The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (34 page)

Antonio sauntered away from the group and sat down next to her, perched on one side of the crate. “So this is the one, who gets the…distance looks,” he whispered. “This is happy Candy?”

“Yeah, it is,” she admitted.

“I am glad to see this.”

“Thanks, Antonio.” She twisted around to embrace him. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to be your date tonight.”

“Not necessary, honey. I am liking you happy,” he said. He squeezed her, then let her go and rose with his hands outstretched, striding over to the others. “Ladies, ladies—let us find another party.”

“Looks like we found the best party in town.” John’s voice rang out behind her, and Candy’s spine stiffened. Sam’s head jerked towards John, his eyes steel.

Erica complained, “Candy, we’ve been looking all over for you.”

“We thought you left without us,” John’s voice was light, but Candy didn’t believe it. He was as tight as a bowstring ready to be loosed, if she knew him at all.

Erica plopped down next to her. “Do you think it would be rude for me to go home with my dad? I just saw him, and he said he brought me some sweats to change into, just in case. I think he could probably use an extra hand…”

Candy looked at her like she was crazy. “Of course. Are you kidding?”

“I mean, I don’t want to insult anybody. But I am really ready to get out of this dress, you know?”

“Erica, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Seeing her poor friend wrenching her trembling blue fingers with the decision, her heart almost exploded. “I totally agree, by the way.”

“You do? Oh, thank you. I already mentioned it to John, and he said he wouldn’t mind. He’s so polite. He even offered me his jacket, but I think I just want to go home. Is that nerdy?”

Candy peeked around to see Antonio standing off to the side with one arm draped over John’s shoulders, speaking reassuringly into his ear. John looked resigned, nodding agreement. She met Sam’s eyes. He looked towards the sky; not thrilled, but willing to keep the peace. What run-in had she missed?

“No, go get into your sweats,” Candy insisted, bringing her attention back to Erica. “Seriously.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to desert you.”

Candy buried her guilt; she was planning to do just that to Erica only moments before. “I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Candy.” Erica hugged her and offered air-kisses to the others, before exclaiming with delight, “Bye, everybody,” and bolting for her father’s tent. She rubbed her bare arms for warmth as she disappeared through the crowd.

I’m not half the friend she is.
Candy watched her go. Erica had always been a good friend and just the person she claimed to be. No more, no less. Candy considered how rare that was and brought her attention back to the present with reluctance.

“Tyler said you guys hitchhike on the train all the time,” Amanda was whining to Sam.

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend it.” Sam was holding up his hands, glaring at Tyler Finley. When had that guy shown up? “Look, we were just taking off.”

Candy saw John snap to attention and she jumped up from her seat, realizing some smoothing was in order, tout de suite. “We were just going for a walk.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped.

“Well, we’ll go with you guys,” Amanda chirped. “We have things that need…less of an audience. Right, Ty?”

“You could say that,” Tyler sniggered, clearing his throat and miming smoking a joint.

“Excellent, yes,” Antonio agreed, probably having written “get high” on his American bucket list.

“You guys are coming back to Amanda’s house after, right? Her parents are out of town,” Lindsay chimed in. Candy and Sam met eyes reflexively. They hadn’t discussed where they planned on heading, after their immediate decision to simply leave. The night was way too cold for The Palace.

“Well then, why don’t we just smoke it there?” John asked.

Candy was surprised.
John’s okay with smoking pot?

“No way, you know my dad’s the County Sheriff, right? Amanda
Jameson
?”

“Oh right.”

“But we can walk down south of here where it’s plenty deserted, then hop on the train back to my house,” offered Amanda.

“We’re not hopping on any trains.”

