Killertrust (12 page)

“Oh, my God! What just
happened?” Rhetta shouted as she reached for the door handle. Before she could
turn it to get out of Streak and investigate, she spotted a man running from
the woods, away from them toward the other end of the impound lot. His
unbuttoned sheepskin jacket flapped as he fled.

She threw open the door,
jumped out and shouted, “Stop. You there, stop!” The running man ignored her
and bolted to his ride, a pickup partially concealed behind a towing trailer at
the end of the lot. She hadn’t seen any truck when they got there. Had he
arrived while she was talking with Frank? Frank! Where was he? Did he go up in
that inferno? In spite of her mixed feelings about Frank, tears threatened to
spill out of the corners of her eyes. She batted them away. The departing
truck’s engine had roared to life and gravel spun as it flew through the back
gate. Why was that gate unlocked?

“What kind of truck was that?”
Rhetta shouted to Ricky, who had followed her out of Streak.

“Looks like a 1999 Ford F-100
extended cab,” Ricky answered. If Ricky saw it and identified it, you could
take it to the bank.

The trees and underbrush were
now blazing. Rhetta ran back to Streak in search of her phone. When she reached
for her purse, Ricky was already calling it in on her cell.

“I’ll call Eddie. I hope his
whole place doesn’t go up.” Rhetta groped around her purse until she found her
phone. His number was in her contacts list.

After reaching Eddie, she
hung up and stared at the orange sky and billowing black smoke. In a few short
minutes, the piercing wail of sirens signaled the arrival of the fire trucks.
This inferno could be disastrous given the drought and the dry underbrush. Even
though they’d had some snow, everything was still dry. She was relieved the
fire department responded so quickly.

“What on earth was that
explosion?” Rhetta asked Ricky as they sat in Streak, watching for the fire
trucks. “Was that the direction where Frank went?”

Did Frank cause that
explosion? Or did someone just try to kill Frank, just like he had worried
about? Who was the man who spun away in the truck? What on earth was happening?
She cradled her head in her hands. She thought her head might explode, too.

Three fire trucks roared into
the lot followed closely by the Cape Girardeau Sheriff, Talbot Reasoner. Rhetta
knew immediately it was Reasoner from the license plate bearing
Cape Girardeau
County Sheriff
and the number one. She groaned. That’s all she needed
to top the day—an encounter with Sheriff Unreasonable.

Back when Randolph was still
judge, Talbot Reasoner had asked for Randolph’s support in the election.
Randolph explained that as a judge, he had to remain non-political and couldn’t
endorse anyone, but pledged that Rhetta would give generously to his campaign.
Which she did. Later, when Randolph had a bad accident and was arrested for
driving while intoxicated, Reasoner bailed on their friendship, and did nothing
to investigate the accident. Rhetta was forced to solve the mystery herself.
She couldn’t stomach the law officer after his treason to their friendship. She
joined with the many defense lawyers and prosecutors who called him Sheriff
Unreasonable. The name suited him perfectly.

She’d called him that to his
face once when she was selling him tickets to the Humane Society gala. His face
had reddened and he’d stammered. Rhetta had merely smiled.

Rhetta wasn’t smiling now as
she leaned back against the seat and watched Reasoner amble over to the
Trailblazer.

“Well, well, if it isn’t
Rhetta McCarter. Again. And Miss Lane. What a surprise.” Reasoner beamed his
phony politician megawatt smile, showing off a mouthful of dazzling white
teeth. She decided he must have them whitened regularly or had caps. No one
over thirty-five could possibly have natural teeth that looked like Chiclets
gum—perfect little squares. He removed a wide brimmed Stetson that perched
squarely on his head, and then finger-combed his thick black hair. He replaced the
hat carefully, and smoothed the brim. “What are you two involved in now that
brings you out here?”

Rhetta didn’t bother with a
courteous response. Instead, she coated her answer in aspartame. “Oh, nothing,
Sheriff. We thought it might be a good afternoon for a ride up the bluffs to
see the Mississippi.” She cut a glance at Ricky, whose head bobbed in silent
agreement.

“Uh, huh.” Reasoner stared at
her. She said nothing else, just smiled her best phony smile at him.

“And while you were
sightseeing, you happened to pull in here where there just happened to be an
explosion.” He stared at her but she didn’t answer. She didn’t see the need
since he hadn’t asked a question. Then he sighed, and she swore she saw him
roll his eyes.

