“It was fine. What's going on?”
“The boys are at my folks. I need to talk to you.
He felt his stomach sour. “Okay.”
“I went to the Morgan Warehouse today.” She paused and looked into his eyes. “I just wanted to see if the job was even still open.”
“And?”
“Well, the guy was really nice. We talked for about an hour and he said I could have the job if I wanted it. He said I was the most qualified person he had interviewed and he wanted me to take it. He offered me sixty-thousand per year, with full benefits.”
His cheeks were turning red and he couldn't stop them. He was conflicted and hated that he liked the idea of her making that kind of money. That was twice what he was making now. “So you took it?”
“Yes I did. How could I turn that down?”
“I can't believe you would even consider going to work there.”
“I had to. This is our way out of this debt. We can pay off our credit cards and start rebuilding our credit. We'll have full insurance. Dental, medical, everything. This is such a blessing.”
As far as the money went, he knew she was right. He felt guilty for liking the idea of tripling their income. But he was determined to give God his allegiance at all costs. “A blessing?”
“Please be happy. I had to do this.” She touched his hand. “For us.”
He pulled his hand back and looked at her forehead. “Let me see the mark.”
“It's so tiny, you probably can't see it.” She pushed back her hair. Just below the hairline on the right side was a small, blue bar code. The skin was slightly red around it.
Christopher leaned in closer to study it. She smelled so good and that upset him more. The tattoo appeared to be divided into three sections of six bars. He knew he would never see it, where it was, unless he was looking for it, but he couldn't believe he was staring at a tattoo – a mark on his wife's head. A mark given by some huge company that used it for purchases in the store. His stomach ached and he didn't know whether to cry or lash out at her. “How did they put this on you?”
“I sat in a chair in a room with my head secure in some sort of brace. A lady was in there with me and she keyed in some numbers on a screen. Then, this metal arm with, I guess, a needle on it etched this into my head.” She rubbed it with her left fingers. “It stung, but just for a second. It was all over before I really knew what happened.”
He was afraid if he spoke again, he would be screaming. So he turned and walked away. He sat in his chair without speaking.
She left after a while, but he didn't know where she went. He didn't ask. He figured she was going to get Jason and Stephen, but she came back later with a sack of groceries and no sons. Then he knew she had arranged for the boys to spend the night with her parents. That normally signaled a night of romance for the two of them. But this night, he didn't even eat at the table with her. He sat alone, and when bedtime came, he tossed on the couch again. The boys came home the next day and he sat in their rooms for a long while and watched them play their video games. He and Rachel didn't speak.
She started the job on Thursday. Christopher helped her get the boys ready for school and she dropped them off on her way. Christopher picked them up that afternoon. The family sat at the dinner table that evening and Rachel seemed anxious to tell him about her first day. He was curious, but too upset to be happy for her. She said it was easy work and she felt truly fortunate to have landed such a good job. Her boss was about to retire, she told him, but she liked the other women in her office. Christopher smiled and nodded, but didn't offer much conversation. At bedtime, he slept again on the couch.
Friday, when he came home from work, the house was empty. He went into the bedroom and could see that her closet door was open and clothes were missing. He went to the boys' rooms. Their clothes were thinned out too. She had taken them. Even the dog was gone.
He texted her. “Where r u?”
She texted back. “Moms. Gonna stay awhile.”
If he felt alone before, now he really was. The house was quiet. He sat on the edge of the bed and wept.
Chapter Nine
Dillon jerked awake at nearly noon. He was disoriented. What day is this? He rubbed his eyes and began to realize that he had been up most of the night. He wished what he was beginning to remember was only a dream, but he knew it wasn't. He had watched Matt Douglas pour gasoline over Joseph Wilson's body, then push his truck over a cliff with him burning inside of it. The image was seared into his memory and he couldn't clear it.
Jenny called to him from the kitchen. “Honey, are you awake?”
He pulled on his jeans and socks and padded into the kitchen.
She poured him a steaming cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Hey sleepyhead, you look like you had a rough night.”
“I did.”
“You okay?”
He took a sip. “Yes, thanks.”
“So where did you go? I don't even know when you came in.”
“I was out pretty late. Walter sent me down into the Ozarks to pick up a guy that works for the company.”
Jenny distorted her face. “That doesn't even make sense.”
“I know. I'll tell you more later.” He took a long sip of the coffee. “I better get dressed and head to work.”
Her voice went higher. “You're going in? I thought you might take off today.”
“I've already missed a half-day. I better get down there.”
“Well, let me fix you a sandwich.”
“Okay.” Dillon said. He spoke very little as he at his lunch.
Dillon walked through the double doors and paused to make sure the scanner read his tattoo and clocked him in. The voice said, “Welcome Dillon McGee. You are on the clock.” He felt of his side arm and adjusted his collar. It was warm in the store and he put on his game face and began walking slowly across the front of the store toward the other entrance. He didn't want to see Walter, but he knew there was no way to escape him.
