You Can't Escape (40 page)

Dance checked into a Marriott Residence Inn off I-5 near Laurelton. He could shoot up Sunset Highway into Portland and across the Marquam Bridge, or he could go west toward Laurelton and Saldano Industries. He was near his own house, right where he was, but he had no intention of going back there, though he had neither extra clothes nor his phone charger. The car charger would have to suffice.

He’d shown up at Max’s house, but Max hadn’t been home. He’d then broken down and phoned his friend, though he’d wanted to meet him in person first. Max had been amazed to hear from him, and then pissed off that it had taken him so long to get in contact.

“What the hell happened to you, man?” Max demanded. “Jesus, Dance. The bomb and then you’re just
gone?
No one would let me talk to you, and I about went crazy. I thought you were dead and they just weren’t telling me.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“Well,
where were you?
Why’d you leave?”

“I want to talk to you about that. I stopped by your house, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m at Dad’s. He had another heart event yesterday. Jesus. Everything’s so fucked up. Come over here and you can tell me what happened to you.”

Maxwell hung up before Dance could respond, and Dance had almost called him back and turned him down. He preferred to talk to Maxwell by himself. But in the end he’d texted and said he would be there in a couple of hours. In the meantime, he’d booked himself into the hotel, wondering if he had time to buy himself some more clothes. He still needed sweats or loose pants to get past the bandage, so there wouldn’t be much improvement there. He tried to imagine working his way through a mall to a store and, with a growl, gave up the idea. He’d meet Maxwell and Victor as is.

He called Jordanna on the ride over. “Hey, there.”

“Hey, yourself. I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear your voice.”

“What happened?” he asked, hearing the relief in her voice.

“Nothing, really. Actually, I’m just leaving Malone. I met with my aunt Evelyn. She cleared some things up for me, kind of.”

“What do you mean?”

She laughed without humor. “My whole past, everything I’ve believed in, seems to be a mirage. I’m just thinking it through.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“No, no, it’s probably all good, for me anyway. It appears, like Virginia Fowler said, there is no Treadwell Curse. Practically everyone I’ve talked to since says the same thing: the Benchleys had the genetic illness, not the Treadwells. I’ve been trying to figure out where this got started, but maybe it doesn’t matter. It’s strange. I’ve always worried about what could happen to me and Kara, and now I should be jumping for joy, but I’m having some trouble believing it.” In a bemused voice, she added, “Like Aunt Evelyn, I always kind of thought I’d never have children. It’s weird to open that door and think it might be possible.”

Dance’s mind moved ahead. In all his time with Carmen, he’d never thought about having a child. She didn’t want one, and he’d never really cared one way or the other. He hadn’t even touched on that idea with Jordanna yet. The relationship was too new, but suddenly he had an image of a little boy, and a girl, and a life that had been impossible until now. “It’s a good door to open,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?” she said after a moment.

“On my way to meet Max and his father. Hey, how are you talking to me?” he asked. “You don’t have Bluetooth.”

“I know. I’m living dangerously. I’ll probably get picked up by the chief or Mr. Shitface.”

He grinned at her tone. “I’ll call after I talk with the Saldanos.”

“Okay.”

He almost said, “I miss you,” but they’d already gone through that earlier, and it made him feel a little silly, like he was going through a first crush again. Instead he said, “Take care,” and clicked off.

Jordanna had a smile on her face for a dozen miles, thinking about Dance. His allusion to it being good to be able to have children felt like it portended something more. Maybe there would be some longevity to the relationship. God, she hoped so.

As she neared Rock Springs, she came to the twin entrances to Everhardt Cemetery and the Calverson Ranch, directly across the road from each other. A green Dodge Ram truck was coming from the direction of Rock Springs, slowing and waiting for her to pass so it could turn beneath the arch that marked the entrance to Calverson Ranch. On a whim, she switched on her left blinker to indicate she was heading to the cemetery. She glanced at the driver as she turned and realized it was Martin Lourde. He lifted a hand at her and she did the same.

