Every hidden thing, p.30
Every Hidden Thing, page 30
The surface was nothing more than a distant light smudge—but it looked good. And passing above the thermocline felt good. They kept close to the wall, both of them using their hands more than their fins now. There was something about being weightless like this. Grab a handhold, pull yourself up. It was as easy as Spider-Man made it look to climb buildings. Parker checked his depth gauge. They'd stop at fifteen feet for three minutes, just to give some of the nitrogen buildup an extra chance to leave their body naturally.
At a depth of twenty feet the rock wall ended—as in there was nothing there. Parker swung his light. A cave. Five feet across, maybe. Five or six feet high. As if a block had been extracted from the side of the quarry like a bad tooth. How far back did the cave go? Parker wasn’t sure. And the idea of going deeper inside the rock wall to find out absolutely wasn’t going to happen.
Something bright reflected off the floor of the alcove. Parker swung his light that way—and stared in stunned silence. Two scuba tanks sat side by side—and not a speck of silt on either one. Each had deflated BCD vests and complete regulator kits with a weight belt draped across them. Parker moved closer. Shined his light on the pressure gauges. Both tanks at a full 3,000 pounds of pressure. Wait, the tanks were ready to go, with the air turned on? To be sure, Parker pressed the purge valve on the regulator. Bubbles gushed out of the mouthpiece.
Parker picked his way deeper into the man-made cave—Harley right behind him. A mesh dive bag rested on the rock bottom between the two tanks. Inside sat a mask, snorkel, and fins. Everything a diver would need—all right there. Suddenly it was all coming together.
Oh, God, this is it. This is how Shadow-man did it. When he disappeared into the quarry he went to his little cave and had plenty of air. He could sit here for an hour and just wait for everything to calm down on the surface if he wanted. Even his bubbles would be trapped in the cave . . . not escaping to the surface to betray him. Shadow-man was no ghost. No supernatural being. Shadow-man was a living, breathing human being who wanted others to think there were ghosts—or whatever—at work.
Wouldn’t this prove to the police that BIG was behind this? He’d bypass Rankin and call Officer Greenwood the moment he got to the surface. Could this discovery somehow delay the foreclosure—and the sale—from happening until a full-scale investigation was mounted?
Hidden things—just sitting here in the darkness. Oh, God . . . You are the revealer of mysteries!
Harley tapped his shoulder. His eyes alive—like he’d figured out exactly what this meant, too. He motioned to the tanks and pointed to the surface.
He was right. They needed to get back to the surface pronto. The cops needed to see this evidence. They’d caught a break. But still, an uneasiness clung as tight to him as the wet suit he was wearing. Parker couldn’t explain how he knew what he felt, but they had to get out of this quarry with the evidence—and fast.
CHAPTER 72
Saturday, June 18, 5:15 p.m.
ANGELICA SHOULD HAVE GONE WITH PARKER. Could she have talked him out of diving the quarry? Probably not. And Harley was just as stone-stubborn as Parker. She’d come up from Florida because she knew Parker needed protecting, right? Why hadn’t she stuck with him?
But she knew why. Even though she felt she had to be the voice of reason with these boys, she didn’t want them to know that. She’d taken a little gamble that they’d never actually find a topside dive spotter at the last minute . . . and she’d lost.
At least there would be no alligators in the quarry. No Ella-gators either. So that was good, right? In fact, Parker had asked her to hang out with Ella a bit while the guys went to the quarry. But with the whole losing-the-house thing, being with her and her Grams right now was way beyond awkward. And Angelica had no idea what to say . . . or how to really help.
Was that why she’d stalled going to Ella’s place until now—or was it something more?
A twang of guilt played deep in her spirit somewhere. She’d been so protective of her friendship with Parker that she’d looked at Ella as a threat from the first time she’d heard her name. A rival, maybe. Competition in a tug-of-war for Parker’s time and attention. The trail camera hadn’t done a bit of good. Honestly, Angelica didn’t even have the heart to look at the images it had captured. But maybe it gave Angelica an excuse to stop by Ella’s house.
