Protector - Laurel Dewey [153]
Jane thought back to that awful night nearly one month ago. Ron approached Chris and her in the hospital with his finger bandaged—the result of nearly cutting off his left finger while chopping beeswax for his wife’s herbal salve. She recalled his pale complexion and shaken appearance. She also remembered Chris jumping to the illogical conclusion that somehow Ron’s demeanor was connected to Emily’s case. “It’s not true!”
“Pull your head out of your ass, Jane! I kept an eye on Ron ever since that night and I did my own little investigation. I know drug addicts. I know how they think. Ron stands in that cage every day knowing that literally pounds of coke are sitting right behind him in little plastic K-Pak bags. ‘Who the hell’s gonna miss it?’ he thinks. And he would have gotten away with it if I hadn’t convinced Brass about my suspicions. They agreed to do a surprise audit of the property room and what do you know, Joe, but the blow was missing! I’m a fuckin’ hero around here, Jane! A fucking hero! With the amount of coke Ron took, Brass figures he’s been dipping into the powder since May!”
Jane factored the information. “May? How would they know that?”
“They just do, Jane.”
“They just do? What kind of answer is that?”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you! Shit is going down here, Jane!”
“What about Johnson? Did you question him? Maybe he pinched the coke!”
“Ron had blow in his pocket! He was caught red handed! Deal with it!”
“You’re enjoying this. What is it about Ron that you hate so much?”
“What is it about him that you like?” Jane turned toward the sound of the chugging coal train as it inched up the mountain to pick up the day’s black harvest. “What in the hell is that?” Chris asked.
“The coal train.” With that, the train rumbled past The Pit Stop. Once it cleared the area, Jane continued. “Ron didn’t do it, Chris. I don’t care how much you try to convince me. He’s innocent of that and of whatever else you think he did.”
“Whatever else? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“You sure are one cocky little bitch!”
“There are some things that you don’t know. And this is one of them.”
“Don’t hold out on me, Jane! You called here for a reason. What do you know? Has that kid been talking?” Chris’ tone was slightly intimidating.
“Maybe. But, if you think I’m telling you, you’re more fucked up than I thought.”
Chris lowered his voice. “Let me pass on some friendly advice. Whatever you do, don’t even think about sharing your information with Weyler.”
Jane’s ears perked up. It was completely against Chris’ character to suddenly become so forthcoming after puffing himself up and dishing out the insults. “Why?”
“You talk to Weyler about anything you know . . . anything . . . and you’ll have another dead kid on your hands. I’m not bullshitting you, Jane. You can’t trust him.” Jane felt her heart skip a beat. “Someone’s coming,” Chris whispered. “I gotta go.”
And with that, he hung up.
Chapter 23
For the rest of that day and most of the night, Jane could not shake Chris’ voice in her head. “You’ll have another dead kid on your hands” played repeatedly in her mind. Of course, Chris was referring to Amy Joan Stover. Jane knew if she thought of Amy too much, the nightmares would start again.
By eleven o’ clock that evening, Jane was still wired. Emily had fallen asleep in Jane’s bed an hour earlier, leaving Jane alone to sort out the “what ifs.” She paced back and forth in the living room, chain smoking with renewed vengeance. Occasionally, she stopped to look out the front window as the huge trucks pulled up across the street by the park to set up for the Peach Pit Days Carnival. By morning, the park would be transformed into a raucous kaleidoscope of colorful tents, food booths and carnival rides. She needed peace and