Chapter 9
Tessa
I’m convinced my mother is looking down, laughing her ass off.
Guess this is karma, having a son who is at least as pigheaded and defiant as I was at his age.
I’m really itching to shake some sense into him, like my mother used to do to me, but he looks pretty vulnerable lying in that hospital bed. Plus, I’m pretty sure any shaking would be frowned at.
Since Remi woke up in the hospital three days ago, he’s stubbornly persisted in the bullshit story his injuries were the result of a fall. It’s beyond frustrating, but nothing or no one seems to be able to get him to talk.
He’s lying, I know he’s lying, and he knows I know he’s lying, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.
Who the hell is he protecting? Is he even protecting someone? Or is he embarrassed for some reason? It doesn’t make sense.
Hugo was able to piece together a timeline and a theory with the aid of the security footage from Clem’s shop, and from the pharmacy on Main Street a few doors down from the alley.
The pharmacy cameras picked up a light-colored Chrysler 300—it looked to be a later model—slowly driving by several times until it stops right in front of the alley at seven thirty-nine. The license plate on the vehicle is illegible, but you can see two individuals get out and enter the alley.
On the feed from the firehouse, a flatbed truck pulls in to the lot.
Clem and Remi get out, have a brief conversation, and Remi takes off on his bike, turning right down the alley.
When Clem disappears from camera range as he heads inside, you see a shadow come into view from the left, running down the alley after Remi.
The time signature on this footage also indicates seven thirty-nine.
Hugo thinks, whoever these guys were, they were on the lookout for my kid.
Somehow, they must’ve discovered he was out with Clem to be circling around the firehouse.
God knows it might’ve been Remi himself who tipped them off.
Notably, his cell phone is nowhere to be found, so we think they may have taken it, which is suspicious in itself.
Unless there is something incriminating on the phone, I don’t see why someone would steal an old, banged-up Android phone with a cracked screen, and leave behind a fairly new, expensive bike.
The whole thing looks organized and intentional, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why they’d be targeting Remi.
I’ve been studying the video clips Hugo sent me, over and over again, hoping for something to jump out at me, but nothing has.
I’ve been tempted to confront my kid with those clips to see if he’ll come clean about what happened, but I can’t bring myself to badger him when he’s lying in a hospital bed.
Right now, he’s sleeping—he’s been doing a lot of that these past days—while we wait for the doctor to do his rounds because, word is, we might be sent home today. I’ve been here for most of the past three days and four nights and I’m ready to sleep in my own damn bed again.
Not that Remi wanted me here all the time, but I simply wasn’t comfortable leaving him alone. The only two times I actually left the hospital was to run home to grab a shower and get some clean clothes, and both those times someone was here to sit with him.
Call me overprotective, but I’m not taking any chances with my baby.
How’s the kid?
I’m about to go over the footage one more time when the message pops up on my screen, and I crack a small smile.
Clem.
We’ve texted back and forth a few times, and early yesterday morning he dropped in with a large black coffee for me and a bag of pastries from Strange Brew.
Remi barely said hello before diving into the baked goods.
It was a nice surprise. I mostly listened to the two of them talk about the pickup truck my son apparently bought for twelve dollars.
It was all news to me, since he hadn’t bothered to tell me a thing about this truck, but rather than get pissed at him, I sat back and enjoyed the smile and excitement on my son’s face.
God, I’d missed that. Something else I have Clem to thank for.
Waiting to hear if he can go home today.
That’s good.
The little dots are bouncing on my screen, indicating he may have a follow-up, but then they suddenly disappear.
Yeah, he’s happy to get out of here, and I can’t wait to get back into a normal routine.
The little dots are back, but this time they’re followed by a message.
Would there be room in that “normal routine” for dinner some time?
With you?
I don’t realize I’m smiling at my phone until Remi, who apparently is no longer sleeping, calls me out on it.
“What’s funny? Who are you talking to?”
“Oh, Brenda, back at the office.”
I’m not sure why I choose to lie, but I have a feeling my youngest wouldn’t be thrilled to know I was flirting with the guy he so clearly looks up to.
He barely acknowledges my response before jumping to the next subject.
