Killerwatt

by Sharon Woods Hopkins

  No, that’s not going to happen. He’s not going to die. I won’t let him!

  Rhetta glanced up into the cloudless night sky filled with a million points of starlight. I’m so tired. I’m going to lay my head down for a few hours. Looking into the vast Milky Way had always brought issues into perspective for her during many other low points in her life. Like when her mother had died and she’d wept uncontrollably. She’d been an only child and had no one to turn to for comfort. A wave of hate for her father began to roll over her, but she stopped it short. She whispered to God, hoping she’d gotten back into His good graces. “God, if you can hear me, let Randolph be okay. Let this nightmare stop.”

  Rhetta intended staying home just long enough to shower, change clothes and grab a sandwich before heading back to the hospital. She parked Cami near the front door, instead of using the garage.

  Once inside the house, she never made it to the shower. She collapsed, fully dressed, across the sofa and fell instantly asleep.

  * * *

  Figures and shapes hovered around Rhetta. She stared down at the body on the floor. It wasn’t Peter LaRose lying there in the hot downtown apartment. She began to recognize the face. It was Randolph.

  The hospital was complicit in the charade. It wasn’t Randolph, but Peter, who lay in the hospital bed struggling for his life. Why did the charts say McCarter? If Randolph was dead, shouldn’t she be making funeral arrangements?

  Why is a phone ringing? Where is the phone?

  She groped around until she located her cell phone under a couch cushion. Staring at it with sleep-blind eyes, she couldn’t understand why it kept ringing. She pounded the answer bar.

  Finally, the fog lifted from her brain and, like mist in the morning sun, the bad dream began to dissolve. The insistent ringing was coming from the front doorbell, not the cell phone she cradled stupidly.

  She struggled to her feet, shaking her head to chase away the last of the nightmare. The schoolhouse clock on the fireplace mantel glowed 6:28.

  When she peered through the window, Rhetta barely recognized Mrs. Koblyk. The neighbor’s normally smiling face wore an expression as abject as a bird dog that had lost its quarry.

  “Hello Missus, how is the good judge today?” the woman asked by way of greeting after Rhetta sighed and opened the front door. Rhetta shielded her eyes with her hand against the bright morning sun.

  Mrs. Koblyk jutted her chin towards Cami. “I see the pretty blue car, which means you must be here, so I come to see what I can be doing for you.” She peered around Rhetta into the still dark house. Rhetta hadn’t opened the blinds.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Koblyk, I appreciate your taking care of the cats. Everything is fine now.”

  What a lie. Nothing’s fine. Rhetta finger combed her messy hair. I must look a sight.

  Looking almost disappointed, Mrs. Koblyk turned to leave. “All right, Missus. But if you need my help, I can come again today to feed the poor things.”

  Rhetta smiled. “I’ll feed them this morning, and they should be fine until I get back later.” She began to close the door, yearning for a hot shower and even hotter coffee.

  “I ask the man in the green car, or truck you know, a big car like a truck, if he is family, and how is the judge. But he didn’t answer me, only turned around in your driveway and sped away, sending up the gravel, too.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

  Rhetta thought she’d missed part of the conversation.

  “What man? Was it an SUV?” She opened the door wider and stepped out onto the porch, peering around.

  “Yes, that’s it, as you say, SUV. The same car, two times, I see it. The second time, he doesn’t go all the way to your house.”

  The Koblyks’ tidy bungalow nestled in a copse of cedar trees along the county road, directly across from the McCarter driveway.

  “We don’t know anyone in a green SUV. Please, Mrs. Koblyk, you shouldn’t be talking to anyone you don’t know.” Instantly, Rhetta regretted telling her that. The woman was easily alarmed.

  Mrs. Koblyk’s pudgy hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my. I will be telling that to Mr. Koblyk. We call the police if they are coming back?”

  Rhetta paused a beat before answering. She didn’t want to frighten the woman, but then, there shouldn’t have been anyone on their property, either. “Yes, Mrs. Koblyk, you should call the sheriff’s office. Whatever you do, please stay away from that car and whoever may be in it.”

