Deadfall Read online

  “I thought you junked it,” Cory said.

  “I’m afraid Charlene is complicit in this ruse. In fact it was her idea, seeing as I am not a fan of surprises. I had it refurbished top to bottom at a specialty shop in Redmond. The engine is rebuilt. The tires and suspension are new. The leather seating has been replaced, along with new carpeting and hood liner. I even had them install an integrated stereo, nav system, and back-up camera.”

  “It’s…it’s incredible,” Ty said, circling the car, peering in windows.

  “This vehicle has sentimental value for me,” Harvey said. “It was the first unit I purchased for the dealership, and the first car we sold.” He brushed his fingers along the driver’s door as if he were caressing the fur of an exotic animal. “The owner, a local guy named Daryl Summers, was transferred to Milwaukee ten years ago. I thought I would never see this car again. But he retired and moved back to town last year, and amazingly was still driving it. I convinced him to trade it in for a new Dakota. I kept it here, thinking that I would fix it up and give it to Justin—but didn’t have a reason to start the project. Then you two entered the picture, and it seemed like the right thing to do.” He tossed the keys to Ty. “It’s yours to drive while you’re here. All I ask in return is that you help transport the kids to their various activities. Kayla used to perform that—” Harvey stopped, closed his eyes. Cory thought, That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him say her name. Harvey opened his eyes. “We will pay for one tank of gas a month and cover the insurance.” He pushed a button on the wall. As the garage door rumbled up, he said to them over the noise, “Go on, take her for a spin.”

  Cory was confused. He and Ty were allowed to drive the Motts’ cars, but never without Harvey or Charlene in the vehicle. “Just me and Ty?” he asked.

  Harvey grinned wide and white. “Treat her like she’s my firstborn child.”

  It was at times like this that Cory could see why the Luster-folk loved him so much. And why statewide politics seemed like the logical next step. Harvey had the kind of smile that screamed, Vote for me and your life will be so freaking awesome! Cory opened the passenger door, could smell the new leather. He choked out, “We will. Thank you.”

  Ty dropped Cory off at the high school, then headed for the baseball field in their new ride to log a few hours of batting practice. Cory took the shortcut through the cafeteria to his least favorite room in the school, the gymnasium. He didn’t know how many people would be at the gym since this CPR/first aid class was just for the employees of Mott Enterprises. Between the three businesses, Harvey employed over two hundred people, so it could be anywhere from five to fifty. There was an eight-foot table set up on the far side of the gym next to a TV on a cart. Dummies were lined up on the floor, ready for chest compressions and rescue breathing. He was relieved to see it was a small group—just seven souls including himself. He recognized two from the dealership; the rest he didn’t know, which meant they probably worked at the hardware store. He picked a seat at the end, wrote his name on a name tag, and stuck it to his shirt. The instructor, a short, thin guy wearing a dark blue LUSTER FIRE DEPARTMENT T-shirt handed him a class booklet and told him to take it home. Cory was looking at the big clock over the scoreboard, his mind elsewhere, when the one person he didn’t expect to see walked out of the women’s locker room. She spotted him right away, stopped, looked like she was going to turn right back around.

  The instructor shouted, “Time to get started, Mott minions. We have a lot to cover and only three hours to do it.”

  She walked to the table, sat in the chair directly across from Cory. She already had a name tag on. The girl who’d avoided him at school and every other conceivable place for three months and had yet to say a single word to him smiled and said, “Hi, Cory.”

  He said, “Hi, Kayla.”

  She said, “Your tag is upside down.”

  Kayla paired up with Cory during the partner chest-compression practice, but their conversation was limited to commanding each other to call 9-1-1. She switched to a guy named Jackson for choking, tourniquet application, and splinting broken bones. Cory got nauseous as usual during the wound management section, and almost tossed his cookies when the instructor showed an actual picture of an open fracture where the bone punctured the skin. But he felt her brown eyes on him, and that helped him keep his cookies untossed.

