* * *
Back in the city, Mac and Annie parked several blocks away from Palmdale High, off the primary route. A quick walk delivered him to a large palm tree, which provided sufficient cover, yet allowed a view of the parking lots.
The bell went off at 3:10 as expected, and the first wave of students hit the doors. Mac smiled. He’d never liked school much either. He watched patiently as most of the students dispersed into buses, the parking lot and the bike racks while a few others walked up the side streets or scooted along on skateboards.
Moments later, the adults migrated toward the lot where Mac had introduced himself to Rachel some six months earlier. Rachel was one of the last ones out. Alone, she made her way toward her vehicle. Mac watched intently as she drove off. All he could see was the back of her head.
He put on a pair of surgical gloves while he waited calmly for a few more minutes, making sure nearly everybody was out of the building. It was time to make his move while the doors were still propped open. Once inside he went through a set of double doors that led to the teacher’s lounge along with a conference room and several offices, including Rachel’s. He snagged a copy of her key that he’d made a couple weekends earlier without her knowing.
Inside Rachel’s office, he dropped the Gazette on her desk and opened it to the article about Kevin Lapport’s accident. He grabbed a nearby book and set it on the paper in a haphazard fashion to discourage the janitor from throwing the newspaper out.
He took a seat behind Rachel’s desk, booted her computer and logged in using her usual password of Nov24, for her birthday. He brought up the computer’s notepad and typed a very brief message, before closing the computer back down, and returning to his indigo friend.
Five minutes later he and Annie were far away from the school at a Safeway parking lot. Mac dumped the surgical gloves and approached the ATM to make his first withdrawal from Rachel’s account. His next stop was the Lucky Strike Bowling Alley.
Inside, only a few lanes were being used and several employees were getting ready for the league play that would begin at six. Mac made his way to the bar area where the only other customer was on a stool, near the far corner. Mac slid onto another stool, just a few seats away and checked the time on his cellphone. “Ten to four,” he said to the stranger. “Looks like we missed Oprah.”
“Damn,” the man replied as the big door behind the bar opened and Cecil the bartender wheeled out a dolly full of beer cases. “Be right with you,” he said to Mac.
Cecil leaned the stack upright near the beer chest. “Back again, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Mac. “I’ll have a Bud when you get a chance.” Mac gently pointed to the other customer. “Give my pal one too...on me.”
“No problem.” Cecil said. He reached in the case, grabbed two bottles, removed the caps and plopped them on napkins. “Eight bucks,” he said.
Mac dropped a twenty on the bar, and the other customer picked up his free beer, tipping it toward Mac. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Mac said. “My wife’s supposed to meet me here a little later, but it ain’t no fun drinking alone.” He extended his hand. “Name’s Mac. Yours?”
“Barry,” the fellow said. He reached to complete the handshake.
Cecil returned with Mac’s change and a receipt. Mac checked the slip. The transaction was completed at 3:54 p.m. He nodded ever so slightly, and slid it in his shirt pocket. He looked at Barry. “What do you do?”
“I sell industrial products,” Barry said. He tilted his head toward the lanes. “Floor finishes for bowling alleys, gymnasiums...floors like that.”
“Oh, really? You got a card?” Mac asked. “My wife’s the assistant principal at the high school. I think they’re going to redo their floors during Christmas break.”
“Sure thing.” Barry had one in his shirt pocket. “What about you?”
Mac tucked the business card safely away with the register receipt.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Don parked Miranda’s SUV and together they hurried up the trail toward the viewing platform. From thirty feet away, Don snapped, “That asshole better not have fucked this up.”
“Calm down,” Miranda replied. “I told you he took care of it.”
A few more paces and they reached the outer corner of the platform. Miranda pointed at the bottom of the post. “Down there. A small strap. See it?”
Don focused. “Okay. Let’s check the rest of it.”
Miranda tapped the thin fishing line that Mac used to hold the fence section to the upright posts. “Look at this.”
Don moved in, examined the job. “Excellent,” he said. He leaned out and over the adjoining section to get a better look at the backside of Mac’s work. “Ah, yes. I see what he did.”
She saw one of the homemade plugs on which all the weight of the fence section rested. “Looks awfully delicate.”
Don glanced out over the canyon and back. “I just hope the wind doesn’t come up. Those pencils ain’t gonna last forever.”
“Shouldn’t be much longer.” She reached through the railing to the base of another nearby post. “Here’s the screws. I’ll put them in my purse.”
“Good. We’re all set. What time you got?”
She looked at her watch. “Four-twenty.”
“Shhh.” Don heard it first. Then Miranda heard it too. Off in the distance, toward the canyon, a vehicle was approaching.
“This should be it,” Don said.
Miranda took a deep breath. It was either Rachel or Mickey. “Good luck, Donnie.”
“We deserve that money,” he said, pulling her close. Miranda closed her eyes as his lips found hers. Her heart banged for a few seconds but there was no more time to spare. “I love you,” she whispered, meaning every word of it.
“Yeah, me too,” he said, his tone devoid of affection.
Rachel’s car rounded the final turn—right on time.
“It’s her alright,” Don said. “Get right next to me and up close to the rail.” He turned his back to the road.
