She lugged him the longest ten feet in the world to the shore. When his head lay safely on the grass, she gulped for oxygen. Billy Dan’s legs rested in the water. After her chest stopped burning, and she was finally able to breathe, she locked both her arms around his chest and tugged him up on the bank, clear of the water. Kneeling alongside him, she gasped for air. Using the last of her strength, she shoved as hard as she could, managing to roll him on to his back. She propped herself on her elbows and hovered over him, panting. She’d used up all her strength.
Rhetta crawled into a sitting position alongside Billy Dan. She was dripping wet, with mud and slime gluing her jeans to her legs. A now unrecognizable tennis shoe covered in mud stuck to her left foot. She sloshed whenever she moved. Her right foot was bare. She panted, still fighting to catch her breath.
Rhetta changed positions and kneeled over Billy Dan. She tilted his head sideways, then ran two fingers around his mouth to clear his airway. She began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. After a few agonizingly long minutes, he sputtered and coughed.
He was breathing!
When Billy Dan came around, he began to moan softly. Rhetta squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to stop the tears before they fell.
I nearly killed him trying to save him!
Coated in muck and dripping wet in the hot afternoon sun, Rhetta’s shaking ratcheted up to earthquake proportions.
CHAPTER 37
“Billy Dan, can you hear me?” Rhetta panted as she gripped the sodden man around his shoulders and helped him sit up. After a bout of coughing, sputtering, spitting out water and mud, his rapid breathing finally slowed, and he nodded. She sat back on her heels, observing him.
“Thanks,” Billy Dan said trying to talk. He coughed violently again, unable to finish his sentence.
Rhetta peered at Billy Dan’s left arm, which had begun swelling around the ugly protruding shard.
“I need to call an ambulance.”
He barely nodded.
“I have to go up to your house,” she said. “No cell. All your doors are locked,” she added.
“Back porch, key under…the…geraniums.” He managed to get that out without more coughing.
Rhetta stood, and tugged off the tennis shoe and dropped it to the ground. She winced as it came free of her swollen foot. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Stay still”
Hobbling barefoot on her injured ankle, she scrambled up the slope to his house. Sliding on the first wood step caused her to snag a splinter in her left heel. “Oww,” she muttered, barely slowing down. Crap. Now I’m hurt in both feet!
Glancing frantically around the porch, she couldn’t find any geraniums. Eventually, she spotted a huge pot of red flowers near the heavy oak back door. It took two hands to shove the pot aside to reveal the key underneath. After two unsuccessful fumbling tries at the lock, she took a deep breath, counted to ten, and tried the key again. This time the lock yielded easily.
Inside the house, the air was cool. The afternoon sun filtered through the slatted blinds on the large window over the sink, bathing the spotless kitchen in a warm golden glow. She located the phone, a base unit with a portable headset, sitting atop the granite kitchen counter. Upon hearing the reassuring dial tone, she punched 9-1-1 into the keypad.
The emergency operator immediately asked for her address.
“Address?” she asked, stymied. Don’t they know where I am? “Uh, don’t you have the address on your screen?”
“No, ma’am, this isn’t enhanced 9-1-1. Please tell me your name, and where you are.” Was that impatience in the operator’s voice?
What did that mean, no enhanced 9-1-1?
“This is Rhetta McCarter. I’m at Billy Dan Kercheval’s place on County Road 1140, and there’s been an accident. He’s badly hurt.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McCarter. We know where Billy Dan’s property is. Hold please.” Rhetta heard the operator dispatch an ambulance and a patrol car.
The operator returned. “Is Billy Dan conscious?”
“Yes, but just barely. He injured his arm. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“The ambulance is on the way. Please stay with him until they arrive.”
“Of course.” Rhetta disconnected. She glanced around the kitchen, hoping to find a pair of Billy Dan’s sneakers, or moccasins or even flip flops that she could borrow. She dismissed the flip-flops. She couldn’t picture an outdoorsman like Billy Dan wearing either sandals or flip-flops. Finding not a single shoe of any sort in the kitchen area, she rushed down the hall to the bedroom, leaving muddy footprints tinged with blood on the wood floor along the way.
