Chapter 26
twenty-six
. . .
Indi
I park in front of the brick building. The sign on the door says closed, but according to the same sign, the bar opens in five minutes. It would be a bonus to be able to talk to the owner or manager before the doors open, but I can't see inside to know if anyone's working. The small windows at the top of the wall are tinted. Not that anyone could look through them without the use of stilts or a ladder.
The squeaky wheels of a handcart pull my attention to the corner where a delivery van is parked. A man in a blue uniform is pushing a handcart that's stacked with cases of beer. I follow him as he walks around the pub, down a broken brick pathway to the alley in back. The man hears my footsteps and glances over his shoulder. "I don't think they're open yet," he says.
"I was hoping to see the manager about the bartending job," I say.
He stops the cart and grins at me. "Glenn!" he calls past the propped open back door. "Got someone here about the bartender job."
Glenn pokes his head out. He's middle-aged with thin hair and heavy sideburns. He nods for me to come inside without hardly looking my direction. I follow him through a cement- floored, narrow hallway. It smells like wet towels. A radio is blasting through the space, a grainy sounding talk show where the two hosts are debating the outcome of a football game. Glenn stops to open a stockroom door and then continues to the front of the bar, still not acknowledging me.
Harry's Gold Rush has a sort of rustic, western vibe. Its cheesy décor still has charm, but I can't say the same for Glenn's Pub. I know little about the place or its history because we rarely crossed the invisible line between our two towns. It was a rivalry, mostly born from football, that seems ridiculous now. I'm certain it wasn't called Glenn's Pub back when I was growing up. The chairs remind me of the uncomfortable plastic ones we had in school, and while Harry's bar counter is made from reclaimed barnwood, each plank wearing a different shade of weathering, Glenn's bar is fake wood, only it's not fooling anyone with its grainy surface. There are three pool tables in the center of the room, and each one has a brass light hanging over it. There's a jukebox in the corner, and the stools running along the front of the bar are covered in green vinyl. Each stool has a unique duct tape design, presumably to hold the vinyl together, not to add to the decor. It is quite possibly the least inviting bar I've ever had the misfortune to step in, and the bar owner isn't exactly a bundle of charm either.
Glenn hasn't looked my direction. I stand, awkwardly, at the counter, waiting for some kind of recognition. He pulls on a green apron with his logo splattered across the front. It hugs his beer belly as he ties it in the back. He reaches to the radio behind the bar, turns down the talk show and pulls a rag out from a bucket on the floor. He wrings milky looking water out of it and starts to wipe the counters. "I'm holding interviews tomorrow at three. You're early."
"Sorry, I didn't know. I heard through a friend that you had an opening, so I thought I'd stop in and let you know I'm looking for a bartending job."
His arm is furiously running the rag along the counter. "Got any experience?" he asks without looking up.
"Yes, I have a bartending certificate for California, and I worked in a bar down south for four years. I'm sure I can get a reference from the owner." I've never walked cold turkey and empty-handed into a job interview before, and I may have made a mistake. It might be why I'm getting such a cold shoulder from the owner. Either that or he's just a dick. I'm going with the latter. The longer I stand in the place, the less I can see myself working here.
Glenn stops and drops the rag in the bucket. I assume he's going to tell me to get out. Instead, he walks past me to the door and flips over the sign. Seconds later, two men, both older and busy debating some sporting event, walk in. "Hey, Glenn."
"Tom, Ray," Glenn says by way of greeting. It's Monday, early afternoon, and there are people anxious to sit for their first beer.
Glenn goes straight to the beer tap and fills glasses without asking their order. "How are you going to handle yourself when one of the patrons gets drunk or handsy?" It takes me a second to realize the question is directed toward me.
"Oh, well, I've learned that it's best to diffuse situations like that with calm, direct orders such as we need to cut you off for the night, and let's keep our hands to ourselves."
It's the first time Glenn actually looks at me, and I'm not loving the wry grin he's shooting my way. "Pretty woman like you might bring more trouble than help to this place. I'm not sure you're a good fit."
Light fills the dark space temporarily as the door opens and shuts. "Just a few drinks. I told you—I've got to get back to my kid."
