Such a Bad Influence: A Novel, page 3
I walked toward the hallway, hand gripping the front of Wade’s T-shirt as I dragged him behind me.
“Am I drunk, or are you really at a party?” he asked.
“Yes, you’re drunk, and I’m at the party. But I’m not here for that.” I paused, unsure the words would pass through my vocal cords without choking me. “I need a favor.”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I’m not turning down the music. I have till one a.m. That was our agreement.”
That was absolutely not the agreement. And even if it was, he’d never stuck to that time limit, normally playing music till the next morning, when he woke up hungover. All of this I wanted to point out, but his constant annoyances would have to wait. For the first time in a long while, I had something important to do.
Before I could get the words out, he asked, “Do you want a drink?”
When he stepped closer, I backed up, holding my hands in front of me. I didn’t want his beer breath in my face. “You couldn’t pay me to drink anything you gave me.”
His eyebrows creased with confusion. Perhaps he’d expected a simple yes-or-no answer. I could tell when my statement connected in his mind, about three seconds later than it should have.
“What do you want, then?”
I worked to keep my tone even. I needed a favor, after all. “Can I borrow your truck?”
“For what?”
“Can I borrow it or not?” I should have told him what I needed it for; he’d forget by morning anyway. Only, I didn’t know how to get the words out. I was having trouble wrapping my head around the phone call, and I didn’t need Wade’s take on any of it.
“Are you in trouble?” He looked me over. Then he shifted so he could see out the side window of his living room. He had an unobstructed view of my yard and front porch. I’d been meaning to plant a row of trees to block his view but hadn’t gotten around to it. “Is it those kids again?”
“No, I just need your truck.”
“If you’re going to commit manslaughter, you’ll have to get a rental.”
“It’s not the kids!” My temper flared, as it always did when we interacted. Why wouldn’t he cooperate? He obviously wasn’t driving anywhere tonight. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was speaking to an overgrown man-child. “Give me the keys. I’ll be back in a few hours. You’ll never even miss it.”
“Have a drink first.”
I ran a hand through my hair, thoroughly exasperated. I wasn’t going to drink and drive; that was illegal. Didn’t he know I was responsible? “I don’t have time for a drink. I need to get moving. Unlike you, I don’t have all the time in the world.”
“One drink; then you can have the keys.”
Why was he toying with me?
“Forget it, Wade.” I shook my head and headed toward the front door, leaving him to negotiate with himself. He called after me, but I’d already pushed through the sea of people in the living room.
Luckily, I’d borrowed his truck a few times and already knew where he stashed the keys. His bottle-opener key chain sat on the hallway table, under a substantial stack of mail, magazines, and bills. I ducked outside, not looking back, and hoped no one would be on the road at this hour.
Four
Cleveland was forty minutes from Elswood, if abiding by the speed limit—which, of course, I did. I didn’t have the nerve to commit theft and break traffic regulations on the same night. If I took this reckless behavior any further, I’d be jaywalking by the end of the week. Where would it end?
I drove without music so I wouldn’t be distracted. My hands shook on the steering wheel for the first few miles, but when I didn’t immediately crash, I relaxed, settling instead for staring at the road with catlike focus.
The front tire bumped into the street curb as I checked the building number against my hastily scratched Post-it note. I checked again. And again. The numbers matched.
1300 Ontario Street.
The Cleveland Police Department.
Here goes nothing, I thought, putting the truck in park and heading inside. A counter surrounded by plexiglass dominated the entryway. Two police officers stood beside it, deep in conversation. I ignored them, focused on the man sitting behind the glass staring at his cell phone.
His eyes flicked upward, then back to his screen. “State your business.”
My throat had gone dry. “Hello, I’m here to pick up Alex Norse.”
“Pickup times are between eight a.m. and six p.m. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
I bit my lip, thinking of a clever or charming remark to get special treatment. I didn’t want to drive back out here in a few hours. Traffic would be unbearable at eight a.m., assuming Wade hadn’t reclaimed his keys by then. Sleeping in the truck was an option, but the dark, deserted street frightened me, even if it was mere feet from a police station.
“Can you make an exception?” I knew the answer before I asked. My voice didn’t ring with the kind of authority that garnered an exception to rules. I basically had won’t make a fuss written in bright letters across my forehead.
