Killertrust (4 page)

Rhetta, Randolph and Woody stood
shivering alongside the gaping muddy hole. The day had started out overcast and
cold and had not improved. Sleet and freezing rain pelted them as they huddled
together, desperately trying to share an umbrella. The only other person in
attendance was the elderly funeral director, Mr. DeBrock. He pulled his wool
hat lower over his ears as he stepped forward to recite a generic prayer as the
mechanical pulley slowly cranked the plain metal casket into the ground.

Rhetta batted away a freezing
raindrop that mingled with the tear sliding down her cheek, then tugged her
leather coat tightly around her.

Following the prayer, the
director added softly, “May you rest in peace, George Erickson,” and bowed his
head.

Rhetta mumbled, “Amen,” and
stepped back. Randolph put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to his
side. Alongside her, Woody battled with an umbrella, but gave up as a gust of
wind huffed it upward. He folded it and led the way back to her silver
Trailblazer, which she had named Streak. It didn’t streak anywhere, even with a
great deal of effort. The six-cylinder SUV was peppy, true, but streak it
didn’t.

They piled in, with Randolph
behind the wheel. He cranked the heat controls on high, and they sat in silence,
letting the heater build warmth. The defroster quickly rid the windshield of
the thin veneer of sleet.

“There won’t be a marker,
either, you know, unless we get him one,” Rhetta said softly.

Randolph agreed. “It’s only
right that his grave be marked. Especially since he was a veteran.”

“That’s a good thing to do,”
Woody said. “It’s for darn sure the government won’t do anything. I checked
into burying him at a veteran’s cemetery, and no way. Said they couldn’t assume
he was a veteran, and besides, this man died in 1973.”

Randolph glanced at Rhetta,
who merely nodded. Then he slipped the SUV into drive. Woody seemed detached
and yet, at the same time, upset by this death. Rhetta wondered what was
bothering him. He had told her the VA wasn’t paying for his medicine anymore.
Was he having problems? Woody had been injured when an IED exploded under his
Humvee, and he sometimes suffered violent flashbacks. She only sensed a time or
two when she thought he might be heading toward a spell, but she’d never seen him
in a full-blown episode. Now, she regretted the “out of sight, out of mind”
attitude she was afraid she’d adopted. Just because she couldn’t see Woody
whenever he had problems, didn’t mean that he wasn’t suffering.

The ground, not yet frozen,
was a slurry of mud and ice under the wheels. Rhetta had wheedled the cemetery
into donating a plot, but it was in the very back, in a seldom-traveled area.
Randolph shifted into four-wheel-drive, following the same ruts to leave as
they gouged into the ground on their way in. She wasn’t going to complain. At
least the cemetery recognized that a Vietnam veteran deserved a decent burial.

Once they’d bounced onto the
gravel road behind the cemetery, Woody spoke up. “I still can’t figure out who that
dead guy was, and why he had your business card. And why would somebody have
run him down?”

“Me neither. The police have
asked me that a dozen times.” She twisted around to talk to Woody.

“You gotta admit it’s pretty
strange that you saw him get hit, and then the police find your card on him. Do
you think there’s any way that you could have dropped a card out of your purse
when you rushed over to see about him?” Woody rubbed his hands together. “My
hands are still cold,” he added.

Rhetta sighed. “No. I left my
purse in the car when I jumped out and ran over to see what happened. I
remember grabbing my phone, nothing else.” She held up her cell phone, which
she had left on the console, to illustrate.

As she held the phone aloft,
she noticed a missed call. She didn’t recognize the number.

After dropping Woody off at his tidy bungalow on Whitener
Street near the Southeast Missouri State University campus in Cape, Randolph
deftly maneuvered Streak out of town and down the gravel county road toward
home. The weather hadn’t improved much, but the streets were clear.

Their house was once a
turn-of-the-twentieth-century farmhouse that sat in the center of ten acres of
picturesque creek-side property out in Cape Girardeau County.

After they married, Rhetta
and Randolph spent months looking for the perfect place while living in a
modest two-bedroom apartment. Rhetta had loved remodeling the old house.
Installing modern vinyl siding in the clapboard style kept the outside of the
two-story white home looking very much like the old pictures of it that Rhetta
had found in the attic. Inside, however, it was beautifully modernized.

Their location afforded them
privacy and country living, yet was only a few minutes from Rhetta’s office.
Their privacy wasn’t total, however. Their elderly neighbors, Mr. and Mrs.
Koblyk, lived in a neat cottage in a copse of pines right where the McCarters’
driveway met the county road. Rhetta waved to Mrs. Koblyk, who appeared on her
porch right on cue when she heard them approach. Mrs. Koblyk waved back, then scurried
into her house. The Koblyks had emigrated from Hungary in the early sixties.
Mr. Koblyk was long retired and tinkered, as he called it, fixing up broken
toys, and repairing jewelry, while Mrs. Koblyk delighted in baking and sharing
with the McCarters.

