by Debra Webb
“It surely is,” her mom said, not taking her eyes from whatever was in those trees that held her spellbound. Buds were opening, and soon the leaves would unfurl and fill the branches. The grass would need to be cut. Shrubs were already sprouting errant twigs. Tulips, daffodils, crocuses and hyacinths filled the mounds around trees and the urns strategically stationed around the terrace. Her mom loved flowers. The beauty of this place was one of the reasons Audrey had chosen it over several others. Plus it was close to home.
“I went to see Burt Johnston today.”
Mary Jo turned to face her. “How is Burt?”
“He’s well. His usual jovial self. Reading his romance novels and sneaking chocolate.”
Mary Jo laughed. “He always did love those romance novels. And Iris? Is she keeping his sugar down? He gave her such fits about his diet. Poor woman has the patience of Job.”
Audrey didn’t bother reminding her mom that Iris would never be able to keep Burt Johnston on the straight and narrow where his chocolate was concerned. She wouldn’t remember it five minutes from now. “He said Dad had bruises in several places on his body when he died.”
Mary Jo nodded, her eyes still tracking Audrey’s. “I told Burt he’d fallen down the stairs, but that wasn’t true. You know it wasn’t true.” She looked back to the trees. “I don’t even remember all the lies I had to tell in the days after he died. I could only do whatever necessary to keep you safe. To ensure no one ever knew what really happened.”
Audrey’s heart ached. “Did he fight with that man?”
Mary Jo’s face pinched with confusion. “What man?”
“The man who tried to hurt Dad. Did he fight with him?”
“Oh my, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “You know we don’t talk about that man. It’s best never to speak of him again.”
If only that were possible. “Mom, did Uncle Phillip know about the man?”
She looked properly horrified. “Why, heavens no.” Then her face scrunched up again. “At least I don’t think so. He wasn’t there. You know, he was always gone somewhere when your father needed him most. Probably taking some girl out. He was a rascal back then, your uncle Phillip.”
“You’re certain Dad didn’t tell him about the trouble from the man?”
“No, no, your father died. He couldn’t tell anyone.”
Audrey sighed. This was pointless. “I mean before he died. Did he tell Uncle Phillip before he died about the trouble with the man?”
She stared at Audrey for a long moment before asking, “What man?”
Audrey sat in silence with her mom for a long while. Then she hugged her and gave her a kiss goodbye. She doubted the secrets her mother kept from those days could ever be exhumed. Maybe she was right and Phillip knew nothing about whatever the man wanted and whoever had sent him.
But Audrey knew something. She knew in all likelihood that the man who had sent two killers—so far—to find Wesley Sauder was the same man who sent the one who tried to kill her dad.
She drove across town, turned into the parking lot of the newspaper and sat for a while staring at the building. She had a few minutes before the press conference Colt had scheduled. She couldn’t remember very much about that night all those years ago. Her mind had blocked the most painful parts. She remembered her mother screaming. Audrey had been in her uncle Phillip’s office. So Phillip hadn’t been there. She couldn’t have been playing in his office if he had been there. She remembered going round and round in the chair behind his desk. There was that strange pop, and then her mother was screaming.
Audrey remembered seeing the man on the floor...and all the blood.
Voices echoed in her head. Her mom’s. Her dad’s. The other man wasn’t talking. He was down...on the floor.
Jack...her dad had called him Jack.
Audrey dug in her bag for her cell phone. She called Judd Seymour. “Hey, Judd, you have a minute?”
“I do but only one. I’m on my way to a meeting.”
She could hear the city sounds in the background. Horns blowing. Cab drivers shouting. Those were the sounds that had once followed her to sleep at night and greeted her each morning. She did not miss the big city.
The admission startled her. It was the first time she’d felt that way, or at least the first time she’d recognized she felt that way since returning to Winchester. Was her new life here growing on her? Wasn’t coming back home supposed to be temporary?
No time for that kind of soul-searching.
“During that time frame we talked about—twenty-four years ago—do you remember a guy connected to the organized crime family named Jack? You know, the family from the wiretaps?”
“Jack Torrino? Is that who you’re referring to?”
The name didn’t ring any bells for Audrey. “I can’t be certain. I only have the name Jack.”
“Torrino is the only Jack I’m familiar with from that era. He would have been affiliated with the same family we discussed before. Why do you ask?”
“I think maybe he was in Winchester in March of that year.”
“Well, if that’s the case, you’ve just solved a quarter-century-old mystery, because twenty-four years ago Jack Torrino disappeared. No one has a clue what happened to him or where he ended up.”
“Thanks, Judd.”
The call ended and Audrey sat very still. She knew exactly where Jack Torrino was.
Chapter Twelve
Colt climbed back into his truck and sat there for a long moment. The press conference had gone off without a hitch. Branch as well as Chief of Police Billy Brannigan had been on either side of him. Colt had warned the citizens of Franklin County to be on the lookout for any suspicious activities and to report any such activities or strangers to the hotlines his department had set up. Since the press conference he had interviewed several of Sauder’s closest friends and not one owned up to having seen him. Sarah had told him he would have a difficult time getting any of them to speak against her husband. They all knew what Colt wanted: to find Sauder. Somehow they all managed to avoid giving him any information without actually lying. Even Wenger had played him off.