In his bedroom, a large wood four-poster bed, neatly made, sat against the wall opposite a large window. A matching dresser and a tall armoire containing a TV filled the rest of the room. A deer head with an enormous set of antlers graced the wall across from the bed. She shuddered, thankful that Randolph didn’t hang dead deer bodies on their walls at home.
Stepping into the large walk-in closet, she studied the orderly rows of clothing items on racks that wrapped around three sides. Below the clothes, on the far wall, several pairs of shoes and boots were lined up like soldiers awaiting marching orders. She spotted a couple of pairs of possible replacement shoe candidates—a pair of blue canvas deck shoes and a pair of well-worn sneakers. Favoring the sneakers, because she could tie them on, she sat on the floor, slipped them on, and tied them snugly. They were too big, but they’d have to do. When she stood, she left a muddy spot on the floor from her soaked rump.
Snatching an armful of towels off the chrome racks in the bathroom, Rhetta plopped across the house, down the steps, and back to Billy Dan.
CHAPTER 38
“The ambulance is on its way,” Rhetta said, hoping her voice sounded soothing enough to reassure Billy Dan, even though she was panting from her trek. “It’ll be here soon. You’re going to be fine.” She patted the arm that wasn’t injured.
Billy Dan, lying on his back on the grass, made a soft moaning sound.
“What happened?” she said, dropping into a crouch alongside him. “Can you talk to me?”
“Shot,” he answered simply, turning toward her with a great effort. He inhaled, and his lungs whistled and wheezed. “Tried to take cover. They shot at me.” He panted, short of breath. “Got the bait box and my arm, same time.”
Shot? His answer wrenched a knot in her gut. What? Why?
Once he said it, she how the bait box had splintered. The gaping wound in his arm hadn’t only been caused by the shard that still protruded. She began to feel ill. “Who shot you?”
A slow head shake. “Don’t know. Didn’t see ’em.”
Then she remembered the vehicle that she’d met on the road. The green SUV! They had to be the ones who had made the ruts in the driveway on their way in to kill Billy Dan. Had he not been in his boat.... She had to tell the cops about the green SUV.
“I’m going to hold this tight against the bleeding until the ambulance gets here,” she said, wadding a towel and pressing it firmly over the angry wound. She was doing her best to sound calm, hoping to keep Billy Dan quiet. She wrapped another towel around the part of his arm with the shard, and tucked the towel ends under him.
Billy Dan didn’t answer. Under his injured arm, the blood pooled, staining the grass a dark crimson, and darkening the white towel. Using the heel of her palm, she increased pressure on the wound. He moaned. Billy Dan was losing consciousness. He’s losing a lot of blood. Where the hell is the ambulance?
* * *
Billy Dan hadn’t spoken for several minutes. Rhetta was sure he’d passed out. She’d taken another towel and wrapped it around his upper arm in a makeshift tourniquet. She twisted it and held it for a few minutes then released, repeating the tightening-release-tightening technique. She thought the bleeding was diminishing, but maybe it was her wishing it were so. She couldn’t be sure. Although the towel became soaked and blood covered her hand, she continued the systemati
c tightening and releasing required of a tourniquet.
Finally, she heard the distant wail of a siren. Gradually it grew louder and closer. Then it powered down, followed quickly by the sound of crunching gravel and slamming doors. She glanced up and saw two EMTs on the back porch of Billy Dan’s house.
“Down here,” she yelled, waving one arm. She wasn’t ready to release the tourniquet yet. The EMTs scrambled down the steps and rushed toward her.
When they reached Billy Dan, she released the tourniquet and stepped back, getting out of the way so they could work.
“I think he’s unconscious,” she said, and felt brainless as soon as the words crossed her lips. Of course, he was. They’d be able to tell that right away. Weren’t they medical personnel? Her nerves were frayed.
One of the emergency techs asked her what had happened. While he talked, he began his efficient ministrations, checking Billy Dan’s pulse, and then examining the horrific wound. When he gently unwrapped the makeshift pressure bandage Rhetta had applied, she was relieved to see that the blood, which had been spurting like a geyser, had slowed. The EMT instructed his companion to bring more supplies. The other tech ran back to the ambulance.