  When the class ended, Cory dashed to the men’s room for a long-overdue visit. But when he returned, though most of the class was still there, Kayla was gone. So we’re back to avoiding mode, he thought. Cory texted Ty that he was ready for a pickup, and headed for the door. On his way out, the instructor said, “Hey, Cory, you forgot your booklet. You need to fill out the back page and turn it in to your manager if you want credit.” Cory grabbed it, stuffed it in his pocket, thanked him, and left.

  Later that night, when they were both in bed, Ty turned off his light and said, “I stopped by the dojo before I picked you up.”

  “So…?” Cory said, more interested in the shrimp creole recipe he was reading than what Ty had to say.

  “Doug told me a guy called today wanting to know if Ty Bic trained there.”

  “Oh?” Cory said, significantly more interested than he was a second ago. “What did Doug tell him?”

  “He said, ‘Yes. But Ty’s not here now,’ and asked if the guy wanted to leave a message.”

  “Did he leave a message?”

  “No. He hung up.”

  After a beat, “Did he offer Doug a free tow?”

  “I didn’t ask. But I’m thinking, yeah, he probably did.”

  “So how’s that smoking-hot fastball working for you now?”

  “Whatever.” Ty rolled over on his side and faced the wall. “Sweet dreams, bro.”

  Cory waited for more but knew it wouldn’t come. When Ty faced the wall, that meant talking time was done. He put down the cookbook, no longer interested in the right way to devein a shrimp. He considered filling out the back page of the CPR notebook but couldn’t find the will to do that either. So he reached for the headphones and his laptop. Five minutes later he was facing certain death against a bilge hag on level six and had no time to worry about a phone call from some guy who may or may not be missing his pinky finger.

  STUMPTOWN

  NOW

  34

  “The loo?” I say, struggling to not make a big deal of her finally using words. “That means the bathroom, right?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  “Thanks for bringing it up. Now I have to go too.”

  She smiles.

  “Number one or number two?”

  She frowns, hold up three fingers.

  “Shit,” I say. Then, “Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant like, oh shit, what do I do now?”

  She whispers, “Please hurry.”

  I scan the space. Going outside—obviously not a choice. That means somewhere in here. But where? And how? Suddenly this hole in a hill feels even smaller. I spot the hammer and saw hanging on the wall behind the stove. “Can you hold it for three minutes?”

  She shows me two fingers.

  “Right.”

  I crawl to the stove, then stand and take down the hammer. I use the claw to pry loose two of the six-inch-wide floorboards, exposing the ground underneath. There are too many rocks to dig a trench. There’s a board next to the stove that looks a little loose already. I slip the claw underneath it and easily lift the board. Then blink in disbelief. There’s a green garbage bag sealed with duct tape.

  I reach down and pull out it out, tear it open, and shake the contents onto the floor. There are at least a dozen ziplock freezer bags with stacks of money wrapped with rubber bands. I get my headlamp, crouch down, and peer underneath the floor. The joists run parallel to the front wall. The spaces between them are filled with garbage bags. I haul out another one, tear into it, and dump it out. More freezer bags, more money. I glance at Astrid. She’s staring at me, her expression both pained
and confused. I say, “Hang on another minute.” Back to my discovery, I notice a couple freezer bags are smaller and do not contain stacked bills. I pick up one for a closer look, see a handful of clear crystals inside—and know instantly what that is.

  Astrid groans. It’s time to get back to the task at hand. I use the claw end of the hammer to dig a trench in the dirt. “There’s your loo.” I walk to Astrid and help her sit up. “What can I do?”

  “Loo roll?” she says.

  My mind is still reeling from the bags of cash. I’m too confused to translate.

  “To wipe…” she says.

