by Diane Capri
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wednesday, May 11
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
3:30 p.m.
Magnolia Street was rather grandly named for the sketchy neighborhood. Maybe one or two of the quintessential Southern trees had sprouted here back in the day when the streets were being laid out and graded. If so, the broad leaves and fragrant blossoms were long gone, and it would take decades to grow new ones if anyone was interested in making an effort.
Which wasn’t as unlikely as it would have been a decade ago. Before Big River Casino sprouted up, bringing jobs and neighborhood gentrification along with it.
The little frame rental house had been cleaned up, roofed, and painted soft yellow. The owner had added a two-car, detached garage. But that’s as far as the home improvements went. The yard was nothing but dried weeds, and the driveway was a dirt rut running through from the road to the garage.
Anybody not from around Carter’s Crossing might think the spring rains would keep the dust down. They’d be wrong. As soon as the rain soaked into the thirsty ground, the yard turned dry and dusty again.
He was alone in the house. He’d been crossing off a few items on his bug-out list each day. He had a long list of loose ends to deal with before Kelham closed.
His operation here had to be shut down and all evidence appropriately disposed of. He hadn’t seen Nina again since they’d parted at the airport in New York. As he’d suggested, she took a few days to drive back to Carter’s Crossing. She’d texted him a few times along the way, but they hadn’t talked again.
Nina had been so beautiful that night. She’d been clever with her hair and makeup as well as her wardrobe. From his position in the shadows, he’d almost let himself believe she was the woman he had loved more than any other. The afterglow had lasted a while, and he was sorry to lose her.
“Snap out of it, man. Nina has served her purpose,” he said aloud, knowing he spoke the truth.
There was no place for Nina where he was going. And he certainly couldn’t leave her behind. He’d made the right decision.
He reached for the silver flask. He’d refilled it with the poison he’d stolen from Kelham. He didn’t expect to need the flask again. As a murder weapon, the poison was effective but clumsy. There were better ways to dispatch his enemies.
Yet, the odorless, tasteless liquid had been challenging to steal. Nothing else was as potent. A lifetime of military service had taught him the value of contingency plans.
He stored the flask at the back of the safe in the bedroom closet, just in case.
Satisfied that he’d secured the poison, he glanced at his watch. He was running behind schedule. He needed to establish an alibi for Nina’s time of death, just in case something went wrong at the scene. An ounce of prevention and all that.
The casino’s poker tables should satisfy that particular requirement handily.
He had a little business to do at the tables, too.
If all went well, Lady Luck might reward him handsomely tonight. The thought lightened his mood.
There were always a few soldiers in the casino’s crowds, along with tourists and locals. All he had to do was be seen at the game for an hour, give or take. Long enough for Nina’s brother, the casino manager, to see him there and remember seeing him later.
The last thing he needed right now was to become a person of interest in Nina’s murder. He’d been having an affair with her for a good long while. The affair had been insurance. Nothing more. But the safest thing was to assume they’d been seen together somewhere. Or that Nina had confided their relationship to her friends.
If Nina lived, sooner or later, he’d have been at risk. He wouldn’t let that happen.
When she died today, he’d be above suspicion. But he’d always been a belt and suspenders guy. Extra caution had never steered him wrong.
He glanced at the open laptop on the desk. Jasper had placed a tracker on Nina’s sedan.
Nina’s cell phone pinged onto his laptop screen as she traveled along the county road toward US 72, exactly as he’d expected, along the fastest and the shortest route to Memphis. The route everybody in Carter’s Crossing drove, especially in bad weather like this.
He slid one of the untraceable pistols and a box of ammo into the safe with the flask. He slipped the pistol with the silencer into his pocket.
“Good girl, Nina,” he said as he took one last look at the laptop screen. Satisfied that his plan was in motion and proceeding as expected, he closed the laptop and stuffed it into the safe.
He pulled out two large stacks of fifty-dollar bills, closed the safe’s door, and engaged the lock.
He’d bought both guns on the streets of Memphis. Neither weapon nor the bullets were in standard use by the army. Which was the reason he’d chosen them. He didn’t want either traced back to him. He simply wanted them available when needed.
His truck was parked in the garage. He grabbed his jacket and slid his arms into it, stuffed the fifties into the breast pocket, and left through the back door. He used his key to turn the deadbolt and then hurried through the drizzling rain.
He stopped to punch the code on the keypad and waited while the big garage door rolled up enough for him to duck under it. He was inside the stolen truck with its big engine growling before the door reached its apex.
He reversed out of the garage and punched the remote to close the door before he backed down the driveway to the street.
His house was on the wrong side of the tracks from Carter’s Crossing. Which meant it was closer to Kelham and to Big River Casino. The clock on the dashboard showed he had enough time to get settled into his poker game with at least ten witnesses before and while Nina died. Which was what mattered.
He drove north and east, away from Kelham, toward some of the richest dirt in the area, Carter’s Crossing Reservation. Not because the land was fertile for crops. Not at all. The soil was too barren to nourish weeds.