He hadn't been at work for an hour when Walter came up to him. “Dillon, come to my office. I have something for you.”
Dillon followed him into the office area and into Walter's office. Walter shut the door behind them. “Please, sit down.”
Dillon complied.
Walter opened his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of dollar bills. He plopped it down on the desk in front of Dillon. “This is yours. One thousand dollars for helping the company last night.”
Dillon just looked at it but didn't move. “I don't understand, Sir.”
Walter leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “This is yours. It's a bonus for helping me last night. Morgan believes in rewarding its good workers. You are now in an inner circle where the real money is.”
“I'm not sure I want to be in any inner circle, Mr. Gray.” He looked up at Walter. “Matt Douglas murdered Joseph last night and now I'm an accessory. What I really want to do is call the police and tell them everything.”
Walter looked at his watch. “Well, you've had more than twelve hours now to call the cops. I figured if you were going to, you would have already.” He leaned forward and put his arms on the desk behind the money and pushed it toward him. “But you haven't, so I think that means you're one of us now. You're in the circle.”
“I'm not a murderer, Walter. I don't want any part of this.” Dillon pushed the money back toward him. “Joseph was a friend of mine. He had a wife and two children.”
“I'm really disappointed to hear this,” Walter said. “I've been grooming you to make the real money.” He lowered his voice. “Why do you think I sent you after Ron Eastland? You proved yourself. Now, it's time to take the next step and this thousand is just the down-payment on the kind of money you can make.”
“The next step? Murdering people for money? You've got me figured all wrong.”
Walter pushed his palms out. “Whoa, nobody's asking you to murder anyone. I'll just need your help every now an
d then like last night, that's all. Take this money and buy something nice for Jenny. I just want you to think about it, that's all.”
“I'm sorry, but I don't want this money. We're doing just fine on my salary.” Dillon stood up to leave. “Is that all, Sir, or are you going to tell me why you hired someone to murder one of your employees last night.”
“Sit down.”
Dillon sat back in the chair.
Walter leaned forward. “Joseph was having an affair with Cindy Langston.”
“Everyone knew that.”
“Well, he was about to cost this company a lot of money. She could have sued. He was going to get fired. It was going to be messy and expensive.”
“So, why didn't you just fire him?”
“I was going to, but this hit came from corporate.” He paused. “I'm telling you the truth. I had nothing to do with it. Charles Morgan wanted it done and sent Matt down here.”
“Charles Morgan? The owner of this whole company?”
“Yes.”
“I don't get it.”
“Have you ever heard of Corporate Owned Life Insurance?”
Dillon shook his head.
“This company takes a life insurance policy out on all of its managers. That way, if the managers die, the company gets the benefit.”
Dillon winced. “The company gets the money – and not the family?”
“That's right. A million dollars. It's a common business practice these days. Think how much money it costs to hire, move, and train a new manager. This is just good business.”
“So, you're telling me that Morgan wanted to cash in on Joseph's insurance, so he hired Matt Douglas to murder him and make it look like an accident. Is that what you're telling me?”
Walter stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “That's what I'm telling you.”
Dillon could feel his cheeks turning red. He wanted to run from the room, but he held his expression and continued to look Walter in the eyes. “Well, Sir, I don't want any part of this.”
Walter elevated his voice. “It's too late now. Your hands are dirty.”
Dillon stood again to leave. “I have to get back to work.” He opened the door, but before he walked through it, he turned back to look at Walter. “Do you have that insurance on me?”
Walter's expression didn't change. He just stared back at Dillon for a long moment. Then he winked.
Dillon left the door open and walked out of the office area, back into the store. He eased to the front of the store and stood at his favorite post, by the door nearest the electronics and cosmetics. He tried to process what he had just been told. If he called the police right now and told them what had happened, he would likely be charged as an accomplice since he didn't call them during the night. Why didn't he? Maybe Walter was right, maybe he was one of them. A lady walked through the sensors as she exited the store and set off the alarm. She backed up and Dillon stepped in front of her. “Ma'am is everything on your receipt?”
She scowled at him. “Yes it is. I didn't steal anything from this store.”
“Of course not, Ma'am, but if I can just check your sack to make sure.” He looked down in her plastic sack. Her receipt was on top of the items. He picked it up and scanned down it. Everything seemed to be accounted for. “Try again,” he said, stepping out of her way.
She stepped through the sensors and set off the alarm again. She backed up.
Dillon shrugged his shoulders. “I wonder what's setting this off?” He looked at her for a moment. She was about sixty-years old with gray hair. Her shoes looked worn, but she was wearing a fairly nice coat. She looked to him like an ordinary, middle-class woman out shopping for her family. “Ma'am, if you don't mind opening your coat.”
“No I will not. I will not be treated this way.”
“I'm just trying to get you out of the store, Ma'am. Let's just see what's setting off the alarm and you can be on your way.”
