Chapter Twenty-Four
It was dark by the time they turned onto Quarry Road, the rough gravel making Miah’s bike grind and judder. “We’re looking for a left-hand turn?”
“Yeah,” Nicki said. “Or maybe a left once we’re inside the gate? I dunno.”
He thought about the rest of the puzzle. Take a left inside Petroch, then ride for two miles . . . The next enigma was the “burgers” bit, but two miles wouldn’t land them anywhere close to the Churches’ property. Still, no harm going through the motions, in case something jumped out at them.
After half a mile they reached the locked entrance to Petroch Gravel, but Vince was right—it was just a metal arm gate, designed to keep vehicles out. Miah eased them through the gap between its post and an office trailer easily. Quarry Road ended at the gate, meeting an internal track in a T. Miah turned left, keeping an eye on his odometer.
His pulse spiked. These two miles were going to take an eternity, he was so wound up. Nicki felt strung tight as a drum, her grip around his middle near-suffocating, yet all the more reassuring for it. He scanned the ground as it unfolded before his headlamp’s glow; a quarry was no place to get reckless. There could be a deep drop-off or a piece of heavy equipment anyplace.
Finally, the odometer ticked to the appointed number. He slowed to a crawl. “Two miles,” he told Nicki over his shoulder. She switched on the flashlight she’d brought, swinging its bright blue LED beam all around in a slow arc.
So far nothing worth closer inspection. Just scattered equipment, nothing at all reminiscent of burgers in any way. But Vreeland couldn’t exactly get specific with that fake shopping list. Saying “2.35 limes” wasn’t discreet, so Miah refused to lose hope.
Two and a half miles. Two and three-quarters, now three. He stopped the bike. “We’re well past two miles.”
“Shit. Lemon . . . That being code for ‘left’ was my best guess.”
“It wasn’t a bad one. Maybe this isn’t the rocky road.”
“Maybe I was a fucking crazy person, thinking I stood any chance of deciphering that gibberish.”
“Rocky road . . . I don’t have a map on me, but I’ve lived here my entire life. I swear I can’t think of any roads named after rocks.”
“Rocky road. R.R.”
Miah perked up. “Like a railroad.” He pictured the old signs standing sentry at the corner of Station and Railroad—RR XING. “Maybe it’s to do with the tracks.”
“Or the depot.”
“Or Railroad Ave itself.”
“Want to ride over there?”
“Can’t hurt.” He turned them around, covering the ground far faster, reaching the gate in no time.
The lights of downtown appeared in the distance, Benji’s red neon and the white dots of the streetlights. Miah took a left onto Station Street, heading toward the hills. He slowed to a stop on the shoulder as they neared the derelict remains of Fortuity Depot.
“Well, we can’t ride down the tracks, and I doubt Vreeland could’ve, either. You want to try Railroad Ave?”
“Sure.”
“A right’ll only take us to the freeway.”
“Left then, and we’ll see what the first left-hand turn is.”
“You got it.”
The next left was just a couple blocks past the Gold Nugget Motor Lodge—Sunset Avenue. Miah turned down it but it ended after a quarter mile, branching off into a maze of quiet residential streets.
“I don’t think this is it,” he told Nicki.
“Me neither. Let’s check out the next left.”
They did. Same deal, a short jog into a neighborhood of ranch houses and double-wides. Miah was starting to feel self-conscious, and foolish besides, rumbling through here while people were probably trying to get their kids fed or ready for bed. He cruised them back to Railroad Ave and turned to Nicki.
“What do you think? This is starting to feel like a waste of time to me.”
“I know. Want to just take this road for a bit longer? We don’t need to go left anymore, but let’s just see where it goes.”
“It curves back east, eventually, but there’s not much out there.” Take it far enough and you’d hit the area where Devon’s bus resided, after that it wound into some dumpier little neighborhoods, and eventually petered out by the migrants’ camp. Miah knew a side street that would bring them past Vince’s house and back toward downtown, though. He started them back along the highway. Maybe they could stop for a quick drink at Benji’s, after. Though even the thought of a beer made him feel liable to fall asleep right here, right now—
A thump on his shoulder. “Miah!”
