Rich Waters (Jason Rich), page 20
Jason turned left on Highway 431. Five minutes later, he hung another left on Buck Island Drive. As he returned to the scene of last year’s case—the murder of his brother-in-law, Dr. Braxton Waters—Jason felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach but pushed past his feelings of guilt and anguish.
When he reached the address, he parked in the grass front lawn because the driveway was full of cars. He didn’t see his security detail, but he knew the guard was out here somewhere. He got out of the car and walked toward the front door, hearing the sounds of loud music beyond it. Because the mansions were spaced a good ways apart, this type of high school party could get off without causing too much of a commotion. Jason knocked and, when there was no answer, turned the knob, which wasn’t locked, and walked inside.
The house opened to a large open area where teenagers were talking, dancing, and drinking. He scanned the crowd but didn’t see Kevin Martin or Nola. He went up to the first kid he saw. “Have you seen Nola Waters?”
The kid smiled, eyes bleary. “No, dude. I mean, Dad.” He laughed, and Jason pushed past him.
“Has anyone seen Nola Waters?” he asked the crowd of people. No response. He grinned and took out his phone. He began to snap pictures of the people in the room.
“Hey, man. What are you doing?” It was a young woman’s voice. Jason turned toward it and noticed her. He’d seen her at his house a few times. “Harley?”
Her eyes went wide. She was holding a Truly seltzer in her hand.
“Where’s Nola?”
She combed back her hair. “I . . . I’m not sure.”
Jason clicked a photo of her. “I think your parents will like that one.”
“Mr. Rich, please—”
Jason clicked a few more pics, and a boy approached him. “Hey, Mister. You need to get on outa here.”
“I’m not leaving until I see Nola. Now, where is she?”
No one answered.
“All right, I’m calling the police.” Jason made a show of punching the digits with his phone.
“She went with K-Mart, I mean Kevin,” Harley said.
“That doesn’t tell me much. Where’d they go?”
“For a Jet Ski ride,” Harley said, taking a few steps toward him. Though she was holding an alcoholic beverage, her eyes were clear. “To her old house. The new owners are hardly ever there.”
“OK,” Jason said, pressing end on his phone and putting it in his pocket. “Does she do that a lot? Visit, I mean.”
Harley nodded. “Pretty much every time she comes over here.”
Jason turned to leave.
“Mr. Rich, are you going to tell my parents about . . . ?”
But Jason was out the front door before he heard the rest of it. He unlocked his car and looked down the road. The old Waters homestead was a quarter mile away. Hesitating for only a second and patting his pocket to make sure his Glock was still there, he locked the door and began to walk. As he did, he called his security guard. “She took a Jet Ski ride with K-Mart down to her old house. It’s a little ways down the road, and I’m going to walk it. I don’t want to startle them.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rich. I can’t see the Martin boathouse from out here.”
“It’s OK. Look, I’ve got things from here. Why don’t you take the night off?”
“Are you sure?”
Jason wasn’t sure of anything anymore, but he thought he needed to do this by himself. “Yes.”
Jason hung up as Buck Island Drive hooked around to the left and the old Waters homestead came into view. He felt a nervous tickle in his stomach. When had he last been here? Nola comes every time she sees K-Mart . . .
Jason took a deep breath, feeling his heartbeat racing. He tried to think about what he might say to her.
Jason arrived at the house and saw that all the inside lights were off, and the circle driveway was devoid of cars. There was a light above the garage, but that was the only illumination.
Jason didn’t bother to try the front door. He knew it was locked, and he doubted that any key that Nola might still have to the home would work. Besides, even if the door was open, he doubted that’s where she would go.
He walked around the house and saw two silhouettes down by the boathouse. They were close to each other and appeared to be in an embrace. A song was playing, and, as he got closer, Jason recognized it as Darius Rucker’s version of “Wagon Wheel.” He thought back to the investigative report on Braxton Waters’s death. An Alexa device had been playing songs by Rucker.
