Читать книгу Don't Cry for Me - Sharon Sala - Страница 11

Five

Lonnie Farrell had been born and raised on Rebel Ridge, but his journey away from home sweet home began when he was fourteen. He got himself arrested for making and selling meth, which resulted in a four-year stint in a youth offender facility. He came out a wiser criminal than the kid he’d been going in and headed straight for Chicago, where he hooked up with the uncle of a kid he’d met in jail.

Among other things, Uncle Sol was a bookie with a somewhat tenuous hand in the business of prostitution. It soon became Lonnie’s job to make debtors pay up, which included dunning the “girls” who worked for Sol, making sure they didn’t shortchange him. Within twelve years Lonnie had revamped the whole prostitution angle from streetwalkers to high-class hookers, more than tripling Sol’s income.

But for Lonnie, the world of hookers and pimps was growing stale. He wanted more—more money, more challenges, more risks—which took him straight back to the reason he’d first gone to jail: making and selling drugs. No more cooking meth for Lonnie Farrell, though. He wanted in where the big money was: cocaine. He had everything in place except where he was going to set up shop, and for that he wanted a location that would be extremely secure. He’d thought about it long and hard before it came to him in a dream, and once it took hold, he’d considered it genius. Not only would it take him off the radar, but it would be unbelievably easy to protect. And the best part of it was he had a built-in link to cheap labor in the residents of Rebel Ridge. All he had to do was contact the long-distance owner and he would be in business.

* * *

Sylvia Dixon was furious. As of today she was officially divorced, and in her eyes that meant she had been cheated out of a proper settlement. Her ex, Robert Dixon, was worth a fortune—the last heir to one of Louisville’s old-money families. It was her opinion that the fact that she’d been married to him for less than four years should not have mattered, and she was still pissed at herself for signing that prenup.

Here she was, at the waning age of thirty-nine, with only a lump sum settlement of a quarter million dollars, her BMW, the uptown condo and no prospects in sight. With her lifestyle, that money would be gone within the year. She needed to make new plans—fast.

The three-inch heels of her Jimmy Choos marked her rapid stride with a clip, clip, clip as she stomped back to her car, slamming the door behind her as she got in.

“Smarmy bastard,” she muttered, as she pulled the settlement check out of her purse and quickly endorsed it before driving by the bank.

Her cell phone rang as she was about to leave, and the tone of her voice when she answered still mirrored her anger.

“Hello.”

Lonnie Farrell heard anger and immediately shifted into a different mode of approach than the one he’d planned.

“Hello. Mrs. Dixon?”

“Yes, who is this? How did you get my number?”

“I’m sorry. I should have identified myself first. My name is Lonnie Farrell, and your family lawyer gave me your number. I represent a company interested in buying some property you own back in Rebel Ridge.”

Sylvia smiled as her heart skipped a beat. In your face, Robert Dixon. I can still land on my feet.

She immediately shifted mental gears. “I apologize for my abruptness, but a woman in my position can’t be too careful.”

“Of course, I completely understand. Now, as to the reason I’m calling. Are you interested in selling your property?”

“You are referring to the Foley Brothers Mine and surrounding land?”

“Yes, ma’am. The company I represent is interested in buying it.”

Robert Dixon was not Sylvia’s first husband, nor had she hooked her well-to-do exes by being stupid.

“The mine is played out.”

“Yes, ma’am. We know.”

“What are you planning to do with it?”

Lonnie hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Right now the plans are in a development stage, but that shouldn’t concern you if you’re interested in selling.”

Sylvia had run her own cons, and this sounded suspicious.

“You want to buy an abandoned mine, but you’re not interested in mining?”

Lonnie was getting pissed, but there was too much riding on making this happen to let it show.

“I understand your curiosity, but I assure you, it’s not a secret. It’s the dark, damp interior and the constant temperature that make it ideal for our needs. We want the space for mushroom farming.”

Sylvia blinked. There couldn’t be much money in that. “I don’t know if this is going to work out. I can’t imagine there’s all that much profit in selling fungi, and I’m not in the market of giving things away.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lonnie drawled. “We’re willing to offer you half a million dollars.”

Sylvia stifled a gasp. “A half million dollars to grow toadstools? Obviously you think I’m an idiot. I do not want to be involved in anything illegal.”