§

John rolled his sleeves back down and turned his shirt collar up against the chill. He wondered again how he ended up walking south along the railroad tracks, in the cold, heading deeper into the canyons and farther away from a comfortable stretched limousine.. Far ahead, Amanda was wearing his tuxedo jacket, plucked off of his hooked finger as soon as they left Fairbrother Field. She was holding hands and skipping with Lindsay, in front of Antonio and that creep Tyler. John blamed the lengthening of their outing on him; after they had all passed the joint back and forth, plenty far enough away from the festival crowd, Tyler produced a flask of some kind of vile moonshine. The others were sharing it as they strolled along the river, but John had no desire to more fully pollute his brain. He wanted to regain some control. At least Candy and Sam stopped holding hands once John took position at the rear. They were bumping shoulders, apparently deep in conversation, Candy laying her head against his shoulder and gazing adoringly up into his face now and again.

John flexed his knuckles and rubbed his temples, tried to clear his head. He looked around at the countryside. It was as beautiful as Candy promised when she cajoled him into walking farther along the river. Yet, the cliffs were rising steadily higher, turning the sky into a line of unearthly blue. The sides of the cliffs squeezed against them like a vice inching closed. A harvest moon illuminated the rocky layers of sandstone and limestone, casting eerie, stark shadows. The coarse clumps of granite jutting out of the canyon walls formed bizarre faces and anthropomorphic figures that seemed to watch their passage. The gutter between the two mountain ridges was becoming so tight that John could feel cold spray from the river on the other side of the tracks, to his right, and the road to their left had become a single dirt lane. Surely, they would come to the junction, where the road climbed into the mountains and the train headed through a tunnel, where the river turned and hurtled down a waterfall. They’d be forced to turn back then.
How long since we’ve even seen a car pass?
It was almost ten o’clock. He groaned with irritation when he read at his cell phone’s warning,
“Out Of Service Area.”

“You okay, John?” Candy called back to him.

“I think it’s time to turn back.” His voice was swallowed by the sudden blare of a train whistle, echoing out of the ravine ahead.

“What?”

“Hold on a minute…” He waved her over to shelter against the rock wall on the other side of the dirt road, as far away from the train tracks as possible. A headlight streamed around a stony corner, and John could see that the rest of their group was still walking along the tracks, heedless of the approaching train. “You guys, get out of the way,” he yelled, but they couldn’t have heard him. He sat down on an outcrop and leaned his back against the stone, aware that he’d just have to wait it out.

When he looked up, he saw his friends running alongside the train.

What?

They were intent on matching its speed.

My god, what are they thinking?

John watched helplessly as Tyler leapt, making contact with an opened boxcar. He turned to haul a female form in a slinky dress up after him.

Lindsay!

John stepped into the road. “What are you doing?”

Candy raised her hands to John in question, then clapped them over her ears in pain; the train whistle sounded again, rebounding off of stone and water all around them. Metal screeched against metal. John jabbed his finger past her, pointing towards their foolish companions a few hundred yards down the tracks. She spun around in a daze and Sam shot an arm out to steady her.

John watched in horror, as Antonio sprang for the boxcar next. His foot slipped in the gravel, and he hung on with one hand for several seconds, before he lost his grip. He spun once or twice before something large and solid made impact—the next boxcar. His body was thrown backwards, and his legs crumpled under him as he fell to the earth.

“Shit!” John bolted down the dirt road, Candy and Sam racing ahead of him.

“Tyler…help me,” Lindsay wailed. Her desperation streamed past John as the train sped past. He looked back to see that Tyler had jumped from the train and left Lindsay alone onboard, disappearing fast around the bend.

John sprinted back the way he had come, his hands cupped around his mouth, “Lindsay, don’t jump off.”

“Help me!”

“Stay on the train and keep your phone on—I’ll come get you where you stop.”

“I’m scared, John…” her reply was lost in the distance.

John picked up his speed.

“Lindsay?”

Nothing.

He could only hope that she understood, and that the next scheduled train stop wasn’t too far away. It was all he could do for her just then. He threw up his hands and turned back, rushing towards where Antonio had fallen, the bile rising in his throat from fear of what awaited him. His mind went blank as he ran—horror blocked the vivid image of Antonio crumpling to the ground, like a marionette with its strings snipped. He slowed to a jog as he drew nearer, panting and gripping his side, taking in the details. Tyler was pacing back and forth chewing his nails and Amanda stood frozen with her hands over her mouth. But, Antonio was moving—not dead, thank god—and seemed relatively quiet. Sam was on the ground with one arm under him for support, cradling his head. Candy was holding one of Antonio’s hands to her chest. John saw that he gripped a black satin high-heel in his other hand, and realized that he must have been holding Lindsay’s shoes for her as she ran.

