Don't Cry for Me (11 page)

She wasn’t going to admit her fears to Quinn. In his eyes she was already a basket case. Telling him how intimidated she was by the solitude of this place would only increase his worries. If she was going to stay—and God knew she wanted to—it was up to her to get past it.

As she stood there, she heard an odd whistling sound and looked up. Moments ago the leaves on the trees had been motionless, as if the mountain had been holding its breath. Farther up she could see them beginning to dip and sway, as if in deference to the power of the oncoming wind. She frowned. The sky was clear. It couldn’t be a storm.

Her heart skipped a beat as she tracked the wind coming closer, shifting limbs, rattling leaves, then moving down across the meadow, parting the knee-high grass in its wake. It looked like an imminent attack. The urge to run was strong. But she refused to budge, and when the blast of wind finally reached the cabin, she was braced and holding on to the railing.

She expected a slap in the face. Instead it was a cleansing breath. She inhaled the pine-scented air and then lifted her chin as the wind tore through her hair, blowing away the feeling of sand in her eyes and cooling the desert from her blood.

It had to be a sign.

Coming here hadn’t been a mistake. Here she would heal. She knew it.

* * *

Late that night, long after Mariah and Quinn and all the other denizens of Rebel Ridge had gone to bed, a new predator was on the way to the mountain. A predator who walked on two feet, carrying a weapon on his hip rather than a broken one in his body, but with the same powerful urge to take what he wanted with no apology or regret.

Ten

W
hen Lonnie Farrell turned off the highway and started along the blacktop road up Rebel Ridge, the hair rose on the back of his neck. Up to now the drive from the airport in Frankfort had been relaxing, but the turn changed everything. The last time he’d been on this road he’d been fourteen years old, in handcuffs in the back of the sheriff’s car and on his way to jail.

He was years older and wiser now, and a hell of a lot richer, but that gut-wrenching memory had yet to abate. It had given him a hate for the law that drove everything he did, and every time he outwitted them it was another boost to his ego.

The plan he had for the old Foley mine was a good one, but it wouldn’t work unless he could pull in enough locals. He could have brought in any number of qualified people who’d worked with drugs before, but bringing in strangers to the mountain would be like hanging out a Come and Get Me sign. The loyalty and silence needed to make this endeavor work would come with the money he paid out. Jobs were few and far between up here. He was hoping that, except for a few self-righteous families who saved their allegiance for religion, having access to local work would be too inviting for most people to turn down. This was where his brother-in-law came in. Buell was a son of a bitch, but he knew the people up here better than Lonnie did, so he was counting on Buell to round up the right kind of crew.

As he drove, he began noticing mailboxes grouped at different turnoffs where narrow one-lane roads disappeared up into the trees. Sometimes there were only two or three boxes, but sometimes as many as eight or ten—an indication of how many homes and families were hidden up in the woods as well as the mountain people’s love for solitude and privacy. The houses that were visible along the road varied in appearance. There were simple houses, some in need of a paint job, but neat and well kept, but others looked uninhabitable even though they were still sheltering families. He’d lived in one of those. A muscle in his jaw jerked as he looked away. This trip was a stark reminder of how far he’d come.

He thought about his mother. She’d done the best she could for him and Portia, but growing up without an old man had been tough. She’d turned him into the man of the family, whether he’d wanted it or not, and he’d spent four years in juvie because of it. But when you were the man of the family, you did what you had to, whether it was legal or not. He’d funneled plenty of money back to her over the years and was curious to see if she’d done anything with it, or if she’d let the double-wide he’d bought her fall into disrepair like the house they’d once lived in. Considering their past, he wasn’t looking forward to spending the night there, but it was too far to drive back and forth to a hotel in Mount Sterling, and if Buell had done his job, it would only be for one night.

As he continued to drive, he noticed names on the mailboxes that he remembered, but he couldn’t recall the faces that went with them. Then he passed one mailbox that actually made him smile. He distinctly remembered Mrs. Venable. Everyone called her Granny Lou. He couldn’t believe she was still living. Even back then he’d thought she was old.

He slowed down for a big curve, reading the names on these mailboxes as he went: Reneau, Samuels and Walker. There’d been a couple of Walker boys close to him in age. He tried to remember their first names but couldn’t. It had been too long, and, truth be told, he didn’t much care.

