Deadfall Page 9

  Five minutes after stopping here, we are finally ready to put an end to this night. We sit on the pack, lean back against the cold boulder, and cover ourselves as best we can with the unzipped sleeping bag. The headlamp is starting to fade. Shit. Hopefully the batteries aren’t in Ty’s pack, which of course is in the Volvo. I kill the light, relieved to be invisible again. Cold air slips in around my shoulders. This better be a predawn chill and not a change in the weather. I look up through the trees. Still no stars, but the sky seems a little less black. Dawn is coming. I stare out into the darkness, willing my eyelids to stay open while I try not to think about Ty, the driver, the envelope, and the chain of wrong decisions I’ve made with no end in sight.

  Her body shivers beside me. I’d like to put my arm around her and offer what little warmth I have. Somehow I don’t see that move playing out very well.

  I say, “Go ahead and sleep if you want. I’ll stay awake.”

  Amazingly, her head slumps against my shoulder.

  “I like your perfume,” I whisper into her hair. “Is that premium or unleaded?”

  Her body shakes once, then settles into the steady breaths of sleep.

  PORTLAND, OR.

  ELEVEN MONTHS AGO

  18

  The ride from Portland to that coffee shop in Stellah’s Honda Fit—which smelled like dog and had nose smudges all over the windows—was slow at first thanks to hordes of Black Friday shoppers. After she merged onto I-84 and drove a couple miles east of the downtown exits, the congestion finally thinned. Cory knew the reason why she kept checking the rearview every few seconds wasn’t because of the traffic—she wanted to be sure Detective Jenkins’s black Ford sedan was still behind them. Every time Cory checked it was still there, a couple cars back, blending with the flow. He doubted Stellah could lose her in this tiny car even if she wanted to.

  For the first fifteen minutes Stellah tried to engage them in conversation. They covered the weather (rain followed by more rain), then music (she liked blues and some jazz but hated rap, so that conversation turned lame fast), and sports (she liked hockey because her brother played). But it was hard work talking around the unseen passenger in this car. Benny’s ghost had climbed into this small car and filled all the quiet spaces in Cory’s skull with whispers of You let this happen to me, you fat fuck, and See how the world sucks even when I’m not there to stench it up?

  Ty sat in the seat behind Stellah, his head leaned against the nose smudges, eyes closed, not saying anything the whole way until the very end, when Stellah exited in Troutdale and turned onto a small side street four blocks north of the freeway. There was an unbusy strip mall with a coffee shop named the Perfect Pot at one end, a Goodwill store with an O in the sign out so it read go dwill at the other. Cory smiled at that. He looked for a video game store but didn’t see one. Not that it mattered because he didn’t have enough money to buy one, not even used for a buck ninety-nine.

  Ty said as she pulled into the lot, “I’m staying here.”

  Stellah said, “No, it’s not saf—”

  Ty said, “It isn’t what?” Daring her to finish what she started.

  She said, “We’re all going inside. It’s time to talk about your future.”

  Cory steeled himself for some kind of protest from Ty, but he just said, “Fine. Whatever. Let’s talk about how much our future blows,” and unbuckled his seat belt. As they followed Stellah into the Perfect Pot, Cory realized that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t know where he would be sleeping at the end of the day. Then he saw Detective Jenkins’s sedan back slowly into a space a few slots down from theirs and remembered her Kevlar vest and gun. And what she said: Good luck placing these two. The engine switched off but the driver’s door didn’t open. Stellah said as they entered, “You better hope they didn’t sell out of the cinnamon rolls. They’re the best on the planet.”

  Stellah was right. The cinnamon rolls were the best Cory ever had. She said the secret was the cinnamon, which they ground themselves, and a hint of sour in the dough, which they made the day before to let it rise slowly overnight. Cory noted as she talked that she spent as much time watching the door as she did looking at them. Her phone rang three times while they were sitting there. One had to be a family member because she told the caller to eat leftovers for lunch and not to let your brother feed turkey skin to Jasper. The second call was definitely Detective O since she listened for a minute, then said sharply, “I’ll tell them, now let me do my job!” and hung up. The third call she just muttered, “Shit,” and let it go to voice mail. When they finished the last of the rolls and started on their hot chocolates, Stellah pulled a file folder from a shoulder bag she carried in with her, laid it on the table, and said, “Before we start, do you have any questions for me?”

