Raveled (19 page)

“Ray,” I said
, “on Thursday afternoon when I was here, you said Jasper told you I was coming, and you mentioned that he was popular.”

“Yup,” Ray said. “That’s right. I did.”

“What did you mean?”

“He had two visitors that day. Told me about
one of them the night before. He mentioned you the next morning. Said you were arriving mid-afternoon.”

“
Who was the other visitor, Ray?”

“I don’t know.
He didn’t say and I never saw. I was probably in back making copies. Paperless society, my tush. Julia would have been covering the front desk.”

“The
visitor would have signed in, right?”

“I suppose, but when I cross
ed out your name on the log earlier, I didn’t see another visitor for Jasper on there.”

We walked over to the
visitor log. Twelve signatures preceded mine. None of them indicated Jasper Shifflett’s room as their destination.

“Oh, that’s odd,” Ray said. “Look at this one.” He pointed to a name,
Shawn Smart of Brissel Pharmaceuticals who’d signed in at 10:15 a.m. to see Dr. Graft.

“That’s
the doctor I met, right?” I said. “Liza Graft, Jasper’s doctor?”

“It sure is. But
she’d called to say she was working at home Thursday morning because she didn’t have any appointments. She does that sometimes. Has a little girl, you know.”

“Maybe
this Shawn Smart just dropped something off for Dr. Graft?” I said.

“
No idea. I’ll have to ask.”

I glanced at the re
maining names. “The rest of these look okay to you?”

Ray
perused them, taking his responsibility seriously. “Sure do.”

“I know I’m pushing the limits here,
” I said, “but if you talk to Julia, would you let me know if Jasper’s morning visitor ever showed up, and if so, who it was? It’s important.”

Ray looked like he was ready to punt. “I really can’t. If this turns into anything with the police, they’re not going to appreciate me
playing secret informant.”

The glint in his eye told me he would
actually relish such a role. Since I’d summed Ray up as a trustworthy confidante within moments of our first meeting, I decided to use a tool from my box of goodies that I rarely broke out. “Ray, I’m going to tell you the truth.”

The gravity of my voice shook him into silence. “
This visitor, if he or she existed, may have done something to Jasper to put him in the infirmary in the first place.”

Ray gasped.
“What—you mean like poisoned him?”

“
I don’t know. Possibly.”

“But
Jasper wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why would anyone poison him?”

I
squeezed the yearbook a little tighter in my hand. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out. Can I count on you to keep me posted about what goes on here? The sooner I get word of things, the better.”

The glint traveled to Ray’s other eye, and then to the
confidential grin on his lips. He no doubt imagined himself rolling through the opening credits of a James Bond film. “Why not?” he said. “You have some strange power over me, young lady. The power to make me behave very badly.”

I gave Ray the best flirtatious smile I could muster
. “Thanks, Ray. I’ll be in touch.”

“Where are you going?” he asked in a
hushed tone.

“
Library. Need to catch up on some old high school material and my laptop’s dead in the car.”

Ray looked at me like
I was a new patient checking in. Then he tapped his cheap sports watch that probably had an underutilized lap timer. “It’s almost two in the morning. Library’s closed.”

I was ba
ck on New York City time. I sighed. “If I dig up a power cord, can I plug in in the lobby?”

Ray shook his head. “
Sorry. Restricted. Can’t have the patients getting too much access to the outside world. It depresses them.”

“What about behind the desk? C
an I use your computer?”

“We don’t have
real internet access. Closed network. There’s a way to break through it but they monitor it all the time ever since the great porn incident of 2011.”

“Ray, you dirty dog.”

“It wasn’t me! It was Julia. She’s such a perv.”

“
Is there any place in town that’s still open?”

“Not that I know of. Let’s see, t
he doctors’ offices here have access but there’s no way you’re getting in those.” Ray pondered, sighed, then pondered some more. His huge shoulders heaved up and down, reminding me of an Olympic power lifter gearing up for the final round barbell. “There is one room here.”

“Great!” I said. “Lemme grab my computer.”

“Wait. It’s not exactly… well, the docs use it once in a while if they absolutely have to. Used to be in what we called our maximum security wing.” Ray did the obligatory finger quotes. “It’s at the end of the third floor.”

