“I know I’m new to town and really don’t have any right to express my opinion, but I can’t see Kasota Springs doing anything but prospering. It’s the biggest little town I’ve seen in a while. And Green-Mart would never build a store where the company didn’t think they’d make a profit.”
Sylvie seemed to think over Rainey’s conclusion before saying, “Gideon’s store has been in his family for nearly a hundred years. He’ll be losing his monthly income from the government soon because they’re building a new post office down on Main. All of this together will ruin him and other small businesses just like his.” She ran her finger around the rim of the soda can.
Wanting to change the subject Rainey asked, “You mentioned the other day that you have a special friend. Is it serious?” She didn’t know Sylvie well enough to ask such a personal question, but the town gossip sure seemed to know a lot about things that went on around town.
“He’s really special, but sometimes I wonder if he even realizes how much I love him.” A strange look came to Sylvie’s eyes. It appeared she was about to cry as she looked up at Rainey. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No.” Rainey caught herself, almost forgetting her lie about a dead husband. She took a deep breath to rid herself of some of the fright she felt at the miscue. “Well, I should have said nobody except my husband.” Not wanting to dive deeper into the subject, she continued by asking, “Are you happy about having a new post office?”
“Not really. I’m very comfortable working out of Gideon’s. It was a little hard for me to accept at first, but he made me feel better by reassuring me that we’ll always be friends. He’s really a good man. A little gruff sometimes, but someone I really admire and would do anything for.”
“That’s good.” Rainey thought back to their conversation at the café the day of Judith’s press conference and how Sylvie tended to Deuce, even pouring him tea and goggling him as much as he was looking at the T-bone steak on his plate. Could it be that Sylvie and Deuce were an item? Could he be cheating on her with Allura? Or could it be something else?
Since the postmistress was seemingly immature and out of touch with reality, it would be very easy for a man to take advantage of her. She reminded Rainey more of a teenage girl with an infatuation than a grown adult. Maybe the whole “have a serious relationship” was one-sided.
Rainey knew Deuce well enough to know he wasn’t a player and even in high school, although all the girls wanted to be his girlfriend, he only had one at a time, and sometimes nobody at all. As an adult, she still couldn’t imagine him playing two women against one another.
Deuce always welcomed a challenge, on and off the football field, so she couldn’t see him having anything but a friendship or even a protective relationship with Sylvie.
“Tell me more about what keeps you busy besides being the postmistress, which I know is very time consuming.” Rainey stopped conjuring up thoughts that always seemed to involve Deuce. The lawyer in her knew to shine the spotlight on Sylvie and that would keep her from asking too many questions about Rainey. Questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Before I forget, I overheard Gideon talking to your landlord and I got the impression that as soon as you get the depot cleaned up and open for business that he’s going up on your rent.” Sylvie fidgeted with the ring on her finger. “I just thought you should know.”
“I signed a six-month lease, so he legally cannot do that prior to thirty days before its renewal or he’ll be in breach of our contract,” Rainey commented, although she was a little skeptical as to why Sylvie had come to visit in the first place.
“You’re so educated and talk like those lawyers I see on TV—”
Rainey interrupted her. “I did graduate from college and my father is a judge, so I guess that’s where I got it from. In college, my major was communications. Did it to please him.” She tried to smile while bile made her stomach turn over again and again. Obviously, Sylvie still believed Rainey was the missing deputy DA. Could that be possible? She thought Deuce had put a stop to that theory back at the café by telling Sylvie that he’d known Rainey for a while and she wasn’t an attorney at all. But what was she? She had to think fast to come up with an answer because she knew she was going to have to explain her life before Kasota Springs sooner or later.
A secretary.
That’s it.
A legal secretary and she fell in love with her boss . . . the lawyer. Edward Burlington Michaels, Esquire, who died in New York City. She faced the issue straight on when she said, “I was a legal secretary by trade and my husband was a lawyer.” Relief flooded over her.
“Oh, I see. You said your father is a judge. What did your mother do?”
Rainey wanted so badly to say that she was a trophy wife who thought the country club could substitute for Sunday school, and being featured in the society page was more important than being seen at the movies, but instead she simply said, “She’s a housewife.”
“That’s good. I had one of those weird families and I didn’t even know who . . .” She trailed off, changing the subject again. “I guess your mama had time to do a lot of volunteering.”
“Yes. A whole lot. Do you do any?” Rainey scratched her palm becoming inpatient with the Q & A session.
“I volunteer at the local nursing home and rehab center.” The question seemed to upset Sylvie or that’s how Rainey saw her reluctance to talk about it. So far, she had never seen Miss 1950 be so short on words.
“That has to be rewarding.”
“It is, but when you lose a patient, it breaks your heart.”
Hearing the sadness in her voice, Rainey said, “I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how hard it is to get attached to someone in a nursing home and then have to let them go.”
