Authors: Rachel Brady
Final Approach (5 page)
An hour later, Richard tossed a Best Buy bag onto the bed in my hotel room.
“I can’t believe you stole files.”
“Hello to you, too.” I pecked the miniature keys of my laptop. It was open on a small desk, wedged between a telephone and two empty Coke cans. I knew Richard was shaking his head but I refused to look at him. “Got some good stuff today,” I said. “I’m feeling very Nancy Drew. Very James Bond.”
When I finished what I was typing, I leaned back in my chair and waited for him to admit interest. His eyes were red, the skin beneath them sunken and gray.
Finally, he caved. “Well?”
I described the clientele and financial files I’d found at the drop zone. “I’ve got the customers, their contact info, and notes about them on the thumb drive.” I nodded toward the drive beside me on the table. Richard lifted it and dropped it into his shirt pocket.
“The financial part is trickier. That’s where you come in.”
We installed the Quicken software he’d brought and used it to open the files I’d e-mailed myself. Soon we were paging through screens of spreadsheets and accounts for Gulf Coast Skydiving. Several people on the list appeared to carry a declining balance. I figured Rick and Marie might offer discounted tickets to people who bought jumps in bulk.
“Let’s figure out who’s on the staff,” Richard said.
I ran a report to categorize payroll expenditures for the last six months. Richard scribbled names on hotel stationery. He asked me to do individual reports for everyone on the list so we could figure out how long each had worked there. Most had been around for years. Craig Clement had come on board two months ago.
A few hours later, we’d made a comprehensive list of employees and regular skydivers. We even knew how often each group worked or jumped. It was time to call it a day.
“If somebody there is involved,” I said, “I’d think it would be a jumper, not staff. Why would a staff member need a jump ticket?”
“Good question. Another thing you can find out.”
I slumped. My list of things to do and watch and find out at the drop zone was getting longer by the day.
By the time Richard left, it was mid-afternoon. I was convincing myself to buckle down and do the work I’d promised Bowman when my cell phone rang.
The number for BioTek’s main line was on the display. I was glad Jeannie was thinking of me, and it was like her to call at the perfect time.
But when I answered, I heard, “Glad I caught you. Pete Bowman calling.”
Well, shit.
He was brief, making clear in Bowman-esque terms that I was expected back at the office on Monday. There were meetings to attend and butts to kiss, his included.
“I’d like to see your reports,” he said. “Please e-mail them.”
The reports I’d been putting off ever since I got to Houston.
“Of course. Sure.”
He clicked off the line, and in the silence that followed, I had the feeling he’d called about more than my reports. Either he was suspicious or I was paranoid. Maybe both. Jack would have said I was over-analyzing.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon and I’d skipped lunch. Too tired to face the world, I called in a pizza. I told myself that after I ate, I would work on Bowman’s stuff for the rest of the afternoon until it was finished.
While waiting for the heart attack in a box, I picked up my old journal again and flung myself over the bed. I was closing in on the tough parts.
***
April 12—8:45 p.m.
Had quite a scare at the office today but have calmed down a bit since. Jeannie and I were at my desk, waiting for the Columbus group to tie in for our 1:00 telecon. She was annihilating my M&Ms, yammering on about Sexy Henry. My phone rang, I answered on speaker, but instead of Columbus, it was a lunatic threatening me about Nora’s case! He said, “You’ve got an important meeting coming up, Emily. Be a smart girl when you see those photos.” Then he hung up. Just like that.
Jeannie said, “Does shit like that actually happen in real life?” And then she smiled and said that was a good joke, I had her going, and she shook a finger at me like…shame on me and she’d be getting even soon. I lost it right there. Bowman walked by right before Jeannie closed my door.
Who was that? How does he know who I am? And, how does he know where I work, or that I was planning to look at a photo line up of the man I saw with Mattie?
We reported it to the police. I called Detective Cole in Austin and filled him in too. I feel better now. Jack’s more upset than I am.
I decided not to tell Nora. This would only make her feel responsible in some twisted way, and she doesn’t need that on top of everything else.
April 13—Bus ride
Heading back to office. Photo line up was exciting. I identified the guy from the restaurant: Wesley Reed.