“I don’t suppose you can tell
me anything about what happened here?” He continued, while waving a gloved hand
toward the brush where the fire trucks had pulled up and firefighters were
tugging hoses and shouting instructions.

She peered up at him and
hoisted her shoulders. She twisted around the seat to gaze back at the fire.
“Have no idea, Sheriff. We just pulled in here to turn around, and spotted the
fire. That’s when Ricky called the fire department and I called Eddie
Wellston.” She pointed to a late model Dodge extended cab four by four that
spit gravel as it swerved to a stop. “There’s Eddie now.” She batted her eyes,
and gave Reasoner a smile that she hoped matched his in its lack of
genuineness. “I guess it was lucky we were here, or who knows what might have
happened if the fire had raged unreported.”

“It sure was bad luck or
coincidence that you were here, Mrs. McCarter. I don’t like coincidences. I
know how trouble seems to follow you around.” She didn’t find a question there
either, so she said nothing. She smiled on the outside, but inside her stomach
was churning and she thought she might vomit. Reasoner had better stand back.

He added, “I’ll have an
officer over here shortly to take your statements. Don’t leave.” He actually
waggled an index finger at her, as though scolding a five-year-old. She wanted
to bite it off.

“Of course not, Sheriff.
Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He gave her another long
stare then tipped his hat again and spun around, heading for the fire trucks.

“He is such a turd,” Ricky
said. “I can’t stand him.”

“I bet he’s just tickled to
death to find us here.” Rhetta sucked in mouthfuls of air to settle her
stomach. She opened the door to meet Eddie, who was trotting over to her.

“Oh my God, Eddie, this is
terrible. Is your place okay?” Rhetta jutted her chin toward the shop building,
which did not seem to be anywhere close to the fire. As far as she could tell,
the fire had been contained in the woods.

“No problems with anything
here, thank goodness,” Eddie said, his arm making a sweeping motion. “But I
can’t say the same for the poor guy out there.” He jerked his thumb over his
shoulder toward the burning thicket. “The firefighters said it looks like he
got burned up in the car.”

Eddie’s words hit Rhetta like
a mule kick to the belly. She blinked as she stared at the scene, mesmerized by
the firefighters’ teamwork. They worked in sync, like a well-oiled machine,
every member knowing exactly what to do without any wasted motion. The chief
used a small megaphone to amplify his orders so he didn’t have to shout over
the noise of the fire. Rhetta was surprised at how loud the fire’s burning and
crackling sounded. Did Frank burn up in the explosion? Her hands began to
tremble. She clutched the package he gave her.

She stared at the
ever-shrinking black plume of smoke that the firefighters were dousing with
foam. Didn’t he tell her he was the last one, and whatever it was, was now
hers? What was hers? If Frank died in that burning mess, she would certainly
step forward and claim him, and take care of a burial. He hadn’t revealed who
his confidant had been. She decided she couldn’t turn her back on giving him a
decent burial. He was a soldier, and as a soldier, like his friend George
Erickson, he deserved a funeral. In fact, Rhetta decided to call the same
funeral director if she needed to arrange for Frank’s funeral.

Sheriff Reasoner rapped
loudly on her window. She was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t seen him
walk up. She jumped at the sound, then powered down her window.

“Mrs. McCarter, I see you’re
still here.”

Rhetta tried not to glare at
him. She also forced her eyeballs not to roll. “You told me to stay here, and
that an officer would take our statement, Sheriff. I’m doing as you asked. No
one has taken any statement, yet, by the way. Unless, of course, that’s why
you’re here.”

“I may as well. My officers
are pretty busy.”

Doing
what?
Rhetta watched two officers off
to the side, chatting with each other. Unlike the firefighters who were
laboring intensely, the two cops weren’t doing anything that she could tell.
They did string yellow tape up across the entrance. That was the extent of
their hard work so far.

“Yes, I can see that.” Rhetta
stole a glance at Ricky who stared straight ahead. Rhetta caught the corners of
her mouth twitching.

Unreasonable unbuttoned a
shirt pocket and removed a small notebook and a pen. He clicked the ballpoint
annoyingly as he waited for her to begin.
Click
,
on
,
click
,
off
,
click
on,
click
off
.
Rhetta stared at the pen. She fought the urge to reach out and snatch the damn
thing away from him, and fling it as hard as she could. Instead, she sucked in
a deep breath, and said, “What would you like to know, Sheriff?”

