by Linda Lovely
“What happens if Joe turns in a stellar performance?” Eva asked. “Won’t you have to compete with him when you’re all healed?”
Zack shrugged. “If I ever go back on the field. That’s a big if.”
“What?” Carol sounded shocked. “You’re thinking of quitting football, retiring?”
I glanced at Zack. He’d surprised all of us. He stared out the window and sighed. “I love football. Hope to coach when my time on the field ends. Frankly that time may be now. I had a long talk with the docs before I left the hospital. A lot of damage to my shoulder. They’re not certain I’ll be able to throw passes again—at least not like I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Carol asked. “It must be eating you up.”
“Have to admit it’s a downer. But my visit with those wounded vets, some of them double amputees, put things in perspective. I’ve lived my dream. Earned a Super Bowl ring. I may never be a top athlete again but I have plenty of money, and I’m in decent health.”
Zack turned in his seat to look at his mother. “I know you’re not thrilled about my relationship with Sala, but I love her. The president of France has ably demonstrated that older women make wonderful wives, especially if they’re exceptional ladies like Sala.”
“You’re that serious? You’re thinking of marriage?” Carol’s questions tumbled out as sputters. She obviously hadn’t a clue Sala was a candidate for daughter-in-law.
“I’m more than ready to pop the question,” Zack answered. “Don’t know how Sala would answer. That’s why I plan to wait a bit. She’s got enough going on, dealing with the blowback she’ll get for releasing Doug and putting in a rookie. Plus I’m sure she’ll have to fend off more vicious attacks by her stepdaughter. For Sala’s sake—and the team’s—I hope Joe scores big time.”
Following Zack’s shocker announcement, no one uttered a word until Carol’s house was in sight. City cops stationed next to barricades lifted them to let us pass. The executive protection agency had arranged for blockades at both ends of Carol’s block so police could screen the press and supporters as they arrived for the noon news conference.
Linda smiled and waved from the Strongs’ front porch as she watched our little caravan arrive. “Welcome Home” and “Strong for Governor” banners fluttered from the porch railings.
“What a campaign manager,” Carol said. “Wouldn’t have dreamed of running without Linda’s help.”
Zack hopped out to open the car’s rear door for his mother. “Well, make sure Linda gets what she wants—you as the next governor. Hope you’re planning one heck of a speech.”
Carol hugged Zack. “I’ll try.”
As I climbed the porch steps, I hung back, stalling. I realized I didn’t want to be reminded of the mayhem we’d found on our last visit to the house. When I forced myself to walk inside, I grinned. The interior looked neat as a pin. Every surface gleamed. A bouquet of roses added a sweet scent to the homecoming.
“Oh, Linda. What have you done?” A grateful tear rolled down Carol’s cheek. “The house looks better than it did the day Zack flew in for our Halloween party.”
Linda reached over and brushed Carol’s tear away. “None of that. You have to show all those potential voters you’re the lady of steel. You’ve been tested by adversity and survived.”
The campaign manager slowly turned in a complete circle. “All of this is a thank you from your ARGH supporters. They all pitched in to restore order. Cleaned the place stem to stern and scoured shops for almost-identical replacements of the items trashed by those thugs.”
“Are the ARGH folks here yet?” Carol asked. “I need to thank them. What friends.”
Linda shook her head. “Everyone’s coming around eleven thirty. The sheriff wanted a chance to speak with you in private first. He should be here any minute.”
Carol looked alarmed. “He’s not backing out of making a statement, is he? I need Mason to make it official that I’m a victim, not a murderess.”
Linda bit her lip. “No, no. Don’t worry. He just wanted to give you an update.”
“Great. New developments,” Eva blurted. “We haven’t had time to digest the old developments.”
“Maybe it’s good news,” I said. “We’re due for some.”
As if on cue, Sheriff Mason’s cruiser slid into a space in front of the house. There wasn’t another car parked anywhere on the block. Local police had convinced Carol’s neighbors to move all their vehicles that normally lined the street.