He hit the brakes, screeching to a stop on the lonely road, very, very close to the spot where they’d parked that night they’d come out to the hills and kissed each other into oblivion. His eyes scanned wildly for jaywalking antelope. “What?”
“Look.” She turned him by the helmet to the left, but all he saw was another quiet residential street.
“You want me to try this left?”
“Miah, read it.”
He looked to the street sign. “Lohmann Ave.”
“Lohmann. Lemon? Do you think?”
He frowned. “Maybe. Worth a try, I guess.”
“Do it.”
He turned them onto the road and eyed the odometer.
It was quiet, especially so, and Miah soon noticed why—half the houses were boarded up. His heart twisted. Fortuity had always been rough, for as long as he could remember, but not always this bad. He recalled he’d had a friend who used to live down this road when he was a kid. It had never looked like this back then. This looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic survival movie.
“How far?” Nicki called over the grumbling engine.
“Mile and a half.”
The sad little homes gave way to the deserted remnants of a more prosperous time—there was a drive-in theater Miah vaguely remembered seeing a Western double feature in as a child. At one point it had played first-run movies, his dad had said. He’d taken Miah’s mom there to see some romance or other. By the time Miah had been old enough to go it had been old stuff—all the owners could afford to buy. He couldn’t say when it had closed for good. Probably before he’d started high school.
“Now?” Nicki prompted.
He checked the mileage. “Nearly.” He slowed even more.
A tire store—hard to tell if it was still in business. A long lot full of self-storage units. This whole stretch felt creepy and too quiet, like a place forgotten. A part of a forsaken Fortuity, from a time no one of Miah’s generation remembered. A place where no one in this day and age had any desire or reason to visit . . . unless perhaps to meet up, unseen.
That about fits Vreeland’s bill.
An abandoned car wash, the bones of a gas station—
Nicki’s gasp sent Miah’s gaze darting, seeking the spot across the street where she’d trained her flashlight.
“Holy shit.”
BEST WEST BURGERS read the cracked and crooked sign mounted on the roof. He’d forgotten all about this place. Just a greasy little burgers-and-fries joint, and it had been out of business as long as the drive-in, probably.
“Fuck me,” Nicki muttered. “The burgers were the only literal piece of that goddamn riddle.”
At first, all Miah could do was stare at the place. “Puzzle solved . . . We should call the detectives.”
“I will. Kill your engine.”
Miah did. Nicki dismounted and dug her phone out, dialing. There was a long pause, then, “Hi, Detective, it’s Nicki. Call me as soon as you get this—I think I’ve cracked the code on that weird-ass grocery list.” She hung up, frowning.
Miah was frowning, too, feeling . . . adrift. They’d found Vreeland’s meet-up point, but what the fuck good did it do, really? The detectives could set a trap, maybe. Use Vreeland’s secret phone to arrange a rendezvous . . .
He squinted at the phone aglow in Nicki’s hand. “Lemme see that a sec.”
She looked surprised, but handed it over. “Sure.”
“Where’s your notes?”
She poked at her screen upside-down, bringing them up. Miah entered the phone number beneath the cryptic list into his own phone and started a new text message.
“What are you doing?” Nicki asked.
“Channeling Casey Grossier,” he muttered, typing.
V is in custody, he wrote. He asked Nicki, “How do you spell ‘confidante’? Is there an E on the end?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I’m a confidante of his. If you want to stay anonymous, meet me at the usual spot within the hour. We’ll negotiate a fair price for his guaranteed silence. And mine.
And before he could think any more about it, he hit send. “Done.”
“Whoa, what? What’s done? What did you just do, Miah?”
He handed his phone over and Nicki scanned it. “Oh my God, are you nuts?”
“I don’t want to confront anybody—if they even show. I’m not stupid. But I want to hide and get a plate number.”
“Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”
“Not really, no. But if the alternative is more goddamn waiting . . .”
“Jesus.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Well, chances seem good that nobody will show—how often would they be checking their secret phone on a random evening? So fine, I’ll humor you for one hour.” She looked at her screen, probably checking the time. “It’ll give us something to do while we wait for the detectives to return my call.”
“Lemme stash my bike down the road.”
