Adieu to Destiny (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod Book 4) Read online

  Kenna was not part of this ninja mission--she generally sucked at keeping secrets. Jazy would not trust her, even though Kenna loved animals, too. Jazy did have a soft spot for the sister that had saved her from a certain death by suffocation, but not that soft. I was listening to the rumbles in my gut again. Yes, it needed food, but it was also saying Kenna was somehow involved with that farmer coming home early.

  Kenna looked around blankly for a second, as if trying to figure out where she was, but nodded agreeably and climbed in behind the wheel.

  She tried to act nonchalant. “Where’s your car?”

  “Keep going this way.” I said, “The car’s parked up the road on the left.” I patted the big dog’s head when he plunked it on my knee. In the warmth of the enclosed interior, I wasn’t sure who smelled worse, the dog or me. I hit the button for the window. “So talk.”

  Kenna fiddled with the rear view mirror. I saw her glancing back at me while she pulled her red knit hat off, brown spiral curls springing free to trail down her back. Kenna’s fine-featured looks and airy motions were always ethereally twitty, but despite her careless attitude while putting the car in gear, it was obvious that tonight she was an especially nervous fairy.

  “I was meeting my friend at a dive bar in Kenyon,” Kenna began, and even though I didn’t move a muscle or say a word, she rushed on defensively, “no, I wasn’t going there to drink! Didn’t you notice that I’ve been straight all week?”

  Kenna was a menace on the road on the best of days. She had inherited our grandmother’s lack of driving skills. I must be in some sort of brain shock to have jumped into the back seat without thought. Tonight as she drove, her hands were gripped at the ten and two position while they constantly jiggled the steering wheel. You’d think we were hurtling through space while she dodged rocks in a bumpy asteroid field, not driving at twenty mph on a straight road.

  Not rising to the bait to argue about her drinking habits, I replied evenly, “Yes, I did. I’ve had fun being around you this week. You’re a good time when you’re sober. Keep talking.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Bel. It’s been a fun week for me, too.”

  I smiled grimly at her begrudging, slightly amazed tone when my sister admitted to having fun with her family, without being anesthetized with booze and drugs. “Good. Go on.”

  “My friend’s car supposedly wouldn’t start,” her breathy voice took on an annoyed edge, “but when I got there, I found out my friend and the car had just left.”

  Whenever Kenna talked about ‘my friend’, it was usually a generic term that referred to the latest guy in her life. I gave up trying to keep track of her friends long ago. If she was getting serious with a man, and in her world that meant marriage, I would learn his full proper name sometime between the wedding and the divorce.

  Curious, I asked, “Why didn’t they call to save you the trip?”

  “Oh well, I guess that was my fault.” Kenna shot me a sheepish grin over her shoulder. “I forgot to charge my cell phone.”

  I was thinking, “Judge not that ye be not judged” when the Prius lurches dangerously close to the steep ditch. “Hey, eyes on the road, Kamikaze Kenna.”

  I didn’t think the Bible was telling people never to judge--there were too many other quotes that adjourned us to do the exact opposite. Everybody needed to judge, the good and the bad. It’s how we discerned, how we evaluated, how we avoided being a hypocrite. The point of judging was not to be a smug bastard that thought you were better than others, but to keep an open mind. You should try to look at both sides. Just because you might not approve of something didn’t mean it was necessarily wrong. After you did all that judging, then you needed to be prepared to come down with both feet when something or someone did require a good romping.

  “Whoops, sorry! Don’t freak out.” Kenna laughed and jerked the steering wheel back, as I felt myself getting queasy. “You haven’t called me that name in a long time.”

  “That’s because I make it a point never to ride with you,” I groaned. Stinky growled and climbed over me to stick his head out the window. I couldn’t agree more. I manhandled the dog’s huge head aside to make room for mine. The cold air rushing in was revitalizing. “Please finish your explanation before I barf all over your car.”

  Kenna stretched her neck up to see through the rearview mirror into the back seat. “You mean you really do still get car sick in the backseat?” She sat back with another small laugh and marveled, “Here I thought for all these years you used that as an excuse to always ride shotgun.”

