Tehachapi

By Jerry Gerold

It was supposed to be a weekend getaway to forget all his problems at home, but drowning his sorrows in alcohol only adds to Derek's problems. Perhaps he should just end it all with a bullet, but when Derek wakes up in the desert with someone else's bloody shoes on his feet and his gun missing, his problems have only just begun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jerry Gerold
• Release date: Mar 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393481331

Book preview

Jerry

Gerold

Tehachapi is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 Richard A. Gerold, Jr.

Published by Richard A. Gerold, Jr.

Cover design by Renee Lee

Edited by Jeanie at Creech Enterprises

All rights reserved

1.

Derek Lambert stared directly into the blazing hot desert sun for a second before bringing his arm up to shield his eyes. The sound of someone scuffling across the parched earth caused him to lower his shield, revealing a man standing over him, his head blotting out the sun.

Derek, is that you?

Joel. Derek forced the name from his dry throat. What are you doing here?

So you remember my name, Joel huffed. The man had short blonde hair, sported a sunburn and a star tattoo on his neck. I wouldn’t have expected you to. Not after what you drank last night. You really shouldn’t mix beer with whiskey, man.

Boilermakers? Derek croaked. "I was drinking boilermakers?"

I don’t know what all you had, dude, Joel said dismissively. "All I know is that you were fucked up. Bad. Probably took some pills, too. Anyway, he said, looking away. That’s what I think." He hawked and spat.

I don’t remember any pills, Derek said. There might have been mushrooms, though. Maybe not. My head hurts.

Shit, man. You trying to kill yourself or somethin’?

Derek sat up and looked around. Where am I?

Middle of the Mojave, dude. Don’t know what you’re doing stretched out on the ground under a Joshua tree, though.

Oh, Derek said, looking up at the aforementioned denizen of the desert, its bristly, twisted branches reaching for the sky. I don’t know either.

Well, I followed you. Worried about you driving in your impaired condition. Also saw you were leaking oil.

What? Derek asked, getting to his feet to look for his vehicle.

Yeah, dude. Thought I lost you one time, but I just followed your trail here.

Derek spotted his car sitting idle by the side of the nearby road, the driver side door wide open. He got in and turned the ignition key. Click.

"Motherfucker."

Yeah, dude, Joel said behind him. You ain’t goin’ nowhere in that thing. Want me to call a tow truck? I’ll give you a ride back to town.

Derek heaved a heavy sigh. Yeah, thanks. I’d appreciate that.

Well, no problem, Joel said. You and me are bros now, right? You told me some shit last night and I’m completely simpatico, dude. You and me both been through some shit.

I told you, huh? Derek asked. About my marriage going to hell?

Yeah, dude. It’s pretty fucked up.

Derek sighed, leaned back in the driver’s seat. I was so stupid. I should have known everything wasn’t fine. I should have known something was going on.

I hear you, dude, Joel said hastily, glancing down the road. Hey, I think that’s the tow truck coming.

Derek got out of the car to stand next to Joel, shielding his eyes with his hand as he squinted at the oncoming vehicle. Red and blue lights flashed, accompanied by a quick whoop of a siren.

Aw, shit, Joel said, kicking a rock the road. Goddamn it.

What’s wrong? Derek asked, feeling panic rise. What happened?

The cop car halted behind Derek’s car and two officers got out. Joel slowly lowered himself to his knees and placed his hands behind his head.

Derek stared wide-eyed at him and then at the approaching cops. He got on his knees, too, and put his hands behind his head.

Joel Mittelbauer, said one the officers, the kneeling man’s image reflecting brightly in the man’s sunglasses. You’re under arrest for the murder of Madelyn Galvin.

Fuck, Joel spat. I didn’t do it.

Yeah, the other officer scoffed as he put on the cuffs. I bet you didn’t.

Derek dropped his hands and got to his feet, the sensation of the hot pavement searing his knees lingering as he took a couple steps back.

I don’t really know this guy, he sputtered. I just met him last night.

Derek Lambert? inquired the first cop. Yeah, we know. We have witnesses that attest to that. He glanced over at Derek’s car. This your vehicle, sir?

Yes, officer.

It’s leaking oil.

Yes, I know.

