Back Where She Belongs

chapter SEVENTEEN



TARA SAT BESIDE DYLAN at a small table in Wharton’s testing office. With them were Dale Danvers and Jeb Harris. Jeb and Dale knew only of the first part of the mission—to look for patterns in part failures. Tara had been able to read the serial number on one of Dylan’s engine close-ups, so they planned to look for it among the failed parts lists.

Tara glanced at Dylan. He looked as awful as she felt. His eyes were red and haunted. He was unshaven, his face gray with exhaustion. She hadn’t been able to talk to him, but she guessed his misery wasn’t just about the possibility that a Ryland part had caused the wreck.

She’d missed him terribly last night. At midnight, she’d gotten all the way to her car, ready to drive to him before she realized how foolish that would be. This wasn’t a romantic movie where you forgot all that was wrong between you and figured love would find a way. Love couldn’t find a way past a dead-end.

“You okay?” Dylan asked her. “What happened to your hand?”

She looked at the scrapes on her knuckles. “From the thorn bush.” She’d found the bumper in a thick bush and had to pull it out. It had had dents and scrapes, and streaks of light blue paint—definite signs it had been hit. She’d put a call in to the insurance agent, hoping what she’d learned from the reconstructionist and figured out herself would trigger an investigation.

“The reports on the failed devices.” Jeb set two thick notebooks of printouts on the table. Dylan took one, Dale the other. “Here’s my analysis.” Jeb presented Tara with several pages of colored graphs and charts with percentages of failures on each date for the past month. The graph showed a steady line, except for a few sharp dips.

Dylan was holding the slip of paper on which she’d written the serial number, while he scanned the report pages. After a while he traded books with Dale. When he’d finished he caught Tara’s eye and shook his head. Not so far.

“These reports only go back a month,” Dylan said to Jeb.

“We recycle every four weeks. Haven’t you got enough there?”

“I’d like to see the earlier results, when we did have a component problem. For comparison purposes.”

“It’s on the computer,” Jeb said with a sigh. “Archived.”

Dylan and Tara looked over Jeb’s shoulder as he clicked through screens.

“Also, we’d like to take a few of the failed parts to test them ourselves,” Dylan said.

Jeb shot him a glare. “I’m only tolerating this so-called review because our lawyer ordered me to. You aren’t the only people who stand by their work.”

“We know that, Jeb,” Tara said. “It will reassure the Ryland team that Wharton has nothing to hide.”

Jeb shook his head, irritated, but going along...so far. “I’ll tell Matt to hold a couple from the recycle load. He’s due to haul it out today.”

“Thanks, Jeb,” Dylan said. “We appreciate that.”

“I want this fixed as much as you do. And, for the record, I don’t buy that your father installed our rejects in any damn car that’s still on the road.”

Tara saw that as her cue. “Do you guys put Wharton batteries in your own cars, by the way?”

“Some do. We put them in free for employees. Here’s the first week,” he said, motioning at the screen for Dylan.

“Because my father had one put in his Tesla,” she continued, her heart racing. “I assume it was done here? He’s an employee, after all.” She held her breath, waiting for the answer.

“It’s possible. I didn’t see it.” He kept his attention on the screen.

Matt Sutherland stuck his head in the door. When he saw the visitors, he stiffened, which caught Tara’s attention. “What’s going on?”

“They’re reviewing our test reports,” Jeb said.

Matt blanched. What was that about? Tara got a prickle. She tried to catch Dylan’s eye, but he was glued to the screen.

“Grab a couple of yesterday’s duds for them,” Jeb said to Matt.

“But they’re already loaded on the truck,” he said, almost panicky.

“Then pull a few off,” Jeb said, turning to look at his assistant. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing. Stuff at home, I guess. We have an appointment this afternoon, so—”

“That’s twice this week,” Jeb snapped.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s her blood pressure. They’re worried about it. Tuesday was the hospital tour, so that was the extra time.”

“At least book the appointments on days you’re not supervising. I don’t have time to run your shifts and mine, Matt.”

“I’ll try. We’re stuck with Thursday appointments because of the doctor’s schedule.”

