Chapter Eight

Chase

I lean forward in the driver seat of Isaac’s old pickup truck, adjusting the rearview mirror so I can take a better look at my disguise.

A man with dark sunglasses looks back at me, a pair of big headphones over the black cap on his head and a mustache and a scrawny beard, grown naturally over the course of the past few weeks, coating half of his face. Looking down, I’m wearing a striped, dark blue shirt and a pair of white golf shorts with a black, leather belt.

It’s not much, I know, but it’s the best I can put together in a short amount of time, specifically forty minutes in the tiny dressing room of a sports store in Columbus. I used to hate golf and striped shirts so no one I know will suspect I’m wearing these. Besides, it would look more suspicious if I wore a trench coat or a hooded jacket in summer.

Peering through the windshield and then out the window, I look around one more time. It’s a weekday and everyone’s already gone back to work after lunch so the sidewalk isn’t crowded. I don’t see anyone I recognize, either.

The coast is clear.

“Here goes nothing.”

Taking a deep breath, I get out of the truck, close the door and start walking as normally as I can, head bent slightly and hands in my pockets. There isn’t any music coming from the headphones. It’s just there because based on my experience, it dissuades strangers from talking to me. The less people I talk to, the better.

I spot McCormick Café with its blue storefront, posters glued to its glass windows, and potted plants hanging over them.

I push the wooden door open and step inside, lowering my sunglasses just enough to quickly scan the place for my old friend, James. I see him in the corner all the way across the room. I make another scan for anyone I might know. No one.

Only a few of the other tables are occupied and all by people well over thirty, some men in dress shirts and slacks still busy discussing work, a man in more casual clothes doing something on his laptop, a pair of women with toddlers having a late lunch and an old couple enjoying their coffee. Not exactly the crowd I used to hang out with.

I head over to James across the polished wooden floor, glancing at the menu on the huge pieces of chalkboard on the wall. I pass by the display of fruits and pastries as well, black and silver thermoses, a stack of white mugs, and a gleaming gold coffee machine on the counter.

Reaching James’ table, I pull out the wooden chair beside him that’s facing the wall, back to the crowd. The gape and the puzzled, wide-eyed look he gives me are enough to assure me that my disguise is efficient.

He leans forward. “Chester?”

I slide the headphones down so that they’re hanging around my neck and lower my sunglasses. “It’s me, pal.”

“Shit,” he mutters. “You look… so uncool.”

I chuckle. “You’re still as honest as you used to be. And you look great.”

Compared to me, he does. He’s wearing a gray vest over a white shirt and khaki pants, his black hair still wet from a shower and neatly combed.

James shrugs. “Well, if you told me to wear a disguise, I would have. I could have borrowed my cousin’s clown costume.”

“No need for that. All I need to know is that you weren’t followed.”

“Why would they follow me? Dude, they think you’re dead.”

Do they? Have I fooled them? Haven’t they discovered that the F-150 is missing from the cabin? Has no one seen it in that ditch where I left it?

“Besides, we haven’t seen each other in years. We’re not friends on Facebook since I don’t have one and I didn’t even go to your funeral.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

I sit back. “No worries.”

“Let me get you some coffee. You look like you haven’t had a decent cup in months.”

I snort.

“Do you want something to go with it?”

I look at the menu on the table that’s identical to the one on the chalkboard.

“Steak and eggs.” I push the menu aside. “I’m starving.”

“I bet you are.”

James leaves the table to place the order.

As he does, I pick up the copy of the Billings Gazette on the empty chair, scanning the pages. There isn’t much in the news – just the same news about politicians bickering, incidents of hunters being attacked by bears or kids getting lost at the parks, innocent people being robbed and killed, local attractions jazzing up for the summer, local colleges offering summer programs. Nothing new.

Then one headline in the business section catches my eye.

Glacier Pharmaceuticals Seals Partnership with Lincoln Laboratories

I frown, remembering how my father disliked that company’s CEO, Harry Lincoln. What did he say? Something about Harry not having any code of honor and sucking at golf? Something along those lines.

I read the first paragraph of the article, finding that my uncle, Terrence Donahue, has taken over the company. Well, even when my father was alive, he was the one at the helm. Still, he respected my father’s wishes and mine. I guess there’s no need to do that now since he thinks we’re both dead.

I put away the newspaper as James returns to his seat, stuffing his change of bills inside his wallet.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “I’d pay, but I’m strapped for cash right now.”

“You don’t say.” He puts his wallet in his pocket. “Chester Donahue, broke?”

I hold a finger to my lips.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s about time I pick up the tab.”

I give him a grateful smile.

Still, I can’t help but miss the days when I had access to all my bank accounts and could use all my credit cards, days when I could buy whatever I wanted even without working for it.

Looking at James, I can see the man I used to be, the life I used to have. And damn, I miss it.

Sure. Life at the ranch has been good. The peace and solitude are relaxing and rejuvenating for the mind and soul. The reprieve from the constant parties and the endless gadgets has given me a chance to think about my life. The fresh air and home-cooked meals are good for the body, the daily tasks more effective than my old routines at the gym.