I called him a tow truck, Joel said. You should, like, you know, take that into account for my case. You know, like, I’m being a Good Samaritan and shit.

I’m sure the judge will go easy on you, said the second officer.

Did he really call a tow truck for you, sir? asked the first.

He told me he did, Derek responded. After I woke up.

Uh, huh. The cop looked back at his partner, his hands hitched to his belt. Want us to stick around until it shows up?

Derek didn’t know how to answer, but he didn’t need to. Another vehicle drove up the road and parked in front of his car. The hitch on the back gave away the type of vehicle it was, as well as the words Tom’s Towing Company imprinted on the door.

Get a ride with him back to town, the first officer said, nodding to the truck. Then meet us at the station. We’ll need you to answer some questions.

The tow truck driver, clad in an orange jumpsuit that reminded Derek of what prison inmates wore, emerged from the cab and walked toward him. The name on his blue jumpsuit identified him as Matt. He nodded to the officer then faced Derek.

I must be here for you, he said, his voice like dry gravel.

Yeah, Derek said. I ran out of oil.

Matt nodded. You need a ride into town then?

Definitely. Um, what town is it?

You don’t know?

Derek grinned awkwardly. No, I was kind of fucked up last night.

And you drove out here, huh?

Yeah, Derek said, rubbing the back of his neck. I guess so. I don’t really remember coming out here, though.

Must not have mentioned that to the cops, huh?

Well, they were preoccupied with that other guy, I guess.

Joel.

Um, yeah, Derek said. You know him?

Yes, I’m the one who answered the phone and called the cops. Joel murdered my sister-in-law.

What, really?

Yeah, three years ago. Don’t know why he was back in town, but I recognized his voice immediately. Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.

I just met him.

Like I said. Well, fill this out while I get the vehicle hooked up.

He handed Derek a clipboard and walked away. Derek patted his pockets for a pen, but he knew he didn’t have one. Who carries around a pen? Then he noticed one tucked into the board’s clip. He removed it and filled in his information on the form. He read the company logo located top center, the address underneath.

Tehachapi, he said aloud. Oh, that’s right. That’s where I am. He signed the form, put the pen back in the clip and headed toward his car. I need to check something, he told Matt.

Not in a hurry, the driver said.

Derek opened the driver-side door and reached under the seat. He patted around on the carpet and stood up.

It wasn’t there.

He checked under the passenger’s seat, but it wasn’t there either. It wasn’t in the glove compartment, it wasn’t in the back seat. Was it in the trunk? He didn’t remember putting it there.

Whatcha lookin’ for?

Something that’s not here, apparently, Derek said. Gonna pop the trunk.

As it turned out, it wasn’t there, either. He slammed the trunk shut in disgust.

Not there, huh?

Derek scowled, shook his head. What the fuck happened, goddamn it?

You asking me?

Derek didn’t respond as he stood by the side of the road and watched Matt connect his car to the winch. Once that task was complete, Matt walked back to him.

Did you finish the form?

Huh? Oh, yes. I did.

Derek realized he had it tucked under his arm. He handed it over then followed him to the cab. He slammed the door shut, but it banged open again.

You have to hold the handle, Matt told him.

Derek performed the requested action and pulled the door closed. This time, it remained shut.

Matt slowly pulled onto the road and turned around. The tires rumbled off the pavement then back on, skidding a bit before regaining traction.

Do this often? Derek asked. Tow guys out of the desert?

Not often, Matt replied. Once or twice.

They were probably wasted, too, huh?

Matt shrugged. Maybe. Don’t remember.

Derek’s eyes turned to the window. He idly gazed at the desert scenery as it passed.

I’m not a drunk, he said. I mean, not really. I would imbibe occasionally in the past, but I never binged. Not really.

Matt didn’t acknowledge him.

Derek sighed and tried to remember the previous night.

2.

Derek sat at a bar, his vision blurred, his body heavy. His foot slipped and nearly took his entire body down to the floor. A hand reached out and grabbed his shirt from behind.

Easy there.

He turned his head to come face to face with a huge pair of fake tits. The owner of the enormous globes wore a leopard-print dress that barely covered her nipples.

I think I’ve had too much to drink, he said.

She smirked. Yeah, I think so.

I’m not used to drinking.

You don’t say?