  Ty said, “Yeah, Stellah with an h. Are you gonna grill me about last night too? Because if you are, we might as well leave now.”

  “I’m not,” she said. “But let’s say I did. Where would you propose we go?”

  The question stopped Ty cold. Ty, who had a wiseass comeback for every question, couldn’t seem to think up one place to go. Cory was surprised Ty didn’t say the street since that seemed like the only option left.

  Stellah watched him for a moment or two longer. “How about we start over? I’m Stellah. I work for Child Protective Services. My job is to remove children from a harmful situation, and place them into a safe, stable, and, if all goes well, loving environment. I’ve been doing that for eighteen years, twelve of which were in San Diego, then four in San Antonio, and the last two here in this rain-soaked hell. The fact that they have good coffee here is the only saving grace. I’ve been told that I’m very good at what I do. That’s because I care about every one of my placements. Too much, my soon-to-be ex-husband says, but that’s neither here nor there. In fact, I don’t know why I even brought it up, so forget what I just said. You have enough on your plate—and I’m not talking about pastries.” Ty and Cory exchanged pained glances. She took a careful sip of her coffee, then said, “Back to why I’m here. So when Detective Ostrander contacted us last week about your situation, I was the—”

  “Hold the fort,” Cory said. “Did you say last week?”

  “Yes. We had an anonymous tip and were prepared to intervene on Friday. That triggered a phone call from Detective Ostrander. He asked that we hold off until after the Thanksgiving weekend. But I’m not sure how much I can legally share, so we won’t go down that road. I offered to let you sleep at our apartment last night, but Detective Ostrander said that given the circumstances and the players involved, the best place for you to sleep was at a secure location.”

  Cory looked at Ty, hoped for a crack in that wall. Ty was holding his hot chocolate but not drinking it, staring bullets at Stellah over the whipped cream.

  She said, “So now for the good news. We’ve found a couple homes. I’m just—”

  Detective Jenkins walked through the door. She passed by them on her way to the register without even a glance in their direction. She bought a coffee and a donut. As she walked past them she looked at Ty and took a bite of the donut, put it on his plate. Then she walked out.

  Ty said to Stellah, “I think she likes me.”

  “It’s nice to see that you’re making friends.” Then to both of them: “As I was saying, I’m just waiting to hear from the homes. It should be any minute.”

  “Do we get any say in this?” Ty asked.

  “Not really.”

  Ty turned to Cory. “What are you thinking?”

  Cory’s first thought was You need to tell me the truth. He said, “I don’t think we have a lot of choices.”

  Ty said to Stellah, “I don’t care what hole you put us in. But you’re not breaking us up.”

  “Our priority is to keep siblings together whenever possible, but frankly it’s a challenge with teens, especially when one of them”—and she focused on Ty—“has a colorful history like yours.”

  Cory knew the
history Stellah was referring to. And chances were that history would repeat itself.

  Ty said, “Coach reported that, huh?”

  Stellah said, “Your file is far from what I’d call…pristine. But I’ve seen worse. In the meantime, I need to know, guys—is your mother an option?”

  “What do you mean, an option?” Ty asked.

  “Do you know how to reach her? All our searches have come up empty. She seems to have fallen off the map.”

  “She bailed after Benny started smacking her around,” Ty said. “All she left behind was a note on the refrigerator.”

  “What did the note say?”

  “ ‘Have a nice life.’ ”

  She nodded. Her phone buzzed. It lit up with a text, which she frowned at, then asked, “You haven’t heard from her at all?”

  “No,” Ty said.

  “How long has it been?”

  “Almost two years.”

  “Five hundred sixty-seven days,” Cory said.