She stood there a moment, looking at him. Then she slowly unbuttoned her coat and opened it. A pair of blue jeans was wrapped around her waist. It still had the security tag attached and it was not on the receipt. She threw the jeans to the floor at Dillon's feet. “Humph.” Then she brushed past him and through the doors.
“Ma'am we prosecute shoplifters.” He let her go through the second set of doors, then called out to her. “I'm calling the police if I see you in here again.” He could have detained her. He could have pressed charges. But the thought of going through all of that today made him tired. She had caught him on a good day – a good day for her.
Dillon was standing at his post again when his cellphone rang.
It was Jenny. “What are they saying about Joseph Wilson being missing?”
He suppressed the urge to tell her the truth. “I heard about that, but no one knows anything.”
“Brittany just called and said he never made it home last night. She was nearly hysterical. I feel so sorry for her.”
Dillon felt a pain in his stomach. He wanted to tell her that he had watched Matt push Joseph's truck over the cliff last night. He wanted to tell her that Walter had offered him money to keep quiet and keep it up. He wanted to tell her what he had learned about his company. But he didn't dare. Not on this cellphone while he stood in the store. And not ever. He couldn't tell her. “I'll let you know if I hear anything.”
When he arrived at home, she met him at the door. “Have you heard anything new?”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s so sad. Brittany said there's no reason for him to be missing. He worked his shift and just didn't come home.”
Dillon guessed that Matt had accosted him when he pulled into the driveway. He had made it home, just not into the house. Joseph worked the late shift and normally got off around ten. His wife must not have seen his lights when he pulled up to the house. He looked at Jenny for a moment, wondering if he should ask the next question. “Do you think Brittany knew about the affair?”
“Everybody else did, but I don't know. She never mentioned it to me.”
Dillon took off his jacket and hung it in the hall closet. “Well, maybe he'll turn up.”
“I hope so.”
Days passed and Dillon continued to feel guilty about his part in the murder. But every day that passed that he didn't contact the police made him more and more complicit in the crime. He wanted to tell Jenny about it, but he couldn't. What was worse was that Jenny talked to Brittany every day, and Brittany's hope was dimming. As bad as finding out the truth was going be for Brittany, Dillon knew that not knowing was even worse. Dillon could relieve her of her misery and let the healing begin, but he would have to confess his own crime to do so, so he kept quiet. He wasn't just afraid of the charges he might face, he was truly frightened of what Morgan would do if he sang. He wanted no part of that. And he hated Walter for involving him. What was it about him that made Walter think he would want in on someone's murder for hire? He guessed Walter figured anyone would go along if enough money was involved.
Dillon avoided Walter's office when he was at work. He would see his boss gliding through the aisles, but the two kept to themselves. It was clear that Walter was cool toward him. He had to figure out a way to turn things between them. He didn't want Walter to be angry with him. He knew how that had turned out for Joseph. But he didn't want to be in the inner circle of murderers either. There had to be a way to get back into his graces before it cost him.
Chapter Ten
Christopher Forrest sat in his office late on a Friday afternoon in mid-March. It was beginning to warm outside, but not at his house. It was still winter-cold there. Cold and lonely. He didn't want to go home to the empty rental house. Normally, he would have locked up the place and gone home by now. Rachel would be so glad to see him, she would come out to the car to meet him when he pulled up. He would get a kiss from her before he ever made it into the house. Today, no one would greet him and he would sit alone, then go to bed that way. He wouldn't see his sons an
d he wouldn't even see his dog.
He pondered how his separation was going to affect his church job. Churches don't want divorced pastors. When they figured out that he and Rachel were coming from different directions and not leaving together, it was just a matter of time before the whole congregation figured out his secret. Then what? He wasn't speaking to her because he felt she had betrayed their faith. Yet his faith taught him to forgive. His faith taught him to be the head of his house and to raise his children in the training and instruction of the Lord. He was in the horn of a dilemma that he could have never imagined.
It startled him when someone appeared in the doorway of his office. It jerked him out of his thoughts. It was Phyllis Eastland.
Christopher stood. “Hello, Mrs. Eastland. Please come in. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She walked up to his desk. “I have something to show you.” She had something small hidden in her closed hand.
“Sure, okay. Please sit down.” He sat and motioned toward one of the chairs in front of his desk.
She continued to stand. “I found the list that Ron was on.”
“What list is that?”
She placed a small, white thumb drive in the middle of Christopher's desk, then sat down. “I found this at the back of Ronny's sock drawer.”
Christopher picked it up and looked at it, then set it back down. “It's on here?”
“Yes, go ahead and put it in your computer. See if you can open it and I'll show you.”
He inserted it into a USB slot on the front of his computer tower. His computer presented a small window that said it had found new hardware. In a moment it asked Christopher if he would like to open the drive. Christopher clicked on it and watched it open. There was only one file on the drive. It was a Word document called Dead Peasants. He glanced at Phyllis. “May I?”
She stood to her feet and walked around beside him. “Go ahead, open it.”
The Dead Peasants File Page 7