“Pickup times are between eight a.m. and six p.m. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
I stood there as the moments passed, unsure whether I had it in me to ask for a supervisor. But I’d have to. It would be worth a shot. Maybe if I explained the situation, someone would take pity on me.
“You’re here for Alexandra?” One of the officers had stopped his conversation to address me. I nodded, heart lifting at his tone.
“I’ll take this one, Cory.” He leaned forward so Cory could see him through the glass. Cory returned to his cell phone before the other officer could lean back.
He led me to his desk and introduced himself as Officer Frank Heathman.
“You family?”
“Um . . . a friend.” It sounded like a question.
He unlocked his computer and started typing. “Real piece of work,” he muttered. At first, I thought he meant the computer, which looked like it was from the early 1990s, but then he looked me in the eye and said, “Your friend caused quite a bit of trouble when we arrested her three days ago.”
My curiosity increased, but so did my anxiety. What was I getting myself into?
“Got her in front of the judge yesterday, but she refused to call anyone until she had her cell phone. Not exactly protocol, but she wore me down. The sooner she’s out of here, the better.”
“What did she do?” I crossed my fingers. Please don’t let it be anything too heinous.
“Attempted shoplifting.”
I uncrossed my fingers. That wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like she’d committed armed robbery or killed someone.
“Then assault on a department store clerk, resisting arrest, and threatening a police officer. Multiple officers, actually.”
I swallowed. I’d been too hasty in my relief. But for some reason, I didn’t bolt for the exit after hearing her list of crimes. Alexandra had made some mistakes, but she also had my mother’s old phone number, and that outweighed any potential danger she posed to me. The moment she called, I’d decided to meet her, no matter what crimes she’d committed, because perhaps this was my mother’s way of finally returning my calls.
“What happens next? Do I need to post bail or anything?”
He consulted the computer screen. “Judge set bail at three thousand.”
“Dollars?” The lights of the station blurred. I’d have to sell a kidney to get that much cash.
“She’s eighteen and a flight risk. If she returns for her court hearing, the money will be returned to you.”
If she returns? Three thousand dollars was more than I had to spare, and I didn’t know if Alexandra—whoever this girl was—would show up for her hearing. Giving Officer Heathman even a dollar was a gamble. And I’d never been much of a risk-taker. Until tonight, it seemed.
I unzipped the top of my purse. “Do you take credit cards?”
He nodded, and I tried not to think about forfeiting the last of my savings and the overdue property taxes on the farm.
Before I could change my mind, he took my card and typed on his keyboard. “Is she staying with you?”
“Hmm?”
“Is Alexandra staying with you? She didn’t provide an address when we arrested her.”
“Uh . . . I don’t know.” Would she stay with me? There was no plan here; there wasn’t even the beginning of a plan. I was winging this entire thing and way out of my element.
He retrieved a document from the printer, and my eyes roamed the precinct. The desks surrounding Officer Heathman’s were either empty or quiet. A couple of officers drank coffee, clacking on their keyboards, and another spoke on the phone with someone, his voice low. I did my best not to listen to the conversation, uncertain if one could be arrested for eavesdropping on a police officer.
Heathman returned, startling me from my thoughts. “Sign here, here, here, and here.” He indicated with a pen on the forms. “And here, then initial here.”
My sloppy signature covered the pages as I rushed to sign before I could rethink my decision. I slid the papers across the table, and he looked them over.
“I’ll get her to sign this, and then we’ll release her. You can wait here.”
I thanked him and remained perched on the edge of my seat. I fiddled with my purse strap. It was old, fraying at the sides, but I used it every day. Ever since I was a kid, I’d been a perpetual creature of habit—eating the same foods, wearing the same clothes, having the same conversations with the same people. I’d trapped myself in a tiny world where I controlled everything.
Sitting in a police station, waiting for Alexandra—a teenage delinquent—went beyond my tiny, controllable world. Yet I stayed in the chair, holding my hand out, palm upward. The blue ink had faded, but the letters were still visible, as if the message had permanently sunk into my flesh.
Don’t run.
Three years of grief and loneliness had led me to this moment, and if I ran away without meeting Alexandra, I’d regret it forever.
A loud buzz disturbed the quiet. “She’s coming out now, ma’am.”
I stood, feeling shaky and breathless as I got my first glimpse of Alexandra Norse. She didn’t look like a criminal—not that I knew what a criminal should look like. Tattooed? Multiple facial piercings? Wearing a leather jacket with a gang symbol etched onto the back? She possessed none of those clichéd indicators.
