Plains Crazy (28 page)

Mad Dog thought he knew who the girls had gotten a ride with. It left a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure why until Englishman turned the phone off and handed it back to Parker.

“Mrs. Kraus discovered a bomb in the courthouse, and Doc's found something that confirms Jud Haines is one of our bombers,” Englishman said. “But he's not alone. He's had at least one partner it this.”

Mad Dog nodded. He said the name at the same time Englishman did. “Brad Davis.”

***

They hadn't managed to peg the speedo. The Mini was heavily loaded, and there were too many little towns to pass through, each with its traffic light or hard-to-see intersections. That succession of hamlets came every five to eight miles, so much alike all of them could have been labeled Slow-Place-In-The-Road, Population Declining.

“Jackie's dead?” Mad Dog said. “My granddaughter?”

The sheriff tried to stop himself from reaching a foot for the brake pedal that didn't exist on the passenger's side as Mad Dog threw them around a couple on a Harley.

“She's dead,” the sheriff agreed. “And she's probably Janie Jorgenson's granddaughter. Whether she's related to you, that's another question.”

Mad Dog dropped well below the Cooper's top speed to pass a horse-drawn Amish buggy. “Yeah, not if what Davis said is true. Then he couldn't be my son, but who else could he be if he's mixed up in this thing?”

“Well, Haines could be Sam,” the sheriff said. “He might be forty, and I've never met or heard a thing about his family.”

“If it's Haines,” Parker said from the back seat, “he's taken his sweet time getting around to killing you, Mad Dog.”

“Look,” the sheriff said, “it's obvious Haines is a crook. He had those faked identity cards Mrs. Kraus found. He most likely put that device on the fax. It's all but certain he planted the bomb at the Texaco. Then there's the money and the grenade. But that's all we know for sure.”

Parker ticked items off across her leather-clad fingers. “Mrs. Jorgenson says you have a son. Mr. Davis says it isn't him. Mr. Davis says she's his mother and the head of Windreapers. We've got no independent proof of any of that. But Davis and Jackie are linked to Haines and the explosives and now, maybe, Davis has the Heathers.”

The sheriff nodded. “Yeah, that last part scares me. But right now, we don't know who any of these people really are. Or if any of the stuff they've told us is true. It's a tragedy about Jackie, but she was involved in this somehow—the arrows if not the bombs.”

Mad Dog blew by a tractor pulling a piece of farm machinery and avoided the eighteen-wheeler headed in the opposite direction with less margin for error than Parker approved, judging by the way she started to grab for Hailey. “The Janie I saw today hardly seemed bent on destroying me or Buffalo Springs.”

The sheriff agreed, to a point. “She stopped and took that bomb from Wynn Some, then tossed it safely outside of town. She may not want anyone to get hurt, but she knew what was in that sack. That makes her part of the bombings.”

“Maybe,” Mad Dog said. “But I don't believe she wanted to hurt me, or that she was lying about us having a kid.”

The traffic was getting heavier as they closed in on Wichita. At least they had a divided highway to work with now.

“Janie was in this car with me while it was rigged to explode,” Mad Dog said. “She sure wasn't acting like a suicide bomber.”

“No,” Englishman said, “Haines gets my vote. It's like he was following a plan to scam the county until he realized all that money could be his alone. The first few bombs were set so they weren't likely to hurt anyone—except the bomb in your car. Then things changed. He'd squeezed the money out of the supervisors and he was ready to make his getaway. That's when he decided he was willing to kill people, other than you. The grenade you found, that was convenient, otherwise he must have planned to set off the bomb on the fax to insure the supervisors wouldn't wise up before he skips the country and wires himself the money. Think about it. If Doc hadn't stumbled on a curious assistant, and that grenade had been the real thing, why would we suspect him? We might still be sifting debris to find out who was in there. He could have been long gone by the time your car exploded.”

Mad Dog skimmed by an RV on the right as a cement truck lumbered along, blocking the passing lane.

“Ah, Hell,” the sheriff said. “I don't have a clue about any of this. We'll find out soon enough…or we won't. But I've got to find my daughters and catch Judy before she gets on her plane.”