“Toadstools are poisonous, and you’re overthinking our offer, Mrs. Dixon.” He threw in an amused chuckle for effect. “Do you want to do business, or shall I inform them you’re not interested, in which case we will just look for another source?”

Sylvia felt trapped. If Robert hadn’t divorced her, this conversation would have ended before it began, but a half million dollars? How could she refuse?

“I’m sure you understand my concerns, but it won’t be necessary for you to look any further.”

“Perfect! I’ll have the papers sent to you. The check will be with the papers. Just sign them both. You send me one copy and keep the other, as well as the check.” He waited, guessing that the offer of a lot of easy money would be hard to reject.

“I want a cashier’s check,” Sylvia said.

Lonnie grinned. “Of course,” he said. “What address should I use?”

Sylvia gave him the address of the condo where she would be living.

The call ended a moment later, and she dropped the phone in her lap and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands as she looked out the windshield.

The sun was still shining. The sky was still clear, and if that call had been on the up-and-up, she would soon be another half million dollars to the good. So why did she feel like she’d just sold a piece of her soul to the devil?

* * *

Quinn checked in at headquarters, got the location of the kill site and headed up the mountain. He couldn’t quit thinking about the condition of the hikers he’d found. Knowing the bear had taken down eight full-grown hunting dogs highlighted the growing danger. He just hoped to God that they found the monster before anyone else crossed its path.

Nearly an hour passed before he reached the location where the dogs had been killed. Although the carcasses had been moved, the ground was still black where the dogs had bled out. He could have found the trackers by following the sounds of their dogs as they moved farther up the mountain, but they didn’t need him.

If the bear was sick or wounded, then there would be no rhyme or reason to its movements, and it would likely be in serious pain. Any wound would have become infected, and the bear would be extremely feverish. The fever would keep the bear in a constant state of thirst, and immersion in water would be soothing, as well. He’d been thinking about this scenario ever since the first search had been called off. There was a creek less than a quarter of a mile from where he’d found the dead hiker that snaked downward in this direction.

He first needed to find the water, then search it for sign. If he was right and the bear was walking the creek to cool its feverish body, it would explain why the dogs had lost the trail on the first search, and would also pinpoint the track the bear was taking downward toward civilization.

Concern for Mariah was at the forefront of his mind, and while he hadn’t mentioned it to her, he’d already made a call to his mother and his sister, Meg, asking them to “drop by” and check on her. This was supposed to be his day off, so their appearance wouldn’t be suspect, and they could play dumb about knowing he’d been called in to work.

Of course they’d agreed far too willingly, which told him they were beyond curious about the woman he’d brought home. He sighed. In the long run he would pay, but he would endure whatever interrogation they gave him as long as he was assured that Mariah was okay.

He glanced around the kill site one last time and then checked his map before moving off into the woods. His rifle was hanging at the ready in the crook of his arm, his ear attuned to the sounds around him.

Within a short time he’d found a creek with swiftly moving water. He checked the coordinates and confirmed his suspicion that it was the same one he’d found up near the hikers. Now he needed to see if he could find bear signs. When he waded into the water, it immediately washed over the tops of his hiking boots, soaking his feet in an ice-cold rush.

“Oh, shit,” he said, then ignored the discomfort and began walking up-creek.

* * *

The bear’s gut was full. It had gone back to the kill site the same night and fed on three other carcasses before returning to the overhang. The meat had given it a burst of much-needed energy, and while the wound on its hip was still festering and running with pus, having a full belly gave it one less pain to address.

Just before sunrise a coyote returning from a night of hunting startled it awake. The bear growled in disagreement and then headed for water to slake its thirst. Once that was accomplished, it lay down in the creek, letting the cold, rushing water wash over its suppurating hip until it was blessedly numb.

By the time the Doolens and their dogs had reached the kill site, the bear was already moving downstream.

* * *

It was just before noon when Mariah woke up. The talk show she’d been watching was long since over and a soap opera had taken its place. She wrinkled her nose and switched off the show before making a slow, achy trip to the bathroom, dragging her leg as she went. It occurred to her that she was going to have to maintain a regimen of physical therapy whether she liked it or not, or she would be left with a pronounced limp.

