[To Die For 01] - A View to Die For (2012)

by Richard Houston

  “Sergeant Bennet, a deputy with the Fremont County Sheriff’s office, said he became suspicious when the victim’s autopsy showed he had died by carbon monoxide poisoning and not by the accident,” said the reporter. Then she had the cameraman cut to the sergeant.

  “That and the insurance company,” he added. “I did a little detective work and called Mrs. Carver’s insurance company. That’s when I had the coroner do an autopsy. The adjuster pointed out that Mrs. Carver’s two previous husbands had died in auto accidents after overdosing on medication, the last only two years ago, and she had collected a sizeable amount on those policies.”

  “How much is the current policy?” the reporter asked.

  “One million,” Bennet replied.

  “Almost double the amount she collected from her last husband,” the reporter said, and then cut to an interview shot earlier.

  “That bitch stole my husband, and now she’s gonna pay.” The woman being interviewed was still dressed in her bathrobe and standing outside an old mobile home. All she needed to complete my mental picture were curlers in her hair and runny mascara, but, sadly, she had neither. In fact she was a very attractive woman, much better looking than my sister.

  I was surprised they didn’t bleep her, but I suppose calling someone a female dog isn’t considered swearing in the Ozarks. “I tried to tell Mike she was just a no good bitch, and he better watch his back. But he was always in heat himself and couldn’t keep his BLEEP in his pants.” That time they did bleep her, but it was obvious what they cut. The reporter was probing for more information when I saw the old truck from the rest area pull into the parking lot. I had parked my van in the back lot under some shade trees for Fred. They must not have noticed it.

  The couple was met in the lot by one of the McDonald’s workers, a woman; the worker had been waiting by an SUV with Colorado plates. That’s when I noticed the Kansas plates on the truck. Something didn’t ring true. If this couple was from Denver, why did their truck have Kansas plates? And why hadn’t I noticed that back at the rest area?

  Although I couldn’t hear what was going on, it was obvious the McDonald’s employee was upset with the couple. The worker took the keys from the girl and was still yelling as she got into the truck and checked on the baby in its car seat.

  My concentration on the show outside was interrupted by another employee. “Would you like a refill on your coffee, Sir?”

  “Sure,” I responded, somewhat in shock. “Is this a new policy or just Kansas hospitality?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I’ve never been in a fast-food restaurant that waited on its customers with refills,” I answered.

  “Really? Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Colorado. On my way to Missouri. I hope they are this friendly there.”

  “Shelia’s little sister is from Colorado, too. That’s them out there. Sorry you had to see that, but her little sister and her boyfriend are a real pain in Shelia’s neck. That girl is always late bringing back Shelia’s baby, but at least it’s free babysitting.”

  My phone started to ring, and the waitress took it as her cue to go on to the next table. “Hello,” I said.

  “Mr. Martin?” Without waiting for me to answer, she continued. “Mr. Rosenblum asked me to run your debit card.”

  I gave the lawyer’s secretary the info she needed, and then waited while she made sure it cleared. By the time she was finished with me, it was too late to catch the couple who had conned me at the rest area. They were already leaving the parking lot in their SUV. I grabbed Fred’s hamburgers and headed out the door.

  By now, Fred’s burgers were quite cold, but he ate them in two gulps when I let him out of the van. I barely had time to get out his water bowl before the burgers disappeared. “That will have to hold you for now, Boy. Drink up. We’ve got a long trip ahead.”

  But Fred wasn’t quite ready to leave. Next to swimming, there is nothing a male Golden Retriever likes to do more than sniff out the markings of another male dog’s claim to a tree. He had to circle it three times before declaring it his own. “Come on, Fred. Let’s go get your aunt out of jail.”

