The Highway (13 page)

He thought he knew what to do next, but he hesitated. He kept looking at his phone, willing it to ring and for Danielle to be on the other end. He sent three texts, one after the other, asking if she was okay, asking her to call. He copied Gracie in each time. When neither responded, he once again tried to call and once again got the message.

The last thing in the world he wanted to do that night was to tell his mom what was going on. She didn’t like Danielle and didn’t approve of him pledging himself to a girl in another state throughout high school. Danielle had been clingy and proprietary. His mom would go ballistic if Danielle simply showed up for Thanksgiving. And she might not believe that Justin wasn’t in on it.

Should he call Danielle’s mother? He barely knew her.

He did know Ted Sullivan quite well. But what he knew of him didn’t fill Justin with any confidence. Ted would likely get hysterical and create problems that didn’t yet exist.

Then there was his dad. He wouldn’t be as emotional or judgmental about the situation. After all, he’d saved all their lives. But his dad was at best unpredictable. When Cody Hoyt had his fuse lit, anything could happen. Justin wasn’t sure he wanted to be the one holding the match.

17.

9:01
P.M.
, Tuesday, November 20

A
T THE
TABLE
in the back corner of Jester’s Bar, Cody leaned toward Cassie, bared his teeth, and said, “That’s right. Tubman owns sapphire mines. Three of ’em. He leases them out with a contingency agreement. Tubman gets forty percent of the proceeds if the miners hit it big.”

Cody’s face was close enough to Cassie so that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Two shots of Jim Beam, two bottles of Coors Light. Certain words—
sapphire, contingency
—were strung out and loopy when he used them. His once clear eyes were now slits. A veiny bloom of tiny red blood vessels had appeared on his nose and cheeks.

Since they’d been there, Cassie had counted thirteen people who’d entered the bar, seen them in the corner, and left without buying a drink. Thirteen people who had either had encounters with Cody Hoyt or knew of him by reputation and didn’t want to be in the same room with him. The bartender glared at them every time the door shut. Cody was either oblivious to what was happening, or didn’t care.

“I don’t get it,” she said, barely sipping on her third glass of wine. She was feeling it. But she wanted the dirt on the sheriff and in order to keep Cody talking, she needed to play along—even if there was no way she could keep up. She said, “So what if he has some mineral leases. There’s no rule against it that I know of.”

“There isn’t,” Cody said. “And from what I understand, he married into it. His wife Dixie’s family has lived in the county for years. The mines are in her name, but you know how that goes.”

Cassie shook her head, not understanding.

Cody rolled his eyes, apparently annoyed that she couldn’t connect the dots.

“There are a few legit miners,” Cody said. “Some of them are as honest and hardworking as the day is long. But think about some of ’em we’ve dealt with like Tokely and that fucking B. G. We know they use the mines as cover for dealing, right?”

“We suspect it,” Cassie corrected.

“We
know
it,” Cody said. “And guess what?”

“What?”

“Two of the mines Tubman owns are worked by Tokely and B. G.”

“Oh,” she said.

“That’s right. So haven’t you ever wondered why—as a department policy—we take it easy on those people up there? Haven’t you ever wondered why we don’t do any surveillance in the Big Belts? Haven’t you ever wondered why Mr. Law-and-Order Tubman hasn’t done a high-profile raid up there and hauled their asses in?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” she said. “I haven’t been here that long.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I don’t give a shit about them either. Live and let live, I say. I don’t care if they’re high on weed all the time or even if they shoot each other, as long as they keep it to themselves and don’t involve any civilians. But you’d think our sheriff might care, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not sure where this is going,” she said.

“Where it’s going,” Cody said, “goes back to that contingency agreement I mentioned. Tubman gets forty percent of the gem revenue. But it seems to be an all-cash business, just like dope. So how do we know that forty percent comes from the sale of sapphires?”

She sat back. “You’re saying Tubman is involved in drug dealing?”