Mason strode into the house with Deputy McCoy, Mollye’s beau. The sheriff nodded at the group, then singled out Carol. “I’d like a word in private, ma’am.”
“Sheriff, you know all of these folks. Can’t you share whatever news you have with everyone? You know they’ll find out soon enough.”
Mason scrutinized the gathering and shrugged. “All right. But it’s important that none of this information leaks, at least until after we make arrests. We’ve already had two persons of interest flee our jurisdiction, and the individuals we hope to take into custody today have the resources to disappear as well.”
Everyone nodded agreement and murmured his or her own version of a secrecy pledge. We were all so anxious to know who the sheriff planned to arrest that we’d have promised most anything to satisfy our curiosity.
“You might as well sit down,” he added. “This will take a few minutes.”
He leveled a look directly at me. I squirmed a bit under his scrutiny even though I figured I wasn’t one of his anticipated arrestees.
“Miss Hooker here did some financial snooping last night—”
Eva cleared her throat and interrupted. “Come on, Sheriff. Don’t start with the Miss, Mr. last-name nonsense again. Just spit it out. There are a bunch of us Hookers. Just say ‘Brie.’”
The sheriff looked heavenward and started again. “Last night, Sala forwarded me some financial transactions that Brie helped dig up. It looks like Fred Baxter arranged for one of his dealerships to sell Chester a fifty-thousand-dollar vehicle for a tenth of its value. Sala also shared your theory about Fred and Allie collaborating in Carol’s kidnap.”
The sheriff began to pace as he continued his story. “That new information prompted me to have another go at Chester, who was nice and handy in our jail on charges of obstructing justice and accessory to murder.”
“Did Chester give up Fred?” Eva blurted out.
Mason glared at my aunt. “Hold your horses. I don’t want to leave anything out. It’s important.”
“Okay, okay,” Eva said.
“After I informed Chester we could prove Fred paid him off, he admitted returning to Ardon to keep an eye on Carol. Said he wasn’t told who actually nabbed her or deposited her at the isolated hunting cabin. Chester claims harming Carol was never part of the plan. Fred said he just wanted her to experience a fraction of the suffering he’d felt when Quatro died. He thought it would be poetic justice for Carol to be kept incommunicado, not knowing whether her son had survived his coma or died.”
Carol gasped. “Oh, my god. How could anyone nurse that much hate for twenty years?”
Mason nodded. “Chester agreed to keep an eye on you, Carol. But, even though you were tied up, he wasn’t about to risk you waking and causing trouble. So he periodically loaded you up with a new dose of Ketamine to keep you out of it. Not Fred’s intent. He wanted you fully aware and agonizing over your son’s fate. After enough time went by that you couldn’t possibly win the election, you were to be drugged and left in your car, alive but broken.”
The sheriff leveled another look at me. “Your drone fly-over changed things. Chester had made a beer run. When he returned, he made his first trip to the latrine and found Mick’s body. He panicked. Though he had no idea who killed Mick, he figured whoever launched that drone had spotted the body and perhaps him as well. Chester knew he’d be
a prime suspect in Mick’s death. Not knowing when Mick was knifed, he didn’t realize he had an alibi. That’s why he tried to frame Carol. He was convinced whoever flew that drone would tell the authorities to search for a body. He didn’t want them to find a body on the property or Carol in the cabin.”
“So you’re planning to arrest Fred today—even though he was in Savannah when Mom was taken from the parking lot?” Zack asked. “Do you know who actually kidnapped her?”
Mason held up his hand. “I was getting to that. Given your suggestion that Allie and Fred might have collaborated, we decided to go over Carol’s Cadillac one more time. Most surfaces had been wiped down—once by the kidnapper, again by Chester. We checked every conceivable surface. We found fingerprints on a strip of metal in the door panel. You know, that area where you often find tire pressure requirements. The prints matched those on file for one Allison Gerome, who was fingerprinted when she applied for her concealed carry permit.”
“Hallelujah!” Eva exclaimed. “Always knew that witch would go too far someday.”