Yeah. Hey, those are some big fuckin’ tits ya got there. What size are they?

Forty-two triple J.

Derek tried to whistle, but his mouth was too dry. He shook his head and grinned. Man are those are some massive fuckin’ tits.

Yeah, she said as she stood up, clutching her purse to her wide bosom.

Derek propped his elbows up on the bar and hung his head. My wife had nice tits, too. Not as big as yours, but still... nice.

Oh, yeah? she asked, off her stool now.

Yeah, they were a nice size. Not that yours aren’t nice. I don’t remember what size they were, but they fit perfectly in my hand, you know? Everything about her fit perfectly.

Yeah, I hear ya, the woman said. But I gotta go now.

She had to go, too, Derek replied. She had to go. Well, I kind of made her go. Well, not just me, the police kind of got involved, too.

He waited for the woman to say something. When she didn’t, he turned his head to see she wasn’t there. His eyes traveled the club, landed on the stage where a naked woman twirled around a pole. He watched her tits and ass as they jiggled, watched her as she suddenly grabbed the pole with both hands and threw her legs up over her head and slowly spun headfirst down its length.

Derek’s vision blurred again and he felt suddenly sick. Too much... spinning, he thought. He lurched off the stool and stumbled toward the men’s room. He threw himself against the door, knocking someone down on the other side. Two men rushed out past him into the club, the last one knocking Derek against the wall.

On the floor lay the guy Derek hit, a gash on his forehead dripping blood onto the floor. Next to him was a pistol.

Derek stepped over the prone man to retrieve the weapon. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of it. He glanced back down at the man then heard the door open. He jammed the pistol into the front of his pants and went to the sink to wash his hands. A man stepped through the door to enter one of the stalls.

Derek’s elbows locked as he pressed his palms against the fake marble counter and exhaled. He no longer felt nauseous or anxious. His head was suddenly clear.

Okay, he said to his reflection. Everything’s... okay.

He exited the strip club and drove home. He walked into his empty house and threw his keys on the dining room table. He withdrew the pistol, sat down and proceeded to examine the weapon. It was a black revolver with a brown grip panel. He popped out the cylinder. All of the chambers were empty.

Fuck, he muttered and then smiled. Whatever that guy in the bathroom was doing, he had no bullets to back it up. He may have paid for it with his life. Derek would never know.

He walked the revolver to the kitchen. He yanked open the junk drawer and placed it gently inside to lay with the old pens and cell phone charge cords and broken earbuds. He gently shoved the drawer shut with one hand.

He walked through the dining room to the living room. He eased himself onto the couch. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands and sobbed.

His phone vibrated. He ignored it until the second ring. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the device to see his son was calling.

Hello, Hamilton, he answered.

Dad, the young man said, out of breath. Mom’s been arrested.

Derek felt like he should feel anger, but his emotions had plateaued. He didn’t feel anything at all. His voice was flat when he finally asked,

For what?

First-degree aggravated theft and unlawful possession of body armor, Hamilton told him.

Wow, he said without feeling. Body armor, huh? That’s different. Strange, even.

Yes, Dad, Hamilton said. Very strange. She also had a large hunting knife. She stabbed a guy twice in the abdomen. He could die and that would add murder to the charges.

Derek fell silent. He stood and paced the living room between the coffee table and the fireplace. He ran his hand through his thinning, brown hair and gazed at his visage in the mirror hanging over the mantle. He rubbed his face, his three-day growth suddenly bothering him. He also became conscious of the dampness in the pits of his arms. They suddenly itched and he couldn’t keep himself from scratching.

God damn her, he muttered, his plateau wavering. Anger was starting to upset the balance.

Hey, Dad, Hamilton stifled a laugh. I’m just fucking with you.

What? Derek shouted, now completely irate. Are you fucking serious?

Hamilton laughed his nasally, hiccupping laugh. Yeah, Dad. It’s a joke.

Derek sat back down on the couch and chuckled. Okay, you got me, asshole. That was a good one. Oh, God, so your mother wasn’t arrested.

Oh, no, Hamilton replied. She got arrested alright. For forgery.

What?

Yeah, apparently she’s been forging checks and documents for years. Did you know about it, Dad?