***

Mrs. Kraus relaxed in the comfort of a window booth at Bertha's from which she could keep an eye on the courthouse in case it suddenly erupted in smoke and flames. Bertha had taken pity on the stressful day she'd undergone and slapped down a big glass of sweet iced tea with lemon and a massive chunk of fresh-baked apple-crumb pie with the terse and unheard-of comment, “On the house.” It hadn't been that long since the judge brought her lunch, but Bertha's pies were to die for, and nearly dying in the line of duty was thirsty work.

After the last bite, she picked up the cell phone one of Bertha's customers had loaned her and punched in Parker's number again. The phone sure had a lot more thingamabobs on it than she could imagine uses for, but if you just hit the right buttons, you got the party you wanted, and heard them better than she'd expected.

“Another update,” she told the deputy.

“It's Mrs. Kraus,” she heard Parker inform the occupants of Mad Dog's car. Then she thought Englishman shouted something like “You can't fit through there,” and Mad Dog reply, “We just did.”

“We're just outside of Wichita,” Parker said. “What's up?”

Mrs. Kraus had already told them about the bomb wired to the fax machine and the stuff she'd discovered in Jud Haines' office. And she'd passed along what Doc had found out at
This Old Teepee
.

“I closed up the building,” she told the deputy. “Put danger signs on the front doors since you can't bolt them shut. I got Chairman Wynn organizing county security. The crater in the highway already has a detour around it.”

“Good,” Parker said.

“Greatest thing,” Mrs. Kraus continued, “is a highway patrolman stopped in here at Bertha's. He was sent to check on us. Minute he came in, everyone started telling him about the bombs. We finally got someone who believes us. He's called for back-up. Just went to check out the courthouse a few minutes ago. I gave him your number. When he gets a minute, he's gonna call to ask the sheriff what's going on. I wasn't sure what I should tell him, so I didn't.”

Parker relayed the information and told Mrs. Kraus that was terrific.

“And I heard from Doc again,” Mrs. Kraus cackled, saving the best for last. “Most serious bomb-related injury he's discovered was Deputy Wynn. The chairman's son was idiot enough to eat some of that plastic explosive. He thought it was a sack of dough. Doc says he'll survive, but he won't be available for duty this afternoon.”

“Why's that?”

“Well, Doc hadn't run into this problem before. He called poison control and reassured himself the stuff won't kill you. Then he improvised. It ain't gonna be the way Wynn Some feared, but that boy's still got an explosion to look forward to when Doc's most powerful laxative takes effect.”

***

They were off the diagonal on the west side of greater Wichita. Mad Dog could see his brother fidget when they got stuck and had to wait out a traffic light on Ridge Road. The airport was just ahead. They should make it with a little time to spare.

But traffic poked, staying tightly packed and stubbornly resistant to letting Mad Dog slip the Mini through. They caught two more red lights before Mad Dog made a space where one hadn't seemed to exist and squirted around a van and onto the airport's entrance road.

“Long- or short-term parking?” Mad Dog asked. “Or do you want me to drop you in front of the terminal first?”

But Hailey was fussing behind his ear, her attention on something off to their left, along the stretch of aircraft businesses and hangers that paralleled the easternmost of the runways between which the airport feeder road led.

“I think that's Jud Haines' car,” Parker said as Hailey jumped in and out of her lap and made insistent nose prints on the window. A red Buick sat in a parking lot that served the airport's executive terminal, as well as charter and private aircraft storage and service facilities.

“The girls are probably at the main terminal,” Englishman tried to persuade himself, “unless they're hostages.” He checked his watch and Mad Dog knew there wasn't much time left if Englishman hoped to catch Judy.

“Your call,” Mad Dog told his brother as they came up on the last place to turn before negotiating parking or drop-off zones. “Might not be Haines' car. Who knows where Davis is. Maybe they're all in the terminal.”

“That's where I'll go,” Englishman decided. “The girls would have gone after Judy, so that's what I'll do. You two check out that car.”

Mad Dog infuriated a security guard who thought he was moving too fast. Englishman pointed to the badge on his chest as he jumped out to join the parade of tourists, dumping his .38 and holster on the Mini's floor before Mad Dog tore away, back toward the lot where they'd seen what they thought was Haines' car.

