Today's Promises (21 page)

If Allison ends up released in a month, then so be it. The cost to keep her in prison is just too high. If we’re caught, Flynn will be put away, just like his father. Damn, he could even end up in the same prison as his dad. And that would surely kill him.

I hit the gas.

Flynn

I’
m so happy for Jaynie, going after her dreams like this. There was a time when she could barely deal with people. She was that broken by the system. But finally she’s strong enough that she actually feels she can help the kids society casts aside.

I’m interrupted from my reverie when the foreman yells at me. “Get a move on, O’Neill. You’re on the clock. Daydream on your own damn time.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply.

He then sends me over to work in another area of the apartments we’re building.

Fine
,
I can use the walk over to think about my own future.

I’ve been thinking about what I want to do, career-wise, a lot lately anyway. Working construction is all fine and good while I’m young and strong, but what will happen when I get older? I could always hope for a promotion to foreman, which would involve more overseeing. But even if that comes to pass, there’s still the weather to factor in. Here in this part of the country construction is not really a year-round gig. At least, not a steady one. In the summer, like now, work is plentiful. But come winter, it’s a whole new ballgame.

Sure, there are projects here and there, but it’s not always something one can depend on. And that’s not going to cut it. I need consistent, reliable employment if I’m serious about building a future with Jaynie.

And I am. More than anything else in my life, I want to do that.

But what sort of employment would I best be suited for?

When I think back to my time at the Lowry house, I have to admit that for all the bad times there were a few good ones. Meeting Jaynie is certainly at the top of that list, as well as forging what I know will always be lifelong relationships with Mandy and the twins.

The twins… I think about the time I spent with them, specifically their home-schooling. We older kids were responsible for teaching Cody and Callie all their school subjects, and we did a good job. I, however, was especially adept at helping Cody. He has difficulties learning in traditional ways, but that never mattered to me. I was always coming up with creative methods to teach him what he needed to learn.

Like this one time with math. Cody couldn’t figure out how to count. I enlisted Jaynie and together we used craft materials—different colored wooden dowels, to be specific—to help Cody learn to add.

Maybe I could take some college classes myself, just like Jaynie plans to do.

Maybe I could become a teacher.

Hell, I think I’d really like that.

With a newfound purpose in my step, I stride to the new work area, only to discover all the other workers have stopped for lunch.

Sighing, I take a seat on a huge cement block, away from the other guys. I open my brown bag and pull out the creation I made this morning before I left the sandwich shop. But just as I’m about to bite into tasty roast beef and cheddar on five-grain bread, my masterpiece, my cell buzzes.

It has to be Jaynie, so I place my sandwich on the crinkled bag and answer the phone, all without checking to see who the caller actually is.

“Hey, babe,” I say without pause.

“Um…”
Shit, not Jaynie
. “It’s Detective Silver,” the voice on the other end informs me. “This is Flynn O’Neill, yes?”

“Yes. It’s me.” I clear my throat, my cheeks warming at my silly misstep. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Clearly.”

There’s humor in the detective’s voice, and I can’t help but chuckle myself. But then, as always, he gets down to business.

“I called today to give you a head’s up on the Canfield case, just like I promised I would.”

“Hey, I appreciate that,” I say. “So, what’s up?”

“My court date for today was postponed,” Detective Silver informs me. “So, it looks like I may have some extra time on my hands. I was thinking of driving up to the Lowry property to check out your lead on that potential new evidence.”

“Whoa, that’s great.” I blow out a breath, both nervous and excited. I want the detective to find the planted evidence, sure, but I can’t help but worry a little that he’ll realize it’s manufactured. “So you’re heading up there, like, right now?” I croak out.

“Yes,” he replies. “Though this is too last-minute for me to get a forensics team together. Still, I can take some photos and cordon off the area. I’ll get another patrolman posted up there to stay the night. I had one on duty last night, but he’s off today.”

My voice cracks as I ask, “You had a patrolman on duty up there?”

“Absolutely. We wouldn’t want to take a chance on vandals getting to the evidence you told me about before the authorities do, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” I murmur.

Shit. This is it.
There’s no turning back. I should call Jaynie to let her know the ball is rolling.

Quickly, I end the call with the detective, and then I try to reach Jaynie.

Unfortunately, there’s no answer, which I find a little odd. Jaynie always picks up when it’s me…unless she has no service.

But where could she be that she has no cell service?

Jaynie

O
kay, so traipsing around on the Lowry property all by my lonesome is kind of terrifying.

Who knows what kind of weirdos could be lurking up here in the middle of a lonely summer day?