She climbed back on and Miah found a shadowy block to park his Triumph, then they made their way back to the abandoned burger joint on foot, armed with little more than two phones and a flashlight.
There was a streetlight at the corner, but the old restaurant itself was dark, as was its lot.
“Let’s stay across the street,” he said. “If anyone actually shows, we might be able to read their plate from there.”
They settled on the car wash, huddling inside one of the disused bays.
“That was seriously shortsighted,” Nicki informed him, arms locked over her chest. It was getting cold. “You just told whoever else is involved that Vreeland’s in custody. Now if the detectives try to reach them on Vreeland’s phone, they’ll know not to answer.”
Shit, he hadn’t considered that. And Vreeland’s arrest hadn’t made the news yet, far as he knew. “Sorry. It just . . . I had to do something. I probably didn’t think it through.” The Casey method to a T—do something reckless, then hope it winds up being brilliant. Miah wasn’t feeling so confident about the second half of that equation.
Nicki checked her phone for the tenth time in maybe three minutes.
“Your ringer off?”
“No.”
“Switch it off, just in case.”
“Fine.” She sighed, annoyed. “I’m going to have to explain what you did to Gregory. He’s going to give me so much shit for letting you get that number.”
Miah felt his face go pale. Another consequence he hadn’t thought of. Though, then again, now he was on a roll . . .
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to fess up to,” he said. Might as well take all the earbashings at once, and there wasn’t much else to do.
“What?”
“I didn’t just go to Lorna with Casey to ask about the money. I chased down a couple dealers through a tip John Dancer gave me—”
“You are fucking joking.”
“And talking with one of them gave Case the idea.”
“You lied to me.”
“Um, yes. Yes I did. Sorry.”
“So you could go around pestering meth dealers?”
“Precisely. Anyhow, I didn’t feel right, not saying.”
“That’s funny, because I feel super fucking angry now.”
Miah smiled in the darkness. “You’re cute when you’re totally pissed off at me.”
He could just make out her eye roll.
“Better to ask forgiveness, right? And as for tonight, don’t worry—no one’s going to come.”
“I don’t even know what I’m hoping might happen,” she grumbled.
Miah did. He wanted someone to show. He wanted a plate number, something solid. He wanted whatever motherfucker had masterminded all of this caught, and there was no guarantee Vreeland would talk. If he stood even a tiny chance at finding out who was behind it all, he’d grab that chance and run with it.
“Hope you’ll forgive me,” Miah whispered, smiling.
“This is going to be a frosty-ass hour, just so you’re not surprised.”
He laughed. “You know, you’re the one who lied and abused your position to get your hands on a bank’s surveillance footage.”
“Yes, but that was very smart and it was victimless, and what you just did was incredibly stupid, with actual consequences to the case.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely. And don’t even get me going about the other crap.” She checked her phone again, swore under her breath.
Miah checked his phone as well. He wondered what would happen if someone Googled his number, if they could connect him to it easily. That’d raise some eyebrows. Hopefully if they did get the text, they’d assume the person sending it was smart enough to have used a disposable cell. When in reality he was pretty fucking stupid. Nicki had nailed it, really.
They traded jabs and retorts, filling the cold, dark, silent space with something that, in time, nearly resembled flirting. Miah shoved his hands in his pockets, fingers stiff and clumsy.
Nicki checked her phone yet again, just about growling. “Knowing my luck, Gregory gave up and went home for some sleep.”
“What about the other detective?”
“I don’t have his number on me. And since you’re a genius, I can’t just drive to the station and—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Miah put his hand over her mouth. “Headlights.”
He let her go and they edged deeper into the bay’s shadows, watching as the turning vehicle drew near. Miah squinted, trying to make out the plate’s number, then—
“Shit,” he murmured. The headlights had gone dark. But the car kept moving.
It was a sedan, black. It slowed to a crawl, its driver likely straining to pick out any landmarks in the darkness. They found enough to guide them into the burger joint’s lot and around to the back, out of sight.
“Shit,” he whispered again. “I didn’t catch jack shit of their plate, did you?”
She shook her head—her hair brushed his cheek. “Holy fuck. They actually came.”
“I’m gonna get closer. I need that goddamn plate. You sneak back to the bike—they won’t be able to see you from where they are.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Take my keys. Be ready to start it up if I come running.”