There were several big lots, and it took Mad Dog a moment to find the entrance to the right one. Hailey finally convinced them to turn in and check the far corner, away from other vehicles.

“I wonder why…” Mad Dog said, but he threw the Mini to the end of the lot and into a nearby slot.

Hailey was the first one out of the Cooper. But she didn't bound over to the apparently-abandoned Buick. She approached it warily, preceded by a rumble from deep in her throat. Once he was out of the Cooper and on his feet, Mad Dog discovered why. Two figures lay in the car, hastily bound with duct tape and strapped down on the seats to which they were confined by their seat belts—the Heathers.

“Damn,” he said, and stepped forward to tear a door open and get them out of there.

“Don't touch it.” The panic in Parker's voice made a non-existent ruff of hair stand up along his back. It matched the one Hailey was showing as she growled at the car.

“Why?” he asked. But he already knew because he could see the wires.

***

Judy had to take her shoes off to go through security. She thought that was silly. There were plenty of better places in her clothing—slacks, a white blouse and a blue blazer—to hide a weapon. So, why strip everyone of their shoes? At least she was wearing the cute sunflower-printed socks the Heathers had given her last Christmas.

She went through the metal detector without a problem after carefully removing all her jewelry and putting it in one of those containers they offered you. She'd dressed with the idea of passing these security checkpoints. Plastic buttons on this blazer, not metal ones, and a belt that tied and had no buckle. They found nothing wrong with her carry-on luggage, or her purse, so she was soon offered a seat where she could put her shoes back on. She had a bad moment then, sitting there, looking at those cheerful sunflower socks the girls had given her. Would she ever see the Heathers again? And, if she did, would their lives be ruined by having to care for a mother who couldn't care for herself? Would she survive to see them marry? Ever see a grandchild? She felt herself tearing up until she realized a young soldier was in front of her, waiting for one of the chairs so he could get back into his own shoes. Lord, they were even checking soldiers. Absurd!

She pulled her flats on and made way for him and he smiled at her. He was Hispanic, maybe. He had a dark complexion and high cheek bones and he reminded her a little of Englishman. With a shy smile and eyes that swept across her figure before going to hide beneath his long lashes, he bore an amazing resemblance to the Englishman she'd seen, all those years ago, across the gym at the Bisons' basketball game. Englishman was still in his Army uniform then, a wounded war hero, and everything Judy had dreamed of. After halftime, she'd squeezed into the seat next to him. He'd noticed her. She made sure of that, making a big deal of slipping past him in the bleachers and sticking her mini-skirted tush in his face. Even then, he hadn't talked to her. Just an occasional glance out of the corner of those surprisingly blue eyes. Glances that took in her efforts to fill out her already tight sweater by throwing her shoulders back and taking deep, chest expanding breaths. His smile seemed to mock her and so, when the game was close and the crowd's attention was riveted elsewhere, she'd slipped off a shoe and rubbed one of her feet up the side of his calf. He hadn't been able to ignore her after that. Only a few hours later, before he discovered the girl who had picked him up was only a high school sophomore, they were lovers. The only lover she'd had in her life, and she didn't regret the absence of wider experience one bit. Not even now.

Teary eyes and fond memories caused her to take the wrong concourse. She was almost to the end of the gates before she discovered her error. She turned around at the sign on which Wichita State basketball legend Dave Stallworth welcomed visitors and informed them he was a Shocker. The team's nickname had been Wheat Shockers before urban snobbery shortened and altered the meaning. Not that taking the wrong way was a problem for Judy. Her plane wasn't even boarding yet. She was retracing her steps, passing the security checkpoint when she heard one of the guards saying, “Thanks for your cooperation, Sheriff English.”

She turned with a wide grin and searched the crowd for a familiar face. The one she found wasn't Englishman's, even though the man was the one the guard had been addressing. He combed blond hair off his forehead and took his badge and ID case back from security, stuffing them into a pocket as he fumbled for his western cut boots and carry-on luggage. She almost went over and demanded to know what he was doing, passing himself off as her husband. But he might know about the alleged blond bomber at the Farmers & Merchants.