  * * *

  I was beat by the time we got to Kansas City. I had given up fighting my GPS to route me through the back roads of Kansas. It acted like they didn’t exist. I had been driving for ten hours straight and still had another two hours to go. The drive across eastern Colorado and Kansas must be the most boring five hundred miles in America. Without coffee and radar guns, I would have fallen asleep at the wheel long ago. It had been four hours since I’d heard from my mother or anyone other than a McDonald’s voice asking to take my order. I owe them and the Kansas Highway Patrol my life. But now, I was in traffic worse than anything I had seen in Denver since the rebuilding of I-25, and I was lost. Just as I was looking for a place to pull over and check my GPS, the phone rang.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said.

  “How did you know it was me, Jacob?”

  “ESP, Mom,” I answered without going into the marvels of caller ID.

  “Do you always have to be such a smartass?” she asked. Then in a much softer voice she said, “Where are you now?”

  “Sorry, Mom,” I said for the hundredth time in the last day. I was on I-435, and I missed the exit to Sedalia. “Looks like I’m headed to St. Louis. Don’t worry. I’ll check my GPS and should be in Truman in a couple hours.”

  “Then, I take it, you didn’t get a lawyer,” she questioned.

  “Yes, Mother. I got a lawyer. He is supposed to call once he arranged bail. How’s Dad by the way? Can I talk to him?”

  “He’s sleeping now. I’m going to stay in your father’s hospital room tonight, so you need to check on Kevin when you get to the house. Make sure he has something to eat when you get there.”

  “Mom, I didn’t drive seven hundred miles to babysit my nephew. I’m sure Kevin can order fast food as well as I can, or has that new tongue piercing stopped him from talking?”

  “Don’t start in with me about Kevin. You know it’s just a stage he’s going through. There’s a motel next to the hospital. I’ll get a room there for a couple of days until your father is well enough to go home. Please take care of your nephew.”

  After checking a map, since my GPS couldn’t tell me where I was, I saw I had missed the turnoff for US 71 and was going east on I-435. I had an impulse to continue on to I-70 towards Columbia and check in on my father, but then my mother would be furious. I got off at the next exit and went back in search of the wagon path my GPS couldn’t find.

  It was dark by the time I finally found US 71 and headed toward Harrisonville. From there, I would take Highway Seven on into Clinton and then to Truman. Ironically, it was the route the con artist had suggested back at the rest area.

  It was after ten when we got to Clinton; both Fred and I needed to relieve ourselves. Luck was with us when I turned east toward Truman and spotted the golden arches. It was too late to go inside, and there wasn’t any grass in the parking lot. I would have to go through the drive-up and find somewhere else to let Fred out. I ordered a couple burgers and a coffee then headed out of town in search of a place to pull over. I found a cemetery a couple blocks down the road. Superstitious people would have been reluctant to stop at a cemetery this late at night, but it looked like the only place to stop before the highway narrowed to shoulder-less two lanes.

  “Hungry, Boy,” I asked, tossing him one of the burgers. He ate his sandwich before I could even get mine out of the wrapper. “Okay, you can have this one too.”

  Fred finished the second burger then decided to wash it down, spilling more water than he actually drank. I let him take his potty break at a nearby tree. I suppose I could have done the same had it been anywhere but a cemetery. My break would have to wait. I put Fred in the van and rechecked the map. “Just another thirty miles, Freddie boy. Then another fifteen or so to Megan’s, and we can both get some sleep.”

  Soon af
ter leaving Clinton, Highway Seven turned from a pleasant drive on a four-lane divided-highway to a stomach-wrenching two-lane roller coaster. I now knew why there was a cemetery at the edge of town; this road was a killer. Headlights tried to blind me at almost every rise in the road, and more than once, an oncoming car or truck almost side swiped me. However, the road was nothing compared to the shoulder – there wasn’t any. In place of shoulders, the road builders had opted for deep ditches to drain away the water. They thought, I presumed, any driver who was stupid enough to try and pull off the road deserved to be washed away. How Fred managed to sleep through it all is anybody’s guess.

  I knew enough about Missouri back roads to watch for deer after the sun goes down. Earlier, just before sunset, and before Fred fell to sleep, the deer had started to appear at the side of the road. I would have missed them if Fred hadn’t started to bark. At half the size of Rocky Mountain mule deer, he must have thought they were big dogs.

