Killertrust (5 page)

Rhetta’s heart slammed against her
ribs. “What did you just say?”

“I came in here yesterday to
take an application, and the outside lights weren’t working,” Woody repeated.
“You probably need to call Jeff to get them fixed. I don’t know how to reach
that helper he hired. I think his first name is Evan. I don’t know his last
name.”

Rhetta jerked the drawer
open. It wasn’t the application, or the prospect of calling Evan, a homeless
guy with a long, ratty grey beard, that made her heart lurch. There, nestled on
top of a sheaf of papers lay a small brass key attached to a rectangular
plastic fob bearing a number: 127.

She clasped her hand around
it, removed it, and then eased her drawer shut. She took a deep breath and
closed her eyes. When she opened them, she scrutinized the little key, front
and back. There was nothing to identify where it came from. Should she believe
the phone call? Was this really a key to a locker at the airport? And, if it
was, should she go and find out? Randolph had told her to call him if she found
a key, in case she was dealing with a stalker. She returned the key to the
drawer and reached for the phone.

“What’s the key for?” Lost in
her thoughts, she hadn’t heard Woody edge up to her desk. She jumped at the
sound of his voice.

“A locker at the airport.”
She peered up at him.

“Why?”

“What do you mean,
why
?”

“Why did someone leave you a
key to a locker at the airport?”

“It wasn’t just someone,
Woody. I got a phone message yesterday from the man claiming to be my father.
He says he left it for me, and I was supposed to go to the airport right away
and find this locker. He actually wanted me to go last night.” As she told him
about the phone call, Woody rubbed his shaved head with both hands. Did the
significance of this key upset him? Maybe, but not as much as it was upsetting
her. With Woody’s PTSD, sometimes it was hard to tell what might get to him. He
didn’t like talking about it, so she was reluctant to ask.

Just then, LuEllen flew
through the door, out of breath and apologetic. “Sorry I’m late,” she said,
unwrapping a scarf from around her neck and slipping out of her wool jacket.
“There’s a bad accident on Mount Auburn near Independence. Both sides of the
road are blocked and the traffic is getting majorly snarled.” She gazed at
Rhetta, who took a minute to answer.

“Oh, no problem, LuEllen.
Just glad you’re all right.” Rhetta waved her hand dismissively.

LuEllen picked up her lunch
tote and asked as she headed to the kitchen. “Anyone need coffee?”

Woody didn’t answer, but
Rhetta said, “No, thanks,” as LuEllen disappeared around the corner. Rhetta
picked up her conversation with Woody. “I’m not convinced. I think it’s
probably just someone’s idea of a not-so-practical joke.” She opened her top
drawer and tossed the key into it, then slid the drawer shut.

“Aren’t you going to go and
check it out? I’ll go with you,” he added, and veered toward the coat rack. He
shrugged into his coat, walked to the front door and waited.

Rhetta stared at Woody. He
had just volunteered to go with her. This key business apparently piqued his
interest, but she didn’t question him just then. She’d use the drive time to
the airport to quiz him.

She mobilized her senses.
“First, I have to call Randolph. I promised I’d call him if a key showed up
here.” Rhetta couldn’t quickly locate her cellphone. It had probably fallen to
the bottom of her purse again. She lunged for the office phone and dialed
Randolph’s cell phone. The call went to his voice mail. “Sweets, there was a
key dropped here yesterday. Woody and I are going to the airport to check it
out. There’s a number on the key, which I guess according to the phone call, is
for a locker number. We’re going to see if there’s really a locker number 127,
and what may be in it. I’ll call you when we get there.” She dropped the phone
into its cradle.

Then she slid open the drawer
and closed her hands around the key.

Rhetta hit the remote start
so that Streak could idle and warm up before they climbed in. By the time they
had buckled up, the vents gusted warm air. She turned down the satellite radio
that blasted Cousin Brucie and the oldies, slid the SUV into gear, and merged
with the southbound traffic on Kingshighway.

What snow had fallen
overnight was gone, leaving the streets coated with a dirty slush mixed with
mud. Rhetta wove through traffic and eventually eased onto the approach to
southbound Interstate 55. The winter sun’s brightness forced her to lower the
visor against the glare. She fished around the console for her sunglasses, but
came up empty. “Woody, can you hand me my sunglasses?” She waggled fingers at
him as an invitation for him to rummage through the console until he located
them.

He handed them to her. “Do
you really think that was your father who called you? And showed up at the
hospital parking lot last year?”

Rhetta thought about how to
answer. She wasn’t positive about the identity of the man who insisted he was
her father. Maybe he was a stalker. After all, she had proof of her father’s
death. Then again, if he was a stalker, why was he so elusive? He wasn’t
actually doing much stalking, at least that she could tell.

“I don’t know what to think.
Last year, when he stopped me in the parking lot at the hospital, he gave me
this locket.” She fingered the locket at her throat. “It was definitely my
mother’s. Then he disappeared. She didn’t tell Woody that the years of hatred
toward the man claiming to be her father nearly boiled over the first time
Frank Caldwell revealed himself to her. Luckily, she caught herself before she
actually ran over him and killed him. That would have generated way too much
paperwork. She sighed. She didn’t actually want to kill him, but her anger very
nearly made her do something very stupid.

