Dig Too Deep (21 page)

Forty-Three

I'm sitting in the rocker next to Granny's bed. The windows are open and the faded, flowered curtains are blowing in the breeze. The air smells green—no flower blossom perfume, just leaf buds, wet grass, and damp moss. The notebook with my all-important plan is lying forgotten in the corner.

Granny's dying.

Mrs. Blanchard has been here since this morning. She says Granny's kidneys have shut down, and it won't be long now. There's a morphine drip to keep her comfortable. So now we wait.

MFM is next to me perched on the edge of Granny's bed. Occasionally, she leaves the room, unable to contain her shaking sobs. I guess I've had more time to prepare for this. I've watched it coming for months. Watched Granny sink into herself. Grow smaller. Diminish.

I realize if MFM hadn't gotten arrested, I never would have come here. Granny would have passed away alone. We would have driven down for the funeral, and I wouldn't have had these months with her. These terrible, hard, confusing, agonizing, precious, priceless few months. It scares me to think I almost missed out on them.

I should be working on our plan—there's a meeting to schedule, documents to be sent, people to visit, but none of it matters right now. The whole reason for doing it all is lying in front of me, tiny and thin, a little stick woman with Jolly Rancher hair.

“Liberty?” Granny's mind's been really clear for the last few hours. She and MFM have been talking about old times.

I squeeze her hand. “I'm right here.”

“I want you to promise me …” Her blue eyes glare lasers at me. It's the only part of her that hasn't faded. “When I'm gone, this house is goin' to you.”

“Granny, stop. Don't talk like that.”

“Don't bullshit me. We ain't got the luxury of pretending this ain't happening.”

She's right, of course, and I nod.

“You sell the house, you hear? Use that money for your college.”

“Okay.”

“And I don't mean no community college. I mean Georgetown.”

“Sure, Granny. If I get in.” She has no idea I'm going to flunk this year, which means the end of my chances at pretty much any major college.

MFM's listening quietly to all this, and I wonder if she even knew about Georgetown. If she ever wondered at all about any of my dreams.

“The second thing,” Granny says. “Go back to Worshington, DC, and finish your schooling up there.”

I glance at MFM. We haven't talked about what happens next, after Granny's gone, when there's no reason for MFM to stay here and nowhere else for me to go. But I feel like this moment, the
now
, while I have hold of Granny's warm hand, is way more important than the later. Nothing matters except this heartbeat and the next, and as many more as she has.

“We'll worry about that later,” I say.

“Lord, girl. Look at yourself. You don't belong here.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Your dreams got nothing to do with mining or farming or anything else you can find 'round here. You gotta chase down your happy, find where it lives.”

“I don't know where my happy lives.” My throat tightens at the idea of having to find my happy alone. “I don't even know where to look.”

“Look inside.” Her voice is softer. Her eyes close, then open, then close.

“Granny!”

“I'm righ'chere.”

“Please don't leave me.” The inside of my cheek is bleeding as I count to five. To ten. To fifty.

“You'll be awright.” Her eyes stay closed. “Y'all got each other. That's what counts.”

She sighs. Then nothing. No rise and fall of her chest. No more words. No squeeze of my hand. She's gone.

And so am I. Down the hall, out the front door, with MFM calling after me. I'm not even sure where I'm going until the ground tilts upward and I realize I'm on the ridge trail, climbing up through the rhododendron. The world is sparkly through my tears, like an impressionist painting. At the top of the hill, I collapse onto the ground, the red mud soaking through my jeans.

Then I stop counting and let the tears fall.

Forty-Four

The house feels like an empty shell. An empty shell filled with food. Women started coming at breakfast this morning with casseroles, ham biscuits, and muffins. There's enough on the table to feed an army already, but now the lunches are starting to arrive. Most of the women are from Granny's church, but a few—my Spanish teacher, Mrs. Philpott—are people I know too.

After months of near starvation, we have all this gorgeous food, and I can't eat a thing.

“Hey.”

I turn to see Cole standing in the doorway.

“Mind if I come in?”

I shrug. After everything that's happened, being pissed off at Cole just seems like a waste of energy.

“I'm really sorry about your granny.”

I nod. I've found it's easier not to cry if I don't open my mouth.

“She was something special.”

“Yeah. I know.” I walk past him, and he follows me out onto the porch. I stare across the yard, where Myrna Lattimer's getting out of her car with a basket of food. Even from here, I can see her eyes are red. It comforts me a little to know I'm not the only one missing Granny.

“Lib, I wanted to say … I'm really sorry. I was wrong.”

