The River Waits for Murder (The Burgenton Files Book 2)

by C. Ruth Daly

  Back at her side, the professor described his lackluster findings, and encouraged the woman to head back up the hill, “…until tomorrow, my dear. We can come back in the morning when there’s daylight—and we are better prepared for hiking.” He smiled at her in the darkness and gently grabbed her hand and the couple climbed back up through the trees to their rental car.

  In the darkness they left behind a series of footprints headed upstream and tire tracks from downstream that by morning would be washed away by the wind and rain that loomed overhead. And as they retreated to their white sedan, beckoning them to return to the safety of their cabin, a sleek sports car zipped past them with Lori Bell Jameson behind the wheel.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She reached over to feel for her purse and the bottle inside it, half full of the golden liquid sloshing up and down its glass walls, having washed down the other half in the garage of her house. This was a time smoking sounded good to the woman, so to placate her shakiness, Lori reached over for the radio dial, scanning for a reception on the winding country road. A raccoon darted across her headlights and she swerved, then corrected herself. The near accident pushed the adrenaline through her blood and sent the moment of her mission into sight. When all goes wrong, where does one turn, she asked herself? Arkansas was a day’s drive away, and she could be there by morning. If only she had phoned her mother, but there was no time. Lori Bell also worried about her mother’s reaction because the family homestead is now in the hands of Trevor Morrelli, a murder suspect—a financial failure—her fiancé—but that was on hold now, she thought. Trying to reassure herself, she knew Trevor could get it together—surely he was innocent. She shook her head as if to clear the ideas and focus on the road.

  The winding road trimmed by trees soon led to a straightaway and Interstate 65 was not far away. She would hit Indy in an hour and head west and then south to her mother’s retirement villa in the Ozarks. Her neck was hot and her face flushed as she thought about her connection to Eric and Tonya Lamar. What was Trevor doing hooking up with that pair? And, she liked Tonya. They had lunch together and she would take the train to the city and meet her on Michigan Avenue where they shopped. It was great, she thought, and the way it should be. That was supposed to be my life, and now? She asked herself, and now? Who have I become?

  Her mind drifted with the monotony of the road and she recalled years ago…friends…Donna, Glynda. What had she done with her life? I was a great deejay, she reminded herself. It paid okay, she nodded her head in agreement. “What happened to my friends?” she muttered out loud. Tears came to her eyes and the mascara dripped off her lids onto her cheeks, momentarily obscuring her vision. They had been through so much together, she sniffled, and Glynda. We lived not that far apart but did I ever stop to see her or get together with her for coffee? And Donna. Yeah, she wrote to me, Lori Bell remembered, but did I write back? The girl didn’t even have a phone out there in the sticks of Arizona—and stuck taking care of Evan. “Why did she take care of Evan?” Lori asked herself. Always a kind hearted social worker, she sighed and paid closer attention as she neared the outskirts of Indianapolis.

  The interstate turn off was not far and Lori peered over the wheel to make the exit. She veered west and was on I-70. A sigh escaped her as she was now out of Indy. Despite all of her posh living and having resided in an urban area for several years, she was still a small town girl. To her right was a woodlot in the distance and the image evoked a memory of a Halloween night over ten years ago. The smell of the autumn woods filled her memories and Lori relaxed. Leaning back against the headrest, she recalled dragging her best friends on a Halloween adventure—just so she could hook up with Trevor, and here it is ten years later—and I got my man—but now I’m not sure I want him. She shook her head again. All the things I did to Donna and Glynda. Glynda—such a good soul, and Donna. That romantic wanderer. Where will she end up next? Surely she won’t stay in Burgenton. Realizing she was headed directly west, Lori veered off on the next two lane highway and headed south toward her mother in the Ozarks.

  The steering wheel became unsteady, and Lori realized it had been a couple of hours since she had a drink. Another shake of the head. “I can make it until I get to Mom’s,” she said to herself, but what will she think of my drinking. She doesn’t know.