“No. I’m going with you. In fact, you should go back to the bike.”
“No way.”
She spoke plainly. “I’m armed, Miah.”
“Oh. Well, give your gun to me.”
“No.”
“I’m as good a shot as you are.”
“Doubtful.”
“Nicki, seriously. You go back to the bike. Give me your gun.”
“No. Let’s both go, okay? Before they spook and bail.”
“Fine.”
“Straight across, then hug tight to the side of the restaurant,” she said.
“Okay.”
They fell silent, and in that vacuum Miah registered how hard his pulse was hammering, feeling like it was banging a gong between his ears. He stepped out of the bay, relieved his jacket was dark, as was Nicki’s. Every little scrape of gravel under their shoes sounded impossibly loud as they made their way across the road and up onto the curb. Beyond that lay overgrown, dead grass, softening their footfalls as they edged along the building.
Miah could hear the car idling and a voice from inside. The conversation was one-sided—a man was on his phone. He couldn’t catch any of the words. Did that mean someone else was involved as well?
He needed to get closer. He crept around the corner. The car was parked as though poised to enter the drive-through—facing away, mercifully. Still, it was so damn dark. He’d need to practically press his face up against the bumper to catch the digits.
The man in the car was still talking. Distracted. Miah could just make out his words.
“You tell me. You know exactly as much as I do.” A long pause.
I could take a photo, Miah thought. His phone had a camera, though he’d probably used it a dozen times, tops, in the decade he’d had the thing. Did it even have a flash? He wasn’t—
The bumper lit up blue, scrambling Miah’s brain. Then, from behind him, Nicki’s gasp of a “Fuck.” He turned just as her lit up phone went dark, stashed in a pocket. It’s glaring white screen had lit the bumper, bright as a spotlight out here.
A muted bark from inside the car, then the clunk and hiss of the door popping open. The interior lit up. Miah had nowhere to hide. “Shit.”
“Hey!” boomed the man, then Nicki shouted, “Freeze!”
A light to put her phone to shame—her LED flashlight lit up the lot, trained straight at the man. His forearm shot up to shield his eyes as his other hand scrambled for his open jacket, for its pocket.
“Don’t even think about it. I’ve got more than a flashlight aimed at you.”
“Fuck.” The guy held both hands up. Miah didn’t recognize him. He had a shiny, shaved head and thick, black eyebrows. Something in Miah’s chest was coiled up tight and ready to spring, bubbling molten-hot. Was this the person who’d ordered the murder?
“I’m an officer with the Brush County Sheriff’s Department,” Nicki said. “My friend’s going to pat you down, then we’re going to have a little chat.”
“The fuck is this about?”
Miah approached, taking in the plate as he did. He committed it to memory as best he could, then got busy frisking the man.
He was a big guy—huge, really, beefy and tall and thick all over, with little skin rolls stacked at the base of his skull. Miah slid a pistol from his jacket and stashed it in his own back pocket before checking for any other surprises.
“Get his ankles, Miah.”
A funny little noise came from the man, a huff or a gasp. When Miah stepped away, the guy squinted at him, shading his eyes. “Fuck me. Church.” He sounded nearly amused.
Something about that scrap of familiarity snapped Miah out of his daze, bringing his blood to a rolling boil. This man had something to do with his father’s murder. All at once he wanted to take the gun out of his back pocket and smack this stranger full across the teeth with it.
Don’t. This was already shady as shit. He couldn’t do anything that’d risk queering this guy’s arrest. Didn’t stop his blood from coursing hot as magma, though.
Miah spoke. “Yeah. I’m Jeremiah Church. If I’m not mistaken, you wanted me dead a few months back.”
“Not me,” the guy said.
He frowned. “Who, then? Oren Vreeland?”
“Ain’t there a couple detectives assigned to this case?” the guy asked.
Again, Miah wanted to belt him for the casual tone. “They work slow, and my patience is just about up.”
“Who are you?” Nicki asked.
“Looks like you’ll find that out in due time, officer.”
“Miah, call the station. Get a couple cars sent out here.”
He pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I need police on Lohmann Ave in Fortuity, the abandoned burger place. I’m here with a deputy and we’ve got a suspect in the Church murder case.”