Thursdays. Tara felt a jolt. She looked down at the graph before her. The days with hardly any faulty parts were Thursdays. She looked at Tuesday, the day Matt had been at the hospital. A dip. Electricity sizzled through her. The high error rates took place when Matt was in charge. Could he have manipulated the tests to make Ryland look bad?

He was acting jumpy about the bad units, too.

“You know if anyone put a battery in Abbott Wharton’s car?” Jeb asked him.

“Abbott Wharton?” Now the pink in his cheeks flooded his face. “He would go to his own mechanic, wouldn’t he? Tony Carmichael? Out at Auto Angels? He does most of the e-cars in town.”

That was a lot of information, as if he was trying to shift attention away from the guilty party. Had Matt installed the part? And if he had, so what? Why hide it? Unless he knew the part was faulty....

“Carmichael didn’t do it,” Jeb said tiredly. “That’s the point.”

“Then I don’t know,” Matt said. “I need to get back to the tests.” He was gone in an instant. That had been odd. Was he just guilty about missing a shift?

Dale flipped the book closed then looked at Jeb. “I know the equipment’s off-limits, but I need to see your calibrations to get what’s going on.”

“Ah, hell. Let’s go.” Jeb Jeb’s willingness to investigate made Tara certain he’d meant it when he said he wanted this worked out. Tara and Dylan were alone in the office.

“Look at this chart,” Tara said. “There are dips in error rates whenever Matt’s off.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Every Thursday. And the Tuesday he mentioned the hospital visit?” She tapped the dip.

“Hmm. You think Matt messed with the readings? Boosted the fail rate?”

“It fits. Plus, when he saw us here, heard we were looking things over, he got upset.”

“He sure as hell didn’t want us checking the rejects,” Dylan said.

“Right. Because he knew they weren’t duds. If it’s true, then the fail rate is bogus, Dylan. There’s nothing wrong with the Ryland assembly.”

Dylan leaned back in his chair, running his hands down his face. “Damn. That would save us.” He smiled, his face cleared of worry for a few seconds. “Now how do we prove it?” He rolled closer to the desk, leaning in, giving her that jolt, making her miss him in the middle of the investigation.

“Let’s show this to Jeb,” Tara said. “Let him test the units Matt’s about to haul away for himself. That should get him on our side.”

“Jeb’s a decent guy. He’ll do the right thing.”

“So, have you checked all the numbers? Is the Tesla part there?”

“Not yet. I’ve got a few more screens to look at.” Dylan went back to the monitor, searching more numbers. After a few seconds, he said, “Damn. It’s here. From the first failed lot, back when we had bad components from our Tennessee supplier.” His face was gray, his eyes bereft of hope. “It was our part. We caused the wreck, Tara.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I am.” She felt sick about it.

“I hope you were serious about that crisis plan.” All his relief had been replaced by gloom.

“Don’t forget it wasn’t just the part. The car got hit from behind. We still need to find who that was.” She paused, as a thought occurred to her. “There’s something else. Matt acted weird when Jeb asked if he knew who put the part on the Tesla. I’d bet money it was Matt.”

“How do you figure?”

“He was trying to deflect the blame to Tony Carmichael, giving us too many details. That suggests he’s hiding guilt—his or someone else’s.”

“Why hide that he put on the part?”

“Because he knew it was faulty when he installed it,” she said slowly, as the realization hit her.

“But most of the rejects weren’t bad and he knows it.”

“So he did it deliberately. Why? To harm my father? I can’t believe that. It required a crash to activate the circuitry flaw.”

“Maybe he wanted to harm Ryland,” Dylan said slowly. “You saw how hostile he was during the meeting.”

“And he brought up your bad supplier the day I took the tour. He even mentioned the plant in Tennessee.”

“Yeah. But what would he get out of that? He has relatives who work for Ryland. Friends, too. If Wharton dropped us as a supplier, Wharton’s production would suffer, as well.”