  “It’s a week for revelations,” I muttered, closing my eyes and resting my forehead on the cool metal edge of the window while the car swerved back and forth. I visualized snapping my sister’s skinny stem of a neck.

  Once I realized it was my grandmother’s uniquely horrible driving skills that caused my backseat nausea, of course I had milked it to ride shotgun for the rest of my life. But that came after the one and only family driving vacation we went on to the Badlands. I had gotten violently ill and projectile vomited into a handy blanket. When we arrived home, it was to find that I had become a legend in my own time.

  I thought I’d done a good job of quick thinking to grab a blanket to contain the spray, but the story of my vomiting spread and reached epic proportions. At its zenith, I had puked into the faces of every family member riding in the car and completely ruined the upholstery.

  From that day forward, all drivers insisted that I sit in the front seat with an air vent pointed at my face. They hushed my eldest sister’s grumbles with condemnations not to be “so selfish to poor little Anabel.” The little kids, Jazy and Reg, applauded my promotion to perpetual princess of the front seat. I would turn and wave, and we’d smile back and forth frequently while ignoring the glowers from Mac and Kenna. Resenting me in the shotgun seat was the only time my eldest siblings were in perfect agreement. I was impressed the little kids cheered for me; despite the fact it meant they were doomed to be uncool, backseat riders forever.

  Kenna twiddled with the heat and I moaned, “Kenna, I swear to God, if you don’t quit it and start talking…”

  “Okay, okay! Jesus, do you mind? It’s a little freezing in here with the window open,” she complained. “When I didn’t see my friend, I went into the bar to use the ladies. There were a few old men sitting right there, drinking and being obnoxious. The walls to the john were like paper thin because I could hear every word they were saying.” She glanced up from the road into the rearview mirror, as if wanting to gauge my reaction, but I kept quiet. “This one old dude was saying he wasn’t staying to play cards tonight because he had to go take care of some bitches on his farm. Well, the other men were giving him a hard time like, ‘Bitches? You can’t get it up, Gus. What bitches would be waiting for an old guy like you?’ Kenna laughed nervously. “I thought the old man was bragging, too, until he said, ‘Yuck it up all you want, assholes. I may be old, but the day I can’t handle a big blonde with tits out to here and her little girlfriend is the day old Gus here will hang it up. I don’t care if she’s some famous ice skater; I’ll show her a move or two, if she thinks she can screw with me.’

  I interrupted Kenna. “Turn left up here. What happened next?”

  Kenna slowed to almost a crawl and put on her blinker while I rolled my eyes and tried not to scream.

  “Umm, I hurried and wiped when the dude said he was leaving. I mean, how many tall, blonde, famous skaters with tits out to here are there around here? I had no idea why Tre would have anything to do with an old farmer,” she wrinkled her nose, “but the man sounded so mean, it couldn’t be good. I didn’t have anything else going on until later tonight, so I decided to follow him.”

  I pushed Stinky back off my lap and sat up, peering through the windshield to spot Jazy’s car up ahead in the beams of Kenna’s headlights. “You followed him, huh?”

  “Yes, I did,” Kenna affirmed proudly, hands wiggling the steering wheel as she drove slowly on the narrow
road. “I knew if the man was talking about Tre, then the other girlfriend must be Jazy, since those two are attached at the hip.” She glanced in the mirror again and exclaimed, “I never thought I’d see you out here! It sounded like they were in some kind of trouble and I wanted to help.”

  I hit the button to close the back window. Toeing off my running shoes, I unsnapped my jeans and rolled them off my legs. In the backseat, the dog’s buggy eyes gleamed with interest as he cocked his head and watched my every move.

  “Perv pup,” I muttered. Stinky’s response was to curl up on the opposite side of the seat, tuck his big head under a paw, and let out a big sigh. Rolling the jeans up, I tied the legs together with the wet in the inside. I stuck my feet back into my shoes.

  I leaned forward and said nonchalantly, “Gimme your phone for a sec, please.”

