Changes Coming Down

by Kaje Harper

  And now’s so not the time to think about that. He pulled his professional aura around him and made his way upstairs as directed. Burwood turned out to be a solidly built, sharp-eyed black guy who had to be pushing fifty. He scanned Casey up and down as he shook his hand. Casey hoped the whiskey didn’t show.

  “Good to meet you, Sheriff. I have the girl in one of the rooms. She goes by Candy, but her real name’s Lila Marshall. She’s nineteen. Record shows a couple of shoplifting busts, and the warrant from Sacramento. She’s supposed to testify there against her boyfriend of the time, who had her pull over at a KwickFood-Mart and wait while he robbed it at gunpoint. She skipped bail, so they’ll be holding her. Which is good, if you need to keep tabs on her.”

  “True. Can I see her?”

  “Sure.” Burwood led the way down the hall and opened a door. “She’s been Mirandized and agreed to recording. Let me know when you’re done.”

  Casey eyed the young woman seated at the scarred table. She had blond hair with dark roots showing, and a round baby face marred by streaked mascara. Her clothes were tight and revealing and more Walmart than high fashion. She looked up at him. Her eyes were red but her gaze was steady.

  Casey sat across from her. “Hey, Lila. How are you?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Detective Burwood says you have a story for me about a trucker.”

  She laughed shortly. “Story of my life, hooking up with maniac losers, right?”

  “You can change that, starting now. Why don’t you tell me about this guy?”

  “I met him at a diner. He said he was going to New York, where a friend had a job for him. He had a truck, just the cab part, y’know?”

  “Whereabouts was this?”

  “Outside of Boulder. Little place. I don’t remember the name.”

  “Go on.”

  “I hitched a ride.” She looked down at her hands, twining her fingers together. Her red nail polish was chipped and dull. “Okay, I offered a trade. A fuck for a ride?”

  Casey nodded.

  “This guy seemed okay at first. Then we ran into engine trouble, outside some bumfuck town in the middle of nowhere. He got us a hotel room, and, well, you know. After a while I fell asleep and he went out to hit the bars. Two days we did that. I was thinking about looking for another ride, because he was meaner than he looked, and he was getting really mad about the cost of the truck repair and how he didn’t have the money. If the truck wasn’t running then I was stuck there with him. But how many people from Bumfuck are going to New York?”

  “Do you remember the name of the motel?”

  “Shady Grove Roadside Motel. With no fucking shade or grove. I spent three days staring at the walls.”

  “Then what?”

  “The next afternoon he came in liquored up and said the truck was fixed. Someone gave him the money and a bunch more. He was excited. He said all we had to do was earn it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “He didn’t say. Not then. We spent another day in the motel. He got super smashed, which was fine by me ’cause he passed out. The next day he brought the truck back.” She picked at her nail polish, not looking up. “I almost didn’t go with him. I wish I hadn’t. But I wanted to get the hell out of there.”

  “Go on.”

  “We parked on a hill. He was so high he was vibrating. He ass-fucked me on the bunk.”

  “Was that… okay with you?” Had she been raped?

  She made a face. “I didn’t want to, but I didn’t say no.”

  He wanted to ask if she was hurt, if the guy used a condom, although any DNA would be long gone, but he couldn’t get side-tracked. Make sure Burwood asks her. We might get him on a rape charge. Although convincing a jury that a hooker was raped would take a miracle. “Then what?”

  “It got kinda dark. The road was real quiet, but every time a car went by he checked it out. Then this old gray pickup passed and he got all excited. He told me to hang on and he pulled out behind it.” She bit at the corner of one fingernail, then inspected it. Casey controlled his breathing and waited. Finally she looked up and met his eyes. “He came up behind them, real fast, still high on the hill, and he hit them. I think he hit them twice.”

  “Go on.”

  “I screamed. I didn’t have my seatbelt on and I was sliding around. He had this grin, like you could see all his teeth. And his eyes… like he was having the time of his life, you know? He hit them again and they went off the edge. They just went right off!” She took a fast, shallow breath. “He stopped. He told me not to move a fucking inch and he got out and looked down. Then he came back and drove away.”

