by Sandi Scott
“Not locked!” Georgie held her breath and carefully turned the knob. Before she knew it, she was in the trailer with both doors shut behind her. Standing still for a moment, Georgie let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness. The long room smelled of old carpet and paper. In the small square of light coming from the tiny window, Georgie was able to make out a desk with a small lamp perched on top of it. Walking heel-to-toe, she carefully maneuvered through the dark and flipped on the light. This looks familiar. Georgie thought Brock’s desk was strangely similar to Stan’s in that there was a mish-mash of paperwork in stacks, in folders, on top of more folders; along with post-it notes and scribbled handwriting on top of just about everything.
As she rifled through the documents she realized there was nothing there. At least nothing she could understand. There were a lot of contracts and inventory logs and receipts. It just looked like a business was being run by a man who was no messier or unorganized than any other man. What did you expect, Georgie Kaye? A big sign reading I did it! I killed Hera Packard! Have mercy! Here are the roofies! Still, after she’d gone through all the trouble of breaking in, she wasn’t going to give up yet.
Hands on her hips, Georgie surveyed the desk one last time, muttering under her breath, “The desk is probably the first place anyone would look for paperwork that pertains to real work. If I had cooked books or unauthorized charges or ransom notes or forged documents, I probably wouldn’t leave them out on my desk.”
She turned around and scanned the rest of the trailer. As she crept across the thin carpet on the floor, she saw two old-fashioned army-green filing cabinets. Next to them was a battered couch that looked like a hide-a-bed. It was clunky and square, and the cushions looked worn. The coffee table in front of it was covered with papers and yellow note pads. Two coffee cups that had dried coffee at the bottom were also left there.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think Stan lived here,” Georgie said, “except Stan doesn’t own a safe.” The small black box stared back at Georgie with a grin. It was just sitting there next to the bathroom door with a stack of mail on top of it. The door was open, so without hesitating, she knelt and using a dainty pinch of her thumb and index finger, pulled the door open wide. The first thing she saw inside the safe was a box of Rohypnol, commonly known as ‘roofies.’
Chapter 17
“Oh, my, this doesn’t look good.” Gingerly, Georgie pushed the box aside using just her fingernail. Having difficulty seeing, she leaned closer and recognized what the documents under the box of roofies were. The safe contained tax information going back several years, and information had been blanked out on some lines. Going through the stack slowly, Georgie saw all the documents had been altered.
The stack of paperwork on the desk showed receipts from the vendors for five hundred to a thousand dollars each, just like Pete had described. The altered tax forms listed some of those same vendors, but the dollar amounts shown were much lower. Also, stuffed in the back of the safe was a clear plastic trash bag, like the type out of a small bathroom waste basket, filled with shredded documents. Just as Georgie was about to pull the bag out, she heard a car door slam shut. Adrenaline kicked her to her feet.
For a second, she stood still, frozen in place as her mind screamed that the light on the desk was still on. Should she run and shut it off? Should she hide and hope whoever came in didn’t notice? If she did turn the light off, would they see that from outside? There was no time as someone’s heavy boots clanged on the metal steps at the front door. Quickly, Georgie stepped into the bathroom and slid behind the door as the front door opened. Peeking out of the crack, she saw the hulking silhouette of Brock Deebs.
Surely, the bathroom was going to be the first place he looked. It was the only hiding place in the entire trailer, but he didn’t. He barely looked in her direction. Instead he started to pace back and forth. He was muttering something, but Georgie couldn’t make out the words. Something about not freaking out and keeping calm. There was a mini-fridge on the other side of the room that Brock finally opened, pulling out a beer. He popped open the top of the can and took a huge gulp. Georgie watched anxiously as he seemed to calm down a little. He hadn’t even noticed that the front door was not locked like he left it and that a light was turned on. Just as Georgie was about to slowly exhale, it seemed like Brock had read her mind.
Time moved in slow motion as Brock’s face contorted into a frown, and he stared at the front door. His eyes bounced to the lamp then back to the door again. Deliberately, he turned his head toward the safe. Georgie shrank back into the shadows of the bathroom and prayed Brock didn’t decide to relieve himself. Without hesitating, he walked up to the safe. Using his foot, he pushed it closed. He turned his back and took a couple steps away. Georgie felt her entire body slump with relief. For a second, she had thought he might be heading toward the bathroom door. Brock took a few steps, set his beer down and then lifted the back of his shirt. That was when Georgie saw the gun.
“You want to come out of there?” he growled pulling the gun from his waistband. Georgie didn’t move. She held her breath and tried to think of something. If only there was a window in the bathroom. She’d slam the door shut, lock it tight, and shimmy in the most undignified manner necessary to get out the window, but there was nothing. There was no other way out of the bathroom.
“Now!” Brock shouted making Georgie jump. With her hands up, Georgie carefully stepped around the door and into view.
“You,” he sneered. “Georgie Kaye. I thought the police had to have a warrant before they could search someone’s property.”
Georgie’s mind felt numb, but she started speaking anyway. “Yeah, it’s me,” she choked out. “little old, old me. I’m not a cop though, and I never said I was one. You just assumed. Let’s get that cleared up right away.”
