Thank God for Irish Women Ch. 09

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

After my normal duties, I left Emily still sleeping and walked to the main house. Dad was returning with the newspaper, and we walked together into the kitchen.

Mom made biscuits and sausage gravy. Her buttermilk biscuits were wonderful and the foundation for many of my best memories of breakfast at home.

While eating, Dad asked, "You leaving this morning?"

"Yeah, we need to get on with it. Driving to North Platte today and staying at a Hampton Inn tonight."

"That is one boring drive. Nothing but field after field," he said.

Mom added, "I thought I'd pack a lunch for you. There's plenty of fried chicken, potato salad, and carrot cake left."

"Thanks Mom. We should be able to find a rest stop with a picnic table."

Dad and I stood and embraced. He said to give his love to Emily and asked me to call when we arrived in California. He headed off to the dairy while Mom and I continued to talk.

Not long after he left, my cell phone rang. It was an Atlanta phone number, and I answered it.

"Hello."

"Good morning, this is Detective Lindsay at the Atlanta Police Department. Is this Matt Anderson?"

"It is. How are you sir?"

"Just fine, Matt. Where are you?"

"I'm at my parents' farm near Des Moines, Iowa. It's early, but Mom has already fed me breakfast."

He laughed. "That's good, I remember my mom fixing breakfast when I was a youngster. I also grew up on a farm over near Alabama. That was a long time ago."

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Is Emily Ryan traveling with you?"

"Yes she is; she's still in bed, I'm afraid."

"Matt, our department received a call from the Stanford University Police Department two days ago. They're investigating a marijuana distribution network that was on campus, and they were asking about Patrick Jones."

Chills ran through me. "What did they want with him?"

"They think he was involved with another couple of guys who were growing the stuff somewhere. They've searched his apartment but didn't find anything. One of the neighbors told them that Patrick and Emily had left for a vacation trip but that Patrick had been killed here. They were trying to confirm that."

"Did you tell them what happened?"

"We did. This morning, I sent a copy of the crime and autopsy reports. I checked the tox report before I sent it and there was no evidence of marijuana in his blood. Our dog also searched the vehicle during the investigation and there was no evidence of drugs found. So as far as we could tell, Patrick was clean. That was all in the report.

"The reason I'm telling you this is that they are now looking for Emily. I think they just want to ask a few questions, and it doesn't seem from what I can tell that they suspect her of anything. But, they do have the DEA involved for some reason so this is not just a simple marijuana case."

"Why would they bring in the Drug Enforcement Administration?"

"That would happen if there's a broader scope, like interstate money flow, major drug cartel involvement or the like. But don't worry about that for now. It's just an investigation.

"I didn't have Emily's phone number but knew you and she were probably together since she used her credit card in West Des Moines yesterday."

"You guys know everything, it seems. How did you know her credit card number?"

"We inventoried everything found in her purse."

"But you didn't copy down her cell phone number?"

"That was an oversight."

"Oh!"

"No matter if she's involved or not, it'd be better for her to call them and not wait for them to show up at her door. I doubt she's involved, but you never know. People will fool you sometimes."

"I appreciate the heads up on this. I owe you."

"No you don't. I felt very bad for Emily and the way our department left her exposed all night. That never should have happened. How's she doing?"

"She's doing good. She's very strong and seems to have moved on with her life. We're having a fun time together."

"Glad to hear that. Here's the phone number and the officer in charge is Sergeant Williams." He gave me their number as I wrote it down.

When we disconnected, Mom asked, "What was that about?"

"That was the police detective who investigated the murder of Emily's boyfriend. It seems that Patrick was involved in the marijuana drug business in California, and the Stanford University Police Department is looking for Emily. They know that Patrick was murdered, and they want to ask Emily a few questions."

"Why did he tell you this?"

"He wanted Emily to know what was going on and have her call them before they show up at her apartment. He felt like he owed Emily a favor."

"That's nice of him. Do you think Emily was involved?"

"Of course not; at least, I hope not. She told me that she knew he was involved and didn't want me to call the police that first morning when she thought he was still alive."

"Could she be charged as an accessory if she didn't report his involvement to the police?"

