness, the same expression I’d seen on Grandma Ardith’s face when she trumped Aunt Tutti’s ace to win a pitch tournament at the Long Branch. “We come out here on Mondays and Thursdays usually and collect the beer cans from here to Sand Gap.”

  The Fox kids collected cans along the roadsides for years. We never made more than enough to take us all to Pizza Hut in Broken Butte. “That worth it in this rain?”

  Earl’s hand snaked out and latched onto my arm. “Look it.”

  He pulled me to the front of the gold car to a mass of flattened beer cans on the ground. A good majority were the forty ouncers. “We collect ’em, roll over with the cars here, and take ’em to the recycling center over to the ’Bluffs.”

  He dragged me to the back of his car and inserted a key in the trunk, slammed the side of his fist in two places, and it creaked up. He lifted it to reveal the trunk filled with black trash bags. “All of them are full of crushed cans. This is the easiest pickin’s we have.”

  Newt startled me by speaking right behind my shoulder. “But don’t tell no one. It’s our gold mine, don’t you know.”

  “You get this haul twice a week?”

  Kyle held himself rigid, like a comment might blow him to bits.

  Newt and Earl nodded. Their take of four million cans a year might not make the Johnson brothers rich, but it probably kept them in gas for the Monte Carlos.

  Newt brought the lid down to keep the rain from filling the trunk. “Why are you up to the rez?”

  I glanced back at Kyle. His jaw twitched, and I figured I’d better take over. “You guys know Shelly Red Owl?”

  They looked at each other and shrugged in unison. “Nope.”

  “She’s eighteen. We’re trying to find her.”

  Earl grew serious as mashed potatoes without gravy. “She get abducted by aliens?”

  That wasn’t what I expected.

  Newt nodded. “It happens out here. There’s this connection between the Indians and the aliens. It’s documented.”

  “I don’t think that’s what happened.” I shouldn’t have added, but I did, “Although we found her car abandoned south of here on the highway.”

  Newt’s eyes widened. Earl took the pragmatic approach. “What’s she drive?”

  “An old Grand Marquis.”

  They both brightened. “Red?” Newt asked.

  Kyle jerked forward. “Yeah. You know it?”

  “That girl that drives it. She’s a good one,” Newt said.

  Earl continued from Newt. “She stopped one day. Thought she was going to get after us about collecting cans on the rez. Some folks think we ought to be saving them for the Indians, but it’s a free country.”

  Kyle leaned forward. “What did—”

  I placed a restraining hand on his arm to shut him up. It was best to let Newt and Earl tell it their own way.

  Newt took up from there. “She just stopped to help us. She was kind of down about there being so many lying around.”

  Earl jumped in. “She was real curious about us and how long we been collecting cans. Asked lots of questions about what and who we see.”

  Less like ping-pong and more like a relay, the conversation continued. Newt spoke. “Mostly she wanted to know about her brother.”

  “Kyle?” I interrupted the flow, and it took them a moment to pick it up again.

  Earl started. “Not that one. The other one. The one that died out here a couple of years ago.”

  Newt: “But we weren’t out here when they found him. So we couldn’t help her.”

  Earl: “Then she asked about the preppers.”

  That startled me. “You know about them?”

  The rain nearly sizzled on Kyle’s intense gaze.

  Newt and Earl both gave me a disappointed look. “We know a lot of things.”

  I was more than a little curious. “Who are they?”

  Newt screwed up his face. “They don’t have a dump, and they haven’t lived here long enough to have thrown out anything good.”

  Earl nodded at me. “That’s the truth.”

  Now it was my turn to be disappointed. “That’s all you know about them? What about when they moved in? Who repaired their house and barn? What do they do for a living? Their names? How many people live out there?”

  They seemed to consider all
those questions. Then Newt said, “They showed up somewheres around two years ago. In March and it was damned dry. Didn’t get any rain and the pastures dried up.”

  Earl agreed. “Nobody had hay. Govamint did that drought program.” He pronounced drought with a th on the end.

  Newt laughed. “City slickers, that’s for sure. That whole place under that hill, and they put their cistern on top, above it all.”

  Not fluent in Newt and Earl, Kyle looked lost.

  Earl explained in a patient voice, as if trying not to embarrass Kyle. “Dry year, they didn’t know that meadow tends to fill up on a wet year like this ’un.”