  Mrs. Koblyk’s neat grey curls bounced in rhythm with her bobbing head. “Yes, I will do that, Missus. Oh, my.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, my,” she repeated.

  Rhetta took both of her neighbor’s hands in her own. “Mrs. Koblyk, you must call the sheriff if they come back, all right? Those people have no business on our property.” Rhetta tried to sound calm in spite of the sudden surge of fear that had invaded her stomach.

  The woman nodded and turned to shuffle down the steps to her own car that she’d parked behind Cami. She waved briefly before climbing inside, backing up, and then inching forward around Rhetta’s car. She completed a turn around the circle drive in front of the house, before heading down the long driveway to the county road.

  Once Mrs. Koblyk left, Rhetta made a pot of coffee, and headed for the deck to feed the cats. When she called to them, she was greeted by a symphony of plaintive yowling. “Who are you trying to impress? I know Mrs. Koblyk fed you while I’ve been gone. You aren’t starving.” The three felines milled around her feet and legs, purring and meowing their innocence. “All right, you win. I’ll get some breakfast for you.”

  The feeding done, Rhetta darted through the kitchen and began peeling off her clothes on her way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded items behind her. She managed to be fully naked by the time she reached the master bath. She turned the shower on full blast and stepped in. Steam from the shower rose around her, and hot water sluiced down her face. Rhetta worried who could have been in the strange car. Her heart began thudding. She twisted the water knob off and grabbed a towel. Green SUV. Mental head slap! She should’ve asked Mrs. Koblyk if the strange SUV was damaged in any way around the front or the fenders. She visualized the traces of green paint on the Artmobile and Al-Serafi’s car. She leapt out of the shower, snugged a towel around her and snatched her phone off the sink. She dialed the St. Louis number for the FBI.

  “Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “I need to speak with—“

  She was interrupted by the automated voice that continued, “If you know your party’s extension, you may dial it now. For a directory, please dial 2, for assistance, please dial 3.”

  She punched the number 3.

  When a male voice answered, she immediately reported the SUV being on her property.

  Before she could explain its significance, the man interrupted her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but if someone has trespassed on your property, that would be a matter for the local authorities. I suggest you call the police or sheriff’s department in the county where you live. Have a nice day.” He hung up.

  “Damn,” she said. She scurried across the bedroom, snatched the phone book from her nightstand, and dialed the sheriff’s department.

  She was met with the same indifference.

  “Do you have a license plate number for this SUV?” the female dispatcher asked.

  “No, we were unable to get that,” Rhetta said. “My husband was recently run off the road by a green SUV.”

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but there isn’t anything we can do for you. If you can get the license number, you may report it again.”

  Damn again. The police were no help. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. She remembered the trip back from Eddie’s impound yard the day she found the schematic. Someone nearly ran them off the road.

  She was sure, now, that the same someone had come to pay her a visit.

  CHAPTER 27

  She spotted her iPhone dancing across the edge of the sink to a tinny ren
dition of the William Tell Overture. She put down her toothbrush and grabbed it.

  Woody. She’d changed his ring tone to the Lone Ranger theme because Woody liked to refer to himself as the Loan Arranger. She thought it was cute. Woody preferred Who Let the Dogs Out, but she wasn’t persuaded to change it.

  “Hey, what’s up?” she said, doing her best to sound cheerful, while chewing her fingernails in worry.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Woody said, his tone light.

  This is a good sign. If Randolph had taken a bad turn, Woody wouldn’t sound so cheerful.

  “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  Before she could answer, she heard a raspy voice that she immediately recognized.

  “Hi,” was all he said. She didn’t have to ask who it was. Relief flooded her and she sank into the chair near the bed. The towel slid to the floor.

  “Hi, Sweets, how are you? It’s so good to hear you.”

  “I’m…I’m okay,” he said, his voice ragged.

  “I’m getting ready to come to see you.” She glanced down then, and pulled up the towel. “I’d better get dressed first. I just got out of the shower and I’m still naked.”

