Ultraviolet (41 page)

“Really?” I said.

“Stick around. See for yourself.”

I decided to do just that and so I paid for my dessert, feeling guilty about leaving a pool of melted ice cream and about four uneaten bites, then headed back to the Volvo. It was about seven when I moved it from the front of the building to park around the side, angling the car so I could get a view of the back parking area. There were already some semis jockeyed into position, and as I watched more big rigs began rolling in for the night, rumbling, headlights scouring the asphalt as they turned into their spots. In their illumination, I watched the men climb from the cabs, hitch up their pants, head into the building.

I sank down in my seat, peering through my steering wheel. I waited about an hour, my butt nearly numb, till the truckers started returning to their rigs. It took about another hour, but then women seemed to materialize in the exhaust vapors, some of them under the men’s arms as they headed toward the trucks.

A sudden rap on my window shot me up straight. I glanced up into a craggy, male chin. Tentatively, I hit the button to send my window down.

“What you want?” he asked, his face shadowed by a baseball cap.

“I’m a friend of Tammie’s…?”

“Tammie ain’t here.”

“Oh. She told me she would be.”

He eyed me carefully. “You’d best go home now.”

“She wanted me to meet someone,” I said. “Her man, y’know?” I couldn’t make myself say “pimp.” It sounded so corny, like a caricature word from television.

“If you’re meanin’ Don, he ain’t around, either. You want my advice, little girl? Go on home. You got a nice enough car. What’re you doing here anyway? Now, go on.”

“Is Don short for Dante?” I asked.

“You’re askin’ a lot of questions for a friend of Tammie’s.”

I didn’t mistake the quiet threat in his tone. I put the car in gear. He stepped back as I circled around, but he stayed as a sentry, watching my every move.

There was nothing I could do but leave.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“H
ow do you get from truck stop prostitution to the Columbia Millionaires’ Club?” Dwayne asked thoughtfully, as he had all week.

“Dante,” I answered, as I had all week.

We looked at each other across his kitchen bar. Dwayne was in sweats, T-shirt and jacket. He’d taken to walking/limping around the bay, strengthening his leg; he was chafing to be at full speed.

My head was full of the Hatchmere case, which was fine with Dwayne, since as long as Violet was paying, we were still on the job. He was spending his time on the background check on Chuck’s daughter’s boyfriend, and he’d mentioned that some other jobs were stirring as well.

I’d driven back to the truck stop a couple of times, using Dwayne’s surveillance car, parking in the front and staying out of sight of the truckers as much as possible. Dwayne had even come with me once, and we’d pretended to be a couple just stopping in for dinner. Dwayne had really stressed his limp, which attracted attention and was probably what any casual observer would remember if they wondered who we were. I wore my “disguise”—my glasses and baseball cap—and let my hair fall down the sides of my face. It turned out to be more an exercise in reconnaissance than a means to further our investigation, but I was glad Dwayne was engaged in the activity. I wanted him engaged in the business again, just as much as he did.

The week had passed without much incident. I’d had to go into my cell phone coverage provider and order up a new phone. My old one’s trip to the ground had been fatal, apparently. Highway robbery on the part of the cell service company. Of course, they had a billion plans where I could get my new phone
free!!!
if I signed a contract for seventy-five years. A lot of the functions were the same as my old phone, but the few new ones I had to learn sent me into conniptions.

Yes, this is a flaw in my character.

It took me three times before I actually forced myself to wait to be helped, because each time I drove to the store the lines out the door of people needing help made me crazy. It was Thursday before I actually managed to bring myself to face the music, and then I began to seriously wonder if I had rage issues because I wanted to crack heads together over the customers’ asinine questions and insane requests. By the time my guy asked how he could help me I’d had to put myself in a mind-zone to keep from going postal.

He showed me a variety of models—all X-tremely fancy, all X-tremely pricey. I finally picked one, pulling out my credit card with reluctance. I’m not one of those people who has to have the newest and the bestest. I just want the most reliable with the least amount of new things to learn.

