Whirlwind (16 page)

Placing one palm on the envelope, Jas stood. Carefully, she made her way through the woods, keeping the trailer lights in sight. She didn’t dare turn on the penlight for fear of being spotted.

What seemed like forever, she stumbled from the woods onto the road. The mailbox was twenty feet to her right. She jogged toward it, crouching behind the huge tires. Briars had scratched her arms, and branches had left knots on her forehead. Her throat was parched. But when she crinkled the envelope, a smile stretched her cheeks.

She crouched there until headlights came from the direction of the trailer. Jas hunkered lower as a car slowed at the end of the drive and then turned left. The Ford crawled past. “Jas!” Ms. Baylor hissed out the rolled down window.

She sprang from behind the tires. Yanking open the door, she piled into the backseat the same time the hound vaulted into the car. His
tongue swatted her face like a wet washcloth. Jas slammed shut the door. “Go!”

“What in the world?” From the front seat, Ms. Baylor and Grandfather stared at Digger, then at Jas. She elbowed the hound off her lap. “Just
go!”

Tires scrabbling at the gravel, the Escort rumbled down the road. “Sorry it took so long.” Ms. Baylor said when they were a safe distance from Looney’s. “The police asked a million questions.” The investigator stared at Jas in the rearview mirror. “Well? Did you find anything?”

“An envelope taped to the top of the doghouse.” She pulled it from under her T-shirt.

The Ford jerked to a stop. Ms. Baylor swung around in her seat. “What’s in it?”

Jas stared at the envelope. In her adrenaline rush, she’d imagined it contained the location where Tommy had taken Whirlwind. Now she realized it could be anything—like the warranty for the doghouse or Digger’s immunizations.

Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope. It contained a folded piece of notebook paper, like the kind she used at school. Slowly,
she unfolded it. It was a handwritten list with dates and abbreviations. At first nothing made sense except the dates. Then Jas studied it closer, and her pulse began to race. “I think I found it. I think I found a record of the horses Tommy hauled!”

MS. BAYLOR PUT THE CAR IN PARK AND TURNED
in the seat. Her penciled eyebrows rose up to touch her bangs. “Are you certain it’s Looney’s records?”

“No, not certain.” Leaning forward, Jas clicked on the penlight and held the sheet so Grandfather and the investigator could see it. “Look. The left-hand column contains dates. The middle contains abbreviations, maybe for places? Followed by an amount—see there’s the word
one
. And the last column is … I don’t know.” She blew out a breath of frustration, suddenly realizing her initial reaction was hasty. If the list was about hauling horses, it made no sense.

“Wait, wait.” Ms. Baylor studied the sheet. “I think you’re right.” She ran her pointy nail down to an entry dated 6/1. “That must mean
June first. Isn’t that the date Whirlwind was hauled from the farm?”

Jas nodded, her excitement returning. “And look. Next to the date is HMF—High Meadows Farm! Then ‘one’—one horse? And ‘one hundred thirty m.’”

“One hundred and thirty miles,” Ms. Baylor guessed.

“Yes, yes! One horse was hauled a hundred thirty miles from High Meadows Farm on June first. That has to be Whirlwind!” Jas began to bounce on the edge of the car seat like a little kid.

The investigator frowned. “Except the entry ends with the word
black
.”

“And ’irlwind is chestnut,” Grandfather said.

Jas inhaled sharply. Her fingers gripped the notebook paper. “No, that can’t be right,” she whispered.

Grandfather patted her hand.

“Even if it was Whirlwind, the entries don’t tell us exactly where he took her,” Ms. Baylor said. “It must have been his record of mileage—maybe for payment—so we could check towns in a hundred-thirty-mile radius.”

“Which will give us how many towns? A hundred?” Her voice rose as she realized the futility. “It might as well be a
million.”

“I’m sorry, Jas.”

She nodded. A tear trickled down her cheek. Digger stuck his nose in her face and slurped it away.

“The good news is, the police are taking Tommy’s death seriously,” Ms. Baylor went on. “Meaning they aren’t labeling it ‘drug deal gone bad’ or ‘neighbor shot over barking dog.’ I told them about the possible link between Hugh and Tommy. Maybe something will come of it.”