I mentioned that crank call to the agent who helped me. She said I should certainly keep my guard up, but she suspects it was an empty scare tactic. How much time before I can know for sure?
April 13—Rant
I’m not sure if all moms feel this way, but it seems this way to me. You ask your husband to watch your daughter—
his
daughter, too—so you can get some me-time. He agrees. You’re happy. And when you come home, your absence has created way more work than if you’d never left in the first place.
All I wanted was dinner with Nora. A nice restaurant meal with my friend to catch up on how she’s doing, how Mattie’s doing, what’s going on with their case.
I got dinner all right. Its price was a 22-ounce container of Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder completely emptied all over Annette’s room. While Jack was absorbed in his sports channel, Annette got into her diaper supplies.
Powder on picture frames. The bookcase. The Little People farm. Skydiving Snoopy. Mickey Mouse clock. Dresser. Window sills. Stuffed animals. Puzzles. Valences. Bed. Mini-blinds.
I will kill him.
Windex, Pledge, blah blah blah…I finally got around to the Hoover and that’s where the story gets creepy. I opened Annette’s closet door to sweep—the powder was even in the closet—and found an earring on the floor. Not mine. Maybe it’s something Annette pocketed on one of our walks. But I can’t help feeling spooked, considering.
April 15—Annette’s bedside, keeping watch
I got to work this morning and the day instantly collapsed. Message light blinking, signature folder waiting, 27 e-mails. What did I do first? I opened my damned office mail and my heart has been in my throat since.
I ripped open a cardboard mailer, reached inside, and pulled out a tiny dress. It was Annette’s—the one with ladybugs embroidered on the lapels. There was a message pinned to the front:
“You don’t listen very well.”
I heard my heart beating in my ears. It was deafening.
I grabbed my keys and my cell phone and bee-lined to daycare. Who did I call first? Jack? Daycare? The police? Shit. I don’t even remember.
She is safe here now, sleeping in her bed. How can I ever leave her again?
***
I hadn’t opened that journal for years. Couldn’t bear to. And now my hands shook the same way they did the day I clutched Annette’s dress in my office.
I rolled onto my side and pulled a pillow into my chest. Another episode of the
If Onlys
was coming on. If only I’d believed the threats. If only we’d stayed home that weekend. If only I’d been with them.
I closed my eyes and remembered Annette’s small face, her chestnut eyes, and the feel of her wispy, straw-colored hair sliding through my fingers. The way her smile matched Jack’s, the way both of them could grin their way back into my good graces. Their dimples matched. Thinking back, it was their dimples that got me every time.
I fell asleep then, and dreamed of my family, of my reunion with them. This time it was in a supermarket. They were walking through the produce section as if nothing ever happened. No time had passed; Annette was as petite as ever. She asked Jack if she could have some blueberries. It wasn’t odd that she could talk. What confused me was their casual mannerisms, their easy-going banter, their peace. I was astonished to find them alive and asked what had happened? Where had they been? Why hadn’t they told me? They looked at each other and shrugged as if the answers were things they’d simply forgotten to tell me, and then they both turned their attention to the leafy greens, casual as you please. Like they’d honestly meant to tell me they weren’t dead, but they hadn’t gotten around to it yet, and did I feel like having a salad with dinner? Then the things that happened afterward flashed through my mind—the pills, Dr. Raleigh, my loneliness in our empty house—and I realized that if Jack and Annette were still alive, then I must have dreamed those other things too. So, everything was okay. It was all a bad dream.
Thursday the weather relented but landing fields were damp. Humidity closed tight around me like wet clothes, and the whole place smelled like earthworms. There would be soggy landings, but nobody cared.
The place was absolutely packed. Skydivers from greater Houston and western Louisiana had swarmed the drop zone, getting ready for the big weekend. Finally, I’d get a chance to meet Rick’s client base. I’d brought the disposable camera. At the end of the day, there’d be pictures to show Karen Lyons.
“Why work hard on the ground for something that’s free in the air?” Scud’s lines were flung over his shoulder as he sorted the cells of his Batwing. He’d sneaked another kiss pass, this time with Linda.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Marie told Linda, with a little pout. “When you’ve been married twenty years, any kiss’ll do.”