“He told me he got shot,” Rhetta said. “He was fishing in his johnboat, and someone shot him. When I got here, he was under the boat. I’m not sure how that happened.”
The tech plugged a stethoscope into his ears and listened to Billy Dan’s heart and lungs. He merely nodded at her in acknowledgement. The EMT who’d run to the ambulance returned with a rolled up stretcher, bandages, and a bag of clear liquid and tubing. Within seconds, he’d deftly inserted the tubing into Billy Dan’s arm. They loaded Billy Dan on to the stretcher and handed her the bag.
“Carry this. Hold it up as high as you can while we take him out of here,” he said. Luckily, the bag had a molded handle that she could grab.
The EMTs scurried up the bank. It was all she could do to keep up. While the EMTs loaded Billy Dan into the back of the ambulance, another vehicle skidded to a stop alongside them.
Sheriff Frizz Dodson heaved himself out of the passenger side of a white Chevy Tahoe bearing foot high black lettering on each front door that said, Bollinger County Sheriff. Deputy Gordon Caldwell, leaner than the sheriff by fifty pounds, leapt out from behind the wheel.
After exchanging words with the ambulance driver, Dodson slapped the side of the ambulance in a signal for them to get rolling. They sped away down the driveway, sirens wailing.
The Sheriff’s tan uniform shirt bore large half moons of sweat under the arms. His radio crackled from his shoulder and he paused, slapping at the transmitter to reply before approaching Rhetta. She heard him relay his location.
Rhetta wasn’t sure what the Sheriff’s real first name was, because everyone called him Frizz, due to the mop of wiry dark hair that sprang outward from his head.
Dodson was wheezing by the time he reached her. He pulled a large red paisley handkerchief from a rear pocket and mopped his brow.
“Afternoon, Mrs. McCarter,” he said politely, appearing to overlook the fact that she was covered in crusty dried silt and Billy Dan’s blood. He glanced first at her clown-sized sneakers, then at her hair, mud-plastered to her head.
“Sheriff,” she said, greeting him in return.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked, swiveling his big head, taking in the surroundings. He wiped the absurdly oversized handkerchief across his wide forehead one more time before stuffing it into his back pocket.
Rhetta replayed everything that had happened after she arrived at Billy Dan’s. She also told the sheriff she’d nearly been run off the road by a green SUV.
“Did you get the license plate number?” Dodson asked, removing a damp, pocket-sized spiral notebook from a breast pocket.
She shook her head. “No, I was pretty busy keeping Cami on the road.”
“Cami?”
She tilted her head toward her car. “My Camaro.”
“I see.” He flipped the notebook closed. “It’s a good thing for Billy Dan that you got here when you did, but can I ask what brought you out here today, Mrs. McCarter?” His bovine eyes stared down at her.
Rhetta sighed. She propped herself against the rear fender of the Tahoe. “I wanted to ask Billy Dan about his last conversation with my husband, Randolph. They were together before Randolph had his accident. I tried calling Billy Dan. When I couldn’t reach him, I decided to come out here.”
“All the way out here from Cape just to ask him about a conversation?”
Rhetta heard the skepticism in the question. I guess every law enforcement person in Southeast Missouri knows about Randolph’s accident.
“Sheriff, I believe something bizarre, like a terrorist plot is going down in our area. My client, Doctor Hakim Al-Serafi died in an accident in the Diversion Channel. Then, my husband suffers a similar, nearly fatal accident, and Doctor Peter LaRose died in his apartment. The FBI agent that we first talked to is also dead. Now, Billy Dan gets shot. I think it all has to do with a schematic I found in Doctor Al-Serafi’s car. All of us have seen the schematic, and something terrible has happened to everyone except me.” And Woody, who may be next. I have to get out of here and warn him.
“A schematic? Terrorist plot? FBI? What in blazes are you talking about?” Frizz raised his thick eyebrows, fished out the notebook again and fanned himself with it. For a moment, she thought he might write down what she said. Not so. He only needed the notebook for a fan. “Doctor who?” he said and flapped the notebook harder.