Even as she walked into Ella’s backyard, she still had no idea what to say. Or what to do.
Ella sat on the porch swing behind her house. Head down. Shoulders slumped. A sheaf of papers sat on her lap. Little “Signature Here” tabs clung to the margins. Obviously the selling agreement for Beulah.
Angelica picked her way closer, torn between not wanting to disturb her and legitimately wanting to help.
Ella’s shoulders moved in rhythmic, silent sobs. Angelica stood there, not wanting to stare, but not able to look away. This was a girl whose family had fought an uphill battle all the way. No real mom or dad in the picture. But a grandma who loved her and had adopted her—and had worked to give her something she could truly call her own. A place. A home.
Now she was losing it all. As far as Angelica knew, Parker was the only real friend she had. And Angelica, deep down, had wanted to take that from her too, hadn’t she? Parker had been so excited for the two of them to meet . . . trusting she’d be good for Ella. Thinking the two would hit it off somehow.
If Angelica had heard a month ago that Ella was going to move, she’d have had a private little celebration. A victory party. Didn’t that make her just a little bit like that banker dude who’d forced Grams to sell? Scorza preyed on a nice family, taking the only home Ella had. And Angelica had wanted to rob her of her only friend.
“God in heaven, I already asked you to forgive me . . . but I am soooo sorry for how selfish I’ve been,” she whispered. The more she saw Ella and her Grams—and reflected on their story—the more she wished none of this had happened to them. Angelica hadn’t just been protective of her friendship with Parker. The word protective made her attitude seem noble or something. She’d been possessive. And she’d been wrong. So very, miserably wrong. “And God? May the boys find something in that quarry that makes a difference.”
A whimper escaped Ella’s lips. A helpless-sounding thing—like she’d been trying desperately to keep it bottled up, but a little bit of the pain broke free anyway.
No pain, no gain. Why that stupid saying passed through her mind at that very moment, she had no idea. There was nothing wrong with a person making personal sacrifices—feeling a little pain—to get something they wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. It seemed like Grams did a whole lot of that. But Ella’s pain had been brought on by someone else. A heartless person. A cowardly person who created pain for others—so that he’d gain something for himself. Warm tears glossed her own cheeks now. “God of justice . . . please . . . make this right somehow.”
Suddenly Ella looked up—like she’d sensed someone was there. “Jelly!” She looked relieved. “I thought you were my Grams.” She took a handful of her sleeve and wiped her cheeks. “Wouldn’t want her to see me like this.”
Angelica sat on the swing and put her arm around Ella’s shoulders. “Cry all you want with me. Just let it out.”
Ella pulled her into a hug. “This move is going to sap the life right out of Grams. I can’t bear to see that.”
“I’m so sorry.” For her horrible attitude. Her lack of concern.
“Living with her sister . . . in the city . . . it won’t be good for her. I know it.”
Not a word about Ella’s own fears. Not a mention of the hard changes she’d absolutely go through with a new school and living someplace that didn’t seem like home. “Oh, Ella.” She hugged Ella back. “I’m praying to God that He brings some justice to this mess.”
Ella released Jelly. “You do that. We need a little Almighty intervention here.”
Angelica’s phone chirped with an incoming text. Uncle Vaughn.
You still want me to pick you up on the way to the quarry?
She whipped off her answer.
Definitely. I’m at Ella’s.
She pecked out another message and held it up for Ella to see.
Ella’s coming with.
Ella smiled. Just a quick flash. “I’ll tell Grams. She worries whenever the vapors come inland,” she said as she motioned at the fog, “but she’ll be okay knowing Parker’s dad will be with us.” Her phone dinged again. ETA 15 minutes. Be ready.
She wished Uncle Vaughn could get here even sooner. Angelica fired off another text. We’ll both be waiting at the curb when you get here. He probably wanted to get to the quarry even more than she did—and she did not intend to slow him down.
Ella read the exchange and nodded in approval.
“I’ll get my trail cam and meet you by the street.” There was no sense keeping the camera strapped to a tree any longer—now that the papers were signed. Shadow-man would be Steadman’s problem now. Which hopefully meant Parker would leave it alone. Maybe he’d actually give her a proper tour of Rockport now.
