Part 16 (2/2)

”I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” He patted his person, searching for a lighter.

I knew his heart was in the right place. I pulled out the old Zippo I'd pocketed, pa.s.sing it along. I pointed out the winds.h.i.+eld. ”Take that left.”

We cleared a cl.u.s.ter of witch-hobble and moosewood, curving around a boulder, steering toward the glowing patch of porch light. Didn't matter that these homes were in the middle of nowhere or that folks cherished their privacy: no one ever switched off their porch light.

”So we cool?” Charlie said.

”Yeah, we're cool.”

I was hoping the Shaws were going to be receptive. I could use a little light s.h.i.+ned. One thing I could not wrap my head around was why these parents had signed off. Nicki said incarceration at North River was a mutual decision. Courts and Mom and Dad. Why would parents do that to their own kids? I'd wanted to reach out to Donna Olisky again, circ.u.mvent this entire process. Except last time we'd spoken, Donna hadn't been feeling all that friendly, and I doubted she'd had a change of heart. After all, in her mind, I'd cost her family five large. Plus, I wasn't sure who'd alerted DeSouza that I'd been hanging around Longmont. Could've been Donna as easily as security guards reporting license plate numbers. Unless someone else was watching me. There was a reason that car sat parked down the block.

I knew taking on this fight again wasn't going to improve my life, not professionally, not personally. My ribs and kidneys still felt tender from last week's beating. But what could I do? I owed a debt. My dead brother deserved vengeance. I was finally close to getting that for him, so much so that I was having a tough time focusing on anything else.

That's the problem with tunnel vision: you can't appreciate peripheral danger. Until it's too late.

The Shaw homestead would've been just another unremarkable shelter in the foothills of Lamentation Mountain, secluded from the road, shrouded in secrecy, swallowed by tall winter evergreens. Except that unlike many of the old farmhouses you find out here, which were hundreds of years old and in need of major renovation, planks peeling off the frame, s.h.i.+ngles checkering the rooftop, this home had benefited from a serious makeover.

As our headlights fanned up the driveway and the exterior, I could see the extent of repairs and expansion. A second story had recently been added, walls still unpainted plywood. An entire new home had been built atop the existing one, transforming a meager ranch into a split-level, doubling its market value. There was a new veranda, a new roof. Sandbags, paint cans, and a ladder lay on the side of the house buried beneath blue tarp.

”There goes the neighborhood,” Charlie said.

”Why don't you wait here?”

Soon as I set foot in the snow, a barrel-chested man in bibbed overalls, with a bushy beard and ham hands, pushed open the front door. A frail boy, twelve or so, stood behind him in the doorway.

”You lost?” the man said.

”Sorry to bother you. Are you Ken Shaw?”

”I'm Shaw. What do you want?”

”I was hoping to speak with you about your daughter, Wendy.”

Ken Shaw spat, hitching up his giddy. He stared past my shoulder, at Charlie's clunker belching fumes in the driveway. ”Who are you?”

I'd pulled a business card from my wallet, deciding whether to pa.s.s it along. Given the trouble I'd suffered at the office lately, mentioning the job wasn't the smartest move, but I'd also learned that if you say anything with self-confidence and authority, people follow your lead. I figured insurance sounded less threatening than independent investigator. Especially to these libertarian mountain men up here with their inherent distrust of, well, everything.

I tried to hand him the card, but Shaw stepped from the porch, backing me down the stairs. d.a.m.n thing flew out of my hand, carried off on the wings of the night.

All trace of pleasantry gone, a sneer formed on his lips, apple cheeks blazing beneath farmer scruffiness. ”What did you say about my daughter?”

”I didn't mean any disrespect, Mr. Shaw.” You'd think I'd asked if his baby girl entertained sailors on the wharf. I showed my hands in surrender. I come in peace, I mean no harm. ”Wendy's in the North River Inst.i.tute, right?” I didn't know what response I'd been hoping for-by that point I could see Shaw wanted to throttle me, hard expression twisting harder with each pa.s.sing moment-might as well get to it. My time here was almost up.

Charlie waited in the shadows. A quick engine rev cut through the howling squall, my friend's way of letting me know he had my back when I was ready to run away. Ken Shaw paid no heed, content eyeballing me with the significant height and weight advantage he enjoyed. I didn't know why the farmer pegged me for such a threat-I'd said little more than h.e.l.lo-but he treated my presence like a wolf sniffing around his hens.

The snow started coming down steadier, slanting with the mountain jet stream, howling through the valley. Shaw's eyes whittled mean, trap stuck between sneer and scowl.

He barked an order over his shoulder to the young boy, who retreated inside.

”I'm sorry, Mr. Shaw,” I shouted into the wind. ”I think we got started off on the wrong foot. I am here to help your daughter.”

Ken Shaw turned around and walked up the steps to his front door. Reaching inside, he brought out a shotgun. The big man c.o.c.ked his big gun.

That was all the incentive I needed.

I jumped in the car and Charlie peeled out the driveway. Looking back I could still see the madman on the porch, standing guard over the henhouse with his shotgun. On the new second floor landing, the young boy stared out a window. Our eyes remained on one another until the entire home receded into darkness.

The storm had rolled in sooner than expected, and by the time we made Charlie's place, the damage piled high, snow falling hard and heavy, at least three inches in less than an hour. Soon Ashton would ground its plows. Without tire chains and four-wheel drive, I wasn't making it back to Plasterville tonight. I had nothing to go back to anyway. I called Nicki to see how they'd made out.

”Any luck?”

”Nope.”

”What are you doing now?”

”Driving around, waiting for you to call.”

The sound of highway whisked by in the background. Fisher was behind the wheel.

”What now, genius?” I heard him say, voice m.u.f.fled by speeding engines and racing winds.

”You guys better get off the road,” I told her.

She repeated my message.

”Tell him no s.h.i.+t.”

She put the phone to his ear, because I could hear him better.

”You at Charlie's?” he said.

”Yeah. Just got here.”

”We'll see you in a few. I can't see s.h.i.+t in this blizzard.”

Nicki got back on the line. ”Guess we'll see you at Creepy Charlie's soon.”

I glanced over at Charlie, who sat bloated and balding in a chair with a beer, staring at a wall without pictures, lost in deep thought.

”Yeah, sorry about that.” I didn't want to throw Charlie under the bus, not with my friend sitting there. Nicki got it.

”No worries,” she said. ”Happens all the time.” She laughed. ”Maybe that's why I like you so much.”

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