“Randolph showed Billy Dan a schematic I found in the car that Doctor Hakim Al-Serafi died in.” Frizz’s eyebrow shot up again. Before he could ask how, exactly, she came to have said schematic, she continued. “Billy Dan told Randolph it appeared to be a schematic of the transformers used in all the power substations. On his way home from meeting with Billy Dan, Randolph’s car was run off the Whitewater Bridge, and now somebody tried to kill Billy Dan.” She folded her arms and waited for Dodson to answer.
Frizz Dodson couldn’t have looked any more confused than if someone had just rattled off Fermat's Last Theorem, the most difficult math problem ever solved, according to the Guinness World Records.
“More likely someone in the woods over yonder was poaching and a stray bullet clipped Billy Dan,” Frizz said. “Besides, I heard your husband had a high B.A.C., so I doubt if anything fishy happened to him.”
From the condescending tone of Dodson’s voice, Rhetta concluded there was no use in continuing with her terrorist theory. Feeling defeated, she merely rubbed her temples and stayed quiet. I need to warn Woody.
When Deputy Caldwell jogged back from where Billy Dan had lain, Frizz glanced up at the late afternoon sky, then at his watch. The setting sun spread long orange fingers deep into the horizon. “Dang, it’s after seven. No wonder my stomach’s growling.”
Caldwell cut a sideways glance at the sheriff, rolled his eyes, and ambled to the driver’s side of the Tahoe. Frizz aimed for the passenger door and Rhetta eased away. Frizz yanked open the door. Before pouring himself into the seat, he turned back toward her. “Stop by the office in Marble Hill so we can get your statement.” It wasn’t a request.
“Sure thing” she said raising her hand in a small wave. Yeah, I’ll get right on that.
The Tahoe backed, made a Y-turn, and left.
Rhetta stared at the plume of dust that marked their descent to the county road. The hot afternoon sun had finally dried out the surface of the gravel road, erasing any memory of the earlier storm.
She trudged to Cami, pulled open the driver door and groaned. She eyed her muddy clothes, then the spotless white interior.
CHAPTER 39
Her shakiness calmed, Rhetta knew she had to get to a phone again and warn Woody. She returned to Billy Dan’s kitchen and called Woody’s cell phone. Good thing she’d gone back. She had failed to lock the door earlier. The call didn’t go through. If Billy Dan had a long di
stance carrier, Rhetta didn’t know the dialing code. Frustrated, she tried again, using 1, the area code then Woody’s number. And received the same error message.
No more time to waste. After securing Billy Dan’s house, she headed to Cami, and tugged open the door. She would have to use her cell phone to warn him as soon as she had service. She paused before sitting. In spite of the urgency, Rhetta couldn’t make herself climb in and sit on the white seats with her muddy clothes.
She limped to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and stared inside for something to throw over the seats. The small trunk contained only the stereo amp along with a donut-sized spare tire and jack. Cami wouldn’t make a very good Mafia car. Couldn’t stuff a body in the trunk. Silly thoughts tended to invade her brain when she was nervous.
Remembering the unlocked fishing shed, she limped down to it. She was glad that she had. The door stood ajar. She needed to lock the building. She ventured inside, inhaling the mingled smells of plastic, paint, and a remnant of fish odor. To her relief, she found a new bright blue plastic tarp still in a bag, tucked away neatly on a shelf. Snatching it, she pushed the door closed and snapped the padlock shut.
Limping back to her car, Rhetta found she couldn’t tear open the plastic package with her hands. Using her teeth, she tugged at a corner and succeeded in ripping it enough so that she could pull it open with her hands. She unfolded only as much of the tarp as she needed to drape over the driver’s seat. When she was satisfied that the seat was sufficiently protected from the filth of her clothes, she climbed in. Groping around the passenger seat, she located her cell phone. Still no signal. She turned the key, and Cami rumbled to life.
Darkness had begun to replace the waning rays of sunlight when at last she reached the county road. Pausing at the end of Billy Dan’s driveway, she tuned in her oldies station. She hoped the familiar music would work its magic on her frazzled nerves. After cautiously checking both directions for speeding SUVs and finding none, she eased out. She returned to the main highway, driving even more carefully than when she’d come in. She dreaded checking out what damage might have been done to her beautiful car.
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