Leaning against the railing, I look down at the green splint on my finger. Punching Cole seems to have happened in a different lifetime. To a different person. It doesn't even matter anymore. “Whatever,” I say. “It doesn't hurt much now.”

“No, I mean for …” He nods toward the blackened scraps of the shed.

“Wait …” I look from the shed to him, and my blood starts to pound in my ears. “You did that?”

“Peabody's orders.” His eyes stay locked on the shed.

“And the spying, the note in my locker?”

He takes a deep breath and nods, blowing it out. “All of it. And I'm sorry. It was—”

My heart stutters. “Goldie? Did you—”

“No!” His eyes close for just a second; then he looks at me. “That wasn't me.”

“But you knew it was going to happen!”

“It's not like I coulda stopped it,” he says. “If Peabody wants something done, it gets done.”

“You could have told me! We could have hidden Goldie. You could have … something. Anything!” I make a fist with my left hand, seriously considering punching him again. But I think for a second instead. “You warned the Dobbers.”

“Yeah …” He rubs the back of his neck. “When Peabody called us in and started handing out guns—damn. That was … Well, I realized then you were right. 'Bout him not being a good guy.”

It staggers me that Peabody had to resort to murder before Cole could see what a snake he is. And half the town still can't see it. It makes me sick to think about it. Sick and tired. So very, very tired. “Better late than never, I guess.”

Cole looks around. “Are they safe?”

I force my eyes to stay on Cole, not to look down the driveway. I still don't trust him. “No idea. They left after you did. I don't know where they went.”

He stares at me for a few seconds, then shakes his head. “A'ight. Well, if you see them, tell 'em Dobber's car's in our barn. Keys are in it.”

He turns and starts down the steps. It reminds me of the first time he ever came here, picking me up for that party at Dobber's. So much has changed since then. So much poisoned, orange water under the bridge.

“Cole?”

He stops and looks back at me.

“You're a complete shithead.”

He's still staring at me when I close the front door.

People come and go all afternoon. Some bring food; some bring flowers and cards. MFM and I move around each other in our own bubbles of grief. She's still in the denial phase. I've worked my way up to depression and loneliness. I miss Granny so much I feel like a magnet whose partner is held just out of reach. I need and want her with a powerful longing, but she gets no closer. She's gone. Forever.

I sit in the rocking chair in her room, alone. MFM's avoided this room since the funeral people came yesterday. Maybe the image of Granny's body being loaded onto a stretcher is too painful. For me, I feel like what's left of her is strongest here, and I cling to the last cosmic bits of her spirit and soul. I collect a few of her hairs from her pillow, wishing they could bring her back or at least bring me some respite from the loneliness. Instead, MFM appears in the doorway.

“I took the Dobbers some food,” she says.

I'd forgotten about them. Forgotten, in fact, that there's a world outside this house. “Good idea.”

She sits down on the floor, facing me. From here, I can see strands of gray in her hair. It's comforting in a stupid way. Proof that some part of Granny really does live inside her. “I guess we need to talk.”

“We do.” I already know what I'm going to say. How could I not honor Granny's last wish? With Granny's hairs clutched in my hand, I mumble the words people have been telling me for months … only with a slight variation. “We don't belong here.”

Her shoulders tense, but she nods her agreement. I realize hearing that hurts her as much as it does me. Not to belong in this beautiful place … I wonder if it makes her feel not good enough. A failure. Or worst of all, rootless.

I want to belong here. I want to be a part of the rocks and the crawfish pools, the honeysuckle and the morning mists. But I don't fit. Neither does MFM. We're different species.

“Liberty,” she says. “If you don't want to live with me …” Tears drip down her face again. I swear there are grooves in her cheeks now, carved over the past two days. “Mommy told me how I let you down.” I've always liked that she still, as an adult, called Granny Mommy. “How I should have been with you more often. Your fancy meals.”

I stare at the ceiling, half-glad she's finally realized that and half-irritated she knows I needed her.

“I've talked to Iris's parents and …” She takes a huge breath and holds it for a minute. “They're happy to let you stay there, if you want.”

This news hits me like a tidal wave, and once it's passed, I'm surprised to find a little voice in my gut saying no.

“But I'd want to see you,” she says. “Whenever and as often as you can stand it.” Her smile is stretched across her face, too thin, too tight.

“No, Mom.” I stumble a little on the word I thought I'd sworn off. “I want to go back to DC and I want to live with you. Give us another … I dunno, another start or try or chance. Whatever.”

“Oh, Liberty.” This time the smile is full and genuine, even her eyes crinkle. “Really?”

