26
Ryan reached Jackson Hole, Wyoming, home of Grand Teton National Park, in record time.
Having smoked enough meth to keep him awake and wired, he had driven the nearly eight hundred and fifty miles from Los Angeles in less than thirteen hours.
He had pawned his gold Rolex, the watch that Marisol had given him, for five thousand dollars. He knew he had taken a heavy loss on the deal, but the money would fund his trip and allow him a brief stretch of financial breathing room, as well as enough Shabu to last him for weeks.
The Tetons stop was part of his revenge scheme. His plan called for him to make two phone calls, the first of which was to Marisol. As expected, she didn’t answer, so he left a lengthy message informing her that he was preparing to spend ten or so days camping in the Tetons, time spent clearing his mind and cleansing his soul.
The second call was to himself, or, rather, to his cell phone. When it answered, he selected the option that allowed him to change the greeting so that it now informed callers that he was currently camping in the Jackson Hole area and would be out of cell range for a while.
He placed both calls because he wanted them both to appear in his cell-phone records.
At the main gate, he purchased a ticket for entry into the park. It noted his length of stay as two weeks and listed his license plate number.
“Welcome to the Cowboy State,” the ranger on duty said, waving him on.
He parked the Prius and got out. He stretched, breathing in the crisp, clean mountain air. He walked along a tree-lined path, deep in thought. He had the uneasy feeling he had overlooked something.
He got back in the car. He reached into the glove compartment and removed the summons. He read it again. Carefully. He knew at once what it was. The insurance policy.
Shortly after their marriage, Marisol had taken out a million-dollar life insurance policy naming Ryan the sole beneficiary. The policy was not mentioned in the summons.
Which meant it was still in full force and effect.
—
Once the sun set and the rangers had gone home, Ryan left the park and headed east, stopping once, at a Holiday Inn near Des Moines.
In the dark, he removed the license plates from a parked Honda and mounted them on his Prius. With so many of these hybrids on the highway, there was now little chance that his would be discovered. He got back on the highway.
One thought kept running through his mind. A million dollars’ worth of insurance. With him as the beneficiary.
Damn.
He was gonna be a millionaire.
He pressed harder on the accelerator. He didn’t stop until he reached Salem, Massachusetts.