  “Oops. My bad.” I unzip a side pocket on my pack and realize the toilet paper is in Ty’s pack. We could use one of my extra socks but how many times will that fix work? I don’t have enough socks. I scan the space and settle on the only viable solution for this emergency. I unwrap and hand her a stack of twenties—the smallest denomination I could find. I say, “Only the best in Chateau de Stumptown.” She smiles, more likely in relief than at my attempt at humor. I shove the bags of money aside to clear a path to the trench.

  “What else can I do?”

  She circles a finger in the air. That one I know. Turn around. Even though I’m worried about her weakened state and that she doesn’t have the energy to squat over a six-inch-wide hole in the floor, I know better than to argue with her. I turn around and hum softly while Astrid does her business. When she’s finished I help her back to her sleeping bag. She is shivering convulsively by the time I zip her in. My brain is screaming for answers about how this new development could impact our situation. Did Benny tell anyone else about Stumptown? That could change everything.

  “Water and pills?” I ask.

  She nods.

  I give her three IBs instead of four because I’m starting to worry about the supply, and hold the bottle to her lips. “Drink what you need. I’ll get more as soon as it’s light.” She takes two sips and stops. I take two sips as well, then cap the bottle. We have about one-third of a liter left. That should last us till morning.

  She motions for me to come close.

  I lean in.

  “Why so much money?” she whispers. She’s already on the downhill slide toward sleep.

  “I don’t know.” But I have an idea.

  “You’re…” Her eyes close. “…rich.”

  No, Astrid. We’re fucked.

  LUSTER, OR.

  SEVEN MONTHS AGO

  35

  It was the morning after the CPR class, and Cory had the ski lodge and the Volvo all to himself. He had dropped Ty off in town at seven a.m. for an all-day karate tournament, and the Motts were at church, followed by a meeting with Lester Fitzroy, their overly enthusiastic Mott for Senate campaign manager. Cory’s shift at Bravo started in two hours. He needed to keep his mind off yesterday’s mystery call to the dojo, and the best way to do that was to cook. He found a recipe for a roasted-cauliflower-and-goat-cheese frittata at Finecooking.com, and had just put the cauliflower in the oven to brown, when his phone dinged with a text.

  STELLAH DESHAY

  I have something for u. Meet

  at Drip n Sip at 11?

  It was 10:09 right now. That meant she must have left Portland around eight a.m. It seemed odd that she didn’t text before committing to that drive, but he didn’t care. He was thrilled to see her and couldn’t wait to share all the good things going on in their lives—with the exception of the dojo phone call. Cory had just enough time to roast the cauliflower, put the nicely browned bits in a plastic container, turn off the oven, clean the kitchen, and make sure Pavlov had water in his pail-size bowl, before he flew out the door with zero minutes to spare—and stopped. He ran back upstairs, grabbed the CPR booklet. He swore as he fired up the Volvo that he would fill out the back page before his shift started. Otherwise Rebecca, who treated all rules like the Ten Commandments, wouldn’t let him clock in.

  Cory found her in the Fit in the Drip ’n’ Sip parking lot talking on her phone. He tapped her window. She hung up, climbed out, and gave him a big warm Stellah hug. After driving for three hours, she told him she didn’t want to sit in a crowded, noisy café. She said, “While it’s still nice, let’s get our beverages and walk around that beautiful park with the pond and gazebo.” Cory insisted on paying. She was reluctant at first, then shrugged and said, “I’d be honored.”

  Cory drove them to the park. Stellah was suitably impressed.

  “This is a fine ride. It smells new.”

  “Harvey had it fixed up. It’s ours to drive.”

  “You got all the insurance worked out?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Well, all right, then. And you’re looking pretty sharp in that uniform.”

  Cory didn’t want to wear the Bravo shirt, but he didn’t think there would be time to change. “I’m not so sure I like the purple,” he said. “Grease stains show up like a flag.”

  “And you kinda look like a big grape. But the money’s good, right?”

  “Yup. I started out as a busser. Now I’m the head grill cook.”

  “Well, good for you!”

  “Two bucks above minimum.”