  Newt got enthusiastic. “And that hill is like to give out on that cistern. Too much weight. Too much sand.”

  As long as no one drowned, I might get a chuckle out of Rhonda and Marty getting a soaking. “That’s all you know about them?”

  Earl shrugged. “That and they got a bea-u-ti-ful ’72 Roadrunner. And they offered to buy the Monte Carlos.”

  Newt nodded. “Both of ’em.”

  Earl: “Our girls don’t have computers and whatnot that will ruin when the bomb drops.”

  They both shrugged again. Earl said, “Told you we know a lot of things, not everything.”

  Kyle had been remarkably restrained throughout, but he finally jumped in. “Did Shelly say why she wanted to know about them?”

  Newt looked at his boots again, then up at me. “Sorry. Me and Earl didn’t ask.”

  Earl threw his head back and let out a yelp. “What in hot tamales is in your back seat?”

  I whipped around in alarm. Poupon sat up, the eyes in his fluffy head trained on Earl. “That’s Diane’s dog.”

  Newt sneaked toward the car like he feared I’d let a monster loose. “A dog, you say?”

  Earl, the more worldly of the two, waxed wise. “It’s from a city. Not like the good dogs out here.”

  “He’s okay. Just has a silly haircut.” I don’t know why I defended Poupon. He wasn’t my dog.

  I thanked Newt and Earl, left them to their can collecting, and took my waterlogged self back to the cruiser.

  My phone let loose as I eased behind the wheel, and I pulled it out of my pocket. As usual, Diane started in before I even said hello.

  “For Mom and Dad’s anniversary, will you find a good resort—and make sure it has a decent restaurant—and get them a reservation?”

  I took a second to untangle her request. I spoke slowly to irritate her. “Poupon is spending the day in the back of my car because I’m not set up for dog sitting.”

  She paused. “Yes. Thank you.”

  I did my best Diane imitation, complete with impatient sigh. “‘Do me this one favor. I owe you,’ she said. I believe it was right after telling me you had the anniversary all taken care of.”

  “I know, I know. Look, I’m swamped and can’t do it. I emailed you my credit card number.” Now she sounded exactly like my earlier impression. “Just help me this one time.”

  The wipers slapped a few rounds. “You said, and I quote: ‘I promise to plan Mom and Dad’s anniversary weekend so Louise won’t make us do a family reunion.’”

  She spoke faster as if to compensate for my pace. “Jesus, Kate. I know what I said. But I’ve got a life! Should I tell my billionaire clients I can’t make those buys this afternoon because I promised my little sister I’d get hotel reservations?”

  I felt Kyle’s focus from across the cruiser and refused to look at him. “I have a job, too. Involves life and death and citizens’ safety.”

  Diane laughed. “In Grand County, Nebraska. Never mind. I’ll see if my admin assistant can do it. But he gets all bent when I ask him to do personal stuff.”

  And now guilt coated my throat. Mom and Dad deserved someone who loved them to consider where and what they’d like for their anniversary. But this was Diane’s party. She’d insisted she could pick out a great weekend getaway for their surprise. Louise, of course, balked and lectured Diane on her crass, over-consumption ways and how Mom would feel bad about basking in luxury. How Dad would rather be with his kids than anything.

  Diane beat Louise this time.

  So how did I end up making the arrangements? “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “You’re an angel. I owe you.”

  I slapped my trump card. “You can pay up by telling me who is on the board of the nonprofit Brian set up.”

  Dead silence. One, two, three. Her voice rose three octaves. “I can’t tell you that. And you shouldn’t even ask.”

  “Carly’s been to see at least one board member. I need to know who it was and everyone else on the board so I can track her down.”

  “No.”

  “It’s Carly, you—”

  “No. Bye.” Connections didn’t get any deader than that.

  Kyle’s tone was crankier than I’d ever heard. “If you’re done having lunch with your family, talking with them on the phone, and chatting up junkyard dogs on the highway, do you think we can get ourselves to the Olson place and see about finding Shelly?”

  If I hadn’t been shivery wet, nervous for a date I didn’t want to admit was a date, and getting a little fed up with people telling me what to do, I might have let his rudeness pass. He was worried about his sister. Of all people, I should understand that. But I popped off anyway. “I’m not the one who lost your sister, so back off the attitude.”

  He looked up, startled. “You’re right. Sorry. But the preppers keep coming up. I think we need to go out there.”

