by C. Ruth Daly
Lucero, in his reluctance for the unordinary, continued to glance at the night sky, “Shouldn’t we hurry a little faster; it might be a downpour.”
“No monsoons here, sir,” Evan offered as they neared the edge of the woods. The welcoming light from the resort lanterns illuminated the rest of the way as the defeated group quickly abandoned the unknown woodland for the sanctuary of society.
The paramedics met them at the end of the path, ready with the gurney to transport the gunshot victim to Hamilton City. The man and woman quickly came to Steven’s aid. Evan moved away as the experts took over, placed the professor on the stretcher and deftly transferred the victim into the ambulance fifteen yards away. Rhonda hopped in the white rental and followed the ambulance its lights didn’t flash nor did sirens blare. It drove off across Trevor’s manicured lawn and onto the road that traveled down the hill then south toward the city.
“Oh great,” Donna muttered, “Trevor’s not going to like this. A guest was shot, his lawn’s torn up, and now the few guests he has are standing around waiting to hear why an ambulance was here.” Taking ownership of the responsibility bequeathed to her by the proprietor, Donna, with Evan and Glynda behind her, quickly and dexterously tucked the 22 in the waistband of her jeans and used the length of her dark T-shirt to conceal it. “No need to be concerned,” she began as the three of them deliberately stepped toward the befuddled guests. “There’s nothing to be concerned about. A guest took a late night stroll in the woods and tripped and fell. All is fine; please return to your quarters.”
A tall, thin man in plaid shorts and socks with sandals yelled, “I thought I heard a gunshot! What was that about?”
Recalling the guest registry and realizing most of the people before her were from the city, Donna offered Evan’s explanation, “Hunting, sir. Uh night hunting. It’s popular in this area.”
The group of maybe twenty guests talked among themselves, questioning the idea of night hunting and before anyone could respond, Evan broke into their conversation with an elaborate explanation on night hunting and how the tradition dates back to ancient times, “And my daddy and me, well we’d git our rifles and head to the woods about this time of night and this way, ya surprise the critters.”
Given his folksy nature and the ridiculous dialogue, the guests seemed to buy the story and returned to their cabins. “Nice, Evan. Nice. And you tell me I’m the one who makes up crap?”
“That’s right, Donna. I got it from you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The moon was directly overhead and the clouds had separated, leaving an opening for the lunar light to shine on them. Remnants of a campfire and burned tin cans were all that remained of a disbanded campsite. It appeared the residents had recently and quickly vacated the spot in the woods. It was evident there had been two occupants because Evan found a pair of cleared spots on the ground where bedrolls had been.
“Hey, check this out, guys, it looks like they’ve been here a bit. I found the shithole—er their bathroom.” Evan kicked some branches aside, “Phew! It sure stinks!” He quickly covered up the hole.
“Yeah, Evan. Nice. Donna smirked at him, “Where do you think they could have gone? Do you think it was Freddy? Who could be with him, too?”
“Don’t know, Donna. Maybe he has a girl.”
“Or maybe Thelma has another son out here, Glynda,” Donna snorted, shining her flashlight into the surrounding woods. “I don’t know where they’ve gone. Should we head back to the resort? It’s late. I should call the hospital and check on the professor.”
They left the campsite and headed back to the path that had been trampled earlier. Donna shined the flashlight on the ground where Steven Lucero had fallen, “Huh. I don’t see any blood here, you guys. Check it out.”
The beam shone across the ground. “Come to think of it, Donna, I don’t ‘member him havin’ any blood on him when we got back ta the resort.”
“Who knows, Evan? It’s late,” she saw the moon overhead.
Down the foot trodden path, and they were out of sight from the campsite on their way back to the resort. Despite all the turmoil that evening, the river remained unchanged, its soft melody soothed them as they walked along in silence while the eyes of the pair who had so quickly abandoned their campsite for a small, tree root cave on the riverbank followed the threesome’s every move.
The barrel of the pistol pressed snuggly against the man’s side, “How far away is your car, bud?” The pistol toting man asked.
