Murder Unleashed

by Rita Mae Brown

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The high-desert sun bathed Reno, the mercury stuck at 57°F at noon.

  The pale blue sky completed a perfect day.

  The route of the buses would be from the Peterbilt lot, past the casinos, and down the main drag.

  Crowds lined the streets as much to wave on the school buses as to celebrate a spring day. The Fourth of July might be the city’s best annual parade but Reno’s inhabitants needed scant excuse for a public celebration: a motorcycle convention, Hot August Nights—when restored cars and hot rods trolled the streets—St. Patrick’s Day, of course. They were all celebrated events enjoyed by many. If the city council had their wits about them, they would formulate a bash to honor St. Rita, the saint of impossible causes, surely the patron saint of gamblers. Sooner or later, someone would suggest it. A full moon was as good a reason as any to mingle with others. A school bus experience served a municipal purpose: let it rip and have a good time. The sight of all those parading school buses was so goofy that Reno’s residents wouldn’t miss it.

  The buses lined up by size, so the first bus was a Type A, a cutaway—the little squirt bus. This particular bus, manufactured in Conway, Arkansas, was festooned with garlands. Each bus sported some decoration, be it homage to its home state, to spring, or to the casinos.

  Those on the sidelines cheered at the adornments. The drivers rolled along with the doors open, eyes on the road, hands on the wheel. Every now and then, they waved. Someone would be in the doorway, holding on to the rail and throwing out candy, key chains, and tiny flashlights. The goodies kept people alert. Sometimes this dispenser of largesse was a handsome fellow. A few were shirtless, exposing pecs delightful to the ladies. More, however, were clothed ladies exposing pecs buoyed by glorious nonmuscular tissue. These lovelies were greeted with whistles, catcalls, and deep appreciation. They smiled and tossed out treats. One even threw out little teddy bears, the mascot of the company. Big toothy smiles accompanied all this.

  After the cutaways came the Type-B buses, larger with a sloping hood. The engine rumble, louder now, was masked by some of the Type Bs blaring music from loudspeakers mounted on the roofs. A few of the buses had people inside dancing.

  Not one bus, so far, carried children.

  Jeep and Howie, along with the city council members and the county commissioners, sat on a dais near the end of the parade. King sat next to Jeep and Zippy laid under Howie’s chair. Mags, Pete, and Lonnie stood in a cordoned-off area just below the main dais but the area was raised slightly. Amelia Owen accompanied Lonnie. Held by Mags, Baxter observed the whole spectacle, though he kept sneezing because of the exhaust.

  Toothpick sat in Jeep’s lap. Today he wore a little sweater with a safety patrol cross on it. Carlotta had made it. Everyone commented on it.

  Howie and Jeep waved to the people in the buses, who waved back. Jeep caught a teddy bear.

  Howie checked his watch. “Making good time. The Cs ought to show up in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Howie, this is the biggest expo yet. How’d you do it?” Jeep, nominally on the committee since she had started this with Howie, no longer attended meetings because her agriculture projects took up most of her time.

  “Can’t take any credit.” Howie nodded toward the city council people and the county commissioners. “They made it very inviting, as did the casinos. Big break on hotel costs, special activities if people brought their families. The casinos gave everyone some free chips, I mean they knocked themselves out. The Peterbilt people are a big draw, too. It’s the best garage and this is now the biggest expo of its type in North America. Nothing like it. Anything that brings people to Reno is good for Reno.”

  Down at the lower level, Mags handed Baxter to Pete for a moment.

  “You’re heavier than I thought.” Pete put the dachshund over his shoulder.

  “It’s Carlotta’s fault,” came the reply.

  “I still can’t believe Norton called you at midnight,” Mags said to Lonnie.

  “I’d left my cell number. He apologized for not immediately returning my call. He knew who I was because his wife told him. I was so groggy I didn’t ask him anything.”

  Amelia ducked as a shower of gold-foil-wrapped candy rained upon them. “Poor thing. You’re just worn out.”