He was getting nowhere way too fast.
Colt started his truck and drove to the only other place he could think of where he might learn something. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had at this point. Wesley Sauder or Thomas Bateman, whoever he considered himself to be these days, was going to get himself dead otherwise.
The Cow Palace didn’t open until nine but most of the staff would be there prepping for the coming night. Colt had frequented the place with a fake ID like most of his friends during his senior year. His own wild behavior that year was what scared him the most about his son. Colt knew the trouble he’d gotten into; he didn’t want Key to go there. Colt had been a pretty good kid, but he’d had his moments. Any one of those moments could have turned out far worse and he could have lost his life.
It was bad enough that he’d lost Audrey.
His son wasn’t speaking to him at the moment. Not a big surprise. He’d given Colt the silent treatment whenever he was angry since the divorce. Not that he could fault the boy. He’d learned the tactic from his mother. Colt was far from perfect and he’d made his share of mistakes with their son, but Karen was a user. He hoped like hell he could prevent Key from following that path. A man was only as good as his word. Failing to live up to it, just once, could turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life.
Colt thought of Rey. If he hadn’t broken his word to her...
Too late to go there now. He had broken his word. The only good thing to come of that misstep was his son. Somehow he had to make sure he didn’t screw up the most important thing in his life—being a father.
And one way or another he would find a way to win Rey’s trust again. He didn’t want to spend the next eighteen years
without her in his life—completely.
* * *
THE COW PALACE sat between Winchester and Decherd. The building had once been a livestock market where horses and cattle—mostly the latter—were brought for sale to the highest bidder. His daddy had brought him to the auctions a few times when he was a kid. By the time he was fifteen, the market had moved to a different, larger location between Winchester and Fayetteville. The old building, which looked like a large barn, had sat empty for a couple of years. Then some enterprising group had come up with the bright idea to turn it into a saloon. The Cow Palace had been born.
Folks came from all over to attend the celebrity events held in the now-famous venue. The building had been expanded three times. After the divorce Colt had frequented the place for a time and then he’d realized he wasn’t going to find what he was looking for there. He’d been divorced nearly eight years now and he hadn’t found the right one yet.
Maybe that was a sign that he’d let the only right one for him get away when he was too young and dumb to realize the magnitude of his mistake.
He parked and strode across the parking lot. There was no changing the past. But maybe he could divert the course of Sarah Sauder’s husband’s future. Because if he didn’t find him soon, his kids were going to grow up without a father. Branch Holloway had lived away far too long. Folks didn’t know him the way they did Colt. If he couldn’t get any answers, Branch damned sure wouldn’t be able to get any.
The front entrance was locked, so Colt went around to the back. Three guys, stockers, bartenders or kitchen help, stood around in a huddle smoking. They looked up and called out greetings.
“Afternoon,” he said. “Is Beth working?” He knew she was because he had dropped by the trailer park where she lived. She hadn’t been home and her neighbor had said she was at work.
“She’s getting tables ready.” One of the men jerked his head toward the employee entrance. “Go on in, Sheriff. Ray Stokes, the manager, is in there, too.”
Colt gave the man a nod of thanks. Stokes wasn’t exactly a friend. Evidently the man who’d warned him that Stokes was inside knew as much. Back in his early deputy days Colt had hauled Stokes in for drunk-and-disorderly charges on several occasions. Stokes had settled down eventually and taken over managing this place when it changed owners. The current owner lived up around Nashville and likely didn’t know Stokes was a knucklehead and plain old pain in the ass.
The walk through the stockroom and the kitchen took all of twenty seconds and already Stokes was waiting at the end of the bar. Evidently his man outside had called or sent him a text warning that Colt was on his way inside.
“Evening, Sheriff.” Stokes stood, feet wide apart, arms at his side, braced for whatever was coming.
Colt set his hands on his hips and eyed the man speculatively. “You expecting trouble, Ace?” Back in the day Stokes went by the nickname Ace because no matter how deep into trouble he managed to dig himself, he always seemed to have an ace up his sleeve to salvage the situation.
“When I hear the law is sniffing around before I even open, it can be a little troubling. Do we have a problem, Colt?”
Colt shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. I just dropped by to talk to Beth.” He gestured to the lady pulling down stools and stationing them around the tables.
Stokes glanced at Beth and then narrowed his gaze at Colt. “Long as you don’t slow down her work, I got no problem with you talking to her. I do need her on shift tonight, so if you’re planning to haul her in, I’d ask that you come back after midnight.”
“I don’t have a beef with Beth, either. Just need to ask her some questions.”
“Leave him alone, Ray,” Beth called out to her boss. “Come on over here, Colt, so I can keep working.”
Stokes shot Colt one last glare before moving back behind the bar that snaked around two sides of the enormous space. The ceiling soared upward at least thirty or so feet. What was once an arena for showing off livestock was now a massive dance floor with a center stage. Tables surrounded the dance floor, filling the rest of the space all the way to the outer walls. There were two emergency exits, a main entrance and the rear one Colt had walked through. Lights and speakers hung in the enormous open space overhead.