"I've no idea. Marijuana is such a minor crime I'm surprised they're chasing it down like this."

"Have her call today and get it over with."

"I will."

I left the kitchen and walked to the guesthouse to check on Emily. She was dressing and said, "Hey sweetheart. Did you have breakfast?"

"Mom fixed biscuits and sausage gravy. It's very good."

"Yum."

"Emily, I need to tell you something."

Her face immediately showed concern. I quickly recounted the call with Detective Lindsay and she was shattered.

"Matt, I wasn't involved. As I said the morning we met, Patrick told me before we got to Atlanta about his friend getting arrested. He got a text message from some other guy about it. He told me he needed to confess his involvement. He said that he was only an investor and didn't actually grow or deal with the weed. He financed it.

"We had a terrible fight, unlike any other argument we'd had. I know now about his brain tumor and that might have contributed to how irrational he was being. He hit me for the first time ever."

She began crying and I reached to hold her.

"Matt, please believe me. The first I knew of his involvement was the day before he was killed."

"I believe you, Emily. Your apartment was clean and so was the car. Patrick's blood was also clean. Did you and Patrick keep separate bank accounts?"

"Yes, we always did that."

"Let's go over and get some breakfast for you and then we'll call. Mom heard my call with Detective Lindsay and knows what he said."

"Oh God! What does she think about me now?"

"She thinks you're wonderful, just like I do."

As her tears flowed, she asked, "Matt, why does this always happen to me? Just when things are going great, it happens again. Like I said, the next disaster is always around the corner. I'm cursed."

"Emily, you are not cursed. Please don't ever think that. We'll get through this. I am with you every step, and I know God is."

"Matt, you're the only reason I can keeping going. I'm very sorry you got pulled into my messed up life."

"I'm not." I grinned and joked, "There's a new surprise every day." We hugged and walked together, hand in hand, to the kitchen.

Emily gave Mom the same details she gave me and Mom was visibly relieved. She and Emily hugged for a long time as tears flowed. Once calm, she only picked at her food before breaking down into nervous weeping. Mom and I tried to console her.

At 10:30, the car was packed, except for her last bag and makeup pouch. We decided to make the call to Sergeant Williams from the guesthouse. I dialed the number, eventually getting through to him.

"Sergeant Williams speaking."

"Hi Sergeant Williams. My name is Emily Ryan. I understand from a friend that you've been trying to reach me." Emily was nervous, but her voice was firm and clear.

"Hi Miss Ryan, can you give me a moment?" I put the phone on mute.

"Emily, he's going to record this conversation. Let's record it also." She nodded, and I turned on the voice message app on my iPhone.

"Sorry about that. Yes, I need to ask you a few questions about a case we're investigating. Are you in the area?"

"No, I'm in Iowa."

"Oh. When will you be returning to California?"

"In four days."

"Well, let me ask you the questions over the phone if that's okay."

"That'll be fine."

"First, I understand that you're a friend of Patrick Jones. Is that correct?"

"Yes, I was."

"I also understand from the Atlanta Police Department that Patrick was the victim of a homicide in Atlanta earlier this month. Are you aware of that?"

"Sadly, yes."

"Mr. Jones has been implicated in a drug crime here on campus. Were you aware of that?"

"Only recently."

"Did Patrick tell you anything about his suspected involvement in drugs?"

"The day before he was murdered, we were driving toward Atlanta when he received a text message saying that Bobby Taylor was arrested. When he saw that, he confessed to me that he and Bobby were partners in growing weed. We had a terrible fight about it. Until then, I had no idea he was involved."

"You never saw or suspected anything prior to that?"

"No, I didn't."

"Did he tell you the scope of his involvement?"

"He said he was financing it. He denied growing or distributing it."

"Where did he get the money to finance it?"

"I've no idea."

"Did you have access to his bank account?"

"No, we were dear friends and lived together but we had separate accounts."

"There was a deposit into your account a couple of weeks ago for $5000. What was the source of those funds?"

"Why did you access my account?"

"Ma'am, we had a search warrant issued to view both Patrick's account and yours. It was part of the investigation. I'll give you a copy of the warrant we gave your landlord. It covers the apartment, car, and bank records."