“Why aren’t Fred and Allie already in jail?” Carol’s voice had a bit of a tremble.
Mason shrugged. “Figured that was obvious. Can’t find them. Not at their homes, not at their places of business. We wanted you to be aware of the situation. They may be real nervous, knowing Chester’s in jail and could rat them out. He’s not exactly a stand-up guy. If either or both of them feel cornered, they could lash out. We’ve tightened security. But please don’t give any of this information away during your press conference or to your supporters. We don’t want the pair to discover what we know and bolt. If we’re lucky, they’ll show up at the press conference to find out why I’m joining you and what I might say about the investigation.”
He nodded at Linda. “Your campaign manager, with my approval, has let the press know I’ll provide an update.”
Holy Havarti. I’d thought the idea of Allie as kidnapper was preposterous—wishful thinking that she’d get caught and wind up in jail. A natural wish given all the trouble Allie and her newspaper had stirred up for Eva. I prayed the sheriff would lock her up and throw away the key. However, even if Allie was arrested, I felt sure she’d make bail before they could turn the key on her cell door.
“What about Doug?” Zack asked the sheriff. “Do you have a warrant for his arrest?’
Mason shook his head. “We alerted authorities in Vegas that we want to talk to him. But there’s no direct evidence Doug did anything more than innocently mention to a gambling buddy that he wanted something on Zack’s phone. Doug will claim he had no idea Mick was so deranged he’d attack you to steal it.”
Eva waved her hand. “Hold it a minute. Doug can make that claim because Mick’s dead. Isn’t it kind of obvious that Doug had a vested interest in making sure Mick no longer drew breath? That sort of guarantees no one can dispute him.”
Mason ran his hand over the bristles on his shaved head. “Listen, folks. Enough. I’ve said all I can. No more questions. I’ll say my piece. Make it clear Mrs. Strong was a victim and reiterate there’s no evidence she’s done anything wrong.”
The sheriff glanced over at his deputy. “Danny and a couple of other officers will be moving through the crowd, on the lookout for Fred and Allie. If they’re spotted, we’ll try to take them into custody as quietly as possible. We want to avoid a media circus.”
Good luck with that. I sensed neither Allie nor Fred would walk away quietly. Based on my one encounter with Fred, he’d seize any opportunity to call Carol a liar. Allie? She’d play the First Amendment card; scream she was being persecuted because the Ardon Chronicle courageously reported the truth about the Strongs. She’d say her sole crime was to defend the rights of South Carolinians to hear the truth.
I sensed an ugly storm brewing. Too bad I couldn’t think of a single thing I could do to help my friends weather it.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The sheriff ushered Carol and Zack into a corner for a few private words.
Eva turned to Linda. “What can we do?”
She smiled. “Go outside, greet folks, and pray the rain doesn’t arrive until after the press conference ends. Our ARGH supporters should be here any minute. The police know to let them through. They’re wearing green T-shirts. They’ll help keep the crowd as orderly as possible. It’ll be a madhouse once the police start letting folks through the barricades. The police will let everyone in unless they happen to be carrying assault rifles or wearing bomber suicide vests.”
Eva and I walked out on the porch. I glanced at the sky. If anything, the clouds looked more threatening than before. A large crowd was massed behind the barricades. I spotted the green-shirted ARGH contingent elbowing its way to the front. Phil’s apparel combined with the right password convinced the cop on duty to let the green shirts through.
Sala, Mollye, Andy, and Paint weren’t so lucky. When they tried to follow, the policeman stopped them at the barricade. I left the porch and hurried over to speak with the harried officer. It was a wonder he had any hearing left, given the chewing out Mollye and Sala were offering. Once I vouched for the foursome as friends of the Strong family, the town patrol officer grudgingly let them enter. I understood his reluctance. People behind the lucky quartet were already yelling, “How come you’re letting them go in and not me?”
Sensing the potential for pandemonium as soon as the barricades lifted, I quickly told my friends to keep their eyes peeled for Allie and Fred. I didn’t provide details. Just asked them to hail Danny McCoy or one of the other sheriff’s deputies if they spotted either of them.