The woman's voice behind me causes my spine to stiffen. I've only heard it a few times, but I recognize it immediately. I glance over my shoulder casually, not wanting to attract attention. Nicole has her hand wrapped around a man's arm. The mean-looking man looks familiar, but I can't place him.
Nicole and her friend slip into one of the four booths on the far wall. The man says something to her and then comes up to the bar to order a beer and a screwdriver. I walk discreetly around the corner of the bar while Glenn is busy filling the drink order. Intuition tells me to take out my phone and record what's happening. Unless something has changed in the past few hours, the woman sitting in the bar booth waiting for her drink is supposed be taking care of her twelve-year-old daughter. I peer up casually as the man waits for the drinks. A clearer view of his face kicks my memory into gear. I'm sure it's one of the men who came into the Gold Rush to start a fight. He's got a nasty cut on the side of his jaw to confirm my suspicions.
Nicole is busy running long pink fingernails over her phone screen. She hasn't looked my direction. The man heads over with the drinks, and they instantly start flirting heavily while downing their drinks in record time.
"If you have a resumé, you can leave it with me." Glenn's terse words zap me out of my secret mission.
I'm holding my phone casually, so it's impossible to tell I'm recording the action in the booth across the way. Nicole has already emptied her highball glass, and her companion shifts his loose, greasy jeans as he gets up to buy her another round. Glenn turns back to the bar to help the customer.
I continue filming. Nothing about the scene in front of me is going to win her a mother-of-the-year award, and my main concern is where the hell is Rio? Before jumping to conclusions, I decide to shoot a text off to Jameson. I'm sure he would have told me if Rio returned home but then he might not have gotten a chance yet.
Is Rio with you?
Seconds later, Jameson returns a text.
Why would you ask that?
It's hard to interpret the message. It sounds slightly angry, like how dare I tease him about something like that. I shake my head realizing it was a stupid message to send.
I write back.
I'll let you know in a minute. Just have to do some investigating.
Glenn pours another screwdriver, then looks over at me.
I lift my hand. "You know, you're right, I don't think this place is a right fit for me. Thanks for your time." As tempted as I am to march across and confront Nicole, I know she'll just wave me away or tell me to mind my own business. I can only assume Rio is with a sitter. I've gotten enough footage inside.
I step out onto the sidewalk. Bassett is more inland, so it's always a few degrees hotter than Rockhurst. The afternoon sun is baking the sidewalk, and the heat reflects off the asphalt on the road. The delivery truck is just pulling away. There are three cars parked along the curb, Kinsley's rambling old sedan, a gray SUV and a big truck with what looks to be a bullet hole in the passenger door. I walk past the SUV. There's a bag of golf clubs in the back, and one of those stinky green tree fresheners hangs off the rearview.
The truck has a gun rack on the back window, and one fender is dented. I look back toward the bar. There's no one on the sidewalk. I glance inside the truck. There's a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the front seat. As my eyes sweep to the back, the air is knocked out of me. Rio is curled up on the back seat between a pile of clothes and an empty chip bag, clutching a stuffed dragon to her chest. Her eyes are closed. The windows are only cracked an inch, and the temperature is well past eighty. I take a photo of the cigarettes and lighter on the front seat and write a memo for the picture stating the time and place of the photo. I take a picture of the window gaps and the entire truck, license plate included. I film Rio sleeping and make note of the time and temperature. I grab the rear passenger door. It's locked. I suppose I should be pleased Nicole at least took that precaution to protect her child. Only in summer, the temperatures are far more lethal than the strangers walking down a city sidewalk.
I tap the window lightly with my knuckles not wanting to scare her. She doesn't stir, and my heart races with the fear that the heat has already gotten to her. I'm done filming. I call the police to let them know a child is locked alone in a truck outside Glenn's Pub. I knock harder on the window and practically collapse into a puddle of relief when she sits up. She looks especially young holding the stuffed dragon against her. Her big eyes are trying to make sense of the face outside the window. I can see sweat beading on her forehead.
"Rio, it's me, Indi."
A big smile splashes across her face, and she lunges for the door and pushes it open. She falls into my arms sobbing. Her entire body is warm as if she has a fever. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and peers up at me through tears. "Where's Daddy? I told him I wanted to come home."