"That was a loan from a friend of mine to help me pay a deposit to Stanford University for my admission this fall."

"Who is that person?" She looked at me, and I nodded.

"Mr. Matthew Anderson."

"And what is Mr. Anderson's relationship to Patrick and you?"

"He's a friend of mine, but Patrick didn't know him."

"Oh, okay. We may have some questions later. May I have your phone number so we can contact you?" She gave it to him, and he thanked her before ending the call.

She broke down crying.

"Emily, you did great. Don't cry sweetheart."

"I can't help it Matt. I'm scared to death. Do you think he'll charge me with anything?"

I replied, "That call was straight forward. I didn't hear anything he could use to charge you based on what you said. The fact that you only knew about it the day before he was killed proves you weren't an accessory in the crime."

"Sweetheart, there's one other clause in my trust fund agreement that I forgot to mention."

"Oh."

"It's a morality clause. If I'm convicted of a felony, I lose the trust fund. I completely forgot about that until now."

"That doesn't surprise me. Your granddad is trying to preserve the family name it seems. Believe me, you will not be charged with any crime based on what you've told me."

"I hope you're right, but my track record in life sucks. If something bad can happen, it'll happen to me."

"If it does, we'll fight it together. But please don't worry about it."

"I'll try."

"Let's go and thank Mom and hit the road. She's packing a picnic for us."

While I loaded the car, Emily went inside carrying the earrings. I remembered the other gifts I'd bought her and quickly retrieved them. In a few minutes, they walked together out to the car. Emily was carrying a small cooler with our lunch. Mom was wearing her new earrings and was obviously pleased with them. Both were smiling as they hugged and kissed each others' cheeks. Mom and I hugged, and I thanked her again for having us and feeding us so well. She reminded me to call when we could.

We refueled prior to turning onto I-80 to continue our journey to the coast.

****

On the way to North Platte, Nebraska, I asked Emily, "Do you know how much Patrick invested in the marijuana folly?"

"No, he didn't tell me numbers. Like I told the policeman; I have no idea where he got the money. I never saw any evidence of it."

"You mentioned that his dad was very well off. How did he make his money?"

"Patrick told me that he made it in the stock market. I know he worked as a consultant to the banking industry, but I don't know more than that."

"Could he have given the money to Patrick?"

"Sure. He was always giving him money for one reason or another. Patrick was a full-time student and I was the only one working and bringing in money. We had to have his dad's help."

"The great thing is that you had separate bank accounts."

"Yes, he always insisted we have separate accounts. I bought some of our food, and I paid for part of the utilities and insurance. I bought my own clothes and paid for any laundry or dry cleaning I needed. I have a small car that my stepdad gave me when I turned sixteen, and I paid for gas and maintenance on it."

"He paid for everything else?"

"Yes, he did."

"Did he have just one bank account?"

"I don't know. We never talked about it."

"Well, let's not worry, Emily. We probably won't hear anything else about it."

(I was wrong. A much larger danger was lurking.)

"Matt, I keep thinking back to what might have been. If he were not killed, he'd have been arrested while we were in South Carolina. I might have been arrested as an accessory because I never would have reported him. We'd have lost everything because of his stupid involvement. And even if he managed to get off, his brain tumor would have killed him in a few years. It seems that God had other plans for me, and here we are.

"Your mom told me that we'd know someday why bad things happened to those we love. I think I know now why God took him from me and brought us together."

"That might be right. It somehow seemed to all work out after you approached me that morning. Why did you choose me to ask for money? There was another guy at the next pump."

"I liked the way you were dressed, and you were driving a new car. I thought you might have a few dollars you could spare."

"You seemed very nervous to be asking."

"That was the first time in my life that I'd asked a stranger for anything. I was desperate and scared."

"That had to be a very lonely feeling."

"I've felt lonely since Mom died, in all honesty. Patrick and I had a good relationship, but we were not like you and I are. He never shared his secrets and innermost thoughts. I did with him, sometimes, but he was not the one to listen and help me think through issues as you do. I loved him totally and completely, but I was still lonely."

"You had many girlfriends and Shannon."