Her dark-brown hair was greasy, probably from her time in lockup, and her small frame was hidden under a baggy T-shirt and black yoga pants. Her clothing appeared old and worn, like my purse. But what really struck me was how young she looked. She hadn’t been lying to the officers about her age. Had I looked that young at eighteen?
As I was the only person not dressed in a police uniform, she stepped toward me, clutching a plastic bag with papers inside.
I cleared my throat, all sense of tiredness gone. For some inexplicable reason, I had to fight the impulse to hug her. “Alexandra?”
“Alex.” Her tone made me flinch. She looked me over with curiosity, then said, “Did you drive here?”
“Yes.”
“Then can we leave before they arrest me again?”
She strode past me, not looking back in my direction, and headed for the door. No thank-you, no explanation, no hint as to what she wanted or why she’d called me in the middle of the night. Unable to stop myself, I chased after her. My purse bounced on my shoulder, sliding down my arm as we approached the truck.
“This is yours?” She looked at the truck with skepticism.
“Borrowed it.” I clambered into the cab and unlocked her door. Would she respect me more if I told her the truth about stealing it?
She climbed inside, and I waited expectantly. “Where am I taking you?”
Alex looked out the passenger-side window. “The nearest bus station.”
“You don’t live around here?”
“Nope.”
“Where do you live?”
“At the moment,” Alex said, clutching the plastic bag in her lap, “the nearest bus station. I think there’s one about five miles away. So head straight, then take a right at the corner.”
She indicated the route with her hands.
I didn’t start the engine. Why had she called me and not someone else, like a family member or a friend? She was too young to be on her own. Was she a college kid going to school in the city? Had she run out of money to get back home?
“Where’s your family?”
She paused, clearly thrown by my blunt question, and I swore her sarcastic demeanor cracked ever so slightly. “My mother lives in Florida.”
“And your friends?”
“What friends?” she asked, looking between insulted and incredulous.
“Whoever you’re staying with.”
“I’m not staying with anyone. Now, can we leave before the police decide to charge me with another crime I didn’t commit?”
Her voice demanded action, but I couldn’t let her get on a bus and leave the state. She had a court hearing in Cleveland in a few weeks. I needed that $3,000 back.
“Officer Heathman said you had to appear in court. Shouldn’t you stay in the area?”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Well, I had to pay a lot of money to bail you out. I maxed out my credit card, and I only get the money back if you go to your hearing.”
Alex took a deep breath like I was being purposely difficult. “I’ll show up for the hearing, okay? Now, can we get moving?” She gestured toward the windshield.
An unsettling feeling flooded my stomach. Not about the money, which I doubted would ever be returned to my bank account. I’d have to beg Laurel Montgomery, the town treasurer, to grant me another extension on my property taxes.
The feeling ran deeper than any financial implications. It seemed vital, like I wouldn’t be able to continue on if Alex left for Florida. “What if you stay with me until the hearing?”
“I’m not a charity case.”
“It’s not charity. In exchange, you could help with my farm.”
“You mean, your blueberry farm?” She looked me over from head to toe with incredulity. “And get trapped there like you did? I think I’ll pass.”
I leaned back in my seat. Why was she acting like this? Officer Heathman had been right: Alex was a real piece of work. But that wouldn’t scare me off. Not tonight, when I was breaking all the rules. “Beats getting on a bus and avoiding your problems till they eventually catch up to you, which of course this will. You can’t steal something and then expect everyone to look the other way. You have to deal with your problems like an adult.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, looking anywhere but at me.
Despite my irritation, a plan was forming in my mind, growing clearer by the second. Alex wasn’t the only person in the truck with problems. Every week, thieves ransacked my farm, bleeding me dry. Last night, I’d made the decision to stop hiding in my house and do something—anything—to stop the culprits. Only I’d failed.
But what if I had a little help? From someone who clearly didn’t mind bending the rules?
“Would you consider yourself a good thief?” I asked. “This incident aside.”
“I’m not a thief. Those cops are lying.” Her face darkened as she stared out the windshield.
“Okay, sure,” I responded, trying to calm her. But I believed Officer Heathman. Perhaps my personality didn’t let me question anyone in a position of authority, but he hadn’t come across as a liar. “I’m having a problem at the farm, and I could use your help.”
“My help with what?”