“I suppose you think you’re pretty smart breaking into my trailer. You know, without that little light on, it is very dark in here.”
“I noticed that.”
“No one would blame me if I shot you. First, you’ve broken into my business. Second, you were here to plant evidence, but I caught you in the act. Third, I thought your cell phone or comb was a gun. I opened fire to defend myself.”
“That wouldn’t be very smart, Brock. No one would believe you.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess you’ll just have to go the missing person route.” He raised the gun and pulled back the hammer.
“Wait!” Georgie begged. “You don’t want to kill me. You can barely live with yourself for what you did to Hera.”
“What did you say?”
“Hera Packard. You slipped her a roofie in her lemonade because you were embezzling.” Georgie spoke like an understanding teacher consoling a child who just flunked a major test. “She knew what you were doing, didn’t she? She was going to tell.”
“There you’re wrong. Hera wasn’t going to tell. I made sure of that.” From a small crack in the door, Georgie saw what looked like red and blue lights.
“But you didn’t really want to kill Hera. You wanted to send her a message. Like you did me. Believe me. I got the message loud and clear.”
“I would say that was a lie,” Brock snapped, “because if you had taken my warning to heart, you wouldn’t be standing here taking your last few breaths on earth.”
“You’re not a killer.” Georgie had no idea what she was saying. For all she really knew about Brock Deebs, the guy loved killing. He could have had stuffed grizzlies and deer heads all over his house. He could brag about decapitating his own Thanksgiving turkey every year. What did she know? This could be something he’d always dreamed, but she kept talking anyway. “You’re just in over your head, that’s all.”
“Is that all you can say, Georgie Kaye? Boy, you must have some kind of advanced college education to get things so, so wrong,” he snickered.
“Okay. So, let’s try this, you are a homicidal maniac who is embezzling money from your vendors, and
you killed Hera thinking that would cover it up, but you didn’t bet on so many people taking an interest, and you didn’t bet on the police actually catching up to you.”
“You just said you weren’t a real cop.”
“I’m not, but he is.” She pointed to the door where Stan stood holding his gun. Before Brock could squeeze the trigger, Georgie picked up one of the dirty coffee cups and tossed it at him. She hit him right where his shoulder met his neck
“Freeze! Deebs! Drop your weapon!” Stan shouted from the door.
Brock’s gun fell to the floor. BANG! The bullet pierced the far wall leaving a black hole in the dingy wall. Georgie ducked and dashed toward the door. Stan dove at Brock before the man could try and recover his gun. Both men fell to the floor. The entire trailer trembled. The gun had fallen underneath the coffee table. Moving as fast as she could, Georgie kicked it to the far corner of the trailer by the safe.
“Brock killed Hera!” Georgie yelled. She watched as Stan pointed his gun at Brock. Both men slowly got to their feet.
“No. She’s lying. Hera was ... she had ...”
“Hera was your friend and worked for you for ten years.” Georgie stooped down and reached into the safe. “She saw the same thing I did. These tax records have been altered. How many thousands of dollars have you scammed from your vendors? How long did you use Hera as part of your scam before you decided she was a liability?”
“Hera was on drugs. She had a shady past,” Brock remained defiant.
“You know that isn’t true. Hera was your friend. You trusted her with every aspect of the business even collecting the cash from the convention attendees. You repaid her by killing her.”
“No!” Brock’s eyes filled with tears.
“You repaid her by slipping drugs into her lemonade then leading her to that car to die. She died because she told you to come clean. How can you live with yourself?” Georgie watched as Brock staggered back against the desk. “There is Rohypnol in the safe, Stan, along with tax documents. The only thing I haven’t found is the money he scammed.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Brock began blubbering. “I just wanted her to stop hassling me. I had meetings to go to and vendors to meet with. I was afraid she was going to say something to them.”
“What happened, Brock?” Stan asked.
“I did give her the drug, but it was only to make her sleep for a while. It was so hot outside, and I couldn’t keep her here in my trailer.” He sucked in his breath and steadied his voice. “I put her in that car to keep her out of the way. She threatened to break in on my meeting with the vendors. I couldn’t have that happen.” That was when Brock Deebs fell apart. He clutched at Stan’s shirt like a man clinging to a life preserver. Over and over he sobbed that he hadn’t meant to kill her.
For a minute, Georgie felt she believed him, but still, he had been willing to kill her, too. How real were those tears? She couldn’t tell. She’d leave that for a jury to decide.
Chapter 18
Georgie woke up in her own bed to pounding coming from her kitchen. She had told Aleta that while it had been fun having sleep-overs, now that Brock Deeps was safely behind bars there was no reason for her not to sleep in her own bed again. When she’d fallen asleep last night, Bodhi was curled up at the foot of her bed as usual. Now, with all the banging that was going on, she couldn’t hear her little guard dog at all.
“Bodhi?” She called nervously as she jumped out of bed and rushed to the kitchen.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Stan said as he pulled the broken back sliding door from its frame.
“Stan. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m fixing your door. Boy, you sure do look good in the morning.”
“Ugh.” Georgie tugged at her hair that was standing almost straight up in the air. “Bodhi, what kind of guard dog are you?” The pug wagged its doughnut tail and gave a sneeze.