“Let me guess,” she said as he approached, “you’re here to ask me about Sarah’s husband.”
Colt grabbed a stool from where it sat seat-down on top of the table, settled it onto its legs and tucked it in. “You’ve been keeping up with the news.”
“It’s not every day that my big sister shoots a man dead.” She moved on to the next table. Colt followed.
“I guess she did what she had to do.” He reached for another stool. “What can you tell me about her husband?”
Beth laughed. “You’re forgetting I was exiled from the family long before Sarah married Wesley.”
“No, ma’am,” Colt countered, “I haven’t forgotten. I just figured sisters have a bond, you know? Maybe the two of you talk from time to time with or without your daddy’s approval.”
Most kids broke the rules occasionally, particularly once they were grown up. Parents’ wishes weren’t always followed to the letter. God knows he didn’t always do what his daddy told him to or he would never have gotten off onto the wrong path in the first place. He sure wished he could make Key see that as much as he resented Colt’s guidance, age and experience made a man wise. He should defer to wisdom.
Kids never wanted to go there. Some things they had to learn themselves.
“We talk,” Beth admitted.
She continued pulling down stools, placing them just so and then moving on. Colt did the same. He waited as patiently as possible for her to continue. Not exactly the easiest thing to do with the minutes ticking like bombs in his head.
“When she met Wesley, I was still in Nashville. She was so excited. He was way older than her and so charming.” Beth hesitated, her expression distant, remembering. “She said he’d lived in the big city most of his life and that he was the most thoughtful man she had ever met.”
“Did her opinion of him change over time?” Colt couldn’t help wondering if the man was able to repress his criminal side so thoroughly. But then he’d been an accountant, not a killer.
“No. She has never complained about him even once. He has been the perfect husband and father. Kind, generous with his time and affection. Faithful.”
Colt focused on the stools as she went on. His guilt prevented him from making eye contact for a half a minute or so. He’d failed on that last one. And even eighteen years later he felt the shame of it.
“Poppa was taken with him as well. He saw Wesley as the kind of strong leader the community would need in coming years.”
“But something went wrong.” Colt followed her to the next table. “Mr. Yoder learned Wesley’s secret.”
Beth nodded. “A family from Markham—the town Wesley claimed as his home—paid a visit to Winchester for the funeral of a distant relative. Wesley couldn’t possibly have known that anyone in Markham knew anyone in Winchester, much less was distantly related. The folks who visited were quite shocked to learn that the Wesley Sauder they’d buried a decade before was alive and well in Winchester.”
Branch had told him most of that part. He likely didn’t know about the family who had visited Winchester and outed Wesley. “So Sarah’s husband had assumed a dead man’s identity.” Happened a lot. Generally not so literally. More often just online for credit or tax purposes. But like Branch said, this guy had needed a whole new life. And being an accountant he knew the ins and outs of making his new identity legit.
“How is it that Mr. Yoder kept this news to himself, since it obviously happened a couple of months ago? Rumor is, he and Wesley had their falling-out right after Christmas.”
“My poppa is a thorough man. He wanted to see for himself if what this family said
was true so he sent my oldest brother, Ben, to Markham to get the whole story. This was just last month. When Ben returned with the confirmation of what they’d been told, Poppa was ready to call a meeting and throw Wesley under the bus, but something stopped him.”
She moved through the arrangement of four more barstools without speaking. Colt nudged, “What do you think stopped him?”
Beth paused and met Colt’s gaze. “I can’t tell you that part, Sheriff.”
He had a feeling the part she didn’t want to talk about involved her brother. “Beth, the only thing I want to do in all this is protect the community. Two men are dead. Both of them probably deserved what they got, but we might not be so lucky next time. Next time an innocent person could die. Sarah or one of her children. Whatever you’re holding back, I promise you if you give me the whole story I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and whoever it is you’re protecting if possible.”
She reached for another stool. “Benjamin did more than take a picture of the grave and visit the congregation where he found a photo of the deceased Wesley Sauder. He had a picture of Sarah’s Wesley with him. He went around asking people if they knew him. ’Course he didn’t find anyone who admitted to knowing Sarah’s husband. But Sarah and I think it was him showing that picture around that brought all this down on Wesley.”
Unfortunately, Sarah and Beth were most likely right. Ben probably showed the photo to the wrong person on the street and word got back to the head of the Cicero family that the missing accountant was in Winchester posing as the Mennonite Wesley Sauder.
“Was Ben or Mr. Yoder contacted by anyone?” Though they had no phone at home, there was a phone at the bakery. The bakery was listed under the Yoder name.
“Sarah said she received several strange calls. The caller would ask for someone named Bateman. She told them they had the wrong number. But when she told Wesley the other day, he went crazy. Told her he had to get out of town. He warned her to keep the shotgun close whenever she was at home and to take it to the bakery with her. This was last week. Then he disappeared. Just took off, claiming he needed to see after the family of some friend who had died. Sarah was seriously upset.”