The moment I spoke, I knew it would be trouble. Alex had only minutes ago been released from prison on bail. She had enough problems of her own without adding mine to the list. But desperation washed away my good sense. Who better to catch a thief than another thief? She could help me stop the kids and return for her court hearing, leaving me with the bail money and more blueberries to sell.
Alex Norse had called me for a reason—and now, I had a way to save the farm.
I switched on the truck’s ignition and said, “They’re called the Blueberry Bandits, and you’re going to help me bring them down.”
Five
Though I kept the house in a state of cleanliness that would work as the “after” shot in a cleaning commercial, it had been so long since I’d had a guest that it made me feel like a bad host to not have something prepared. Was she hungry? All I had in the fridge was old coffee grounds, blueberries, and a half dozen eggs. I’d have to remember to get the extra shampoo and conditioner from my bathroom cabinet and bring them downstairs, along with clean pajamas and maybe some towels in case she was allergic to the cotton ones already in the guest bathroom. All Alex seemed to have was a plastic bag containing the papers Officer Heathman had made her sign and a cell phone.
What would Alex have done if I hadn’t picked her up? Hitched a ride on the freeway? Stolen a vehicle from a nearby parking lot? Broken into a house to get some cash? A shudder ran through me—from both fear and rage. The justice system had left Alex, someone who clearly needed help, to fend for herself. I clutched my phone with reverence, grateful for the lifeline this tiny piece of plastic had provided.
“Watch your step,” I said when we reached the porch. “The bottom one is broken. One of those classic ‘I dropped a paint can’ incidents.”
She complied despite my rambling nonsense.
When I opened the front door, Juno tore down the stairs. She barked and jumped, excited that I’d brought someone home.
“This is Juno. She’s the neighbor’s, but occasionally she stays here,” I said, relieved when Alex started petting the border collie.
After five seconds, Juno trusted Alex enough to roll over and get belly pets.
With Juno on our heels, I showed Alex the house, switching on the lights as I moved from room to room. She took in the house silently, occasionally rubbing her wrists where the handcuffs had left a faint red line. I added lotion to my growing list of things she’d need.
The guest bedroom was warm, so I opened the window, apologizing for the lack of air-conditioning. “There’s a decent breeze most nights, and it’s got the best view in the house.” If you like blueberry fields, I added to myself.
“Am I drunk, or are you really at a party?” he asked.
“Yes, you’re drunk, and I’m at the party. But I’m not here for that.” I paused, unsure the words would pass through my vocal cords without choking me. “I need a favor.”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I’m not turning down the music. I have till one a.m. That was our agreement.”
That was absolutely not the agreement. And even if it was, he’d never stuck to that time limit, normally playing music till the next morning, when he woke up hungover. All of this I wanted to point out, but his constant annoyances would have to wait. For the first time in a long while, I had something important to do.
Before I could get the words out, he asked, “Do you want a drink?”
When he stepped closer, I backed up, holding my hands in front of me. I didn’t want his beer breath in my face. “You couldn’t pay me to drink anything you gave me.”
His eyebrows creased with confusion. Perhaps he’d expected a simple yes-or-no answer. I could tell when my statement connected in his mind, about three seconds later than it should have.
“What do you want, then?”
I worked to keep my tone even. I needed a favor, after all. “Can I borrow your truck?”
“For what?”
“Can I borrow it or not?” I should have told him what I needed it for; he’d forget by morning anyway. Only, I didn’t know how to get the words out. I was having trouble wrapping my head around the phone call, and I didn’t need Wade’s take on any of it.
“Are you in trouble?” He looked me over. Then he shifted so he could see out the side window of his living room. He had an unobstructed view of my yard and front porch. I’d been meaning to plant a row of trees to block his view but hadn’t gotten around to it. “Is it those kids again?”
“No, I just need your truck.”
“If you’re going to commit manslaughter, you’ll have to get a rental.”
“It’s not the kids!” My temper flared, as it always did when we interacted. Why wouldn’t he cooperate? He obviously wasn’t driving anywhere tonight. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was speaking to an overgrown man-child. “Give me the keys. I’ll be back in a few hours. You’ll never even miss it.”
“Have a drink first.”
I ran a hand through my hair, thoroughly exasperated. I wasn’t going to drink and drive; that was illegal. Didn’t he know I was responsible? “I don’t have time for a drink. I need to get moving. Unlike you, I don’t have all the time in the world.”
“One drink; then you can have the keys.”