His captive refused to answer, and the metal end pressed deeper into his side, “Where is it, huh? Ya said it wasn’t far. We need to get outta here. My old lady can’t find me now, but we gotta get going. Quick.” The pistol pressed deeper into the man’s side and its owner spoke harshly, “Where is it, huh?”
The tall man motioned downstream. Then, with a sharp report, crack, the pistol recoiled into the shorter man’s hand as his victim dropped to the ground, blood oozed from his side, and his teeth grimaced with pain; he was totally incapacitated as he lay in the dirt of the bank while the short man reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the keys, “Thanks, bud,” he snickered, and then darted off downstream on the riverbank, leaping over rocks and tree roots, leaving the tall man down, the side of his face pressed into the riverbank. His blood spread beneath him and onto the earth while the water from the river lapped at it so gingerly.
Above the river, Donna, Glynda, and Evan heard the gunfire and stopped in their tracks and with wide eyes, stared at each other knowingly, then turned and darted off in the direction of the sound. Not certain from where exactly it came, the trio broke off in different directions with Donna leaping down the riverbank, stumbling in the dark, her hand securely attached to the revolver. The moon sparkled lightly on the Tippecanoe, gently illuminating her trail.
After about three hundred yards upstream, she came upon the body. It appeared to be face down in the ground. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she fumbled with the radio loosening it from her belt, “Hello, it’s Donna—Donna to the resorts. Can you hear me?”
Crackle, crackle, was all that came through the radio. Despite her fear that the person responsible for this was around, she screamed into the night, “EVAN, EVAN, GLYNDA!” The body below her twitched slightly and with her hand on her revolver, she scanned upstream and down then to her left on the bank for any sign of another human—the party responsible for the downed man. Leaning over, she reached with her forefingers and felt the neck and found a slight pulse. She grabbed the radio a second time and a wild voice sprang forth from her throat demanding assistance.
A rustling noise came from the trees and Donna gripped the 22 and pointed it in the direction of the bank.
“Donna? Ya down there?” It was Evan creeping through the trees. In the darkness, he eased between the sycamores, creeping down the slight embankment.
Relief in the fact she was no longer alone with an injured body and with the possibility of a murderer not far away, Donna relaxed some, “Evan!” Now she whispered, “There’s someone who’s been shot. I—I don’t know how bad he is and I can’t get anyone on the camp radio. I think we’re too far away.
Now beside her Evan crouched down, “Can ya hear me? Ya’ll alright? We’re gonna’ git help right away.”
The man below him labored with his breathing. Evan scanned the size of him, “No way we can move ‘em Donna. Best hightail it up the bank and git in range ta get ahold of somebody.”
Without hesitation, Donna darted downstream toward the resort, the radio at her mouth and the button depressed, she repeatedly called for help. In about thirty yards she made contact. It was Trevor. “Donna, is that you? What the hell? What’s going on? I heard one of the guests had been shot?”
“Trevor, shut up. Shut up and listen, please. There’s a man upstream. We’re about half a mile from the resort, down on the bank. Trevor, he’s been shot and it’s bad. He’s barely moving. Call for help quickly, please.”
“What?! Donna, what the fu—yeah I’m getting the cops now. I’m on the other phone. Jesus Christ. I can’t believe this.” His fist locked onto his golden hair and held tightly as he set the radio down and dialed. “Shit, shit, shit,” he whined as the dispatcher on the other end took his call. He relayed all the information Donna had given him then hung up the phone and ran out the door. He abruptly turned around and locked it, dashing over to the utility garage, he hopped on his four wheeler and headed to the river, cutting to the path he had intentionally paved for guests to easily reach the water, he was quickly on the riverbank. The first aid kit attached to the rear of the vehicle bounced along as he zipped as fast as he could safely go along the river’s edge where spots were narrower than others. Trevor rode on the adrenaline of the past few days. Sleep had not been a priority as he stayed awake by Lori’s side, waiting for her to awaken from her state—or take her final breath. And now to return to hear that one of the few guests he has had been shot and transported by ambulance. Now, another body on the river?