  Jesus! Casey felt sick to the bone. He’d imagined some drunk idiot behind the wheel but not this. Not murder. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. Not one fucking thing. Sat there while he drove, several hours barreling down the road with him all weird and laughing. Then he pulled over at another motel and dragged me inside and had my ass again. When he went out to check on the truck, I split. Took the first ride going, even if it was the wrong direction.”

  Casey said carefully, “Why do you think he went after that particular pickup?”

  She bit her lip, then said, “He was looking for it. That one. He had a bit of paper with the information on it. So he’d hit the right one.”

  ***

  Will crossed his ankles the opposite way and tried to be patient, but the chair was hard, the room smelled of something funky, obnoxious people kept being brought through with loud drunken resistance, and whenever it was quiet he could feel the officer at the desk eyeing him. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood, muttered in the general direction of the cop, “I’m going to get some air,” and stepped out of the building.

  It was almost midnight and the air was crisp and cool. He thought about a walk, but it didn’t look like the greatest neighborhood. In the end, he got in Casey’s truck and flicked on the dome light. His phone vibrated in his hip pocket and he dug it out. A text from Scott.

  ~ Hey, how are you two doing?

  He fumbled with the phone, trying to text an answer back, then said, “Screw it,” and dialed. It was later there, but obviously Scott was still up.

  Scott’s voice was a comfort, even just saying hello.

  Will pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey. We’re good. We’re in Denver. Casey’s doing his cop thing, I’m just hanging out.”

  “Is he sober?”

  “Close enough, I guess. Don’t worry, I still won’t let him drive.”

  “Are you okay?” Scott’s voice got soft. “This has to be damn hard for you.”

  “He’s not letting me get involved. Beyond playing chauffeur. Which is why I’m here in his truck, sitting in the dark, talking to you.”

  “But I like you in the dark, so that’s not all bad. Talk to me, big guy. What are you wearing?”

  Will had to laugh. “Seriously? Phone sex outside the Denver police station?”

  “Is that where you’re parked? Could be kinky. Casey never lets us play with his cop stuff.” Scott backed off the innuendo though. “I’ve been watching the election coverage online. Did you hear Casey’s speech?”

  “Nope. He told me he gave one. Was it okay?”

  “Short, simple. ‘The voters have spoken’ kind of thing. A couple of the deputies were there looking pretty bummed.”

  “I bet. They’ll have Todd as their boss.”

  “I wish he hadn’t lost. I hate how everything is changing. I thought we were good, finally. We found our groove. And now it’s a mess.”

  “Maybe our groove was a rut. Maybe it will be better when this is over.”

  “You think?”

  “No, but I can hope, right?” Movement outside the truck caught his eye. “Listen, Himself is back and looking pissed. I’m gonna hang up.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Yeah.”

  He cranked the key, as Casey swung into the passenger seat. “Where to?”

/>   “Just drive the fuck home.”

  “Sorry I asked.” He pulled out onto the street.

  “Shit!” Casey pounded a fist onto the dashboard, hard enough Will heard something crack.

  “I hope that was the truck and not your hand.”

  Casey flexed his fingers and muttered, “Stupid foreign-made plastic.”

  “Yeah, these Toyotas are so flimsy.”

  “Will?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut the hell up for a bit.”

  Will pressed his lips together and stared out the windshield. The freeway entrance lights went by in a steady rhythm.

  It was quite a few minutes later when Casey said, “Sorry.”

  “No luck with the case?”

  “Too much luck. It’s complicated. I’ll probably have to hand off to the State guys. I can’t run all over the place playing detective, especially since one of my deputies quit on me tonight.”

  “He quit?”

  “Yeah. Said he was over retirement age anyway, and he wasn’t working for Todd. He didn’t even want to stay on till the new year. I persuaded him to give me another week, but I’ll have to hire someone new. If I’m allowed to hire right now? Shit, I don’t even know.”