Some two hundred feet away, Rachel pulled into the dirt parking lot and turned off her engine, but didn’t get out. Don and Miranda remained at their post, with their backs toward the trail. “You think I should go drag her ass down here?” Don asked.
“You won’t have to do that.” Miranda said. “She just drove a long way to have her picture taken on this platform. She’s not going to give up without a little effort. Just stay where she can see that there’s another woman out here.”
Don did as suggested. “Just act natural,” he said, resting his arm on Miranda’s shoulder.
While they waited for Rachel to approach, they snuggled and pretended to lean on the railing. It didn’t take long before they heard the sound they wanted. Rachel’s car door opened, then closed again.
Miranda squeezed Don’s hand. “See, I told you,” she whispered.
“We gotta ignore her as long as possible,” Don said. “We need her to come fairly close.”
A minute later, a floorboard on the other end of the platform gently creaked. Then another. Miranda’s heart pounded in unison with each of Rachel’s footsteps. One after the other, they drew closer.
“Excuse me,” Rachel said from a few feet behind them, but they held steady for two more steps. “Excuse me.” She was louder this time, off to their left and close behind them.
Without speaking Don and Miranda took a short step backwards and away from Rachel who stepped closer to the newly opened space. “Have you seen a motorcycle?”
The duo took yet another step backwards and away, opening up the space between them and the railing still more.
Rachel leaned slightly toward the opened area. “I’m supposed to meet my hus—“
Don took one more step back and they had Rachel essentially where they needed her—closer to the rail than they were. Don turned to face Rachel and Miranda focused on Rachel’s face as Rachel got her first glimpse of Mac’s ident
ical twin. Rachel’s head twisted from Don to Miranda and back to Don as her eyes raced for answers to questions not yet asked. Her brow wrinkled. “What’s going—?”
In that split second Don lowered his shoulder and charged Rachel with the force of a raging bull. Upon impact, her eyes widened and a painful grunt escaped her lungs. Shoulder down, Don drove into her like a linebacker. She desperately reached backwards for the support of the handrail, just as Don let go and momentum finished the job. The lightweight tippet snapped and the railing gave way and slid off the pencil pieces.
Miranda saw the horror in Rachel’s eyes as her foot went off the back end of the platform and the fence section led her over the edge. But unlike Rachel, the fence section quickly reached the end of the nylon strap that saved its life. Then, in an instant, it was over. Rachel had reached the canyon floor and the fence section dangled below the platform.
Don looked down the canyon wall towards the body. “She ain’t moving,” he said, as he pulled up the fence section. “Let’s get this back together as fast as we can.”
Miranda barely heard him. She couldn’t forget the look on Rachel’s face when she took her final step. “I’m surprised she didn’t scream.”
“I think I knocked the wind out of her.”
“Poor thing. That must have been awful.”
“Doesn’t matter now. Hand me those screws.”
Within a few minutes, Don put all the screws back and the fence puzzle looked as before. He cut the strap from the post and shoved it in his pocket and they jogged to Miranda’s SUV. As they descended the canyon road, neither said a word. Part of Miranda was pleased that two men loved her enough to help her get much closer to the money Mickey so desperately needed but deep down in the pit of her soul it wasn’t going to be easy to get over what they did.
At the bottom of the canyon road and still numb, Miranda pulled her burner from her purse. “I gotta call Mac,” she said stoically, “to tell him it’s over.” It was eight minutes past five.
* * *
After Miranda confirmed Rachel’s death, Mac returned to his barstool. He too was numb, partly because he was impressed by Miranda’s ability to pull off such a dastardly deed on her own and partly because she didn’t sound as happy or relieved as he expected. Nonetheless he still had some work to do.
Barry had left, but he’d already served his purpose. Mac ordered himself another Bud and waited for Cecil to bring it before he used his primary cell phone to place a call to Rachel’s cell. He waited awhile and then disconnected. “Damn,” he said to Cecil. “Can’t find my wife. She should’ve been here by now.”
“She’s probably close by,” Cecil said, “and just didn’t answer cause she’ll be here in a minute or two.”
“Hope so,” said Mac. He took a sip of his beer.
Another half-hour, another beer and another failed phone call. “I’m getting a little worried,” Mac said to his bar-keeping ally. “If she doesn’t show up pretty soon, I’m gonna have to go look for her.”
“I wouldn’t get too shook up,” Cecil said. “Her phone’s probably dead or something.”
“Yeah, I guess she might have forgot we were supposed to meet and went shopping instead.” Mac looked at his phone. “Geez, it’s already seven-twenty,” he said.
Mac shot the breeze with a couple other bar customers while he stalled another half-hour and washed down another beer. He ordered a shot of bourbon and acted like he took it all in one gulp but slipped off to the restroom where he spit it out. When back he began to slur his words. “Know something?” he finally said to Cecil, “I better go home. Look for my wife.”
“We’ve got a couple guys washing dishes in the back. I’ll get one of them to take you home.”