  Except for the lights of a car coming up behind me, I was driving in total darkness. The time right after sunset, before the stars and moon make their appearance, is the darkest and spookiest time of night. I should have slowed down, but I was in a hurry to get off the road. Then my cell phone rang; it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. The car in my rear-view mirror was coming up fast.

  “Hello?” I asked. It was too dark to see the caller ID.

  “What? No ESP?” she replied.

  “Not tonight, Mom. What’s up? Is it Dad?”

  “No, Jacob. I called to tell you not to worry about your nephew. Kevin went on to his friend’s house when you didn’t show up.”

  “Give me a break, Mom. I’m trying my best. I got lost up by Independence and now its pitch black with deer jumping out all over, and I’ve got some crazy idiot trying to pass me on a hill.”

  “Anyway, here’s Taylor’s address,” she said as though she never heard my plea for mercy. “You’ll have to go there to get the key,”

  “Can you text me the address, Mom?”

  “Jacob, you know I don’t know how to do that. Let me give you the address and number. Do you have something to write on?”

  “Mom, are you trying to kill me? I’m on a road that Evil Kinevil wouldn’t try. And there is some nut behind me who is trying to run me off the road. What is it with these Missouri drivers anyway. I’ll call you when I get to town. It’s only another ten miles or so.”

  I hung up just in time to see the deer. “Shit,” I exclaimed, turning the wheel hard left to avoid the creature. That’s when the jerk behind me decided to pass and hit the rear of my van. The impact sent me into a spin toward the other side of the road. My van flew over the ditch and was headed toward a large tree. Then everything went totally dark.

  Chapter 2

  “Am I in heaven?” I asked the angel standing over me when I woke. I had to be in heaven. She was the prettiest woman I had ever seen who wasn’t in a magazine or on television. She had midnight-black hair and beautiful violet-blue eyes. All she needed to complete the picture was a pair of wings. But her ID badge confirmed she was human; you can’t photograph angels.

  “More like purgatory. You’ve been in an accident,” she said, quickly glancing at a monitor to my right. “The doctor left orders to call him when you woke up. I’ll be right back.”

  My angel returned within minutes alongside a guy in a ponytail. I assumed he was an orderly. “Mr. Martin, I’m Doctor Woodward. You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive. Do you remember what happened?”

  By now I was fully awake and realized what had happened to me. “How about Fred? Is he okay?” I asked.

  “Fred? Who’s Fred?” he asked.

  “My dog. Do you know where he is?”

  My angelic nurse spoke up when she saw the blank look on the doctor’s face. “I heard something about the sheriff taking him to the vet in Truman. I’ll give the office a call and see how he’s doing.”

  Ponytail cut in before I could thank my angel. “Do you remember anything about the accident?”

  “Kind of,” I replied, “One minute I’m enjoying the roller coaster ride while talking to my mother, and the next thing I know a deer is trying to mate with my van, all while some idiot is trying to pass me. I almost hit the poor thing.”

  “Your mother? Was she in the van with you?” My angel asked. I could hear the worried tone in her voice. I didn’t think angels were supposed to worry.

  “No. On the phone, I meant. I was talking to my mother on the cell just before the accident. Just Fred and I were in the van. God, I hope he’s okay. Please let me know as soon as you hear something from the vet.”

  “There was another car involved?” It was the doctor again. I was starting to wonder if he was some kind of cop in disguise. He seemed more concerned with the details of the accident than my vitals.

  “The jerk clipped me when he tried to pass. That’s what caused me to run off the road.”

  “I’m sure Sergeant Bennet would like to hear about the other car. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Well, In the meantime, you need to get some rest,” he said. “You had a mild concussion. I’d like to keep you overnight. You should be out of here in the morning.”

  They moved me out of intensive care and into a room with three other patients. It seems billing had already checked on my insurance. My online discount policy wouldn’t pay for much more than a barracks and some aspirin. I had been awake for some time when my angel appeared early next morning. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked while closing the privacy curtain around my bed.