  “Uh”—Lonnie thought for a moment—“Well, I was, but I said we’d like to see him in the next day or two.”

  “Hey, there’s Michelle and Asa and the Reno Sagebrush gang.” Mags waved as the bus sponsored by the bank passed.

  Most of the buses now rolling by were sponsored by local businesses. The buses put banners on their side if those businesses gave to charity. Their charity of choice was also promoted on the side of the bus. While the manufacturers wished to display their wares and sell fleets of them across the nation, if they could also do a good turn, why not? A lot of people needed a lift these days.

  A cheer erupted from a block away. That C bus, filled with ladies, clad, but with strategic areas still very much on display, sent bystanders into the street running after the bus. The girls leaned out the windows to wondrous effect. The driver crept along at a slow pace and the ladies tossed out pens that glowed when you pressed the end.

  By the time the girls reached the dais, the noise was deafening. The dogs watched, fascinated by the human uproar.

  Zippy yelled over to King, “Why are they excited about pens?”

  “I don’t know.” King was mystified.

  Even Jeep let out a whoop of approval.

  The girls added that extra something and it was cheeky fun.

  Toothpick stared as the bus slowed slightly for by now young men were running alongside of it. Some reached up and the girls touched their hands. One fellow shook his hand as though it burned.

  “Mental. They’re all mental,” the Manchester terrier decreed.

  The Reno Sagebrush bus, two buses ahead, slowed because the line was bunching up.

  Pete looked in that direction and noticed Bunny—pockets full of flashlights, candy, printed neckerchiefs—walking with CeCe clutching her little teddy bear. Irene walked on the other side of CeCe. He didn’t know Irene or her daughter, but Bunny sure looked happy, which registered with Pete.

  Country music blared from one of the buses.

  “Pete.” Lonnie pointed to their right where the buses were waiting.

  Pete handed Baxter back to Mags. “Honey, I’ll be back.”

  Though off duty, the two men hurried toward Norton Wentworth making his way through the crowd in the opposite direction toward the Reno Sagebrush bus.

  Michelle had seen him, too. She stepped off the bus along with a few others.

  She bumped shoulders and squeezed through people as she hurried through the crowd.

  Pete and Lonnie tried to move faster as they rushed Norton’s way.

  Mags observed all this with apprehension. “Amelia, I’ll be right back.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Carrying Baxter, Mags hurried down the steps in the direction of the Reno Sagebrush bus.

  “I can walk.” Baxter wiggled.

  “Be still.” Mags’s voice was sharp.

  Still pushing through all the people, Michelle called out to Norton. He stopped for a second, then a look of terror crossed his face. He turned, ran through the crowd out onto the road, and began running alongside the buses, showers of goodies falling on his head and shoulders as he passed each bus.

  “Dammit!” Pete literally pried people apart. Some moved aside quickly, others cussed him out. Lonnie did the same a little farther down. Soon both men were running alongside the buses on the same side as Norton.

  At five foot nine, Mags could see over some of the heads but not all of them. She, too, managed to get out onto the street.

  Just ahead of Pete and Lonnie, Michelle scooted between two buses. Wearing cowboy boots and a skirt, she ran after Norton. She was in better shape than he was.

 
; “What’s the matter with you?” she screamed over the din.

  Head down, Norton kept running, slipping on some of the bounty still on the street. As Michelle caught up with him, he whirled around and backhanded her. This stunned her for a moment, knocked her back. He tried to get away, but she was on him again.

  Baxter pulled his leash out of Mags’s hand and ran ahead with Pete and Lonnie. Mags was gaining on everyone, though. If there was one thing Mags could do, it was run.

  Norton tried to hit Michelle again, but she ducked under the blow. He reached up and grabbed her throat, choking her.

  Pete and Lonnie reached them, but before they could collar Norton he released Michelle, holding up his hands in surrender. She took off, coughing as she ran toward the front of the parade line.

  “She killed my brother.” Norton was shaking, his hands held over his head.

  Pete hesitated for a moment. If he believed him and ran after Michelle, Norton would get away. If he didn’t, Michelle would get away.