He stayed on the line until he was told two cars were on their way and relayed it all to Nicki.
“Goodness,” said the bald man. “What shall we do to pass the time?”
“If it wasn’t you who wanted me dead,” Miah said, pocketing his phone, “who was it?”
“My boss,” the guy said. “Can I sit down or something?”
“Why the fuck do you sound so casual?” Nicki barked, stealing the thought straight from Miah’s head.
Slowly, seeking permission, the man lowered his arms and leaned back against his car. He kept his hands in his lap, fingers clasped. “To be completely honest with you,” he said, “this is a fucking relief.”
“Who are you?” Miah demanded.
“I’m just the messenger. You know what they say—don’t shoot the messenger.”
“The messenger?”
He nodded. “Plus a side of bodyguard work. But I didn’t do none of the dirty business—that was Bean’s gig. Bean and whoever offed Tremblay in his cell. Me, all I did was help money change hands. I never hurt a fly.”
“Who’s your boss?” Miah asked. “What’s he got against me and my family?”
“Nothing, actually. He just wants what you got.”
“The land.”
“Yup. You mind lowering that beam a little, officer?”
Nicki did, just a couple inches to get it out of the man’s eyes.
“Why?” Miah asked. “Why’d he want the land badly enough to kill for it?”
“From what I hear, you’re sitting on billions, Church. With a fucking B.”
“Billions? What do you mean?”
“I’m sure it’ll all come out in my plea deal,” the man said with a little shrug.
“Why are you telling us all this?” Nicki asked.
“Because I’m fucked, officer,” he said cheerfully. “The jig’s up. You got Vreeland—my boss confirmed that while I was making my way over here.”
Miah frowned, wondering how that was possible. “Is your boss on the inside? Inside the BCSD?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Nah. Close, though. Anyhow, he’s a fucking prick, and I’ll be pleased as punch to watch him go down. He’s been nothing but a pain in my ass since we met. Vreeland’s fucking terrified of him—terrified of him siccing me on his wife, anyhow, but I’m not serving a day longer than I need to. I’m gonna sing like a canary.”
“Who?” Miah demanded.
“I might make you wait, Church, on account of how bossy you’re getting. But you’ll know him. That much I can guarantee you.”
“Why, then? What do you know about the land? What did Vreeland find?”
Sirens sounded in the distance, chasing lights soon painting the telephone poles and the back of the looming drive-in theater screen red and blue.
“Something more valuable than beef,” the man said.
“Gold?” he blurted, desperate for anything before the cops arrived and put an end to this unofficial interrogation.
“Darker than gold,” the man said, smiling a weird little smile, his teeth lit up blue by Nicki’s light.
“Oil?” Miah asked, dumbstruck. That couldn’t be right . . . could it?
“Looks like my ride’s here,” the man said, standing once more, raising his arms. “Sorry, Church. I don’t know you, but from what I hear your dad was a good man around here. I didn’t know what Bean was getting paid to do—I want you to know that. All I did was deliver the money and the threats.”
The cruisers wailed down Lohmann and rocked to a stop in unison. Four officers came pouring out, weapons drawn.
Nicki dropped her own. “It’s me—Nicki. This man’s involved in Don Church’s murder,” she told her nearest colleague. “He’s told us as much. Somebody needs to get in touch with Gregory and Parsons.”
The officer pulled out his radio and got busy while the other two approached the bald man. One began reading him his rights.
“Here,” Nicki said to Miah, taking him by the arm. “Let’s get out of the way.”
Miah turned the man’s pistol over to the nearest officer, then he and Nicki moved to stand on the sidewalk, watching the proceedings without speaking. Miah’s brain was going a million miles a minute, snapping between oil and who this guy’s boss was and the sheer surrealness of imagining this case might actually get closed.
“I can’t believe he told us all that,” Miah said at length.
“We’d be fools to believe him. That all he really did was deliver money.”
He frowned. “I think I do, though.” The man seemed too confident not to trust somehow.
“It’ll all come out soon enough.”
Miah nodded. “I sure as fuck hope so.” He had too many questions still nagging to stand any chance at falling asleep, tonight or any other night.