Jason’s feet hit the dock and he realized that he hadn’t actually been in the boathouse since before Braxton’s death. He’d visited the home, but last year the boathouse and dock had been a crime scene. At some point, after Braxton’s murder and the close of the trial, the yellow crime scene tape had been removed. Jason wondered if the fact that a murder had occurred on this spot bothered the new owners or if they were the kind of people who might think that was a cool side plot to the home. A conversation piece at dinner parties.
Perhaps . . . but that’s not what it was to Nola.
As Jason got closer to the covering where Braxton Waters had been hitting golf balls into the lake the night he died, he felt a solemness come over him. He also noticed that the two people on the dock weren’t hugging each other any longer. Nola was sitting on the dock with her legs dangling over the edge, while Kevin Martin was lying back in a lounge chair and checking his phone. Jason watched Nola and saw that she was swaying back and forth and humming to the music.
When K-Mart saw Jason, he rose to his feet and stuck his phone in his pocket. “Who are y—”
Jason put his index finger over his mouth to shush him, but, as he got closer, he could tell the boy now recognized him. “I’m Nola’s uncle.”
“Yes, sir.” K-Mart extended his hand, and Jason took it. K-Mart was about five feet, ten inches tall and looked to be around two hundred pounds. His arms and shoulders were thick from weightlifting, and his grip was strong. He had dark hair and olive skin.
Jason glanced at Nola, and she was still swaying to the music and humming. “How much has she had to drink?”
“A couple Trulys,” K-Mart said, his voice matter of fact. If he was shocked or startled by Jason’s presence, he was doing a good job of keeping calm.
“And how much meth?”
The boy blinked twice. “None that I’m aware—”
“Cut the crap, K-Mart,” Jason said. “What drugs has she done tonight?”
He rubbed his neck. “Two lines of meth. A Xanax. That’s all I’ve seen her do.”
“And where did she get the meth?”
“Beats me.”
“Right. You’re a liar, K-Mart.”
“And you’ve had someone following me, Mr. Rich. Haven’t you?”
Jason didn’t answer.
“I should report you to the police.”
At this, Jason laughed. “And tell them what? That me allegedly having an investigator follow you has cut into your meth trade?”
“Listen, man—”
“No, you listen,” Jason said. “I want you to hop on that Jet Ski . . .” Jason pointed to the watercraft tied to the back of the dock. “. . . and get your punk ass out of here.”
K-Mart took a step forward, moving his pecs back and forth. “You really think you can tell me what to do? I’ll have you put in jail.” K-Mart pushed Jason in the chest, knocking him back a few steps.
“This is her parents’ boathouse,” Jason said. “Her dad was murdered pretty much exactly where she is sitting. Do you hear me?”
K-Mart didn’t look at Nola. He took another step toward Jason. “I know. She’s told me all about it. Now, I think it’s time you leave.”
Jason didn’t move. “I know all about you, K-Mart. I know what you sell and who you sell for. You really think it’s a good idea working for Tyson Cade?”
“Who?” K-Mart asked. “I don’t have the foggiest clue who you are talking about.”
“Right.”
Instead of his gun, Jason took out his phone. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave right now.”
K-Mart turned and grabbed his own device from the chair behind him. “Me first.”
“I’m going to call them to your house, where a bunch of kids are underage drinking and doing the meth you sell them. How’d that be?”
“And when they get there, I’m going to tell them how you threatened me.”
Jason smirked. “And in the next breath, I’ll mention how you drugged my niece and took her down to her old boathouse to do God knows what with her.”
K-Mart seemed to force a smile. “I’d watch my back if I were you.”
“I always do.” Jason reached into his pocket and lifted the handle of his Glock just a few inches up so that K-Mart could see it. “Now, you’ve already assaulted me, and I’m feeling a bit twitchy, and I really don’t like it that you are out here with Nola, so . . .” Jason glared at him. “. . . like I said, get the hell out of here.”