As they slowed to make the
turn into their driveway, Mrs. Koblyk reappeared on the front porch holding a
large plastic bag in one hand and waving them down with the other.

“Pull over, Randolph. Mrs.
Koblyk is motioning for us to stop.”

“She has something in her
hand. Could be something good.” He pulled into their drive.

As soon as he turned off the
road, Mrs. Koblyk carefully descended the steps from her porch and greeted them
when they stopped. Randolph rolled down his window.

“Hello today Mister Judge and
Missus Rhetta,” she said, her cheeks rosy against the cold. She wore only a
hand-knitted cardigan over her skirt and blouse. Not enough to ward off the
chill. She shivered as she handed Randolph the plastic sack, recycled from
Walmart. “I bake for you the twisted poppy seed bread,” she said, smiling
broadly. Even after all the years in this country, Mrs. Koblyk still spoke with
a broad Eastern European accent.

“Thanks,” Randolph said,
relieving her of the plastic bag. The contents felt warm. He sniffed. “It
smells wonderful.”

“I just get them from the
oven. The poppy seeds, they may spill a little.”

Rhetta stretched over from
the passenger seat, and inhaled the delicious aroma escaping from the bag.
“This smells heavenly, Mrs. Koblyk. You’re such a dear.” She wondered if she’d
have to hit the treadmill in the morning. That depended upon whether or not
Rhetta could hold her share to one slice.

Mrs. Koblyk waved her hand as
though shooing away a fly. “It’s nothing. Mr. Koblyk, he ask this morning for
me to bake the poppy seed bread, so I say, why not? And I make extra for the
judge, while I am baking.”

Randolph grinned.

“Oh, of course, for you too,
Missus,” she added.
Of
course.

While Randolph parked, Rhetta headed for the family room,
dropping her coat on a kitchen chair on the way. “I’m going to get a fire
started, Sweets,” she called out. “It’s definitely fireplace weather.” She
placed the bag from Mrs. Koblyk on the kitchen counter. “I think Mrs. Koblyk is
sweet on you,” Rhetta added. Randolph merely chuckled.

The blinking red message
light on the answering machine caught her eye as she loped across the kitchen.
She changed course and veered toward it. She punched the “play” button. Her
stomach knotted when she recognized the voice.

“George was murdered.”

With one arm circling his
wife’s
shoulder, Randolph used his free hand to hit “play” again.

“George was murdered,” the
wheezy voice began. “You know who this is. I can’t talk about this on the
phone, and it’s too dangerous to meet in person. Go to your office right away,
Rhetta, as soon as you get this message. I left a key for you in your mail
slot. It fits a locker in the Cape Girardeau airport. What’s inside will
explain all of this. And, Rhetta? Don’t try to find me. It’s too dangerous.”
Then the line went dead.

“Damn,” Rhetta said, punching
Star 69, trying to call the number back.

“I’m sorry, but the number
you have called is not in service…” Rhetta disconnected before the rest of the
message finished playing.

She stared at the phone. “The
phone he called from isn’t in service. Imagine that.” She shrugged away from
Randolph, and sat on a stool. Her hands shook. She gritted her teeth. “Why?
What’s going on? What is he trying to drag me into?”

“Are you sure that’s him?”
Randolph said, enveloping her small hands with his.

“Yes. I’m sure. It’s the same
voice as that of the man who stopped me in the hospital garage claiming to be
my dear old dad. I’d recognize his voice anytime. Wouldn’t I love to know how
he manages to claim being my father when I have my father’s death certificate?
If he calls again, I intend to ask him about that.”

She visualized the contents
of the large manila envelope tucked away in her top drawer at the office. She
had memorized everything in it. She had proof positive that her father died
during the Vietnam War. So who is this crazy old man claiming to be her father?

Rhetta pounded the counter
with her fist. “I’m not going to do a thing that he asks. This guy is a cuckoo,
and I won’t be dragged into some lunatic scheme of his. ‘Too dangerous to meet
in person,’ my butt. He sounds like a paranoid cold-war ex-spy from an old
James Bond movie. I’m going to report this to the police.”

Randolph kissed her cheek,
and clasped her hands again. “I seriously doubt that there will be any kind of
key at the office. If I’m right and there isn’t, then definitely call Sergeant
Delmonti, tell him about this, and that’s that. Who knows? This may even be the
guy who ran over poor George. If there is a key, whatever you do, don’t go out
to the airport. Call me right away. Then call Delmonti. This guy may be
following you.” He kissed her palm.

Rhetta shuddered. “You’re
right, as usual. I’m calling Delmonti anyway and telling him about all of this.
The police may be able to piece this together.” She slid off the stool and
hugged her husband. “Right now, I’ll get this fire going.” As she passed the
window, she glanced out, staring through slowly swirling snowflakes down the
long driveway toward the road. Nothing looked out of place. No cars or vehicles
lurked. Was he out there? Following her? Why?