  “I was just going to ask if you had yours,” Kenna replied, but she didn’t hesitate to unplug the phone from the charger in the console. She passed it back without looking while saying anxiously, “Are you going to call Jazy or Tre? Do you know where they are?”

  “Don’t you think we should verify they’re okay?”

  “Yes, I do,” Kenna instantly agreed, sounding relieved. “I’ve been waiting for my phone to charge because I forgot to put it on the charger until a little while ago. Hopefully it will have some juice now.”

  It did. I scrolled through her call and text history quickly while I casually answered her question. “I have no idea where Jazy is right now, probably having dinner with Blanca, but we have plans to go to Brisbane’s later. I think Tre J is out with Bob Crookston.”

  Kenna had made no texts or calls in the last couple hours, so she was probably telling the truth about her cell phone dying. She had one incoming call around 5:45 p.m., but it was a number with no name. I didn’t have any cell numbers memorized, which was a little alarming to realize, but I found Jazy’s number listed under contacts.

  Jazy’s phone was answered, but there was no greeting, only silence.

  I said cheerfully, “Hi, Jazy. My phone is dead and Kenna let me borrow hers.” I continued my one-side conversation while Jazy remained mum. “Where are you?” Kenna was alternating glances between me and the road as she swerved back and forth. I quickly nodded at her and flashed a reassuring smile along with the okay signal before she drove us into the ditch. “Hey, that’s what I told Kenna. Oh, we ran into each other out on a road in the country. We think we both got cranked and fell for it. Yeah, too funny is right. That’s Kenna’s phone beeping, so I’ll see you at nine then? Okay, bye.”

  I placed the phone back into my Kenna’s raised hand and said, “Jazy’s about to drop Blanca over at Stella’s for the night.”

  She had actually dropped Blanca off two hours ago, so it was a timing issue, not a lie. I was trying to keep my lying to the minimum needed only to throw Kenna off the scent.

  Kenna’s slight shoulders slumped in relief. “That’s a load off.”

  I pointed over the front seat. “There’s my car. Pull over here.” I patted my sister’s shoulder as she did what I asked and rolled to a stop. “Okay, so let me see if I got this right. You just happened upon the very bar where this old dude was making threatening noises about somebody resembling Tre J and possibly our sister. To be helpful, you decided to follow the old dude when he left the bar?”

  “Yes,” Kenna replied and added quickly, “but then I lost him and have been driving up and down the roads for twenty minutes trying to find where his truck went.”

  I opened the back passenger door, but Kenna cried out, “Hey, wait a minute!”

  Sitting back, I crossed my arms over my chest and replied, “What?”

  “What are you doing out here tonight, anyway?” She asked a different question before I could answer the first, “Are you guys going to James Byrd’s party later?”

  “I got a phone call,” I lied without hesitation again, and let my voice rise in annoyance, “but not anything about a farmer or a truck. Mine was a phone call from an unknown number with directions to come to this area. The voice said a friend was hurt and hung up. It was a mean crank, as far as I can tell.” I ended offhandedly, “And no, we’re meeting up with Pam and John later at Brisbane’s, so I won’t be going to James’ party.”

  “I heard James invite them to come to the party when we were all at your apartment last Wednesday night.”

  I shrugged and climbed out of the back seat. “They didn’t mention it, so I don’t think we’ll be going.”

  “Oh, okay.” Kenna looked away briefly, but I caught the small satisfied curve to her mouth and recognized her relief at my answer. She rolled down her window when I closed the back door and asked curiously, “But why were you out walking?” She gestured to my bare legs, “And why did you take off your pants?”

  “Since I drove all the way out here, I was checking the ditches. I had to be sure nobody was lying around hurt before I left.” I sighed in irritation. “I took off my jeans because they were chafing.”

  “Oh, okay,” Kenna repeated again, but glanced in confusion at the neatly tied jean bundle in my hand.

  I bent a little to look down into the front seat at my sister. “I have no clue why somebody called me tonight.” I frowned. “Do you?”