Instead of the high-powered painkillers, she popped a couple of the over-the-counter kind and hoped for the best as she began to poke around the kitchen for something to eat.

She was standing at the cabinet, trying to decide between a can of chicken noodle soup and a can of beef stew, when she heard what sounded like a car engine. Thinking it would be Quinn, she smiled as she headed for the door. But the vehicle she saw through the window wasn’t his Jeep, it was a pickup, and two women were getting out.

One was older and gray-haired, wearing a loose-fitting dress. The other was much younger, but Mariah recognized her features. It was like looking at a female version of Ryal, right down to the slim build and height. These had to be some of Quinn’s family.

She looked down at herself and sighed. Gray worn-out sweats and a U.S. Army T-shirt with a tear under the arm. Not the outfit she’d hoped to be wearing to meet more members of his family.

What the hell? It was only clothes, and she didn’t adhere to the theory that clothes made the man—or the woman, as the case might be. Instead of waiting for them to knock, she opened the door and lifted her chin.

* * *

Dolly Walker was both anxious and curious. Quinn was the only one of her children who’d never married. In fact, he’d never had a girlfriend he considered serious enough to bother bringing her home to meet the family. The fact that he’d suddenly brought a woman home with him out of the blue had the whole family curious. Ryal had filled them in on who she was and why she was there, so after Quinn’s call this morning, she and Meg had been more than willing to check on her.

She’d baked a dried apricot cobbler, and Meg had made a meatloaf and roasted some potatoes. They knew the drill. Supposedly they were bringing some food to help Quinn out, thinking he would be there to introduce them.

As they drove up the winding driveway and across the open meadow, Dolly couldn’t help but think about how different the new cabin was from the old house she’d grown up in, but different in a good way. Her children would never be wealthy, but their occupations and lives were already steps above what hers had been, and for that she was proud.

“Hey, Mom, what are you thinking?” Meg asked, as the cabin came into view.

“That I need to keep an open mind and not judge.”

Meg frowned. “Are you thinking you won’t like her?”

“Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean that. I was thinking about what shape she’ll be in. Remember how Quinn was when he first came back? Whatever we said or did for him was wrong. He wouldn’t talk about it, and he didn’t want any help.”

Meg sighed. It had been hard on all of them to watch him suffer and be unable to help, but it had been hardest on their mom. When they were young, she’d always been able to fix their boo-boos. It had to be hell for a parent to see that kind of suffering and not be able to do anything about it.

“It’ll be okay, Mom. I think the main thing is to follow her lead.”

Dolly nodded as she got out of the car, but she wasn’t convinced. And then the door opened. The young woman standing in the doorway had her chin up and her shoulders back. She looked like she was gearing up for a fight, not greeting guests.

“Oh, crap, she doesn’t look happy,” Meg said.

“She doesn’t know us,” Dolly said, determined that if Quinn liked this woman, then she would like her, too.

She picked up her cobbler and headed for the cabin.

Meg followed with her own offerings as they walked up the steps.

“You must be Mariah,” Dolly said. “Meg and I brought you and Quinn something for supper tonight.”

“Quinn’s not here,” Mariah said, shifting nervously as she stepped aside to let them come in.

Meg frowned. “Oh, we’re sorry. This is his day off, so we just assumed…”

Mariah shrugged. “There was some trouble about a bear. I think they called everyone in to the ranger station.”

“Well, then, we’ll just introduce ourselves,” Dolly said, and set her cobbler down on the counter. “I’m Quinn’s mother, Dolly Walker, but you just call me Dolly. This is my daughter, Margaret Lewis, but we all call her Meg.”

“It’s nice to meet you, and the food smells wonderful,” Mariah said. “I’m sorry the sofa is out of commission, but you’re welcome to take a seat on what is now my bed.”

“We can sit out on the deck,” Meg offered.

Mariah didn’t want to argue, but Quinn had given her orders she wasn’t inclined to ignore.

“Quinn told me not to spend time outside until the bear was caught.”

Dolly glanced at the worry on Mariah’s face. Quinn had warned them about the danger, but she hadn’t taken it seriously until now.

“Then we can sit at the kitchen table just as easily.” She glanced at the clock. It was after twelve o’clock. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Mariah shook her head. “I was debating on which can of soup to open when you drove up.”