“Nope,” Cody said. “I’m saying he gets payments from those people. I doubt he asks for copies of receipts from gem sales, is what I’m saying. Guys like B. G.—do you think he keeps good records? Do you think B. G. keeps one set of books for gem sales and one set for drug sales? Hell no, he doesn’t. He commingles all his cash and he pays Tubman a percentage overall. Tubman probably never asks where the money came from, and B. G. probably couldn’t tell him anyway. But I’ve done some snooping. Tubman has a nice house worth three-quarters of a million, plus a property up on Flathead Lake. That’s a highbrow place. He’s got snow machines and four-wheelers and who knows what else. You think he was able to afford all those things on his sheriff’s salary?”

She nodded her head. “So how do you know you’re right about this? If the mines are in his wife’s name, how can you really say the sheriff is doing something crooked? It could be her money.”

Cody simply grinned at her. “Think what the newspaper would do with that info come election time?” he said. “All they have to do is report the facts. Voters might not look too kindly on a sheriff who appears to be getting rich doing his job. And you can bet anyone running against him would bring it up. If Tubman spends all his time defending himself, he looks tainted. And in local politics, perception is reality.”

He signaled for another round.

“Please, not another one,” Cassie said. “We’ve got to get you out of here before—”

“Before what?” Cody asked. “I’ve got nowhere to go, thanks to you.”

The bartender arrived with his head down. He looked whipped.

“I see what’s been happening, partner,” Cody said to him. “You’ve been losing a lot of business tonight.”

The bartender nodded.

Cody shifted in his stool and reached back and opened his wallet again. This time, he handed the bartender a Visa card.

“Buy everyone left in the place a couple of rounds,” Cody said to him. “And one for yourself because you look like you need it. And another wine for the pretty lady here.”

“I’m fine,” Cassie said quickly.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Cody said. To the bartender: “Keep it flowing until I tell you to stop. For everybody in the place. They’ll call their friends back and we’ll all have a good old time.”

The bartender left with the card, and announced to his remaining customers that the party had started. The bikers lifted their beer bottles in Cody’s direction. Cody took it all in, acknowledging the accolades.

To Cassie, he said, “This is how drunks make friends.”

She shook her head, “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“This is the real me,” he said. “I used to be a fun guy before I turned into a sober curmudgeon.”

And your son and your wife came back,
she thought but didn’t say.

As the bartender delivered drinks to everyone, Cassie said, “I was asking you how you knew all this about the sheriff.”

“You were?”

“Yes.”

He held her eyes with his, and he smirked. “Have you ever met Dixie Tubman?” he asked.

“The sheriff’s wife?”

He tilted his head and grinned. It was an unfamiliar man-to-man gesture that unnerved her.

“Before Jenny came back I catted around a little,” he said, still smirking. “Dixie gets kind of lonely in that big house all by herself when Tubman is away giving speeches or politicking.”

“
You slept with the sheriff’s wife?
” she said, raising her voice. Someone had fed the jukebox and the guitar intro to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Gimme Three Steps” was playing.

“I fulfilled a need.” Cody winked. “Didn’t do much actual sleeping. Damn, I always liked that song.”

She rubbed her eyes. “I’m trying to wrap my head around this,” she said. “So how did you find out about the mines and the contingency agreements?”

“Pillow talk.” He laughed. “When she wasn’t biting the pillow, I mean.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“I used to be an asshole when I drank,” he said frankly. “Everybody told me that. So many people told me I began to believe it might be true.”

“Does Tubman know?”

“Know what? That I was an asshole?”

“That you slept with his wife!”

“Keep it down, girlie,” he said, “All I know is
I
didn’t tell him.” He reached out and put his hand on hers. She pulled her hand away.

He was obviously drunk, she thought. The evening had taken a turn she had dreaded but anticipated. Men like Cody—in fact, most men she’d been around—would eventually make a play. It wasn’t that they pined for her, or wanted her, or even thought much about her during their day. It wasn’t even
personal,
which kind of hurt. It’s just what they did, what they were hardwired to want to do. She’d once mistakenly believed a situation like this might turn out to mean more. Hence, her son.

