Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  She leaned toward Jennie and spoke so both could hear her. “Thanks for coming with me, for the moral support. I could never have done this by myself.” Billie reached forward and rubbed her shoulder.

  On the other side of town, Betsy directed Jennie to drive up High Mountain Road. Her bravado stayed at the bottom of the hill, and her heart rate rivaled the engine revolutions as they neared her old home.

  “That it?” asked Jennie.

  Betsy replied, “Yep,” as she slunk low into the seat. She didn’t want to be seen.

  Billie, though, had other ideas and kept poking her in the back, saying, “Sit up. Sit up. You look suspicious that way. C’mon, sit up!”

  Betsy complied, but not eagerly. “Drive past it slowly.” She had been right that her father would be absent. His truck was nowhere to be seen, but as they passed the house, her hope deserted her. Adjacent to the shed sat a pile of rough-cut lumber, stick-stacked for air-drying. The edge of the stack appeared to be just far enough from the shed for a man to pass between them.

  Tears welled up in her eyes and this time she didn’t care about her makeup. She would not be able to retrieve her cache.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” asked Billie. “No one’s home. You’re good to go.”

  Betsy shook her head. “Wh-what I need is buried under that lumber pile. We can’t get to it.”

  Jennie pulled to the side of the road just out of sight of the house. “Hey, it’s just our first attempt. We can do this again and again, if we have to. Cheer up. There’s still hope. Maybe next week, that lumber will be gone. But for today, is there anything else we can do?”

  Betsy sniffed and struggled to contain her emotions. “Y-yes, keep driving up to the next house. I need to see our neighbor there.”

  The Umfleet home was empty. In fact, it looked like no one had been there for days and there was nothing to indicate where they might be. Betsy speculated they had gone to stay with Mary’s family for a spell, but that didn’t dissuade disappointment from covering her like a shroud. The silent trip back to the Rest Stop was a stark contrast to the first leg of their journey.

  Fifteen

  **********

  Betsy’s trial week at West Mountain Motor Coach had stretched into two and as week three began, Betsy seemed no closer to a fulltime job and her funds diminished more quickly than she liked. Gasoline had become her major expense since she refused to let Jennie and Billie absorb that cost. They had been more than generous with the use of their car, going so far as to offer letting Betsy drive it on her own. That was too much stress, though. It had been one thing to drive her pa’s battered pickup around Frampton Corner. Driving a classy Mustang, that wasn’t hers, was quite another, especially without a legal driver’s license. She’d never needed it for her pa’s truck. Deputy Jake always looked the other way.

  A second trip to Frampton Corner proved no more fruitful than the first. In fact, the lumber pile had been joined by debris from the moonshiners’ broken stills. The Umfleet home looked even more abandoned.

  Mr. Mathews had become an ally and made her case something of a personal cause célèbre. He had contacted every county records office in adjacent counties in three states and half a dozen hospitals within a day’s drive of where Betsy thought she had delivered the baby. He looked for licensed and unlicensed midwives by the name of Sue Ellen. He checked for recent adoption records. As her pa had warned, no record existed anywhere that she could use to corroborate her claim.

  A week earlier, at Sally’s insistence, he also filed for her emancipation and a legal name change. Sally called a judge “friend” to expedite the requests, and lied about Betsy’s income. Three days later, Betsy Weston was “official” and had a new driver’s license to prove it.

  The day following their recent trip to Frampton Corner, Mr. Mathews stopped by the Rest Stop to see her.

  “Sally told me you drove back to Frampton Corner yesterday. Did you find anything?”

  Betsy looked up at the man and saw compassion in his eyes. She had shared everything with this man, except the one thing she’d hoped to retrieve the day before, and the week before that. She hadn’t entrusted Jennie and Billie with that information because of the danger. Could she trust him now? Did she have any other choice?

  She quickly realized that with the law on his side, he was her one last hope. Hope that he could gain access to her pa’s property, get the lumber pile moved, and regain what she had no chance of recovering on her own.

  She sighed. “I went back to get the proof you need.” She watched his face for a reaction and saw that she had his interest. In her heart, she knew she’d held his interest all along but that fear had held her back. “I haven’t told you everything.” She paused to gauge the look on his face.

  “Go on.”

  “When my ma’s dad passed on, he left me an inheritance of gold coins. My ma gave them to me before she died. Told me not to ever let my pa know about it, or that he’d drink it away. I’d lived with his drinking, so even as a ten-year-old I knew that was a secret I needed to keep. We got a strong metal chest, covered it in oilcloth, and buried it near the shed. It stayed there for ten years. After I came home with Jimmy, I dug it up and put the papers from the midwife in there.”

  “But you said those papers don’t include a valid birth certificate.”

  “I know, but I’m not real sure.”

  “So, how is this proof?”

  “There’s something else in the chest.” She filled him in on the additional item.

  He took a deep breath and gently took her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? This would have spared me, us, a lot of time and grief.”