It’s a good life. But it’s not the life I chose.

I’d rather be free, not having to live under a different name or assume a made-up identity.

Most importantly, I’d rather not have some goons wanting me dead.

The waitress arrives, setting down my mug of cappuccino and the huge plate of my medium steak with scrambled eggs, toast, and a side of roast potatoes. The beefy aroma wafts into my nostrils and makes my mouth water. I gobble it up, starting with a roast potato.

“Have you found out who tried to kill you?” James asks in a whisper.

“No.” I move on to the eggs, fluffy just how I like them with the right amount of salt. “But I think I have an idea who.”

“Who?”

I show James the article I’ve been reading.

“Terrence Donahue, my uncle.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Your uncle?”

I nod after taking a sip of coffee. “It seems he’s taken over the company. Not only that. He’s been making a lot of changes – deals, partnerships, policies…”

James nods. “Seems like he’s giving the company an overhaul.”

“An unnecessary overhaul,” I remark as I try the steak.

As soon as I start chewing, its juices explode in my mouth and I give a satisfied moan.

Damn. I miss eating steak.

Isaac may have a herd of cows but he doesn’t eat them. Ironic. I might as well have been one of his cattle, eating mostly vegetables.

“I see what you mean.” James puts the newspaper away. “You’re supposed to own a third of the company, aren’t you? Since your father’s, er…”

He stops suddenly, a look of concern on his face.

“Suicide,” I supply the word, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

My father jumped off the balcony of his study a few months ago after having had one glass too many of his favorite Scotch, his final glass shattering with his bones as he fell. No one can say for certain why he did it, since he wasn’t kind enough to leave a note, but my mother and I both concluded that he was probably too stressed from work, having been under a lot of pressure from politicians and other companies.

“It’s okay,” I add. “It’s the truth anyway. And no, I don’t own a third of the company. That’s the thing. I don’t have any shares in the company. My father didn’t trust me enough to leave me with those.”

“Sorry.”

I shake my head. “My mom owns half of the company, though, and she was planning on giving her shares to me. She said she didn’t want anything to do with my father’s business when he was alive so why would she now that he’s dead?”

“I can understand that.” James nods. “So, you were going to own half?”

“We were still discussing it.” I try more of the steak, with eggs this time. “But if I found out about the deals he made, I would have agreed to take my mother’s shares even if it was just to stop him.”

“So, you’d be in his way?” James takes a sip from his own mug of coffee and leans back in his chair, lifting his hands. “Maybe he found out. Maybe that’s why he tried to kill you.”

“I’m not sure, though,” I say as I continue eating. “He and my dad were so close and he was more a father to me than my dad was. He was the one who taught me how to ride a bike.”

James shrugs. “Maybe it was all an act.”

I, too, shrug. “At any rate, I can’t come back until I know for sure. I need more information.”

“I understand.”

“I’d like to find out how my mother is doing, though,” I add. “I’m sure it must be tough for her, losing her husband and now, believing her son is dead. Have you heard anything about her?”

James pauses, scratching his chin. “Come to think of it, I haven’t.”

“You haven’t?” My eyebrows furrow.

He shakes his head. “Not a thing.”

“That’s strange.” I stop eating, tapping a finger on the table. “It’s not like her to be quiet.”

She’s always loved parties. Maybe that’s something I got from her. Of course, her parties are classier, with richer, more important people, even celebrities, and more expensive liquor.

“Wait. Let me do a quick check.”

James takes out his phone, tapping the screen several times with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Nope. There isn’t anything recent about Elsa Donahue. No Tweets or Facebook posts, either.”

I cock my head to the side. “You follow her on social media?”

“My sister does. She’s a fan, says Elsa Donahue wears the most glamorous clothes.”

“That she does,” I agree.

Even at Dad’s funeral, she was wearing a chic black and white dress by Valentino, though I can no longer remember what she wore to mine.

James puts away his phone. “Sorry, bro, but there’s nothing about her.”

I frown, suddenly seized by a feeling that something has happened to her.

“Maybe she’s just mourning,” James suggests.

Maybe. But even after Dad died, she still went to visit her charities. She said they gave her comfort.

“By the way…” He hands me a burner phone. “Here’s what you requested.”

“Thanks.” I slip it into my pocket. “Do you think you can do one more thing for me?”

“Yeah. Sure. What is it?”

“Can you drop by the house and check on Elsa? I’m worried about her.”

“Of course. I’ll call you and let you know all about it.”

“Thanks, James.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “I owe you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I finish eating the rest of my food quickly, not wanting to linger. Then I gulp down my coffee, wipe my mouth, and get up.

“I have to go.” I pat James on the back. “But I’m glad I saw you.”

“Me, too.” James stands up and gives me a hug. “Take care.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

I walk toward the entrance, slowing down as I notice that there’s a new customer – a woman with oversized sunglasses and a scarf over her head, the lower half of her face concealed behind a copy of Vogue.

For a moment, I think I recognize her but shake my head. There’s no way any acquaintance of mine would be dressed like that or be in a place like this.

Still, as I walk out the door and step back on the sidewalk, I think there was something familiar about her.