Killertrust (22 page)

“Mr. Caldwell provided us with this
number when he was admitted three days ago.”

“Three days ago? Why are you
just now calling me?”

“Mr. Caldwell left specific
instructions. We were to notify you only in the event he passed away.”

Rhetta’s ears began ringing.
“Is he…has he…passed? Away?” Rhetta asked. The hunger pangs were gone. In their
place a ball of acid began making its way north from her stomach.

“Yes, I’m very sorry. Mr.
Caldwell is gone. He passed thirty minutes ago. I just received the
notification. You are listed here as his only next of kin. We were instructed
to notify you.”

“Yes, I’m his daughter. I’m
on my way.”

Rhetta covered the mouthpiece
and spoke to Randolph. “It’s Frank. Head to Saint Mark’s.” Randolph nodded, then
arrowed down Route K out of Gordonville where Ricky lived, and barreled toward
the hospital.

“Please come to the Outreach
Center on the lower level. Do you know where it is? I will meet you there,”
Katelyn Montgomery said.

“Uh, no, actually, I don’t,” Rhetta
said. She glanced out of the side window. Night had fallen, and the
streetlights along Route K glittered.

“When you come in through the
main doors of the hospital complex take the C elevator down to the lower level.
Then, turn right and follow the corridor all the way to the end. There will be
a security door there. That’s where I will meet you.”

“Thank you.” Rhetta
disconnected. She stared at her phone. “He’s gone.” She turned toward Randolph.
“I didn’t know he was in the hospital. I presumed he was already dead. I guess
we shouldn’t have gone to Kansas City. I could have come up here to see him.”

“Why didn’t the hospital call
you before he passed?” Randolph said, glancing at her. He stopped in the left
turn lane on to Saint Mark’s Drive. The light changed and he rolled into the
parking lot.

“This woman, Katelyn
Montgomery, said that Frank had instructed them not to call me until…he
passed.” Rhetta said. “By the way, I don’t like that term. Why can’t they just
say, died?”

Randolph pulled into a parking
spot near the door. “I guess they think that passing sounds better than dying.
Who knows? More political correctness, I suppose.”

Randolph
reached for Rhetta’s hand as they entered the building. “Are you all right?” he
asked. She nodded, and squeezed his hand.

“I’m sad,
only because there is so much about him that I would have liked to have known.
I guess now I never will.” She started to open the door. “You know, I spent a
lot of time hating him. I guess now I just feel numb. It’s hard to process how
I feel.”

Randolph
reached over and cupped her chin, and kissed her.

“I’m the
luckiest woman in the world to have you, Sweets.”

After
locking up the SUV, they made their way to the Outreach Center. Katelyn
Montgomery was good for her word. She was waiting for them. The sturdy brunette
wearing a white lab coat over dark blue slacks, also wore a nametag that
identified her position as
Patient Outreach
.
Rhetta wasn’t
sure where in the realm of patient outreach that the job of identifying or
viewing a person who had passed would fall.

“I’m
Katelyn,” said the woman, probably mid-forties, Rhetta guessed, as she reached
out to shake Rhetta’s hand.

After the
introductions, Katelyn peered over her reading glasses at Rhetta. “Do you want
to view Mr. Caldwell?”

Rhetta let
out a whoosh of air. “Yes, please.”

“Please
come with me. Mr. Caldwell is just over here.” She led them into a room lined
on three sides with stainless steel vault doors. Gurneys lined the fourth wall.
Katelyn stopped at the foot of the only gurney that seemed to have an occupant.
A morgue attendant dressed in blue scrubs stood by silently. The person on the
gurney was completely covered by a pale blue sheet. Katelyn turned to Rhetta.
“Are you sure you want to see him?”

“Yes. I’m
sure.” Rhetta took a deep breath as Katelyn nodded to the morgue attendant. He
slowly pulled back the sheet.

Frank’s
face was calmer in death than Rhetta had ever remembered seeing it in life.

In spite
of herself, a tear trickled down her cheek. A tear for all that could have been.
It was apparent by everything that had happened recently that Frank Caldwell
had indeed loved his only child. Her. His daughter. His life choices had
prevented him from being a part of Rhetta’s life, and her mother’s, too. For
that, Rhetta felt profoundly sad. The tear dripped down her cheek. She wiped it
aside.