No, Derek said, leaning back. I did not know about it, and I really don’t appreciate you making a joke about it. It’s your mother you’re talking about.

Sorry, Dad. It’s a defense mechanism.

A what?

Wait, not a defense mechanism. It’s a... whattayacallit? I laugh to hide the pain?

Yeah, whatever. Derek paused. Wait, you didn’t just prank me for your podcast, did you?

Ummm...

God damn it, Ham, he said amidst his son’s peals of laughter. Okay, you can play that part, but you better not talk about her actually being arrested, alright?

Of course not, Dad. You know I don’t discuss serious family stuff. I haven’t even talked about you guys splitting up.

Oh, Derek said. Okay, good.

Do you even listen to the podcast?

Uh, yeah. I mean, I have...

Recently?

No, but I kind of have a lot going on, you know?

I know, Dad.

Have you heard from Sabrina lately?

No, Dad. Not for a while. Look, I have to study for an exam tomorrow. I’ll talk to you later, okay?

Yeah, yeah, Derek said. Study hard, son. Good luck. Call me if you hear anything about your mother.

Thanks, Dad. I will.

Derek hung up and checked his messages. The police had called him a couple times while he’d been out binge drinking and he’d not noticed. He didn’t bother listening to the voice mails. He was sure they had nothing more to add to what his son had told him. He didn’t want to hear any more about it. The less he heard about his estranged wife, the better. Besides, he was starving.

He wandered back to the kitchen, opened the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen ravioli. He filled a pot with water, dropped in a handful of pasta and placed it on the burner. He cranked up the heat without looking at the dial and put the unused ravioli away. He glanced over at the junk drawer. He looked quickly away and opened the fridge to withdraw a jar of alfredo sauce. He put it on the counter and looked at the drawer again.

Can’t do anything without bullets, he muttered.

He clenched his fists and kicked the cupboard door below the drawer.

God damn you, Tara, he shouted. You fucking cunt! What the fuck happened to you? What were you thinking?

He rushed to the sink and finally vomited what he should have when he ran to the strip club bathroom. He felt suddenly dizzy and wretched again, expelling the rest of the alcohol from his stomach.

What the fuck, he moaned. What the fuck happened to me? I didn’t used to be like this. I was a good guy. I never drank or smoked or fooled around. Tara, it was always you. God damn it, there was never anyone else. Everything was perfect. And then you—

He squeezed his eyelids shut and tried to hold back the sob he felt coming. He heard water splash on the stove and turned to see the pot of ravioli boiling over. He quickly turned the burner off and grabbed the pot handle. He moved it to a cold burner and checked the damage. The ravioli had disintegrated, the insides floating in the water.

Shit, he muttered. Just like mine.

3.

Derek walked into the office of Tom’s Towing Company. Directly in front of him was an L-shaped counter, three old fabric-covered chairs to the left. He sat in the chair closest to the door, the rubber affixed to the bottom of its rusty legs scraping across the grimy, white tiled floor. He looked at his phone. 11:47 a.m.

At 12:03, a young woman wearing blue jeans and a canary yellow T-shirt entered the office. Her light red hair hung clung to her head, neck and shoulders, a galaxy of freckles splashing across cheeks and nose. The name plate on the counter read Jess.

Are you Mr. Lambert? she asked, flashing her bright blue eyes.

Yep, he answered, getting to his feet.

Okay, Mr. Lambert, she said, her eyes going to a computer screen below counter level. Your total for today comes to $244.79.

That seems kind of high.

Well, car repairs were included. We borrow the mechanic from next door so he charges a little extra.

Repairs? I thought it just needed oil.

She scrunched up her face as she gazed at her screen, her fingers tapping keys. You are right, there was an oil change. He charged an extra forty dollars for miscellaneous repairs.

Derek sighed, That’s fine.

He withdrew his debit card and handed it to her. She ran it through a slot attached to her computer screen and handed it back. She printed the receipt and handed that to him, too.

Okay, if you will have a seat, Mr. Lambert. It will be a few more minutes.

He nodded and returned to his chair. Jess walked around the counter and exited the office.

This is a nightmare, Derek said and sat back, closing his eyes.

He awoke with a jump when the office door opened. Jess had returned an ice-cold bottle Coke in each hand. She stood directly in front of him and shoved one bottle into his face. He was a little taken aback, but accepted it. She smiled and sat in the chair next to him, its legs making a curt scraping sound.