“Let me take that, man.” John knelt down to pull the shoe out of his grip, and Antonio groaned in agony. His hand, his arm, all the way up the right side of his torso seemed to be unable to move, and John sickened as he noticed the odd angle of his arm to his body. He could hardly discern a shoulder. The shoe dropped with a thud.

As if the movement had loosened something inside, Antonio lurched forward to grasp at Candy’s neck. John could see angry fingernail gouges on her pale skin. Sam grabbed Antonio’s hand to keep him from choking Candy, and Antonio howled.

“Sorry, buddy.” Sam’s fingers encircled his wrist instead, and he held it to his own chest. “I think your hand is broken.”

Candy was mumbling incoherent prayers and snuffling, tears and mascara streaming down both cheeks. She looked at John. “I think he’s trying to tell me something.”

“Candy, I’ll take him—” John began, but Antonio heaved towards her and produced an explosive cough, sending splatters of blood against her chest. Red against white. He babbled something in Italian—
pericolo?
—struggling to breathe, choking and sending up blood from his lungs in a torrent that stained his crisp, pleated tuxedo shirt. He fell back against Sam again, crying in pain.

“John.” Sam barked, urgent. “Go get help. I’ve got this here.”

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. It’ll be okay,” Candy prayed, cupping Antonio’s cheek with her hand and stroking his face.

Antonio trembled against Sam’s arm. His body jerked with uncontrollable spasm, his whine animal.

Sam glared at John. “John. Run.”

With one last look into Antonio’s large, terrified eyes that saw nothing and everything at once, John took off up the tracks, heading for civilization as fast as his legs would allow. He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. No reception.

“Come on come on come on.”

Antonio’s cries became a scream of torment. John closed his eyes, pounding the dirt with every ounce of strength he had.

“One bar, just one bar. Come on.”

The scream choked and coughed, searching for a gasp of breath. A long, low moan bellowed from deep inside his pain.

John pushed harder, his muscles seizing and his lungs burning. “Hold on, man. Just hold on—”

POP!

He nearly tripped over his feet as the gunshot sounded behind him and the canyon went silent.

chapter forty-one

Mieke twirled her spoon in her chamomile tea, well past the point that the honey was dissolved. She picked up a lemon wedge. It had already been juiced more than once, so she dropped it on the saucer again. She traced the edge of her spoon against the teacup, heard the tinkling shake of her nerves in the motion, and plunked it down. Silver clanked against china. The damn thing could chip for all she cared.

“Are you absolutely certain the boy hasn’t been seen or heard from in over twenty-four hours?” a young deputy asked, clipping his pen back into his shirt pocket and flipping his note pad closed before she answered.

“I haven’t seen Antonio since Saturday night and it’s Monday morning. Where is the confusion here?” Mieke slapped her hand down on the glass table with a satisfactory sting. “Why is your office not more concerned about a missing person?”

“Honey…” Ian tried to placate his wife, but fell silent at her withering look.

“Mrs. Walsh, there was a lot going on that night. The kids had a lot of free reign, and kids can be kids.”

“Well, Sheriff Jameson,” replied Mieke, “that’s interesting that Antonio is now just a ‘kid’ to you, after your wife had such a fit about his adult status a few months ago.” The two law enforcement officers shifted in their seats. Mieke picked up her spoon and stirred her tea some more.

The sheriff cleared his throat. “All I’m asking is, are you sure that he knew he was supposed to be home by Saturday night? You’ve told us that he had the use of the limousine for the evening, and you would’ve been asleep when he got home. You said you liked to give him his privacy—”

“The driver said he dropped Antonio home before eleven o’clock.”

