Going to the Bad (28 page)

Without warning, hands grabbed me. The deafening noise of the pumpjack masked the intimate sounds of our struggle. Instinct told me I was in serious trouble. These hands weren't strong and sure of themselves like Bouncer's. They gripped me in desperation. They scratched, pulled hair, and ripped.

I got a good hit in with my elbow and tried to stumble away into the fog. He followed and tackled me. I managed to roll over onto my back, but wasn't fast enough to get up.

It was Junior, not Frank. I saw him now as he loomed over me and grabbed the front of my shirt. Behind him the thirsty bird bobbed up and down as Junior raised his hand in a wide arc. I tried to kick, but he straddled me. The back of his hand came down with all the power in his shoulder. I heard the internal sounds of flesh tearing as his ring cut a line across my face.

Tears flowed involuntarily from my eyes. Junior dropped my collar and my head lolled back into the dirt. He began searching my overstuffed jacket pockets, pulling out mic cables, antacids,
and random batteries. The phone was in the back pocket of my jeans, but he didn't know that.

Through my blurred vision I saw him toss the van keys into the dirt. Despite the pain, I raised a hand to my face. I had no idea how much of the liquid there was blood and how much tears, but I managed to wipe my eyes clear.

My hand darted to the keys. Before Junior even realized what was happening, my fist sailed at him. The metal tip of the news-van key penetrated his designer leather jacket and stabbed his abs.

Junior's scream rose above the din of the pumpjack. He clutched his stomach and fell off me into the dirt.

I ran.

Christmas Day, 9:25 a.m.

T
he oil field was a maze. There were no paved roads to
follow. I'd find what seemed to be a path only to run into a giant storage tank or a working oil well. Aboveground pipes connected everything and turned in unexpected directions at unexpected times. Some of these conduits reached as tall as me and others I could easily leap over.

I had one thought: keep following the downward slope of the land. It would lead me to the river, then the bluffs, and finally—if I could climb in the fog—to Warner's mansion, where there was cell reception. An observer might have called this running to trouble, but anything was better than turning around and facing Junior again. Also, if I could e-mail the video back to KJAY, there'd be no reason to hurt me.

After what felt like forever, but was probably twenty minutes, the electric poles ended and an increase in vegetation began. Judging by the lack of machinery noise, the pumpjacks had ended too. When I reached an actual tree, I knew I was close to the river.

I remembered looking down from Warner's mansion and seeing a bridge just below. The Kern River is largely diverted for the irrigation of crops, but at times it flows with treacherous volume. I had no desire to wade across when I was already hurt and exhausted. I followed the river and found the bridge a few minutes later.

I tried one last time for a cell signal before attempting to cross. As I held the phone in the air, I recognized Warner's mansion above. The fog was clearing, but enough remained to blur the structure's edges, as though the house had a bad aura.

I lowered the phone. No cell signal. I had no choice but to go across and climb.

The old wooden planks jostled as I put my weight on them, but were far more secure than the railing. That construction of decaying wood looked as if it would collapse if I even touched it. I wondered if the bridge dated back to when all this had been orange groves. Maybe Erabelle had crossed it as a girl when she herself had climbed the bluffs to look out at her father's land.

A pair of headlights erupted in the fog ahead of me. I heard a car door open. “Okay, Lilly.” It was Frank's voice. “You've made a good effort, but fun's over. Give us the camera.”

“Are you tired, old man?” I had no reason to think Frank was touchy about being in the twilight of middle age, but when everything is said and done, who isn't? “Because I can do this all day.”

He slammed the car door and his form emerged from the fog. “I want that video. I'd prefer things stayed polite, but if I have to hurt you, I will.”

I held up the phone. “Come and get it.”

He marched forward with brisk steps, as I hoped he would. Once on the bridge, he slowed—wary of the loose planks and suspicious of my not running from him.

He stopped two yards from me and pointed down at a gaping hole. “Did you really think I wouldn't see?” He cautiously stepped to the side and around the missing planks. “If that's your idea of a trap, then you'll never get that boyfriend of yours to marry you.”