  Will didn’t either, and he couldn’t help going back to, “The case is complicated?”

  “I can’t tell you. You know that.”

  “But you might catch the guy who hit them?”

  “Might. Don’t ask any more. Shit.” Casey twitched in his seat, like he might punch something else, but didn’t make contact.

  The miles rolled by. Will’s thoughts kept cycling through all the things that would make lousy topics of conversation right now. It hurt that Casey wouldn’t tell him about something that mattered so much. Will understood it was supposed to be police business. But they were partners, weren’t they? Didn’t that trump police rules?

  Or was he still somehow less than permanent to Casey? Some part of him wondered if Casey would’ve told Scott, if it was his parents who were dead. Was Will somehow a suspect, despite everything? Or did Casey not trust him to keep his mouth shut? Did the supporting and taking care of a partner only go one way?

  He was startled when Casey suddenly snapped, “There! Take this exit.”

  “Huh?”

  “Food.” Casey pointed at the lit sign of a twenty-four-hour truck stop. “Late dinner.”

  “It’s one A.M.” Will turned down the service road obediently.

  “Breakfast, then.”

  They parked and headed inside. The room was nearly deserted, but in one booth an overweight man in a ball cap sipped morosely from a mug of coffee. The woman behind the counter called to them, “Sit anywhere. I’ll be over in a minute. Menus are on the table.”

  They slid into a booth. Will wasn’t hungry, but Casey opened the menu. “What do you think? Eggs? Pancakes? Ham?”

  “I think it’s too damned early for breakfast. I’ll have coffee. You get what you want.”

  “Eggs and hash browns then.” Casey closed the folder. “I knew this guy, a sergeant in Afghanistan. He swore you could head off a hangover by eating a big meal of greasy food, like bacon or sausage. Something about the grease sopping up the alcohol. I figured I’d try it. I need to be sharp in five hours.”

  “Yuck. But it’s your stomach.” Will nodded to the waitress as she came to take their order.

  Casey pointed to his choice. She said, “You know, the full breakfast has eggs, sausage, hash-browns, pancakes and bacon. A lot of the guys like that. Only two dollars more.”

  Casey considered, while behind the waitress’s back Will made exaggerated gagging gestures, because he knew it amused Casey when he let himself be silly in public. Casey gave him a smile that was almost real, and said to the woman, “Nah. Just eggs and potatoes.”

  “Got it.”

  “And a pot of coffee,” Will added.

  She was quick with the coffee, and Will cradled his mug between his hands, staring out at the dark parking lot. Despite the effort at clowning, he didn’t feel very funny. “So. The assessor comes tomorrow. For the ranch.”

  “Will you tell me what he says?”

  “I guess. Although the lawyer’s the one who hired him, so he may not tell me right away. Doesn’t matter, really. A million, two million, there’s no way I can come up with half of it.”

  “You sure you don’t want to get a mortgage on your half to buy the rest?”

  Will shuddered. “I’m not going to take a chance on losing it all if I can’t make the payments. No.” Half the ranch was a gift he couldn’t risk.

  “I said I’d chip in too. On the ranch.”

  “Yeah, but even with you and Scott, we won’t come close to what it’d take to buy Landon out.” His throat tightened at the thought of splitting things up, letting some of the men go, selling off some of the breeding stock he’d spent two decades perfecting. Would he get to keep the house, or the cornfields? The best winter pasture or the deep well?

  Then he felt ashamed. This was so much better than what he’d expected— to be broke and dependent on a new owner for a job. He had no right at all to complain.

  Casey turned his mug between his hands, rubbing the rim with a blunt fingertip. “I might be able to get more money. Would you let me buy in all the way, if I can?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  Casey met his eyes steadily. “A question that says I need to know if you’re okay with me owning a half share in your ranch.”

  Will started to say that was stupid, and stopped, because it wasn’t. Casey was right. For a moment, he felt an odd reluctance, almost jealousy. The ranch had always been his world, while the sheriff department was Casey’s and the world of hockey and fans was Scott’s. But things were changing and Casey would soon be set adrift. If Will had to share, since he had to share, who better than this man to share with?