“Yes, but things have to be different,” I warn. The next words stick in my throat like thistle burrs. Admitting weakness is not my strong point. “I need you.”

She sputters, her nose running, and I hand her a tissue. I don't know where she got this emotional side, but it sure wasn't from Granny. And I'm glad she didn't pass it on to me. I sit quietly while she pulls herself together.

“There's also the issue of school,” I say. Gritting my teeth, I tell her what I've worked out for myself. “Since I'm flunking my junior year here, my scholarship at Westfield will be revoked. I know we can't afford to pay the tuition, so I'll just go to public school and finish up there.” Bye-bye, Georgetown. Bye-bye, college scholarship.

“You're failing?” Her brown eyes go round. “You?”

Leave it to MFM to piss me off in the middle of a touching emotional moment. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to take care of Granny all day and night, and try to keep up with school?” I'm yelling. It feels good to yell.

She looks like I might as well have slapped her. “No. I guess not.”

“No,” I say. “Because as usual, you weren't around to—” I stop myself. This feels too familiar. Our old arguments, our old habits. If we're going to make this work, we have to break them. We might as well start now. “Sorry.”

I try to see things from her side. What was it like to be stuck in prison knowing Granny was dying, knowing she might not even see her again.

“I guess it was pretty hellish on your side too.”

Mom crawls over and puts her hands on my knees. “You did great.”

I bite my cheek, which feels like hamburger after the last twenty-four hours, and count to three. She's never told me that before. She's never told me anything LIKE that before. “I did my best.”

She squeezes my legs. “I'll get school figured out,” she says. “You leave that to me.”

“Really?”

MFM taking on a responsibility, taking care of me, is totally unprecedented.

“Thanks.”

“It's my job,” she says.

It was always your job
, snarky me thinks. But I don't say it. I just smile.

I'm trying too.

Forty-Five

Ashleigh's dressed perfectly—ponytail, jeans, button-down shirt. She's so cute, I want to pinch her cheeks. It doesn't make me like her any more though, especially when Dobber tells her how great she looks.

“Thanks,” she says. “I'm nervous. You're sure this is going to work?”

“Yes,” I say for the twelve billionth time. I don't blame her for worrying though. If things don't go as planned, it's a sure bet her dad's going to lose his job. And God only knows what'll happen to the Dobbers. And me.

We're waiting in the lobby of Peabody Mining, along with Mr. Dobber, who's wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He looks nothing like the man I met two months ago and the receptionist doesn't seem to have recognized him. I'm undercover too, having dyed my hair with red Kool-Aid and put on an absurd amount of makeup. Dobber's just wearing a baseball hat and trying to look small. It's pretty hard to disguise him, but Ashleigh said the mine's reception area is always empty, so hopefully no one will come in while we're waiting.

We're here, supposedly, as a group from the Future Business Leaders of America, led by his darling niece, to interview Mr. Peabody as a successful local businessman. That'll get us into Peabody's office where we'll launch our plan.

Dobber leans close to me and whispers, “You look good too.”

“Liar.” But I smile a little.

A door opens, and a woman sticks her head out. “Ashleigh?”

She leaps to her feet.

“Your uncle's ready for you, hon.” The woman watches as we all make for the door.

I try to stay in front of Mr. Dobber, who's wheezing a little from the effort of carrying the camera. He keeps his head down as he maneuvers past her. I pretty much hold my breath until she seats us in a conference room and leaves us alone.

“Okay,” I say. “Set up the camera there in the corner. Ashleigh, you sit at the head of the table with Peabody. Dobber, you stand behind them with the mic.”

They get set up while I open my laptop and connect Ashleigh's iPhone to it. Next I mute the computer, open Skype, and call Iris. She answers right away.

“I have your sound turned down,” I whisper. “You ready?”

She gives me a smile and a thumbs-up. A giant newsroom spreads out behind her. Typical Iris, she picked a perfect spot. It's so good to see her, I'm smiling like a lunatic when Peabody walks in.

“Ho, what's this?” he says, all fake cheery. “I gotta whole team o' Plurd County's finest!” He puts his arm around Ashleigh. “Hey there, darlin'. How's things?”

“Hey, Uncle Robert.”

Doing my best not to gag, I hide my face. Ashleigh takes over, and I thank the gods she agreed to do this job. She has her uncle's full attention, talking about Easter plans and Sunday dinner, distracting him completely while Dobber crouches in the corner, pretending to work on the mic stand. Mr. Dobber's doing the same in his corner with the camera. Head down, I plug in a separate webcam, set it next to my computer, and hope like crazy Peabody doesn't notice it.