  “Take him,” he told Lonnie, then ran after Michelle.

  Mags caught up with Lonnie, reached down, and grabbed Baxter’s leash. “Does Pete have his gun?”

  “No.”

  Mags left them, Baxter running with her, heading toward the front of the cutaway buses that were moving at about fifteen miles an hour.

  Reaching the first bus, Michelle hopped in. She pulled out a gun, and gave orders to the driver. The greeter on that bus was shoved out, rolling onto the street. The double doors shut with a whoosh just as Pete reached the tail of the small bus, which picked up speed.

  He hurried to the second bus just as Mags caught up to him.

  “Stay here, Mags.”

  “No.” She hopped up with him, Baxter in tow.

  Pete called out to the people on the bus who’d been tossing out small flashlights. “Please leave the bus now. I’m a deputy for Washoe County Sheriff’s Department. I need this bus now.” As they hurried off, Pete said to the driver, “You can go.”

  “I can’t leave this bus.”

  “All right then. Follow the bus that just took off.”

  Lonnie called for help. He flipped shut his cellphone as he walked with Norton to the street parallel to the main drag. Within seconds, a sheriff’s patrol car was there.

  Shoving Norton into the back, Lonnie hopped in with the driver, thirty-one-year-old Frances “Francie” Shelton.

  “Stay on this road until you get to the Truckee, turn left and get out on the main drag. We’re following two school buses.”

  Francie did as she was told, hitting the siren and lights.

  In the first bus, Michelle had a slim chance of escaping. She was heading for the parking lot at Reno Sagebrush. Other employees and she had left their cars there to pile into two vans that took them out to the Peterbilt lot. She knew it wouldn’t be long before a report went out to pick her up. She needed to get to her car, drive a few blocks, ditch it, and run to Yolanda Street. It would be easier to hide there until she could clear out of town.

  The bus rolled a bit at speed. The driver was sweating at the sight of a gun pointed right at him. He did what he was told. He screeched into the parking lot. Michelle vaulted out of the bus just as the second bus pulled up.

  Pete flew out of the bus, followed by Mags and Baxter.

  “Let me off this leash, I can get her!”

  Fast as both Pete and Mags were, Michelle was already in her car. She turned the key and roared out the exit.

  “Goddammit!” Pete cursed just as Francie and Lonnie, with Norton in the back of the squad car, barreled to the front of the bank. The two school buses slowly made their way through the parking lot, the police cruiser right behind them now.

  “BMW 6 Series. Dark blue. ‘FIN’—couldn’t get the rest of the plate.” Pete opened the back door as Francie pulled up.

  “You’re not leaving me here.” Mags slid into the backseat slamming Norton up against the door as Pete heaved himself in.

  Francie headed east. “She drove this way.” A beat. “Hello back there. Best school bus expo ever.”

  “Magdalene Rogers, Baxter’s my dog.”

  “Hello, hello.” Francie floored it.

  “Jesus, these things are awful in the back.” Pete smashed into Mags who smashed into Norton.

  “So Norton, you were buying up foreclosed properties. How’d you do it?”

  Lonnie turned around. “Mags.”

  “I’m in finance, remember? There was just too much attention on Spring Street, Yolanda Street, the subdivisions south of town.”

  The siren wailed.

  Francie kept her eyes on the road but her ears were wide open. “Why bother?”

  “Even if those houses never return to their full value, if you buy them now, eventually you’ll sell them and it will be for a lot more than you paid. And if you’re getting them for free, it’s pure profit.” Mags tried to plant her feet on the floor to steady herself. Didn’t work.

  “Free?” Pete swayed into the door this time.

  “The bank was buying its own properties—right, Norton?”

  “We’d tried a few as a trial balloon over in Sparks.”

  “And you were ready to really buy big?” Mags grabbed Pete with her right hand, holding on to Baxter with her left.

  “She drives worse than Aunt Jeep,” the dog observed.

  “How could we not know?” Pete knew all this had to do with the properties but he couldn’t understand how they’d slip it under their noses.

