Cliff Hanger
Page 24
Almost immediately, a small kayak beached on the sand. The paddler hopped out and tugged a tow line to pull the craft beyond the waves’ reach. Headlights from four ranger trucks snapped on, along with sirens and flashing lights. Silhouetted, the kayaker looked toward his craft and behind him, and then put up his hands.
Our heads swiveled as DEA headlights lit up the fields above the beach. Task force members in clumsy black tactical gear converged on the barn. Helicopter rotors forced us to cover our heads and narrow our eyes against the flying sand and dust. The helicopter’s searchlight created monster shadows, heightening the drama.
“I feel like I’ve landed in an action movie,” Max whispered, although there was no longer any need for silence amid the cacophony of sirens, loudspeakers, and, of course, the helicopter. If there were gunshots, we didn’t hear them.
Within minutes, it was over, at least for tonight. The helicopter left, taking several hand-cuffed prisoners with it. Teams of officers remained behind to preserve the scene and secure evidence.
“Is that it?” Brian asked.
I stood, brushing sand from my eyes and jeans, taking stock. I counted several times to make sure everyone was safe, and began handing out water bottles.
“Now’s when the real work begins,” said Nell. “Interrogators get the bad guys to flip on their bosses so they can shut down the supply lines.”
“But what happened?” asked David, after swishing his mouth with water. “Did they catch the right people? Did anyone admit to killing Jake?”
Max clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re right. We saw it all play out, but we’re going to need someone closer to the scene to explain it all. It may take weeks. Or months.”
I looked around our dusty group. Eyes red from dust and lack of sleep stared back, reflecting the disappointment I felt. “The chopper swooped in. The bad guys are in hand cuffs. If this actually were a movie, we’d cut to the law enforcement dudes reading everyone their rights. Then the summation and the credits.”
I caught Stephen’s eye. He smiled and looked sheepish. “We aren’t the only ones who feel let down in a moment like this one,” he said. “I guarantee you those DEA agents wish real-life legal battles played out as quickly as they do in fantasy.”
* * * *
Despite Max’s prediction of a frustrating delay, the sheriff called Stephen the following afternoon. Stephen filled us in. “None of this information is for public consumption,” he warned us. “The sheriff was uncharacteristically forthcoming, but if any of us spill these details, their whole case could fall apart.” He waited a few moments. Apparently satisfied that we all understood the need for secrecy, he summed up the news.
According to the sheriff’s report, a large number of low-level gang members were in custody. Many of them were eager to provide evidence against the cartels in exchange for lenient charges and suspended sentences.
Zeke had admitted to tampering with Jake’s propeller, but insisted his intent was to ground Jake’s aircraft, not kill him. He’d been motivated by the fact that the more time Jake spent at Mr. Mason’s garage, the more time he spent in Zeke’s company. And where Jake went, Jen went. Zeke had fallen hopelessly in love with Jen. The two had talked while Jake and Mr. Mason conferred over the refurbished propellers.
Zeke said he stole the memory cards from Jake at the behest of Kevin Rivers, who’d wanted to cripple Jake’s research project and stop his intrusive flyovers. The farmer also sought evidence that might prove his neighbor was contaminating his organic operation with nonorganic pesticides.
Jake’s photographs, along with extensive soil and crop samples, would help exonerate Diego Baker from accusations of crop tampering, but many of the images, along with their time, date, and location stamps, also were expected to provide critical information to the team prosecuting members of the local gang and the cartel.
As Stephen had suspected, Kevin’s anger-management problem was rooted in a drug habit. Kevin had accepted heroin in payment for his role in hiding gang operations on his land.
* * * *
Three months later, the first trials began. Kevin pleaded guilty. His testimony, coupled with a court-ordered stint in rehab, earned him probation and a suspended sentence, providing he stayed out of trouble for five years.
Kevin and Diego mended fences. During Kevin’s stay in rehab, Diego would farm his fields. Diego, with help from both Kevin and a grant from the US Department of Agriculture, would be converting his fields to an organic operation.
After all the major players in the drug scheme were behind bars, Stephen met with some of the youths who’d inherited leadership positions in the decimated local gang. Stephen introduced the new leaders to a non-profit operation in Los Angeles which worked to fund alternative opportunities for gang members. Local leaders gave slim odds on the likelihood of the gang pursuing a legitimate and sustainable business model, but Stephen had won over the sheriff with his evidence of the New York City gang members who now operated a thriving venture in the design, manufacture, and sale of edgy street fashion.
The rest of the summer played out much more as we’d originally expected. I spent my mornings working in the office with Renée, and my afternoons with the kids.
Brian’s leg healed quickly and his cast was removed after eight weeks. Swimming and walking in sand provided a challenging but effective physical therapy routine.
The Petersons apologized for their accusations against the boys and sent them flowers, which they appreciated less than the certificates for surf lessons enclosed in a thank-you note. In a few lines, the couple praised the boys for helping Jake, saying it comforted them to know their son wasn’t alone during what must have been the most fearsome moments of his life.
