11. Sage
sage
After our ride, Christian offered to keep Arlo for the day since I needed to spend some time working on the gallery and I had work later that evening.
Like many times before, I’d pick Arlo up from the apartment Christian shared with my brother since they’d be getting ready to leave for the airport in the morning.
When I got to the gallery, boxes were stacked by the door to the apartment stairwell.
“Sorry about that,” Lina said, hustling down the steps. “My dad just dropped off those boxes. I’ll get them upstairs so they’re out of your way.”
I hustled over. “I can help.”
“Thanks. Thank you again for allowing us to stay here. It’s already been a huge difference just with Penn. I hope we’re not inconveniencing you too much.”
“Not at all. My life allows for much more flexibility than yours. I’m glad I could help.”
Lina picked up a box and headed back upstairs. “You’re the fucking best, Sage!” she hollered down.
Smiling to myself, I leaned down to pick up a box and froze as my eyes landed on a pile of mail laying on top. The return address on the first envelope blared like a fucking alarm. My ears began to ring, my whole body flushed, and I couldn’t tell if I was going to be sick or pass out.
There in stark relief, blazing in black lettering was an envelope addressed to Hazel Miller with the return address from a place of my past and a name I’d hoped to never see again.
Gingerly picking it up off the stack as if it would explode in my hand, I listened for Lina’s return before folding it in half and stuffing it into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Hey, Lina!” I called, hoisting up the box and taking the stairs up to my apartment. “I forgot I needed to do something.”
“She’s been popular today,” the corrections officer commented after I silently passed Chuck Larsen and a beautiful auburn-haired woman in a pantsuit at the security check point.
We gave each other a quiet nod as we passed.
He didn’t appear the least bit surprised that I was there, while I attempted to mask the dozen questions running through my mind.
The Arnold County Penitentiary was exactly how I imagined a correctional facility to look like.
Stark gray cement walls and floors mirrored the cold gray of late autumn outside.
The visitation gallery had several olive-colored linoleum-topped tables and chairs, female inmates in orange jumpsuits and ankle shackles sat across from their visitors.
Hazel Miller sat waiting, her hands clasped on top of the table, her long dark blonde hair unstyled, and her eyebrows raised when she saw me.
“You have me curious, Sage,” Hazel said in greeting.
“But it’s nice to see you.” She wore a soft, yet bright smile, though it didn’t meet her hazel eyes.
She looked tired and sad, but she wasn’t at all how I imagined a murderer to look.
I met her last summer during her time under house arrest at Thornbrush.
After submitting a plea of self-defense in the murder of her boyfriend, Jesse Matheus, she was serving her time for the unlawful carrying of a firearm and evading arrest.
“It’s nice seeing you too, Hazel. Who was that I saw with Chuck?” I asked, not sure how open Hazel would be willing to be with me, as I took a seat across from her.
She leaned back slightly in her chair, a shadow of a smile flickering at the corners of her mouth. “He got me a new lawyer. Hopefully one that can negotiate for my release when I’m up for parole.”
“When will that be?”
Her sigh was heavy. “Next summer. This one’s a big-time abuse attorney out of Seattle who just moved here, though. Unlike the one appointed by the State, she specializes in cases like mine. She believes she can get me released after serving a third of my sentence.”
I wondered how Chuck was managing to pay for that when he was in the midst of handling ranch repairs. He had to be losing money not being fully operational.
“That’s good news.”
“I’m trying to stay positive, so I’d like to think so.”
“I’m glad you’re getting some help now.”
She looked down at her nails, short and bare.
Her hands curled into a fist like she didn’t want me to see her unpolished fingers.
I looked down at my own, the red polish chipped, some gray paint from the studio walls still sticking in some places.
To think we could have traded places, that she could have gotten away like I did before any of this happened.
I swallowed the lump starting to form.
“Um, Lina and Reed are staying at my apartment for a little bit and I was helping move some boxes. And, um, there was …” I was never at a loss for words, but the way this was sticking in my throat made me physically ill.
Pulling out the folded envelope from my pocket, I smoothed it out flat, my fingers brushing over her name and the return address hoping it would dust it all away, before I pushed it toward her. “… this letter addressed to you.”
Her brows furrowed, looking down at it. She delicately picked it up, turning it over as if the back side would reveal more information. It wouldn’t, because I already examined every inch, including holding it up to the sunlight while I was in the car.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” My own brows pinched, a slight throb beginning between them.
She flipped it back over, her mouth turning into a frown. “The Rogue River Resort and Casino?” She shook her head. “Clayton Creed? I’m not sure what this is about.”