Jas threw herself back against the seat. “Sure. Like Hugh will convince his golfing buddy—who just happens to be the prosecutor—that Tommy bashed himself in the head.”

“Come on, don’t give up. I’m still looking at the horse dealers that Hugh might have worked with. Perhaps I can link one with a town a hundred thirty miles from here. Okay?” She again started the car down the road.

The hound dropped his head in Jas’s lap. She stroked his soft ears, trying to hold back the despair. Every lead, every clue, every possibility
seemed to turn to nothing. The information to Whirlwind’s whereabouts had died with Tommy Looney.
Just as Hugh wanted
.

Jas was about to angrily scrunch the list into a ball when she decided to look at it again. Ms. Baylor was right. She couldn’t let Hugh win this easily. Examining the sheet, she tried to make sense of the entries. Obviously, Tommy had hauled a horse on June 1. And HMF had to be High Meadows Farm. And hadn’t he all but admitted the day she’d called him on the phone that it was a
chestnut
horse? Then why the notation “black” in the right-hand column?

She scanned the right-hand column of the other entries. Several others had “black” listed. Yet most of the other entries had names: Smith, Woodward, Gentry.

Suddenly Jas understood: “black” was not a color. It was a name. Scott Black the horse dealer! Words tumbling from her mouth, she explained her discovery to Ms. Baylor. Grandfather had fallen asleep, his head tipped forward. “And his barn’s in Lexington—that’s about sixty-five miles away—a hundred thirty round trip!”

“Hey, girl, you’re good!” Reaching back, Ms. Baylor slapped palms with her.

“Except I thought you said Scott Black was squeaky-clean,” Jas said.

“I originally thought he ran a reputable operation. But since I’ve been poking around, I’ve discovered that he’s brokered a few shady deals. Which is good for my investigation—I’ll have leverage when I talk with Mr. Black.”

“Let’s go to his house right now,” Jas urged. “You’ve got a gun. And I’m mad enough to use it.”

“Slow down, pardner.” Ms. Baylor stopped the car at the intersection. “Let me handle Scott Black. If he is the agent who set up Whirlwind’s sale, he’ll know where she is.”

“Yes!” Jas practically screamed the word. “That’s why I want to talk to him
now.”

“Only we don’t want to scare him off. And”—she gave Jas a hard look—“we don’t want to tip Hugh off that we know about Black.”

The blood rushed from Jas’s head, making her dizzy. “Oh, no. Do you think he found out we—you—were talking to Tommy? Is that why he killed him?”

Ms. Baylor shrugged one shoulder. “It’s possible. Or Looney may have contacted Hugh hoping to blackmail him. Or Hugh could have
been covering his tracks—getting rid of any telltale evidence. I’m sure his lawyers told him that the insurance company is proceeding with the case. Hugh’s smart enough to figure out we’re looking for Whirlwind.”

Jas wrapped her fingers around the hound’s collar. “You don’t think he’d hurt her, do you?”

Ms. Baylor turned the Escort left, heading back to Second Chance Farm. The investigator’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, where they met Jas’s in the glass. “Let’s hope not,” she said.

More waiting. Jas hated it. It had been two days since they’d found Tommy Looney. Two days since they’d discovered the information about Scott Black. Two more days of waiting to find Whirlwind.

Ms. Baylor had told Jas to pack a carry-on suitcase and keep it handy. She was confident that Scott Black would lead them to Whirlwind. Jas wanted to be as confident as the investigator. But after all this time and all the setbacks, she was too afraid.

What if they were wrong about the entries? What if Scott Black didn’t know anything?
What if he refused to tell? What if Hugh bashed his head in, too?

For two days, those questions had kept Jas tossing and turning at night. Adding to her anxiety was Grandfather’s refusal to take his medications for blood pressure and cholesterol. Neither she nor Mrs. Quincey were able to convince him. “Dang drugs’ll kill you before a ’eart attack” was his reasoning. “Your stubbornness will kill you first,” Jas had retorted. So much for acting like an adult.

