Killertrust (30 page)

Cabriolet was all smiles when
he slid the paperwork over for Rhetta to examine.

“This is a numbered account
only, no names. The money will stay here until you request it. As sole owner of
the account, I now need your signature. We also have beneficiary forms to sign.
The account will be a standard account. The Tontine Trust is no longer.”

“What about taxes?” Rhetta
asked. She glanced at Randolph. “How do we pay the taxes?”

Cabriolet smiled. “As long as
the money is here, in Vera Mardola, there are no taxes. If you request any
deposits into your American account, then, well, you will have to check with
your country’s regulations, yes?”

Rhetta nodded. “I guess it
won’t matter too much unless it’s a lot of money.”

Cabriolet’s expression was
unreadable. “I’m not sure where the tax threshold will apply. As I said, you
must check with your country’s tax laws.”

Rhetta nodded. “I’ll check
with our accountant. Where do I need to sign?”

He pointed to a line. Above
the line was a number. In United States Dollars.

She didn’t have her glasses
on, so she was sure she wasn’t reading the number correctly. There seemed to be
so many of them. Must all be running together. “Can you hand me my purse,
Randolph? I need to get my glasses. I can’t read that amount.” Randolph handed
his wife her purse. Rhetta changed her mind. “Better yet, Mister Cabriolet, can
you read it for me?” She really didn’t want to embarrass herself by reading it
incorrectly.

“But of course. Twenty-seven
million, seven hundred and eighty thousand, three hundred forty-seven and
sixteen cents. In United States dollars.”

Rhetta’s stomach clenched,
her gut ricocheted and her fist gripped the pen so hard it snapped. Pieces flew
off and bounced to the floor. Rhetta clung to the useless, empty barrel. “What
did you say? How much?”

He repeated it. So very
calmly.

Rhetta’s ears popped.

Rhetta read the newspaper account
aloud to Randolph, Ricky and Billy Dan as they sat around the stone fire pit
near the pond bank at Billy Dan’s. The spring day had been just about perfect,
with the temperature in the seventies. After nightfall, the air was crisper.
The warmth from the crackling logs felt delicious on Rhetta’s bare arms.

When they had left Vera
Mardola, Rhetta and Randolph swore a pact of secrecy about the account. All the
way home, Rhetta had fretted and stewed about the money.

“Why did Frank do that to me?
I don’t think I should have all of it. I want to track down the other members
of the Garibaldi and find out if there are any children. We should share.”

“Whatever you want. I know
you’ll do the right thing.” Randolph had kissed her cheek. “Now try and get
some rest. You didn’t sleep at all last night.”

Randolph had added, “I don’t
think we should tell anyone about this money, not even our friends. Especially
until we know what you’re going to do with it.”

“I agree. I want to help
Woody and the other vets with PTSD.” She had gnawed on her fingernails. There
were none left, but she continued to chew anyway. Sleep aboard the plane had
been impossible. Children had fretted, lights had flickered, and the flight
attendants had provided beverage service with noisy carts.

When they had finally got
home, she had slept. For two days.

After a day spent fishing on Billy Dan’s lake, Rhetta and
Ricky had driven to Green’s Grocery, the old fashioned country store down the
road, and picked up a mountain of the “world’s best” fried bologna sandwiches
and a half gallon of potato salad to take back for supper. Rhetta had grabbed
the early edition of the local Sunday paper when she spotted the headline,
American Actor Accused of Hit and
Run in Cape Girardeau Found in Spain.

Rhetta snatched the paper.
“Hey guys, listen to this,” she said, and began to read.

American
film actor, Stanton Worthington, 48, shown here in the custody of federal
agents, was returned to Cape Girardeau, MO to face criminal charges. Among the
pending charges is one for a hit and run death last November 15, and an assault
charge against local mortgage banker, Rhetta McCarter. According to a witness,
the victim of the hit and run, George Erickson, was struck by a blue pickup
truck. Erickson was pronounced dead at Saint Mark’s hospital later that
evening. Worthington has a 2010 blue Ford pickup registered to him, according
to the Missouri Department of Motor Vehicles. The truck has been impounded.

Worthington
made international headlines in February when he was found bound and gagged on
a wharf in Cadaqués, Spain. He claimed that the police in the nearby island
country of Vera Mardola had tied him up and left him there. He was unable to
explain the reason, and it was widely believed that he had been a victim of an
assault and robbery. Spanish authorities immediately arrested Worthington on
suspicion of theft. No charges ensued and he was released to American agents
just yesterday. Worthington was part of the cast of the movie, Gone Lady to be
filmed here later this summer.

Rhetta set the paper down.
“It was Worthington, disguised as Evan, who conked me on the head and tossed me
in the Dumpster. I’m glad he’ll go to trial for killing George Erickson. Too
bad they can’t prove it was premeditated. No wonder he kept looking familiar,
but I couldn’t ever identify him. He’s adept at changing his looks.”

She tapped the paper. “That’s
why he was able to get on that boat in France. It was his, and he kept it
there. You’d think if he had enough money to live like that he wouldn’t have
had to steal more.”

Randolph skewered a couple of
fat marshmallows on two sticks, and handed one to Rhetta. He laid his along the
fire pit, and picked up his sandwich. “He may have had money, but it was
apparent he thought he was going to get a king’s ransom out of the trust. Maybe
he was living on more than he earned. You know, even if you earn a million
dollars, but spend a million and one, you’re still broke.”

“The bank at Vera Mardola
would have to release information about the Tontine Trust to prove premeditated
murder. And we both know that Mr. Cabriolet will not do that.”

