Killertrust (29 page)

Randolph arrived in just under
two hours. She spotted his headlights coming towards them at the same time
Legrand commented that a car was approaching.

“This must be your husband
now,” he said. She had not seen one other person since her own awkward arrival.
She agreed that it must be Randolph. She wondered how much this border guard
really had to do on this lonely stretch of coast. She didn’t dare ask him. It
might not be something he cared to discuss. Maybe her unseemly landing was the
highlight of his day.

She had told Legrand
everything about the circumstances that brought her to his outpost on a
peninsula in the French Mediterranean. Whether or not he believed her, she
couldn’t really tell. He took notes, nodded a lot, and then made even more
coffee. He did tell her that occasionally stray tourists made their way to Port
Chartier by boat, and shrugged as though it was a minor offense. That gave her
hope she wouldn’t be incarcerated. Then he pointed out that those tourists
typically carried their passports with them, while she, on the other hand,
didn’t have hers. That statement cancelled the hope.

Randolph parked next to the
small building.

“Oh, Sweets, am I ever glad
to see you!” Rhetta met him at the driver’s door as he climbed out. She hugged
his neck.

He kissed her. “I’m glad to
see you too. You had me worried when you didn’t make it on to the ferry. What,
on earth happened? How did you get here?”

“Evan got away. I’ll tell you
all about it.”

Legrand cleared his throat.
“Please,
monsieur
and
madame
, come with me into the office.” Turning to Rhetta he added, “I pray your
husband brought your passport?” He motioned toward the building, indicating he
would follow them.

Randolph reached in the car
and came out with Rhetta’s bag, and handed it to her. She slid it up her
shoulder, clasped Randolph’s hand in hers and led him to the building.

Inside, she laid the bag on the
table and sifted through the contents. She located her passport along with the
envelope containing all the paperwork for the bank. She presented the passport
to Legrand. He examined it, then handed it back to her.

“It is in order,
madame
.
” He turned
to Randolph. “May I please see yours,
monsieur
?”

Randolph
produced his for scrutiny. Apparently satisfied, Legrand nodded and returned
it. Randolph tucked it into his shirt pocket.

“Here’s
the rest of the stuff I was telling you about.” Rhetta slid the envelope toward
Legrand. “I can show you the evidence to back up what I told you about.”

He waved
it off. “It is not necessary. You are free to go. Please enjoy your stay in
France.”

“Thank
you,” Rhetta said, and gathered up her belongings. She knew for once when to
shut up and quit talking. They bolted for the car. She tossed her stuff in the
miniature back seat, buckled herself in, then cranked up the heater.

Randolph
fiddled with the heater controls, checked the mirrors, then pulled away. “Let’s
head back to Cadaqués and spend the night and tomorrow there. We can go back to
the bank on Vera Mardola first thing Monday morning, and see what they did
about that wire. I pray to goodness that it got withdrawn.”

Rhetta
nodded, and rubbed her arms. “I’m freezing,” she said, her teeth chattering. It
wasn’t all that cold out, but her adventure across the bay left her nervous and
chilled. She looked at the weather app on her iPhone and it revealed the
temperature to be fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit. “Thank God this phone tells me
in Fahrenheit. That way I know whether I’m cold or not.”

“That
sounds like something Woody would say,” Randolph said. Rhetta smiled. Yes, it
did.

“I found
a room in a lovely little inn there while waiting for you. I thought you might
be on the next ferry, and since it was getting so late, I figured there was no
sense in driving back to Barcelona. We still need to sort this out at the bank.
We can spend a leisurely day in Cadaqués, then go back to Vera Mardola first
thing Monday.”

“I’ll be
a sight myself come Monday. I don’t have a change of clothes, my pants have a
rip in the knee and my sandal is broken.”

“No
worries, the lovely lady who owns the inn said she’ll launder our clothes first
thing tomorrow morning while we enjoy breakfast in our room. She can probably
fix that little tear, too, maybe even glue your sandal together. Don’t worry.”
He patted her knee. “She said they will have dressing gowns and sleeping
clothes for us.” He grinned at her. “I can’t wait to see you in whatever they
find for you.”