The entrance road to the cemetery was little more than parallel graveled tracks. Even though the access was rudimentary, the cemetery itself was manicured with clipped grass and headstones that marched in a line over a sloping knoll. One lone oak stood like a sentinel at the far corner.

She pulled into a gravel area near the oak and got out of the car. She was the only person at the cemetery. She knew where her mother’s grave was, and that Emily’s was next to it. As she headed toward them, along the path through the headstones, she heard an engine approaching. When she looked up she saw the green Dodge Ram rumbling along the periphery road. It pulled in beside her RAV and Martin climbed out of the cab. He hailed her again, then started her way.

By the time he reached her, she was at her mother’s grave, but his eyes had already drifted toward Emily’s. Modest granite markers, flat on the ground, designated which was which. “Figured this is what you were doing,” Martin said.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Jordanna said, though he probably knew since she’d taken off right after high school.

“I come here sometimes,” he admitted.

“It looked like you were turning into Calverson Ranch.”

“I was, but then I saw you, and well, Pru’s having one of her Sunday get-togethers and I’d just as soon blow it off. She does them all the time. Tries to fix everybody up with everybody.” He made a sound between a snort and a laugh. “Nate’s branding cattle, though. He won’t come in till after dark. Just his way of kinda pissing her off, I guess. She’s a little needy,” he added, by way of explanation.

“I kinda saw that.”

His gaze slid to Jordanna’s mother’s grave. “Too bad she got sick.”

“Yeah . . .” She regarded him speculatively. “I just learned it wasn’t the Treadwell Curse. In fact, I learned there is no such thing as the Treadwell Curse. What do you think of that?”

He regarded her as if she’d said the moon was made of green cheese. “Well, it would be nice if there was no such thing.”

“It’s the Benchleys who passed on the bad gene,” Jordanna said. “Not the Treadwells.”

His brows drew together. “Okay . . .” he said dubiously.

“I heard it from several different sources. Do you remember when you first heard the term?”

“All my life, I guess.”

“From someone at school?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Maybe not.” She let it go, gazing across the cemetery, thinking of all the people in Rock Springs who were buried here. “Did you hear about the woman’s body I saw at the old Benchley graveyard, the one on the Fowler property?”

“Yeah . . . kinda.”

“I did see it,” she assured him. “I was just wondering, why was it moved? Maybe they were afraid of what her body might reveal.”

“Like what?”

“I think it was Bernadette Fread. And I hear her boyfriend, Chase Sazlow, went missing about the same time. I don’t know how fast the police are going to get on this. They don’t quite believe there was a body even there. But I want to find Chase Sazlow and hear his story.”

Martin turned his head in the direction of the entrance to the cemetery. Beyond, the arch that led to Calverson Ranch was visible, backlit by the descending sun. “He was bunking at the Calverson Ranch. That’s where he works.”

“Has anyone seen him since Bernadette disappeared?”

“You’d have to ask Nate.”

“Maybe I will.” She followed his gaze, but her interest in stopping by while Pru was holding a soiree of some kind was close to nil.

“We used to play out here at night,” Martin said reflectively, a small smile touching his lips. “Scare the shit out of each other.”

“Rusty mentioned that.”

“You’d just be sneaking around and somebody would jump out from behind a headstone and yell ‘Boo!’ and it damn near gave you a heart attack. We practically peed our pants. Some of us did, actually. Not me, of course,” he added quickly.

Jordanna had an inward smile. “Of course.”

“I remember one time, this was when Nate’s dad was still alive and we were really young, maybe nine or ten. Anyway, Mr. Calverson realized we’d all snuck out and he came in the truck and was hollering like the crazy asshole he was. He grabbed Nate by the arm and shook him like a dog with a rat. And then he went after Rusty, and of course, he was always mean to the guys who worked on the ranch.” He suddenly bent down and examined Emily’s grave, his nose nearly to the ground. Near the headstone there was a bumped-up mound of grass. He dug his fingers into the mound and dragged out a tarnished chain. He had to give it a hard tug to get it to come free of the dirt and grass, but when it finally released, it swung in his fingers, a long chain with a tiny, once-silver cross swaying back and forth. “God Almighty, I put this here,” he said, choking up.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head in disbelief. “She’d gone so religious and I thought she might like it.”