"You'll be home soon, Rio. I promise."
I stoop down and wipe her tears with my thumb. "I'm sorry you were alone in the truck, Rio. That should never have happened."
"The mean, ugly man, the one with the cut on his face, came to our motel room. Mom told me to take my book and my dragon out to the truck and wait for them. They were in the room a long time, then they came out and they drove over here. I thought we were going to eat some lunch, but she told me to stay in the truck. I fell asleep. I always get sleepy when it's warm." She falls into my arms again, and I hug her for a long time.
A chirp of a police siren breaks the air. The patrol car pulls up to the curb behind the truck. An officer is talking on his shoulder radio as he gets out of the car. "Ma'am, can I see some I.D.?"
I stiffen when I remember I have no I.D. "Uh, I lost my purse last week, and I'm waiting for a new license. I can give you my name and social security number if that helps."
He stops in front of us. "Hello," he says politely to Rio. "Is this your mom?"
She shakes her head. Her face is red and tear-soaked as she takes hold of my hand.
He tries an even gentler voice, but the uniform and heavy gun belt aren't giving off friendly vibes. "Can you tell me where your mom is?" Just as he says it, Nicole screeches from the door of the bar.
"Hey, what's going on?" She shuffles quickly toward us on her big shoes, but her friend is less inclined to join us. He disappears back inside the bar.
Nicole reaches us and takes rough hold of Rio's hand. It takes her only a second to recognize me. She sneers. "I thought that was you in the bar. Did Jameson put you up to this? Were you trying to kidnap my daughter?"
"She was locked in a hot car," I say, directing my comment to the policeman. I didn't need to tell Nicole the truth. She already knew it.
The officer backs up a few steps and checks out the license plate on the truck. He calls it in and rejoins us. "I need your I.D., ma'am," he says to Nicole. The booze on her breath is clinging to the hot, moist air around us. I'm sure the officer has fine tuning when it comes to smelling liquor on someone's breath.
"Me? What about the woman kidnapping my child?"
It's hard to remain calm in the face of someone so vile. Fortunately, I've had a lot of practice. Thanks, Cruella. "I made the call about the child being locked alone in a hot truck. Why would I do that if I was kidnapping her?"
Rio pulls her hand free of her mom's and moves closer to me to take my hand.
"I'm friends with her father," I explain further. "I came here to Glenn's about a bartending job, and she came in to have some drinks. I walked out here and found Rio sleeping in the back seat of the truck."
"Was that her dad, the man who just ducked back into the bar when he saw me?" the officer asks.
Rio pipes up. "My dad is at home, and I want to go to him now." Tears fall as she says it.
The officer nods. "Ma'am, your I.D.?" he asks Nicole again. Before Nicole can finish grunting about the indignance of his request, he gets a call on his radio and steps away to take it.
"I can't believe you stuck your nose into this. My lawyer will be hearing about how you tried to take Rio. As far as I'm concerned, it's kidnapping."
As she's blasting me with her tirade, I'm on the phone sending all my videos and photos to Jameson. I add the text that Rio is fine and please come soon.
The officer returns. "The gentleman in the bar"—he glances at his notepad—"is that Ryan Olsen?"
Nicole's lip twitches. "His name is Ryan. I don't know his last," she says quickly hoping we don't hear it.
Another patrol car pulls up and two more after it. Bassett is a small town like Rockhurst, so it feels as if the whole damn department has just pulled up to the curb. A jolt of fear grips me, and I wonder if my lack of I.D. makes me look suspicious—like an actual kidnapper.
"Need all of you to stay right here," the officer says. He meets a few of the newly arrived officers, and they head together toward the bar.
"Why are there so many policemen?" Rio peers up at me. "Can we go home now?"
"You're not leaving with her, Rio. You're going with me." Nicole seems relieved that the police have turned their attention to her drinking partner and away from her and her extremely poor parenting decisions. She is also not through with me. Rio clutching my hand makes her even angrier.
"I'll be talking to my lawyer the second I get Rio back to the motel room," she hisses.