“I know you're busy,” Ashleigh says. “So let's get started.”

Peabody winks and says, “Whatever you say, boss.”

I'd want to peel my skin off if I were her, but she just smiles, gives me a quick glance, and dives in. “Is there any truth to the rumor that you falsified the water quality tests from people's wells a few years back?”

His smile slips, then goes back up. “What? Who told you that?”

“I did,” I say.

His eyebrows go up. “Ms. Briscoe.” He leans back in his chair, glancing at the camera. “I'm surprised to see you.”

Ignoring him, I spread the pairs of test results I managed to collect from some of the other failing wells on the table. “These reports,” I say, gesturing to the left row, “were mailed by the county to the property owners. But these are the ones the testing company has on file as the actual results from the test. As you can see, the ones the county sent out all show the water to be safe.” I stare at Peabody. “Which you know is a lie.”

“I don't know anything about this.” Peabody tries to scoot his chair back to stand, but Dobber is right behind him, pinning him in.

“How do you suppose these reports got changed, Mr. Peabody?” I ask.

His face is a politician's mask—warm smile, fake concern. “Look, this is the first I've heard about any of this. But I assure you, we will absolutely look into it.”

I screw up my face. “Why would the mine look into it? Wouldn't that be the county's job?”

His smile just widens. “Well, of course. But as an important member of the community, I will certainly encourage the county commissioners to check into this.”

“You know what's odd here?” I say. “It's that the mine had anything to do with the testing in the first place.”

“What's odd?” Peabody asks. “We paid for the test at the request of the county. They'd had some complaints about local wells, and we wanted to provide some reasonable assurance that our new mining procedures were safe.” He's in full PR mode now. “Obviously, we want to make sure no one is getting hurt or sick. As important as the mine is to the local economy, it's certainly not worth that.”

God, I'd love to punch him in the face right now. Watch some of his precious, perfectly healthy red blood drip over his shiny new suit.

“So aside from paying the fees, Peabody mining had nothing else to do with the test?” I ask as innocently as I can.

Peabody narrows his eyes. “None at all, to my knowledge.”

He seems to have forgotten about the camera and the microphone entirely. “So this signature here. And here. And …” I gather up the papers and pretend to scrutinize them. “Actually on all these reports. The signature that says Dewey Dobber. You have no idea who that is?”

His smile tightens. “Well, of course I know Dewey. He was an employee of mine some years back.” He turns to his niece. “Ashleigh, I'm surprised at you, getting involved in this ridiculousness.”

“When Mr. Dobber took the samples for this water test, was he employed by you then?”

“Absolutely not. You can check with human resources.” He answers so fast and so confidently, I have no doubt that's exactly what the records would say. “His employment ended several months before the testing even began.”

“Bullshit.” Mr. Dobber lays the camera against the wall and steps forward.

Peabody's left eyebrow twitches, but that's the only sign of surprise. I read once that true psychopaths can control their reactions completely, no matter what's happening around them. I wonder if Peabody has to list that on his driver's license.

I glance at my computer screen, where Iris is taking this all in like a soap opera.

“You yerself told me to take them samples,” Mr. Dobber says. “And when the results come back, you gave me a sheet with safe water levels on it and told me to pull out the ones that was outside the safe range.”

“None of that happened,” Peabody says, smiling. “I think you're a little confused.” He looks at Ashleigh. “And I think we all know why.”

“Yeah, I know. I been on meth a long time.” Mr. Dobber reaches into his coat pocket, and for a second, I think he has a gun or a knife. But all he pulls out is a piece of paper, which seems to be his weapon of choice. “But the bank don't lie. This here's the record of my last paycheck deposit from the mine. Dated three weeks after the water samples was taken.”

Peabody's face doesn't move, but I sense a change. There's no condescending smile. No gentle rebuttal. Just silence. He's getting worried.

“Turn that camera off,” he says at last.

Mr. Dobber reaches over and presses a button. The shutter slides closed.

“What do you want?” Peabody asks. “Money? A job? A new house? I'm sure we can come to some agreement. You have my word.”

I glance at Mr. Dobber, silently willing him,
Don't believe it. He'll promise you the moon and kill you the second you walk out the door.

Mr. Dobber busts out a giant belly laugh. I've never heard him laugh before. It's an amazing sound, like rumbly music. “You gotta be kiddin' me. I wouldn't take your word for where to shit in the woods.”

I open my notebook and lay it on the table. “We have a list of demands.” I launch into it before Peabody has a chance to speak. “One hundred thousand dollars for the Dobbers. One hundred thousand dollars for Ashleigh's grandfather. One hundred thousand dollars for—” I wrote up the demands before Granny passed away. Now I don't know what to say, and even if I did, I couldn't get it past the enormous lump in my throat.