The sun was at the very edge of the horizon. If they tarried much longer, the place was going to be in total darkness.

Martin placed the cross lovingly atop Emily’s headstone. “Rest in peace,” he said gently.

Jordanna looked from Emily’s grave to her mother’s and silently thought,
Yes, rest in peace.

Maxwell looked at Dance with cool, gray eyes. Since the phone call, he’d recovered his composure and now acted like he couldn’t care less about where Dance had been and what he’d been doing. The friendship that had been between them had taken a great hit, and maybe was even over. Dance felt a pang of regret, but knew he wouldn’t change things. Not if it meant going backward.

“Sit down, sit down.” Victor flapped an age-spotted hand at him. “Break my neck looking up at you.”

“Carmen told us you wanted out, so she granted you the divorce,” Maxwell said shortly.

There was truth there, but it wasn’t all of it. “Actually, she suggested the divorce.”

“Because you wanted it,” Max reiterated.

“So, now you can be with your girlfriend,” Victor said, eyes glittering. “Fine. Go. You’ve always been suspicious of this family, anyway. Always checking to make sure we’re on the up-and-up.”

“Dad,” Max said, shooting his father a quelling look.

Victor ignored him. “So, who bombed us? That’s what I want to know.”

“I don’t know,” Dance answered. He looked at Max, thinking of the audiotape he’d given to his friend. Max gazed steadily back at him. Though Dance couldn’t believe what was on the tape warranted the bombing, he wondered what Max felt about it. Had he even told his father about it?

“You have some kind of theory,” Victor accused him, then grumbled, “Cops and G-men all over the place. Everybody asking questions, no one giving any answers. They act like we’re criminals, like we’re the culprits.”

“They think we are,” Max said coolly.

“They’re trying to get at the truth,” Dance said.

“So, you’re on their side now, huh?” Victor was annoyed. “Tell us where you’ve been.”

Dance carefully recounted that he’d been in Rock Springs and had been working on another story there. He didn’t want to give too much away, but they seemed to feel he’d been plotting against them, and that wasn’t true. Max didn’t even appear to be listening, but Victor was all ears. When Dance finished talking, there was a protracted silence.

It was Victor who roused himself first. “So, who gets the house?” he asked, going back to the divorce. “You or my daughter?”

“Carmen can have the house.”

Max snorted. “Always the magnanimous one.”

“You were divorced, but still living there, together?” Victor questioned.

Again, Carmen’s idea. “I’m moving out” was all Dance said.

“Are you looking for who bombed us? I mean, for anyone other than us? You’re the man of the people, aren’t you?” Max accused. “After the big, bad corporations.”

“Only when they do big, bad things,” Dance returned coldly. There was only so much he was willing to take, only so long he would play the whipping boy. “Any evidence I find, I’m turning over to the police.”

“So, you are working with them,” Victor said in disgust.

Dance lasted about ten minutes longer, but then curtly told them he had to leave. As soon as he was outside he sucked in a long breath. He limped as fast as he could toward his car, slamming the door behind him. They wanted to make him the bad guy, so let ’em. Pulling out his cell phone, he called Jordanna again. The screen quivered a little before it held firm, which made him wonder about the phone itself. Maybe he’d damaged it when he’d taken it apart.

It was great to hear Jordanna’s voice warm when she realized it was him. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

“Driving to the homestead. I’m going to go inside and go straight to bed. I don’t care what time it is. I’m going to bolt all the doors and crash on the blow-up bed.”

“I wish I was there,” he said with feeling.

“Tomorrow?” she asked.

“Tomorrow,” he assured her, meaning it.