  “Because the funds were moved around inside the bank,” Mags explained. “It’s chaos in the auditing department, everywhere, not just in this bank. All they had to do was buy, shift money out of one department, replace the money as they sold others. No bank money was lost—and Michelle took title. Really slick. Michelle could cover it up, she’s the senior portfolio manager. When the time was right they could make a big killing.”

  “Actually, initially we used campaign funds. Patrick amassed a war chest from the religious right. Some drug lords also chipped in. You’d be surprised at how often those two groups want the same thing without ever knowing one another. We hadn’t used the bank’s money yet.”

  “You were going on with this scheme even after Michelle killed your brother?” Mags was incredulous.

  “He was going to take us all down. He began to believe in his bogus campaign and what he was spouting. He got careless. Hell, he wanted to take his portion of the money to fund a bigger campaign. I could only hide so much as campaign contributions. He wouldn’t listen to reason. He really would have taken us all down.”

  “You’re down now, Norton,” Lonnie said as the squad car skidded to a halt.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” Francie let fly.

  The sleek dark blue 6 series was parked on a curb. No Michelle in sight.

  They sat there.

  “She can’t be far,” Lonnie posited.

  “No. But she’s got a gun and she’d hit us before we knew where she was. I have great faith in her ability to administer pain.” Pete blew out his cheeks, then turned to Mags.

  Before she could say anything Norton played his last card. “If I tell you where she is and I’m right, will you go easy on me? I’m not an accessory to a murder. All I did was illegally spend campaign funds. I might have had big plans but as you can see, they’re not going to happen.”

  Pete nodded. “I’ll do what I can but I can’t do as much as a good lawyer.”

  “Don’t throw the book at me. Really, all I did was hide and spend campaign funds.”

  “A great American tradition.” Francie smirked. “Well, boys, what do I do, sit here as useless as a hooker who’s found Jesus or do we do something?”

  “I will do all I can, Norton, but if you don’t tell us, she’ll probably slip away.” Pete reached across Mags and Baxter to shake Norton’s hand.

  “Go to 93356 Yolanda Street. Where you found Robert Dalrymple.”

  “Francie, don’t hit the siren and p
ark a block away,” Lonnie cautioned.

  “You got an extra piece in here?” Pete leaned forward.

  “Only my baton.”

  As they drove along, keeping to the speed limit as they were approaching Cracktown, Pete said, “For some reason, why I couldn’t say, I’m always more frightened of a woman with a gun than a man.”

  “I’d be frightened of Michelle if she had only a dinner fork. She knows a lot of these houses,” Norton warned. “She knows which ones have basements, small half basements, attics, all that stuff. She traded information and told the guys making drugs which houses were safer than others. Where they could hide and where they should keep moving. She said all these houses were assets and she made a point of knowing the area. She traded this information for cash from the drug guys.”

  They reached the block before 93356 and parked the car.

  “Mags, swear to God, you stay here,” Pete commanded.

  “All right, but take Baxter. He can smell her. He’s a hound, remember, he’ll follow his nose.”

  Pete dubiously looked at the intrepid animal.

  Francie was out of the car, gun drawn. She handed Pete the baton and said, “She’s got a point.”

  Pete, Lonnie, and Francie quietly walked toward the house in which Robert Dalrymple had been murdered.

  Norton and Mags sat on opposite sides of the backseat, finally with enough room.

  “Don’t try to run, Norton. I’ll catch you.” Mags smiled as she said that.

  “I won’t, I came back. Well, I had to, really, she convinced me it was all right. And I believed her for a minute, until I saw her. Then I knew I was next. And if I didn’t come back, she would have framed me for Patrick’s murder.” Tears welled in his eyes. “How can I face my mother?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Pete stood with Francie at the back door. Used properly the baton he held could be lethal but not as lethal as a gun. He’d have to get close.

  Baxter sniffed the back door, wagged his tail, stood on his hind legs, and put his paws on Pete’s knee.

  Pete touched Francie’s elbow, nodded at the door. She was in there.