Part 55 (2/2)
She ended the call-then replayed the last few lines in her mind. ”Ohh!” Now she wanted to kick herself. Love ya! Love ya, and all she said was good-bye?
Travis, how could you do this to me!?
She turned on her heel and went out the door. She didn't mean to slam it-at least, that's what she told herself.
”WHAT DO YOU KNOW about this Matt character?” Parker asked me.
”He's a decorated Vietnam vet. He's intensely loyal. He held off the Vietcong by himself so his buddies could make it out in a chopper.”
Parker looked toward the ranch with regret in his eyes.
”Don't . . . don't hurt him. Please.”
Parker didn't get a chance to reply. Another deputy was handing him a cell phone. ”Sheriff, we got him on the line.”
”Nichols?”
”It's him.”
Parker pushed the phone at me. ”I understand you know him better than anyone. Talk to him. Calm him down.” I hesitated. ”Just get him talking, get things on an even keel.”
I took the phone and gingerly held it to my ear. ”h.e.l.lo. This is Travis.”
”My, my, my, what a gathering!”
”Yeah, they're throwing quite a party down here.”
”Parker isn't smiling.”
I glanced at Parker. ”No, he sure isn't. Not too many of them are. So how are you doing?”
”Oh, well enough. I have my own little family up here, ready to stand with me and go out in a flame of glory. This is the New Jerusalem. We can't let it fall to the infidels.”
”Do they all feel that way?”
”Well, just the ones that matter: Matt, Mary, Melody-”
”What about Morgan?”
He laughed. ”Rest easy, my friend. She's not here.”
”Who else, Justin? Who's in there with you?”
He only sighed. ”Why don't you go home, Travis? You can't do any good up here.”
”I'm supposed to be the negotiator. You and I are supposed to talk things out.”
”Oh, right. I give you a list of my demands, they say they'll think about it, they cut off our water and power and blast us with loud music for a few days, and then they storm in and shoot all of us. That is what we're talking about, isn't it?”
”Hey, it's your call, right? I told you not to make things worse for yourself.”
”Go home, Travis.”
”What about our discussion?”
”It's hard to speak freely and openly when there are a million cops around.”
”We may not get another chance.”
”Oh, we will, you can count on that. Hey, gotta go.”
”I met your father, Justin. Boy, now there's something we can talk about.”
”TRAVIS! Go. Home.”
He hung up. I let Parker know. Parker signaled the men standing by him. ”Okay, let's cut the power and water. Have those floodlights arrived?”
”On their way,” said a cop with ”POLICE” emblazoned on the back of his jacket.
”Let's get a better phone system going here, something we can monitor.” He addressed me. ”Can you get him on the line again?”
I shrugged. ”I can always ring the number. I don't know if he'll answer.”
A deputy with a handheld radio had gotten the word. ”The RV village is secure.” He listened further. ”There's no resistance and a lot of them want to leave.”
Parker sniffed a sneering chuckle. ”Loyal followers!” He ordered, ”Okay, search and screen each vehicle and roll it out of there, the whole village, one by one. We'll eliminate the hiding places and tighten the perimeter.”
MORGAN HAD NEVER BEEN INSIDE THE HOUSE but she knew where it was, and thankfully, she didn't have to navigate the main street through town to get there. The local fire department was out, lights flas.h.i.+ng. The ambulance was deployed, lights flas.h.i.+ng. Antioch's second squad car was blocking access to the damage zone, lights flas.h.i.+ng, and some county sheriff's vehicles were on the scene as well, lights flas.h.i.+ng. The center of town had become a major wreck on the highway.
Myrtle Street, on the other hand, had quieted down. The porch lights were on up and down the block, and an occasional TV screen glowed blue through a front window. She drove as far as the highway barrier at the west border of the town, and there, on the right, was my little bungalow. The porch light was on there too, and lights were on inside. The shades were drawn She went through the front gate, up the short walk, and onto the porch. The front door was unlocked. She knocked, cracked it open, and called, ”Michael? Michael, it's Mom.”
No answer. She looked over her shoulder for the approach of Brett Henchle, but realized she had to be well ahead of him. The ranch was several miles out of town, and he'd have to drive through some of that chaos on the main street before he could turn off to get here.
She went inside to wait, and immediately, unintentionally began to acquaint herself with how Travis Jordan lived and kept house. The living room wasn't too bad. A model airplane, still in progress, lay on a table on the back porch. The kitchen was a mess with empty root beer bottles on the table, and two pieces of cold Canadian bacon pizza on a plate.
The bedroom was just off the dining room and the door was open. She debated for just a moment and then stole quietly in to have just a quick look. The bed was made, and that pleased her. The stuffed lion and lamb posed against the pillows made her smile. Books were neatly perched on the shelves, and an aquarium, home to four tropical fish and one tiny frog, gurgled peacefully.
She heard a noise and turned. Nothing there but the messy kitchen and two pieces of cold pizza.
The bedroom closet was along the wall to her immediate right, closed off with bifold doors. She was tempted to take a peek in there as well, but drew the line right where she stood. Privacy was privacy. Besides, there was a smell in here, like body odor. He has some dirty tee s.h.i.+rts hiding somewhere, she thought, and I don't want to find them.
Then she saw the picture beside the bed, and paused. It was Marian, looking the best she'd ever looked in one of those perfect hair, hand-to-chin studio poses. She walked quietly, even respectfully, around the bed and to the nightstand to take a closer look. This was Marian in her prime, before the cancer and chemotherapy. Morgan couldn't resist. She had to touch it, then pick it up, charmed by Marian's smile, saddened by the loss. She could identify. She had a picture of Gabe by her bed.
She looked over her shoulder.
Nothing there but shelves, a banjo, and the door to the kitchen. Sometimes light reflected off the inside of her gla.s.ses and made her think she was seeing something. That must have been what it was.
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