“Who’s Danny McCoy?” Sala asked.
“My deputy sweetie,” Mollye answered. “He’s right over there.” She waved at Danny, her bracelets clinking and clanking.
“Hey, that’s some tattoo.” Sala’s eyes were glued to Mollye’s arm. “Didn’t notice it last night.”
My friend proudly pushed the sleeve of her blouse higher so Sala could see the entire tattoo—a full-color reproduction of a quilt square. “My great granny’s design,” Mollye said. “Seemed a waste that the only way folks could ever see it was to come to my bedroom.” She grinned. “I’m somewhat selective about boudoir visitors.”
Sala laughed and turned my way. “I know there’s only time for a highlights reel, but please tell me, is it good news that we’re trying to spot Fred Baxter and Allie Gerome?”
I nodded. “It is.”
“Super,” she said. “What do they look like?”
Hmm. No time to pull out my phone and hunt for photos on the web. How to describe the pair? I knew I viewed them with jaundiced eyes and had a tendency to project their personality flaws into their physical descriptions. I made an attempt to be somewhat clinical, objective.
I sighed. “Fred Baxter isn’t bad looking, rather distinguished. Dapper dresser. Around sixty. I’m guessing he’s five-nine or five-ten. Thick brown hair, graying at the temples. Brown eyes. Oh, and a really dark tan.”
“What about this Allie person?” Sala asked.
“She’s about the same age as Fred. Late fifties or early sixties. Average height. Overweight. A double chin and really plump upper arms. They tend to make her sleeves bind like stuffed sausage casings. But she’s not really obese, just lumpy. Never seen the woman in anything but dowdy gray or black pantsuits. Dyes her hair. Imagine she’s trying for auburn but the unfortunate color shades toward orange. Big owl glasses. Small, mean, deep-set eyes. Never noticed their color.”
Sala’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. I’d hate to hear how you’d describe me.”
Paint and Andy, who’d both been eavesdropping, laughed. “Brie’s description of Allie was reasonably kind,” Andy said. “She didn’t mention the woman’s laugh—a cackle—always at someone else’s expense.”
Andy gave me a wistful look. “But Brie does have a way with words.”
I preten
ded I didn’t notice his expression. Questioning?
“Should we spread out?” Paint asked. “Increase our chances to spot our two most wanted?”
“Good idea.” I agreed, maybe a little quickly. I wasn’t eager to be left alone with either Paint or Andy. I felt reasonably sure Andy had not told his best friend I’d relented on my not-a-boyfriend stance—at least as far as Andy was concerned. Ever the gentleman, the handsome veterinarian would think I should decide when and if to deliver the news.
People streamed toward us. The barricades were down, and it looked like the running of the bulls. Reporters, TV crews, swarms of the curious and supporters, all scurried our way, jockeying for positions near Carol’s front porch. A huge crowd.
Mollye, Paint, Andy, and I mapped out four different sectors for our hunt-and-identify mission. Before we launched into the incoming masses, I felt a tug on my sleeve.
“Though you painted a vivid picture of Allie, I’d prefer to tag along with you instead of going solo,” Sala said. “That way I can point out any probables and wait for you to confirm before calling the cops down on some innocent. Believe me, plenty of men and women could fit your descriptions.”
I nodded. “Fine with me. I sort of doubt Fred will show. Allie? Maybe. She’d normally attend an event like this in order to dictate the Ardon Chronicle reporter’s slant on the story. I know firsthand how she takes quotes out of context to change their meaning. But today? She may be more shy than normal, knowing a co-conspirator is sitting behind bars and might get chatty.”
The door to Carol’s house opened, and Carol, Zack, Sheriff Mason, and Linda walked onto the front porch. The campaign manager took up her post behind a lectern as the others took seats in the four folding chairs crammed into the space. A chant rose up from the crowd: “Strong for Governor. Strong for Governor.” While I didn’t hear any “Praise the Lord” shouts, the crowd’s mood had a tent revival quality.