K-Mart stuck his phone in his pocket. He walked over to Nola and kissed her cheek, whispering something into her ear. Nola said something back that Jason didn’t hear. Then he strode to the end of the dock and climbed on the red-and-black Kawasaki. He undid the rope and kicked off the edge. Once the craft was a few feet away from the dock, he pushed the ignition, and the Jet Ski roared to life. K-Mart extended his middle finger toward Jason. “I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Rich,” he shouted.
Then he sped away without looking back.
Jason almost called after him but thought better of it. His heart was pounding, and his adrenaline gauge had almost reached the top. Taking a deep breath, he approached his niece.
“Nola?” He walked toward her and squatted. “Honey, are you all right?”
She glanced at him as the song changed to “Beers and Sunshine.”
“H-h-hey,” she said. Her eyes were glassy and she slurred her words.
Jason took a seat beside her. “It’s time to go home, honey.”
She shook her head. “No.”
Jason started to say yes but caught himself. He gazed out at the water and saw the Veterans Memorial Bridge in the background.
“This was D-D-Daddy’s favorite. He loved Darius.”
“I know, honey. I remember.”
“I was here when they pulled his body out of the water,” Nola said, her words coming out as a low whine. “Mom and me. We saw it. They pulled him out.” She wiped her eyes, which were now brimming with tears. “I already knew he was dead. I’d seen his golf hat floating on the water, and I knew. But s-s-seeing his body was still . . .”
“Nola, I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard.”
“No, you don’t. Nana and Papa lived long lives before they died. My parents were both murdered. Do you hear me? Someone killed them. I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. Not to either one of them.”
“I know.”
“We had a good life, Uncle Jason. I mean, Mom was a little crazy, and they didn’t have the best marriage, but we had a life.” She sobbed. “And now it’s all gone. And Niecy is in college. And . . .” She hiccuped and rolled her eyes. “. . . all I’ve got is you.”
“The drugs don’t help.”
“They do for me!” she screamed and pulled herself to her feet. She stumbled, and Jason grabbed her arm to steady her. She snatched it away and punched his shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” she wailed.
“Nola, let’s go home.”
“You aren’t my dad. You aren’t my parent. You’re nothing.” She spat on the boathouse floor. “And when I turn eighteen, you can best believe I’ll be outa here. You’ll be alone, Uncle Jason.” She stumbled again, getting very close to the edge of the dock.
“Sweetheart, please let me take you home. I know I’m not your father. But I am an addict, and I know one when I see one.”
“Oh, fuck off. An addict? Like you? Like Chase? No, I am not. This is by choice. I don’t have to do any of this stuff. I want to do it. I want to die, you hear me?”
Jason felt warmth on his cheeks. He reached out with his hand. “Please don’t say that, sweetie.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
Jason stepped toward her.
“Don’t get any closer to me, or I’ll jump in. It’s eight feet deep over the edge of this dock. Sometimes twelve. I’ll swim out to the middle, where it’s even deeper, and you’ll never find me.”
“Nola—”
“Shut up.”
Jason’s mind scrambled to find something to redirect her. Whatever drugs she’d done had taken over. “Nola, what happened to Chase? I know you started using with her. Why did she relapse?”
Nola howled with anguished laughter. “You are so clueless, Uncle Jason. I didn’t start using with her. Chase started using with me. I got her back in the game. Me!”
“But I’ve seen pictures of you being given meth by her.”
She hiccuped again. “That was K-Mart’s idea. Once Chase started using with me, he said it would be good if we had a picture of her selling to me.” She hiccuped again and then burped. “As protection for him.”
“You set her up?”
Nola opened her mouth wide. “Surprise!”
“Nola, please let me help you. You and Niecy are the only family I have left. I love you.” Jason felt tears misting in his eyes. Had he ever told her that before?
Nola opened her mouth for a moment as if she were stunned by what her uncle had just said. “I . . .” She bit her lip and looked out at Lake Guntersville.
“Please come with me, honey,” Jason said.