Why was he toying with me?
“Forget it, Wade.” I shook my head and headed toward the front door, leaving him to negotiate with himself. He called after me, but I’d already pushed through the sea of people in the living room.
Luckily, I’d borrowed his truck a few times and already knew where he stashed the keys. His bottle-opener key chain sat on the hallway table, under a substantial stack of mail, magazines, and bills. I ducked outside, not looking back, and hoped no one would be on the road at this hour.
Four
Cleveland was forty minutes from Elswood, if abiding by the speed limit—which, of course, I did. I didn’t have the nerve to commit theft and break traffic regulations on the same night. If I took this reckless behavior any further, I’d be jaywalking by the end of the week. Where would it end?
I drove without music so I wouldn’t be distracted. My hands shook on the steering wheel for the first few miles, but when I didn’t immediately crash, I relaxed, settling instead for staring at the road with catlike focus.
The front tire bumped into the street curb as I checked the building number against my hastily scratched Post-it note. I checked again. And again. The numbers matched.
1300 Ontario Street.
The Cleveland Police Department.
Here goes nothing, I thought, putting the truck in park and heading inside. A counter surrounded by plexiglass dominated the entryway. Two police officers stood beside it, deep in conversation. I ignored them, focused on the man sitting behind the glass staring at his cell phone.
His eyes flicked upward, then back to his screen. “State your business.”
My throat had gone dry. “Hello, I’m here to pick up Alex Norse.”
“Pickup times are between eight a.m. and six p.m. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
I bit my lip, thinking of a clever or charming remark to get special treatment. I didn’t want to drive back out here in a few hours. Traffic would be unbearable at eight a.m., assuming Wade hadn’t reclaimed his keys by then. Sleeping in the truck was an option, but the dark, deserted street frightened me, even if it was mere feet from a police station.
“Can you make an exception?” I knew the answer before I asked. My voice didn’t ring with the kind of authority that garnered an exception to rules. I basically had won’t make a fuss written in bright letters across my forehead.
“Pickup times are between eight a.m. and six p.m. You’ll have to come back in the morning.”
I stood there as the moments passed, unsure whether I had it in me to ask for a supervisor. But I’d have to. It would be worth a shot. Maybe if I explained the situation, someone would take pity on me.
“You’re here for Alexandra?” One of the officers had stopped his conversation to address me. I nodded, heart lifting at his tone.
“I’ll take this one, Cory.” He leaned forward so Cory could see him through the glass. Cory returned to his cell phone before the other officer could lean back.
He led me to his desk and introduced himself as Officer Frank Heathman.
“You family?”
“Um . . . a friend.” It sounded like a question.
He unlocked his computer and started typing. “Real piece of work,” he muttered. At first, I thought he meant the computer, which looked like it was from the early 1990s, but then he looked me in the eye and said, “Your friend caused quite a bit of trouble when we arrested her three days ago.”
My curiosity increased, but so did my anxiety. What was I getting myself into?
“Got her in front of the judge yesterday, but she refused to call anyone until she had her cell phone. Not exactly protocol, but she wore me down. The sooner she’s out of here, the better.”
“What did she do?” I crossed my fingers. Please don’t let it be anything too heinous.
“Attempted shoplifting.”
I uncrossed my fingers. That wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like she’d committed armed robbery or killed someone.
“Then assault on a department store clerk, resisting arrest, and threatening a police officer. Multiple officers, actually.”
I swallowed. I’d been too hasty in my relief. But for some reason, I didn’t bolt for the exit after hearing her list of crimes. Alexandra had made some mistakes, but she also had my mother’s old phone number, and that outweighed any potential danger she posed to me. The moment she called, I’d decided to meet her, no matter what crimes she’d committed, because perhaps this was my mother’s way of finally returning my calls.
“What happens next? Do I need to post bail or anything?”
He consulted the computer screen. “Judge set bail at three thousand.”
“Dollars?” The lights of the station blurred. I’d have to sell a kidney to get that much cash.
“She’s eighteen and a flight risk. If she returns for her court hearing, the money will be returned to you.”
If she returns? Three thousand dollars was more than I had to spare, and I didn’t know if Alexandra—whoever this girl was—would show up for her hearing. Giving Officer Heathman even a dollar was a gamble. And I’d never been much of a risk-taker. Until tonight, it seemed.
I unzipped the top of my purse. “Do you take credit cards?”