  He’d hesitated long enough that Casey said slowly, “I could just make you a loan.”

  “No. God, no.” He almost reached for Casey’s hand before remembering they were in a public truck stop. “I want you there. It’ll be good.” He thought of riding out with Casey on some cold morning. Laughing at the grumbles the burly cop would no doubt have about frozen fingers, sharing the companionship of horses and wide skies and winter air. “It’ll be great. If you can get the money.” He let the words trail off. It was a crazy sum, and Casey lived almost as simply as he did. Not like a man with half a million in the bank.

  Casey just nodded once, firmly. “Right.”

  Will let it all go. It was so late it was early, and his head was obviously screwed up. Maybe Casey was a secret millionaire or was going to sell his hidden stamp collection. Who knew? It was the offer that counted. If Casey was going to invest every dime he had in the ranch, then those fears he’d had of being unwanted or a suspect were obviously in his own head, not Casey’s.

  The waitress went past and set a giant plate of food in front of the man at the other table. Casey waved. “Hey, I changed my mind. Can I get bacon with those eggs too?”

  “Sure.”

  When the food came, Will stole a tiny strip of crispy deep-fried potato from Casey’s plate, and they sat in silent agreement, Will guzzling coffee, as Casey did what he could to stave off a morning hangover. With eggs and swimming-in-grease hash-browns. Ugh.

  ***

  Will sat in the little Methodist church, dressed in his one and only suit. It was a dozen years out of style, but he didn’t figure Annmarie and Graham would’ve cared. To his left, Casey was decked out in his dress uniform. In the pew ahead of them, Landon Slater wore something expensive and perfectly fitted.

  He’d met up with Landon twenty minutes ago, on the steps of the church. Landon had looked polished and sleek, but older than Will remembered. It’d been a couple of years since Landon set foot on the ranch, even though Annmarie had invited him every holiday. Will had made himself hold out a hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

&
nbsp; Landon gave him a millisecond’s grip, in view of the Slaters’ friends streaming into the church, then let go. “Hello, Rice. Stick around after the funeral, will you? I’ve arranged for the will to be read while I’m in town, and I hear you’re mentioned in it.”

  “All right.”

  Landon had turned away and gone inside, while Will followed slowly, Casey steady at his shoulder.

  Now, up in the pulpit standing over the closed coffins, the preacher shut his Bible. Will realized he hadn’t heard a word. No doubt it’d been good. Everyone loved Annmarie and Graham. The preacher turned toward Will. “Would you like to say a few words?”

  For a moment he clutched, throat dry and clamped shut. Then the preacher added, “Your grandparents were well-loved in this town,” and Will realized he was looking at Landon, not past him at Will.

  Landon said, “No. Thank you.”

  A woman on the other side of the aisle called out, “Then I’ll go next, if that’s all right.” Landon waved her to continue. As she made her way to the front, Will recognized Louise Gonzales, one of Annmarie’s closest friends. He pressed his lips together as she stepped up to the pulpit.

  “It’s always too soon.” She cleared her throat. “Annmarie and Graham lived a long, full life, but we weren’t ready to let them go. We were never going to be ready. Not their family.” She turned to Landon. “Nor their friends, nor the people they helped along the way— and there were lots of us who became their friends— and surely not their ranch family, least of all Will, the son of their hearts.” She gave Will a look of such compassion that he had to grip the edge of the wooden pew till his knuckles hurt, to keep from breaking down. Casey stirred beside him but didn’t so much as nudge his foot, as if he knew that would put Will over the edge.

  Will looked up over Louise’s head and let his eyes blur the colors of the stained glass to a rainbow of blues and greens and golds. Her words passed through him, telling the story of how she met Annmarie while stranded with a flat tire. The details didn’t matter. He could imagine Annmarie all those years ago, her red hair barely frosted with white and her smile quick and warm, stopping on a dark, lonely road to help a stranger. Had she and Graham really told their friends he was the son of their hearts? And then they died because some drunk got careless on another lonely road.