We were in the hangar, packing after our second jump. Scud laid down his gear and wrapped Marie in a conciliatory hug; he even managed to cop a feel on her ass.
“I’m so hungry!” I said. I caught myself separating my canopy cells a bit violently.
Scud looked up. “Easy, baby. Plenty of Scud to go around.”
Marie laughed.
Craig Clement passed us without comment and went out the back door toward the landing field. He took a quick look around and peeled to the left, toward an overflow parking area beyond the side of the building. I said I was going to watch the last load fly down, and followed Craig outside.
He disappeared behind the far side of the hangar. I peeked around its corner and watched him go to a mud-splattered pick-up with a beautiful Yellow Lab tied up in back. The day before, when I’d come in the rain, there’d been no trucks in the lot, so I doubted it was his.
He pulled a small pouch from his pocket and unfolded it. It was a napkin. For a moment, he stood by the dog and let it eat whatever was inside. I felt stupid tailing a guy feeding a dog. But when the morsels were gone, Craig stepped toward the cab and glanced around the lot. I ducked behind the enormous aluminum wall and waited out of sight.
When I checked again, he was in the passenger seat, one leg dangling out the door, rifling through the glove box. He pulled out some papers and leafed through them, then reached in his pocket and produced a phone.
Marie’s voice came over the loud speaker. Load four was on a ten-minute call and she asked Craig to come to the office. I backtracked toward the crowd and heard the faint thud of a truck door slam behind me.
My packing spot was gone. The floor was covered wall-to-wall with gear in various stages of assembly and my rig had been moved to the sidelines. I didn’t mind being bumped; it was time for lunch anyway. I knelt by my gear bag and fished for my car keys. And, suddenly, I had the uneasy feeling I was being watched.
I turned, and Vince was standing in the open hangar door.
He still looked good in jeans and a cowboy hat, but this time it wasn’t the man that grabbed my attention. It was the Burger King sacks he was holding. He shook them subtly, like a child using treats to entice a cat. When he raised his eyebrows at me, the question was obvious.
Interested?
“I’ll give you fifty bucks for whatever’s in those sacks,” I said.
He smiled.
“Ain’t for sale,” he said with his slight drawl, “But I might share.” He wandered out the front of the hangar toward the soggy grass lot.
He never looked back. Where was he taking that food?
I followed him, still in my jumpsuit, and tried to unzip it and pull my arms out while hurrying after him.
“Glad to hear it,” I shouted to his back, struggling out of a sleeve. “The sides of my stomach are stuck together.”
“Said I
might
share,” he called back over his shoulder, and then he disappeared behind the corner of the hangar into the overflow parking area Craig was in moments earlier.
I tried to step out of my jumpsuit while keeping pace with Vince and his fast food, but I tripped and stumbled into the side of the hangar. My shoulder whacked its giant metal panel and made a thunderous
bong
. Thank God he was out of view.
I freed myself from the suit and rounded the corner.
Vince was opening the tailgate to the same truck Craig had searched.
He jumped into the back and sat on the bed’s plastic liner. His guitar waited there in an open case, next to the Yellow Lab. The dog had been lounging on a mound of old towels but now feverishly eyed the same sacks that drew me.
“I can’t believe you left your Martin in the sun. And next to four dirty paws…Aren’t you afraid—”
“Cindy loves music as much as I do,” he said with a dismissive wave. “In fact, we think a girl should sing for her supper.” His lips curved into a smile and he nodded toward the guitar.
Was he serious?
Cindy gave a friendly tail thump and sniffed the Burger King bags hard.
Vince reached into a bag and tossed her a couple fries, unwrapped a Whopper, and took an ungentlemanly huge bite. I looked from him to the guitar, and finally to the dog, who focused intently on Vince’s food.
Vince ate his burger as if sitting there all alone.
“Cat got your tongue?” He finished up a bite.
He squinted at me, the shadow from his cowboy hat not quite shielding his eyes from the noon sun. Looking at him too long felt a little bit like flirting. I glanced away and planted a hand on my hip.
