Chapter 12
Harmony Roman--Twenty Minutes Earlier Harmony hung up her phone and dropped it on the Formica-topped table in the break room, the clatter of the plastic the only sound besides the buzzing of fluorescent lights and the contented hum of the refrigerator. Tenting her hands across the back of her head, she leaned forward and groaned. "Dane. What the hell are you doing to me?" Straightening, she scrubbed her face as if to wash off the strain that her friend had put on her. "Seriously. What the hell." It wasn't even a question, that last one. Just…frustration. With a sigh, Harmony stood, staring at the phone without touching it. More than anything, she regretted telling Dane the truth. She wouldn't have been able to live with herself otherwise--she knew that well enough--but that didn't change the fact that all of this was happening because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. Her Hufflepuff-level of loyalty was at fault here. And, in her heart of hearts--in the place where she kept her feelings for Dane--she recognized that, even if she had known how crazy it would get, she still would have shown him the video. He needed to know. It was only just. Another sigh as she scooped up the phone and mindlessly turned it on. The picture of a Noah sunrise filled the screen. She swiped up on the text message app shortcut. Dane's was on the top, the most recent entry. She opened it up, thumbs hesitating over the digital keyboard. What should she tell him? "Harmony?" She jolted, more because her own thoughts were heavy enough in her mind that she hadn't noticed that her dad now stood in the hallway than because she was actually surprised. "What?" she asked, clicking off the phone and putting it into the poor-excuse for a pocket on her jeans. "Hey, are you going to the Amleths' tonight?" "Um, maybe. Why?" Her dad leaned against the doorsill, a folder in his hand. He stared at it with a furrowed brow, the kind of expression that was equal parts alarm and confusion. "I need to talk to Clawson, but he isn't answering his phone." Harmony pulled on her knit cap and smoothed her hair about it. "Is there something wrong?" "Maybe." Dad sighed, moving back and out of the way so that she could exit the break room. "I think I may just be tired, but I came across this paperwork that makes me think that Northern Way Ranch is maybe…" He stopped and shook his head. "Shoptalk, sweetie. Just, if you see him, will you let him know that I need to talk with him? In case he didn't get the two voicemails. Or the texts." She forced a smile. "Some hyperconnected world we live in, huh?" "Yeah," said Dad, still distracted. "You headed home?" "I--" The rolling tapestry of shadows and lights bloomed on the walls, letting her know that someone had just pulled in. It was past closing time, and it wasn't really common to have a lot of foot traffic for a realtor's office. She squinted as the large vehicle shook with the gentle movement of being put into park. The passenger door popped open and, to her surprise, Clawson Amleth started to emerge. He paused, talking to whoever was driving--probably Sheriff Madsen, since the sheriff had come through earlier in the day to get him. "Dad!" "Hmm!" "I'll go get him." "Who?" "Clawson." She gestured as she hurried to the front door. It was locked--Marcie Rall had clicked the deadbolt into place when she'd left for the day so that no one simply wandered in, desperate for directions through town (which did happen from time to time)--so she had to unsecure it before cruising through. Clawson didn't see her immediately--probably because the streetlight was a good hundred yards away and the building's light cast a feeble yellow glow that was basically worthless. She jogged up to him and blurted out, "I'm glad you're here. Dad said that he needed you to see something." Clawson gave her a startled look. "See what?" Harmony was about to answer, but caught a weird look on Sheriff Madsen's face. Instead, she shrugged. "He was trying to call you, but you didn't answer." "I was talking to my fiancé," said Clawson in a way that sounded almost like a growl. Harmony glanced back at the sheriff. He had a strange expression playing across his face as he looked at her. She knew that, if she had to tell a guy what the expression was like, she wouldn't be able to say what, exactly, it looked like. (If she told some of her girl friends, they all would know immediately what she meant.) It was enough to make her skin crawl. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. "Hello? Harmony!" She broke eye contact and said, "Um, I'm not sure. Fifteen, twenty minutes." "I'm going to go ahead," said Paul from inside the SUV. "If it's all the same to you." Clawson chewed his lip, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, go find Gwendolyn. Leave the rest to me." "Okay. I'll call you before you go to bed, tell you what's up." Clawson nodded, slammed the door shut, and gestured at the building. "Ladies first." Harmony faked a smile and then went inside, keeping the door propped open with one hand so that she could move out of the way and let him into the office. "He's in the back room…" "I know the way," said Clawson, his irritation almost palpable. He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Harmony alone. As soon as he was out of sight, she whipped out her phone and fired off a text, her thumbs a blur: You're lucky. Clawsons at office. Sheriff is on his way to lodge. You've maybe 20 minutes before Clawson arrives. I'll try to stall him. She sent it, then took a deep breath. What could she possibly do to slow him down? When she and Dane had discussed the plan, it hadn't been something like this--a serendipitous arrival and an actual window of time in which to enact it. They had a couple of loose possibilities for how she could help keep Clawson from the Lodge, but "shoptalk with Marshal" wasn't one of them. The phone buzzed. Dane's response was perfunctory: Stall as long as you can. K, she shot back. It wasn't eloquent, but it got the message across. Her mind reeled as she stood in the semidarkness of her father's real estate office. Sending the text reminded her of what she'd been talking to Dane about just before Clawson arrived. Her friend had told her about an awkward conversation with Gwen where he'd "kind of lost my temper". He mumble-mouthed some things about not feeling quite right and that he regretted what he'd done--it hadn't made a lot of sense. He said that he was going to try to find his dad's GoPro--the whole point of their plan--and he'd need her help. Then he had to sign off, since Ryan and George had shown up and he would have to deal with them. Now she was helping him out again. What was wrong with her? She needed to sort out her priorities. It felt like things were growing in complexity, quickly getting out of hand. She didn't want to think about the consequences of what might happen if Clawson caught Dane snooping around. While Harmony might not bear the brunt of the Amleths' wrath, Dad wouldn't be happy about what they were doing. Not only that, but what, exactly, was she supposed to say to Clawson that wouldn't get him instantly suspicious? She walked toward the office, the conversation clearly an uncomfortable one. There was a heat in Clawson's voice, though she couldn't hear anything distinctly, that was clear to her. Swallowing hard and willing her heart to not thunder too loudly in her ears--the nerves of trying to trick a murderer (a maybe murderer; they didn't know for certain) making it hard for her to think clearly--she peeked her head around the corner of the door. "Hey, Dad?" Both men froze, then turned toward her. "Yeah, Harmony?" She swallowed again and stapled a smile to her face. "Hey, I just realized that I can't go home yet because I came with you today, remember?" "Oh, man." He shook his head and gestured at the paperwork. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but this…this is kind of a bad time…" "Do you need me for anything else?" said Clawson in a voice that only thinly veiled how pissed he was. "No, I don't think so," said Dad with a sigh. "It's just…it'll take some time to clean this all up. You know, if you had just--" Clawson stood abruptly. "Fix it, Marshal. That's all you need to do." It had only been a few minutes since she'd texted Dane; he was probably in the middle of his search. If Clawson left now, it would only take another five, maybe seven minutes before he was back to the Lodge. Desperate, Harmony didn't know what else to do but ask, her heart in her throat and her palms sweaty, "A-are you leaving?" Clawson glanced at her. "Yeah, I've gotta go." "So…Dad?" She cleared her throat and summoned her courage. "Can I go with Clawson?" She put out a hand and leaned back, as if to better see the man. "That is, if it's okay with you. I know it's sort of out of your way." Clawson's jaw audibly gritted together. "It's okay with me," said Dad. "In fact, it would help a lot. I could get this stuff done sooner if I don't have to run her home. Would you mind helping me out?" Harmony couldn't decide if the rush that fluttered her stomach came from relief that her dad had vouched for the idea, or fear that she was climbing into a car with Clawson Amleth. The fact that he didn't know she suspected him was her only solace, and it was a thin one. Still, Dane needed her help. She had to do something, and this was the only thing that she could think to do. "All right, fine," said Clawson in that growl-like voice he'd used earlier. "I can do that really fast." Harmony let out a breath that she'd been holding and forced that smile on her face again. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry to make your night harder." He shook his head. "No, it's no trouble. It helps out Marshal, which means that it helps me out. Entirely selfish." He, too, forced a smile on his face that she saw through: He was not happy about this. Mouth dry, she leaned over Dad's desk and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Love you, Daddy." "I love you, too, sweetheart. I'll see you at home." "Yeah." She didn't add, "If I live that long", as it probably wouldn't have gone over well with either male in her company. "Bye." Dad flashed a smile, but was already back in his world of words and laws, his face wrinkled with concentration. "Come on," said Clawson, stomping his way to the front. "I do need to get home quickly." "I'm sorry," said Harmony again, apologizing mostly out of instinct--she'd seen her fair share of "alpha males" who didn't brook being contradicted and saw apologies as effeminate and demeaning. In this case, it seemed the best way to keep what was clearly an agitated man from getting too upset. "I really appreciate it." He grunted an acknowledgment and the two of them climbed into his BMW M3, which sat low to the ground--so low that, if he were to take it much farther up the road past the Lodge, he'd bottom out on the dirt- and gravel roads--and made Harmony feel like she was about to land on the parking lot's pavement. Stretching all the way out, she pulled the heavy door closed as Clawson fired up the engine and spun the wheel, spitting them out of the parking stall and facing SR 85. "You're…where?" "Seventeen eighty-two west and third south," said Harmony. Like most Mormon-colonies-turned-towns, Noah was built on a grid system, with everything being on the compass rose in relation to Main and Center Street. While it meant that the streets were unimaginatively named, it also meant that finding an address was a breeze. Three hundred south was actually north of where they were, so he turned right onto SR 85, gunned the engine, and accelerated so quickly that Harmony had to clutch the door handle to keep herself from flinching in fear. Clawson didn't bother signaling as he changed lanes and sped up, the blocks slipping by with a dizzying speed underneath the sparse oasis of light coming from the streetlamps. Harmony fished out her phone and opened up the texts. She tapped in a message to Dane, then turned off the screen, all the while her heart thumped inside her chest. "Who you texting?" The engine's purr was audible, though muffled, and almost blocked out Clawson's question. "Huh?" She looked at her phone. "Oh, just… Gwen." "Madsen?" Harmony swallowed and forced that smile onto her face--for the first (and, likely only) time, she was grateful for the number of awkward conversations she'd had to endure with clueless guys at parties or clubs, because it meant that she could smile without meaning it with almost no effort--before saying, "Oh, yeah. She's a great girl." Inwardly, she berated herself for such a stupid saying. "She's a great girl." Who said something like that, honestly? Clawson said, "I think she's dating my son." She bristled at the use of the word. "Dane?" "Who else?" "I, um…I heard that things aren't going well for them…" She trailed off as Clawson slowed the car, waiting for a string of southbound cars to pass before turning left onto Three Hundred South. She could just barely see Trucker's Burgers and Fries about a block further up the road before the turn finished and they were into the residential area. He accelerated into the neighborhood, only slightly modifying his speed from the State Road. "Yeah," said Clawson, his voice distant. "I heard the same thing." Harmony thought of the conversation that she'd had with Dane. He told her about the small camera. Were Dane's suspicions true? Had Clawson been spying on him? Was that why the sheriff had looked so angry, why Clawson was so begrudging to help her out? Harmony couldn't say for certain, but it made sense. Every other block, a yield sign was posted to control the flow of traffic (inasmuch as traffic ever "flowed" through the acre-plus lots that made up the neighborhood), none of which Clawson cared about. He drove almost mechanically, so much so that, upon arriving on her block, Harmony had to almost shout "This is it!" to get him to stop in time. The brakes squealed just a little as he scuttled to a rest slightly past the driveway. "Wow," said Harmony, forcing that smile back on her face. "Your car is pretty impressive." By this point she wasn't even sure what to do, but she knew she had to do something; Dane counted on her. "How fast can this thing go?" "Dunno," said Clawson, fiddling with the gearshift. "Pretty fast, if necessary. Here you go." Harmony, defeated, gave him a timid thanks, then got out of the car. The door was hardly closed before the BMW whipped around in a tight circle--an impressive feat, she had to admit--and growl its way back toward SR-85…and the Lodge. Pulling free her phone, she drafted another text: He's headed your way from my house. I tried to stall him, but it was no use. You have about ten minutes. Make them count. She looked over the words, then tapped the Send button. "Good luck, Dane," she whispered to the cold November air. He would need it. |