“When is that doctor coming?”
“I’ll have a look.”
With half an eye on my screen—it looks like Clem is composing a lengthy response—I slip out the door and look up and down the hallway to see if I can catch someone to ask. At the far end I spot one of the nurses coming out of a room.
“Excuse me, do you have any idea when Dr. Sharma will be by?”
“He was called into an emergency, but I don’t think he’ll be much longer,” she assures me.
“Thank you.”
I’m about to duck back in when Clem’s message comes through.
Yes, of course with me! You think I’d be asking for a friend?
My friends can fucking well get their own dates.
Damn, I like that man. A little rough around the edges but direct, not some smooth operator with an arsenal of pretty words, but nothing to follow it up with. I get the sense Clem has the goods to deliver on any promises he makes.
So noted.
In that case, yes.
Clem
I’m in a good mood all day, right up until that prick walks into my garage.
Don Merrick, Mayor of Silence, and easily the town’s most arrogant and unlikeable asshole.
Can’t stand the man. There’s not a word coming from his mouth that can be taken at face value.
You can tell he’s lying when his lips move.
A lot of people have come to the realization re-electing his ass was a big mistake.
He’s lost a lot of support in the past few years, and I can’t wait for the chance to vote someone else in next year.
Hopefully, we’ll have a qualified candidate to run against him, but at this point I’d vote for Angus, Brant Colter’s crazy goat, over Merrick.
“I need my Mercedes looked at right away,” he snaps, without as much as a hello.
I want to tell him to fuck off, since he’s not a regular customer—he likely has his car serviced at the dealership in the city—but am able to restrain myself.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“There’s a knocking sound coming from my engine.”
“What kind of knocking. Is it more of a tap, a clang, or a thud?”
He looks annoyed.
Good.
“It sounds like knocking,” he repeats impatiently. “Anyway, I need it fixed right away, I have an important meeting I need to get to first thing in the morning.”
“Ah, now that might be a problem.” I point at the Toyota Corolla up on the lift I was working on. “This afternoon I’ve got one more job after I replace this muffler, and I’m booked solid in the morning. I won’t be able to even have a look at your Mercedes until maybe sometime in the afternoon.”
“Well, that’s simply unacceptable,” Merrick blusters. “Surely you can give me priority. I have important town business to attend to.”
I press my lips together, mostly to keep from smirking, and shake my head.
“Terribly sorry, but I’ve made commitments to my customers,” I inform him, not sorry in the least. “Who would your regular mechanic be? Surely they’ll be able to work you in?”
The man’s face is slowly turning purple.
“It’s the dealership in Spokane, but they advised against driving it any distance and recommend I have it towed in or find a local mechanic to look at it.”
“Good advice. Depending on what is causing the knocking, you could wreck the engine. If it isn’t wrecked already. Leave your vehicle with me and I’ll do my best to have a look at it tomorrow afternoon. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to have it towed to the dealership.”
He sharply shakes his head while muttering a few un-mayorly expletives under his breath.
“I’ll be by at five to pick it up tomorrow,” he grinds out, handing over his keys.
“Whoa.” I chuckle and shake my head. “The knocking could be anywhere from an incorrect fuel mix or old spark plugs and relatively simple to fix, to piston wear or damaged rods, which could require an entire engine rebuild. It’ll take some time to properly diagnose the problem.
All I can promise is to give you a call at the end of the day tomorrow to give you an update. ”
By now, I can see the steam coming out of his ears. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t secretly enjoying this.
“Fine,” he bites off. “But I’ll be needing a loaner. Surely you have something suitable?”
This time I can’t hold back the grin.
“I have a loaner, yeah. I’ll just need you to step into my office, sign a few papers, leave me your number, and we can have you on your way.”
He follows me into my messy office, where I dig up the forms I need him to sign and a pen.
He’s so agitated, he doesn’t even look at what he’s signing.
When he’s scribbled his phone number on an empty Rolodex card I hand him, I pluck the keys off the pegboard behind my desk and hand them over.
He pauses for a moment when he sees the fuzzy dice key chain before snatching it from my hand.
“It’s parked against the fence in the back, the green one,” I clarify.