“Why then?” They looked at each other, both thinking it through. “Wait a second,” she said. “I remember something. At the funeral, Faye’s assistant told me about the factory manager who got fired. She said Pescatore had told people Wharton was going to shut down the factory and outsource assembly to a plant in Kentucky. Maybe she meant Tennessee.”

“If Wharton outsourced, Matt and a hell of a lot of other people would lose their jobs. Maybe he wanted to discredit the Tennessee plant, keep Wharton from sending work there.”

“It’s a decent theory. The only way to know is to talk to Matt.”

“Why would he admit any of it?”

“Because we’ll ask the right questions at the right time in the right way.”

“This is your area, Tara. I’ll follow your lead.”

His confidence in her felt good.

Dale and Jeb returned to the office at that moment, Dale looking frustrated, Jeb triumphant. “I don’t get it,” Dale said. “The calibrations look good. I don’t know what the problem is.”

“Like I said, we stand by our work,” Jeb said.

“I need to get back, if that’s all right,” Dale said to Dylan.

“Yeah. Go ahead. We’ll keep working here for a while.”

As soon as Dale left, Dylan and Tara laid out their case for Jeb. He listened, looked at the chart, shook his head in puzzlement. “I know you’re showing me my own data, but it sounds crazy.”

“That’s why you need to grab some rejects before they get recycled and test them yourself,” Dylan said.

“Guess so.”

“We’d like to talk to Matt, if we can,” Tara said. “See if we can get him to explain his thinking. That okay with you?”

Jeb looked at them both. “I sure as hell can’t talk to him right now. I’ll tear him a new one. Tell him I said to forget the recycling for now.”

“Will do. Thanks, Jeb,” Dylan said.

“Just figure it out. We’ve got production quotas to hit.”

Tara grabbed the digital recorder she used to capture thoughts when she was driving, and handed it to Dylan. “Put this in your shirt pocket. We’ll record what he tells us.”

They spotted Matt walking into a small hangar near some panel trucks. They set off at a lope, strategizing as they went. Closer, Tara saw palettes of parts stacked beside one of the trucks.

“Go time,” she said.

Dylan turned on the recorder and they went inside and found Matt bent over, shifting crates around. “Matt?” Dylan called to him.

“Huh?” He jolted and turned, looking guilty as hell, a dusty box in his hand. “I got the part you want.” He flushed.

“No need. We’ll grab a couple from your stack outside.”

“No,” he blurted, which told Tara their theory was right. “This is what you want.” He thrust the box at Dylan.

“Because these are actually bad,” Dylan asked, “while the others are perfectly good?” Dylan was playing bad cop. Tara would show sympathy when the time felt right.

Matt flinched, his eyes darting everywhere, desperate for escape.

“You put a bad unit in Abbott’s car, didn’t you, Matt?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly, his eyes going cold, his jaw locked.

“Don’t bother to lie. We can prove it.” Not true, but it clearly terrified Matt, who went white except for red blotches on his neck.

Tara’s instincts fired up. It was time for her to speak. “We know you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” she said. “Whatever you did, you did for everyone’s good, to save jobs and help people. We know you’re that kind of guy.” She spoke slowly and warmly, hoping to draw him in with her sympathy.

He softened slightly and swallowed.

“You go to the doctor with your wife, Matt, even when your boss hassles you. You’d do anything for your family. You’re a family man. I admire that. And Wharton’s your family, too. You felt like it was your duty to save them. Because family counts.” Those were the words he’d used in the electric cart that day.

His eyes shot to hers, almost proud. He was breathing fast and shallow, scared, but also strengthened by her kind description of his motives.

She didn’t speak, waiting for his confession to bubble up.

“I had to do something,” he finally said. “Pescatore said they were going to outsource assembly. He saw the proposal on the fax machine. TGR Manufacturing in Tennessee. He got fired for spilling the beans.”

His jaw muscle twitched, his eyes gleamed with fervor. “We work hard. Everybody on the line. The whole plant. We put together a good product. They wanted to go cheaper. It was Banes pushing it. I knew it would ruin us. It would ruin the whole town.”

“So you had to fix it somehow,” Tara said, urging him on.

