Drift (23 page)

He smiled patronizingly. “
Detective
Carrick,” he said with emphasis, “we are a respectable development company. We do not engage in those types of activities. We made an offer, Ms. Watkins refused, that’s that. I mean, we never made it a secret to the other townsfolk that holdouts could jeopardize the deal,” he said with a shrug. “But we’ve long since moved past that.”

“What do you mean?”

He smiled. “We game-planned around it, used it as a selling point. We figured it actually made sense to keep more of the farms. It adds to the scenic charm. Frankly, if she changed her mind at this point, I’d probably say no, because it would cost too much to change the plans.”

“And you already control all the land?”

He nodded. “We either own it or we have it under agreement. We’ll own it all by the end of the day. Next month, we’ll start digging, have people moving in before you know it. Shame you didn’t come to me earlier. Don’t worry, though.” He actually winked. “Once the development is finished, your property value will probably double.” He looked at his watch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Carrick, I have to get to a closing over in Fleetwood.”

“Thanks,” I said, a little stunned that no one wanted Nola’s property after all.

Rothe grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and pulled it on. When his right hand emerged from the sleeve, it was holding a business card, which he extended in my direction.

“If you’re thinking of trading up into some new construction, though, call me and I’ll make sure you get a great deal at Mountainside Meadows.”

I took the card and by the time it was in my pocket, Rothe was standing next to the door, waiting for me to precede him out.

He closed the door behind me and then passed me down the hall. “Okay, Sara, I’m off to Fleetwood,” he said, striding past the receptionist.

She gave me a nice smile as I walked out after him.

“Okay, Sara,” I said, smiling back. “I’m off to Dunston.”

*   *   *

Between the shock that Redtail wasn’t interested in Nola’s property and the abruptness of Rothe’s departure, I was halfway home before it occurred to me how strange it was that Rothe expected to get all those real-estate deals done in one day. Even with the parcels consolidated, it was still a dozen sellers. I called to ask him about that, but was sent straight to voice mail. I left a message asking him to call me, and before I could put my phone away, another call came in. It was Moose.

“Doyle?” His voice sounded small and afraid, breaking a bit like he was about to cry. I could hear a lot of noise and commotion in the background.

“Moose? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m at Squirrel’s place. In the bathroom. The police just showed up.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Squirrel.” He let out a sob. “They’re saying he’s dead, and now they’re asking me all these questions.”

“He’s dead? What happened?”

“I don’t know. But I’m scared.”

“Okay, sit tight. I’ll be right there.”

47

When I got to Squirrel’s house, Moose was sitting on the curb out front. His face was pale and wet. Two patrol cars were parked outside, and two uniforms stood by the front steps, looking worse than Moose. I wondered if these were the two “sissies” who had called in sick, Mitchell and Tomkpins, if Pruitt had dragged them in anyway.

Moose stood up unsteadily when he saw me, wiping his nose and making a visible effort to get himself together.

“So what’s going on?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I drove around the usual places a few times, then came back here to see if Squirrel was going to show up.” He was obviously distraught, but I couldn’t tell if that was all. “Then that asshole Pruitt shows up, getting in my face and asking me all these questions. I didn’t know what was going on. Then … then he says Squirrel is dead. And he starts asking me what I had to do with it.”

“How did Squirrel die?”

“I don’t even know. They won’t tell me.”

“Okay, where’s Pruitt? Is he inside?”

He nodded.

“Wait here.”

The two uniforms by the front door were barely old enough to drive. They both looked pale and sweaty. Their badges said Deeley and Ford, and I couldn’t help wondering, if these guys were dragging their butts to work like that, what kind of shape were those sissies Mitchell and Tompkins in. I nodded and walked past them before they could say anything, keeping my distance so as not to breathe in any of whatever they had.

Pruitt was sitting at the kitchen table, his face drawn and his jowls hanging low. His shades were in his shirt pocket. He looked up when I walked in.

