Epilogue
“I HEARD ABOUT THE BUST,” Tina says. “It was all over the news this morning. Guess you finally got ’em.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was the sulfur smell on Bart Casada’s clothes.”
“Sulfur?” Tina asks.
I explain about how Bart Casada had visited my room reeking of rotten eggs.
I knew the Hell Hole was too toxic to grow anything in, but the springs that fed that sinkhole ran, in less deadly potency, all through the cave system under Mount Zion.
As soon as I could leave my room, I’d visited Gavin in his.
“He’s growing in caves,” I told him. “The pot isn’t on his land. It’s under it. That huge solar farm? Nobody needs that much power for personal use. I think he’s running electricity to a literally underground grow operation.”
“The caves…” Gavin had said. “Chief’ll be so damn thrilled if we find it.”
He’d grinned at me and then tears filled his eyes. I took his hand.
“It’ll be okay,” I told him, and myself.
“Do you think he’s a bad guy?” Gavin asked. “The chief? I’ve looked up to him my whole life.”
“No,” I said. “I just think nobody’s perfect. He cares about you. And he cares about doing the right thing. That’s why he came back.”
Tina rolls over a speed bump and I hold my right arm protectively by instinct.
It doesn’t ache near as much as it did at first, but the impulse is still there.
My hunch had turned out to be right. After my conversation with Gavin, the Mount Zion police had brought down the last vestiges of Joel Shepherd’s operation, including Bart’s hidden grow caves.
“What about the old man?” Tina asks. “What happened to him?”
“Back in prison,” I say.
“Did he get the money? Was he able to use the finger to open the laptop?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I sort of hope so. Then at least some good will have come out of Billy Shepherd’s death.”
She nods, pulls away from the main road. We pass the Lebanese restaurant, the new bar, the old bar, the French bakery. It’s good, I think, to be home.
“How’s Katie doing?” she asks. “Is she all right?”
“Yes,” I say. “I think she’ll be okay.”
Ezra King’s funeral had been held—again—two weeks after I left Mount Zion.
Katie had attended and stayed with Zelda while she was in town.
Now the pair had plans to take a road trip together through the Smoky Mountains.
They’d invited me along for their trip, but I’d declined.
Between the aftereffects of the snakebite and the side effects of the antivenom, I’m still just barely getting around.
I’m back to walking in the mornings but so far, no running.
And while I’ve regained most of the use of my right hand, it’s still stiff and sore.
I squeeze it now, stare at my fingers. There’s a discoloration on my wrist from the bite. I’ve been told it will likely always be there. A souvenir from Mount Zion.
“I just want things to get back to normal,” I say, more to myself than to Tina.
“Well,” she says. “I can at least help with that.”
She parks in front of her garage and then helps me out before opening the big bay door. While it slides open, I have to lean against her car to keep straight.
“Oh…” I gasp, when I see Honey.
She still needs to be repainted, but the body work is mostly complete, and standing before her again, my heart swells with relief.
“She’s still gonna need work,” Tina says. “She’s not back to her old self yet. But…”
Tina opens Honey’s door and hovers around me while I slide awkwardly into the driver’s seat.
“Here,” Tina says, and jingles the familiar keys in front of my face. “Start her up.”
“Really?” I ask, tears stinging my eyes.
“Yeah,” she says. “Let’s hear her.”
My hand trembles as I push the key into the ignition. I take a deep breath, hold it, and turn. And then I burst into laughter as Honey’s familiar growl rumbles through my chest. I grip the wheel, still laughing, as Tina says, “She’s gonna be all right.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, she’s gonna be all right.”
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, BACK in my office-partment—with two brand-new window AC units whirring away—I’m sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my expense sheet and receipts, when my phone rings.
“Leo,” I say.
“I’m on my way,” he says. And I sink into the sound of his voice.
“I stopped at that new sandwich place,” he says. “Got some meatball subs. Sound okay to you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sounds perfect.”
“Just glad to hear your appetite’s back,” he says. “An Annie who ain’t eating ain’t hardly an Annie at all.”
I laugh a little, as glad as he is that I’m beginning to get back to normal.
“You get the VCR?” I ask. “I know they’re hard to find.”
I look again at the little package on my desk. It had come that morning, packed in Bubble Wrap, an original VHS tape with a handwritten note from Dishman.
Annie,
You really need to watch this.
M. D.
Chief—well, no longer Chief—Dishman is still in jail. Considered a flight risk thanks to his little trip to Frankfort with the three dead bodies, he’d been refused bail. Instead, he’d had Gavin send me the package.
Now I look again at the tape: an original copy of Beverly Hills Cop.
Leo says, “Anything else before I get over there?”
“No,” I say. “Just you.”
“Just me and my meatball subs and my VCR,” he says.
“Come on,” I tell him. “It’s movie night.”