“Come on,” he said. “Play us a song. Have lunch with me.” He punctuated the last sentence with another enormous bite of Whopper. A mayonnaise-coated chunk of tomato fell into his lap. Cindy took care of it.
“You want me to play a song for you, and then you’ll share?”
Still chewing, he only nodded. Cindy looked back and forth between us, panting.
“How about lunch first?” I said.
He held out his carton of fries and I grabbed more than a polite ration.
“There. Now please sing. Don’t be difficult.”
He smiled again. I tossed my jumpsuit onto the floor of the truck bed and climbed up. I tried to scratch Cindy behind her ears, but she’d only sniff my hands, searching for a handout.
I wiped my hands on my shorts as best I could and picked up his guitar. Perched on the side of the truck, I made an unfortunate discovery in Vince’s rear window—my reflection. I was in desperate need of a hairbrush and make-up. Beyond my pitiful image was Vince’s glove compartment. I wondered what Craig had been looking for.
“What’ll it be?”
Vince wadded his burger wrapper and shoved it into an empty sack. “Another ballad.”
He leaned back onto Cindy’s abdomen and used her as a pillow. Then he pulled his hat fully over his face, stretched his legs, and crossed them at the ankles. He reached up with one hand to scratch Cindy’s chin, nuzzled very near his own, and I noticed the second fast food sack clutched in his other hand.
I sang Patsy Cline’s “Leavin’ On Your Mind” while load four droned overhead, and when I finished, Vince didn’t speak or move. Was he rude enough to fall asleep? I played another song. He still didn’t move. I nudged him in the ribs with the toe of my sneaker.
“You dead or what?”
He handed up the bag of food without moving off the dog or adjusting his hat. “Hardly. Was hoping you’d do one more.”
I returned the guitar to its case and unfolded the sack. “Maybe if you’re nice.”
He shifted onto an elbow and pushed his hat back into position.
“Hey,” I said, “you friends with Craig, the new guy?”
“Don’t reckon we’re friends, just work together. Why?”
“I saw him out here with Cindy earlier,” I said. I decided to leave out “he was nosing through your stuff.”
Vince shrugged. “Everybody likes my dog.”
He turned his attention to the sky, where canopies circled. For the first time, I noticed lines by his eyes. Laugh lines. Jack once said laugh lines were the mark of trustworthy people.
I asked him what he did at the drop zone.
“Help in the office. Fly for Rick when he’s in a pinch.”
“A pilot?” I’d seen Vince’s name on the payroll, but it hadn’t occurred to me he was a pilot.
He nodded. “Only part-time. I’m trying to get a construction business off the ground.”
I reached for a napkin. “Takes guts. Good for you.”
He picked up the empty lunch sacks and squirted water from a sports bottle into a dish for Cindy. He snapped his guitar case shut and moved it into the cab of the truck, out of the sun. I was disappointed when he pulled his rig from the front seat. Lunch was over.
Then he said, “Wanna jump?” And it was like being asked to dance.
***
Afterward, Linda took our picture with my disposable camera. Ours was the first photograph taken on my Spy Roll.
Marie asked for Vince’s help so he left and I mingled. A few jumpers were visiting from nearby drop zones, but several were regulars I was meeting for the first time. I wormed my way into as many skydives with the locals as I could. By dinnertime, I’d managed four more jumps. I took a post-dive photo with each of my groups and no one seemed to think anything of it. One girl asked me to develop doubles and send her a copy.
I called Richard on my cell and we made plans for the film hand-off. I drove north to a Super Wal-Mart he described and dropped the camera at its one-hour photo counter, using Richard’s name and number on the deposit envelope. He’d pick up the photos and take them to Karen.
I returned to the DZ and set up camp. For the next several hours, I loafed at bonfires and nursed beers. I listened to campers schmooze and bullshit, and worked on telling the regulars apart from the visitors.
Shortly after nine, my cell phone rang.
“She recognizes one of the women,” Richard said. “She knows the face, but not the name.”
I couldn’t believe something had come of my first roll of film. Even more surprising, I realized, was that it implicated a woman.
“What now?”
“Meet me at the Wal-Mart,” he said. “You have to tell me who she is.”