  “I-I’m sorry. I kept hoping for some other way, a way that wouldn’t force me to confront my pa face-to-face. I was afraid the sheriff would label my papers fakes and that I’d lose them, too. They’re my only concrete connection with my son. I didn’t wanna give them up, to anybody. That, and I was afraid my pa would steal my inheritance, claim it as his, and rob me of my only chance to escape him and start a new life.”

  “So, that’s what you went back to get.”

  “Yes, sir. Only, my pa has a stack of lumber sitting right on top of it now. I couldn’t get to it, to dig it up.”

  “I’ll get them, and you won’t lose any of it. I promise.”

  Betsy gazed into his eyes and saw that he meant those words. Yet, she refused to let him buoy her spirits. She knew her pa too well.

  “I’ll have to get a court order, but I’ve got a favor owed me by Judge Daley. Day after tomorrow. My schedule is light and I can clear it easily enough. I’ll have those items for you by nightfall.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  She offered a wan smile. “Thank you, Sir, for everything you’ve done for me.” She wanted to hope for the best. Her heart rose in anticipation, but her mind steeled her for disappointment.

  That next day, she finally ate without coaxing from Jim and joined the girls in the living room to watch a little television. She slept that night without repeated awakenings and felt stronger the next day. By noon, she began to feel anxious. Had Mr. Mathews made it to Frampton Corner? Had he succeeded in getting the warrant, or court order, or whatever it was that would get him onto her pa’s property with the sheriff’s backing? Maybe he already held her small treasure chest, enclosed in its protective wrappings, in his arms, preparing to return to her with it. Maybe he had already inspected the papers inside and knew the next steps to take to force a reunion with Jimmy.

  She reminded herself not to get her hopes up, to believe in his success only when she held the chest in her hands, and no sooner. Yet, she felt encouraged and excited that perhaps her ordeal was about to end.

  She sat in the living room with two other women, watching “Guiding Light,” when the door leading to the motel office opened with its distinctive squeak. She turned to see Sally and Jim enter the room, saw the looks on their faces, and felt her heart drop to the floor. She’d seen that look o
n people before. She didn’t want to see that look again. Not today.

  Sally turned to the two women and said, “Girls, we need to talk to Betsy. Can you give us a few minutes? Please.”

  The women stood up without a word and walked to the kitchen, and Betsy wanted to jump and run.

  Jim spoke. “Betsy, dear, we just got word. Mr. Mathews has been in a serious accident. He went off the road near the reservoir and –”

  Betsy began to sob. “I-is he dead?”

  Sally put her arm around Betsy. “We don’t know anything more. We do know that he was on his way there and not on his way back.”

  Betsy’s heart lightened a bit. She worried for Mr. Mathews and felt sickened that this had happened to him on her behalf. Yet, the fact that he had not been to her home meant two things. Her pa, and the sheriff, would not know where she was and her chest remained hidden in the ground, not spread across some hillside or stolen by someone at the accident scene.

  Betsy left for Lester’s that night with mixed feelings. She felt no desire to work, yet knew that sulking at the Rest Stop would solve nothing. Plus, she was now going to need the money even more. As she approached the fence gate, Hilda stood there waiting for her. Over those two weeks, Betsy had won over Hilda, Lester’s German bride whom he met when stationed in Heidelberg with the Army. To Betsy’s dismay, Hilda seemed intent on fattening her up with streusel, dumplings, sausages and more, while Betsy insisted on losing weight. At least the extra food had slowed her bleeding cash reserve. If Hilda had learned that Betsy was treating her friends, “Lester’s trollops,” with Hilda’s fine food she might have discovered Hilda in that horned hat with trident in hand waiting for her at the bus yard gate, instead of the German chocolate cake she held on a covered plate.

  “I hear what happen. You okay?” asked Hilda as she extended the comfort food offering to Betsy.

  Betsy shrugged. “I’ll be okay. I just wish we knew how Mr. Mathews was doing. That’s the part what has me worried most right now.”

  “You want go back. I have Lester clean bus himself if you do.”

  Betsy stepped up to the woman and gave her a hug. Hilda seemed thrown off-guard at first, but then hugged back so vigorously Betsy nearly lost her breath.

  Betsy stepped back and accepted the cake. “I’ll be okay. I need to work, to keep my mind occupied. Thanks for the cake.”

  “You need anything, you come to house. I be there.”

  Betsy nodded and headed toward the garage, while Hilda returned to her home. She was about to enter the building when she heard the bus coming down the street. Betsy walked into the barn without garnering so much as a raised ear from Roscoe until she began whistling an Elvis tune. The dog eased up onto all four legs and rambled over to her, wagging his tail, and then he discovered she had a treat and wouldn’t leave her alone. She put the plate on top of a tall file cabinet next to Lester’s desk. By then Lester had turned off the engine and climbed down the steps to the ground.

  “Evening,” said Betsy.

  Lester nodded but gave no reply. He held a stern, questioning look in his eyes that made Betsy a little uneasy. After a minute, he nodded toward the cleaning gear and grunted, “Get at it. Don’t got all night.”