  “Got a splitting headache, but I’ll live. Did you talk to the vet?”

  She had moved to the other side of my bed to check my urine bag. “Don’t worry. He was a little stiff at first, but he is doing great now. He perks up and starts wagging his tail every time he hears a man’s voice. He must think it’s yours.” She reached under the thin blanket and began adjusting my catheter. “Would you rather I call an orderly to do this?” she asked, too late.

  “No. But now I think we have to get married,” I laughed.

  She replaced the blanket and smiled at me. “Do you feel up to any visitors yet, or do you need more rest?”

  “Visitors?”

  “I believe he said he’s your nephew.”

  “Kevin?” I asked.

  “Uh huh. His earrings remind me of my own son.”

  Her remark about earrings didn’t surprise me. Every generation seemed to have its way of rebelling. “Sure”, I said. Send him in.” I had not seen Kevin since he went to live with his father when he was eight or nine. He’d been in and out of trouble since then, and when he got busted at twelve with marijuana, his father quickly sent him back to Megan.

  It wasn’t five minutes later when the curtain slid open again. It must have been Kevin, but I didn’t recognize him. “Uncle Martin?” he asked.

  I stared at him thinking, who is this kid? Not only did he have holes in his ears the size of quarters, he had every conceivable loose piece of skin on his face pierced and ringed. I felt like grabbing the ring in his nose and pulling as hard as I could. Then I heard my mother’s voice in my head, telling me not to judge a book by its cover.

  “How you doing, Uncle Martin?”

  “That sounds like a line from an old TV show. Call me Jake, okay? Sorry if I didn’t recognize you. Maybe it’s the Mohawk. I don’t think I ever saw a Mohican with red and purple hair.”

  “Cool, huh. You should see how it freaks out all these old farts,” he answered.

  “Is your grandmother here, Kevin?”

  “Na. Just me, Uncle Martin. Grandma’s at the reception with Mom and Grandpa. They sent me to fetch you.”

  “Your mother is out of jail? And what do you mean the reception?” I felt like Woody Allen in Bananas. Life, it seemed, had gone on without me and passed me by.

  “Yeah. That fancy lawyer you hired got them to drop all the charges,” he said. “Mom didn’t waste any time putting
Mike’s urn in the ground, and now all the old people in town are over at grandma’s eating her food.”

  Megan had told me Kevin never took to Mike so his attitude toward his deceased step-father didn’t surprise me. “Damn. So much has happened in the last day. How is your grandfather doing?”

  “He’s cool.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Kevin?”

  We were interrupted before Kevin could answer. It was my doctor. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Great,” I lied, hoping for a quick release from the hospital. My head was throbbing. “This is my nephew, Kevin. He’s here to take me home.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Martin. No broken bones or lingering concussion. How’s your leg? Do you think you can walk on it?”

  “Ready for the Boston marathon,” I answered, “if you let me out of here.”

  “Okay then. I would like to do another CT scan in a couple of weeks, but otherwise, I see no reason not to let your nephew take you home.”

  My wallet and cell phone were not in my room, so I stopped off at admissions on the way out. They had my phone, but they had no idea about my wallet. It must have been their way of ensuring I didn’t get away without the requisite paperwork, so they could bill me for services that my insurance company didn’t pay. “That doesn’t make any sense,” I told the clerk who checked me out. “How did you know what insurance I have? You must have seen my insurance card, and my card was in my wallet.”

  The girl just looked at me like I had asked a Daily Double Jeopardy question. She was preoccupied with her desktop printer; it had jammed in the middle of printing my pardon. She was saved from answering when her supervisor showed up. “I believe the sheriff has your wallet, Mr. Martin. He asked me to tell you he would like to see you as soon as you are released.” Then without another word to me, she turned toward the clerk. “Sue, switch over to the backup printer until someone can fix yours.” And she was gone as quickly as she had appeared.