Meg waved toward the table. “You two sit. I’ll poke around and get all three of us something.”

Mariah sat because she didn’t know what else to do. She was already out of place here. Trying to play hostess would be a joke. She wanted these women to like her, but her track record with women friends wasn’t the best. She supposed it had to do with a lack of bonding as a child. The few times she’d actually gotten attached to a foster parent, she had been moved. After a while she’d quit trying.

Dolly could tell Mariah was ill at ease, but there was one thing they all had in common that would be safe grounds for conversation, and that was Quinn.

“So, you and Quinn were in the same combat unit in Afghanistan?”

Mariah nodded.

Dolly smiled as she reached for Mariah’s hands, holding them firmly in her grasp to punctuate her words.

“I know you saved my son’s life, and for that alone you will always hold a special place in my heart. Thank you, my dear. Thank you very, very much.”

The woman’s warmth was infectious. Mariah’s nerves began to settle. She felt embarrassed to be singled out like this when there were others who’d been there, too.

“We were just lucky to find him when we did,” she said.

“And how are you doing?” Dolly asked.

“‘Slowly but surely’ is a good way to put it,” Mariah said, and glanced at Meg, who was banging cupboard doors and opening drawers with confidence.

Dolly caught the look. “Don’t worry about her. She’s been here enough times in the past year that she knows where things are.”

Mariah nodded, but she still felt useless. She was scrambling for something to talk about and then remembered Quinn telling her that his mother had grown up on this property.

“Mrs. Walker, Quinn said—”

“No ‘Mrs. Walker’ business. Call me Dolly.”

“Okay. So, Dolly, Quinn told me you grew up on this property.”

Dolly’s eyes widened as memories washed over her. “Oh, yes. There were six of us kids, plus Mama and Papa. The old house wasn’t much, but it was home. All the girls slept in one bed. All the boys slept in another, and Mama and Papa were in the loft upstairs. Papa worked the mines, and Mama grew a big garden. The boys learned to hunt almost before they went to school, and all of us girls learned how to manage a house and feed a family with little to nothing to start on. We were dirt-poor and wore hand-me-downs until they were thin as tissue paper, but we always had each other and a whole lot of love.”

The words painted a picture that warmed Mariah all the way to her bones. What a gift it would have been to grow up like that.

“You were very lucky.”

Dolly shrugged. “There are plenty of people who would argue that with you. Living on the mountain can be a hard life.”

“Now, Mom, you know good and well money isn’t everything,” Meg said, and then winked at Mariah.

Meg’s wink made Mariah think of Quinn. “You and Quinn look alike,” she said.

Meg nodded. “I know. All of us Walkers look enough alike that you can definitely tell we’re kin.”

“I think I remember Quinn mentioning nieces and nephews. Are any of the kids yours?” Mariah asked. The smile on Meg’s face shifted just enough for Mariah to know she’d asked the wrong question. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten personal. You don’t have to answer that,” she said quickly.

Meg shrugged. “It’s old news, sugar. Besides, if you’re here, you’re considered part of the family and can ask anything you want. To answer your question, I do not have children. I would like to, but I’m minus a man in my life, so it’s not likely to happen.”

Dolly frowned. “Finish the story, Meg, or I’ll do it for you. It’s time you stopped being ashamed of something you didn’t do.”

Meg’s shoulders slumped, but she managed to put a smile on her face.

“What Mom’s trying to say is, I had a husband, but he’s now in the state penitentiary. I divorced him after he murdered a man down in Louisville over drugs.”

Mariah rolled her eyes. “That’s probably where a good portion of the kids I was in foster care with wound up. It’s also why I joined the army. The first eighteen years of my life pretty much sucked. I was looking for a place to belong, and in a lot of ways the army served me well.”

Dolly blinked. “You were in foster care your whole life? You never knew your parents?”

Mariah tensed, bracing herself for that look she got when people realized she was a throwaway.

“I was an abandoned baby, only a few hours old when someone found me. I grew up in the foster care system in Lexington until I aged out. After that I was on my own.”

Meg stopped making sandwiches and stared at Mariah, trying to imagine what it would be like to be that alone in the world.

But for Dolly, the story was shocking. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry I brought up a touchy subject.”

“No, it’s nothing like that, at least not for me. It’s a fact of my life and definitely taught me to be independent.”