A truck pulls up behind the police. I can see the tall heads of Jameson and his brother through the front windshield. "I think Jameson will be talking to his lawyer, too, because I sent him a lot of information that might cause you a bit of trouble." I have no intention of calling the woman a terrible mom or unfit parent in front of her little girl, but everything I sent Jameson proves exactly that.
The Wilde boys are always a sight to see, and they look especially breathtaking, intense gazes and muscles pumping with adrenaline as they race toward us.
"Daddy!" Rio squeals with delight. She shoves the stuffed toy at me, releases my hand and runs straight to him. Jameson stoops down and scoops her up.
Nicole marches toward them. "This woman was trying to kidnap Rio. Did you put her up to it?"
Jameson keeps his cool, but I spot that tiny twitch in his jaw that lets me know there's all kinds of turmoil under the surface. He leans down and says something to Rio. She nods and runs back to me.
Zander shoots a scowl at Nicole that's harsh enough to knock all the stripes off a zebra. He decides to join us rather than listen in on their conversation.
"Uncle Zander, I saw a video where this girl put ribbons in her horse's mane. Do you think Irish would look good in green or blue?" How I would love to be a kid again where you can push a terrible incident aside quickly and get down to more important things like braiding a pony's mane.
I smile at Zander. He lifts his sunglasses. "I think green." He lifts her up. "Hey, squirt, missed ya."
She throws her thin arms around him. "I knew you would." Rio looks at me with a smile. "He likes to complain and be all grumpy, but I knew he'd miss me."
We laugh and Zander's laugh grows louder as he glances toward the bar. "Is that the motherfu—" he stops short. "Looks like someone's busted."
I glance back. Nicole's buddy is being led away in handcuffs. Jameson and Nicole are having a serious conversation. Her face is scrunched obstinately, but she's listening.
The police are occupied with their arrest, but the original officer walks over to talk with Jameson and Nicole. I assume everything is cleared up because he eventually walks away. Nicole waits by Zander's truck with her arms crossed and wearing an angry pout.
Jameson's grin tells me this is all going to work out. Zander sets Rio down and she runs to meet him. He bends over to give her another hug, then joins us. "We need to give Nicole and Rio a ride back to the motel, so we can pick up Rio's things," he says to Zander.
"Awesome. So, she's letting us take Rio back home?" Zander asks.
"We're working out the details"—Jameson presses his hand against Rio's cheek—"but yeah, Rio's coming home." Jameson's silvery gaze flicks my direction. "I'll be just a second," Jameson says to Zander.
Zander looks slyly my direction. "Someone has earned herself a double ice cream cone," he teases before taking Rio's hand and walking toward the truck.
Jameson takes hold of my hand. "I can never, ever repay you for this, Jones." There's a hitch in his voice.
"Uh, I think I owed you, remember? And I'm just glad I was in the right place at the right time."
Jameson looks around. The police activity has now attracted every busybody within a five-mile radius. "Seeing that asshole sitting on the curb in handcuffs is the cherry on top." He turns back to me. "Why were you here?"
I tilt my head toward the bar. "I was hoping to get a bartending job, but that place makes the Gold Rush look like a five-star cocktail bar."
Jameson's squinting an eye at me. "A bartender? I guess there's all kinds of things I don't know about you yet, Jones." He leans in for a quick kiss. Zander releases a loud wolf call.
"My brother is always the proverbial bull in a china shop. Do you need a ride?"
"I've got Kiki's car."
"I hate to ask you a favor after what you just did, but do you think you could drop by and hang out with Rio for a few hours? Nicole and I need to go see her lawyer. She's going to sign over custody."
"Really? Well, that was a quick change of heart," I say.
"After the evidence you sent me, she knows she doesn't have a chance in the courtroom. I need her to sign over custody. I can't go through this again and neither can Rio."
I glance toward the truck. Zander, the guy who everyone in town avoided because he was such a badass, is holding the stuffed dragon while Rio is telling him some long, animated story with her hands flying through the air. Nicole, on the other hand, has just agreed to give up her child for good, and she's busily scrolling through her phone and acting as if it's just another day.
Jameson takes my hand before I can turn to leave. "Indi, you already owned my heart, but now I only hope I can live up to deserving you."
I lift his hand and kiss the back of his knuckles. "You've gone way past that, Jameson Wilde. I'll see you soon."