She glanced at Woody. “I
didn’t tell you at the time, but he called me at the house on my birthday,
after everyone went home from my party. He said he keeps tabs on me, which,
frankly, gives me the creeps.” She honked at a pickup that was trying to cut
her off as she descended the ramp to the highway. The truck swerved aside. She
thought she saw a middle-finger salute as she passed him.

Because the Cape Girardeau
Regional Airport was located just a couple of miles south of Cape Girardeau,
Rhetta arrowed down the exit ramp mere moments after getting on the interstate
in Cape.

“How does he keep tabs on
you?” Woody asked, as he glanced at traffic over his right shoulder.

“Beats me. That’s why it
gives me the creeps.”

The airport had a dozen or so
hangars that housed a few manufacturing businesses, and some accommodated
several private planes. The airport’s regional carrier, Cape Air shuttled to
St. Louis Lambert International Airport where passengers could connect with
major airlines and head out to any part of the world. In its own way, the
little local airport served as a gateway to the world. As an added bonus,
parking and security was much easier than dealing with the huge international
airport in St. Louis, or even Memphis. Most people for a hundred miles around
utilized the convenience of flying out of Cape. It made the airport a busy
place some days.

Today, however, wasn’t one of
them. They breezed into the parking lot and snagged a space close to the main
entrance.

“Maybe my father’s watching
us right now,” Rhetta said after she and Woody piled out. She aimed the remote
device and heard the Trailblazer beep, indicating the doors had locked.

Woody’s head swiveled from
side to side. “I don’t see anybody paying us any special attention. In fact, I
don’t see anybody at all.”

Rhetta glanced around.
“Neither do I. I feel pretty stupid. I think someone’s playing a joke on me,
and is probably laughing his butt off as I run around trying to match a key to
a locker.” She extracted the key from her pocket and waved it at Woody. “All right,
we might as well give them something to bust a gut at. Let’s go find this
locker.” As she led the way, she barely avoided bumping into a thin man
hurrying out the front door. A few strands of dark hair from his hatless head
lifted in the chilly breeze. He wore the collar of his sheepskin rancher-style
coat turned up near his ears. The coat covered him down to his knees, but
Rhetta spotted blue jeans and brand name hiking boots.

“Woody, does that man look
familiar to you?” When Rhetta looked at Woody for confirmation of her
assessment, Woody was looking in the wrong direction. “Over there,” she said
and turned to point out the man. He was gone.

“Sorry, I guess I didn’t see
him.” Woody followed Rhetta’s gaze as she took in the parking lot. “What did he
look like?”

Rhetta shrugged. “Medium
height, thin. He reminds me of someone I know, but I can’t place him.” She
needed to get a grip. She was imagining stalkers at every turn.

“Maybe he’s one of those
actors. I read where they will be coming into town today.”

“What actors?” Rhetta stopped
her march into the terminal, a tan brick building that was a clone of hundreds
of other drab buildings from the seventies. “What are you talking about?”

“I read in the paper this
week that some of the cast and crew from that movie that will be filmed here
next spring are supposed to arrive in town this week. It was on
First News
, too.”

“Now I remember. Kelly
Davenport was all a-twitter about it. Sheesh. It will probably amount to a big
zero, like when they filmed
Killshot
here. They had businesses and streets
closed, and everyone was excited. Then when the movie finally came out, they
had re-shot every single scene that had been filmed in Cape Girardeau. I think
they used a studio to recreate the outdoor Mississippi River scenes. A total
bust. I guess that’s why I forgot all about it.”

“That guy might have been one
of the actors. They tend to slip in quietly, you know,” Woody said. “It’s not
always paparazzi and glamour for these actors. A lot of them are almost
nomadic, getting parts in movies all over, and living on the road.

“Yeah. Well, I guess we
better find the lockers.” Rhetta took stock of the airport’s T-shaped layout,
searching for the storage lockers. Not finding them, she approached an
information booth in the center of the T and asked the young man working behind
a circular desk where she might locate the lockers. He barely glanced up from
his computer screen long enough to point to a hallway behind him.

“Straight down there, ma’am,”
he said, waving behind him, never taking his gaze from his computer.

“Don’t you have to be at
least sixteen to work in Missouri?” Rhetta said to Woody as she rounded the
desk, arrowing toward the hallway the young man had indicated.

“I think so. Why do you ask?”
Woody said, easily keeping pace with her trot.

“That kid back there,” Rhetta
said. “He doesn’t look a day over twelve.”

Woody’s eyebrow shot up. “Uh,
huh. Is that a sign you’re getting old? The young adults look like
twelve-year-olds?”