  Stellah scribbled a note in the folder. “Can you reach out to her?”

  Ty said, “I deleted her number from my phone.”

  Cory said, “My phone burned in the fire,” and felt a flicker of tightness in his throat.

  “But it doesn’t matter,” Ty said, “because she disconnected the number.”

  “Are there any relatives or friends that might know how to reach her?”

  Ty shrugged. “She probably has some stripper friends in Seattle. Maybe you could call them?”

  “We did. No one even remembered her. Are there any family members that might be helpful?”

  “Her parents died before we were born,” Cory said. “All she has is a brother in Memphis, but they don’t get along.”

  “That would be Kyle Tate,” Stellah said. “We contacted him this morning. He said they haven’t spoken for three years. He may be lying to us, but we explained the situation with your father and his story didn’t change.”

  “What did he say?” Ty asked.

  “He said and I quote, ‘Too bad the fucker didn’t die before she left.’ ”

  “Did he offer to take us?” Cory asked, knowing that he wouldn’t. Kyle was a trucker. He was never home.

  Stellah shook her head.

  “Why does this matter?” Ty asked. “It’s all bullshit. She left us. Why would we want to live with her?”

  “But he was hitting her,” Cory said. “She had to go.”

  “She could’ve taken us with her,” Ty said. “She didn’t even offer. She left us with a psycho meth dealer.”

  “He wasn’t a meth dealer when she left,” Cory said.

  Ty smiled. “No. You’re right. He was a drunk and a liar. And when he didn’t have her to beat on, he switched to you.”

  Cory glared at Ty. He didn’t need to bring that up. Not now. Not ever.

  Stellah said to Cory, “Was he abusing you?”

  He looked at his plate.

  She said, “You can tell me. Or not. It won’t make any difference on how we progress from here. But it would be helpful to know the truth.”

  After a beat, “He hit me a couple times. But only when he was high.”

  Ty snorted. “Which was basically all the time.”

  Stellah made a note. She tapped her pen on the table, sighed, and said, “It matters about your mother and here’s why. With your father no longer…a concern…maybe she’d reengage with your lives.”

  A concern? Reengage? Cory wondered how she came up with those words.

  “He stopped being our father when he slugged her,” Ty said, his voice on edge. “From that day on he was just Benny, or asshole. Whatever. Just don’t call him our father.”

  Stellah’s phone buzzed. She snatched it up. “Hang on. I’ll be right with you.” Then to Ty and Cory, “Sorry. This is the call I’ve been waiting for.” She dug a ten out of her purse and put it on the table. “Buy more rolls if you want. I’ll be right outside. This could take a few minutes.” She stood up and said into the phone as she headed for the door, “Yes. Yes. They’re with me now….”

  The moment Stellah was out the door, Cory said to Ty, “What’s going on? What happened last night?”

  “Benny got toasted cooking meth.”

  “The shed didn’t lock itself.”

  “Maybe it did.”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  Ty stirred the remainder of the hot chocolate. “Yes. But I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  He licked the spoon. “Can’t tell you that either.”

  “If we’re in some kind of danger, I need to know about it too.”

  “Maybe you’d be in more danger if I tell you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You figure it out.”

  “Was it Tirk?”

  “Want another Cinnabon?” Ty held up the ten.

  Cory was running out of options. In fact, there were only two that he could think of, and if it wasn’t Tirk, that left the unthinkable. “Stop messing with me. We can’t have secrets. Just tell me. Then we’ll deal with it.”

  Ty frowned. For a second it looked like he was about to tell him. Then he slipped the bill in his pocket. “Sorry, Cor. You have your secrets. I have mine.”

  Cory didn’t know where that came from, didn’t know how to respond. Did he really know something, or was he just acting like he did? Ty watched him for a few beats, then said, “Aw, c’mon, Cor. It’s all right. You seriously think I don’t know?”