“Aw, Jesus Christ, Carrick. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Moose called me.”

“Well, get out of here and take that little scumbag with you.”

“What happened?”

He stood up and came toward me. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask that little maggot out on the curb.” His voice was loud and sounded like it was getting away from him. “I don’t know what those two have been getting up to, but we found Squirrel under the Stony Creek railroad bridge. Looks like he was walking across and he slipped, but he’s got a fresh needle mark in his arm and puke on his shirt, and I don’t think that helped his footing any. So you tell that blubbering piece of shit out there he can either tell us what he knows, like where Squirrel got the stuff, or just get the hell out of here. And he better watch his goddamn step or I’ll lock his ass up, I mean it. Squirrel was a good kid before he started hanging around with that guy, messing around with all this shit. And if Moose had anything to do with it, I’m going to nail him for it.”

From the look in Pruitt’s eye and the way his lips were quivering, I could tell he was in a dangerous place. It didn’t seem like it would take much for him to snap, screw up both our lives for a long time.

I didn’t say a word, just turned and left. Outside, I paused a moment to collect myself, then trotted down the steps as if everything was cool.

The two uniforms waiting outside looked up at me, and I gave them the same nod as when I went in. “Where’d they take the body?”

The guy on the left looked at me suspiciously.

The guy on the right said, “St. Mark’s.”

I said, “Thanks,” and kept walking.

Moose was sitting on the curb again. He stood up when he saw me.

I walked right up to his face and whispered, “Are you stoned?”

“No!” he replied indignantly, shaking his head.

Up close, I could smell the apple hooch on his breath.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he said, not quite as indignant. “I had a couple of drinks while I was waiting for Squirrel, but—”

“Are you okay to drive?”

He nodded.

“Then go home. I’ll follow you.”

48

I regretted it as soon as I said it. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the grief, maybe it was just Moose being Moose, but I had suspected he would drive like an old lady, and I was right. It seemed like there was an invisible school bus in front of him; he never got above twenty miles an hour, and still he kept tapping his brakes. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was deliberately messing with me.

I used the down time to check in with Nola.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice sounded feeble and weak.

“You sound even worse.”

“I feel even worse. Is there any word on what they sprayed on my land?”

“Not yet. Did you ever hear back from Rupp about the corn?”

“No. I don’t think he’s taking it seriously, not that it really matters now.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news … Squirrel is dead.”

“
What?
” her voice disappeared briefly into a higher pitch than her throat could handle. “What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details yet, but it looks like an accident. They think he was stoned at the time.”

“Poor Squirrel.”

“Yeah. Moose is pretty broken up about it.”

“I’ll bet … Jesus.” As she said it, she started coughing, a dry, raspy cough that sounded like it hurt.

“That really doesn’t sound good,” I said. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I called my doctor.”

“You did?”

“He said there was something going around.”

“I heard,” I said. “Some kind of flu.”

She let out a small raspy laugh. “This isn’t the flu.”

“Well, there’s definitely something going around. Half the people at the funeral were coughing and Pruitt’s down to conscripting twelve year olds.…”

“
It’s not the flu
,” she snapped.

She said it with such authority, such finality, that it made me pause. And it made me realize that I kind of knew she was right. I kept wanting to blame the crop duster, only she hadn’t been around for that; I had, and I wasn’t the sick one.

“What do you think it is?”

She paused. “I don’t know.”

“Could it be the chemical thing? The MCS?”

“I hope not,” she said, quiet and scared, like she thought it was.

“Is this how it starts?”

She let out a sigh that trailed off into a crackly wheeze. “I don’t know, Doyle. It can be different every time. I tried to call Cheryl, to see how it started for her the third time. But I couldn’t get through.”

We were quiet for a moment. I didn’t know what to say. “Can I get you anything?”

“You can find out what they were spraying.”