The camera was right where she’d hidden it a week earlier. A fat lot of good it did bringing it up from Florida. She slid her pack off her shoulders, placed the cam inside, and hustled for the front of the house just as Grams walked Ella down the porch steps.
“I have a bad feeling about this, Ella Mae.” Deep worry lines creased Grams’s face. “The vapors are especially thick—and that doesn’t bode well. Something wicked this way comes. You get up to that quarry and get those boys home right now, you hear? I’ll not have those fine young men walking right into harm’s way on my account.”
Something wicked. Harm’s way. The words chilled Angelica like an ice cube down her shirt.
Ella sent Grams inside and walked Angelica to the street.
“Is your Grams always this way with the fog?”
“Always. But it’s worse this time. I haven’t seen her this bad since . . .” She held the cross necklace and stretched to look down the block. “Where is he?”
Uncle Vaughn’s pickup wasn’t in sight—and probably wouldn’t be for another ten minutes. “You haven’t seen her this bad since when?”
Ella looked at her for a long moment. “Since the night Devin Catsakis died.”
CHAPTER 73
Saturday, June 18, 5:20 p.m.
PARKER GRABBED THE BLACK TANK. Harley the silver. Both of them backed their way out of the cave. Parker stuffed one of the weight belts in the mesh bag and wrapped the drawstring tie securely around the tank valve.
Harley stood on the lip of the cave. Tested the weight of the tank, and added a shot of air to his BCD. He gave Parker a thumbs-up to be sure he was ready to go to the surface. Parker flashed the sign back, and Harley started his ascent.
Parker launched right behind him—but too close. Harley clipped him with his fin, partially knocking off Parker’s mask. He grabbed it just in time—but lost his grip on the mystery air tank in the process.
The tank—with the mesh bag and weights—plunged toward the bottom. Parker quickly cleared the water from his mask, but it was too late to save the tank. The gear had already disappeared into the darkness below him.
For a moment he stayed suspended there. Harley was a good ten feet above him now—totally unaware as to what had happened. To swim all the way back down to the bottom to find the tank? Not a chance. Not without his dive buddy—and there was no time to change their dive plan even more.
Harley looked back—as if he sensed Parker had stopped. Parker motioned toward the bottom and shrugged. Harley shook the tank in his own hand and pointed to the surface.
He was right. One tank was all they needed. If the police wanted the second one, Parker would tell them where to find it. Parker kicked off for the surface. Caught up and swam alongside Harley. Grabbed hold of Shadow-man’s tank to share the load. Harley gave him an “OK” sign and grinned.
Steadman was there waiting for them the instant they surfaced. Obviously he’d seen their bubbles and figured out their course change. Together they handed Shadow-man’s tank to Steadman. He grabbed it and looked at it for a long moment before laying it on the ground beside the rim of the quarry.
“There’s a cave with gear inside—another tank too,” Harley said. “This is the evidence we need. This is how Shadow-man did it. He’s not a ghost at all!”
Parker spit out his mouthpiece and gave his BCD a couple shots of air for flotation. “The whole Shadow-man thing was just a scheme to get people like you and Ella’s grandma to sell.”
Harley sat on a natural granite ledge a foot below the surface.
Parker joined him and peeled off his mask. “We found these, too.” He set the giant light sticks on the ground. “We need to get Officer Greenwood out here. Maybe the police can do something to stop the foreclosure thing and start an investigation.” This had to prove someone had deliberately been sabotaging the rental home business. It only made sense that BIG was behind this. He shrugged off his BCD vest and tank.
Steadman lifted their gear onto shore. “I was just about ready to gear up myself. Another minute and I would have. You didn’t follow the plan to surface at Humpback Rock.”
Parker explained how they’d gotten off course. “But it was meant to be—us finding the cave and all. God works in mysterious ways—and reveals hidden mysteries. Find the owner of this tank—we’ve got Shadow-man. And if he works for the Boston Investors Group?” Parker slapped his hands together. “Bam. The police will probably call in the FBI.”