As she
glanced at her father, covered up to his shoulders with the sheet, she
remembered the strange tattoo. His arms were at his side, also covered.

“May I
see his right arm?” The attendant looked up.

“His
right arm, ma’am?”

“Yes.”
Rhetta held her iPhone at the ready.

The
attendant bared Frank’s arm and gently laid it by his side, on top of the
sheet.

Rhetta
went to the edge of the gurney, and snapped pictures of his arm and the unusual
tattoo. Then she snapped pictures of his face.

The
tattoo was clear, as was the mask of death he wore. Although she knew that she
would receive a death certificate, she thought she might need more proof to
show whomever about the trust.

She
didn’t explain to the two puzzled-looking hospital employees why she needed the
pictures.

By the time she had
signed all the paperwork and had notified the hospital that she would have the
funeral home come and get her father, Rhetta had lost her appetite. Randolph
suggested they still stop by Subway. They could get something fresh that would
keep, and eat it later.

Before they had left, Katelyn
Montgomery had handed Rhetta the few meager possessions that Frank still had on
him when he was admitted—his wallet, some keys and a military ring.

Although she remembered Frank
telling her that she wouldn’t have to make any funeral arrangements, the staff
at the hospital knew nothing. She presumed that the woman who burned up in the
fire, Rushia Coughenour or Rushia Caldwell, Frank’s wife, was the confidant who
was supposed to have all the information. Rhetta realized then, that she didn’t
know what had happened to Rushia’s remains. She would find out from the county,
and if no one had claimed her, then she would bury her, too.

She called the same funeral
director who had handled George Erickson’s funeral, and turned everything over
to him. She promised to come by tomorrow and make the final preparations. That
meant, pay for the funeral. She would do that, and make sure that Frank would
be buried with honor. She scheduled the burial for Tuesday, along with
Rushia’s, if no one had claimed her.

Rhetta emerged from the
shower with a towel wrapped around her head, and wearing a thick white terry robe.
Randolph took his turn at a hot shower, and soon joined Rhetta at the kitchen
island.

“Do you want me to make you
some coffee?” he asked as he sat next to her, kissing her cheek.

“Nope. I don’t want any more
jitters than I already have. This whole business of my father, and his death
and the trust and the car…” She didn’t finish, just shook her head and opened
the refrigerator, brought out the food they had picked up, and set it on
plates. Instead of coffee, she poured them each a glass of white wine.

“It will take about a week to
get a death certificate,” Randolph said.

“Uh, huh. I’m sure that’s
right. Maybe longer. Why?” She poured Ranch dressing on her salad. Randolph
unwrapped his sandwich.

“You’ll need to take it with
you when you go to collect the trust.” He took a bite into the six-inch turkey
on wheat, then sipped his wine.

“Wait. What do you mean, when
I go to collect the trust. You mean, we, don’t you?” Her fork stayed poised in
mid-air, a chunk of chicken impaled on the end.

“Of course.” Randolph set
aside his sandwich and pulled out his phone. He showed her his calendar.
“Starting around the first weekend in February, I have exhibits and art shows
nearly every weekend. I suggest we leave as soon as the certificate comes in.
We shouldn’t wait any longer. Especially if someone else is trying to get to
that money.”

She set her fork down in the
salad, the chicken chunk intact. “I don’t want to go to Vera Mardola. But I
guess I owe it to Frank.” She reached for her wine.

“And to George Erickson and everyone
else in the trust who died. That was their agreement. Your father went through
a lot of effort to make sure you get this. It appears that someone thinks it’s
significant enough to kill for, if someone struck down George Erickson on
purpose. I think the same someone could be after you. I’m definitely going with
you.”

“I could ask Ricky to go, if
you want to stay here and get ready for your shows.” Rhetta said this
half-heartedly. She really didn’t want to go to Vera Mardola at all. But, if
she had to go, she sure wanted Randolph to go with her.

Randolph took Rhetta in his
arms and hugged her. “There’s no way I wouldn’t go with you. Have Mrs. Koblyk
feed the cats.” A tear trickled down her cheek. She batted it away.

He kissed Rhetta soundly. “I
love you, Rhetta. I’ll be there with you.”

Although the weekend had been
mild,
First News
had a predicted a snowstorm for Monday. The snow, however, had waited until
this morning. Rhetta had taken Monday off, and wasn’t disappointed there was no
snow. She had all the funeral arrangements to finalize.