  I turned on the highway heading south. “I’ve been out there. I didn’t see anything, and I can’t go back out without probable cause.”

  Kyle banged the dash. “Shelly missing is cause.” His voice lowered like a cat in a midnight alley. “You wouldn’t let it go if it was your family.”

  He was right. The tires splashed through puddles on the highway as I thought. “Fine. We’ll check it out.”

  We approached the turnoff to the Olson place, and I slowed, slapped the turn signal, and bounced off the highway.

  Tracks from a pickup on the gravel road led up to the gate. Whoever we followed hadn’t closed and locked the gate, so we passed through and up the hill overlooking the Olson compound. The tracks led to the covered parking, where a white pickup dripped rain.

  Kyle’s keen eyes took in the details of the barricaded house, the barn, chicken house, and corrals, all empty. I scanned all directions for Marty or anyone else sneaking up on us.

  We hadn’t gone more than a few steps from the cruiser when the front door flew open and Rhonda stepped out, arms folded and a grim expression on her face. She wore a faded blue tracksuit that probably looked nice on her a few years and dozens of cannoli ago. “You better not have cut the lock off the gate again.”

  I tried for the kind of dopey grin an arrogant city person might expect from a country bumpkin. “Gate was open as a welcome home sign. How are you, Rhonda?”

  She glared at me, then turned it on Kyle. “What do you want?”

  Kyle offered a hand she didn’t take. “Deputy Kyle Red Owl. I hear there’s a young man out here looking for me.”

  “You heard wrong.” She clamped her lips closed and gave us dead-fish eyes.

  I nodded cheerfully. “Kids in town told us that. You know how kids can tease. Mind if we check it out anyway? Can I talk to the kid?”

  “No kids here.”

  “Well, now, Rhonda. That’s not true. I saw him the other morning.”

  Kyle matched her deadpan. “We won’t keep him. Just want to make sure he’s okay.”

  With no inflection, she said, “He’s not here.”

  “Huh.” I pointed to the carport. “’Cause that pickup was just in Dry Creek with the kid driving it.”

  She held up her hands and widened her eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you. Sorry you came out here for nothing.”

  Still faking country charm, I said, “Mind if we look around?”

  She barked at me. “I told yo
u yesterday not to come back without a warrant. I’m trying to be nice about this, but we like our privacy. We aren’t hurting anyone. So if this is all you’ve got, you’ve got nothing.”

  The three of us stood in silence for a full minute before I finally broke it. “Okay, then.”

  “If you’re feeling friendly, go ahead and close the gate and lock it on your way out. We don’t want the cattle getting out on the highway.” Her lips pulled back in a scary imitation of a smile.

  15

  I dropped Kyle off at the courthouse and watched him hurry to his 1996 teal Chevy Silverado. Like Shelly’s car, despite some wear, it was clean and taken care of. I hadn’t put the cruiser into gear when, with a roar and rush, the sky opened up and great waves of rain crashed onto the hood. Everything beyond my windshield disappeared.

  It only lasted a few minutes, but long enough so I thought about the children’s Bible in Doc Kennedy’s waiting room. If you weren’t quick, the other Fox kids grabbed the Highlights magazines and you got stuck with the illustrated book of horrors. One of the nightmare-inducing pictures was of Noah on his enormous boat beneath roiling black clouds, the animals apparently tucked away dry and safe, but people bobbing in the wild seas, their arms raised, screaming in terror, their last moments before succumbing to a hideous watery death.

  “Good thing you made it onto the ark,” I said to Poupon. He didn’t open his eyes.

  My phone rang, showing Louise’s ID. Since I was waiting out the storm, I answered.

  “Thanks for picking up. I hardly ever get you without leaving a message.”

  “Did you need something?”

  “I love to visit with you, but yes, this time I’m calling to see if you’ve talked to Diane about Mom and Dad’s anniversary.”

  Dang. “I don’t think she’s made any plans yet.”

  Louise humphed. “I knew it. Let’s have a party at Mom and Dad’s. Leave it to me. All you have to do is tell Diane not to plan anything.”

  Looked to me like the problem of making reservations just resolved itself. “She’ll be disappointed, but I’ll let her down gently.”

  “Okey-dokey, then.” And away Louise went, leaving the strains of The Wizard of Oz Wicked Witch music wafting through my head.