"Yes, and I did share some secrets and very personal thoughts with them. But none were like Mom. Before her death, she was always there for me. She was my best friend and I miss her very much. Sometimes when everything is quiet at night, I talk to her in my mind. I know it's just my imagination, but sometimes I hear her, and her advice is always right."

"I did that with my grandfather after the plane crash. I remember dreaming about him and talking to him at night. Sometimes I felt him close to me, and I could almost hear him giving me advice like he always did."

"The only secrets Mom kept from me, as far as I know, were the relationship with her parents and the family history that we've discussed. She was obviously ashamed of what she did and didn't want me to know."

Emily was silent for a few moments before reaching for my hand.

"Matt, I'm very glad we can talk and tell each other everything."

"I am too, Emily. I love you very much."

"And I love you too, sweetheart. More than you will ever know."

Thursday, May 27, 2010

After a long and uneventful drive from North Platte to Salt Lake City on Wednesday, we drove on to Reno, Nevada. Again, the scenery made it a boring drive.

Emily was dressed in a halter-top and her short jeans skirt. As I drove, she reclined her seat and propped her bare legs and feet up on the dash to sun them. They looked sexy. The truck drivers thought so as well. Several times, I'd pass an 18-wheeler and hear the driver sound a couple of blasts on his air horn. I supposed that was his equivalent of a wolf whistle.

I glanced at Emily, and she was grinning. I asked, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Something must be. You're wearing a big grin." She was silent but continued to smile.

"I shouldn't tell you this, but it's funny, in a way. Last summer, before I visited my grandparents, my girlfriends and I would go out on Saturday afternoons for a couple of hours and drive up and down the interstate highway. We had a contest to see which of us could get the truck drivers to blow their horns. We called it 'show and blow' and had a ton of fun with it."

"What were the contest rules?"

"Each of us took turns in the front passenger seat. We were allowed to reveal anything we wanted when driving past a trucker. The object was to get him to blow his air horn. For every blast on the horn, we got a point. Sometimes, we'd score big with three or four blasts. Each of us had 10 minutes per round and there were three rounds to a game."

I grinned and glanced at her. "How did you do?"

"Oh my... I never should have told you this." She giggled.

"Go on, tell me."

She let out a deep sigh before continuing, "I think I still have the record with 49 points in one round and 93 in a game. However, Debbie was breathing down my neck. She got 91 in a game a week later."

"What did you do to get that many points?"

"Matt, I'm ashamed to tell you. It was so juvenile."

"Emily, you can't hold back now." She looked at me, shook her head, let out another sigh and, eventually, continued.

"Well, I just let my right boob hang out and rubbed my nip with my finger when we drove slowly by. I was always in a miniskirt, and it was hiked up around my waist with my panties showing. That usually got a couple of points."

"Were you allowed by the contest rules to pump your hand up and down to show the driver you wanted him to sound the horn?"

"No, that wasn't allowed. If you got caught doing that, you were penalized four points."

"What did the other girls do?"

"Trish is very well-endowed and she would plop both of those puppies out and smile at the driver as we went by. I think that was so shocking to them that they sometimes forgot to sound their horns. Occasionally, we would drive by women truckers and the looks on their faces were priceless. Some blew their horns.

"Lynn was even bolder. She'd put her knees up in the seat and moon the drivers. It was a fine looking butt, and she scored many points. But, some of the drivers thought she was insulting them and got mad. Whoever was in the back seat usually photographed their faces when we drove by, and you could tell that some of them were pissed off. Lynn learned from that and changed to playing with herself and smiling at the trucker. That worked."

"What did Debbie do?"

"She has beautiful legs and should be a swimsuit model. She would wear short shorts that showed all of her legs. She would rub lotion on them as we drove by the trucks. It didn't hurt that she's a very cute girl, and she always looked at the drivers and winked at them. Debbie was hot, and the truckers liked her."

"How did you manage to score so high in one round?"

"We thought one of the first truckers in my round must have given a shout out to others ahead of us. Three or four minutes into the round, we came upon ten or twelve trucks all in a row and driving much slower than normal. We think they were waiting on us. I gave them a good show and the horns were going off like popcorn popping. I thought I had scored much higher than 49 but the others only agreed to give me credit for that."