Sylvie shook her head. “It does hurt especially when . . .” She trailed off again, leaving her sentence unfinished as she took a sip of her soda. “I know you’re busy trying to get the depot open, but if you ever want to help out at the nursing home, I can talk to them about you being a volunteer.”
“I think I’d like that, but right now, as you can see I’m up to my ears in alligators and have no idea why I wanted to drain the swamp in the first place.”
Both women shared a laugh.
“Never heard that one before,” Sylvie said with a smile on her face. The first real one Rainey had seen all afternoon.
“Gideon said to tell you that if you need anything to just let him know.”
“So you and Gideon must talk a lot since the post office is in his store.” Rainey was on a fishing expedition and didn’t feel the least bit bad about it.
“I share everything with him.”
“Since you volunteer, what type of hobbies does Gideon have?”
“Stamps mainly. First-day issues. I think he has a set as far back as the 1800s. And, of course, he loves rare books and has many in his collection.”
“I love books and have read all of my life. What’s his favorite?”
“Fitzgerald, Shakespeare, Faulkner, and especially Edgar Allan Poe. You know, the classics.”
Almost like she remembered something she had to do, Sylvie stood, picked up both empty soda cans, and deposited them in the trash. “I’ve got to go. I need to get back to work. Let me know if you decide to do some volunteering at the nursing home.”
She rushed to the door and then suddenly turned around. “If you haven’t heard, the Internet is down all over town and they aren’t sure when it’ll be back up. Might be days.” Without saying even a good-bye, Sylvie walked out.
Sylvie’s sudden change of mood hung heavily on Rainey’s mind as she punched in the security code. She leaned on the counter. Being perplexed at the changes was an understatement. As an experienced prosecutor, she had been trained to read people’s actions and facial expressions. There was little doubt in her mind that the postmistress had come by for more reasons than to leave a letter that probably wasn’t even important enough to be placed in Rainey’s post office
box.
The words “I share everything with him” rolled around in Rainey’s head like marbles on a sheet of glass.
Sylvie was hiding something . . . but what?
Rainey checked the bonsai, then watered and fed it. Then she worked the rest of the afternoon and into the early evening, cleaning and painting, which gave her a lot of time to think.
After carrying on a one-on-one talk with Sylie, it was apparent the airhead persona she used was exactly that—a façade. She was no dummy by any stretch of the imagination.
Now it was Rainey’s job to figure out exactly what Sylvie wanted to know or exactly what she wanted Rainey to know.
One conclusion came to her over and over . . . the woman had used a piece of junk mail as an excuse to come see her. But what was the real reason? Sylvie never asked about Deuce, except to reinforce her special relationship with someone and Rainey presumed it could possibly be the sheriff. How special was special?
That jogged Rainey’s memory that she should at least look at the envelope, although it was going directly into file thirteen under the counter.
Rainey picked it up and saw her name in care of general delivery in Kasota Spring. But it was the ever so familiar postmark that held her gaze: San Quentin, CA, 94964. With shaky hands she carefully examined the envelope. It was identical to the ones that were sent to her while she was the LA County Deputy DA containing threats on her life.
Her heart raced out of control and she buckled to her knees, as she stared at the postmark. She couldn’t bear to open the envelope. In a spontaneous response, she threw the letter as far across the room as possible and put her head in her hands.
The only person sending her mail from San Quentin would be Alonzo Hunter. . . . He had found her.
But how?
Chapter Twelve
Tears blinded Rainey and choked her. Just the thought of what the envelope held sliced open a new wound in her heart. She wasn’t sure how much more fear she would have to endure. Not certain her legs could hold her upright, she literally crawled across the floor like a baby just learning to maneuver around and finally reached the letter. With a pounding heart and shaky hands, she examined the envelope again. Hunter’s CDC number on the return address glared up at her as if smiling at her pain. She checked the postmark again; it read “San Quentin, CA, 94964.”
She had prayed once she left LA that she’d never have to see the number which was etched with indelible ink on her memory.
If only Deuce was there, she’d have him open the envelope—but he wasn’t, so she had no choice but to do it herself, just like she’d done too many times before.
Finally pulling up into a sitting position, she stared at the envelope for what seemed like ages. Part of her wanted to tear it open and read what was inside; yet another part told her to destroy it without even opening the envelope. It was meant to upset and hurt her. To show her that Hunter could have someone get to her regardless of how many times she changed her name or relocated. He had warned that he had people on the outside to do his dirty work for him, and this was proof.
Logic set in. She realized that tearing the envelope open instead of using a sharp instrument to slice the top would compromise the integrity of the piece of mail. If there was any trace evidence, she couldn’t take the chance of destroying it by opening the item with her bare hands. If he had sealed the envelope with his tongue, there could be saliva residue that could be used to test for his DNA. What if ? What if ? What if ?
Rainey continued sitting until she stopped shaking and allowed some of the uncertainties the letter brought with it to pass. She then slowly, as if testing her legs, pulled to a stand and made her way over to the counter where she had both plastic gloves and a box cutter.