As he came out of the curve he suddenly hit the brakes and swerved to keep from running over a kid playing in the road.

“Son of a bitch.” He threw the car into Park and took a moment to breathe.

The kid looked as startled as Lonnie felt and darted off into the brush. There was a roof just visible through the trees, and Lonnie assumed that was where he belonged.

His heart was pounding as he put the rented Hummer back in gear and drove on.

* * *

Gertie Farrell had begun cleaning house when her grandkids left for school and continued to clean all day as she sent Portia off to shop for groceries down in Boone’s Gap. Her son-in-law, Buell, left right after breakfast, and she didn’t expect him back until evening. She hoped he was doing what Lonnie had asked him to. It would be a shame on the family if, after all her son had done for them, they failed in their first opportunity to return the favor.

She was very excited about this new venture Lonnie was starting. It would mean much-needed jobs on the mountain. As she mopped the floors on her hands and knees, she imagined her friends’ looks of envy, knowing it was her son who’d brought prosperity to Rebel Ridge.

Once the cleaning was finished she put some dried apple slices to soak while she made up pie crusts. She’d promised to fry up some pork chops for Lonnie and make him a dried apple pie.

As soon as Portia returned from the grocery store, Gertie sent her outside to mow the yard. It was the one job she managed to get out of Buell, but since he was now employed, Portia could do it just as well. Gertie glanced out the window as she rolled out her pie dough, trying not to judge her daughter, but it was hard. Portia had been wearing that same pair of pants and shirt for three days straight, and her hair was lank and greasy. When Portia turned a corner with the mower, her blouse came up, revealing a roll of white, dimpled fat around her waist.

Gertie sighed. She didn’t blame her daughter for the ne’er-do-well she’d married, because there weren’t a lot of choices in men to be had around here, but she did blame her for letting herself go. As poor as they’d been, Gertie had still taken pride in staying fit and clean. Portia, on the other hand, was a good sixty pounds overweight, and with the nice washer and dryer that had come with their double-wide, she had no excuse for not wearing clean clothes.

Gertie worried how Lonnie would view her own appearance. She’d grown old and wrinkled since he’d last been home.

And then there were her grandchildren. They were often rude and mouthy, something she had never tolerated in her own offspring. Oh, well, Lonnie would be here before dark. It was too late to worry about all this now.

Once she had her pies in the oven, she took some pork chops out of her freezer and set them on the counter to thaw. The fact that her son had not been home in over fifteen years was a sore she couldn’t heal. She’d never known if it was fear of the law who’d once taken him away, or shame that this was where he’d been born. What she did know was that he had never forgotten her. That was all that mattered.

* * *

For the first time in Buell Smith’s life he had purpose. Knowing he was going to be in charge of something was a huge ego boost. He’d been at this hiring business for a day and a half, and already he had twenty-seven men who’d promised to show up at the gates to the old Foley Brothers Mine.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t nervous. All of this hinged on them actually showing up and Lonnie approving of his choices. There was also a slight concern among the men that, knowing Lonnie, this venture would turn into something illegal, but the promise of steady money was too good to pass up.

This morning, when Buell got up he had actually showered and shaved and put on clean clothes. Portia made a big-ass deal out of it, even teasing him, which pissed him off. But he would show her. He could make good just like Lonnie. And if he was going to be a boss, he needed to look like one. Screw anyone else who laughed at the change in his appearance. Buell Smith had come into his own.

He loaded up his meager assortment of tools, including a couple of shovels and a bolt cutter in case Lonnie planned on going onto the actual property today, and drove away. The gates across the driveway to the mine were chained and locked. They’d long since rusted and sagged from the years, but the chain had held, and no one had been interested enough in a shutdown mine to ever cut it.

He arrived far too early, but his anxiety in doing this right was paramount. He parked in the shade just off the road and settled down to wait

* * *

Lonnie was only a half mile from where he’d grown up. He was debating with himself about stopping now and saying hello to his mother. But if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stay long. He was due at the mine in just over an hour, which meant Mama was going to have to wait. There were no pangs of regret as he passed the road leading up to the home place. Life had long since weaned him from that tie. He kept going over the speech he planned to make to the men—if, in fact, any showed up. His faith in Buell had yet to be proven.

