23. Thea
THEA
Aus is driving me home.
He was my ride to the gala, but our plan was to split off once he left for the Jade Sanctum, and then I would take an Uber home. That’s no longer the case.
He closed the Jade Sanctum tonight, and I’m grateful for it.
Because I don’t want to be alone.
Aus is an interesting guy. Not the white-knight type at all, at least not at first glance.
Yet here he is, coming to my rescue—putting his own business in financial jeopardy—after I’ve been through the wringer.
If I weren’t so damned shaken from my interrogation, I’d be turned on.
I place a hand on his thigh as he drives. “Thank you,” I say for the thousandth time.
“No need to thank me, hon. I’m just doing what any decent guy would do.”
“There are plenty of decent guys who would bow out when the cops showed up, and I honestly wouldn’t blame them for it.”
He shrugs. “You can’t have met too many truly decent guys, then.”
If that isn’t the understatement of the fucking century—
I’m about to open my mouth to respond when we turn onto the street where I live.
And my heart sinks.
Cop cars. Sirens and flashing lights. Up and down my entire block.
All concentrated in front of my driveway.
My breath catches in my throat.
Aus widens his eyes. “I don’t suppose that’s your house, is it?”
I nod slowly, still unable to speak.
He grabs my left hand, laces his fingers through it. “They can’t be searching your place without a warrant. All we have to do is get you inside, close the blinds, and pretend like none of this has ever happened. We’ll call an attorney in the morning.”
“Okay,” is all I’m able to say.
I desperately need to get to bed after the last thirty-six hours, but I’m realizing now my night has only just begun.
Aus snakes around the cop cars and parks in my driveway.
Already I know he was wrong. My front door is open.
My home is being invaded.
My home.
The panic melts away to fiery rage. I whip my seatbelt off and bolt out of the car into my house. “Excuse me,” I call out loudly. “Who’s in charge here?”
One of the cops points to a man in a long silver jacket. He has dark stringy hair and a long scar going down his face. He’s extremely tall, and on his feet are dark cowboy boots with sharp spurs.
He’s an imposing figure, but I don’t give a fraction of a fuck right now. I walk right up to him and stand in his face. “On whose authority are you invading my home?”
He looks at me, his eyes narrowed, and extends a hand. “Detective Wheeler. Dorothea Storm, I presume?”
“I’m not shaking the hand of a man who has forced his way into my home without a warrant,” I say.
He draws his hand back, reaches into a pocket of his jacket, and produces a piece of paper. “Good thing we do have a warrant then.”
I drop my jaw as I grab the piece of paper from him and scan it.
It looks legit.
“How on earth did you get this so fast?”
Wheeler shrugs. “No idea. Some things get pushed through. You piss off anyone in the city legislature?”
“I don’t even know anyone in the city legislature.”
“Then, ma’am, I don’t know what to tell you. We’re just doing our job, and right now our job is to search your home.” He gestures toward a couch in my living room. “You’re welcome to sit down.”
I laugh humorlessly. “You’re inviting me to sit down on my own fucking couch?”
“Ma’am, I—”
“Don’t ma’am me, Detective.” I poke at his chest hard. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“If that’s the case, you have nothing to hide.”
Oh my God. That’s just what Officer King said. This is some 1984 bullshit.
Aus has finally gotten inside, and he steps beside me. “Do they have a warrant?”
I throw the paper into his hands. “Look it over.”
Aus skims it. His eyes twitch slightly, as though something he’s reading is particularly troubling. He then hands it back to me. “I’m afraid it’s valid. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
I throw my hands in the air. “I am innocent.”
“I know that, hon, but—”
“There are no buts about it.” I pace around Detective Wheeler. “I got a bogus parking ticket a year ago that I immediately appealed. A year ago, Detective. I still haven’t heard back from that. Yet you were able to get a warrant within a few hours? I wasn’t even warned.”
“If you’d been warned, you could hide evidence.”
I grit my teeth. “There is no. Evidence. To hide.”
“Then, as I said, you have nothing to worry about, ma’am.