I waited while he reprogrammed my new phone with my number. I watched him push buttons on the phone, add things into his computer, push some more buttons, go into the back, return and on and on and on. He was pleasant and fast, but it still took up more time than I wanted to spend. I was definitely going to have to be more careful about my phone because I couldn’t go through this again
ever
.

My new phone beeped at me while I was driving home. Voice mail message. I wasn’t exactly sure how to access it, so I left it for when I could use both hands. Then I forgot about it.

Now, Friday morning, talking to Dwayne, I suddenly remembered. I pulled out the phone and looked at it. “I’ve got six messages,” I said. “Guess they’ve been stored up.”

Dwayne took his coffee cup outside to the dock as I worked my way through the code to access my voicemail. I’d had my old phone set up to just push a button and it would automatically enter my password, but I hadn’t waited for the customer service rep to program that feature. I could have been sitting in a corner, thrumming my finger to my lower lip, if I’d had to wait much longer as it was.

“Jane Kelly,” Dante’s mocking voice said on message one. A little breathier “Jane…Kelly…” was message two. Message three, four and five were about the same. In message six he told me he was going to see me soon.

I froze, my cell phone to my ear, processing a cold rush of fear that spread through my body. I tried to pick up the phone number, but it was unavailable, which is the way mine should read on someone else’s phone. The logical answer was someone had given him my cell number. Someone who knew it.

I glanced outside to Dwayne, my mind racing. It was Friday and I had a date with destiny at Do Not Enter tonight. Dwayne didn’t want me to go. I didn’t want to go. I had distinct butterflies in my stomach. But Josh Newell and the Lake Chinook police were just a speed-dial away.

Dante…or Keegan Lendenhal. Of the two, Keegan was the better option. “Why did I get into this profession?” I asked out loud.

Note to self: learn origami. Consider its instruction as new career option.

“Did you say something?” Dwayne called from the dock. The binoculars were at his eyes again.

Dwayne added, as if we were in the middle of a conversation, “Don—probably Dante—has Tammie working both the truck stop and CMC. He’s brought in other women to the parties, too. You didn’t get a sense of any of them as being connected to him?”

“No,” I said. Again. I walked outside and told Dwayne about Dante’s messages.

He dropped the binoculars and looked at me. “You’ve scared him,” he said.

I nodded.

“You’re onto something.”

“He doesn’t want me to talk to Tammie, or ask about Roland, or anything connected to the case and so he’s trying to get me to back off.”

“I don’t like it,” Dwayne said.

“You don’t like anything that involves danger and me,” I pointed out.

“You got that right.”

“That kinda defeats the purpose of me working for you.”

He couldn’t argue with that, so he stared through the binoculars some more. Now that I’d had a little while to think about it, I wasn’t as scared as I thought I’d be. “Tomorrow, I’m going back to the truck stop and see if I can meet with Tammie.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Do Not Enter calls.”

Dwayne made a sound of frustration and yanked his cell phone from his pocket. “Forget that. I’ll call your buddy Josh and get him to go after Keegan.”

Quickly, I put a hand over his, stopping him. “Give me tonight.”

“Jane…”

“Dwayne,” I responded right back, warning him to quit while he was ahead.

I left before he could talk me out of my plans. I know myself and I was pretty sure a few well-placed words could break my resolve.

I got a burger at a fast food restaurant for dinner, then went home and changed into Glen’s oversized Lake Chinook sweatshirt for hopefully the last time. I didn’t know how many of Keegan’s disciples were actual players, how many turned a blind eye, how many maybe honestly didn’t know. I just wanted Keegan.

On my way to Do Not Enter, I called Dwayne to let him know, and he cut me off to warn, “If I don’t hear from you by eleven-thirty, I’m calling the police.”

“Midnight,” I argued, glancing at my watch. “It’s an away game. They’ve got to get there.”

“I don’t like it, Jane.”

“This, I know.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

I hung up.

On Beachlake I passed by all the houses Dwayne had been watching: Tab A/Slot B, the Wilsons, the Pilarmos, Do Not Enter, Social Security. Boldly, I turned around in Social Security’s driveway, though the house was tucked back and my headlights would probably be more a wash across the trees than expectation of an approaching vehicle.