The sheriff later told us Mrs. Peterson had admitted to sending the text I’d received threatening the boys. We chalked her odd and alarming behavior up to extreme grief and didn’t press charges.
Jake’s parents patched up their relationship with Jen, though she decided to accept the graduate school position she’d been offered at UCLA. “I’ll never forget Jake,” she told us over lunch at the Giant Artichoke. “But I need to grieve privately. Here in town everyone cares. They all watch me, fearing I’ll fall apart. At UCLA, I can tell people about Jake or keep him to myself. It will be my choice and that’s comforting.”
“Whatever works for you is the right thing to do,” I told her, wishing her luck with her studies and reminding her to stay in touch.
Renée hired a hazardous materials company to clean Mrs. Nesbitt’s condo, but footed the bill herself rather than burden the old lady with the cost or responsibility for her neglected home.
“That gang was operating right under my nose,” Renée said. “I allowed them to take advantage of Mrs. Nesbitt. Paying for renovations is the least I can do.”
Renée’s life had changed the most in the short time we’d been at Heron Beach. She’d rekindled an old romance with Diego, who loved the three children Renée was caring for. When my new friend finally had time to tell me the whole story, it broke my heart. It also made me realize how lucky the kids were to grow up in the close-knit neighborhood that Renée called home.
We were creating a new filing system when she finally told the story, applying bold stickers to brightly colored folders in open shelving. Renée and anyone who worked for her would be able to tell at a glance if a file was out of place. Maybe because the work was repetitive and soothing, or possibly because we’d become close friends, Renée opened up, telling me that her new foster children were American citizens, born in the United States to legal residents who’d let their green cards expire when money grew tight.
Federal Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers had detained the children’s father when he was taking them to day care before starting work at a local firm as an engineer. He’d failed to update the company when his legal status changed.
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After separating the children from their father, ICE had called the mother and arranged to drop off the three kids, but when they came to the house, they detained and eventually deported her.
Alerted by the commotion, neighbors had stepped in, backed up by the local police. At that point in the story, Renée burst into tears and left for the day. Later in the week, she was able to complete the narrative. When she was finally able to reach the children’s mother, who was staying with family in Mexico, Renée learned her former neighbor had been diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer with a poor prognosis. The children’s father was lost in federal bureaucracy, and despite attempts by various local agencies and non-profits, no one knew where he was nor when he might be returned to Mexico or released.
The mother begged Renée to adopt the children. Renée agreed, encouraged by Diego. Nell was facilitating the paperwork on a pro bono basis. As soon as the adoption was final, Renée planned to get passports for all of them. Diego and Renée hoped to take the twins and the baby to Mexico to visit their mother after the last strawberries were harvested, and again at Christmas time. I hoped the cancer would hold off at least until they could all say good bye.
By the time I had all the details, we’d finished the filing and killed a boatload of tissues.
As the drama played out behind the scenes, Brian and David still had time to entertain their friends for summer weekends filled with teenaged chatter, beach bonfires, and body surfing. Max joined us as often as he could between projects that required his immediate attention.
Renée and I prepared proposals for her board of directors and secured funding to rebuild the offices with modern amenities for the benefit of resort staff and guests. We’d found a company to install portable buildings out of which Renée’s team would operate while their new facility was built. Their temporary digs had a footprint similar to the more permanent design.
I worked with a local contractor to design custom storage Renée could use in the portables, but that would slot right into the permanent offices as soon as they were finished.
The NTSB’s preliminary report came out on Jake’s crash, ruling it an accident caused by a faulty propeller. Though we all believed Zeke had tampered with it deliberately, the nation’s best labs and scientists couldn’t come up with enough proof to charge the mechanic with a crime. It was impossible, given current technology, to prove that Zeke intended to kill Jake, or even to connect the damage he’d inflicted with the cause of the crash. According to experts consulted by Nell and Forrest, a good defense lawyer would argue that Zeke knew nothing about aviation or aeronautics, despite his apprenticeship in the maintenance shed at the airport.
Given Jake’s history of frequent propeller damage and repairs, it was impossible to say whether some other problem had hobbled the propeller and caused the crash. Zeke moved out of state to avoid censure from the local community.
Ranger Charlie Adams was promoted to a position in the northernmost part of the state. Before he left, he successfully lobbied for the funding his team needed to prevent a recurrence of the light staffing that had allowed the smuggling operation to thrive. No longer would bad guys be able to tie up his staff with false alarms or fake fires that kept all his personnel off the beach and allowed them to pursue illegal activities unmonitored.
While Renée got most of the budget increases she’d requested, the board held off on approving her personnel requests. In the meantime, we’d created a plan to contract out much of the work until she compiled statistics proving it could be done more efficiently with onsite staff.
As for us, Brian’s physical therapy efforts made it possible for him to keep his position as trumpet section leader in the marching band, though he gave up his place on the cross-country team. David would juggle both activities, along with a heavy load of advanced placement classes as he began his college search and application process.