Nola’s lip began to tremble. “I’m sorry, Uncle Jason.”
And then she fell backward into Lake Guntersville.
46
Kevin Martin waited until he had parked his Jet Ski in his boathouse to make the call. He described what happened on the dock with Jason Rich in as much detail as he could, keeping his voice and tone measured. K-Mart was in his third high school in four years, and he’d been popular in each one. Part of his attraction was the drugs, which he had always had a knack for finding and selling. But the other part was confidence. He knew who he was and didn’t care what others thought of him. That made him golden.
In business and with the ladies.
“All right, kid, thanks for calling. Mr. Rich won’t be bothering you anymore.” A pause. “Are you still dating his niece?”
K-Mart grinned as he approached his house. “We’re friends with benefits.”
A chuckle on the other end of the line. “Well, try to keep that going.”
“Will do, Mr. Dean.”
K-Mart strode up the lawn to his home, feeling in total control again. His parents were out of town, and Matthew Dean—or, more likely, Mr. Dean’s boss—would make sure Jason Rich didn’t bug him anymore. He looked over his shoulder at the lake, regretting that his interlude with Nola had been broken. As he entered his home, he figured his chances of getting lucky tonight were over.
As he shut the door, Harley Rogers came toward him and touched his arm. “Did Nola’s uncle find y’all?”
“Yep. Did you tell him where we were?”
“I didn’t have a choice. He was threatening to call the police.”
“Yeah,” K-Mart said, giving his head a jerk. “He made the same threat to me.”
“Did Nola go with him?”
“Yep, she’s gone.”
“So . . .” She leaned in close, and he could smell her perfume. “. . . do you have any meth upstairs?”
K-Mart grinned. Perhaps his chances were improving. “Let’s go find out.”
Matty Dean ended the call with the kid and let out a deep breath. Tyson ain’t gonna like that, he thought, shuddering and taking a long sip of beer. He was sitting at the bar at Fire by the Lake, a waterfront restaurant off Highway 69. He’d spent most of the day fishing after making a delivery for Tyson by boat to Ditto Landing in Huntsville.
He’d had a good day, catching twelve bass. His further reward was a couple of brews at the bar and some flirting with the redheaded barmaid, Teresa. Now, though, the good times were gone. Jason Rich was making more trouble.
As he left the bar and walked toward his truck, he glanced up and saw one of the lawyer’s massive billboards.
You have no idea the hell you are bringing on yourself, he thought, gazing up at the stubble-faced attorney. Then, climbing into his pickup, he noticed a maroon SUV out of the corner of his eye. Had it been here when he arrived?
He thought it had. He didn’t turn but instead climbed into the cab of his vehicle. He glanced into the rearview mirror and noticed a man behind the wheel. Thinking fast, Matty hopped out of the truck and snapped his fingers, as if he’d forgotten something. He walked fast down to the dock where he’d moored his boat in one of the slips. Just a man who’s forgotten his cap, he thought as he strode toward the boat. He hopped in and opened the storage closet by the front console. He pulled out a hat, which he hadn’t forgotten but which he typically left in the boat. Then, putting it back on his head, he walked away from the boat in similar fashion, head down and snapping his fingers. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it to his side as he approached the maroon SUV, which was a Ford Explorer, and snapped two photographs of the back, making sure he captured the license tag, and two more of the side.
Then he hopped inside the truck. Once he was out on Highway 69, he dialed the number.
“This better be good,” Tyson said, his voice high and his breathing labored.
“The kid was accosted tonight by Jason Rich at a party he was throwing at his home. Rich accused him of working with you.”
“Really?” Tyson asked, his breath more under control.
“Yep. And that’s not the worst part.”
“What is?”
Matty glanced in his rearview mirror, and the Explorer was about six car lengths behind him. “I’m pretty sure I’m being followed.”
Silence on the other end of the line. When Tyson spoke again, his voice was as cold as the lake in December. “Maroon SUV?”