Without a word, he stalks out of my office.
I follow at a slower pace and I can hear Manuel—who’s working with me today—fall into step behind me.
We stop right inside the rear bay door and watch as Merrick stops in the middle of the lot, staring at the loaner before he looks around to see if there are any other green vehicles. Then he whips around.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he calls out.
“No. That’s her,” I confirm, before adding, “No charge!”
Manuel softly laughs behind me and I have trouble keeping a straight face myself as we watch the mayor get behind the wheel of the lime-green Kia Soul, and drive off.
“Man, I wish I’d thought to take a picture,” Manuel shares when we turn back inside. “Could’ve posted it in the community Facebook group for a laugh.”
I chuckle. “Too late for that now, but I’m sure word of Mayor Merrick’s new wheels will be doing the rounds soon enough.”
“I just hope you’re not in a hurry to fix his Mercedes.”
“Let’s just say, it’s not a priority. As I told the man, we have our hands full.” I point at the pickup Manuel was working on. “How far are you with that one?”
“About done. Which one do you want me to tackle next?”
“If you can start on that suspension job after, but maybe first move the mayor’s car to the back lot. I’ve got about half an hour left on this muffler install, and will do the brakes on that Pacifica after.”
We should both be done by five, which would give me time to throw together that stir-fry I wanted to make.
Tessa sent me an update after the doctor came by this morning to let me know they might not come home until later in the afternoon. Apparently, Doc wanted one more scan of Remi’s head before releasing him. I guess better safe than sorry.
When I was out to pick up a few groceries at lunchtime, it occurred to me Tessa might not have a chance to plan something for dinner. I’d already planned on that stir-fry, which will be quick and easy, and simply bought enough ingredients to feed her and the boys as well.
If it turns out they have to stay longer, I can always drop it off at the hospital instead of her house. They have to eat regardless.
As I duck back under the Toyota and get my hands busy, my thoughts drift to the events of this past week.
Mostly focusing on my interactions with Tessa and her family, which seems to be my mind’s new default subject.
Other than perhaps my brother, Chance, I can’t remember anyone else being at the forefront of my mind at all times.
Yesterday, when I was doing my weekly cleanup in the apartment upstairs, I found myself looking at my space through her eyes, noticing every speck of dirt and stray dust bunny.
I spent a good five hours scrubbing baseboards, wiping spider webs, moving furniture to get underneath, and deep cleaning my stove and fridge.
I have no idea if she’ll ever go up there, but at least it’s as clean as it’s ever been in case she does.
I live in hope.
‘You didn’t have to do this.”
Not sure how to respond to that, I simply shrug.
“Are you positive you don’t want to come in and join us?” Tessa asks.
“Nah, I have more at home. You guys settle in, you just got here.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
“I am. You and I can maybe catch up tomorrow.” I lean sideways to look into her living room, where Remi is lying on the couch, watching TV, and I raise my voice.
“And tell that kid of yours to hurry up and get his bony ass better, so he can come take care of that hunk of junk taking up room in my shop.”
The boy grins as his eyes find me over the back of the couch.
Tessa shakes her head and chuckles. “Now I’m really gonna have to tie him down. Doc says he has to take it easy for the rest of the week.”
“I was kidding, but if it’s hard for you to leave him alone while you go to work, you’re more than welcome to drop him off at the firehouse.
He can be on the couch watching TV, reading old issues of my Popular Mechanics, or keeping an eye on the shop below, and wouldn’t be able to get into trouble. Just drop him by in the morning.”
The thought just popped in my head and flew right out of my mouth. I’m not in the habit of offering babysitting services, but this kind of makes sense.
“I couldn’t ask that of you,” she protests.
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Think about it, see what the kid says. I’m there all week,” I add with a grin as I point at the paper bag in her hand. “You should get that food inside before it gets cold though.”
“Right. I will. And…uh…I’ll think about it.”
For the briefest of moments, she starts to lean in before catching herself. My eyes slide over her shoulder to see Remi still has his eyes on us. Probably not a good time to give in to the temptation.
“Later…” I promise her in a low voice.
“Later,” she whispers back.