I charged at him with both palms out. He crashed into the decayed-wood railing and tumbled over the side. Half a second later I heard a splash followed by obscenities.

I ran forward toward the car. Just as I hit dirt, the passenger's-side door opened. I sprinted for the bluff. I glanced over my shoulder and got a glimpse of Junior charging.

I scrambled up the hillside. A quarter of the way to the top, the rise became too steep and I had to move laterally. I found a trench where two sections of earth came together in a V and resumed my
upward climb. I grabbed handfuls of scrub brush to propel myself forward.

Near the top I glanced back. The fog had thinned as I climbed, so I had no trouble seeing Junior right behind me. A red stain marred his shirt where I'd stabbed him with the key, but that hardly slowed his progress.

I reached the top and kept moving just to stay ahead. I plowed forward despite that the brush reached nearly to my waist. I wasn't far from the house and instinctively ran in that direction. I hoped there'd be safety in other people, even if they all worked for the man chasing me.

As I ran, I held the phone up waiting for a signal. I must have slowed to look at the screen. I heard Junior at the last moment. He jumped on me like a junior-varsity high school football player—graceless, hard, and desperate to prove himself. We both fell into the brush, but he had the advantage of being on top.

Junior drew his fist back, deciding this time to hit me with a punch instead of a slap. At the last moment I kicked up with my knee and knocked him off course. His fist hit the ground next to my head. A rock must have been there because Junior howled in pain.

I kicked him hard in the gut to free myself, then rushed to find the phone in the weeds. Already his cries were drawing people. I heard a noise alerting me to a text message and leapt toward the sound. I found the phone and accessed the two video files.

“Wait,” Junior yelled. He slouched, clutching his wrist in agony. “What do you want? Money? A job? Just say what you want.”

In my peripheral vision, guards approached with their Tasers out. “What I want is to send the video.”

“If you do that, your uncle will be exposed as a murderer.”

I paused and looked up.

The morning sun cast Junior in a beautiful golden light. Surrounded as he was by fallow winter grasses, the entire scene might have looked pastoral, except for what lay behind him. The fog
below us was still thick enough to obscure the uglier aspects of the view, but I knew the oil field was there.

I prepared to send the e-mail. “You're lying.”

“No, he's not.”

For a moment I was so shocked that I didn't move. Then I spun around to find the source of the voice.

Rod sucked in quick breaths from running. “I don't know exactly what video you have, but don't send it until we've had a chance to talk.” All at once he drew back in alarm. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to me?” I ran to him, the video momentarily forgotten. “What happened to you? I thought someone kidnapped you or worse.”

I threw my arms around him, but he pulled back to look at my face. “How did you get this horrible cut? It's bleeding. You're going to need stitches.”

I pointed at Junior. “Leland Phillip Warner, the second.”

Rod stiffened, then rushed toward him.

“No. No, it's okay.” I ran after Rod and grabbed his arm. “You can't beat him up. His hand is broken. It's not a fair fight.”

This was probably the only argument that could have stopped Rod. Fortunately it succeeded. I say fortunately not because I cared if Junior was further injured, but because the security guards looked ready to use those Tasers if Rod had continued.

“Why don't we go inside and discuss this.” Erabelle's petite form climbed through the field toward us. She wore the same clothes as at Zingo's, but the morning's soft light made her look both younger and fresher than at the truck stop.

I gestured to the guards. “If I decline the invitation, am I going to get tased?”

She waved them off. “Go back to your posts. This lady is our guest.”

They looked at Junior for confirmation. Apparently Frank's male bias had been passed down through the ranks.

After a moment Junior nodded. “Go back to your posts.”

One of the guards hesitated. “Sir, are you injured?”

Instead of being grateful to the only individual who cared about his well-being, Junior got angry at the guard. “I said get back to your post.”

Once they'd retreated out of earshot, Erabelle walked to Rod's side. “Frank called. Lilly has video of the body. You're going to have to tell her the truth.”

