Expiration Date (55 page)

“In this life we don’t always get what we want. We move on and take what God provides. He ’causes everything to work together for the good.’ We have to trust that.”

“The rest of that cute little verse says for ‘those who love God and are called according to his purpose.’ ” Henna lifted her hands, palms up. “Which eliminates me, doesn’t it? I choose to love myself. I don’t need your outdated religious nonsense.”

“Whether we like it or not, we’re all part of his plan.”

“Not so, Clay. We can choose our own plans. Make our own paths.”

“Tell me what you want. Why’re you here?”

Henna grinned. “I thought you might like to speak to your high school pal, the one with the missing shoe. Keep Thursday night open. We’ll arrange a reunion.”

“As a habit I don’t talk with my dead friends.”

Through the front window, Clay saw Digs heading back.

“For Jason’s and Jenni’s sakes, I’m sure you’ll make an exception.” With
care, Henna wrapped a piece of pizza in a napkin. “It might also be wise to start pooling your resources—that is, if you’d like to ‘reunite as a pair.’ If you hope to see your wife again, I’ll need your GPS unit and a hundred thousand in cash.”

“Dollars?”

“Love comes at a price!”

Clay let out a snort. “If you could see my bank statement. That’s impossible!”

“Weren’t you the one just quoting scriptures? ‘With God everything is possible.’ ”

Henna brushed past Digs on her way out.

“My eyes deceivin’ me, Ryker, or did that blonde just swipe some o’ my dinner?”

Clay dropped his head into his hands. One hundred thousand dollars? Henna was insane. At the present rate that was more than he’d make in the next four years. And the GPS? Apparently she was after Kenny Preston’s treasure from Engine 418. But where was it? At the bottom of Crater Lake.

“What’s eatin’ at ya now, Ryker? You are one ball o’ nerves.”

“I’m done. I give up.”

“After only one piece o’ pepperoni? You’re a lightweight.”

“This is so stinkin’ ridiculous!” Clay shook his head. “I mean, what would you say if someone told you they needed a hundred grand within forty-eight hours?”

“I’d say ya better start talkin’. Tell your pal Digs what’s goin’ on.”

“As if you need my burdens. What good’ll that do?”

“Try me.” Digs folded two pizza slices into a hearty deep-dish sandwich, took a bite, washed it down with a swig of root beer. “Done said it yourself, Ryker. I’m just full o’ surprises.”

While waiting at the toaster that morning, Clay tried reaching Jenni and Jason. The hotel room phone rang without response, then rerouted him to the operator.

“I’m sorry, sir. Would you like to leave a message?”

“My name’s Clay Ryker. Tell them to call me ASAP. It’s an emergency.”

“An emergency? I can have one of our staff go to the room.”

Clay insisted on it. He waited, tapped the end of his butter knife on the counter, deflected Gerald’s stern stare from the dining nook with a stare of his own. He was buttering the second piece of toast when the operator came back on.

“Thank you for your patience, sir. I’m connecting you now.”

“Clay?”

“Jenni. Thank God you’re there.”

“Where else would I be? It’s only eight in the morning here, which means seven your time, am I right? Gosh, I’m tired. I drove most of yesterday.”

“Sorry to bug you.”

“They said this was an emergency. Are you okay?”

“Yep.” Clay coughed. “I’m heading to work soon, but I … I wanted you to know I love you. I love Jason.”

“That’s very sweet. We luvya too.”

“Do you, Jenni?”

“Please. Don’t try to make me feel guilty.”

“No, what I mean is, do you still … care about me? After everything I’ve done?”

“And not done.”

“Yeah, rub it in.”

“Of course I care, Clay. But let’s leave it at that. We’ll only stir up old emotions, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

Clay pictured her curled up on the bed; he recalled their mornings together. Usually he had awakened first. Oftentimes he had watched her sleeping form—tousled sandy blond hair; strands that curled against parted pink lips; lean legs that had never lost the baby dimples on her knees. Although he would think of cuddling next to her, his insecurities and guilt had held him back. He didn’t deserve her. He never had.

And in the past two years, his failures had mounted like evidence against him. Triggered by the incident at the bridge.

Friday the thirteenth.

Only two days remaining till this came full circle.

“Clay. What’s the emergency? Or did you just say that to get me on the phone?”

“Be careful,” he said. “Even if it takes a little longer, choose a different route. Shoot, that might be the best idea. Show up a day late, if necessary.”

“First you try to sweet-talk me. Now you want me to stay away.” Jenni’s chuckle held no humor in it. “Brings back memories.”

“This’ll sound crazy, okay, but I think someone might be planning to kidnap you.”

This time her laughter was real. “If it’s money they’re after, good luck.”

“I’m serious.”

“Clay, have you found a girlfriend? Is that what you’re trying to hide?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Mylisha. What about her?”

“What about her?”

“When we went to the Scandi-Fest a few years back, she was there. She still cares deeply for you. That was obvious in her eyes. Girls can tell these things.”