The sound of a helicopter hovered overhead as a light shone along the riverbank, capturing Trevor in its circle, he motioned for them to move ahead, and they did for in about a hundred yards the copter reached the crime scene and then Trevor soon arrived to find Evan and Donna by the victim’s side and Glynda delicately sliding down the bank, not heeding the urgency of the site before her.
The paramedics and police officers were there and the rest of them backed away. In the helicopter’s light, Donna, Evan, and now Glynda made out the face of the victim and the two women gasped. It was Dan Green—Dan Stanley Green. Donna put her hand to her mouth as they loaded him into the copter. One officer remained on the ground while the noise from the propeller stirred the air as it headed the fifteen miles to Hamilton City. The sound of a motorboat came from downriver. The rest of the party was here to investigate the crime scene. And Donna once again found herself answering questions. The officer was a county sheriff, not familiar with the lore of the two women and their bravery on the same river just ten years earlier when the river had captured the murderous Ned Hollis. Now they were present at a crime scene and Donna had a revolver, which she quickly informed the officer of and turned it over before he could ask her if they had anything, and then the explanation began. She knew not to volunteer information and to only answer directly what was asked of her. Glynda and Evan did likewise. The officers in the boat stepped out and joined the group. They knew Glynda and Trevor from town, but despite the acquaintance, they still followed procedure. Yes, they know the victim. Yes, Donna had coffee with him. No, nothing more.
Trevor’s face was wrapped with anguish as the moon moved across the sky toward morning. The four of them were exhausted as the police dismissed them and remained on the riverbank, completing their investigation.
Glynda rode on the back of the ATV while Evan and Donna walked downstream toward the resort. Morning was not far away and the night’s events weighed heavily on them.
“Well, Evan. We came back to Burgenton with the hope of a quiet hometown visit and you to reestablish yourself—me? I thought I could get myself together and find a job—visit family. So what have we done? As soon as we left Arizona, we run into Dan Stanley and then find him here. You found the county assessor’s body. The professor and that Rhonda show up—just weird. We head out to Thelma’s and steal her cardboard box. Thelma’s found hanging in the Opera House. We find out Thelma had some sordid affair with her minister and produced another illegitimate son. Lori Bell is in a horrific accident. And now, now this Dan Stanley Green is barely alive, and left to die on the riverbank by someone.” She turns to Evan, “And you and I know who it might be. Where do you think he could be Evan? Where could he possibly be?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A tan station wagon zipped along the country road headed toward the interstate to go south. It skidded around curves in the early morning. The sun was peaking over the horizon offering an orange prism of light through the windshield and Freddy Carson became angry because of it. It didn’t take much to set Freddy off and now he thought, that damn sun is gettin’ in my eyes. He leaned over the wheel and squinted, swerving over the middle of the road. A white car headed toward him and Freddy jerked over to his side of the road. “Sons-of-a-bitch. Stay the hell out of my way,” and he pressed on the accelerator harder, but the 4 cylinder engine did not comply.
The driver of the white car braked, then swerved and turned around toward the tan vehicle that looked too familiar. “What are you doing, my dear?!” Steven screeched as he grabbed the dashboard.
“It’s our Dan! Damn him. He’s trying to bail and head back to Georgia, I bet.” Rhonda’s jaw clenched firmly as she sped up, careening through a curve or two and then caught up on the tail of the tan car.
“Who’s that bitch behind me?” Freddy muttered as he pressed the pedal to the floor, “Stupid ass Dan has a piece of shit car. Damn it. I’ve got to git rid of ‘em.” The 9mm rested on the seat beside him and had slid to the passenger’s side. He leaned over to grab it and swerved with the lean, overcorrected himself, then moved back to the berm of the road on the next curve. With the gun in his hand, he reached out the driver’s window and fired a shot. The kick caused Freddy to run off the road slightly and he swerved back onto the pavement. The white car behind him came to an abrupt stop.
“My god! What is he doing?” Rhonda screamed. She was shaking as the shot shattered the headlight.