Nola didn’t seem the type to scare easily, and the fact that she was scared filled me with dread. Made me think maybe I should be scared, too. I followed Moose up the driveway and parked next to him, waiting while he slowly got out of the truck.

As soon as we got inside, he slumped into an armchair.

I sat in the chair across from him. “So what the hell is going on?”

“Squirrel is dead.” His lip started quivering, and his eyes welled up.

“Yeah, I know that, but before I lose you, you need to tell me what you know about it. What was he mixed up in?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. What were you two up to?”

He bit his lip. “Before I tell you this, I want you to know, Squirrel was a good guy.”

“But he was a junkie.”

“No, he wasn’t a junkie. Never.” Moose seemed to be sinking into the chair. “But he was a scrumper.”

“A what?”

“A scrumper. You know he made his squish, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, he didn’t exactly buy the apples. He scrumped them.”

“You mean he stole them?”

He rolled his eyes like he didn’t want to say it. When they stopped rolling, they half-closed. “Yeah, I guess.”

“From where?”

“All different places. He’d find a place; then he’d move on. He was good about that. He didn’t take too much from any one place, even if he found a really good place, because that wouldn’t be fair.”

“Great.” His eyes were slowly closing. “Something I need to tell you,” I said, and they opened back up a little. “Last night a crop duster came and dusted us with something.”

They opened wider still and looked around. “What are you talking about? With what?”

“Don’t know yet.”

He stared at me like he was trying to make sense of it. “Nola’s, too?”

I nodded.

“Fuck. Does she know?”

I nodded again.

He thought for a moment, then his eyes closed completely. “I don’t even know what to think of that.”

In seconds, his breathing became more regular, and just like that, he was asleep. I couldn’t tell if he was exhausted from the emotional trauma of the past couple days, or if he was crashing after a high. Maybe both. He shook himself awake, and sat up, momentarily confused. “I’m going to go crash for a while,” he said, getting unsteadily to his feet.

I watched him slowly climbing the steps, and after a few moments thought maybe I would do the same. The quiet of the house seemed to be urging me on, coaxing me to sleep.

I sat back on the sofa and closed my eyes, but no more than a few minutes had passed before I heard the doorbell. When I stood up, my entire body ached. The bells started playing again as I was reaching for the door.

It was Sydney Bricker, with a tight little smile on her face.

“Hello, Mr. Carrick.”

As I smiled back, I realized even the muscles in my face ached. “What can I do for you, Ms. Bricker?”

She pulled out a leather folio and a pen. “One last paper you need to sign before we can transfer the assets.”

She opened the folder to a page with a red plastic tab at the bottom, next to a space for my signature. I started to read it, some innocuous thing about having been informed of some estate tax that did not even apply to me. I could have sworn the page was identical to one I had already signed, and I wondered if she had somehow screwed the other one up. She seemed nervous, and I decided not to call her on it. She handed me a pen with her name on it. When I twisted it open it felt solid and expensive.

“Not many lawyers make house calls, you know,” I said, as I signed it.

I expected her to bring up the property again, but she never mentioned it. As I handed her back the pen, she took it between her thumb and forefinger and dropped it into her breast pocket, like she didn’t want to touch it, like she was worried about catching whatever was going around.

“Thank you, Mr. Carrick,” she said with that same tight little smile. Then she turned and left, as if she was in a hurry to get away from me.

I watched her drive away, but as I turned to go back inside the house, my phone rang. When I looked at the ID, my heart sank. Dunston Police Department.

“Doyle Carrick,” I answered, and my phone immediately beeped that it was almost out of juice.

“Chief Pruitt here. I’m over at Dwight Cooney’s mom’s place, 819 Mill Road, about a quarter mile up the road from Dwight’s house. Got something you might want to take a look at.”

*   *   *

Cooney’s mom lived in a double wide. It was kind of run down, but with window boxes and shutters and a row of marigolds, it didn’t look half bad. She was watching from the front door, holding a towel over her mouth. When she saw me look over at her, she disappeared inside.