” Wheeler takes the warrant back and puts it in his long jacket pocket.
“All I can tell you is that the murder of Kinsey Blackwood is one of utmost importance to the Chief of Police. He put it straight at the top of our list of priorities. That’s why we’re here tonight. ”
My heart sinks. There really is nothing I can do.
Then I swallow. Because the silver tennis shoes are still here. The cops will find them. I’ve already explained why I had them, but now my DNA is in them.
It’s circumstantial. They can’t get me on a pair of shoes.
Worst case I get a slap on the wrist for stealing them from Wick without asking permission.
I run my hands through my hair. “This place feels soiled to me. I don’t want to stay here tonight. Can I go to my bedroom and pack a bag for the evening?”
“One second.” Detective Wheeler pulls out a walkie-talkie. “Is the master bedroom clear?”
Some incomprehensible static.
“All right, copy that.” Wheeler pockets the radio. “Yes, your bedroom is clear. You can pack a bag if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.”
I fucking hate how calm this man is being. It’s making me seem erratic by comparison.
But I should be erratic. This is my home, damn it! And I did nothing wrong!
I swallow it down.
Aus is right. There’s nothing we can do for now. Maybe I’ll sue the shit out of the city for signing a warrant with so little evidence to back it up. Right now, though, my only option is to comply.
I walk up my stairs to my bedroom and pack a carry-on full of undies, socks, a few outfits, pajamas, and toiletries. I glance over to the corner where I stripped off my clothes before my shower—and my brief encounter with Aus—earlier this evening.
What a different world I lived in the last time I was in this room.
I kicked off the silver tennis shoes, and they landed…
Where?
I don’t know, because they aren’t here.
Seized by the cops, no doubt.
In the corner where I tossed them without thinking, poor little Dodo is curled up, her eyes wide and her little body shaking. I scoop her up and do my best to soothe her.
If only I could soothe myself.
My heart thumps against my sternum.
Am I fucked or am I fucked?
I try to steady my breathing. The shoes are the only thing they have against me. I’m sure Wick’s place was also searched, along with the homes of anyone else who might be a suspect in Kin’s murder.
But I can’t calm myself. The walls are closing in around me. The weight of everything is crushing me.
It’s a feeling I know.
But one I never wanted to feel again.
I haven’t felt it since my stepfather was alive.
I’ve seen my father plow the land with our tractor a million times.
But now, as I sit here with a slew of controls—levers, pedals, switches—in front of me that might as well be written in Portuguese, I have no idea where to start. The tractor is bigger than I remember from the ground. The seat is too wide, the steering wheel too stiff beneath my hands.
I close my eyes and try to remember what Dad used to do.
He always checked something first. Fuel? No, Emmy took care of that yesterday.
The choke. That’s it. He’d pull it out slightly before starting.
I recreate the motion as I remember him doing it, my fingers tripping over it a little before I can get a good grip, and then turn the key.
The engine coughs twice before roaring to life, vibrating under me. It’s shakier than I thought it would be, but I hold on.
Next step? Next step, next step, next step…
The clutch. Dad would press the clutch all the way down. I shove my foot forward. It barely reaches. My legs aren’t nearly as long as his were. I slide forward in the seat, stretching, until the resistance gives.
Gear shift. First gear. Like a car, I guess.
The tractor lurches violently as I release the clutch too fast, jolting me forward. I grab the wheel, heart pounding, but it didn’t stall. It crawls ahead, uneven but moving.
Holy cow, I’m doing it!
I look behind me. The first row I make is crooked. The plow was dragging unevenly at first, skipping before biting into the soil. How do I even it out?
Right. Another lever. Depth.
I reach for it, adjust it. The blade settles, slicing into the earth in a steady line. Dark soil turns over behind me in a slightly evener ribbon.
Okay. Okay. Maybe I can do this.
I slowly find a rhythm. I straighten my steering. Listen to the engine. Feel when the tractor strains and ease off just enough.
The field is changing, and I’m the one doing it!