Randolph finished the last of
his sandwich, popped open a diet soda, and sat back in his chair. “Stanton
Worthington is the son of Cooper Worthington, one of the original seven who
formed the trust with Rhetta’s father. Stanton somehow found out about it.
Maybe his father told him before he died, who knows? Anyway, the idea that
there was big money in the trust must have given Worthington the idea he could
get it. He impersonated the man he ran over in his attempt to prove he was the
last man. Because he’s an actor, he figured it would be easiest to impersonate
the dead man. He didn’t have everything worked out though, because he thought
Rhetta’s father was already dead. Mr. Cabriolet told us that Evan or
Worthington, in his disguise had shown up with a claim before Rhetta’s father
died, insisting he was the last. Mr. Cabriolet informed him that Frank Caldwell
was still alive. That’s when he began trying to get rid of not only Frank, but
Rhetta too. He knew that the money would go to the last surviving heir or
heirs.” Randolph patted Rhetta’s arm. “Of course that was Rhetta, since Frank
was truly the last one to die.”

Rhetta shuddered. “Evan, or
Worthington I should say, was probably in Vera Mardola the first time nobody
could find him around the place. Pretty sneaky, dressing up like an old dude
and spying on us at MCB.”

“He must have needed the
correct account number too, since he followed us to Columbia and got the number
out of the Camaro,” Ricky chimed in.

“Not to pry, but was the
account that valuable, after all was said and done?” asked Billy Dan.

“No, not really. The men had
pulled a lot out over the years,” Rhetta said. She didn’t look at Randolph. She
fiddled with her marshmallow stick.

“How will they prove he ran
over George Erickson?” asked Ricky.

Rhetta thought about it a
moment. “I had already told Sergeant Delmonti about the Tontine Trust, and my
father’s involvement, and I have all the paperwork my father gave me. It will
prove the account existed. That, combined with any evidence they may have from
his truck should be enough. Apparently, there were paint scrapes on George’s
clothing. If they match the truck, well, that ought to do it.” Rhetta moved to
the arm of Randolph’s chair. He slid his arm around her waist.

She turned to her husband.
“What I don’t understand, though, Sweets, is how Worthington got to Cadaqués?
When we left Vera Mardola, the
policia
had him in handcuffs.”

Randolph grinned. “That, my
dear, is what we in the judicial system call, a ‘Midnight Extradition.’ I’m
sure Vera Mardola didn’t want him there. No one had ever attempted to rob their
bank before, and I’m sure that they were ticked off, to say the least. Since
Vera Mardola has no extradition policy, they took matters into their own hands.
And
pronto
, he shows up in Spain.”

Everyone laughed.

“Hey, anyone up for some
chocolate fudge ice cream?” Billy Dan asked.

Rhetta and Ricky groaned in
unison. Then they both said, “Absolutely!” Billy Dan ran up the porch steps to
his kitchen to get the dessert.

“Now, I need to know
something,” Randolph said, turning to Rhetta. “What on earth made you grab
Evan’s beard?”

“When I looked over at him,
it was sideways! Woody had made a few remarks about his pathetic beard, and it
struck me right then that it was phony. So I yanked on it and sure enough!”

Billy Dan stopped midway down
the steps. He set aside the large tray holding ice cream, dishes and spoons and
jogged back up the stairs, disappearing around the corner of the house. Rhetta
soon heard the reason Billy Dan interrupted his descent. A four-wheeler roared
into the driveway, spewing up gravel before stopping at the side entrance to
the house. Rhetta stood and watched Billy Dan speak to the young driver. In a
moment, the man left, and Bill Dan loped across the porch and down the steps to
where everyone sat. He’d left the ice cream.

“That was Jimmy White Cloud.
There’s been an accident at that new bazillion dollar religious camp where that
Oklahoma developer is building back in the woods.” Billy Dan pointed to an area
down the road. “Some construction workers found a body. They think he was
murdered.”

The End

About the Author

Sharon Woods
Hopkins

Killertrust
,
the third book in
the mystery series featuring mortgage
banker Rhetta McCarter hits close to home. Sharon is a branch manager for a
mortgage office of a Missouri bank. She also owns the original Cami, the car
featured in the book.

Besides writing, Sharon’s
hobbies include painting, fishing, photography, flower gardening, and restoring
muscle cars with her son, Jeff.

She is a member of the
Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Southeast Missouri Writers’
Guild, and the Missouri Writers’ Guild. Her short story, “
Death Bee Humble
,” appeared in the SEMO
Writer’s Guild Anthology for 2012. Her first Rhetta McCarter book,
Killerwatt
, was
nominated for a 2011 Lovey award for Best First Novel, and was an Indie
Excellence Award Finalist in 2012 in the Mystery Category.

Her second book in the
series,
Killerfind
, was a 2012 Lovey award nominee for best series, and was also an Indie
Excellence Award Finalist in 2012.
Killerfind
won First Place in the Show-me Best Book Awards at
the Missouri Writers Guild for 2013.

Sharon has been a regular
contributor to
www.wheel-emag.com
and was a regular contributor to the Appaloosa
Journal. She spent 30 years as an Appaloosa Horse Club judge, where she was
privileged to judge all over the US, Canada, Mexico, and Europe.

She also spent time in the
air as a flight attendant for American Airlines, fifteen years as a real estate
broker, and ten years in retail management.

Sharon lives on the family
compound near Marble Hill, Missouri, with her husband, Bill, next door to her
son, Jeff, his wife, Wendy, and her grandson, Dylan, plus two cats, one dog,
and assorted second generation Camaros.

Watch for Rhetta McCarter and
the fourth book in the series,
Killerground
, coming soon.