The Glue Guy: The Zoo Crew Series Book 4 Page 5

  Taggert could almost smell smoke as his partner chewed on the information. Replayed their encounter with the Rigginses. Tried to process everything.

  “So it was all rehearsed.”

  “Every last bit of it,” Taggert said. Nodded. Again cinched his jaw to the side and began to chew on the end of his moustache.

  All he had to do now was wait for the call. He knew what the person would say when she called. Just needed to hear it confirmed before he climbed back out and walked to the front door.

  Beside him he could sense nervous energy beginning to roll off of Foye. Could practically feel it reverberating through the interior of the car, threatening to force the door open and escape into the cold afternoon air.

  Fortunately for him, the phone on his dash rang before that became an eventuality.

  In a flash of unnatural quickness, Taggert reached out and snatched the phone up. Thumbed it open. Hit the green button to talk. Knew without looking at the caller ID it would be Henrietta calling back with the information he requested.

  “Go ahead, Hetty.”

  On the other end of the line she delivered what she’d found in rapid-fire sequence. Paused only twice to check what she was saying. By the time she was done, sat panting on the other end of the line.

  With each passing word Taggert felt his grip on the phone growing stronger. The folds of skin around his eyes pinching tighter.

  After grunting his way through the call, Taggert signed off. Finished with a simple, “Thanks, Hetty. I owe you one.”

  Folded the phone back closed and slid it onto the dash.

  The plastic implement had barely stopped sliding when Taggert wrenched open his door. Climbed out and strode back across the front lawn. Only vaguely registered Foye scrambling along behind him.

  The heels of his boots smacked against the concrete walk as he approached the front door. The sound carried through the neighborhood. Resembled a soundtrack to an old cop show in his ears as he reached out and knocked on the tin storm door.

  Heart pounding, Taggert stepped back. Waited for the front door to open. For the visage of Riggins to appear before him.

  “Tyce Riggins, I am here to place you under arrest for arson and obstruction of justice.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grease.

  Not the form found coating engine bearings. Not the same as that found on the skin of most teenagers.

  The kind derived from fried chicken done properly.

  It hung in the air. Clung to every horizontal surface. Permeated every breath taken the moment Drake stepped inside.

  He could feel it on the palms of his hands as he slid into the booth. Sensed it working as lubricant as he pushed his body into the middle of the red vinyl bench seat.

  “You’re early,” he said. No inflection of accusation, merely an observation.

  Across from him Emily Knope shrugged a shoulder. Lowered the laminated menu she’d been looking at. Folded her arms on the table before her. The moment they touched the surface she pulled them back, content to keep her hands in her lap.

  “Yeah, the folks were driving me a little crazy so I drove over early. Thank you so much for coming. I had to get out of that house.”

  Drake leaned back. Stifled a laugh.

  Not that long ago he and Emily had been inseparable. They had begun dating in the summer before their junior year of college. Had not stopped dating until the summer after their senior year.

  In that time Drake had become all too familiar with the craziness that comprised the Knope household.

  “I should be thanking you as well,” Drake said. “You saved me from a $9.99 and under feast courtesy of Greg and Wyatt.”

  Across from him Emily raised a questioning eyebrow. Said nothing.

  “Oh, sorry,” Drake said. “Couple of guys in my class. Notorious cheapskates.”

  “Yet they offered you dinner?” she asked.

  “Sort of,” Drake said. Smiled as he remembered the stilted conversation from that afternoon. “A bit of a celebratory thing.”

  “Ahh,” Emily said. Rocked her head back an inch. “But I thought the bar wasn’t for a few weeks yet.”

  “It’s not,” Drake said. “This was for finishing with law school. We decided to wait until it was all over though.”

  Again Emily raised her head a few inches, pretending to understand.

  Silence settled in as they waited for the lone waitress in the house to emerge from behind the counter. The soles of her rubber shoes squeaked as she approached, extracting a small note pad from her apron and a pencil from her hair.

  “Good evening, you folks know what you’d like to order?”

  The Double Front was a Missoula institution, notorious for all things fried. Drake had been frequenting the place for seven years and counting. Emily her entire life.

  Both ordered the same thing they always had, a matching pair of half chicken dinners with fries. Diet Coke for Emily. Sweet tea for Drake.

  Once their requests were taken and the waitress had made her way towards the back, Drake reclined a bit in his seat. Took in his companion across from him.

  New Year’s Eve was the first time he had seen here since the break up two and a half years before. The time away had changed her for sure, though at a glance it seemed to be treating her well.

  Her dark curls were a little longer than he remembered, hanging well past her shoulders. She wore more makeup now than she had, though it only seemed to accentuate her green eyes and full lips.

  The first time or two he had run into her her fashion sense was decidedly east coast hipster, though had retreated back to normal in the intervening weeks. Now dressed in jeans and sweater, she very much resembled the girl he remembered.

  There was no doubt she too had done the same mental rundown after seeing him, though what her reaction was he had no clue.

  Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “So all wrapped up,” Emily said. Raised her eyebrows as if to say she was impressed. “Does that mean this is a celebratory dinner as well?”

  A half smile crossed Drake’s face as he waited for the waitress to unload their drinks.

  “Thank you,” he said. Waited until she was gone. Took a swig of the drink.

  Not quite the same as back in Tennessee, though after seven years away he was fast growing used to the poor attempts at replacement.

  “Sweet tea and fried chicken?” he asked. “Yeah, I would say that has all the earmarks of a celebration, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Emily said. “This is what we did every time there was something worth remembering when we were in undergrad.”

  Raising his eyebrows in concession, Drake nodded at her assessment. “So it was. But do bear in mind we were also broke college kids at the time.”

  Emily smirked, her lips curling up slightly. “As opposed to broke grad students?”

  After graduation, Emily had departed Missoula for Washington, D.C. Having been born and raised in the mountains, she claimed she needed time away. Had entreated Drake to come with her.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Just two months after the sudden passing of his parents, Montana was the only other place he had ever lived. The only locale he had anything resembling family. He had already been accepted into law school. His next few years were spoken for.

  Though he suspected she already knew all that before asking, never had he said as much.

  “Touché,” Drake said. “And how is being back in the school grind? Journalism still treating you well?”

  Again Emily shrugged, her shoulders brushing against the bottom of her curls.

  “It goes. I love all the free time, miss all the disposable income.”

  In his pocket Drake felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. Ignored it.

  “I bet,” he said. “Whereas I on the other hand am looking forward to a steady paycheck for a while.”

  This brought a smile to Emily’s face. Even white te
eth between red lips.

  The first time Drake had seen her back in town, he had avoided any face-to-face contact. The years had buried any lingering feelings, both good and bad.

  He had no need to bring them back up.

  The second time had been a week and a half before, a chance encounter at a campus favorite lunch spot. Somehow the two had found themselves standing side by side in line, the noisy din of the lunch crowd providing the perfect cover for the occasional moments of awkward silence.

  Once the initial scab had been pulled free though, it had been easy to fall back into rhythm.

  Not the same flirtatious banter that had marked their time together.

  More the easy conversation that comes between people with shared history.

  “Any idea what you’ll do?” Emily asked.

  Again Drake felt his phone buzz against his leg. Held up a finger to Emily. Fished it out and laid it on the table.

  Wyatt Teague.

  Clicking the phone quiet, Drake slid it to the side.

  “Do you need to get that?” Emily asked.

  “Naw, it’s just Wyatt,” Drake said. Leaned forward in his seat. Brought his hands together and laced his fingers.

  “Bad date bailout call?” Emily asked. Arched an eyebrow. Gave him an expectant look.

  Unable to stop it Drake smiled, shaking his head. “Yep. You caught me. So far so good though. You’re safe.”

  At this Emily matched the smile. Twisted her head to look out over the restaurant.

  “That’s a good question,” Drake said. “I’ve applied a few places here in town. The school has mentioned a position working there. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “So you think you’ll want to stay here?” Emily asked. The smile was still in place, though a hint of something more belied her voice.

  “Yes,” Drake said. Nodded. “This is my home now, where my family is.”

  He knew the last line would get a reaction, just as it had the previous time he said it years before.

  The smile faded from her face, though to his surprise no direct comment came.

  “Could always come to the coast,” she said instead. “I know there are a lot of firms looking in DC. A lot of policy work going on as well.”

  Of everything Emily could have said, Drake could readily think of nothing that would have surprised him more. He pushed out a long breath as he sat back in the seat and tried to make sense of what she had said.

  To his ears, it seemed she had just asked him again to move away with her. They had seen each other a few times in the preceding month. It had been great catching up and falling back into synch.

  Conversely, it could have been meant as nothing more than an observation. Large cities did tend to have a great many jobs. Certainly more opportunities than Missoula.

  Before he could vocalize any of this, his phone rang again.

  “That might be important,” Emily said, seeming to sense his trepidation. “You should probably get it.”

  Working his jaw twice in an attempt to generate saliva, Drake took up his phone. Gave an apologetic look to Emily. Pressed it to his face.

  “Hello?”

  “Drake!” Wyatt said. Almost yelled the word at him. “I’ve been calling. Where the hell have you been?”

  A spur of irritation passed through Drake as he shook his head at Emily.

  “I’m at the Double Front. I told you guys I was meeting Emily tonight.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” Wyatt said, the words slow. Parsed out one at a time.

  A moment of silence passed.

  “So...” Drake asked. Drew it out several syllables in length. “Something up?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Wyatt repeated. “Sorry. Can you meet me at the office in an hour?”

  Flicking his gaze to the plastic Coke clock above the front counter, Drake felt his mouth curl up into a smile. He shook his head.

  “Look, man, I appreciate the gesture, but-“

  “No,” Wyatt said, cutting him off. “This is legit, I swear. Do you remember a guy named Tyce Riggins?”

  The name seemed to come in at Drake from left field. It resonated somewhere deep within, catching just a flicker of recognition.

