Lottery (22 page)

She walked up the curved stairway to the second floor. The next flight of stairs took her to the top floor where Jenee and Justin would stay.

She stepped inside the suite that always made her smile when she walked through the door. The hand-painted Victorian lamp on the bedside table that looked like an old-fashioned gas light only added to the early 19
^th
century ambiance. The six-inch base on the baseboards; the four-poster bed; the magnificent Amish quilt, and the stately seven-foot intricately carved wardrobe; she loved everything about this private refuge. Just in case there was a cool night while Jenee and Justin were here, she’d put a few logs on the hearth.

Ling walked out the patio door and onto the deck. On her way to the railing, she moved her hand over the small café table shaded by a bright red umbrella. She drew in a deep breath, tasting the sweet, salty air. The sun was just starting to rise as a choir of birds chirped an early morning chorus.

A thought suddenly crossed her mind that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Maybe Caleb was having an affair. Maybe that’s why he was drinking too much. He’d met someone and was afraid Ling would try to take his money or the house if he divorced her. She bit her lower lip. Was this the reason he wouldn’t talk to her? With his good looks and money, he could have his choice of a lot of beautiful women. When she’d met him, Ling hadn’t pegged Caleb as a Jack Weber. But, then again, maybe winning millions of dollars had changed him.

If their marriage ended, Ling wanted nothing. Giving up her dream of placing Chinese children in America would be difficult, but eventually she’d realize the dream on her own. A worst-case scenario would be if she were trapped in a loveless marriage. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, holding back tears. Oh, God, was she really losing him? To liquor? To another woman? Or had she already lost him?

If Caleb refused to talk to her, somehow Ling was going to find out what was going on.

n the cab on his way to the market, Caleb opened the paper and read the obituary again. “Victor Lee Sharburb. Father of five; grandfather of eleven; visitation at 11:30 this Friday at ten.” He closed the paper.

Caleb gazed out the window, remembering the innocent man’s plea for help; the look of confusion on his face; the kind blue eyes of a father, a grandfather, and a volunteer for the Salvation Army. He wrapped a hand on the back of his neck. Why hadn’t he asked the guy his name before Caleb had taken his—

“Fucked up big-time, buddy,” Weber said, interrupting Caleb’s thoughts.

“Shut up,” Caleb snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The cab driver twisted his neck around and glanced into the back seat. “You talking to me?”

“Just drive,” Caleb snapped. He was starting to get careless and shouldn’t be talking to Weber when someone was around. The cops would toss him in a loony bin.

Just when the driver pulled in front of the Tokyo Fish Market, his pre-paid cell rang. Caleb’s muscles tightened. He quickly paid the cabbie and hopped out of the car.

“O’Toole,” Caleb answered.

“Did ya think you got rid of me?” Price scoffed.

What the hell? Did Price know Caleb had killed an innocent man? Had he followed Caleb that night? “Why’d you think that?” Caleb asked.

“I want to meet up in a couple of days.” Price’s tone sounded anxious.

Caleb had known that Price would call eventually, but had hoped he’d been run over by a bus or dropped dead of a heart attack. Caleb shouldered his way through the crowd in front of the market to the side of the building. “We have visitors coming in from—”

“Let me restate this.” Ron paused briefly. “I say when we’ll meet.”

“Keep your cool,” Weber instructed.

“Where?” Caleb asked.

“Aunt Charley’s. Thursday night. You know where it is?”

“Gay bar?” Caleb asked, hoping it wasn’t.

“That would be the one. Bring the cash.”

“I’ll be there at ten.” Caleb closed the phone, and walked to the corner. When the light turned green, he meshed in with the crowd and crossed the street.

He needed to figure out to make Price disappear—again. Would this nightmare ever fucking end? Even though Ling had confronted him about his drinking, he needed a shot—just one—to calm his nerves.

His lips parched and craving a drink, Caleb ducked into the first bar he came to. When his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, the tavern looked like a scene from the Wild West; pictures of cowboys and Indians on quarter horses and Pintos embellished
the walls; worn cowboy boots and spurs were strategically placed around the room. The bartender, a middle-aged man with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair, smiled at Caleb behind a handlebar moustache. Caleb took the bar stool nearest the door, as he wouldn’t be here long.

“What’dya have?” the barkeep asked, his moustache moving with each word.

“Shot of your top-shelf whiskey.”