“Jenni, I’m still wearing my ring. Is there any reason we can’t keep it that way?”

Her silence was pregnant with regrets and unresolved issues. “Clay, we’ll talk more about this when I get there. I promise. But for now, please try to stop worrying. And don’t make up any more emergencies to get my attention. Depending on which route I take, we should arrive sometime Thursday. I’ll get hold of you then.”

“If I call your cell, please pick up.”

“No, Clay. I’ll be driving. Praying. I’ll need the time to think things over.”

“You have to promise me. You can’t—”

“I’ll tell Jason you love him. I’m going back to sleep. See ya soon, Clay.”

Clay cradled the dead receiver in his palm. Banged his head on the cupboard twice. Turned, thrust the phone back onto its hook.

Over the
Register-Guard
, his father was glaring at him.

“Don’t even say a word, Dad.”

Gerald’s chair hit the wall as he stood. He had his travel mug in one hand; with the other he nabbed a sheet of paper from the stack beside his checkbook. Slapped it on the counter so hard that Clay’s toast jumped. With a stubby finger, callused by years of lumberyard work, his father poked at a circled figure on the paper.

The telephone bill. Totaling over one hundred dollars.

“My
phone,” Gerald said. “Take care of
my
stuff, or you’ll be out on
your
butt.”

Clay stared down. His hand moved toward the bill but came in contact with his father’s arm. Numerals shot through his skin. Uninvited. Deep and tenacious.

8.1.3.0.4

Gerald shook him off in a show of disgust. Snapped the lid from his travel mug and dumped the contents down the drain.

On his morning break at the monument company, Clay dialed Officer Kelso. The result was no worse than expected.

“You want me to do what?”

“My wife and son are in danger. Is there a way we can arrange some sort of police protection?”

“You mean, is there a way I can arrange it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Listen, Mr. Ryker, I was tired last night, and I’m man enough to admit it. I was curt. Maybe even snide. Please, though, tell me this isn’t another fabricated attempt to prolong your moment in the spotlight.”

“This is serious, Officer. Please don’t shrug me off. My drug test came out clean, didn’t it? So put me on the lie detector if that’ll convince you.”

“Let’s skip the red tape, shall we? Two questions for you. Are your wife and son still out on the road between here and Wyoming? If so, that presents a logistical problem, does it not? And what gives you the idea they are in danger? I thought we’d made it over your little hurdle of August tenth.”

“I told you. The numbers have changed.”

“Oh, of course. I let that slip my mind.”

“Somebody threatened me, Officer. And threatened my wife and son.”

“You have proof of this?”

“It was verbal.”

“Ah.”

“No, wait! I have a note. Written with an Avon pen.”

“The plot thickens.”

“Henna Dixon,” Clay said. “You might like to question her about it.”

“The same one who cleans at the apartments. Is that what we have—a squabble between the two of you? Are you in a relationship with her?”

“Definitely not!”

“You say that with a good deal of emotion. So tell me, what does this note say?”

Clay ran the words through his head, realized how foolish they would sound. He chose a different approach. “I found it up in that apartment.”

“The one you broke into.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So let’s get this straight. You do a little B & E at a vacant apartment, but the nonexistent resident knew you were coming and left you a note. Or maybe it was the cleaning lady, is that it? She invited you to join her for dinner there in the darkness, then had the gall to leave you a little threat. Written, of all things, with an Avon pen.” Officer Kelso’s sarcasm oozed through the phone. “Sounds like we need to be keeping a closer eye on those shifty door-to-door saleswomen.”

“Thanks for your time, Officer.”

“If it puts your mind at ease, I can tell you from experience that most of the clairvoyant, paranormal crowd tend to exaggerate their own abilities. Comes with the territory, I suppose. We don’t hold it against your type. I’m sure it’s easy to lose touch.”

“I wish.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m more in touch than ever before. It’s not a weight I’d wish on anyone.”

“Rest, Mr. Ryker. I suggest you get lots of it.”

“How can I sleep when my wife and my son are out there?”

The police officer was undeterred. “As for these phone conversations, interesting as they might be, I ask that you discontinue them. The department will have its hands full enough with the Scandi-Fest opening tomorrow and running through the weekend. Being a local boy, you know how it is. With all the out-of-towners, this place’ll be a zoo.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Friday’s a big day down there.”

“Is this another of your harebrained predictions?”

“Good-bye, Officer Kelso.”

This time Clay had the pleasure of ending the call.

Clay kept his Garmin GPS unit in his pocket. The thing had become vital.

At Glenleaf Monument Company, he found the same numeric results as at his house. With Wendy, he made an excuse to help at the air compressor, then touched her hand while forcing laughter over her latest version of the mummy joke. With Digs, he helped load grave markers into the sandblasting chamber, then brushed his forearm in a charade of bumbling awkwardness.

Both co-workers shared the revised digits. Converted from the previous set.

8.1.3.0.4 …
Friday the thirteenth. The high point of the Scandi-Fest.