Kate Carlisle - One Book In The Grave

We were close to the ocean and I could smell it in the briny air. We drove higher into the hills, past cypress trees surreally misshapen by years of blustery winds blowing in from the rough northern California ocean.

“This is it,” Derek said, and carefully turned off onto a dirt road, then wound around another hill and climbed higher, past another two farms. Scattered across the hillside were black-and-white cows chewing grass. A wire and wood-post fence separated the pasture land from the road.

“Are we there yet?” I muttered.

“There’d better be someone at home when we get there,” Derek said.

“And they’d better know where Max is,” Gabriel added.

Finally, Derek brought the car to a stop on the narrow verge. Up the hill on our left was a set of pitted stairs carved out of bedrock that led up another fifty yards to a two-story farmhouse.

“That’s the place?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes,” Derek said, opening his door, then glancing back. “This should only take a moment.”

“Maybe so,” Gabriel said, pushing the driver’s seat forward, then stepping out of the car. “But you’re not going alone.”

“I’m coming, too,” I said, unwilling to wait by myself.

“We’ll cause too much attention if we all go,” Derek insisted.

“Your English accent will cause more attention than anything else,” I countered. “And then there’s the Bentley you’re driving.”

Gabriel snorted. “She’s got you there.”

Derek shook his head. “I’ve lost control of the situation, haven’t I?”

“Not sure you ever had it, pal,” Gabriel said helpfully.

“True.” Derek shrugged. “Let’s go, then.”

We’d barely walked ten feet when the front door of the farmhouse opened. A tall, bearded man carrying a high-powered rifle stepped out on the porch and aimed the gun right at us. A dog stood at his side. It barked once and the man nudged him quiet with his knee.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered.

Derek swore under his breath as he held his arms up.

“Ah, hell,” Gabriel said, raising his arms high over his head. “That’s never a good thing.”

“Yes, it is,” I said, my voice unsteady. “That’s Max Adams.”

“Max,” I shouted, and waved my arms in the air, as if he couldn’t see me up close and personal in the crosshairs of his rifle. But would he remember me? I looked the same, basically, and I’d known him most of my life, so unless he’d developed amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten me.

Three years didn’t seem like that long a time, but looking at Max now, it felt like ten years had passed. Except for the beard, I guess he looked the same, but on the inside, I imagined he must have changed a lot more than I had. For one thing, since faking his own death, he probably didn’t go by the name Max anymore. And living out here, day after day, all alone for three long years, could’ve turned him a little paranoid.

Guru Bob had pulled another fast one by giving us directions that led straight to Max. It was alarming to be facing Max suddenly and without warning, but now that we were here, I was excited to talk to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t start shooting. I had so many questions to ask him.

Starting, of course, with, Why did you lie to all of us for three years?

But there was more I wanted to know, too. Did he go outside his house much? Was he afraid to go into town because someone from his old life might see him? Did he wear a disguise? Besides the beard, I mean. It wasn’t all that effective, since I had still recognized him.

What had happened to him three years ago that had been so awful that he’d staged his own death rather than face whoever had been tormenting him? Why hadn’t the police helped? Had Max missed us as much as we had missed him?

Did he kill Joe Taylor?

“Max! It’s Brooklyn.” I shouted his name several more times, and after many long seconds he slowly lowered the rifle.

“Brooklyn?”

“Yes, it’s me,” I shouted, then shivered from the cold air. The marine layer had obliterated the blue skies and now it looked like it might rain.

“What the hell are you doing here? Who are those guys?”

“They’re friends of mine. Guru Bob sent us.”

“Robson knows you’re here?”

“He gave us directions to find you.” I took a cautious step closer. He wasn’t pointing the rifle anymore, but he was still holding it, after all. “Can we please talk to you?”

He raked his fingers roughly through his hair and glared at us for another minute. He was probably wishing he could tell us all to go to hell, but hearing Robson’s name put the kibosh on that. “All right. Yeah, okay.” He waved us up the stairs, but he didn’t put down the gun, and I guess I couldn’t blame him.

I went first, climbing up the rocky, uneven steps. When I got close to the porch, I said, “This is Derek Stone and that’s Gabriel.” I turned to Derek and Gabriel and said needlessly, “This is Max Adams.”

“Call me Jack,” he said to the men, then looked at me and frowned. “What are you all doing here? What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, rubbing my arms and looking at the darkening sky. “Max-er, Jack, do you mind if we go inside? It’s cold out here.”

He clamped his lips together in a scowl, then exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I guess so. Come on.”

As I stepped onto the porch, a gunshot blasted through the air.

Chips of wood went flying, and I screamed. Derek shoved me down on the wood planks and threw himself on top of me as a shield.

“Shit!” Max shouted, crouching in front of the door and grabbing the handle to open it. He shoved the dog inside and said, “Everyone get in the house.”

“Go, go!” Gabriel yelled.

Derek yanked me up and pushed me toward the door. Max clutched my arm and propelled me inside. I careened into the sofa and felt manhandled and bruised in a few places, but I was safe. The dog, a big yellow Lab, licked my hand.

Gabriel scrambled up the steps, bolted inside, and slammed the door.

“Anyone hit?” Derek asked.

“No,” Max said, checking the lock. He raced over to the picture window and whipped the curtains closed. “Damn it. You were followed here.”

“We weren’t,” I said with conviction, but I was wrong, obviously.

I looked at Derek, who stared warily at Max. Gabriel was watching him, too. What is going on?

“We weren’t followed,” Derek said carefully. “But are you sure someone hasn’t been here all along, watching your house?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” He ran over to a side window, leaned his rifle against the corner wall, then used one finger to pull back the curtain an inch and stare outside. “I’ve been living here for years and nothing has ever happened. All of a sudden you three show up like the Mod Squad, and someone takes a shot at me. Pretty clear to me whose fault that is.”

“How do you know that shot was meant for you?” Gabriel said sagely.

Max glowered at Gabriel, then turned his narrowing gaze on Derek. Abruptly he flicked his hand toward the door. “This wasn’t a good idea. I want all of you to leave now.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. I need to talk to you. Besides, there’s a killer outside, so we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“Well, don’t get comfortable,” he said, “because you won’t be here long.”

I threw warning glances at Derek and Gabriel, then walked over to Max. “Could we stop arguing for a minute so I can tell you why we’re here?”

He glared at me with the same dark look of suspicion he’d been wearing since we arrived. I stared back, silently willing him to remember better days when we were close friends.