Steven gasped, “What is with people and their guns! Who’s trying to kill me? Is it Dan who’s trying to do this and who tried to shoot me in the woods? Twice in twenty-four hours!” He was almost in tears. “We’ve got to get to the resorts and call the authorities. Do you know the license number, Rhonda?”
“How would I know Dan Stanley’s license number, Steven? I’m scared. We need to go back now. She backed up and turned the vehicle to head north toward the resorts.
“I will be glad to get out of this place Rhonda, and return to my quiet and predictable life at the university. I’m—I’m sorry this venture did not come to fruition as you had planned, my dear, and I hope we can make it back home safely.” He smiled slightly.
The morning sun was above the horizon now and the two drove cautiously along the road. The resort could not be close enough in their minds as they could not understand what had come over their Dan.
Had he found the gold? Rhonda wondered. They traveled in silence up the hill to the resorts and through the wrought iron gate where they found the manager, Trevor, who could contact the police.
While Steven and Rhonda were on the phone with the county sheriffs, Freddy Jones was heading south on the interstate toward the lowest point possible on the map. He wasn’t sure if he had enough money for gas, but that wasn’t a problem as far as he was concerned. Freddy knew how to take care of himself. After all, he’d done it all of his life; he considered the fact that what he had done to Mother was fair. She “hung me out to dry,” he chuckled to himself, “So I hung her out to dry.”
A state patrol car was in the rear view mirror and Freddy reached for his weapon and tucked it under the seat. He slowed his pace slightly and stared straight ahead. The officer came up behind him, then passed on the left, accelerating to catch a speeder down the road. “Dumbass pig,” Freddy grunted.
“Yes sheriff,” Rhonda reported, “a tan station wagon, foreign—I think Japanese. Not certain. Arizona plates. Yes, yes. The vehicle? I think it’s registered to Dan Stanley Green.” A series of pauses, “He’s an acquaintance. No, we didn’t travel together.” Silence on Rhonda’s end then, “It was headed toward the interstate, I believe. Yes, thank you.”
Freddy Carson approached the outskirts of Indianapolis and searched for a gas station. He was angry at Dan Stanley for only having less than half a tank and that anger made him feisty. His stomach rumbled since he had not eaten for twenty hours and the sight of a truck stop made him even hungrier. A truck stop and a gas station, yeah with all them
semis, no one will see me pump and run. He smiled at his ingenuity. No one’s as smart as me, he laughed at his superiority and abruptly pulled behind two rigs pulling up to the diesel pumps. The driver of one yelled at Freddy’s recklessness, but Freddy just flipped him off and pumped as much as he could before anyone from inside noticed him. He placed the handle haphazardly back on the pump, and Freddy jumped in the car and sped out of the truck stop not too fast, but fast enough to make it back on the interstate and into the city where he wouldn’t be noticed among all the other vehicles.
The ashtray of the car was full of loose change and Freddy laughed out loud when he saw the loot. It was enough to buy a hamburger and shake at a fast food joint, and there was a sign for one at the next exit. Things are going smoothly. Mother would be proud of me, he gloated.
A patrol car on the overpass above noticed the vehicle and its description and called for another car down the road. Freddy arrived at the exit and turned, bearing right to the restaurant where a patrol car was resting at a gas station close by and the one that received the radio message, was not far behind, alerting the cars in the area about the perpetrator of a stolen vehicle, who’s armed and may be dangerous.
Freddy noticed the cop across the street from the drive-through window but he thought she surely wasn’t looking for him. After all, Dan’s body won’t be discovered until about now if not later. The river may pick him up eventually, so no one’s looking for Freddy Carson. He relaxed just a little and ordered his burger and he had enough money for a large chocolate shake which he kept in his right hand as he pulled out onto the street. The cop came out from the gas station and inched from behind toward the tan car at the light. From the left off ramp another city patrol car pulled up and from beneath the overpass, there was one more. The 9mm was under the seat and the shake was in his right hand. Freddy had nowhere to go as police cars narrowed in on his stolen vehicle.