Now, giant flakes fell as
Rhetta and Randolph eased Streak down the lane to the county road. There was no
accumulation, yet. The weather had been mild until the jet stream decided to
dip way south and capture all of Missouri in its icy grip.

“With any luck, the roads are
still too warm for the snow to stick,” Randolph said. “That is, if we don’t get
too much.”

“I guess Mr. DeBrock won’t be
thrilled to be out on a day like this for the interment. I guess we could have
waited until tomorrow,” Rhetta said, turning up the heater.

“We’re better off today. If
this storm does get worse, tomorrow we may get six inches.”

“When I called the coroner’s
office yesterday, Matt was sure that no one was going to step up and claim
Rushia’s remains, since no one had yet done so. In about another week, the
county would have had to take care of burying her. I’m glad we were able to get
a plot next to my father’s so they could be together.”

Rhetta had not held a
visitation for her father or Rushia. She had insisted on her father’s casket
being closed and wanted no visitors. Understandably, Rushia’s casket was
closed. There was no preparation necessary for either of the two bodies—Rushia’s
because of her charred remains, and Frank because embalming wasn’t mandatory.

 Mr. DeBrock was cooperative.
Especially when Rhetta explained briefly that she wasn’t close to her father,
and had no other family in the area. It helped that she personally went in and
wrote a check for both funerals.

When they arrived at the
cemetery, Rhetta spotted two caskets set up side by side beside two burial
excavations. Overhead, the black canvas canopy flapped in the gusting wind. Two
figures huddled near the first grave. “Looks like Woody and LuEllen didn’t
believe me when I told them they didn’t have to come.”

Randolph pointed to another
figure bundled up in a long coat and wearing a scarf wrapped around her red
hair. Next to her, Billy Dan held Ricky’s gloved hand in his.

Rhetta wiped an errant tear
away and blew her nose before getting out of Streak. “I’m so lucky to have such
dear friends,” she snuffled.

Randolph parked the
Trailblazer as close as he could to the site, then wrapped his arm around
Rhetta’s shoulders as they walked the fifty feet to the waiting group. Off to
one side, four members of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars stood at
attention. One held a bugle.

Mr. DeBrock greeted them,
then glanced around. “Will anyone else be attending?”

“This is it.” Rhetta said,
receiving hugs from her friends. She grasped Randolph’s hand as they waited for
the service to begin.

It took about five minutes
for Mr. DeBrock to say a prayer for the departed. Then he stepped aside. A lone
bugler played “Taps” as DeBrock positioned her father’s flag-draped casket to
lower into its permanent resting place. When the bugler finished, he joined
three other V.F.W. members. The team folded the flag smartly, then turned and
saluted, maintaining the salute as the casket descended. When it reached the
bottom, they turned and saluted her. One man stepped forward and handed her the
folded flag.

In spite of herself, she
choked up. These four men had not known her father, yet they came out on a day
like this and honored one of their own upon his death.

“Thank you so much,” she
said, as she accepted the symbol of her father’s patriotism.

Mr. DeBrock also thanked the
four men.

Rhetta moved to stand by
Rushia’s casket. “I didn’t know you, Rushia, but obviously you and my father
meant a lot to each other. For that, I thank you.” Rhetta touched the casket,
and then nodded to DeBrock. The funeral director again recited a prayer for the
departed. He pressed the button to begin lowering the casket. When it was below
ground, everyone turned to leave.

Rhetta stopped Mr. DeBrock.
“Thank you for arranging for the V.F.W members to be here. I know that the
Vietnam War was unpopular. I’m glad the Veterans of Foreign Wars value their
fallen.” They shook hands.

“Actually, Mrs. McCarter, it
was Mr. Zelinski there,” he nodded toward Woody, “who made the arrangements for
the honor team to be here.”

Rhetta turned and hugged
Woody. “Thanks, Woody.”

“I wanted him to have the
honor of a military funeral. He deserved that much.” Woody cleared his throat.

Rhetta nodded.

As they made their way back
to the cars, Rhetta pointed to a man walking away. She remembered seeing a
figure standing at the edge of the cemetery. Now, she recognized his face.

“Woody, look over there.
Isn’t that Evan?”