“That kid? There was nothing
adult about him. He didn’t even have facial hair under all that acne.” They
arrived at a U-shaped alcove lined with metal lockers much like the ones she
remembered from high school. All of the painted grey lockers gleamed under the
fluorescent lighting. They were lined up numerically with the lower numbers
starting on her left and continuing  around the U. Rhetta estimated there were
about one hundred fifty total. All were closed, but some had keys sticking out,
waiting to be rented. Off to the right, one locker stood ajar. Rhetta followed
the sequence of numbers until she stood smack in front of the open one. In
fact, it was obvious from the angle of the door, which listed forlornly, that
it wasn’t merely open. The locker door was jimmied off one of its hinges.
Rhetta stared at the number on the front: 127. Then, she peered inside.

Empty.

Rhetta’s hand shook as she
held the key aloft. She squinted to compare the number on it to the number on
the locker. She didn’t trust her eyes. She reached into her purse and felt
around until she located the case for her glasses. She put them on and resumed
examining the locker. The numbers were the same. Someone had found the locker
before she did, and forced it open. Who? Why? Who else could have known about
the locker? And what was in it?

She whirled around and
marched back to the information booth. Woody continued examining the locker a
moment before following her.

She waved the key at the
attendant. “I want to file a complaint. Someone broke into my locker.” His eyes
tried to focus on the key as she waved it in front of him. “Have you seen
anyone go to these lockers? Mine is number 127 and it’s been broken open. The
door is barely on its hinges, and, of course, it’s empty.”

She finally stopped flapping
the key and the boy peered at it. “Lady, did you just ask me if I saw anyone go
to the lockers? Shoot, that’s just about everyone who flies. Most of the time
passengers can’t carry on all the stuff they think they can, so they have to
rent a locker until they get back. There’s always someone going back there.” He
rose, scratched at a patch of acne on his face and let himself out through the
half door that sealed him in the information booth. Rhetta’s first thought when
he stood was that his height was due to a raised floor, but when he strode up
alongside her, she had to stare up at him. She guessed he was even taller than
Woody, who was a foot taller than her. Maybe this kid was actually older than
twelve after all.

“Can you show me some ID and
your rental receipt?” asked the young man, whose badge Rhetta noticed bore the
name Haldane.
Who
names a kid Haldane? Isn’t that a poisonous gas?

“I didn’t bring a receipt. I
didn’t think I’d need it. I do have the key.” She shook it at Haldane. She glanced
sideways at Woody and caught him rubbing his head. She ignored the gesture and
returned her attention to Haldane. “Someone must have done this today, or you
would have noticed it, right?”

She hoped she’d put Haldane
on the defensive and get him to quit asking her for dumb things like a receipt.
He returned to his booth and tapped on the keyboard.

“Says here Number 127 was
rented to…” He peered myopically at the name. “Frank Caldwell.” He turned to
Rhetta. “Are you Mrs. Caldwell?”

Rhetta’s heart thundered
against her chest bones at hearing the name. Whoever had rented this locker had
used her father’s name!

“No, actually, I’m his
daughter. He asked me to pick up his stuff for him.” That part, at least, was
mostly true. She stole a look at Woody, but couldn’t read his expression. When
he saw her glance at him, he looked away.

“I’ll file a complaint with
security, notifying them that someone broke into this locker. You have to fill
in a form and let us know what was in the locker.” He rummaged around in a drawer
and came up with a sheaf of papers. He selected one and slid it toward her. She
stared at it, uncomprehendingly. The only thing that she knew for certain was
that the man claiming to be her father had told her “what’s inside will explain
all this.” She had no idea what, exactly,
all this
consisted of.

“I, uh, don’t know for sure
what was in there. He’ll be flying back home in a couple of days. Can we fill
in the report when he gets here?”

Haldane looked at her and
tilted his head. She was sure he could see right through her charade. “That’s
fine, ma’am. He can take care of it then.” He picked up the phone and she heard
him call for Security.

“Great.” She spun abruptly
and sprinted for the door. Woody galloped after her. She heard Haldane call
out, “Ma’am? You’ll still need to report this to Security. Ma’am?”

Rhetta ignored him and fled
to the door.

Once outside, Rhetta braked
so suddenly that Woody had to skid to a stop to keep from piling over her.
“What are you running away from?” he asked, stepping around her, and glancing
over his shoulder.

Rhetta didn’t answer.
Instead, she held her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun and
scanned the cars and vehicles in the parking lot. “I have a feeling that the
person who broke into the locker was the guy I spotted when we got here. He
looked at me kinda funny, making me think I knew him from somewhere. It has to
be him.” She swiveled her head around, continuing her search.

Woody followed her gaze.
There was no one moving around the semi-deserted parking lot. Especially not
the man Rhetta described. “I think he’s long gone, if it was him,” Woody said,
and began ambling toward the Trailblazer. “I think you have a very vivid
imagination.” Rhetta followed, still gawking.

Rhetta fumed. “That settles
it. I’m convinced this is some kind of stupid practical joke. I don’t know who
I ticked off, but I’m getting tired of getting jerked around.” She aimed the
remote device at the SUV and the locks snapped open. “Let’s get back to the
office, and get some real work done.”