Steadman just wasn’t getting it—or wasn’t convinced. Maybe he was still trying to put the pieces together, but he didn’t look one bit excited.
Harley inspected the silver tank from the cave. Ran his gloved hand over the serial number stamped at the base of the valve.
“Hey, Harley, the other day in the dive shop, you claimed you can tell who owns each tank just by the markings and stickers and stuff.” Parker took a closer look at a Rockport Dive Company visual examination sticker. The thing had passed the inspection—this year. “This one has been in your shop. See anything here you recognize?”
Harley turned the tank over and stared at a sticker just above the boot. Black Ops Coffee. High Caliber Caffeine. He tensed. Flipped the tank back over like he wanted to hide the sticker. “Nothing. Just like any other silver tank. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.” He glanced up at Parker—something desperate in his eyes. “I’m sure of it.”
“Really?” Steadman stepped closer. “Take another look.”
Parker’s gut twisted. Something was wrong here.
Harley pushed the tank away from him. “No, I’m positive. Never seen it before.” His voice cracked.
Harley shot Parker another look. A warning. And Parker knew. Help us, Lord. It’s Steadman!
“You say you’ve never seen the tank before.” Steadman toed the silver tank. “But your body language is telling me something very different. Actually, this looks like one of my tanks, don’t you think?”
“Hey, look,” Harley said. “I don’t know nothing about nothing. I just want to get home and take a hot shower.”
Parker needed to get some distance between him and Steadman. Maybe if Harley ran one way and Parker ran another. He slipped off his fins and boosted himself onto the rock ledge.
“Hold on, Swabbie.” Steadman drew his Glock 19 from his holster. “There’s a round in the chamber, boys, and a band of brothers lined up behind it. Fifteen to be exact.”
Both boys froze.
“You two just had to take the dive today. Wouldn’t let me do it for you. Wouldn’t let me take one of you down to keep you on course. And sure enough, you didn’t follow the plan. I warned you, too. Go straight to Humpback Rock. But you wouldn’t listen.”
Parker raised both hands. “Mr. Steadman, we don’t—”
“Want any trouble?” Steadman shrugged. “Well, it’s too late for that.” He glanced down the fogbound gravel road. “Daddy’s going to be coming soon, so we need to hurry—or he gets hurt, too. And that pretty little redhead friend from Florida—if she’s with him. You copy?”
Parker nodded.
“Empty your tanks. Like you’re in a race.”
Parker turned off the air. Removed the regulator. Cranked the valve wide open. Harley did the same. Pressurized air whooshed out.
“So it was you. The whole time?”
Steadman smiled, but he didn’t lower the Glock.
“But that first night—when I was chased. How did you . . .”
“I left you at the Old First Parish Burying Ground—right after you ditched your T-shirt. Ran for my truck. Your phone call worked perfectly as an alibi, don’t you think?”
Parker was still trying to wrap his head around this. “You’re part of BIG?”
Steadman looked smug. “There was no Boston Investors Group. War is all about deception. You ever read about the Ghost Army in World War II?” Their faces must have looked confused, so Steadman continued. “I love this story. The US Forces had this idea of appearing bigger—and in more places—than they actually were. So they had giant inflatable tanks made—not scuba tanks, but looking like real armored tanks. Their artists made them look totally legit. The Ghost Army would pack them up in trucks outfitted with big speakers. Then they’d drive past towns in the dead of night—all the time playing a recorded soundtrack of a big convoy on the move. It sounded like an invasion.”
Steadman was so confident he was taking the time to tell them a story? Parker and Harley exchanged sideways glances.
“So then the Ghost Army would set up camp and inflate those tanks,” Steadman said. “The enemy would get wind that there had been some big movement. Maybe send over a recon plane—and what would they see? Rows of tanks. They’d divert their troops or change their battle plan—and when they got to where they’d spotted the tanks? Poof! They’d disappeared like ghosts. It kept the enemy reinforcing the wrong positions—leaving the right ones unprotected. The enemy never figured it out—and we won the war, right?”