He nodded once. “You get what you pay for. Cheap vendors make cheap products. I had to prove TGR was a bad company. I had to monkey with the tests. I had no choice. It would have happened anyway, later on. All Ryland had to do was admit it was TGR’s fault, then find a better supplier. Nobody would get hurt. Easy.”

He ran his hands through his hair, then jammed them on his hips, looking down. He swallowed, glanced at Dylan, then Tara. “When Mr. Wharton drove out here a couple weeks ago, it was after hours. I’d come back after the doctor’s appointment to catch up on reports. He said he had a wager going with Sean Ryland about the Ryland assembly. He asked me to put one on.”

It had been her father who requested the installation, after all, Tara realized. She’d been wrong to attack Dylan’s father.

“I got this great idea. If I put in a bad unit, he’d give Sean Ryland hell and that would be the end of the debate.” His voice took on a desperate, panicked quality. “I’d saved a few bad ones so I could match the calibrations on the tests I messed with. So I put one in. All that should have happened was a stall. That’s all. Not a wreck. It couldn’t cause a wreck. Like the Ryland guy said, it couldn’t get dangerous without a torque or collision. When he was killed, I couldn’t believe it. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

He blinked hard, looking away, his face crumpled as he fought tears.

Tara looked at Dylan, whose mouth was a grim line, his eyes full of sorrow. She felt the same way, burning with outrage, swamped with sadness. Such a waste. Such a tragedy. So many people hurt. And all over a rumor. Her father would never have closed down Wharton.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Matt asked, looking like a prisoner about to be hanged. “I swear I didn’t know this could happen.”

“We need you to repeat your story for the police,” Dylan said. “And we want a statement certifying that the drive assembly units Ryland provided Wharton Electronics were functional, that you rigged the test results. Agreed?”

“Whatever you say,” he said miserably. “I’m done for no matter what. Jeb will fire me. With the baby coming, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

“One step at a time, Matt,” Tara said, realizing she’d echoed her mother’s advice about having a child. “First, tell the truth, then deal with the consequences.” Her heart went out to him, but he’d done a terrible thing. “My father would never have closed the factory. The company and the people who worked for him meant too much to him. He sacrificed all his earnings and investments to keep it going until the profits from the new battery came in. You should have asked about the rumor, not taken it as truth.”

Matt hung his head. He’d been scared. People did stupid things when they were scared. She’d seen it over and over in her work. “Can I call my wife, tell her where I am? She’ll have to go to the doctor alone.”

Dylan and Tara stepped away to give him privacy while he broke the bad news to his poor wife. “I’ll drive him in, Tara. You can get going.”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” she said. “It wouldn’t have if Wharton management had kept its employees informed. That’s what I would have told Faye if I’d really listened and tried to help. I might have prevented the accident after all.” Guilt washed through her and she bit her lip.

“One piece of advice can’t turn a company around, Tara.”

“I know that. I still regret not doing my part.”

“Now we have to go forward, make things right where we can.”

She nodded, grateful for Dylan’s steady presence, his reasonable words. “Matt’s confession will bring an investigator out here for sure. We can email the tape we just got. If we’re lucky, the investigators will figure out who hit the car. They do in-person interviews. Someone needs to pin Fallon down.”

“We may never know what happened, Tara. You have to be prepared for that.”

“Maybe when Faye wakes up, she’ll tell us.” The possibility seemed far away and Tara’s chest felt hollow and hopeless for a moment. She forced herself to stick with what she could do, not what she hoped for.

“I hate to say this, but my father was right,” Dylan said. “We were being sabotaged by Wharton testers.”

“And I owe him an apology for what I accused him of.” Dylan had been right. She had been too eager to blame his father. “Wharton wronged your company. We need to set up a meeting to discuss how to correct that.”

“That will be good. I think we just saved Ryland Engineering. If you hadn’t pushed for the truth, we would likely have lost the Wharton contract. I owe you for that, Tara. I’ll always be grateful.”

“We made a good team,” she said, trying to smile. “Mostly. Except when I was naming suspects right and left.”