“That’s my buddy,” Stan said, affectionately scratching the dog around the neck. “I’ve just gotten started, but if you’d like me to take a break to help you in the boudoir, I can do that.”
“Would you like some coffee?” Georgie asked.
“That’s not what I had in mind but I’ll take it.” Stan shook his head in mock disappointment and continued working as Georgie shuffled around the kitchen.
“How come you aren’t at the precinct?” she finally asked.
“After Brock Deebs confessed, I figured I better follow Lito’s lead. I had some vacation time that if I didn’t use it, I’d lose it.” He grimaced as he loosened a screw attached to the sliding door handle.
“How much money did you find in his house?”
“More than three-hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“All cash?”
“All rolled up in bundles.”
“Man, I would have liked to just roll around in that for a few minutes. Just to see what it felt like.” Georgie sighed.
“Is that all it takes? I’ll keep saving my pennies.” Stan winked.
Just as Georgie was about to take a seat at her kitchen table, her front door opened and shut. “Who’s hungry?” Aleta arrived with a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.
“You’re in a good mood.” Georgie teased as she took the box of doughnuts from her sister. “Stan, mark this day on your calendar. Aleta is in a good mood.”
“I’m excited. I can’t help it. I mean, I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m scared.” Aleta wrung her hands as she took a seat at Georgie’s kitchen table.
“Why? Do you have a doctor’s appointment?” Stan asked.
“No, she has a date,” Georgie answered before Aleta could, “but maybe they’ll play doctor.”
“Eww.” Aleta wrinkled her nose.
“That’s great, Aleta. Who’s the lucky guy? You want me to run a background check on him?” Stan asked.
“His name is Marley Gillibrand. No, you don’t need to run a background check.” Aleta took a couple napkins from a stack on the table and opened one up in front of her like a paper placemat.
“I wish someone would have done a background check before I made it to the altar.” Georgie looked at Stan.
“Don’t let her fool you, Stan. She would have run to that altar come hell or high water. She just loves trouble.”
“Speaking of trouble” Georgie smiled and licked the doughnut glaze from her fingers, “you guys want to see my pictures from the car show?”
“You know I do!” Stan dropped his tools and stepped inside.
“Yes!” Aleta clapped.
“They arrived last night via messenger with the sweetest note from Errol. He wants me to consider modeling for the Harley-Davidson Motorcycle convention that will be taking place in the spring of next year.” Georgie giggled from the hallway.
“Did she say Harley-Davidson?” Stan asked. Aleta slowly nodded her head and watched Stan as his face flushed and he shifted in his seat. Georgie reemerged with a 16”x20” framed picture of herself posing next to a canary yellow 1955 Ford Thunderbird.
“You look like Betty Boop,” Aleta said admiring the photo. “This is so cute. You should get copies and send it out as your Christmas cards.”
“I’m glad you like it because Errol sent me several different sizes. Here, I put one in a frame for you.” Georgie giggled like a little girl. Aleta burst out laughing. She took the picture telling Georgie it would go right on the fireplace mantle next to their prom picture from high school.
“I can’t wait to show Obby. We’re going to have a picnic at the Planetarium on Thursday. That reminds me. I better call him and tell him I can go.”
The three continued to talk as Stan looked at the photos. Georgie didn’t offer him a copy, but there had been three wallet size photos among the package spread out on the table. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that now there were only two left on the table. Georgie knew exactly where the missing one was, it had clearly found its way into Stan’s wallet, slipped in front of the fa
ded wedding picture of Georgie and himself that she knew he kept there.
THE END
Letter from the Author
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR purchasing this early-release book made available exclusively to my readers group, Sandi’s Sleuths, before the book was made available on any other retailers.
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www.SandiScottBooks.com.
I love to stay in touch with readers and periodically give out free books, advanced copies, and other fun stuff.
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Stay cozy,
Sandi
About the Book Cover
I am so grateful to my readers every day for reading my books, making it possible to keep writing. As a gesture of appreciation (and because it is really, really fun) – I feature a reader’s pet on the cover of each book in this series!
For each book, I host a contest where you can enter your fur baby to be the next cover model. I love seeing all your fur babies and reading their stories. The prizes of winning the contest are digital images of any artwork done of the winning pet, a free paperback copy of the book, and the opportunity to write the dedication to the book.
This month’s cover model is Adari. What drew me to Adari was the story of how he met his mom Ilze.
Adari and his 6 siblings, January 2013, waddled early one morning thru our doorstep out of the blue. I housed them in the bathtub during the day (complete with rocks and fresh grass and fresh water daily – poor [and new at that stage] bathtub will never look the same again) while they spent their nights on my bed.
We built them quite a large secured playpen outside even with shade cloth as ‘roof’ but unfortunately, one after the other they died without any reason (we even had autopsies done to no avail). At around 5 weeks, Adari, being the last soldier standing, moved permanently inside the house and was further ‘raised’ with the doggies. I then decided on the name Adari – while many meanings, this name also means ‘Oasis in the desert’ – and jip, dad did not have much to say in this matter (Still does not, LoL).