* * *

When the first two men showed up at the entrance to the old mine within seconds of each other, Buell’s anxiety started to ease. Maybe, just maybe, he would actually pull this off. By twelve o’clock there were more than a dozen waiting—some sitting on the tailgates of their trucks, some trading tales, some nervously silent, as if this was too good to be true.

It was a quarter to one when the last three men showed. It was all Buell could do not to strut. He’d done it. Lonnie had better, by God, be appreciative, too. He couldn’t afford to lose face in front of these men when he was supposed to be their boss.

Five minutes later they heard the sound of a powerful engine approaching, and all of them turned to see who was coming around the bend.

The hair rose on the backs of Buell’s arms. Every instinct he had told him this was a turning point in his life. And when the big black Hummer appeared, his eyes widened. One day he was going to drive something like that. He just knew it.

“Is that him?” one man asked.

“Damn, that’s a Hummer,” another one commented.

The murmurs of appreciation and envy ran through the crowd as the car approached, and they only increased when the driver stopped and got out.

Lonnie knew first appearances made a difference. He also knew that his past and reputation preceded him. He intended to make sure they saw the benefits he had reaped. When it came time to reveal the second part of his venture, it would be crucial to make sure they were willing to take the risks.

He’d left his fancy suits back in Chicago, but he was wearing designer jeans, a blue silk shirt and a chocolate-brown bomber jacket. The skinny body and acne he’d had at fourteen were long since gone. He wasn’t handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a look women called interesting, and he was satisfied when he looked in a mirror. His boots were made from alligator, an exotic hide few here would have seen. Add a Rolex watch and a three-carat diamond pinkie ring, and he was going to be the topic of every man’s conversation at the supper table tonight.

Buell stepped forward, smiling. For the first time in his life he felt pride in his connection with this man.

“Lonnie, it’s good to see you,” he said.

“You, too, Buell,” Lonnie said, and shook Buell’s hand. They’d never officially met except through pictures and phone calls, but he wasn’t going to let on.

He needed them to believe he and Buell were tight, so that if they fucked up in Buell’s presence they would be confident he would pass the message along.

As he turned to the men, his smile died. He narrowed his eyes against the sun as he looked through the assembled crowd. Buell had done well. There were at least two dozen men of varying ages here, all with one thing in common: a hungry look in their eyes. That was something he could work with.

“Gentlemen, my name is Lon Farrell. Some of you look familiar, some don’t, but I’ve been gone a long time, so if you’re someone I should know, you’ll have to forgive me. When I began thinking of where to locate my newest business venture, I thought of Rebel Ridge. It’s obvious that jobs are still in short supply here, and I understand you’re all available to work as of today. Is that correct?”

His answer came in an accumulation of muttering, head shakes and
yes, sirs.
He would take it.

“Good. You’re getting in on the ground floor of a new company I’m starting. There’s a huge market for organic anything in the cities, and exotic and specialty mushrooms are in high demand. I don’t know how many of you are aware that there are actual mushroom farmers, and that the mushroom spores are planted like seeds in a dark, damp environment, then grown to maturity in a relatively short time before harvesting. When I began considering this latest venture, I asked myself where I could go and have easy access to these basic needs. Then I thought of old mines and their long tunnels, which led me to Rebel Ridge. As of a few days ago, I now own this mine and the surrounding land, and as soon as we clear access and shore up the interior of the initial tunnel, we’ll be ready to start. As I said before, the turnaround time for harvesting is surprisingly short, so profits come quickly. But before we begin, I need clear access to the mine itself, which means cutting brush, filling potholes in the old road, whatever it takes. Understand?”

They nodded, but he had a feeling that if he’d told them he was going to grow warts, they would still be on board.

“Stay with me on this and I’ll make it worth your while. I’m paying fifty dollars a day, cash money, and once the business gets under way we’ll adjust the pay scale up accordingly and fill out papers for taxes and all. Is that satisfactory with everyone?”

They were smiling. One had tears in his eyes. Lonnie knew he had them in the palms of his hands. Once they got their first paychecks he would have them in his pocket. He loved it when a plan came together. At that stage he pointed to the Hummer.