No rain tonight, but I’d opted for the baseball cap anyway. Once again, I threaded my ponytail through the hole in the back. Once again, I filled my pockets with my cell phone and a rock. I ended up locking my purse in the car. I needed to be fleet of foot. It makes me nervous, all that identification inside a parked vehicle, just begging to be stolen. A phobia of mine. I have a recurring dream about losing my wallet, license, credit cards. It ranks right up there with standing naked in front of an auditorium of high school classmates.

Water still stood in mud puddles and it required some serious concentration on my part to keep my Nikes from getting soaked. My efforts to keep my feet dry helped me use my brain for something other than the awareness of paralyzing, escalating fear. I told myself that Keegan was, after all, barely an adult. He went to school. He lived at home with his parents. He was revered by his friends, his family, the community as a whole. Were both he and Dante truly the bogeymen, or was I being a tad hysterical?

As soon as this thought coalesced, I gave myself a mental shake. This was exactly the kind of second-guessing that predators count on. At the very least, Keegan was a rapist. Gut instinct said the guy was a monster in the making.

Do Not Enter was as quiet as a tomb. I hadn’t gone to the game. I hadn’t called Keegan once during the week, like he’d asked. I hadn’t received a text message from Dawn. I’d simply expected everything to remain status quo.

A cold frost ran down my spine. I stopped short, at the bottom of the plank. The construction workers had started with some insulation. I could see rolls of it piled inside the entryway and into the living room.

A dark form materialized in the doorway, causing me to gasp in surprise. I saw the orange tip of a cigarette as he lifted it from his side to his lips. “Nobody’s here,” one of the disciples told me softly.

Something about his tone sent a buzz through my body, an electrical whizzing along my nerves. “Okay,” I said, turning on my heel. Something was wrong. My urge to flee swelled like a balloon.

“Hey.”

A wall of guys was approaching from the drive. I’d heard their footsteps, but distantly, through the filter of a growing fear. My cell phone was on vibrate, in my pocket. I wanted to whip it out like a pistol, but this was not a time to be rash.

“Keegan?” I asked, injecting an eager tone. Perhaps they didn’t hear the faint tremor.

“He’s not here yet. You Ronnie?” one of them asked. I recognized them as they approached as several of Keegan’s most devoted acolytes.

“What’s going on? Where is everybody?”

“You were supposed to call,” another one of them accused. They stopped. Four of them, arms crossed, their faces obscured by darkness, their attitude watchful and faintly aggressive.

What the hell was this? Some kind of tribunal?

“I
did
call,” I lied urgently. “Keegan never called back. I thought maybe…I don’t know…that he was busy, or something…? And I was having trouble with my cell phone. I had to get a new one. Honestly.”

There was a potent hesitation. I looked around, back to the house with its door sentry. “Am I the only girl?”

“They’ll be here,” one of the guys said, breaking the silence. I realized it was Glen. He seemed less comfortable with this stand-off than the rest of them. I remembered him goofily flipping the bird at my Lakeshore sweatshirt, the one they’d lobbed into the tree.

“Do you want your sweatshirt back, Glen?” I asked, saying his name on purpose, identifying him, hoping to break the mob mentality.

“Hey, no. It’s yours.” He was embarrassed.

“Let’s go inside,” the tallest boy ordered.

We all single-filed our way up the plank. I found myself shivering though it wasn’t really cold. It had to be eleven or later. “How was the game?” I asked.

“We lost.”

“Oh.”

Was that what all the grimness was about? I felt slightly light-headed, wanting to laugh. This terror I was feeling was because they were upset that they’d
lost
?

My moment of hilarity faded when I considered what this might mean to Keegan’s mood.

I heard more footsteps and shushing, feminine whispers. Thank God. Maybe these girls weren’t exactly my friends, but they sure as hell felt like it tonight.

The mood continued to be glum. The scout had brought in the booze and other contraband and was handing out beers and passing around a fifth of whiskey. I watched all those mouths tipping the bottle and went into one of my germ “ick” modes. I suspected the bottle wasn’t spiked with something nefarious, since everyone was taking a big pull, but I wouldn’t put my lips to the rim unless forced. When it came to me, I politely passed and no one seemed to care.