Dolly got up, walked around the table and wrapped her arms around Mariah’s neck.

“Every motherly gene I have is imploding. This just breaks my heart, honey girl,” she said, and laid her cheek against the crown of Mariah’s head.

Mariah didn’t know how to react. She was confused and more than a little embarrassed, and Meg saw it.

“Ease up, Mom. If we scare her off before Quinn gets to work his magic, he’ll kill us.”

Dolly looked embarrassed, but Mariah laughed. And the moment the sound came out of her mouth, a little bit of the sad child she had been disappeared.

“Sandwiches are ready,” Meg said. “Looks like you have cold pop and iced tea to drink. What’s your pleasure?” she asked.

“Iced tea for me,” Dolly said.

“And for me,” Mariah added.

Dolly put the plates on the table, chattering as she worked. Meg was putting ice in the glasses and pouring tea while acting as the straight man for her mother’s monologues.

For Mariah, it was a peek into what a relationship between mother and daughter could be. It didn’t really make her sad, but she could definitely tell what she’d missed. And it was also an interesting view of how his family had molded Quinn into the man he was today.

They continued talking even after the food was gone, and Mariah was still smiling an hour after they left. When she finally lay down to take a nap, she rolled over and fell asleep without feeling a moment of panic. It was the first time since she’d been wounded that she slept without dreaming.

* * *

Every nerve Quinn had was on alert as he kept moving upstream. The squirrels chattering in the trees along the creek was normal, but the sudden silence that followed was not. He was jumping at every rustle in the brush, afraid he was missing clues beneath the water because he was so anxious about walking up on the bear.

Still, he couldn’t quit on this. His gut instincts kept telling him this was how the bear was getting away and why the dogs were losing the scent. Except for feeding, the bear was actually using the water as a highway.

He’d gone about a mile upstream from the kill site when he spotted something in the creek bed that gave him pause. There was a large, moss-covered boulder jutting out of the water with four long, distinct scratches cut into the moss. They were equally spaced and went all the way to the rock. It made him think of claws cutting flesh down to the bone, like he’d seen on the leg of the hiker he’d rescued.

He straightened abruptly, scanning the area to make sure he was still on his own, then took another step, slower this time, and began looking closer as he continued to move upstream. The next clue he found was on the actual creek bank, where a large chunk of earth and grass had been broken off, as if something very large and heavy had stepped too close to the edge and it had given under the weight.

He climbed up onto the bank to backtrack, eyeing the forest floor for further prints. But the ground was covered in leaves and pine needles in different stages of decay. If anything had passed that way, it wouldn’t have left any prints. He moved a few yards farther, still looking for signs of scat or the remnants of a kill. He was so focused on looking down that when something large suddenly darted out of the brush to his right, he fell backward. He was scrambling for his rifle when he realized it was only a deer. The doe leaped across his line of vision before disappearing downhill.

“Shit,” Quinn muttered, as he got to his feet and shifted his rifle to a better position.

He paused and looked up, then caught himself staring at the trunk of a sixty-foot pine. The gashes that had been cut into the tree were at least ten feet off the ground, maybe higher—just like the ones he’d found at the site where the hiker was killed. It was the bear—still marking territory.

He pulled out his two-way.

“Ranger Walker to dispatch, do you copy?”

“Go ahead, Walker.”

“What’s the status on the team of trackers? Over.”

“They lost the trail again about two miles from the canine kill site, over.”

“Are they still on the mountain? Over.”

“Yes. They’re moving down and east from Greenlee Pass.”

“I’m going to send you my coordinates. Tell them I’ll be waiting. I think I found something. Over.”

“Will do. Waiting to receive them. Over,” the dispatcher said.

Quinn ran his GPS, sent the location and settled in to wait. At best guess it would take most of an hour for the men to reach him. He glanced at his watch. It was already after 2:00 p.m. Once it got past 4:00, it got dark fast, and he had no intention of leaving Mariah home alone in the dark, nor did he relish a hike off the mountain after the sun had gone down.

He sat down on a rock, shed his backpack and then dug out a bottle of water and an energy bar. It wasn’t home cooking, but it served a purpose. As soon as he finished, he put the wrapper in his pocket, put the empty bottle in his backpack and settled down to wait.