He nodded, and I tried not to think about forfeiting the last of my savings and the overdue property taxes on the farm.
Before I could change my mind, he took my card and typed on his keyboard. “Is she staying with you?”
“Hmm?”
“Is Alexandra staying with you? She didn’t provide an address when we arrested her.”
“Uh . . . I don’t know.” Would she stay with me? There was no plan here; there wasn’t even the beginning of a plan. I was winging this entire thing and way out of my element.
He retrieved a document from the printer, and my eyes roamed the precinct. The desks surrounding Officer Heathman’s were either empty or quiet. A couple of officers drank coffee, clacking on their keyboards, and another spoke on the phone with someone, his voice low. I did my best not to listen to the conversation, uncertain if one could be arrested for eavesdropping on a police officer.
Heathman returned, startling me from my thoughts. “Sign here, here, here, and here.” He indicated with a pen on the forms. “And here, then initial here.”
My sloppy signature covered the pages as I rushed to sign before I could rethink my decision. I slid the papers across the table, and he looked them over.
“I’ll get her to sign this, and then we’ll release her. You can wait here.”
I thanked him and remained perched on the edge of my seat. I fiddled with my purse strap. It was old, fraying at the sides, but I used it every day. Ever since I was a kid, I’d been a perpetual creature of habit—eating the same foods, wearing the same clothes, having the same conversations with the same people. I’d trapped myself in a tiny world where I controlled everything.
Sitting in a police station, waiting for Alexandra—a teenage delinquent—went beyond my tiny, controllable world. Yet I stayed in the chair, holding my hand out, palm upward. The blue ink had faded, but the letters were still visible, as if the message had permanently sunk into my flesh.
Don’t run.
Three years of grief and loneliness had led me to this moment, and if I ran away without meeting Alexandra, I’d regret it forever.
A loud buzz disturbed the quiet. “She’s coming out now, ma’am.”
I stood, feeling shaky and breathless as I got my first glimpse of Alexandra Norse. She didn’t look like a criminal—not that I knew what a criminal should look like. Tattooed? Multiple facial piercings? Wearing a leather jacket with a gang symbol etched onto the back? She possessed none of those clichéd indicators.
Her dark-brown hair was greasy, probably from her time in lockup, and her small frame was hidden under a baggy T-shirt and black yoga pants. Her clothing appeared old and worn, like my purse. But what really struck me was how young she looked. She hadn’t been lying to the officers about her age. Had I looked that young at eighteen?
As I was the only person not dressed in a police uniform, she stepped toward me, clutching a plastic bag with papers inside.
I cleared my throat, all sense of tiredness gone. For some inexplicable reason, I had to fight the impulse to hug her. “Alexandra?”
“Alex.” Her tone made me flinch. She looked me over with curiosity, then said, “Did you drive here?”
“Yes.”
“Then can we leave before they arrest me again?”
She strode past me, not looking back in my direction, and headed for the door. No thank-you, no explanation, no hint as to what she wanted or why she’d called me in the middle of the night. Unable to stop myself, I chased after her. My purse bounced on my shoulder, sliding down my arm as we approached the truck.
“This is yours?” She looked at the truck with skepticism.
“Borrowed it.” I clambered into the cab and unlocked her door. Would she respect me more if I told her the truth about stealing it?
She climbed inside, and I waited expectantly. “Where am I taking you?”
Alex looked out the passenger-side window. “The nearest bus station.”
“You don’t live around here?”
“Nope.”
“Where do you live?”
“At the moment,” Alex said, clutching the plastic bag in her lap, “the nearest bus station. I think there’s one about five miles away. So head straight, then take a right at the corner.”
She indicated the route with her hands.
I didn’t start the engine. Why had she called me and not someone else, like a family member or a friend? She was too young to be on her own. Was she a college kid going to school in the city? Had she run out of money to get back home?
“Where’s your family?”
She paused, clearly thrown by my blunt question, and I swore her sarcastic demeanor cracked ever so slightly. “My mother lives in Florida.”
“And your friends?”
“What friends?” she asked, looking between insulted and incredulous.
“Whoever you’re staying with.”
“I’m not staying with anyone. Now, can we leave before the police decide to charge me with another crime I didn’t commit?”
Her voice demanded action, but I couldn’t let her get on a bus and leave the state. She had a court hearing in Cleveland in a few weeks. I needed that $3,000 back.