  “Played ball years ago,” Drake said. “What about him?”

  “His wife just called. She said he’s in some kind of trouble and she’s on her way over now.”

  Drake’s face scrunched up at the explanation, his gaze again hitting the clock. “And she wants to meet at eight o’clock at night?”

  A long sigh passed over the line. “Look man, I don’t know what to tell you. She called frantic, said we had to meet. Get this, she’s driving over from Butte as we speak.”

  The sense of confusion within only heightened as Drake looked across at Emily. He barely registered the waitress as she deposited their meals down before them.

  Didn’t even notice the heavy scent of fried food wafting up at him.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Drake finally managed. “What the heck happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Wyatt replied. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer though. I just thought maybe you knew the guy, would be willing to come back and meet her with me.”

  Drake knew there was far more to it than that. He knew that Greg and Wyatt had both made a point of avoiding anything beyond basic MIP’s and traffic violations.

  Also knew both were acutely aware of the school load they were still under.

  None of that mattered though.

  “Yeah,” Drake said. Watched as Emily cocked an eyebrow across from him. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Neon.

  Bright red lights.

  They scrolled across the front hood as Drake pulled to a stop. Parked in front of the Montana Legal Services office.

  They came to a halt halfway up his windshield. Displayed in script letters the words The Jackal. Beside it was a cartoon emblem of the animal formed by the same glowing lights.

  Drake glanced at the bar two doors down and shook his head. Could only wonder what Mrs. Riggins would think when she arrived.

  Pushed the thought away just as fast. Replaced it with wondering why she had insisted on coming over tonight.

  Classic rock music could be heard coming from The Jackal as Drake stepped up onto the curb. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized the tune as he approached the front door, the light in the office already on.

  Just as fast the sound disappeared as he stepped inside, Wyatt waiting for him. He looked up as Drake entered, genuine relief on his face.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. Dropped the pen in his hand down atop the legal pad before him.

  Already most of the page looked to be covered in blue ink.

  “Yeah, sure,” Drake replied. “Where’s Greg?”

  In his seat, Wyatt leaned back. Gave a what-can-you-do gesture. “Already three beers in by the time she called.”

  Two years ago Drake would have been surprised that anybody would be drinking at seven o’clock on a Monday evening.

  By now he was long past even noticing it.

  “Good for him,” Drake said. Walked across the room. Pulled up a chair on the opposite side of Wyatt’s desk. “Any more word on what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Wyatt said. His voice seemed to bear the same strain as his face. “I’ve been sitting here writing out questions for the past half hour, just in case.”

  A bit of confusion passed through Drake as he tried to think of what questions Wyatt could ask if he didn’t yet know the situation, but let it pass.

  Started to change the subject when the door opened behind them.

  Through it walked a woman Drake was quite certain he had never seen before. Standing somewhere close to five and a half feet tall, her height was accentuated by a puff of strawberry blonde curls piled high atop her head. As she stepped closer puffy eyes and ruddy cheeks could be seen, the result of an evening spent crying.

  “Is this Montana Legal S
ervices?” she asked. Her voice made it clear the tears were no more than an inch beneath the surface.

  “It is,” Drake said, rising to his feet. He strode forward and met her halfway across the room. Extended his hand.

  “I’m Drake Bell.” Motioned over his shoulder. “This is Wyatt Teague, who you spoke with earlier.”

  He hadn’t had the chance to speak with Wyatt before the meeting about how the dynamics would play out. Sensed from the frantic call and the harried appearance when he arrived that Wyatt was more than willing to let him take the lead.

  Besides, Tyce Riggins was a Griz.

  Even if he and Drake had barely known each other, that meant something.

  “Kara Riggins,” she said. Reciprocated the shake. Nodded to Wyatt.

  Her grip felt chilled and clammy.

  “Please, have a seat,” Drake said. Showed her to the chair he had just been using. Pulled up another for himself.

  “Thank you for meeting like this,” Kara said, her voice no more than a whisper.

  “Of course,” Drake said. Watched as she unzipped her coat and pushed it down off her shoulders.

  Glanced to Wyatt at the sight of her distended stomach.

  If he had to guess Drake would say she was somewhere in the four-to-six month stretch. That alone wouldn’t explain the unusual request, but it might help on the abundance of emotion being shown.

  “So, what’s going on?” Drake asked.

  More than once he had been schooled never to ask what they could do for someone. That led to the expectation from potential clients that something could in fact be done.

  As Drake had fast come to know all too well, that was far from always being the case.

  Leaning forward at the waist, he rested his elbows on his knees. Laced his fingers before him. Watched as Kara took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling.

  “My husband Tyce has been arrested.”

  As the words tumbled out her face quivered. For a moment Drake thought she might crack. Reached over to Greg’s desk behind him. Grabbed two tissues and handed them to her.

  Kara accepted them with a nod. Raised them both to her nose.

  “On what charges?” Drake asked. Kept his voice low, free of inflection.

  “Arson,” Kara whispered. “Obstruction of justice.”