The silence is positively deafening as I walk more briskly up the long driveway. Seems even the birds have nothing to sing about today up in this hellhole. And then, as if things weren’t creepy enough already, the wind starts to blow, making it sound as if the leaves on the trees are whispering to me:
Watch Out!

“Crap,” I murmur. “Stop with the overactive imagination already.”

Still, I pick up the pace. Consequently, I’m down at the work barn in no time. Despite wearing cotton shorts and a thin tee, I am drenched in sweat.

Fanning myself with one hand and pushing the barn door open with the other, I mutter, “God, just make this fast, you fool.”

It’s unsettlingly dim in the work barn, and, of course, that’s when I realize I left my cell in the car. Not that it matters, since there’s such spotty service up here. If I find myself in a bind, I’ll be shit out of luck.

Pushing damp hair from my face, I hurry into the shadowy recesses and rush over to the area where Flynn and I hid the ‘evidence.’ Once I’m in the right place, I drop to my knees and get to work on removing the cement slab from our fake evidence hiding place.

Only problem I run into is that it takes a lot more effort than Flynn had to expend for little ‘ole me to lift the damn slab off the ground. My clammy hands don’t help matters. Seems it’s nearly impossible to keep a firm grip on the edge of the cement, leaving it to slip and slide this way and that, but not in the direction I want it to go.

Finally, after a few tries, I have enough of a steady hold to heave the slab off to the side.

“Ugh.” I fall back on my ass and suck in a few much-needed breaths.

After a couple of minutes spent recuperating, I’m back my knees and digging the loose earth with my hands.

Down, down, down I burrow, down to where Flynn buried the bloody towel.

“There it is,” I blurt out when I spy the soiled item.

Grabbing the edge gingerly, I use it to lift out the knife we also planted.

As I rise to my feet, our fake evidence in hand, I stare down at the empty hole. For a minute I consider filling it in, but then I decide to leave it as it is. This way, maybe it’ll look like a vandal or partier got to the knife and towel, leaving Detective Silver to conclude the same when he’s here tomorrow.

I release a sigh as I think about the repercussions of making this move. Removing our manufactured evidence means Allison will receive her early release. Even though it’s less than ideal, it’s still a more palatable outcome than Flynn going to prison for planting evidence.

This was all a crazy, reckless idea from the start.

Resigned that this is the way it has to be—we have too much to lose otherwise—I head toward the big barn door that I left partially open. But I falter when a shadow suddenly appears across the opening, dimming the sunlit view.

“What the hell,” I gasp.

Oh my God, what if there was someone in the house? What if it’s some derelict with plans to hurt me?

I was hurt before by a sick man, and it took Flynn and his infinite amount of patience to help me heal.

Looking for a way out, I pivot left and right.

But there’s nowhere to run.

Should I cower and hide?

No.

To hell with not fighting back. I will never again be a victim.

Scanning the barn, I search for something with which to bash in this potential assailant’s head.

But then I realize there’s no need to search for a weapon.

I already have one—the sharp knife with Debbie Canfield’s blood on it is in my hand.

Flynn

I
continue to call Jaynie. And she continues to not pick up.

“Damn it! Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I kick at a stack of wooden planks that I’m supposed to be carrying, stubbing my toe in my fit of anger. “Ow, shit.”

“Get moving, O’Neill,” the supervisor on this side of the work zone yells over to me when he sees me stalling. “You can make calls and get pissed off on your own time, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” I put my cell away and return to hauling material, though I continue to have a very bad feeling.

As the hours pass, my worry reaches epic levels. Quitting time can’t arrive soon enough. But as things always go when you’re in a hurry, the final hour of my shift passes more slowly than all the rest.

Finally it’s five and time to go.

Since the bus runs late most days, I decide not to take a chance. Whipping out my cell, I call Crick and ask for a ride back to Lawrence.

“No problem, kid,” he tells me after I inform him I’m in a hurry to get home. “I was just finishing up with my own work day.”

Five minutes later, Crick picks me up in his work vehicle and we head over to Lawrence.

“I thought you bought yourself a car?” he inquires a few minutes into our ride.

“Yeah, I did.” I smooth back sweaty hair from my forehead. “But I left it for Jaynie today.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Crick’s not generally nosy, he’s just making conversation.

I then tell him, “She had an appointment this morning over at the community college. Remember how we were telling you she plans to take some classes this fall.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. She wants to help kids, right?” Crick smiles over at me. “I still think that’s a really good thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” I agree.

I’m trying to sound upbeat and in the conversation, but the truth is I’m distracted and worried. I can’t stop running my hands through my hair, pulling at the in-need-of-a-trim ends with every pass.

Crick, glancing over at my fidgety ass, asks, “What has you so worked up, man? Something other than schooling plans going on with your Jaynie?”