“Officer Heathman said you had to appear in court. Shouldn’t you stay in the area?”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Well, I had to pay a lot of money to bail you out. I maxed out my credit card, and I only get the money back if you go to your hearing.”
Alex took a deep breath like I was being purposely difficult. “I’ll show up for the hearing, okay? Now, can we get moving?” She gestured toward the windshield.
An unsettling feeling flooded my stomach. Not about the money, which I doubted would ever be returned to my bank account. I’d have to beg Laurel Montgomery, the town treasurer, to grant me another extension on my property taxes.
The feeling ran deeper than any financial implications. It seemed vital, like I wouldn’t be able to continue on if Alex left for Florida. “What if you stay with me until the hearing?”
“I’m not a charity case.”
“It’s not charity. In exchange, you could help with my farm.”
“You mean, your blueberry farm?” She looked me over from head to toe with incredulity. “And get trapped there like you did? I think I’ll pass.”
I leaned back in my seat. Why was she acting like this? Officer Heathman had been right: Alex was a real piece of work. But that wouldn’t scare me off. Not tonight, when I was breaking all the rules. “Beats getting on a bus and avoiding your problems till they eventually catch up to you, which of course this will. You can’t steal something and then expect everyone to look the other way. You have to deal with your problems like an adult.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, looking anywhere but at me.
Despite my irritation, a plan was forming in my mind, growing clearer by the second. Alex wasn’t the only person in the truck with problems. Every week, thieves ransacked my farm, bleeding me dry. Last night, I’d made the decision to stop hiding in my house and do something—anything—to stop the culprits. Only I’d failed.
But what if I had a little help? From someone who clearly didn’t mind bending the rules?
“Would you consider yourself a good thief?” I asked. “This incident aside.”
“I’m not a thief. Those cops are lying.” Her face darkened as she stared out the windshield.
“Okay, sure,” I responded, trying to calm her. But I believed Officer Heathman. Perhaps my personality didn’t let me question anyone in a position of authority, but he hadn’t come across as a liar. “I’m having a problem at the farm, and I could use your help.”
“My help with what?”
The moment I spoke, I knew it would be trouble. Alex had only minutes ago been released from prison on bail. She had enough problems of her own without adding mine to the list. But desperation washed away my good sense. Who better to catch a thief than another thief? She could help me stop the kids and return for her court hearing, leaving me with the bail money and more blueberries to sell.
Alex Norse had called me for a reason—and now, I had a way to save the farm.
I switched on the truck’s ignition and said, “They’re called the Blueberry Bandits, and you’re going to help me bring them down.”
Five
Though I kept the house in a state of cleanliness that would work as the “after” shot in a cleaning commercial, it had been so long since I’d had a guest that it made me feel like a bad host to not have something prepared. Was she hungry? All I had in the fridge was old coffee grounds, blueberries, and a half dozen eggs. I’d have to remember to get the extra shampoo and conditioner from my bathroom cabinet and bring them downstairs, along with clean pajamas and maybe some towels in case she was allergic to the cotton ones already in the guest bathroom. All Alex seemed to have was a plastic bag containing the papers Officer Heathman had made her sign and a cell phone.
What would Alex have done if I hadn’t picked her up? Hitched a ride on the freeway? Stolen a vehicle from a nearby parking lot? Broken into a house to get some cash? A shudder ran through me—from both fear and rage. The justice system had left Alex, someone who clearly needed help, to fend for herself. I clutched my phone with reverence, grateful for the lifeline this tiny piece of plastic had provided.
“Watch your step,” I said when we reached the porch. “The bottom one is broken. One of those classic ‘I dropped a paint can’ incidents.”
She complied despite my rambling nonsense.
When I opened the front door, Juno tore down the stairs. She barked and jumped, excited that I’d brought someone home.
“This is Juno. She’s the neighbor’s, but occasionally she stays here,” I said, relieved when Alex started petting the border collie.
After five seconds, Juno trusted Alex enough to roll over and get belly pets.
With Juno on our heels, I showed Alex the house, switching on the lights as I moved from room to room. She took in the house silently, occasionally rubbing her wrists where the handcuffs had left a faint red line. I added lotion to my growing list of things she’d need.
The guest bedroom was warm, so I opened the window, apologizing for the lack of air-conditioning. “There’s a decent breeze most nights, and it’s got the best view in the house.” If you like blueberry fields, I added to myself.