So, she said after taking a drink. You were with Joel.

Derek took a long, deep draught and answered without looking at her. Yep.

He didn’t do it.

He didn’t?

Kill Madelyn, I mean. I don’t care what Matt thinks, Joel doesn’t have it in him.

Oh, Derek said. Madelyn was the sister-in-law.

Yes, and Joel didn’t kill her.

Okay.

Jess took a drink and stared straight ahead. Her face wrinkled up and she sneezed.

Bless you, Derek said.

Thanks. I mean, I don’t have an alibi for Joel, but I know he couldn’t kill anyone. He’s a real good guy. Really nice. He’d do anything for you.

He followed me out to the desert to see if I was okay, Derek said. He even called the tow truck for me.

Which proved to be his undoing, Jess said and sighed. Fuck Matt. I mean, seriously.

The door banged open and Matt walked in, wiping his greasy hands on an orange rag. He glanced over at Jess without expression.

Your shift’s over, he said. Go home.

Merle’s not here yet.

Matt tilted his head slightly. You shouldn’t bother the customers.

It’s no bother, Derek said. It’s fine.

Matt glanced at him a moment and then went behind the counter. He opened the register and made change for a buck.

I want a Coke, too, he said and left the office.

So, why does Matt think Joel killed his sister-in-law?

Jess stared at her bottle then looked him in the eye. Derek, right? Can I call you Derek? I’m Jess. She jutted her chest out and put her finger on her name tag.

Derek looked and she grinned. She took a drink while gazing sidelong at him and coughed.

Some went up my nose, she said and coughed again.

Are you okay?

Yeah, she said. "Matt doesn’t think. That’s the problem. He wants Joel to be the murderer, because he hates him. The fact that Joel doesn’t have an alibi doesn’t help any, though. He didn’t tell you anything last night, did he?"

I don’t remember seeing him until today, he told her. I was pretty wasted.

Oh, Jess said. Well, that’s too bad. What are you going to tell the cops when you talk to them?

Well, since I don’t remember anything, not much. Nothing regarding Joel, I mean. I have a vague memory of talking to a couple of girls and this big muscular guy with a shaved head.

Huh. Maybe some of that will be useful.

Maybe, he agreed and took a drink. He lowered the bottle to the floor and stared straight ahead.

Are you okay?

Derek looked at her. "I’m sorry, what?

Are you okay, she repeated. You seem... I don’t know. Down.

Well, I woke up in the desert with no oil in my car, he said with a forced laugh.

That’s not it. It’s something else. Something big and heavy.

Derek pressed his lips together tightly and looked at the Coke on the floor. His gaze shifted to the bottom of his shoe. Beneath the layer of sand and dirt was a red substance.

You can talk to me about it, Jess continued. I mean, if you want to. I know what it’s like to be sad. I’ve been sad... a lot. I’ve been sad a lot. It just, you know, helps to talk about things with a total stranger. I mean, only if you want to. You don’t have to do anything.

Everyone gets sad, he said flatly, lifting his foot to examine it. So everyone can relate.

"Yeah, but I mean sad. Depressed. Like life is a crushing weight on your soul and you either let it kill you or you beat it to the punch. She laughed curtly. I know, I sound pathetic, don’t I?"

No, Derek said. Life is pathetic. People are pathetic. He dropped his foot and picked up his Coke for a drink.

Yeah, Jess said. "You’re right. People are pathetic." She took a drink, too.

The office door opened, admitting a short, stout woman with a brown bowl haircut. Merle, read her tag. She glared at Jess.

How many times have I told you, she snapped. Don’t talk to the customers.

We’re just chatting, Derek said.

Merle scowled without looking at him and took her place behind the counter. She put her purse underneath and told Jess she could go.

Yeah, okay, Jess said. She got up and looked down at Derek. You can text me if you want.

No fraternizing on the premises, Merle growled.

Derek stood up and motioned Jess after him. They exited the office and stepped out into the daylight. He withdrew his phone and Jess recited her number. He texted her immediately.

Okay, Jess said. Now we have each other’s number. How long are you going to be in town?

I don’t know, he told her. At least overnight.