And,
what if there is a key waiting for me?

The day dawned crisp and
bright, the sun sparkling like diamonds through the frost-coated trees. The dry
dusting of snow glittered in the fields, as though fairies had sprinkled the
tops of the weeds with magic sparkles. From her bed, Rhetta gazed out at the
river birch trees stripped of leaves, but adorned with thousands of ice crystals.
She loved living in the country. She stretched, then slid out from between the
warm sheets and her husband’s sleeping form, and padded to the kitchen to make
coffee. Randolph meandered in just as the brew finished.

She and Randolph had spent
most of the previous day packing up more art into the trailer. The Thanksgiving
show had been hugely successful and Randolph had to gather more paintings for
the last-minute Christmas shoppers who would be visiting the art galleries’
open houses all this week.

“I’m going to the gallery
early this morning. We have a buyer from Saint Louis coming in around ten, and
I want to be sure I have all my stuff unloaded when he gets there. He’s buying
for shops from Saint Louis and Chicago.” Randolph filled his coffee mug.

Rhetta saw his eyes light up
as he talked. She brimmed with happiness that his art was finally getting
meaningful recognition.

She never imagined when she
met the handsome circuit judge at a Humane Society dinner auction that she
would one day be married to this terrific man and he would become a successful
artist. She had sworn never to marry, and he was a childless widower. Funny how
life has such strange twists.

Because her own childhood had
been too painful, she had decided not to have children. She grew up hating her
father for abandoning them when she was a toddler. She adored her mother, but
grew up very lonely, the result of her mother working several jobs to support
them.

“I know they’ll love your
work, Sweets,” she said as she refilled her own mug, a large ceramic one
adorned with a picture of a black cat. She carried it with her to the master
bedroom to shower and dress. She had thought about the mysterious key all the
previous day, but didn’t speak once of it to Randolph. He had her convinced to
call Sergeant Delmonti, and that’s what she would do. She wasn’t going to rush
down to the office because of a nut case phone call to check on any damn key.

She turned on the morning
television news and stepped into the shower. Just as she soaped up, Randolph
stuck his head into the steamy shower. “I’m leaving, see you tonight.” He
kissed her wet nose. She threw the soap at him. He ducked just in time.

An hour later, the cats
had assembled on the back deck, waiting for their breakfast. She carried a bag of
dry food outside and poured a portion into four separate bowls. Then she
remembered that she hadn’t carried out the trash, so she loaded three full bags
into Streak and drove down to the barn where they kept the Dumpster, and
wrestled the bags into it.

Finally
underway, she decided to swing through McDonald’s and get Woody a breakfast
sandwich. Before leaving home, she had gulped down a breakfast shake, which was
now sloshing in her stomach. She needed more coffee to settle the shake, so she
ordered herself a tall coffee along with Woody’s sandwich.

A few blocks before she
reached the office, she remembered that she needed to pick up some postage. She
detoured through the drive-through post office but couldn’t remember what she
needed, so she went on through without purchasing anything. She waved to the
postal lady as she went by and received a strange look and partial wave in
return.

Woody had not yet arrived
when she got there, and a sense of dread washed over her. She realized that she
had deliberately procrastinated, hoping she wouldn’t be the first to get to the
office in case there really was a key like the phone call had said. She
unlocked the front door, slipped in quickly and braced her back against the
door. Taking a deep breath, she dared a glance to the floor in front of the
mail slot. Nothing. She let out a
whoosh
of air that she hadn’t realized that she was holding.

“The old coot was jerking my
chain after all,” she muttered as she walked slowly to her desk, pausing at
Woody’s desk to set his sandwich down next to a small stuffed sock monkey that
guarded his computer. “I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself and rush down
here yesterday.” She balanced her hot coffee until she reached her own desk,
then managed to set it down without spilling a drop. After hanging up her coat
and scarf, she tugged open the bottom desk drawer and dropped her oversized
purse into it. Then she went to the kitchen to make more coffee. One cup would
never get her through the day.

The computers had booted up
by the time Woody arrived. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, huffing as he hurried to
hang up his coat. “I had to take Jenn to work this morning. Her car wouldn’t
start.” He spied the breakfast sack. “Did you get this for me?” He didn’t wait
for an answer, but began unwrapping the sandwich. “Thanks!” He munched
hungrily, then strode to the kitchen.

Coffee cup in hand, he
swallowed the last of the sandwich, then wiped errant crumbs off his beard as
he made his way back to the front office. After he plopped into his chair and
tossed the napkin into the trash, he swiveled toward Rhetta. “By the way, I
came in here last night to meet new clients, a soldier and his wife, to take
their application, since it was his only time off. The outside lights weren’t
on, so we better call that new maintenance man Jeff hired to help out. I think
his name is Evan.” He dusted crumbs off his neatly pressed white shirt. “Oh,
and something else. I found a key on the floor by the mail slot and put it in
your top drawer.”