This is pretty easy, come to—
A sound—different from the engine. A sharp, metallic clatter from underneath. The tractor jolts, harder than it did when I was starting it up.
I tighten my hands on the wheel, try to ease the clutch, to slow down…
But my foot slips.
The tractor jerks forward instead of stopping. The plow catches on whatever it hit—a rock, maybe—and the sudden resistance twists the machine sideways. The steering wheel wrenches violently out of my grip. With one more lurch, the tractor bucks me off like a bronco.
I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of my lungs.
Then the pain hits.
Blood. So much blood.
I can’t make much sense of it, because my vision is going white.
Searing pain from my left thigh. I squint, try to catch a glimpse of what happened.
Something metal caught me as I fell, scraping a wide gash through my blue jeans into my left thigh.
Not a clean cut, but one that zigzags across my thigh like a lightning bolt.
I try to sit up, but the pain shoots through me like fireworks.
Everything goes black before I hit the ground again.
When I wake up, machines are beeping. Ladies in white surround me, and tubes shoot into my skin.
I don’t feel anything below my waist.
I blink a few times. Emmy stands in the corner of the room, her arms crossed and her expression stern.
She crosses to the bed.
“Finally up,” she says. “Enjoy your nap?”
“What… What happened?” My voice is raspy, my lips drier than the Sahara.
Emmy rolls her eyes. “You acted a fool, let the tractor get out of control. It threw you off, and you took a big scrape to your thigh. The doctors had to perform surgery on you to get the pieces of metal out of your leg and sew you back up.”
Her words aren’t sympathetic, like a parent should be when their child is in a hospital bed. They’re condescending, almost scathing.
She leans in and whispers in my ear. “The doctors believe you took the tractor on a joyride, and if you want your recovery to be easy, you’ll confirm this story if asked. Nod if you understand me.”
I can barely string a coherent thought together, but I manage a tiny nod.
“Good. The doctors placed you in a medically induced coma.” Her face twists. “It’s been days, Thea. How could you let this happen?”
“I… I’m not old enough to—”
“Christ, Thea. Children do these things every day. I asked you once to help out around the farm, and you couldn’t handle a simple task. And to be so careless when we don’t have health insurance…”
“We… What?”
“Health insurance, you stupid girl. Do you think it just grows on trees? Your father’s policy died with him.
I never thought it necessary to renew it.
I’m in perfectly good health, as are you.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think you’d be stupid enough to injure yourself doing something you saw your father do every damned day. ”
I draw in a shaky breath. I’ve heard of people driven to ruin by medical debt. This is serious. How could Emmy let our health insurance plan lapse? I don’t really know how it works, but this seems like it’s her fault, not mine.
But she won’t see it that way. And she certainly won’t allow me to see it that way.
“Emmy, I—”
She holds up a hand. “I don’t want to hear another word. I’ve already solved it, just like I solve all your problems.”
“How?”
“I worked out a deal with a gentleman I know.” Her expression doesn’t change.
“A… A deal?”
She nods. “Before I brought you to the hospital, I made a quick stop at the courthouse. Took a husband for my own. Since you’re my legal dependent, the two of us are now under his policy.”
I blink several times. “You…got married?”
She rubs at her forehead. “It was impossible running that farm without a man. Now we have someone taking care of us. Someone who can do the plowing since you’re clearly incapable of it.”
“But… But…” I start coughing as I choke on my own saliva.
“It’s been taken care of. I had to fudge a few dates on the marriage license and insurance application to square it all away, but it’s done.
You’re covered, and we won’t lose the farm due to your negligence.
” She grimaces but then looks toward the door of the hospital room.
“And now you have a new stepfather. Bill, come in and meet your daughter.”
A man walks in…
And the room shifts. It feels colder, with more of an edge.
The man is wearing a dirty plaid button-down, ripped jeans, and his remaining hair is completely white and unkempt. He has a large bushy mustache and uneven stubble, and he’s below average height. He smiles at me with yellow teeth.
Emmy purses her lips. “Thea Storm, meet Bill Insworth.”