The Eastern Band of Native Americans had occupied the nine acres of land east of Carter’s Crossing since 1980. Before that, the land belonged to the US government. Seventeen members of Randy Cloud’s family moved onto the blighted reservation at the request of the tribe to oversee the building of Big River Casino.
After the casino opened, the reservation quickly became the economic powerhouse of Carter’s Crossing and the surrounding area. About a hundred members of the tribe lived out there now. The casino provided good jobs for the community. The tribe supported local schools and public works projects, too.
Randy Cloud was justly pleased with the casino and its place in Carter’s Crossing. So was his sister, Nina. They’d built a thriving community from a piece of dry dirt that had never amounted to anything before.
Even Mayor Deveraux had to give them credit, while she turned a blind eye to the unsavory activities casinos invariably attracted.
He saw Big River Casino in the distance. The roomy parking lot was half empty. Two dozen vehicles of various types were scattered around, along with half a dozen buses. It was Wednesday. A workday for most folks around here.
Which was fine. He didn’t need a huge audience. Just a handful of witnesses who could be counted on to remember him would be sufficient.
On weekends, the casino had a valet stand, which would have been helpful. But not today. He pulled into the lot and parked near the main entrance. He left the pistol and the silencer in the glove box, climbed out of the truck into the still dreary rain, and hustled inside.
As soon as the door opened, he was hit by a wall of stale tobacco smoke thick enough to stop a charging buffalo. The slot machines laid out in rows near the front were beeping and clanging and playing a cacophony of animated tunes.
There were more patrons inside than he’d expected. He’d forgotten that today was Senior Day.
Every Wednesday, senior citizens were invited to gamble, given a free twenty dollars to do it with, and offered a free lunch. Management hoped they’d spend a lot more, o
f course. It was a business strategy employed by casinos around the country for a simple reason. It worked.
He avoided an elderly couple with matching red walkers heading toward the Wheel of Fortune slots. He dodged another pair of white-haired gents arguing over a triple diamond nickel slot machine. After weaving through a knot of old ladies atwitter about their knitting, he steered toward the blackjack tables and waited for an opening.
After a few minutes, a distinguished-looking older woman with a full head of coifed white hair folded her cards and left. He walked over and sat down in her seat. The other players looked him up and down and then returned their attention to their cards.
He slid ten fifties across to the dealer, hoping everyone at the table would notice and remember later. The dealer took the cash and gave him piles of chips in return. Then, the dealer nodded toward him and opened a new deck of cards.
Half an hour later, at the end of a game, a woman put her arm around his shoulders, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. He glanced up to see Nina Cloud standing behind him.
He blinked a couple of times to control his shock. What the hell was she doing here?
“Nice hand,” she said, loud enough for his tablemates to hear, and proving she wasn’t a ghost. Dammit.
He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “Thanks.”
One at a time, the other players folded their cards, allowing him to win the pot. The stack of chips in front of him had grown to a satisfactory level. Winners attracted more attention than losers. Not that it mattered now. Nina was still alive. No chance he’d need an alibi for her murder this afternoon.
The guy on his right had lost enough. He cashed in his remaining chips and left.
Nina perched on the guy’s seat and leaned in to flash a sexy smile. “Looks like you’re doing well today.”
“So far.” He frowned. “I thought you were headed to Memphis? Didn’t you have to pick something up before six o’clock?”
“I was. But my plans changed.” She slid her hand under the table and squeezed his thigh.
The dealer broke open another deck of cards and dealt another hand.
“How come?” he asked, ignoring her hand traveling up his thigh, his mind only half occupied with the game.
He clenched his jaw to control his annoyance. She should have been on her way to Memphis. She was meant to die before she reached Memphis.
Which hadn’t happened.
Which was bad enough. But she’d screwed up his schedule, too.
He frowned, working out an alternative timeline to get everything back on track.
Casually, Nina used a cocktail napkin to wipe the sweat from his brow as she explained. “I sent a friend to do it for me. Carolyn Blackhawk needed to borrow my car, anyway. She doesn’t have one since she almost never drives anywhere. You know, she’s got those cataracts, so she doesn’t see well. But she had to visit her sister, who’s really sick. Might not make it through the night. Carolyn was really upset, but she said she was okay to drive. She’ll pick the stuff up for me and go on to her sister’s house. She promised she’d get there in time. I gave her my cell phone, too.”
He shrugged as she blathered on. He glanced at the clock. She’d been scheduled to die ten minutes from now. He couldn’t simply schedule her death again tomorrow.
His plan had been perfect. Two birds, one stone, and all that. Perfect.
Brian Jasper had been game to try the stunt because he thought he could survive. He’d seen some video online. A speeding motorcycle collided head-on with a speeding car and lived to tell about it.
Jasper was dimwitted. He was also despondent and a daredevil and more than a little reckless.
Of course, the video had been a fluke, if not a downright fake. Jasper couldn’t possibly survive a head-on collision traveling sixty miles an hour.
No one else would be dumb enough to repeat the attempt.
Which meant now he had to come up with another way to kill Nina.
And he had to do it soon.
The dealer placed the cards. Bets were made. He watched the clock tick over to 4:30 p.m. and imagined he could see the scene on US 72 unfold exactly as he’d planned it.