“So no more about the pillows, is what you’re saying.” He chuckled.

She turned and slid off her stool. The wine fogged her brain and she reached out to steady herself.

“I’m not going to stay,” she said to him. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Home?”

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t think you want Jenny to see you like this. So I’ll drive you to a motel for the night.”

“What about your place?” he leered.

“My mother and son wouldn’t like it,” she said. “And I wouldn’t, either.”

Then he looked up over her shoulder and his face changed. The leer was gone. Suddenly, he looked stricken.

She turned and recognized Justin from the football photo Cody had showed her.

18.

9:33
P.M.
, Tuesday, November 20

J
USTIN DROVE
CODY HOME
in his car. Cassie Dewell followed them in Cody’s pickup after Justin agreed to return her to her Honda later. His son drove with barely controlled fury, but laid out the circumstances of the night; how Danielle and Gracie Sullivan had suddenly stopped communicating with him.

Cody sat in embarrassed silence although his heart was racing and the comforting buzz of alcohol coursed through his blood stream. Home was a beige two-story ranch with a double garage, on a block lined with beige two-story homes in a new development on the north side of Helena. So new, that he could still see the seams of grass sod on the front lawns and all the cue-stick-sized tree trunks were secured with wires to T-posts so the wind wouldn’t blow them away. Justin swung into his driveway and nearly kissed bumpers with Jenny’s car, missing it by inches.

Cody said, “I can’t ask you to lie to your mom. But you could just not say anything.”

Justin refused to look over at him. He said, “Just help me find those two girls. Then you can go out and destroy yourself again.”

It was like a knife to the heart, and Cody moaned. He rubbed his face with both hands and tried to will himself sober. He hated the role reversal; his son as the parent, himself as the miscreant. He was embarrassed for Justin and angry with himself.

Justin got out and Cody followed. Cody’s boot caught a crack in the driveway concrete and he tripped and righted himself by grabbing the hood of the car. Justin simply looked at him, shook his head, and went inside the house.

Cody stood there for a moment breathing in cold air, feeling the frigid sheet metal of the roof numb his bare hands. He watched Cassie park his truck in front of the house and was still there when she walked up.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone to pat you down,” she said.

“Feel free,” he said sullenly.

She shook her head. “Just remind Justin I need a ride back for my car.”

“Come inside out of the cold,” he said, standing up. He was grateful he didn’t swoon. “No reason for you to stand around out here.”

She started to object but he said, “Please.”

She sighed and nodded.

“Jenny might start swinging,” he said. “You might have to protect me.”

“I’ll probably help her,” Cassie said, deadpan.

He paused inside the front door and kicked off his muddy boots. One thing he liked about the place was that it still smelled new—new paint, raw lumber, fresh carpet. It was the first new house he’d ever owned and he wondered how long it would take him to damage it. Every hovel he’d ever lived in he’d left with fist-sized holes in the walls, carpets stained from whiskey spills, and bullet holes in the molding. But that was before he stopped drinking and raging and before Jenny decided to give him one more chance.

She was standing at the top of the landing with her arms crossed, looking down at them. Justin stood behind her. Jenny had long dark curly hair, blue eyes, a pug nose, and was fit and trim due to her daily runs. She wore a loose-fitting sweatshirt and tight jeans.

As he evaded her eyes she said, “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Oh,” he said, “This is Cassie Dewell. She’s my …
used to be
 … my partner.”

“What happened?”

Cody paused, hoping Cassie would say the right thing. But she remained quiet other than to say, “Nice to meet you” to Jenny.

“I got suspended again,” he said. “Well,
fired
actually.”

He would have preferred it if Jenny cursed or threw something at him. Instead, she closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. Her disappointment cut deeper than cursing or anger.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down.

“Justin,” Cassie said from behind him, “About that ride…”

Cody didn’t want Justin or Cassie to go. He didn’t want to be alone with Jenny.

“What did you do?” Jenny asked coldly. “I mean, before you went out and got shitfaced?”