I couldn’t care less. I was pretty sure the internet looked the same from any floor.
I went out and grabbed my laptop while Ray waited. It took me five full minutes to dig through a bag of junk I’d hauled down from New York and thrown in my mom’s car when she picked me up at the train station. I’d been too lazy to bring it in the house yet. My charger cord had settled at the bottom, beneath a bag of Kenyan coffee beans that a friend had insisted I give to my mom. Remembering Ray’s comment about my lack of gifts for Jasper the other day, I brought the beans into the lobby.

“Hey Ray,” I said, tossing the bag at him. “A small token of my appreciation. Supposed to be the best.”
The non-commercial label seemed to impress him and he nodded approvingly.

“
Much appreciated,” he said, setting it on the counter. “Now come on. I can’t leave the desk for long. I’ll explain about the room on the way. And if you’re too uncomfortable, you don’t have to use it.”

“You’d be amazed how far you’d have to go to make me uncomfortable.”

Ray grabbed a big chain of color-coded keys, supplied one more look of melodramatic hesitation, then led the way. I grabbed the yearbooks and followed.

Although Jasper and I were thirty pages away from each other in the yearbook, I sure as hell hoped we were on the same page now.

Chapter 25

Enzo… sixteen years ago

Enzo froze at the sound of the shattering glass. He hadn’t heard a gunshot so he knew the window hadn’t been penetrated by a bullet. A brick, maybe? No, no follow-up clunk, and it would’ve smashed into Bobby’s car. Enzo listened in two directions, one ear tuned to the office, the other to the garage. He needed to decipher what he would face when he walked into the garage—and there was no question he was going in. One thing he’d learned from living in the middle of nowhere with a big family involved in illicit dealings: better to cut off challengers at the knees than to let them get their footing and gain superior position. Especially when other lives were at stake.

Enzo
focused on the sounds from the office, where Mr. Artie and Kevin probably still lay incoherent and useless. But sound would mean movement, and movement might mean assistance. He didn’t want to be alone on this, but a caution signal kept flashing in his head. The office contained the guns, and if a tanked-up Artie or Kevin planned to charge into the garage wielding a loaded firearm, Enzo didn’t want to be anywhere near the bullet’s trajectory.

Silence from the office. And then,
from the garage, the tinkle of small shards of glass hitting the concrete floor. Enzo knew exactly what was happening. An intruder had broken the window with either a punch or a rock and was clearing away the jagged edges so he could reach an arm in to unlock it. He’d seen his cousin do it a few times to abandoned businesses, just for fun or to score a few bucks.

Enzo
entered the garage, his footsteps like wind across grass. He moved swiftly behind the Mercedes, then waited near the rear of Bobby Kettrick’s Chevy, hoping his eyes would adjust quickly to the darkness that surrounded him like a heavy blanket. His breathing seemed loud and he prayed the noise would be drowned out by the raising of the window that scraped through the garage like a knife to the ear. Whoever was outside would be in here in the next twenty seconds. Enzo had no great desire to play hero and his mind felt a couple clicks behind from that blazing liquor, but he had no choice. He crept as close to the window as he dared, his head nearly bumping the shelf but bringing the stolen tools into view. He grabbed the heavy wrench that Mr. Artie had placed there and was about to shout for all he was worth to frighten the intruder away when he caught a flash of whiteness. No mistaking it for anything else. That was Bobby Kettrick’s hair, the only thing unable to remain obscured in this viscous darkness.

Why the hell would
Bobby break in again? Maybe he’d remembered the evidence he’d left in his trunk like an idiot. Well, Enzo thought, maybe a stupid Chicano could teach this all-American boy a quick lesson in manners.

Enzo
’s brain may or may not have worked out the best scenario in its alcohol-infused state that night, but in the split second that remained to make a decision and take action, he saw only good outcomes.

Bobby Kettrick stuck his head and half his body
through the window and shined a small flashlight into the garage. In the same moment that the beam of light landed squarely on his own car, a heavy-gauge, 100% steel wrench landed squarely on the back of his wavy-haired head. Bobby slumped over the peeling wood window frame and deflated like a punctured balloon.

Enzo
, high on the idea of capturing the favored son of Lavitte red-handed, yanked the rest of Bobby’s limp body in. No easy task. Bobby weighed 190 pounds easy. Exhausted, Enzo stood over his quarry and savored the moment of lording a spic’s power over rogue royalty. He gave Bobby a jarring kick in the ribs and told himself he was trying to rouse him. Nothing. One more vicious strike in the hip region satisfied Enzo in more ways than one. “Score!” he said in a loud whisper as Bobby’s torso rocked back and forth lazily.