  “I love it when you talk dirty,” he said and coughed.

  She laughed. It felt good to laugh. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Come as you are,” he said and began to chuckle. He coughed again.

  “Okay, my dirty old man, I’m on my way.”

  “He’s awake, hungry, and giving me grief.” Woody was back on the line. “I’ll stay until you get here.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be there soon.” She flung aside the towel, and disappeared into the walk-in closet. She came out wearing a pair of soft faded jeans, a pale green tee, and white tennis shoes.

 

  * * *

  Since her stomach was rumbling, Rhetta veered through McDonald’s drive-thru and ordered a bacon-egg-and-cheese biscuit and a large coffee. She balanced the coffee between her thighs since Cami didn’t have a cup holder, praying fervently she wouldn’t have to stop suddenly and wear the coffee. Evidently, no one ever drove while eating or drinking back in the 70s.

  The pleasure and excitement from speaking to Randolph soon waned as Rhetta remembered the barbiturates and the blood alcohol test. She was more determined than ever not to leave Randolph alone while he remained in the hospital. What she couldn’t figure out was what Randolph was caught up in. It became clear that someone wanted to make sure Randolph didn’t go home. Was it connected to the schematic? She lost her appetite. She tossed the still wrapped breakfast biscuit aside.

  * * *

 

  Pulling into a nearly empty hospital parking lot, Rhetta concluded that Saturday morning mustn’t be a busy time for visitors. She easily snagged a good spot close to the door. Balancing the coffee, her purse, and her keys, she started to push the driver door closed when she caught sight of the breakfast bag lying on the seat. She ducked back inside to retrieve it for Woody. Woody could eat anytime.

  While she stretched to reach the sack, the heavy car door continued closing and caught her squarely on her butt. The coffee exploded out of her hand and spewed onto every surface inside the car, all over the white upholstery, front and rear, white door panels, the inside of the windshield and the top of the dash. Cursing under her breath, she groped for the box of tissues she kept in the back seat and began to mop up the mess.

  Why does coffee expand exponentially when spilled? There must be a mathematical equation for that. How else could sixteen ounces of coffee cover the entire interior of a car? She glanced up then and saw light brown spots on the white headliner.

  She sighed, put her purse on the concrete floor of the parking structure, along with the coffee cup that amazingly still had about a third of the liquid left, and dug in the console for the baby wipes.

  When the interior was sufficiently clean so that Rhetta felt there would be no permanent stains, she wadded up the fistful of used wipes and toted them to a nearby trashcan.

  She’d have to live with the baby powder smell for a while. She wrinkled her nose.

  She never had any children, nor had she ever baby-sat much when she was a teenager, therefore had never acquired a fondness for the baby powder fragrance. She’d looked for unscented wipes the day she picked those up at the supermarket, but baby wipes was all she could find.

  Back at her car, she slid her purse onto her shoulder and retrieved the Styrofoam cup. She downed the last of the coffee and headed for the hospital door. She tossed the coffee cup into the trashcan along with the coffee stained wipes.

  Once inside the main door she turned right and ducked through the now familiar AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY doors.

  And came face to face with Doctor Kenneth Reed.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Rhetta, what are you doing here?” Kenneth Reed said, frowning.

  “I’m on my way up to see Randolph. Do you have a minute to talk to me about him?” She figured that the “here” he was referring to was her AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY violation, not the fact that she was in the hospital. She let it go.

  He consulted his watch, a Rolex, Rhetta noticed as he bared his wrist.

  “Yes, I, uh, wanted to get with you too. I don’t have Randolph’s chart with me. I’ll come upstairs and meet you in his room.”

  “You don’t need a chart to remember that Randolph was drugged, do you?” Rhetta never hesitated speaking her mind. She didn’t understand Kenneth’s attitude. He was supposed to be their friend. He studied her briefly before answering. She wasn’t sure of his expression, but she hoped he clearly understood hers.