“Oh
great. I can’t wait.” Rhetta rolled her eyes. At this point, though, she really
didn’t care about being a fashionista. She was exhausted.

She
glanced at her phone. It was nearly eleven-thirty. “Speaking of Woody, I’m
going to call him, see what he found out about Corini. It should be six-thirty
back home. He’ll be up.” She scavenged again in her purse for the dialing
instruction card and her glasses.

The call
went through quickly.

“Rhetta,
what’s up? Are you okay?”

“We’re
fine, but I need to know if you found out anything about Evan, and if he’s
still around.” She put the phone on speaker.

“Jeff’s
office didn’t know too much about him, other than he’s an injured Vietnam vet.
They said Jeff hired him because his own dad served. Nobody has seen Evan for
several days. They said that Tony hasn’t heard from him for a few days and
doesn’t know where he is.”

“I know
exactly where he is, Woody. He’s here. I followed him today. Well, more like
chased him, you might say. He was at the bank claiming to be George Erickson.”

“He’s
there? How can he be there? He said he’s George Erickson? Rhetta, what’s going
on?”

“That’s
exactly what we’re trying to figure out. When we went to the bank, they told us
that George Erickson had already asked for the trust to be disbursed. When we
told them George Erickson was dead, they showed us the surveillance video. The
man claiming to be Erickson is Evan. He’s posing as George Erickson. We urged
the bank to stop the wire, but I’m not sure they were able to. Hope it’s not too
late. We tried to follow him, but he escaped. I don’t know how we’re going to
catch him.

“We?” Who
else is on this?”

She could
visualize Woody rubbing his pate.

“We, as
in Randolph and me, and they, as in local bank authorities. Evan is a fake, and
I suspect is a killer. He probably ran down poor George. And he probably hit me
on the head and dumped me in the Dumpster.”

“How
could he do that? He’s an old guy who can barely walk.”

From his
tone of voice, which sounded stressed, Rhetta imagined Woody was now rubbing
his head with both hands. Unless he was holding the phone with one of his
hands.

“You
should have seen him leaping onto boats and running away, Woody. He’s a lot
friskier here than he ever was at home.”

“So not
only was he posing as a vet by the name of George Erickson there, he may very
well be posing as a handicapped old man here.”

Rhetta stared at her phone,
then at Randolph.
Of
course!

“Woody, that’s it! You’re a
genius!”

Rhetta longed to enjoy the
quaint
inn that Randolph had found, but without clean clothes and too exhausted to
think, she wasn’t up to much frivolity.

Randolph parked in the
private lot across from the entryway. He clasped her hand as they trudged to
the massive oak door. The cornerstone of the two-story rock building bore the
date 1726. Inside was cozy and modernized, while retaining a provincial charm.
The dark wood flooring blended into white plastered walls, while overhead,
ancient hand-hewn beams held the old roof in place. Outside, the roof was
covered in red clay tiles, although she suspected it may have once been
thatched or made of wood planks.

Randolph had already checked
in, so they went upstairs to their room, one with a balcony and a magnificent
view of the Mediterranean. As promised, the room came supplied with all the
essential care items they needed, so after brushing her teeth and a quick, hot
shower, Rhetta crawled under the sheets dressed in a cotton nightgown provided
by the matron,
Señora
Perrine. The apron-wearing matron had collected their
clothes, provided them with sleepwear, then left with a promise to return their
laundered and repaired clothes early Sunday afternoon.

Rhetta didn’t wake until
nearly noon. The time difference along with the previous day’s excitement made
for a deep, dreamless sleep.

Randolph, dressed only in a
bath towel, stood on the balcony sipping coffee when she awoke. Next to him on
the deck table was a tray loaded with pastries and a steaming pot of coffee.

“Well, did you decide to
return to the land of the living?” he said, grinning at her and heading for the
coffee pot, preparing her coffee while she visited the restroom.