“You got it.”

Except for an older couple bellied up to the bar, there wasn’t anyone else here, but then, it was early. “This place like old or something?” Caleb asked.

The barkeep set a shot glass in front of Caleb and poured the liquor to the top. “Ever heard of Henry Comstock?”

Caleb downed the whiskey in one gulp with a shaky hand. “Nope.”

“Comstock of Comstock Lode. Mining business. Big bucks.” He nodded around the bar. “Family owns it. Been here since l907.”

Caleb held up the shot glass. “Quite the place.” He downed the liquor and nodded for another, his thoughts a million miles away.

“Poison,” Weber whispered.

Easier said than done, Caleb thought.

“Just do your research,” Weber answered, “you’ll figure it out.”

An hour and five shots later, Caleb’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen.
Ling
. He turned off the sound, paid the tab, and left for the market. He didn’t want to talk to her until he’d had a few cups of coffee. He should have something to eat, but the thought of food made his stomach turn.

He had to stop drinking. If Ling left him, there’d be no reason to go on. Like he’d told her on their wedding day, she was, and always would be, his everything.

enee stopped before she went through security at the airport. “Oh God, Justin, I don’t know whether I can do this.” She was terrified to fly, and wished she had a flight that went straight through to San Francisco. What if she missed her plane in Phoenix? What if it was delayed and had to stay in a motel in a strange city?

“You want to wait so we can fly together?” Justin asked.

“I’m being childish, aren’t I?”

He grinned. “Hey,” he said compassionately, and lay his hands gently on her shoulders, “if you’re a child, then I’m a baby. My stomach globs up even thinking about flying in a piece of tin.”

“But … I’ll be fine … right?” Jenee stammered.

He leaned over and brushed her lips with his. “No doubt about it.”

“Love ya, big guy.” She wrapped her hand around the handle of the new suitcase Justin had bought her for the trip. “Take good care of Baileigh.”

Jenee stopped when she took her bag off the rolling security belt and glanced back at Justin. The only times they’d been separated was when she’d given birth to Baileigh, and the stay in
the hospital when she’d had the hysterectomy. “I love you,” she mouthed.

He put his hand over his heart and patted it.

There’d been times when Jenee had been so angry with Justin that she’d wanted to run away. But now, as she was walking toward the gate without him, all she wanted was for him to be beside her.

As she anxiously waited for her flight to be called, she noticed people reading newspapers, or trying to calm their children, or sipping coffee from a Starbuck’s cup. Everyone seemed so nonchalant—everyone but Jenee.

Her stomach did somersaults when she walked down the ramp and stepped over the gap between the walkway and the plane. Jenee drew in a deep breath and blew it out, forcing a smile at the attendant who greeted her. I can do this, she told herself.

Watching the other passengers store their bags overhead, she followed suit and pushed her luggage into the compartment above her seat. “’Scuse me,” she said and scooted past a beefy man who sat in the aisle seat. After she nestled into the small seat by the window, she noticed there were only three seats on one side of the plane, and two on the other side. Brittany had told her that the bigger the aircraft, the smoother the ride. This plane wasn’t that large. Please God, she prayed silently, get me to San Francisco safely.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” Jenee flinched when the voice boomed over the intercom. She looked up and saw a flight attendant at the front of the plane pointing at the emergency exits.

As the woman explained how to buckle the seatbelt, what to do in an emergency, and how to use the oxygen mask, Jenee’s thoughts drifted away. She only hoped the guy next to her knew what to do if they started to … she closed her eyes briefly … no,
she was
not
going to go there. She opened the magazine she’d bought in the airport bookstore. The noise grew louder as the air pressure was being sucked out of the plane and her left ear popped. She reached into her purse and took out a package of gum. Her hands shaking, she took off the wrapper and pushed a piece into her mouth.

When the plane started to slowly move backward, panic took her. She braced her hands over the armrests, her heart racing. She wanted to stand up and run down the aisle, shouting that she wanted off. Instead, she glanced out the window. It was too late. They were in line for takeoff. The engine began to roar … louder … louder. She was trying not to look out the window, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the world whizz by. As the plane lifted-off, her stomach felt as if it was leaving her body. She closed her eyes and tried to think of anything but what was happening. Had she left enough food in the freezer for Justin? Did her mother get Baileigh to school on time? What would Ling’s house be like?

This was it. She was on her way to San Francisco.