Hazel looked genuinely confused when she looked up at me, her eyes bouncing between mine as if she was trying to read me.
I gulped, wondering if she recognized her scars in me.
“But … Do you know who that is?” I asked her.
She studied me with her hazel gaze then said, “No, but you do. Who is he, Sage?”
I bowed my head over my own clasped hands on the table, running my thumb nail against the side of my pointer finger where there was a patch of dried dark green paint. “He’s my ex.”
Silence followed my reply, the soft murmurs of other visitors and inmates, the quiet hum of a heater pumping a weak flow of warmth into the cold space, and then the tear of paper.
“Well, let’s see what the fuck he wants,” Hazel said simply, a hardness to her tone, as she tore open the envelope.
I bit the insides of my mouth and held my breath as she pulled out the letter. Unfolding it, her narrowed eyes scanned the contents before they went wide.
“What the ever-living fuck,” she whispered, refolding it and quickly stuffing it back into the envelope. She practically shoved it back into my hands, her head whipping to where the guards stood before turning back to me. “Take this out of here and don’t tell anyone you showed this to me.”
I leaned toward her, my stomach pitching seeing her face nearly go white. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Hazel?”
She shook her head, silencing me. “Look at it as soon as you get out of here, then leave it with Chuck.” Her gaze darted over to the guards before pushing herself up from her seat.
“It was so good to see you, Sage,” she said overly loud, a practiced smile reminiscent of the rodeo queen she once was, plastered on her face. “Take care.”
Hazel turned abruptly and started to head toward the guards who were ready to return her to her cell. Another guard approached the table, ushering me out the door I’d entered.
“You too,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady as I shoved the envelope back into my back pocket.
Hazel glanced back one last time, her chin tipping in a slight nod, before the heavy security door fell closed behind her.
I climbed into my Jeep and shut the door, taking a deep breath, before pulling out the envelope. My heart was pounding as I unfolded it. A surveillance photo fell into my lap.
Right there, in a somewhat fuzzy shot, was Junior Matheus walking through the lobby of the resort and casino.
“Shit,” I said out loud.
My hands trembled as I looked at the letter. It was typed out, and even though the return address was for the casino, the stationary had the Creed ranch logo, his signature following with his list of titles.
Dear Miss Hazel Miller,
I’ll be direct and to the point. You do not know me but considering your fatal connection with Jesse Matheus who I was previously doing business with, I’m hoping you can be of assistance.
I have someone here who seems to think you’ll be willing to help me, considering the information he was willing to share.
“Fuck,” I breathed. So that was where Junior had slunk off to after he failed to kidnap Penn and turned acres of forest into ash. There was a whole damn manhunt out for him still.
I contemplated sending this to your lawyer, but it would seem she was recently replaced, and I was unable to find new contact information. Knowing your last residence was at Thornbrush Ranch, I hope this will find you, if not forwarded to your new local.
I am currently expanding Double C Ranch, with the hope of retaining more land, in central Oregon.
Mr. Matheus and I were in the process of negotiations for the property adjacent to Thornbrush Ranch.
In examining the property lines on file, it appears some of the land on the eastern side of the ranch is marked incorrectly.
Considering the devastating wildfire this summer, I’m hoping we can come to some agreement that would benefit all parties.
I have included a copy of page 13 of our agreement, where, if a year goes by without further negotiations, I assume the right to the land at my final bid. That time is now past due.
I’m hoping we can finalize the paperwork without getting lawyers involved.
It’s my understanding you were aware of this deal with Mr. Matheus, and had access to his accounts, which fortunately for you was a motive so conveniently ignored during your trial, and can be easily revealed at your upcoming parole hearing.
Looking forward to doing business with you,
Clayton Creed
Rogue River Reservation Tribal Council Chair
Owner of Double C Ranch
Rogue River Resort and Casino, CEO.
With trembling fingers, I looked at the second piece of paper, which was an official document, with the highlighted clause where he’d assume the right to the land at his final offer of two-point-nine million.
Bile rose in my throat. The Larsens had already been through so much the last couple of years, there was no way in hell I was going to let my psychopath ex fuck them over because of some agreement he made with the late Jesse Matheus.
Hazel was right, I needed to take this to Chuck. He’d know what to do. Now that we knew where Junior was, it wasn’t going to be easy for the authorities to intervene, nor did I think that would help Hazel either.
This was so fucked up. I turned the ignition, pulling out of the parking lot of the penitentiary and headed back down the highway to Willows.