  “But hey, Mom was a drinker herself,” she muttered, and reached over for her purse. Grasping the bottle and holding it between her thighs, she removed the top and held the rim to her lips. The road before her appeared clearer and her mind now sharp, she thought, and then speaking into the emptiness of the car, “I’ll be there at sunup.”

  Her eyes were transfixed on the black asphalt before her while truckers zipped past her low lying vehicle. At every passing she jumped, and on the last truck twenty-some miles south of I-70, Lori swerved, overcorrected herself and swerved back into her lane, losing control of the car, it flew across the right lane and down into a field. The semi-truck, unaware of the car far behind it, moved down the highway, while Lori Bell’s sports car spun in the air and landed on its roof with a thump, the metal crumpling into the soft ground of the corn field. The driver’s head hit the side window and blood ran down onto her face and neck, making a mess of the carefully applied makeup. Her eyes and mouth were open and her voice silenced. The car hidden in the cornfield would not be visible from the road until sunrise.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Donna was behind the wheel of her truck while Glynda and Evan sat scrunched between her and the passenger’s door as the three of them headed southeast from Burgenton toward Thelma Carson’s two-story brick home in the country.

  “We’re about there, Donna,” Glynda said, pointing down the road toward the house which was about a quarter mile down a lane, “No one’s going to see us, Donna. Look how it’s all dark and there’s no sign of any cops.”

  She nodded in agreement as the truck approached the top of the lane, Donna turned off the lights and turned right toward the Carson homestead. The wheels dipped left and right in the ruts in the narrow dirt lane. Yellow tape was around the front door and the barn doors, and Donna hesitated as they hopped out. Evan stomped a foot to make sure the ground was not soft enough to capture their footprints before they headed around to the back. “It’s okay, guys. We can go ahead. It’s nice and dry—not dusty dry. That sure is good.”

  Glynda led the way, holding the key tightly in her fist, she stepped up on the back porch and using the sleeve of her sweatshirt, grabbed the handle of the rickety screen door, and opened the old, wooden door with its thin, pane window; next she pulled a rag out of her back pocket and brushed off the soles of her shoes. “Now you guys do the same,” she ordered as she confidently stepped over the threshold and into the kitchen, and then to the living room.

  “Geez, Glynda, it’s like you’re a natural burglar,” Donna quipped as she followed her friend’s orders then passed the rag to Evan.

  He steadied himself on the door frame, brushed off his boots and stepped inside. “Shit, Donna, where’d she go?” he asked as the two of them stared into the darkness of Thelma’s living room. They remained in place, not wanting to venture further into the house as neither had been to the Carson place and Glynda did know her way around. “Hey, Glynda,” Evan whispered into the darkness, “Can ya hear me?”

  Donna could feel her heart beating in her throat as silence answered. She tried to calm herself and glanced around the kitchen to get a sense of the place. “Should we go further into the house, Evan?” she turned and whispered to him as she inched forward, “I can sort of see into the living room now—at least there’s a little light from the security light on the road.”

  They carefully tiptoed across the linoleum floor to the large opening where French doors once hung and stepped onto the shag carpet of the living room.

  “Now what?” Donna asked Evan, and a voice behind them answered. Donna jumped.

  “Well hell, I’ve been in the house and around and out t
he secret door Thelma showed me. It’s down in the basement. I know my way around and check out what I got.”

  “Damn it, Glynda. What did you do that for?” Donna snapped.

  Evan let loose a laugh, “I knew she was behind us fer about a couple minutes, Donna. Just wanted ta get a rise outta ya.”

  Donna put aside her pride and asked, “What? I can’t see a damn thing in this house.” Her back was to the picture window in the living room where the light barely shown in.

  Evan squinted into the darkness when through the window he noticed a single dim light on the road. “Oh shit, guys. I think we’ve got us some company. We better git to the truck and outta here, fast.”

  Donna jerked around and Glynda was already out the door with the box under her arm, headed to the truck. Despite Evan’s size he lit out the back door and when outside on the wooden porch, Donna jumped around him and darted for her truck, keys in hand. She jerked open the driver’s door and Glynda, somewhat breathless, hopped in beside Donna, then reached over to grab Evan as he had one leg in the cab. Donna fired up the engine and headed to the turnaround by the barn in back of the house. The motorcycle was a quarter way up the lane when Glynda said, “We can’t get outta here past him, guys, what are we gonna do?”