She joined him on the
balcony, leaned over the rail and inhaled the salty sea air. “This is such a
beautiful place. We should come back here sometime so we can truly enjoy it.”
She looked longingly at the sugary white sands of the beach below. “I’d love to
go swimming and play on the beach.” Sampling the strong coffee, she added, “The
Spanish really know how to make great coffee. This is heavenly.”

Randolph pulled up a wood
deck chair and joined her at the balcony table.

“Sweets, what do you think
Evan is up to? And who, exactly is he?”

“I’ve been thinking about
this. I suspect Evan knew someone involved with your father or some of the
other members of the Tontine, someone who divulged its secret. So he figured
out a plan to collect.”

“Do you think he killed
George Erickson to steal his identity?”

Randolph nodded. “Yes. He
probably believed your father was already dead. You, however, became a
liability to him when he found out your father was still alive. He’s probably
responsible for the fire that killed Rushia. He needed to kill Frank so that he
could impersonate George Erickson and collect on the trust. I have no doubt
that he conked you on the head, trying to get the last of the information he
needed. I suspect he would have killed you too, if he needed to. Then he had to
follow us to Columbia in order to get the VIN off the Camaro when he couldn’t
get to the title, which, you, my clever wife, locked away in the safe deposit
box.” He kissed the top of her head. She hugged his neck.

“I didn’t recognize him until
I saw him in the video. I can’t believe Evan did this.” Rhetta shivered. “I
hope that tomorrow we find out that the wire was stopped. I don’t think he
should get away with murder. If the wire went through, I’m afraid there will be
no catching him. We could turn it over to Interpol, or some such agency, but I
doubt seriously if any cops would go after him.” She selected a croissant from
the heaping plate.

A knock at the door
interrupted them.

Mrs. Perrine was all smiles
when Randolph answered the door. She handed them their clothes, freshly
laundered, repaired and hanging neatly on wood hangers. She had even glued
Rhetta’s hapless sandal back together.

“Sweets, ask her if there’s a
Walmart nearby. I’d like to buy some undies and maybe some hair spray.”

Mrs. Perrine, who had a
rather good command of English, looked puzzled at the request. “What is a
Walmart?” she said.

Randolph answered, “It’s a
huge department store that sells everything from groceries to swimming pools.”

Mrs. Perrine seemed confused,
so Randolph asked, “Do you have any stores open on Sunday? My wife thinks she
needs to shop for a few items.”

She shook her head
emphatically. “No, no, not on Sunday. It is day of church. Nobody shops today,
except at
fleca
. We must always have fresh bread.” She nodded
solemnly toward the plate of baked goods. “Without the
fleca
,
Sunday or
no Sunday, we would have the civil unrest.”

“Yes, of course. Silly me,”
Rhetta said, and stuffed another croissant into her mouth. What the heck. She
wouldn’t suffer any pangs of diet conscience today. If she had to wear the same
clothes three days in a row, then by golly she’d gorge on croissants.

This time, the trip on
the ferry was routine—no Evan, nor anyone else who looked or acted suspicious.

Rhetta and Randolph arrived
at the bank ten minutes before it opened. They sat on the steps and waited. Exactly
on time, the large wood doors swung open. The same guard who had been on duty
Saturday escorted them inside without giving them a second look, as though it
was perfectly normal for Americans to come back the next working day attired in
the same clothes they’d worn previously. At least Rhetta thought that’s what he
might be thinking. If in fact, he even remembered them at all. He didn’t act
like it. He probably could care less, as Woody would say.

He greeted them with the same
plastic smile he wore on Saturday.
“
Bona
tarda
.
Benvingut
al
Banc
Real de
Santo Domingo.”
His rote greeting confirmed
her suspicion that he didn’t remember them.

Rhetta nodded and pointed
toward the blonde receptionist. “I need to speak with her, thanks.” They
marched past the guard and stopped at the mahogany desk.

“Please, I need to speak to
Mister Cabriolet again about the Garibaldi Tontine.”

The blonde eyed Rhetta, then
tilted her head slightly to consider Randolph. Apparently satisfied, she picked
up the phone, and again, all Rhetta caught was
Garibaldi
Tontine
.