  Cory felt the room spinning around him. The espresso machine, the murmured voices, chairs creaking, Christmas music—all the sounds blended into a giant ball of chaos that still couldn’t drown out the sudden thudding of his heart. More than anything else, right now, at this moment, he wanted to slip on his headphones, feel the silence wrap warm around him, and dull the pain. Push play and dissolve into a different reality, a reality that didn’t judge, that didn’t care about who or what he was.

  Then Ty stiffened. He leaned forward and whispered, “Shit,” as his eyes tracked left to right.

  Cory turned in time to see a man in a black leather jacket and leather biker pants, a heavy trunk on short legs, narrow face with a too-thin beard that didn’t hide the tattoo on his neck, walk up to a display of mugs and bagged beans. He selected a mug but didn’t look at it. His eyes were on them. An employee asked him if he needed help. He shook his head, set the mug back into the display, and walked to the door. Just before exiting he turned, locked eyes with them again, pointed a finger gun, and pretended to pull the trigger. Then he flashed a familiar brown-toothed smile and walked out the door.

  After giving his heart enough time to settle, Cory said, “What was that about?”

  Ty scanned the adjacent tables to make sure no one was listening. “Remember you said that the lock didn’t lock itself?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tweaker Teeth was there too.”

  “Last night?”

  Ty nodded. “He was the guy that—”

  Stellah walked up to their table, beamed down at them, and said, “Good news! The home I was hoping for is going to work. You won’t be split up.” She studied the boys staring up at her for a long moment, then: “Why am I getting that oh-shit-the-world-is-ending look? This is great news. I was hoping for a…different reaction.”

  “Yay,” Ty said. “You found the puppies a home.”

  “Okay. I deserved that.” After a beat, her eyes narrowed. “Something happened while I was gone. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. We’re locked in and good to go. Isn’t that right, Cor?”

  Locked in? Cory felt his lips form the word yes. Saw Stellah look at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. All he could think about was the bomb that Ty just dropped: Tweaker Teeth was there last night. Outside he heard a motorcycle roar out of the parking lot. Another puzzle piece fell into place. But Cory sensed it was far from complete.

  Ty stood and smiled at Stellah. “Let’s go meet our shiny new future
.”

  TANUM CREEK

  NOW

  19

  A sharp sound startles me. Subconsciously I think it’s a bone snapping. My eyes fly open and I realize I had fallen asleep. She’s beside me, her head on my right shoulder, eyes closed, breath slow and regular. Did I hear something or was it a dream? The sky has brightened enough to see the shadowy forest around us. But something is different. It takes a few seconds to register the change. White flakes sift down through the trees. My sleeping bag and pack are dusted with a film of snow. I hear the sound again. It’s definitely not a bone. Something, or someone, is moving and it’s close.

  I nudge her with my right elbow. As she stirs I whisper, “Shhhhh. Don’t move. I heard a sound in the woods.” She raises her head and looks at me, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Then they widen in alarm as a sound echoes sharply in the cold air. Whatever it is, it’s not moving very fast or being particularly quiet. It could be Ty, and my heart leaps at the thought. I open my mouth to call out to him—but kill that idea a second later. If it was Ty, wouldn’t he be calling out for me? Not if the driver is still a problem. In my mind I see him creeping along, ice ax in hand, searching for us in the gray light. I’m hoping that the black sleeping bag, with its dusting of snow, will help conceal us. Another crack shatters the stillness. It’s closer and louder and I tense at the sound. Her hand digs into my arm. Shit. We need to run. I’m a split second from telling her to GO! when she releases my arm, nods a few degrees to her right. At first all I see are trees through a filter of snow. Then two shapes resolve into mule deer making their way down the slope. Probably headed to the creek for a drink. We watch as they pass no more than ten feet from where we sit. One of them stops, antlers flecked with snow, ears twitching. Breath steams out its flaring nose and I swear a cloud of warmth brushes by my cheek. The moment lasts for several heartbeats. It blinks, snorts, and moves on. Their footsteps fade behind us. We are alone again, surrounded by the pillowed hush of snow falling steady through the trees. I look at their tracks, think about a different deer. The one in the road. Benny would call this deer a sign.