Not long thereafter, Mac and Juan Pacheco, the dishwasher, drove by Rachel’s school, ostensibly to see if her car was there. A while later, they pulled into Mac’s driveway. Mac asked Juan to stay put while he went to get the kid a tip. He swayed as he walked away.
A couple moments later he opened the large garage door and brought a five spot to his driver. When he was sure Juan saw him, he stumbled slightly, approached Juan with the tip money and pointed to the empty garage, “Wife’s car ain’t here. Dunno where the hell she is,” he said. “Guess I’d better lie down awhile and wait.”
Juan took the money. “If you’re okay, I better get back to work.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Mac said. “You go wash dishes.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
After a couple days of serious soul searching, Stump was ready to face the judge for sentencing. Richard was improving slowly and Stump’s world wasn’t quite as dire as it seemed after the football game. He wished he hadn’t stolen the booze, but the fact of the matter was that he did indeed do it. If Juvenile Hall was the outcome, well, he’d just have to make the best of it.
Myles and Jean picked him up at school and drove him to the sentencing with very little conversation between them. Even his mom had calmed down and stopped lecturing him. At 1:30, the court clerk called out, “All rise,” and the dozen people in attendance did as told. “Neal Joseph Randolph” was first.
Stump and his mother took their position at the lectern while Myles remained in the primary seating area behind a sturdy wooden rail.
“Is there anything either one of you want to say before I pass sentence?”
Jean shook her head while Stump softly spoke into the microphone. “Yes, sir. I just want to say I’m sorry, sir. I know what I did was wrong, sir.”
“Duly noted,” the judge said. He pointed toward the back of the courtroom. “I see Detective Myles Cooper back there. Would you please come up here and join the proceedings, sir?”
Befuddled, Stump and his mom turned toward Myles as he advanced to the lectern.
“Please state your name for the record.”
“I’m Myles Cooper, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Cooper, per our discussion earlier in my chambers, are you still willing to act as a friend of the court in this matter?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
While Stump stood motionless facing the judge, Jean stared at Myles.
“In view of Mr. Cooper’s commitment in this matter, the court orders Neal Joseph Randolph to perform eighteen hours of community service. He will work three consecutive Saturdays, for six hours each. Mr. Randolph will remove graffiti from government properties, under the supervision of the Police Department. If he fulfills that obligation, and does not come before this court again within six months, his record shall be expunged.”
The judge then spoke directly to Stump. “Young man, I want you to know that I was prepared to be much harsher on you, but Mr. Cooper visited me in my chambers this morning and told me that you are capable of being a very fine citizen. This court has learned it can rely upon the judgments of Mr. Cooper, and if he has faith in you, so do I. But, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I had better not see you in here again. That would be a slap in Mr. Cooper’s face and make me very unhappy. Do you understand me?”
Smiling wide, Neal Joseph Randolph responded, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The judge shifted his attention to Jean, “Ms. Randolph, do you know how lucky you are to have a man of Mr. Cooper’s character vouch for your son?”
If Stump’s mom’s grin were any bigger, her face would surely have broken. The obviously amazed mother glanced into Myles’s eyes and then addressed the judge, “Yes, sir, I surely do.”
The judge dropped his gavel.
The trio had barely stepped outside the courtroom before Jean asked Myles, “Would you mind telling me what happened in there?”
“Well, it all started in that meeting room right after he was arrested, when he said it wouldn’t be right to lie. It’s the kind of character his mother has. Then, on the day of the air show I told him it was important to build strong character by taking on responsibility, especially when circumstances are the most difficult. Later, when he was so quick to a
dmit his guilt at the first hearing, I knew he had the courage to face his problems, head-on, and he was worth fighting for.”
Jean paused in her tracks, turned Myles toward her and kissed him on the mouth.
“Gross,” Stump said.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Understandably, Don wanted to celebrate but Miranda was on a different page in a different book in a different library.
His comments about taking a step backwards before you could go forward, or what Rachel’s death would mean to Mickey, rang hollow. Finally, in the very early morning, he nudged her. “Why don’t we go to San Francisco?” he said. “To get our minds on something else.”
Anything else was exactly what Miranda needed. Now, halfway to their destination, she felt a chill that even two thick sweatshirts couldn’t insulate her from. She reached for the heater knob and turned it up another notch.
“You keep doing that and I’m going to have to open the window,” Don complained.
“Sorry, but I keep getting shudders. Do you think we’re doing the right thing—by leaving town, I mean?”
“Oh yeah. Your boyfriend is going to be occupied for a while. It’s best if you’re way out of the picture.”
She sighed. “Stop calling him that.” Thus far Don had been correct about how to carry out the con, but she could do without his callousness. She twisted the heater knob again, this time to full on. Even if she could get over what they did to Rachel, she still had other life-and-death matters to consider. What would happen from here? To Mickey? To her? To Mac?
If she could figure out a way for Don and Mac to reconcile they could all live together like a small commune. She’d gladly allow either one or both of them to take on a girlfriend if they wanted. She rolled her eyes and looked out the side window. Why was she lying to herself? She despised cheating, even when she was the one doing it. The answer was always the same. She was going to have to choose one or the other.
A ringtone came from inside her purse. “It’s Mac,” she said to Don. “I’d better get it.”