Throughout the summer, we reveled in the wonders of the Monterey Bay Marine Sanctuary, entertained by the sea otters, harbor porpoises, whales, seals, and sea lions we could spy on while sipping breakfast coffee. We bought strawberries and organic vegetables at the farmer’s market in town on Friday evenings, knowing they’d been picked only hours earlier.
Max and I supported each other as our boys matured faster than we could keep pace. We did our best and tried to take our lives one day at a time, without fearing the rapid approach of our empty-nest years.
Whatever the future had in store for us as a couple or as a family, we promised to march into it together, accompanied by our beloved Belle, our cats Watson and Holmes, and our friends in both Orchard View and Heron Beach.
Maggie’s Homemade Anti-Skunk Shampoo
1 quart of 3% Hydrogen peroxide
1/2 cup of baking soda
1 teaspoon of liquid soap
Combine ingredients to make a shampoo. Large dogs may require a triple batch. Rub vigorously. Repeat as necessary.
Rinse well.
Note: Hydrogen peroxide is often thought of as a bleaching agent. Online instructions for lightening hair recommend applying a peroxide and soda mixture and letting it sit for more than an hour. Shampooing Belle’s fur with this mixture, I left it on for a moment or two, and could detect no change in the color after I’d rinsed it out well.
Sneak Peek
If you enjoyed Cliff Hanger, be sure not to miss Mary Feliz’s
Professional organizer Maggie McDonald manages to balance a fastidious career with friends, family, and a spunky Golden Retriever. But add a fiery murder mystery to the mix, and Maggie wonders if she’s finally found a mess even she can’t tidy up . . .
With a devastating wildfire spreading to Silicon Valley, Maggie preps her family for a rapid evacuation. The heat rises when firefighters discover the body of her best friend Tess Olmos’s athletic husband—whose untimely death was anything but accidental. And as Tess agonizes over the whereabouts of her spouse’s drop-dead gorgeous running mate, she becomes the prime suspect in what’s shaping up to become a double murder case. Determined to set the record straight, Maggie sorts through clues in an investigation more dangerous than the flames approaching her home. But when her own loved ones are threatened, can she catch the meticulous killer before everything falls apart?
Keep reading for a special look!
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Chapter 1
A crisis is a terrible time to develop an emergency plan. Be prepared.
From the Notebook of Maggie McDonald
Simplicity Itself Organizing Services
Sunday, August 6, 8:00 a.m.
I told the kids it was a drill. I told myself it was a drill. But I wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not the cats.
Late summer in California is fire season, and the potential consequences had never been more apparent, nor closer to home. Air gray and thick with smoke and unburned particulates was so dry it hurt to breathe. My compulsive refreshing of the Cal Fire website throughout the night revealed that the cause was an illegal campfire abandoned on the coastal side of the Santa Cruz Mountains. Thirty-six hours later, it now encompassed miles of state- and county-owned hiking areas and threatened to jump the ridge and barrel down on the South Bay, Orchard View, and our family home.
This morning, a dry wind originating in the Central Valley had driven the firestorm back across land it had already transformed to charred desert. Firefighters hoped it would burn itself out due to lack of fuel, but I knew anything could happen at any time, and I needed my family to be ready.
Like everyone else in flammable California, we work year-round to keep vegetation from growing too close to our house. Wide stone and concrete verandas surround our hundred-year-old Craftsman house on three sides, while our paved driveway and parking area protect the east-facing walls. A plowed firebreak separates our barn and field from the summer-dry creek that borders our land.
“Leave them here in the kitchen for now. Leave the crate doors open.”
“David,” I called to my fifteen-year-old, who was now unquestionably the tallest in the family. To the chagrin of my husband, Max, David had recently gained the few inches he required to realize that Max’s luxuriant walnut-colored curls were thinning. “Make sure to leave room on the back seat for the animals and two passengers.”
“Two?” David entered the kitchen from the top of the basement stairs.
“Ideally, we’ll take both cars. But I want to be prepared for anything.” I tilted my head toward the view outside the kitchen windows. A plume of smoke filled the sky on the far side of the ridge to the west. “If that blaze shifts direction and marches this way, we’ll need to clear out fast, no matter what. If one of the cars breaks down, I want us all to be able to jump into the other one.”
“We could strap Brian to the roof.” David’s eyes twinkled as he nudged his younger brother.
I rolled my eyes, but a smile escaped when I saw that both of my thrill-seeking boys were intrigued by the idea. I turned my attention back to packing up snacks, water, and our perishable food. Our initial plan, should we be forced to evacuate, was to camp out in the living room of my dearest friend, Tess Olmos, whose son, Teddy, was fourteen and a buddy of both Brian and David.
Tess’s house was a great Plan A, but I’m a belt-and-suspenders kind of gal and I needed a backup strategy. We packed as though we might resort to Plan B and end up in a shelter for a day or two. As a professional organizer, it’s part of my job to help people anticipate emergencies. It’s my superpower and my business. I sighed and pushed my wavy light-brown hair back from my forehead. Using my skills to streamline the lives of friends and strangers was a snap compared to getting my own family in line.