  “I don’t know anything about you getting called,” she rushed to assure me, earnestly.

  “Huh. I hope that’s true,” I answered in an unconvinced tone and stood up, waving unobtrusively towards Jazy’s car parked off the side of the road. I could almost feel my little sister’s cold gaze sighting me down the barrel of her gun, although the car was dark and appeared empty.

  “Jesus, Bel, of course it’s true!” She huffed, frustration evident.

  Since I knew she was telling the truth because the call was fictitious, I’d be huffy too. With my sister Kenna, there was never an “of course” when it came to the truth. She was a difficult one to interrogate because she lied a lot, and often for no good reason that I could determine. It would be nice to say it was the drugs and booze that made her do it, and while that gave her plenty of ammo as an adult, she’d been a chronic little liar since we were kids.

  “Are you absolutely sure your friend that you’re protecting didn’t have something to do with tonight?”

  “Of course they didn’t,” Kenna answered quickly, but her laugh was nervous and she turned her head to stare forward out the windshield to avoid my eyes.

  Kenna got crazy violent and would take on the world when loaded, but not so much when sober. She had a defensive temper when she felt cornered, but her way of avoiding confrontation with most people was to pretend it didn’t exist, or she lied through her teeth to keep herself out of trouble.

  Luckily, it was a rare occasion that I required the truth from Kenna for anything important. When it was necessary, I had to sift through the answers Kenna gave to differentiate the truth from the lies.

  I treated the situation similarly to a verbal version of a lie detector test. I first asked her easy baseline questions I already knew the correct answers to and that she could breeze through honestly with no pressure. Sometimes that worked well enough to get Kenna warmed up and she’d stay in truth mode. If she did insist on being dishonest after the easy questions, her facial tics stood out more and were easy to read.

  “I’m very serious here, Kenna. Would you tell me if you thought your friend had anything to do with tonight?”

  “Why is it your business? I don’t answer to you,” she retorted and glared up at me. “Why do you think it was my friend? I told you it was a bunch of men talking in that bar. You’re the one that got a crank call. What if it was your friend playing a joke on you?”

  “This is no joke,” I replied quietly and held her eyes steadily. “Kenna, nobody I call friend would ever consider cranking me like this.” I said with urgency, “Think a second here, Sister. The voice that called me didn’t mention a mad farmer or the possibility of Tre and Jazy being here, but said somebody was hurt. If t
hat was true, they could have given me legit details. When I find out the identity of the person who sent me out here, I will kick their ass. No way this was done out of the kindness of their heart.”

  Kenna nodded slightly. “Yes, it was a crappy thing to do.”

  “Please think over whether this friend of yours has your best interests at heart. You’re right, I hardly expect you to answer to me,” I paused and added softly, “but you don’t ever want me to find out you protected some friend at the expense of your own little sister.”

  Kenna protested, “But Jazy wasn’t even here!”

  “And if she had been?” I challenged.

  Kenna made a scoffing noise, but dropped her eyes.

  I said dryly, “I see we understand each other.”

  Looking straight ahead, Kenna stated between stiff lips, “I was only trying to help, Bel.”

  I didn’t respond to that, but replied, “Until we know what’s going on, I strongly suggest you tell nobody we were out here tonight. Who knows if this crank is crazy? I don’t want you to get hurt, either. Swear to God?”

  She glanced up at me quickly, but her voice had lost the attitude. “A little paranoid, don’t you think? So we were sent on a wild goose chase, it’s not the end of the world, is it?”

  I frowned. “I hope not, but I’d feel a lot better if you swore.”

  For all her lying, not even Kenna would dare to cross the line of breaking our family’s sacred swear to God--she simply evaded committing the oath.

  “I feel you need to chill,” she chuckled, “but I don’t try and make you swear to God, now do I? Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” Her shoulders slumped down. “I hope you’re happy now because I was trying to help…”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time,” I said, smiling as well, but my voice was firm, “but what I didn’t hear was you swearing to God, so that I don’t have to worry.”

  She laughed a little and raised her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, I swear to God.”