Nina patted his thigh and removed her hand. “I’ve got a few things to take care of in the office. Come find me when you’re finished here. We’ll have dinner.”
“Sounds good.” He nodded. Probably better to stick around a while and stay visible while the accident scene played out.
Sooner or later, someone would figure out that Nina Cloud should have been driving that sedan.
His anger mounted. He’d wanted to slip away and disappear. But Nina would never let that happen. She said she was in love with him. She imagined he loved her back. She wouldn’t simply let him go and forget about him.
Besides, she knew about the counterfeit operation. Hell, without her, he’d never have passed all the bills. She was the one who covered his ass.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wednesday, May 11
Outside Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
4:30 p.m.
Kim sucked in a hard breath. Gaspar’s disembodied voice came from the phone. “Otto? Talk to me. What’s the hell is going on there?”
The next few seconds passed in a simultaneous blur.
The big rig’s driver applied his brakes, making an effort to slow his forward momentum to allow room for the motorcycle to pass. He let loose two short, loud blasts of his horn.
Kim braked, too, increasing the distance between the SUV and the enclosed trailer blocking her view like a wall of steel in front of her. If the eighteen-wheeler stopped, her SUV would be a bright red splotch on the back of that thing.
The noise of the motorcycle downshifting and speeding past the big double trailer roared in the fog.
Kim couldn’t see what was happening as the motorcycle and the sedan hurtled toward each other unless she moved into the travel lane. The idea was foolhardy at the moment.
Which left her anxiously waiting for the cacophony and flying debris of the inevitable crash she knew was coming.
From his high-tech office, Gaspar must have found that satellite view he’d mentioned, because he said, “What the hell is that crazy dude doing?”
“Tell me. I can’t see,” she replied, lowering her window to hear the sounds, and falling back further from the tractor-trailer to give everyone more room to maneuver.
“He’s zooming toward an oncoming car. The car could move to the shoulder of the road and let the bike pass. But if it doesn’t, the bike will hit it head-on. And if they end up in the big rig’s lane, that thing can’t stop before running them both over.” Gaspar’s tone dropped an octave. “It’s a small sedan. The distance between them is closing fast. It’s possible the driver will survive—”
The rest of his words were consumed by the overwhelming volume of the crash.
From the noises alone, she could guess what happened.
First, the eighteen-wheeler’s horn blasted the air in warning, followed by the deafening shriek of his brakes as he moved toward the right shoulder. Gravel and debris exploded behind him, pelting the Lexus.
The motorcyclist had applied his brakes hard. The bike must have lifted onto the front wheel as it skidded forward. But it was too little, too late.
Awakening to the danger, the sedan driver slammed on the brakes, and the car’s wheels skidded along the wet pavement.
Both drivers had slowed, but when the sedan hit the rice-rocket head-on, the cyclist flew over the hood then the roof of the car.
He sailed through the air at least a hundred feet and landed in the middle of the road, right in front of the big rig, the trucker still desperately trying to miss him.
The sedan’s front end was crumpled, and the front windshield looked like a spiderweb. The little car had been pushed off the north shoulder and down the slope. It rolled over at least twice and hit a tree.
The sedan lay on its passenger side, crumpled like a beer can.
The truck had moved farther along the south shoulder and onto the grassy apron.
The gap in front of Kim’s Lexus allowed her to see the destroyed motorcycle and its rider, splayed out on the pavement.
She pulled onto the shoulder behind the truck, punched the emergency flashers, and jumped out of the SUV. At the moment, she couldn’t see any oncoming traffic. She’d have grabbed a blanket, but the rental didn’t have one.
Kim ran toward the cyclist. She couldn’t see his head or face because of the full-face helmet. His limbs remained encased in his leathers.
She said a quick prayer when she noticed he was wearing an airbag jacket. He might still be alive. She’d known cyclists who survived worse. Rarely. But it happened. Maybe this guy would be one of the lucky ones.
The eighteen-wheeler had finally rolled to a stop. The tall, slender trucker climbed down, quickly set a few flares in the road behind her SUV and headed over to check on the sedan’s driver.
Traffic was slowing in the westbound lanes, drivers gawking as they crawled past.
Kim and the trucker were moving in opposite directions, too far apart to communicate orally.
She knelt beside the cyclist, searching for space between his jacket and helmet to check his carotid pulse. A long pent up breath whooshed through her lips when she found it.
Kim’s cell phone was still in her hand, the connection to Gaspar still open. “The cyclist is still alive. Pulse is weak and irregular, but present. He’s breathing. Barely.”
Gaspar said, “I called it in already. Help is on the way. They’re sending a medivac helo from Kelham to fly the victims to Memphis.”
“Kelham? The army base in Carter’s Crossing?” Not exactly the way she wanted to meet anyone from Kelham, but Gaspar had done the right thing.
“They’re the closest. Even though they’re closing down, they still have some stuff on base. I called in a few favors. It would have taken too long to get a helo from Memphis,” he said. “Local law enforcement should be on scene soon, too. I can see the oncoming traffic slowing in both directions on US 72.”