“Hey, Jas, can you hold the board a little steadier?”

She glanced up. Chase stood beside her, a hammer in his hand. They’d been nailing boards to fence posts. Rand and Mr. McClain, Chase’s dad, were setting posts. Grandfather was handing out nails and using the level to make sure boards and posts were straight and even. Jas had slathered him with sunscreen, made him wear a straw hat, and dragged a lawn chair from the office. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking he might keel over any minute.

They’d been working all morning. Now it was noon, and the summer sun beat from a cloudless sky. Chase had taken off his T-shirt.
Sweat gleamed on his chest, trickling down his torso and into his waistband.

Jas forced her gaze from him to the board she was holding. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

“About me?” Chase asked as he expertly hammered a nail.

“No. Though I do think about you,” she said quickly.

He gave the nail head one last shot. “You just think more about Whirlwind.”

She couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing. “Well, right now I do. That’s because she’s missing and you’re not.”

Without looking at her, he handed her the hammer and picked up another board. “What happens if you don’t find her? What happens if she’s missing forever?”

“Don’t say that. Just hold the dang board in place.” Gripping the nail, Jas hit it hard, furious at the thought of never finding Whirlwind. Her eyes blurred with tears of anger, and she bent the nail and whacked her thumb. “Shoot!” She jerked her hand back and the nail dropped into the weeds.

“Are you all right?” He set the board on the ground.

“No.” Her thumb throbbed and her wrist ached from hammering all morning. “I can’t believe you said that. About not ever finding Whirlwind. That’s so cruel.”

He studied her with his clear blue eyes. “I guess I just wanted to know what would happen to us if you never found her. The past two days you’ve barely spoken to me.”

“Us?” she snapped. “How can I think about us now? Hugh killed some guy because he doesn’t want me to find Whirlwind. And according to your father, the county police have no leads or solid evidence. That’s all I can think about. Besides, it’s not like we’re going steady.”

“No. I thought it was more than that. Guess I was wrong.” With a hurt look, he yanked his T-shirt off the post. “I’m going to get lunch.”

“Chase,” Jas called as he strode off. But he didn’t look back. Still furious—at herself—she threw down the hammer. It hit the toe of her shoe, bouncing off.

“Jas, we’re breaking for lunch,” Rand said as he jumped off the tractor. She picked up the bent nail and then looked around for Grandfather. He was slumped awkwardly in the lawn
chair, his face bright red. Her heart flipped. “Grandfather!” she called as she dashed over.

“I’m all ’ight,” he said, so softly she could barely hear.

“I need help!” she hollered. Rand and Mr. McClain hurried over. Chase’s dad took Grandfather’s pulse. Rand drenched a handkerchief with water from his thermos and placed it on his forehead. Grandfather tried to bat their hands away.

“He’s okay,” Mr. McClain said. “Heat got to him.” Chase’s father was a stockier version of his son.
And just as sweet
, Jas thought with a pang, wishing she hadn’t snapped at Chase. But her nerves were shot; right now she had nothing more to give to a relationship.

“You’ve got to take it easy, old man. You’re not twenty anymore,” Rand jokingly told Grandfather, who scowled and retorted, “Neither are ’ou.”

Everybody laughed. Jas tried to help Grandfather up, but he pulled his arm from her grasp. She knew he was embarrassed and angry. He’d worked like a bull his whole life. Now he was reduced to holding nails.

“I wonder what’s for lunch,” Mr. McClain said.

“Whatever we can find in Miss Hahn’s refrigerator.” Jas thought about their own empty refrigerator. Last night, she’d meant to ask Mrs. Quincey to take them to the grocery store. Stocking up on food: one more responsibility she was failing.

Since they’d used Rand’s pickup truck to haul boards, it was parked in the pasture where they were working. “How ’bout I treat,” Rand drawled as he took off his tool belt. “Burger King’s not far down the road.”

“Sounds great.” Jas opened the passenger side door. She tried to help Grandfather climb in, but he warned her away with a growl. “We need to pick up Chase,” she said to Rand.

“Nope. The kid eats too much.” Rand winked at Jas. “Oh, wait. I’ve got coupons.”