Ian laid his hand on her shoulder. “No, hon. The driver said he picked up four kids and he dropped off four kids. He didn’t study their faces.”

She shrugged out from underneath his touch. “But who would he have dropped off here, if not Antonio?”

“Well, Mrs. Walsh,” the half-grown deputy chuckled, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Teenagers have been known to pull a fast one, from time to time. How well do you really know this kid—guy?”

“Very well. Antonio would never have been dishonest with me.” Mieke almost slapped the doubtful look off of his pimpled face, wondering how far past his teen years the deputy was himself.

“Is there another place that he would have gone, to keep the party going?” Mike asked.

“And miss school this morning?”

“Has he?” Mike checked his watch. “School hasn’t even started yet; it’s only 6:30 a.m.”

“Oh, well I am so sorry to have gotten you out of bed early,” Mieke spat, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about a crime being reported, than getting enough beauty sleep?”

“Believe me, Mrs. Walsh—”

“Mieke!”

“Mieke, I was already at the office at dawn, just like I am every morning that I’m on duty. And I am always concerned about crime in my own home town.” Mike reached to grab her hand. She wanted to snatch it away, but that was no way to get help for Antonio. She let Mike squeeze her fingers and forced her face to soften. “But I can’t accept a crime report, until I am positive that a crime has been committed. Wouldn’t you rather find Antonio first and talk to him, before embarrassing the boy with a lot of dramatics?” Mieke noted the tone in his voice: patronizing with a hint of fear. Hysterical women do that to men. She watched his mouth move, devising a way make him listen. “Did he have a girlfriend? Did he have a place that he liked to go for privacy? You mentioned that you liked to give him privacy. Was he a private person?”

“Well,” Ian ventured, “remember, you did find that…uh…”

Mieke exhaled loudly in irritation.

“What did you find?” asked the deputy, like it was so much town gossip.

“When she was cleaning the guesthouse, she found a—”

“I found an opened condom wrapper under the bed in the guesthouse, after he had moved into the main house with us.” She heard her voice going shrill again, and tried to steady her tone. “It could have been Aaron’s.”

“Don’t bring Aaron into this, Mieke,” Ian warned her under his breath, asserting himself between her and his family—his
real
family never seemed to include her, even though they were married.

The young officer perked up. “Aaron’s in town?”

“Yeah,” said Ian. “But he went camping for a few days.”

“Tell him I said hey when he gets back, I’d love to see him.”

“Sure will—”

“Excuse me,” snapped Mieke with a look to kill.

Her husband blanched and the deputy blushed.

Mike sighed. “Did you question him about it, the condom? Did you ever see a female visitor, or a male visitor for that matter?” He spread his palms out for patience at the communal groan from the menfolk, “I’m just covering all the bases. Someone who he might have gone to see after the dance.”

Mieke flicked her hands up. “I don’t know. Who a person is intimate with is his or her own business. I didn’t ‘question’ him.”

The deputy and Ian exchanged knowing looks and Mike clapped his hat on his head. The message was clear: interview over.

“Let’s just wait and see,” Mike said, rising from the kitchen table. Ian stood to escort the officers to the front door. “Let me know if you remember anything else.”

Mieke sat clicking her fingernails against the glass table, struggling with her next move. She knew in her bones that Antonio was not missing, felt it in her blood. Something had happened. Those country bumpkins would scoff at the idea of women’s intuition, and Mieke had gone all her life thinking she had no nurturing capacity, always marveling at the elusive female instinct. Since Antonio had come into her life she had felt it herself, though, and she knew it was real. She was a mama bear and proud of it. She made her decision.

She sprung out of her chair, hurried through the garage door and out onto the walkway along the side of the house. The deputy was already in the cruiser and Mike was waving good-bye to Ian as he went back inside.

“Mike,” Mieke called, waving him over. “I did remember something else.”

He glanced at Ian’s back and sauntered over, a smile playing on his lips. “What’s that?”

“I know something has happened to Antonio.” She lowered her voice, stepping close enough to whisper in his ear. “You find out what happened, or your little wife will find out what happened in that janitor’s closet.”