“For the estate of Kathryn Briscoe,” Ashleigh says.

I blink a thank-you and get a rare half smile from her.

“Plus, the same restitution for anyone else who was given a falsified water report and develops health issues.”

He tries again to stand. This time, Dobber claps his ham-sized hands on his shoulders and forces him down. Peabody makes an effort to collect himself. “Is this a joke? I can't go handing out a hundred thousand dollars to anybody who happens to get sick.”

I continue. “In addition, your application for the proposed mine expansion will be canceled. You'll stop the MTR practices at the top of Tanner's Peak. You'll pump out and carry away the contents of the containment pond. And finally …” I pause. This was MFM's idea and I'm a little jealous that I didn't come up with it first. “Finally, you'll extend city water to every house in the valley.”

There's not a sound in the room. Then Peabody tilts his head to the ceiling and laughs softly. For a long time. It starts to piss me off. “I'll hand it to you, Ms. Briscoe. You certainly know how to make a Christmas list. But you realize, none of that's going to happen, right?”

“Oh really?”

“No. Because you have no proof Peabody mining had any knowledge of any of this.”

“Proof?” I look at the reports still in my hand. “What do you call this? I think the EPA will be very interested in the discrepancies in these reports.”

“Again, there's no proof the mine had anything to do with those.”

“True,” I say. “But do you really think they'll care who's responsible? I think they'll be more concerned that the drinking water at the base of your MTR mine is basically poison.
That
they'll care about.”

Peabody goes still, like a fish in a bucket that knows it's caught and is trying to be invisible. Everyone's silent. The seconds drag by. My hopes climb with every heartbeat. Finally, “Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Ten thousand to you, the Dobbers here, and Ashleigh's grandfather.”

“That was one hundred thousand each. Plus restitution for anyone else who was given the fake water report.”

“Fine.” He's too calm. I realize he thinks he'll find a way out of this. Like always. But our sleeves are still packed with aces.

“And,” I add, “assurance that Ashleigh's dad won't lose his job.”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that.” Ashleigh smiles. “I had a nice conversation with Donna Pruitt yesterday.”

This is Ashleigh's ace.

“I'm sure Aunt Karin would love to know more about your ex-secretary's new baby.” The disgust on Ashleigh's face is about ten times the hatred she's ever shown me.

Peabody's jaw is clenched so tight, I swear I can hear his teeth cracking. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I think you do.”

Peabody turns back to me. “You have no idea what you're asking for. Extending the city water system will cost millions.”

“Probably,” I say. “But since Peabody Mining is so concerned about the safety of Ebbottsville's residents, I'm sure the cost is the least of your concerns.” I smile brightly. “Right?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine.” I can hear the wheels spinning in his head. He'll get rid of the Dobbers and me—car wrecks, fires, disappearances. And maybe he can bribe Ashleigh. Clothes? A new car? College?

“One more thing.” I spin my computer around. He stares at Iris's face and the newsroom behind her. I hold up the webcam. “This is my friend Iris. She works for the
Washington Recorder
.”

His face turns white under his fake tan.

“She has our entire conversation recorded, plus copies of these reports. She'll hold on to them for safekeeping. But if anything—I mean
anything
—happens to the Dobbers or Ashleigh or me—”

“Or Daddy or Granddaddy,” Ashleigh adds.

“Right. If anything happens to basically anyone we know, Iris takes the tape to her boss and all hell breaks loose,” I say. “Forget about the EPA snooping around. You'll have CNN, ABC, MSN, all the letters you can imagine poking their noses in at the mine. With that kind of scrutiny, God only
knows
what they might come across.” I cross my arms. That's my ace played.

“Sounds fun, huh, Uncle Robert?” Ashleigh's enjoying this even more than I am.

Peabody glares at her, but he looks different now, like something inside, something that used to be straight and unyielding has been broken.

“I think we're all done here,” I say.

“We'll take them checks now though,” Mr. Dobber says. “Save you a trip later.”

“This is extortion,” he says.

“It's a drop in the bucket compared to what you owe Granddaddy,” Ashleigh argues.

“That was business,” Peabody replies.

“Call it what you want.” She takes out a pair of scissors. For the second time this afternoon, I'm pretty sure there's going to be bloodshed. And for the second time, I'm wrong. Ashleigh just snips off a piece of Peabody's hair. “I call this insurance. DNA doesn't lie.”

“I suppose you want some money too,” Peabody says, eyeing the scissors.