  “Excellent. You saving some?”

  “Not as much as I should,” Cory said, thinking about the new PlayStation he bought last week. “But it’s more than I had a year ago.”

  “I hear that.”

  Cory parked the Volvo in the lot next to the entrance for the walking trail. It was a half-mile loop around a big pond. Near the water’s edge a little girl and her father were surrounded by ducks feasting on bread they tossed from a brown paper bag. On the other side of the pond in a big grassy area, two shirtless guys were tossing a Frisbee. Cory and Stellah hit the trail, hot beverages in hand. Cory asked about the status of her soon-to-be ex.

  Stellah said, “I bought him a week at husband refocusing camp.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Turns out he had a second asshole in his brain. Who knew? They removed it and he’s been great since then. Best investment I ever made.”

  “So you’re back together?”

  “He’s washing my bras as we speak. Can’t fold for shit, though. I left a fitted sheet in the load. That’ll keep him occupied for hours.”

  Cory laughed. It made him feel warm, despite the spring chill setting in as the sun inched closer to the hills. “How are your kids?” he asked, sorry that he’d forgotten their names. He knew there were two, one in diapers. Or maybe not in diapers anymore.

  “We’re all good,” she said. “Thank you for asking. But that’s enough about me. I didn’t drive three hours to tell you about my world. It’s spinning just fine.” She took a long appreciative sip. “It’s time to talk about your life. And I’m not talking the surface stuff. I want the good bits stuck down in the cracks. Then I have something to give you. But first—damn! This is outstanding coffee!” She bumped him with an elbow. “And there you are, drinking some kinda flowery tea shit when there’s liquid gold to be had.”

  Cory thought about what she said, wanting the good bits down in the cracks. He decided to pry one loose. “My dad was a big-time coffee drinker,” he said. “But his was Folgers out of a can. Ty and I alternated weeks cleaning the kitchen. I got mixed up one night and forgot to clean the counters. There was a half cup of coffee left by the sink. He’d put his cigarette out in it the night before. He made me drink it all, even the cigarette butt. I threw up. Then he made me clean up the puke with my toothbrush.” He looked at his shoes, kept his eyes there, and said, “I never told anyone that. Not even Ty.”

  She took a beat. “Was that before or after your mother left?”

  “After.”

  “Cory, I’m sorry. That’s awful. And believe me, I’ve heard some awful stuff.”

  Cory thought, Oh, I can go deeper than that. “So anyway, the point is, that’s why I drink tea.” He felt his throat tightening, wasn’t expecting that.

  “Does this bother you?�
� she asked, and held out her cup. “Because I can toss it. It would hurt like hell, but—”

  “Oh, no. I think coffee’s awesome. I just can’t bring myself to even try it.” He forced a smile. “Besides, I hear tea is better for my skin.”

  They were at the quarter-mile mark, designated by a bronze statue of William H. Luster himself on a rearing horse. His hat needed a good hosing, though. Luster had a pigeon problem. After a short silence, Stellah said, “You ever do the grief counseling like I asked?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Tony said he got it lined up.”

  “He did. And I was all set to go. But I got a job and, well, Ty said Benny didn’t deserve our grief.”

  “Well, that may be true. But grief is like a tick on a dog’s ass. It just hides in the dark getting fatter and fatter until one day it pops and then there’s a big ol’ mess. It’s best to pull it out before it takes root. Ty’s gonna have to deal with it too someday.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Stellah sipped. “While we’re on the subject, how is that brother of yours?”

  “He did anger management. But only because he had to.”

  “He doing all right in school?”

  “He’s on the baseball team. And they asked him to play football in the fall. Friends, girls…” Cory shrugged. “Typical Ty.”

  Stellah’s face clouded. “Any fights?”

  “Nope. He knows how to find his quiet place now.”

  “So he’s doing good?”

  “Better than good.”

  “What about you? School? Friends?” She looked at him. “Girls, or…?”