An office door flew open and
once again they were eye to eye with the short, dark man, Mr. Cabriolet. This
time, he motioned them to his large expansive office, not the cubbyhole they
were in last Saturday.

Rhetta looked around quickly.
This time there were no guns pointed at her. As she walked into the office, her
sandal strap broke again. Mrs. Perrine’s glue didn’t hold up. She removed both
her sandals and stood barefoot on the rich carpet. If Cabriolet noticed, he said
nothing.

“Ah, sir and madam please,
have a seat.” He gestured toward the chairs in front of his shiny uncluttered
mahogany desk. The only item on it was a modern phone. Rhetta instantly thought
of her own cluttered desktop that always looked like the aftermath of a
tornado. How did he work with nothing on his desk? And where was his computer?
She glanced around. Didn’t see it.

Cabriolet opened the
conversation. “I took precautions after our little, ah, disturbance, and placed
a hold on the wire to the account for Mister Erickson.”

Rhetta’s heart began to crash
against her ribs.

“Mister Erickson has already
telephoned this morning and is on his way here. I informed him that there was
more paperwork I needed him to sign.”

Cabriolet picked up his
ringing desk phone. “Ah, he is here, now. In the lobby.”

Rhetta thought she’d pass
out. She gripped Randolph’s hand. “What are you going to do, Mr. Cabriolet?”

“Why, I will invite him in
here and ask how it is that you have his death certificate. I also have invited
several
policia
to our little party.” He spoke again into the phone. The
outer door at the rear of his office opened and two uniformed cops entered.
They took up positions at the side of the office, hands resting on their
sidearms. Mr. Cabriolet rose, walked to the door, and left the room.

I
didn’t think European cops were armed. Wait, this isn’t part of the EU, so I
guess they can do what they want.
Rhetta leaned over and whispered to Randolph. “I hope
they’re on our side.”

“Me, too,” Randolph answered,
clutching her hand tightly.

The door opened and Mr.
Cabriolet returned. Evan walked in behind him.

Rhetta stood, turned, faced
him. “Hello, Evan.”

“What…who is this?” Evan
asked, his voice beginning to quaver. He pointed at Rhetta. “Why is she calling
me Evan?”

“Unless you have a
doppelganger, you’re Evan, our handyman, from Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Care to
tell us why you’re posing as George Erickson? Is it because you know he’s dead?
And that you killed him?” Rhetta positioned herself directly in front of Evan.
Within inches of his face, she pointed her finger at him. “You’re a killer and
a thief!”

In a flash, Evan turned and
bolted toward the door. Rhetta was closest. She didn’t hesitate. She sprang
after him. The two cops joined in just as Rhetta leapt on Evan’s back. They
crashed across a chair, with Rhetta still pounding him, riding his back as the
fell to the floor. Evan swore loudly, and with a shove, pushed her off him with
surprising strength for an elderly man. Rhetta rolled away and the two cops snatched
him by his jacket and hauled him to his feet.

Randolph reached the melee in
time to help Rhetta to her feet. “You’re not going anywhere, Evan. You tried to
defraud this institution and steal Rhetta’s money. I believe there’s a jail
cell somewhere that will accommodate you.”

Rhetta brushed off her pants,
then stared at Evan. He lowered his head and muttered, “You people are crazy. I
didn’t kill anyone.” He raised his head and pointed at Rhetta. “Keep her away
from me. She’s nuts.”

Rhetta lunged at him again,
this time grabbing a handful of his scraggly beard. It came off in a wad in her
hand. She yelled, “He’s wearing a phony beard.” She pointed to his hair. “And I
bet that’s not his real hair either.”

Half of Evans’s face was
clean-shaven, but with studio glue smeared across his cheek. It was obvious he
wasn’t old. He reached up and removed his wig. Under it was a full head of dark
hair tinged with grey. Evan then removed the rest of the beard. He stood up
straight. Gone was the stooping old man, and as the cops began to lead him
away, his limp disappeared, too.

“Oh dear God. I know him,
Sweets, That’s Stanton Worthington.”

The two officers jerked his
arms behind his back and handcuffed him.