Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(66)
Josie finally pulled into Otto’s driveway and stared out the front window of the car. They remained silent for a minute, both still caught in their pasts. She felt his eyes on her as she shut the engine off.
“I’ve been doing this a lot of years,” he finally said, his voice quiet. “I’ve worked with people who crumble with the first ransom demand, others who never drop a tear, and everybody in between. I have a good sense for how a person will handle this kind of ordeal.”
She looked at him, understanding that he was offering her something, and she realized how desperately she wanted his advice and his strength. Mostly she needed him to give her hope. She wanted him to convince her that he would bring Dillon home safely. That Dillon would survive, get his life back, and that he wouldn’t be forever damaged by what he experienced.
“You have the grit to make it through this with your soul in one piece,” he said. “But you’ll have to trust me.”
She nodded.
“Here’s what you need to understand. I’ve seen people at their breaking point, when they think they can’t take any more. I’m here to tell you right now…” He paused and the intensity of his stare was unnerving. “You can always take more. Always. You listen to me, you do what I say, and you’ll make it through this.”
Nick held her gaze a moment longer, then turned from her and opened the door. By the time she took it all in, he was already making his way toward Otto’s house. She wanted to call after him, tell him to come back. He had said nothing about Dillon. He’d not said that Dillon would make it through this, only her.
NINETEEN
Even though their time together was brief, there were life lessons that Josie learned from her dad, things that he taught her before he was killed. He had been good at math, something she struggled with, especially “story” problems. She could still remember sitting at the table one evening, in tears as she stared at the endless words floating on the assignment page: trains traveling a certain distance at certain speeds with so many stops and breaks and the question of how long it all would take. Her dad had sat down with her and said, “Break it down, Josie.” He’d taken her pencil and rewritten the problems on a sheet of notebook paper. Then he had her underline each piece of relevant information, splitting the paragraph into separate pieces that she had to plug into an equation. He’d worked through a half-dozen problems with her, and once she’d begun to understand the process, he’d stood from the table and ruffled her hair. “It’s how you fix a car, or build a house. It’s how I solve a crime when I’m on the job,” he had explained. “You examine all the details, you break them apart, and then you figure out how they all fit back together again. You solve the puzzle.” As a cop, she thought often of this moment.
Josie stared into the plate of roast meat and potatoes as conversation among Delores, Otto, Hec, and Nick hummed around her. Like her childhood self, she felt overwhelmed with details. She felt like the puzzle was so jumbled that she couldn’t ever pull it all together.
“Josie? Can you help me in the kitchen a minute?”
Josie looked up and saw Delores smiling at her from down the table. Josie scooted her chair back, placed her napkin beside her plate, and followed Delores through the swinging door to the kitchen.
Delores asked Josie to cut the pie on the worktable. She absently picked up the knife, slicing through the warm apples. Delores set down dessert plates beside the pie and turned to face her.
“Josie,” she said, hands folded at her chest. “I’m worried about you. I know you’re a tough one. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through right now. But you have people who care about you. We want to help, but you have to let us. You see?”
Josie felt the lump rise in her throat, unable to reply. Delores’s eyes were a watery blue, her face wrinkled and powdered. She squeezed Josie’s arm and then began carrying plates of pie into the dining room.
*
Hec acted as any eighteen-year-old boy might, eating two helpings of everything, including pie and ice cream, and laughing at the stories Otto told about his days as a farm boy in Poland, as if he wasn’t caught in the crosshairs of one of the most deadly organizations in Mexico.
After dinner Delores ushered everyone into the living room so she could clean up, refusing offers of help. The Podowski living room was small, packed with a brocade couch and love seat, Delores’s rocking chair, and a recliner that Otto settled into from long-standing habit. Nick took the love seat for himself, and Josie and Hec sat on opposite ends of the couch. Each time Josie came to Otto’s house she was struck by the warmth that permeated the home, from the meals to the handmade pillows on the couches and the family photos hanging on the living room walls.
Once they were all settled and quiet, Hec became anxious, sitting with both hands tucked between his thighs as if trying to keep them still. He knew what was coming next.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed the evening, Hec,” Otto started. “I want to be clear; everyone in this room wants the best for you. There’s no one here looking to trick you or trying to set you up to get information about your dad. We’re here because we believe the Medrano cartel is camped out behind your house, openly spying on you.” Otto paused. “Is that true?”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.