Enzo
thought back to the way Bobby had treated him on the spring soccer team for one-and-a-half seasons. Like dirt, like a scrub, like a third-class citizen. In a popular practice drill that involved Bobby trying to steal the ball from Enzo, Bobby had caught Enzo’s shin with his cleat—several times. One Tuesday afternoon, the bruise was so bad, Enzo could barely walk. As he’d hobbled down the road towards home, Bobby had driven by with a carload of teammates, beeped at Enzo and flipped him off. The sound of the group laughter still echoed in Enzo’s brain like a sore that kept scabbing over but never healed. Despite Enzo’s excellent attitude and advanced footwork on the team, Bobby’s inexplicable animosity towards him had spread to the other players and Enzo soon became a loner on the field, a body taking up space. The lack of passes in his direction went unnoticed—or unacknowledged—by the portly coach who worked for Bobby’s dad as an
errand boy
during the summers. The coach wasn’t exactly picking up milk and dry cleaning for the Mayor.

Enzo
recalled the day the coach had made an unexpected appearance at Rodriguez Family Day in the park, also known as Sunday. The Rodríguezes flocked to the park every weekend like geese to water, hogging all four picnic tables and eating and drinking as if they’d starved all week. Then they’d burn off the calories in endless games of soccer and baseball.

T
he rotund coach had pulled up in a car much fancier than anything he could have afforded on his own. He’d lowered the tinted window and swiveled his no-neck head toward Enzo’s Uncle Tito. The uncle, a brash moonshiner who loved to regale others with tales of his narrow escapes, had transformed into a subservient cad at the sight of the blubbery
futbolista
. He’d scurried towards the coach’s extended ham hock of an arm and deposited a big wad of cash into the stubby digits at its end. The coach’s head had rotated forward again, his wiggly chins following a moment later. The arm had retracted as the window rose up. The transaction had taken no more than nine seconds but it had made a lifetime impression on Enzo. He’d kept his mouth shut and his eyes lowered as he quit soccer the next week. It wasn’t a tough choice. The coach belonged to Mayor Kettrick and when the choice came down to disciplining the boss’s son or helping out the kid whose family bowed to the boss, the boss’s son would always win.

Enzo
’s third kick, a solid strike to Bobby’s shin, elicited a deep groan from its recipient. Enzo crouched down as he worked up a big wad of phlegm to spew on Bobby’s face. The entitled brat’s deep, bottomless breathing gave the impression that he was dozing rather than unconscious. A stale combination of alcohol and pot emanated from his mouth and pores, although Enzo wondered if some of the stink might be coming off his own body.

Grabbing Bobby by the chin,
Enzo rolled the sculpted head to the right and left, wondering what made this asshole so appealing that everyone walked on eggshells around him. Bobby’s smooth skin and perfect complexion made Enzo wince, his own having gone through a rough patch lately. The guy probably never had a zit in his life. Enzo swallowed back his spit and released the flawless head. Nothing he could do would make up for the things Bobby had done to others. There was only one real way to free Lavitte from Bobby Kettrick’s current and future grasp. The thought made Enzo wonder if Mr. Artie had locked up the guns.

Enzo
gazed at the prone, muscular body again. If this wasn’t the silver platter Mr. Artie’d been talking about, what was? Here lay the thief himself, signed, sealed and delivered, with a few extra bruises for insurance. Of course, Enzo could take it one step farther, put a real exclamation point on the situation. He couldn’t resist. He dragged Bobby’s body to the rear garage door of the first bay, where the old Mercedes was parked. He dropped the legs with a painful thud onto the cold floor and walked towards the Chevy. A rat dashed out from underneath. It knocked over a hubcap, sending a loud clatter through the night and a jolt of surprise through Enzo’s heart. Sensing unwanted company, the small rodent made a beeline for the tight space beneath the corner tool chest.

“Shit,”
Enzo said, certain that his pounding heart would awaken Bobby. As he glanced at his quarry, he worried for a moment that the rat might start chewing on him in the middle of the night. Then he smiled and his thoughts grew darker. He popped the trunk of the Chevy.