“That’s true.” He smiled, then got serious. “But you made me see one thing. I have worked long enough with my father. I need to get on with what I want. Since it looks like the company will survive, I can leave when I planned.”

“I said some harsh things. I exaggerated. I know that.”

“There was enough truth in what you to get me thinking and a conversation I had with Victor made it even clearer. I told my father I’ll be leaving the business as soon as it’s feasible.”

“I’m glad then,” she said, emotion rising in a wave inside her. “If that’s what you want for yourself.”

“It is.”

Hearing him declare his independence from his father made her proud of him. He’d listened to her rant and calmly sorted the wheat from the chaff. She loved him more than ever. She’d said unfair things to him, and she hated herself for that.

“When I came here, I thought I was a better person,” she said. “I thought I’d gotten past the bad feelings, the bad attitude, but I guess not. I guess I couldn’t get past the imprint.”

“That’s not the whole story, Tara. You’ve done a lot. You put up with some pretty terrible things here, but you’ve kept your head most of the time. You’ve reached out to your mother, accepted her on her own terms. Your parents left you guessing growing up. It takes a big person to see past that.”

“Thank you, Dylan.” She tensed against the urge to cry. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“You do know how to love,” he said in a rough voice, his eyes burning at her. “Once you believe that, there will be no stopping you.”

“Goodbye, Dylan.” She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, embarrassed to see she’d left a tear on Dylan’s cheek. She wiped it away with her palm, turned and nearly ran for her car, blinking back the rest of her tears. She had no time to cry.

Tara had meetings to schedule, key people to inform and plans to make, including how to start a meaningful dialogue between Wharton management and its employees. She had a big job ahead of her. She would do her best. For Faye. For her father. For the company. Hell, she just might make a worthy contribution to Wharton Electronics, after all.

She was pretty sure her father would be proud.

* * *

AFTER AN EXHAUSTING afternoon at Wharton, Tara went to the hospital to tell Faye about the breakthrough. She sat in the chair and took Faye’s pale hand, noticing the nail polish was still bright. Her sister hadn’t been able to twitch a finger, let alone chip a nail.

Faye had been unconscious for seventeen days. How long could she last? Every day that passed without change made it more likely that Faye would die. The thought nearly killed Tara. She fought down the choked feeling, the ache in her throat, and gave Faye the news.

“We know what happened to you. A bad part was put in Dad’s car to prove a point that didn’t need to be proved. All that’s left is to learn who bumped your car. The insurance company will be sending out an investigator anyday.” The adjuster had put in an expedited request.

“We’ll fix what’s wrong at Wharton, too. I’m here, and I’ll stay until things are right again. Please wake up and help me.” Her sister’s eyes seemed shadowed to Tara. She continued to waste away beneath the sheets. Unable to stand the sight, Tara glanced away. Her gaze snagged on the photo of the two sisters and their mother, Faye in love and happy.

“We couldn’t make it work, Faye. Dylan and I. We’ve hurt each other too much. Dylan’s here forever and I can’t wait to leave.” She swallowed hard, the pain of the breakup burning through her more powerfully than ever.

“What would you tell me, Faye? Am I right or wrong?”

When you love someone, you forgive them. Faye had told her that about her father and the ruined model ship. Love was supposed to open your heart, make new things possible.

But wasn’t Tara too crippled? You know how to love, Dylan had said so fervently that she knew he believed it.

Could it possibly be true? When Dylan had broken her heart the first time, Tara had built walls against anyone who might hurt her. She told herself she was being smart, staying focused on her career, on the things she could control, but the truth was she’d been afraid. Afraid to risk her heart.

Tears slid down her cheeks. Not again. She’d lost it with Dylan already today. But sitting with Faye, knowing her sister accepted her for who she was, she decided to let go. She cried for Faye, for her father and her mother, for all the mistakes and misjudgments she’d made, and for losing Dylan all over again.

A tear dripped onto Faye’s hand. When she reached to wipe it off, her sister’s hand twitched. Tara froze. “Faye? Did you do that? Are you awake? Move your hand again.” She’d made that request so often, getting nothing back, she was totally blown away when Faye’s finger lifted again.

