It was time, however, to begin to gather — to review her own life through her own lens. There were things that didn’t make sense, but they were gaining clarity. That much was certain.
From her purse, she pulled a thumb drive that Jake’s father had handed to her when she’d gone to his house. While she had spoken to Jake just the one time, his father, ever the lawyer, had moderated the exchange of the flash drive, ensuring she received it and that Jake had delivered it. Apparently, Jake had gone back into her dad’s house after the NCBI agents had taken her to the airport, to retrieve the portable memory device. He had seen it on the desk in the guest bedroom. She stared at it for a long time, wondering what it might contain. Taped on it was the inscription:
Amanda: Just in case… I Love You, Dad
CHAPTER 50
Amanda woke up with an impossible migraine. With time of the essence, though, last night she had mapped out her plan.
She quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a tight green T-shirt that said “SMILE” across the front. It was the first thing available. Style was less important than speed. She slipped on some clogs and moved quickly to her car before her mom or Nina could stop her momentum. She heard them call over her shoulder, but continued on, waving over her back as she had done before. She was making a munching motion with her hand, like a gator mouth yapping.
In the Mercedes now, she sped to the Charlotte Hospital, found a parking spot and was knocking on Riley Dwyer’s room when a nurse came up to her.
“Can I help you, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m a friend of Miss Dwyer’s. I need to just make sure she’s okay.”
“Well, she’s feeling better. Let me see if she’s taking visitors.”
Momentarily the nurse reappeared and held the door open for Amanda.
She stood about ten feet from the bed; her jaw would have hung to the floor had the mandible allowed such an extension. Riley Dwyer was purple throughout her face and neck, her right arm was in a cast, and her eyelids appeared shut.
“Com’ere, kiddo,” is what Amanda thought she heard Riley say.
She moved closer to Riley, almost fearful that moving too close might hurt her. Though the idea was illogical, it seemed possible given the nature of her injuries.
“Well, you look… better.” She didn’t know what to say.
“Fanks for comin’.” Again, almost unintelligible.
“You’re welcome, Miss Dwyer.” She fidgeted for a moment, picking at her fingernail.
“Whasson yer mind.” The words came out tinny and hollow, not fully pronounced, but recognizable nonetheless.
“Riley, I mean, Miss Dwyer, I need a lawyer. Do you know a good one?”
Riley lay still for a moment, not that she had much choice in the matter. Her beautiful auburn hair was splayed across the back of the pillow like a translucent orange fan growing from a coral reef.
“Write,” she mumbled and tried to make a writing motion with her hand, but winced in pain.
Amanda retrieved a pen and paper from her small book bag.
“Harlan Woxworth.”
She shook her head. “Woxworth. Woxworth.”
“That’s what I said.”
Riley shook her head again and sighed in frustration.
“Oh, Foxworth?”
She shot Amanda a thumbs-up with her left hand. Then she pointed to the counter.
“What? You want me to get something?”
Riley nodded.
“I don’t see — oh, gotcha,” Amanda replied. She stood and grabbed Riley’s purse. She fished a day planner out of it. Thumbing through the address portion, she found the phone number.
“Okay, now more importantly, did Jake do this to you?”
She shook her head.
Amanda sighed. “I knew it. Can you tell me who did this? A clue? Anything?”
Riley was drifting off to sleep as the nurse came in and touched her arm, indicating it was time for her to leave. As they reached the door, she heard a muffled word: “Write.”
Amanda looked back over her shoulder. “What did you say? Did you say, ‘write’?”
Riley nodded and made a writing motion with her left hand.
“Okay, okay, what do you want me to write?”
Riley was unresponsive, though her hand was pointing at the newspaper at the foot of the bed.
CHAPTER 51
Charlotte, North Carolina
The nurse pulled her away, and Amanda found herself heading back toward her car. She punched in Mr. Foxworth’s phone number, got a young-sounding assistant, and asked if he could see her on short notice regarding the death of Colonel Zachary Garrett.
A minute passed to two as she negotiated her car out of the parking lot in the direction of North Carolina on I-85, where she would find the attorney’s office.
“This is Harlan,” came a strong, authoritative voice.
“Mr. Foxworth, my name is Amanda Garrett, and my father’s been killed in Afghanistan. He left me a will with some complicating issues, and I need someone I can trust. My father’s girlfriend, Riley Dwyer, who is lying in a hospital right now with her face beat to a pulp, told me to call you.”
“I’m sorry about your father. What about Riley? Is she okay?” Genuine concern shrouded his words.
“I think she’s going to recover, but right now she’s not okay. Can you see me today? Now?”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“No. I’m starving.”
“Meet me at Starbucks off Piedmont.”
After a twenty-minute drive, she nosed into an empty space at Starbucks. As she stepped through the doorway she scanned left and right, then picked out her mark. He looked nice enough, bespectacled and probably in his mid-forties. He had a round, friendly face and a receding crop of dark hair. He was hunched over a newspaper.
“Mr. Foxworth?” Amanda asked, tentatively.
“Yes, please have a seat,” he replied, looking up at the teenager.
Amanda sat in the metal chair opposite him. He looked down at his paper and up at her. “Have you seen this?”
For the next five minutes Amanda read with horror the story in the Charlotte Observer. She read it several times over and then put her head into her hands.
“Is this true?” His voice was somehow comforting, as if he didn’t believe any of it. He was probing what she might think.
“Who knows? I don’t know. I mean, no. How could it be?”
She watched him take a bite of a muffin and place it back onto the napkin.
“Want something? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. Suddenly lost my appetite.”
She checked the byline of the story. “Who the hell is Del Dangurs?” she asked.
“I’ve seen some articles by him in the past and have never been very impressed. He does book reviews and some commentary on other light-weight trivia like the dating scene and so forth. This is a bit out of his lane.”
“Out of his league.”
She watched him study her as he held a half of a blueberry muffin in his hand. He turned the paper around and looked at it again. “Well, how can I help you? Other than the obvious.”
She finally decided to eat something. She ordered an egg sandwich. As soon as it arrived, she realized how hungry she really was. She was still stumped about where to begin. With just a few days to go until her eighteenth birthday, she knew she needed to move quickly if she was going to pull it all off. Her plan involved more than simply getting the money. Her realization of what had been taken from her spawned new goals that she fully intended to achieve.