  “He has to have seen us you guys. I think I can get around him and we can just get out of here. This truck is bigger than a motorcycle.”

  The truck faced down the lane, ready to bolt out of the Carson farm. The cyclist was not far away having inched through the ruts to get up to the house. When he was only a couple yards from the porch, Donna turned on the brights and floored it, blinding the driver with the flat face, his eyes shielded by his arm so he couldn’t even get a good look at the vehicle, the crazy driver and her passengers. She swerved to the right of the cyclist and then veered the wheels back onto the rutted lane, bouncing the three of them up and down and back and forth in the cab.

  It wasn’t until they were on the road did she speak, “Who was that, you guys? Have you seen him before, Glynda?”

  “I didn’t get a look, Donna. I kept my eyes closed the whole time and clutched this box for fear it’d fly out the window.”

  “What is in that box, Glynda?” Donna asked as they turned right on the main road and headed west into Burgenton.

  “I think we can worry ‘bout the box another time, Donna,” Evan had been watching the side mirror. “I think our friend from Thelma’s is turnin’ in our direction. Better pick it up, Donna and git us back into town.”

  Her eyes glanced in the rear view mirror to the motorcyclist picking up speed behind her. “This truck is faster,” she said as she gritted her teeth, floored the V6, and moved away from the bike and its mysterious driver. Glynda grabbed the dash of the truck while Donna glanced in the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of the cyclist who was hunched over the front of his bike and gaining speed. A few cars passed in the opposite direction, making it hard for the bike to pass. The truck moved out ahead and soon they were safe inside the limits of Burgenton, where Donna slowed her speed as they went by the high school and down the little hill into the Coyote Creek valley. The driver of the bike paid no heed to signs or safety in small towns and pushed ahead, tailgating Donna’s truck as they approached the intersection in the center of town.

  Evan with his eyes on the side mirror, got a good look at the driver behind him and caught sight of the Burgenton motorcycle cop who had zipped out from the local drive-in a mile back and now with lights flashing, came right up behind the flat-faced man.

  To create confusion for the flat-faced man, Donna turned west instead of east toward her Mom’s place and Glynda’s, taking the corner slowly so Evan could watch the perpetrator and the cop. The cyclist stopped with engine still running while the officer hopped on his bike and sauntered over to the guy. Around the corner and the traffic cop was out of sight. Donna turned again and headed back around the block to pull up by the Legion and stop on the side street where they could safely watch what was transpiring near the town’s stoplight.

  What they saw was the tail of the cyclist’s bike skimming the corner and heading west—the same road that veers south toward the river. The cop, now off his radio, got back on his bike and with lights flashing, careened around the corner in pursuit of the assailant. Donna considered the fact the flat-faced man would have to drive right by the sheriff’s office and county jail to get out of town—unless he took an alternate path.

  “What are we going to do now, guys?” Glynda asked, her hand still clutched the dashboard while her arm held tightly to the cardboard box.

  “We sure ain’t chasin’ a cop and a crook,” Evan added as Donna put the gears in first and stayed on the backstreet that ran along Coyote Creek behind the rentals where Dan Stanley Green had once lived.

  “I think we need to get back to your place, Glynda, and call Trevor to tell him what’s happening. That guy may be out by his resorts. I don’t know.”

  “So what’s in the box, Glynda?” Evan looked over at her and smiled. Donna noticed a change in the man since they had returned from Arizona. Evan was not the same old scruffy, snuff-toting, cigarette smoking, and booze guzzling Evan as she had known before. Granted many of those qualities remained with him, but he had changed. Evan seemed happier now than he ever had since she first met him back in middle school—and Glynda—that smile she returned to him.

  It was nearing sunrise as she pulled up in front of Glynda’s and they all hopped out. The boys and Rodney came running out of the house. “What are they doing up so early?” Glynda blurted as Rodney ran up to her.