Cool, she said.

She stepped up close and tilted her head back to look up at him. She was five feet three. Derek was a foot taller.

Please help Joel, she pleaded, searching his eyes. Anything you can think of, please tell them. I know he didn’t do it and I hope you think so, too. He needs all the help he can get.

Yeah, Derek said, smiling grimly. Sure.

Jess gave him a hug and squeezed him tight for ten seconds. She made a sound in her throat and abruptly flung herself away from him. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

It was nice to meet you, Derek, she said. Don’t forget to text me, okay?

He nodded and watched her get into her car and drive away. His thoughts drifted to younger days.

4.

Derek sat on the sand while his friend Evan poked the fire with a stick.

We should have brought marshmallows, Derek chuffed.

We’re not kids anymore, Evan smirked. We’re adults. That’s why I brought beer. He swirled his forty ounce in front of Derek’s face.

We’re adults, sure, Derek said. But still only eighteen.

Evan shrugged. Who’s gonna find out?

I guess not. Hey, how about hot dogs? I haven’t eaten since lunch.

Evan took a swig and coughed, wiped his mouth. Actually, that sounds good. I could go for some dogs.

But we just have beer, Derek said.

It’s all I could get, Evan said.

A flashlight startled him, its light directly in his eyes. Hey, watch where you point that thing?

Sorry, Tara called back, averting the light. Didn’t mean to do that.

Beside her, Chelsea said something Derek couldn’t hear and both girls burst into giggles. Their gales of mirth abruptly ceased, however, the moment they arrived at the campfire. Tara shut off the flashlight and sat next to Evan on his log. Chelsea followed her to whisper something in her ear. Both girls giggled again. Chelsea then stood up straight and turned to Derek.

Hey, are you going to compliment me or what?

Derek blinked, jerked his head up. Um, what?

We’ve spent the whole day out here and you haven’t paid me one single compliment.

Oh, he said. I’m sorry.

She made a sound of exasperation. Do you think I look good in this bikini? Do you think I look sexy?

Um, yeah, he said uncomfortably. I do.

Say the words.

What?

Chelsea lurched forward and squished his lips with her forefinger and thumb.

Gosh, Chelsea, you look really sexy in that bikini, she said, affecting a dumb guy voice. You make me horny. I want to jump your bones right now.

Knock it off, Evan said. You’re embarrassing the guy.

I’m not embarrassed, Derek protested, his face red hot.

Yeah, you are, Chelsea said, dropping onto the log next to Derek. You’re too uptight. Do you know what you need?

Pussy, Evan said, making the girls howl with laughter. Sorry, dude. I couldn’t resist.

Actually, Chelsea said, reaching into the cooler. You need a beer. She shoved a can against his chest. Here. Drink it.

But I—

I know you don’t drink, but just do it for once, okay? I swear; you need to relax. We’re all here to have fun, not worry about underage drinking.

Derek stared at the can without opening it. It’s not like I don’t want to have fun, he said. But I just don’t want to drink.

Why, God, why? Chelsea nearly screamed. What is so bad about having one fucking beer?

Because it’s bad for you.

Chelsea burst into laughter.  She stopped, looked at Derek and laughed again. She stood up and went over to Tara.

Can you fucking believe this guy? The morality police. She turned to Derek and saluted. Aye, aye, Officer Derek. Drinking is bad for you. I totally agree.

She snatched the beer can out of his hand and ran off across the sand into the dark.

Hey, Evan cried. You shouldn’t run around out there like that! You’ll trip over something. He grabbed the flashlight from Tara and ran after her.

Tara watched him go then turned to look back at Derek. She forced an awkward smile and stared into the fire.

Am I an asshole? Derek asked.

What? Of course not. If you don’t drink, you don’t drink. That’s all there is to it.

Yeah, but it pisses people off.

You know, so what? You stick to your rules. Don’t give in to peer pressure. It’s an admirable quality, actually.

Really? You think so?

She smiled at him. Well, yeah.

Silence returned. Tara’s eyes returned to the darkness as Derek got up to retrieve Evan’s poking stick. He sat on the log next to Tara and prodded the fire, making the logs shift and send up sparks.

Careful, Tara said, brushing imaginary cinders from her lap.

Sorry.