After putting on the gloves, as if she were unleashing an unknown creature, she carefully used a new straightedge razor blade to slice open the top of the envelope. She hesitated and took a deep breath before she unfolded the white piece of paper.
She gasped with disbelief, as she stared at the letter.
Hunter had changed his methods for antagonizing her. The words had been cut out of what appeared to be a newspaper or book of some sort and pasted on a regular piece of paper that could have come out of any paper supply.
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t pry her gaze from the words, which she read again and again feeling more nauseated each time.
TRUE!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad since I found you . . . and you should leave town now to stay one step ahead of me, YOU BITCH!
With fond memories of your
green fearful eyes, AFH
Every inch of Rainey’s being shook like it had never done before. Dreadful, fearful images blinded her. The thought that Alonzo Hunter had found her tore at her insides.
Bile formed and she rushed to the bathroom to throw up. After she washed her face, she sat on the toilet for what seemed like hours.
Once her mind cleared enough to think with even a tiny bit of rationality, she searched for the meaning in his words. More fear than she thought possible stabbed at her heart. The words sounded faintly familiar, but she couldn’t place them. Possibly, they were from one of his previous letters, but the DA had them in her possession. Although Rainey had read each of them, this one seemed different. Maybe he had deteriorated mentally in prison to the point of no return. A true madman had written these words.
Damn, if only the Internet wasn’t down she could do some research about the words.
She made her way back to the counter and stood staring at the envelope. The everyday sounds of life outside of the depot gushed in through the cracks around the doorframe and batted at her frail being. She felt vulnerable and exposed like a young fawn on the opening day of deer season.
Her pulse beat erratically and she thought her chest would burst open. It was becoming more and more difficult for her to keep her raw emotions in check, but she did.
Slowly, with gloved hands, she put the letter back in the envelope. From a roll of plastic she had purchased to protect the floor when she painted, she carefully cut a nice long piece to wrap the envelope in, and then put it under the counter.
She now had more questions than a seasoned interrogator, but the one that seemed to always surface to the top was how Hunter had found her. This threat still felt different from the others. He’d never sent anything with the words pasted together. Most of the ones she’d received while he waited trial had been handwritten on a number of odd items. One from a page from the Bible, which all inmates were allowed to have. One on a page from a pleading involving his case. One typed. Even at trial his behavior of sending threatening letters to the prosecutor was not brought up, so that detail was never presented to the jury nor released to the public.
How did he smuggle a letter like this one out of the institution?
How did it clear the mailroom?
Probably just like the others. Under the guise of sending something to help in his appeal.
But the biggest question she had was how did he find her? She had told nobody in LA except for Judith Mason, her boss and friend, about her decision to disappear. And the DA never knew the exact plan, just that Rainey planned to walk away from Los Angeles. She immediately discounted her friend, since Rainey had promised she’d never bring Judith into her deception.
Then of course Deuce knew her real name, as well as her alias, but whether it made her a fool or not, she trusted him to keep her secret . . . or at least the part she’d told him.
The only other person who knew her alias was . . .
Suddenly her knees felt like they were about to buckle again, so she slowly and deliberately slid to the cold concrete floor and leaned against the stucco wall.
It had to be the son-of-sl
ime whom she had trusted to get her a new identity. He knew her alias, but how did he know her whereabouts? She hadn’t used her fake social security number or credit cards since before settling temporarily in New York. She had paid cash for everything.
Slowly realization came to her. The bastard had to be working with Hunter.
She grabbed her purse from the bottom shelf and went through it looking for the piece of paper torn from a legal pad that had the car lot’s address written on it. Pouring the contents out on the concrete, she searched item by item, knowing deep inside she hadn’t seen it since the day she moved into the depot.
Think, Rainy, think!
All she could remember was that the used car lot had the name Los Angeles in it and was located in East LA, which was like looking for a man named Smith in a town that big.
The chances of ever finding him without bringing someone in from LA to help would be next to impossible. No, totally impossible!
The only person she wished would walk through the door was Deuce. To have him hold her in his strong arms would provide much needed comfort, but that was impossible. She had made a promise to herself that she would not interfere in his life. A day or two before, she had come to the conclusion that he was spending some time in Kasota Springs based on the items he left every day on the kitchen table at the ranch. He’d even left her favorite pastry from Winnie’s Bakery. For someone who hadn’t remembered she used sugar in her coffee, she found it strange that he knew her favorite pastry. Other than stopping by Winnie’s for coffee and Gideon’s hardware store, and of course the ranch, she had made a point to keep to herself. Her only visitor at the depot had been Sylvie.
If only Rainey could go to the ranch for its security. But she was too scared to take the chance of getting in her car and driving out there this late. She knew she’d be safe once she got to his place, since Deuce had made it clear that he’d have deputies posted at all times when she was on his property. For such a small town, with limited resources she suspected, she felt guilty having a detail posted for her, yet once she got over being angry at the idea, it made her feel secure.
The Troubled Texan Page 11