“That's right,” Junior sneered. “Tell her that her uncle is a murderer.”

There was a long pause. Rod and Erabelle exchanged a glance, but neither looked at me.

“Rod?” I said quietly.

“Gone mute, have you?” Junior wiped some of the sweat from his forehead with his good arm. “Where's all that macho courage now?”

Rod stepped toward him. “I'm starting not to care if it's a fair fight.”

Erabelle intercepted him. “This is stupid and it's getting us nowhere.”

While this went on, I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I'd been saying all night that I could learn the worst about Bud and it wouldn't change how I felt. Now the moment was really here. I turned it over and looked inside the ugly truth.

Bud had committed a murder. Bud was responsible for taking another human's life. Bud hadn't meant it to happen. Bud would be sorry. Bud would have a good reason. Bud loved me.

I looked at Erabelle. She probably expected me to ask about Bud, but instead I said, “Is Frank okay?”

“Just a little wet.” Erabelle tried to smile, but couldn't pull it off. “I told him to find your car and bring it here.” She turned and started toward the house. “Come inside. We're probably all going to get Lyme disease from the ticks out here.”

Rod put his arm around me and we followed.

“What are you doing here with them?” I said.

“I'm keeping a promise to Bud.”

“A promise you couldn't tell me about?”

He didn't say anything, so I called ahead to Erabelle, “I want to see Warner.”

She glanced back. “I don't think the nurses will allow it.”

Junior tried to assert himself, despite trailing behind as the wounded gazelle of our pack. “Never mind the nurses.
I
won't allow it.”

“It wasn't a request. I'm hearing the truth from Leland Warner or I'm sending the video to KJAY.” I looked at Rod. “I want you there too. It's time I heard the truth from both of you.”

Junior continued to argue with me, but it was only for show. With Rod and Erabelle there, he couldn't use physical force to take the phone. Without that threat he had no leverage.

Once inside the house we had to do battle with the nurses. We were losing until I heard Warner himself bellowing that he'd see us even if it meant getting out of bed. They relented, but demanded some time to prepare him.

We all retreated to what someone called the upstairs sitting room to drink coffee—yes, I felt that lousy—and hold ice packs to our injuries. Soon there was a knock on the door, but it wasn't a nurse.

Frank entered looking damp and annoyed. Given his talent for hiding menace behind an affable façade, I assumed his looking annoyed was akin to another person's being in a blind rage.

“Sorry I pushed you.” I was a little afraid of him and hoped apologizing might prevent a future retaliation.

He smiled. “Was it something I said?”

Erabelle poured Frank a mug of coffee, but didn't invite him to sit. “Why don't you change into a fresh uniform? Then I believe you'll be needed to drive my nephew to get an X-ray of his hand.”

All eyes turned to Junior. “Perhaps after we've spoken with Dad.”

Frank took the coffee and started to exit.

On his way out, Erabelle stopped him. “Did you take care of everything at the King farm?”

Frank glanced at me, debating how much to say.

Junior cut in, “We can speak freely in front of Lilly now. She's in this as much as we are. More, since her uncle is the one who killed that man.”

Even though I'd accepted this as probably true, I still felt defensive. “Then why exactly were you the one disposing of the body?”

“I was protecting my father. He helped cover up the murder and could still be charged as an accessory after the fact.”

Junior's candor clearly went against Frank's instincts, but he was used to following orders. “The body is gone for good. Even if the Kings change their minds and decide to make trouble, there won't be any proof.”

Erabelle nodded. “And the jewelry?”

Junior spoke for Frank. “The gold brooch was sold to a pawnshop and is already lost, but we can still get the diamond star back. I made a deal with the grandson. We'll have it later today.”

As soon as Frank left, I said, “Things would have been much easier if you'd been honest with me yesterday.”

This prompted sneers from Junior and declarations of ignorance from Erabelle. The way they told it, neither had known anything when I'd first come to the house. Not until I'd called and mentioned Mida and Carter King had Junior got worried.