  “I haven’t had the opportunity yet to read all of the notations in Randolph’s chart, but I understand that there was an issue with some barbiturates.”

  “Issue my butt!” she exploded. “Someone dosed him with barbiturates, he could’ve died, and you call it an ‘issue?' For God’s sake, Kenneth, Randolph is your friend.” Rhetta groped into her purse for a tissue. She hated it when she got so mad that her eyes teared up. She wasn’t going to cry, and she wasn’t about to let Kenneth think for a moment that she was. She blew her nose instead.

  For just a second, he looked properly chastised, but he recovered quickly. “Of course Randolph is my friend, as are you, Rhetta.” He rested a fine-boned hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think we need to jump to unwarranted conclusions.”

  She shrugged his hand away, her temper rising. “Then act like his friend, Kenneth,” she snarled at him. She fought the urge to pop him, just for the hell of it, for his cold, supercilious attitude.

  “I know how upset you’ve been since the accident. Please trust me. I will check into all of this myself.” He put both hands on her shoulders and bent his slender frame to stare into her eyes. “Please believe me, Rhetta. We all want to get to the bottom of this.”

  Rhetta closed her eyes and sucked a deep calming breath. She couldn’t find her quiet place. Measured breathing would have to do instead. “Yes, of course you do, Kenneth,” she said, exhaling.

  “Go up to his room and I’ll be there shortly.” Kenneth consulted his watch again.

  “Nice watch,” Rhetta said, eyeballing his timepiece, then angling for the stairs. She trotted up the next three floors. Kenneth never did chide her for using the private stairs.

  * * *

  Rhetta pushed open the door and found Randolph sitting up in bed, but still connected to several machines. His color had vastly improved, and his eyes, although still swollen, were open and alert.

  He slowly turned toward her and smiled. Woody used the distraction to snatch the remote and change the channel. “I can’t take any more Court TV.” Woody scowled. “You’d think he would’ve had enough court in his life.” Woody found The Food Channel.

  “Hi, Sweets.” Rhetta folded her arms carefully around his neck and gently kissed his bruised face. Woody mumbled.

  She tilted her head toward Woody. “What did you say?”
<
br />   “Nothing.” He grinned.

  Handing Woody the bag containing her breakfast sandwich, Rhetta said, “Thought you might want this.”

  “What happened to the bag?” Woody held up the coffee-stained sack.

  “Don’t ask.” She tugged a chair alongside Randolph’s bed and tucked one of his hands into hers.

  “Just one?” Woody feigned disappointment after upending the bag. Instead of more food, only napkins floated out.

  She sighed. “All right, I’ll confess. I didn’t think of you at all. I bought that for myself. I lost my appetite and didn’t eat it. If you don’t want it, give it over. I can eat it now.” She reached toward him, waggling her fingers, palm up.

  “No deal, sister.” He unwrapped the sandwich and stuffed it between his grey whiskers. “Umm,” he said after he swallowed. “Thanks.”

  Randolph, who had begun chuckling at the banter between Woody and Rhetta, coughed. Rhetta handed him a tumbler of water, which he slurped noisily, and without a straw, she noted.

  Randolph handed her back the plastic glass, and asked Woody, who was snarfing up the last morsel, “Are you still hungry?”

  Woody dabbed his beard with one of the napkins that had dropped from the bag. “Those other two breakfast sandwiches were at least thirty minutes ago.”

  Before Rhetta could retort, Kenneth strode into the room.

  With his arms thrust into the pockets of his starched white lab coat, Kenneth stopped alongside Randolph’s bed. He withdrew one hand and patted Randolph’s arm. “How’re you doing? Do you feel like eating?” Without waiting for Randolph’s answer, Kenneth turned on the bedside computer and began typing. When he finished, he glanced back at Randolph.

  Woody strolled to the window and stood gazing out. From his stance, Rhetta knew he only pretended not to be listening.

  Randolph pointed toward the hanging bags of liquid dripping medicine and nutrition steadily into his arm. “That sure doesn’t taste like steak.”