  “Ginda, Twevor wants you to call him wight now!” Rodney could hardly get the words out. He was visibly upset as he reverted back to his pre-therapy speech from when he was little.

  “What is it Rodney?” Glynda asked, as she scurried up the steps and through the house to the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall.

  They all followed with Donna behind Glynda while Evan stopped to calm the boys. In the kitchen, Glynda plopped the box on the yellow Formica table and quickly dialed Trevor’s number at the resort. Donna stayed close by with her ear near the phone, anxiously waiting to hear Trevor’s voice. Thoughts raged through her mind and she wondered if there was another body at the resort. The image of the professor and Rhonda popped in her head. The phone rang over and over and finally, before it went to the answering machine, Trevor picked up.

  “Morrelli Resorts,” an unfamiliar voice answered.

  “This is Glynda Myer. I’m a friend of Trevor’s; he called my house. Is he there?” The words breathlessly flowed from her mouth.

  “Trevor’s in Illinois. He had to go on an urgent matter.” The voice sounded well-rehearsed.

  “What? But he called me just today.”

  “I’m sorry but Mr. Morrelli will be out indefinitely. I can take a message and when he returns, he will be happy to contact you.”

  Frustration poured from Glynda’s mouth, “No. But he called me! Good bye.”

  She turned to Donna. “Something’s wrong, Donna. Trevor’s in Illinois and whoever answered wouldn’t tell me anything. Something’s really wrong.”

  “Call Lori Bell’s place, Glynda. See if she’s okay.”

  Glynda pushed the buttons on the avocado green phone and waited, listened to repeated rings, then finally, “Hi. We can’t come to the phone now but we will call you back as soon as we can.” Lori’s perky message rang through the receiver.

  “Something’s really wrong, Glynda. Neither of them are answering and why would Trevor be in Illinois? This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Let’s head out to Lori’s place and then to the resorts.”

  They headed toward the door and Glynda turned around and ran back to the table, snagged the box and opened the pantry door, shoving the small cardboard container far into a corner behind bags of rock salt.

  “Evan, Rodney—boys stay put. Evan, Rodney. I need to talk to you.” They came into the kitchen.

  “
What’s going on, Glynda?” Evan asked.

  “We’ve got to head out to Lori’s place and the resorts. Something’s going on. When I called the resorts someone answered—I don’t know who, and said that Trevor is in Illinois. We called Lori and there’s no answer. Why’d they be in Illinois, Evan? Are you coming with? Rodney stay here and keep the boys inside. Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in.” Glynda ordered.

  Donna pictured the flat-faced man and then her poor frail mother. “Glynda, I’m going to use your phone to call my sister Irish to see if she can go get Mom and take her out to the farm. I don’t know what’s going on but I wonder if it has to do with the flat-faced man, Rob’s murder, and that damn gold. I wonder if that Dan Stanley is involved.”

  She quickly dialed to hear her sister Irish’s voice on the other end, “Sure Donna. This sounds crazy. What do you think is going on? Do you think Mom is in danger?”

  “I have no idea, Irish. Just get Mom and take her out to your place, please? I’m going to stop by and make sure all the doors are locked.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Donna. I’ll bring one of the farmhands with me. Just in case.”

  The three of them piled in the truck and Donna backed up the half block to Livingston Street then a half a block down to her Mother’s.

  Everything inside was safe and locked up tight.

  “It will be nice to go out to Irish’s for breakfast, Donna. Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep the doors all locked up. Lord, child. The problems you seem to bring.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The truck whipped up the winding road to the resort and Donna didn’t hesitate when turning the corner to Trevor’s office. The wrought iron gates were wide open, welcoming anyone and anything into the resort. “Trevor wouldn’t leave these open,” Glynda mentioned as they drove through. They pulled up in front of the office and hopped out. Donna locked the doors—something she doesn’t normally do in Camden County, but this time she did. Things haven’t seemed this threatening since she was fourteen and the murderer Ned Hollis lived around the corner.