Click,
click
.
“So tell me again, Mrs. McCarter, what you and Miss
Lane there,” he bobbed his hat brim toward Ricky, “were doing up here?”

“I already told you. We were
out driving around. I got attacked last night, and just wanted to get out and
relax. The view up here is spectacular, you know. Anyway, we decided to turn in
here to go back, and that’s when we spotted the blaze.”

“Just driving around. Right.
I see.” He scribbled a line into his notebook. “I read the report about your
being tossed into a Dumpster. That had to be, uh, rather unpleasant.” The edges
of his mouth began curling. She anticipated a snarl was imminent. He cleared
his throat, and waved a hand in a circular motion toward the impound lot. “Did
you see anything?” He held the pen poised over the page, ready to write down
her words of wisdom.

Rhetta nodded to Ricky, who
answered. “As a matter of fact we did. We saw a man run out of the woods, get
into a pickup and squeal his tires getting out of here.” Ricky pointed to the
back gate. “Over there.”

Reasoner whipped his head
around and peered toward the gate. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
Reasoner slapped at the radio on his shoulder. “Michaels, get a car over here
by this Trailblazer,” he snapped, then clicked off when he heard an
acknowledgement.

“You didn’t ask,” Ricky said.

“Ask what?” Reasoner ducked
to look in at Ricky, behind the wheel.

“You didn’t ask us if we saw
anything,” she said. “So now that you asked, I’m telling. I didn’t know if you
needed to know that. It might just be a Looky-Lou.”

Are
cops supposed to roll their eyes?
Reasoner just did so, magnificently. “I don’t suppose you happened to notice
what type of truck, Miss Lane?” He let himself sigh, an obvious indication that
he didn’t expect much from her.

“Let’s see.” Ricky placed her
index finger along the side of her cheek and looked skyward as though searching
her memory. She paused a few seconds for effect. Then she leaned across Rhetta
as far as she could, and stared into Reasoner’s square face. She spoke very
softly, but rapidly. “It was a blue 1999 extended cab, F-100 Ford pickup. No
plates on the back. Probably pulls a trailer. If he’s licensed over twenty-four
thousand pounds, he doesn’t need a rear plate. There was a trailer hitch on the
back that I suspect came from U-Haul.”

Reasoner scribbled furiously.
“Why do you think the hitch came from U-Haul?”

“Because it had an orange and
white sticker with black lettering that said, U-Haul.”

Reasoner spun on his heel to
jog over to the deputy. After a minute, the deputy squealed out of the parking
lot through the back gate.

The
First News
van rolled
in as Ricky steered the
Trailblazer out of the lot and onto the highway. The newspaper had already
arrived in the form of one college student intern driving an older lime green
four-door Honda. The young man driving it wore a lanyard bearing a laminated
press card. He had ambled toward the yellow tape blocking entry to the fire
area, and began chatting with one of the cops.

Rhetta’s phone bellowed a
foghorn ringtone, startling her. She had turned off the radio, finding the joy
of the oldies music inappropriate after the horrific explosion, and the
realization that her father might have been incinerated. She and Ricky had
fallen into silence. Rhetta slid her finger along the screen to answer the
familiar tone.

“Hi, Sweets.”

“Where are you? When I came
home, I found both you and the Trailblazer gone. You’re not supposed to be
driving.” By Randolph’s tone, Rhetta felt his concern.

“I’m not driving. Ricky came
by and drove me out to meet Frank at the impound lot on 177. I left you a voice
mail.”

A pause. “The service out
here is so bad. I don’t have any voice mail,” he muttered. “Did you say you
went to meet Frank at Eddie’s lot? Would that meeting have anything to do with
the big fire there? The one that’s all over
First News
?”

“Yes, but he didn’t start
it.”

“That’s comforting.”

“No, Sweets, it’s not. I
think he burned up in that fire, and that somebody murdered him.”

“Hold on. Murder? There has
to be a lot more to this story. Come home and tell me what’s happened.”

“We’re on our way. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Please,
Rhetta, be careful.”

Ricky had started asking Rhetta about her father as soon as
they rolled onto 177, but Rhetta was so tired and upset she could barely hold a
conversation. Finally, Ricky grew still, allowing Rhetta to lay her head back
against the soft interior and close her eyes.