They sat in silence for a moment, Derek glancing surreptitiously at her. She had the straightest, longest black hair he’d ever seen and the little crease on the tip of her nose was strangely endearing. Her upper lip was twice as big as her lower and her teeth were glow-in-the-dark bright. He’d always thought she was pretty and even more so in the light of the campfire. He was about to tell her, but she spoke first.

I’m sorry I laughed at you, she told him. You know, earlier. When Evan said—

I remember.

Oh, yeah. Well, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at you.

It’s okay. It was funny. I mean, not to me, but... you know.

Tara nodded. She’s not right for you.

Huh?

Chelsea. She’s not the right girl for you.

Yeah, he sighed. I know.

Why are you with her?

Because she’s pretty and blonde and agreed to go out with me.

Tara snorted.

Well, it’s the truth.

You always tell the truth, don’t you?

I try.

You’re a real straight-laced kind of guy, huh?

He shrugged.

Do you want to know a secret? I don’t drink either.

Oh, yeah? Well, huh. I guess don’t remember seeing you with a beer.

Nope. Can’t stand the stuff.

Guess we have that in common, then.

Yep. We do.

Chelsea popped suddenly out of the darkness. Hey, where’s Evan?

He went looking for you, Tara answered. He said it was too dangerous to wander off in the dark. Didn’t you hear him?

No, but he’s right. That’s why I came back.

You seriously didn’t hear him calling for you? Derek inquired.

Yeah, I guess so, but he was too far away. She eyed him curiously. Aren’t you two cozy, sitting together like that.

I’m just poking the fire, Derek said defensively.

I’m just teasing.

Oh, there you are, said Evan, his flashlight beam arriving before he did. I thought you’d drowned in the ocean.

Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Chelsea said. I didn’t go very far. And some rescuer you turned out to be.

Man, you’re a bitch sometimes, Evan commented.

I’ll take that as a compliment, Chelsea giggled. I pride myself in my bitchiness.

Tara stretched her arms over her head, her shirt lifting to expose her belly button. She glanced over at Derek and smiled. She arched her back a little and closed her eyes. Then she yawned.

Maybe we should head back, Evan said. It’s getting late.

Yeah, this was fun, said Chelsea. Even though Derek was so uptight.

I can’t help it.

I know, Chelsea said. She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. Come on; help me put this fire out.

He glanced over at Tara just as Evan bent to give her a kiss on the corner of her mouth. She smiled dreamily as he helped her to her feet.

Chelsea snapped her fingers in Derek’s face.

Hey, what are you doing? Help me with this will you?

Uh, yeah. Sorry.

He cast one more gaze at Tara to see her smiling at him for a split second before she leaned into Evan and put her arm around him.

5.

Replete with a fresh supply of oil, Derek drove his car to the Tehachapi police station. He approached the front desk to speak to the female officer sitting behind it.

I’m here to answer questions regarding Joel Mittelbauer, he told her.

Just a moment, she said. She picked up her phone. Man here for Mittelbauer. Okay. Thanks. She hung up and walked around the corner. Follow me, please.

She led him through a locked door to a large room filled with people and desks and activity. She walked him to the far corner where a female officer approximately Derek’s age sat, her red hair braided snug against the back of her head.

I’m Detective Sierra Redmond, she said, sticking out her hand. Nice to meet you...

Derek Lambert, he said. Nice to meet you, too.

Redmond smiled as she waved over a male officer. Mr. Lambert, could you stand over here, please?

Derek did as ordered then looked down at his shoes. Some of the sand and dirt had come off since he’d last looked, enough to make what lay beneath even more noticeable. The red substance. A cold chill travelled down his spine as he finally realized what it could be.

Mr. Lambert, said Officer Redmond. Are those your shoes?

That’s a strange question, Derek said. Of course, they are.

Did you buy them yourself?

He looked down at his feet. No, I think they were a gift.

Who gave them to you?

He scratched his head. My wife.

Please remove the shoes, Mr. Lambert.

He sat back down and slid the filthy shoes off his feet. Officer Redmond donned blue rubber gloves and picked up the left shoe. She and the male officer examined it without comment then nodded at each other.

What’s wrong? Derek asked.

We are going to have to confiscate your footwear, Mr. Lambert, Redmond