“Oh, my God! You did it. You moved. On purpose!” Tara grabbed her hand, holding it loosely. “Can you squeeze?”

There was the tiniest bit of pressure, but it was there.

Faye was waking up. Tara didn’t need Rita and her flashlight to know that. She pushed the call button. When a voice asked what she needed, she yelled the news. Nurses came running. Rita checked the responses, then grinned at Tara. “She had to come back, girl, to turn off that bad music.”

“Whatever it took,” she said. “I can’t believe she’s waking up.”

Faye groaned and turned her head.

“Faye? Can you hear me?” Tara said.

Nothing.

“Will she be able to talk?” she asked Rita.

“It happens different ways,” Rita said. “Be patient.”

“I can do that. I can be patient. You bet.” She grabbed her phone and called Joseph. He was so silent at first she thought he’d hung up on her. Then she heard a gasp and knew he was crying.

“She loves you, Joseph. Come see her. You’ll start fresh. You’ll try harder. You’ll ask more questions and listen more closely.”

Why can’t you do that with Dylan?

Next, she called her mother. “Faye’s awake, Mom. She’s coming back to us.” Her mother made a choked sound. She almost sounded more upset than relieved. So odd. Tara told her that Joseph would be picking her up, then clicked off.

Finally she called Dylan and told him.

He got choked up, too, but in a happy way. “Thank God, Tara. I’m so glad. Dad’s here, too. We’re both glad. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She was relieved he’d assumed she’d want him here. He’d supported her from the beginning. He should be here for the happy ending.

She clicked off the phone.

The neurologist arrived and told Tara some sobering things about Faye’s recovery—the difficulties she might have with speech, memory and mobility. It wouldn’t be easy, but Faye had fought her way back to life. She would fight her way back to full function.

“I knew you would make it. You’re the strongest person I know.” Faye was coming back to her. This time, she would listen, be there for Faye the way Faye had always been there for her.

When Joseph arrived, he lunged for his wife. “Faye,” he choked out, pushing back her hair, kissing her forehead, looking at her with pure adoration. Tara had underestimated Joseph by miles.

Had she underestimated Dylan? Herself?

Tara noticed her mother hadn’t come in. “You picked up Mom, right?”

“Still in the hall.” He kept staring at Faye, as if he feared that he might miss a word or a look if he turned his head for even a second.

Tara went to find her mother. She stood a foot from the door, frozen, a terrified look on her face.

“It’s okay, Mom. Come talk to her.”

“I don’t know what to say...how to make it right.”

“Make what right? Your quarrel? Faye won’t care.”

Her mother didn’t move.

“The neurologist said she likely won’t remember the accident or the hours before it for a while, maybe never,” she said to jolt her from her trance.

“She...might not...remember?” her mother said haltingly, hopefully.

Tara pulled her arm. “Come and see her.”

Slowly her mother came into the room. Joseph stood and motioned for Rachel to take the bedside chair.

She sat stiffly. “Faye...” she said so softly Tara could hardly hear her. “I’m so sorry. More sorry than I can say.” Her mother did not sound happy at all.

Tara had the terrible feeling that rather than praying for Faye to wake up, her mother had been dreading the possibility. Tara’s instincts flared.

“What’s going on, Mom?” Tara asked. When she shifted her body to better see her mother, the movement knocked the Sunset Crater photo down. Picking it up, she noticed Faye’s foot near the heart-shaped dent in the fender of the powder-blue Mercedes. Powder-blue.

She pictured her mother’s car in the garage, where she saw it each time she pulled in and out. There was no dent, heart-shaped or otherwise. When Tara had arrived, her mother’s car had been in the shop. She’d assumed it was an auto shop. “The Mercedes was at the body shop, wasn’t it?” she asked abruptly.

Her mother blinked at her, her muscles so tight that her hair shivered.

“You were the one,” Tara said, her mouth so dry her tongue stuck to her lips. “You hit the car, didn’t you?” Her mother had acted strangely, but Tara had never considered this possibility. Holding her breath, she waited for her mother’s answer, knowing already that she was right.