As they wound their way up
the long McCarter driveway, Rhetta peered through half open eyes and marveled
again at the hundreds of glittering white Christmas lights that adorned the
house, the garage, even the barn. The tranquility of the scene calmed Rhetta.
She still couldn’t believe they had just witnessed a fire that very likely had
claimed her father.

She basked in the warm
Christmas glow that enveloped the house and yard. As the Trailblazer came to a
stop and the garage door creaked upward, Rhetta tugged the sock hat off, giving
her head a chance to breathe. The knit hat had made her head almost too warm.
Her short hair lay damp and matted against her scalp.

Ricky clicked the remote to
lock the Trailblazer, then handed Rhetta the keys. “There’s never a dull moment
with you.” She hugged Rhetta, then pointed her toward the door leading into the
house from inside the garage. “Are you all right?”

Rhetta nodded.

“Then go on in and lie down.
You shouldn’t have been out today. Randolph’s right.”

“Of course, he’s right. But
after that call from Frank, I had to go.”

“Did I really hear you say
I’m right, for once?” Randolph stood at the doorway, and had obviously
overheard the last of their exchange.

Rhetta hugged her friend.
“I’m fine. I’ll call you soon.”

Ricky trotted to her truck.
After the truck had warmed a minute, she backed down the driveway, turned and
chugged away.

Randolph led the way to the
kitchen.

Rhetta turned back to the
door. “Hang on, Sweets. I need to get the envelope out of the Trailblazer.” She
scooted toward the garage.

“I’ll get it. You stay here.”
Randolph slipped out to the garage before Rhetta could give him the keys.

He stuck his head back around
the doorway, and she tossed him the keys.

In a minute, he was back,
clutching the envelope her father had given her. He set it down on the granite
countertop, where they heard a soft metallic
clang
.

“I need to use the
facilities.” Rhetta tossed her purse on the counter. She tugged off her jacket
as she sprinted to the bathroom.

By the time she’d returned to
the kitchen, Randolph had a steaming mug of hot chocolate waiting for each of
them on the counter. She hugged him fiercely. “I love you so much. How did you
know I needed hot chocolate?”

“Chocolate always soothes the
soul.” He found a bruise-free zone on her cheek and kissed it.

Rhetta hoisted herself on to
a kitchen stool, then began sipping around the floating marshmallows.

Randolph stood next to her
and carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a bundle wrapped in a cotton
cloth that resembled a frayed section of a man’s white T-shirt. The first item
they spotted was a typed letter. It appeared to have been printed recently on a
computer. He handed it to Rhetta.

Dear Rhetta,

Please read this
before you open the rest of the bundle.

If you are reading
this, it probably means that I’m gone. That’s ok. It’s time you know. The first
thing I want to make clear is how much I loved you and your mother. In looking
back, I should have realized the secret operation I agreed to would rob me of
my family. At the time, the money seemed so important.

In 1973, the war
was pretty much over. I was ready to come home to my family. Instead, I agreed
to continue working for Uncle Sam in a “private” capacity. You’d probably call
it Black Ops. In exchange for getting very well paid, we had to agree that we
“died.” There were 12 of us in the beginning. We lost a few guys on the first
few missions. That’s when we formed The Trust. We knew if we were injured,
because we no longer existed in any records, we were on our own, so we wanted
to be taken care of and to take care of our families. When we agreed to work
privately for the government, we each received one million dollars as a sign-on
bonus. Laurent, Marcel, Cooper, William, Alejandro, George and I each invested
our million in a Tontine trust. Over the years, after we could no longer work,
we received a decent annual stipend from the trust. Every time one of us passed
away, his share stayed in the trust. According to the way we set it up, the
last person living is the final owner and can claim all of it. I believe that I
am now the last. Until recently, there were three of us, Cooper, George and
myself. Cooper was electrocuted in a freak accident in Maine last year. And you
know what happened to George. He believed Cooper was murdered. Before we could
put anything together, George was murdered. I gave him your card because I knew
you would help. Now that I’m gone, the money is yours, Rhetta. You must go and
get the car. You’ll need it to get the money. I know and trust you will use the
money wisely.

I spent the rest of
my life working for a country I loved. I just didn’t realize that I had made a
choice to love it more than my family.

Rhetta
stared at the letter. It wasn’t signed.

Was her
father now dead? How much money was there?

Where
was it?