  Betsy started to ask if she’d done something wrong, but he marched out of the barn before she could make a sound. She shrugged, retrieved the tub and broom, and began her chores. A few minutes into sweeping, she heard sirens rile the night air. Not a single clarion, but several, from different directions. Obviously, something big had or was happening. She climbed down from the bus and walked to the door to step outside, but Lester had returned and blocked her way.

  “C’mon, hurry up and get this done. I’m tired and ready for the sack. Just a buncha sirens.” He waited until Betsy returned to the bus and then walked to his office. As Betsy began to mop the floor, she saw him leave the office and head back out the door. At that moment, she heard the brief burp of a siren and saw a spotlight scanning the ground outside the door. She heard a distant voice, followed by Lester’s, “Nope, ain’t seen nobody around here. Roscoe’s calm, so must be okay.” Then quiet again consumed the night.

  Betsy figured Lester’s conversation was with the police and thought nothing more of it as she mopped under and around the seats. The quiet became annoying. The previous few nights’ rounds of Elvis songs had made the job go much more quickly.

  Suddenly, she heard Roscoe growl. She glanced out a side window in time to see the shepherd bolt to the door where he met the firecracker snap of a gunshot. The animal yelped in pain but for a moment, and then silence. Tears filled Betsy’s eyes as she processed what had just happened.

  “On the ground, old man!”

  The voice held a rough edge and South Carolina inflection, not a native to western Carolina. The voice was one she thought she’d heard before, but she didn’t dare look. Betsy dropped to the floor and inched forward toward the door. She had a good idea this man was the target of the police search. What had he done? With a little luck, she could escape the bus and then the barn unseen and call for help.

  “You shot m’dog! You sick son of a … You shot ‘im.”

  No Lester, don’t! Betsy thought as she imagined him going after the man with the gun. Did she dare to raise her head for a glimpse of the outside?

  An instant later, a second shot echoed inside the building and she heard Lester groan. She had no time to lose, but she had to know where the attacker was. She lifted her head just high enough to see the assailant rifling through Lester’s pockets and retrieve his cash and the keys to the bus. The man appeared intent on using the bus to escape the police search. She had run out of time.

  She crouched just behind the first seat, invisible from the ground level. The sound of the man’s footfall showed him coming fast toward the door. The tub remained below the first step, still filled with trash mixed with water from her cleaning. If she wanted to escape, she would have to take the offensive. To do nothing would lead to her being his captive, or dead. She needed to get help for Lester. She planned to jump him as he moved the tub out of his way. Surprise was on her side, and the wooden mop handle could disable his gun hand, if she moved quickly enough. Her time on the girls’ softball team in high school had awarded her with a nasty swing of the bat. Tonight, it would be simply a different ball.

  However, the man jumped over the tub and hit the first step with a thud. Betsy revised her plan and speared the man with the end of the handle just under the chin as he landed. He’d had no time to settle his balance and the blow thrust him backward. He landed with his back across the tub. Betsy hit him with both feet into his mid-gut as she jumped from the top step. She heard a sickening snap under her as a reward for her effort, and the man went limp.

  As she hit the ground, she spun around to meet him again, mop handle at the ready, and saw him lying there, flaccid, the gun below his hand on the ground. He made no movements. He continued to breath but consciousness had left him. She kicked the gun under the bus and looked down upon the attacker. She lifted his gun hand and met no resistance. His hand dropped like a stone when she let go. She saw no need to waste time tying him up.

  She took one look at the man’s face and her heart accelerated. The voice. She had known it. The man was a moonshiner. Worse yet, he was Dewey Hasting’s cousin. Had Dewey sent him to find her? Panic filled her mind, until she heard Lester moan again.

  She ran to the large open bay door and yelled, “Hilda!” She took a deep breath. “Hilda! We need help! We need an ambulance!”

  She ran to Lester and found him bleeding from a bullet wound in the left shoulder. She ran to the cleaning supply cabinet and found a jumble of clean rags, which she applied with pressure to his wound. He moaned with pain, but he came to briefly and blinked at her.

  “I’m gonna tie this tight against you. It’ll likely hurt, but I have to get help.”

  He offered a subtle nod, so she completed the bandage and ran to his office. Where is Hilda? she th
ought. The phone there gave her no dial tone, so she reversed course and headed for the house. She stopped suddenly at the bay door. She began to hyperventilate. Was Dewey outside? Was her pa? Had they found her? She ran back to the bus and crawled under it to get the pistol. Only then did she dare to venture outside.

  The back door of the house lay wide open, a sign that gave her pause. She stopped at the door and peeked in. Is someone else in there? she thought. Is Dewey in there? Her heart raced, but she had to get help. She eased into the kitchen and found Hilda, tied up and gagged on the floor. She saw no other signs of life.

  “Lester’s shot. He’s alive but serious wounded. I gotta call an ambulance and the police, then I’ll untie you,” Betsy said. The woman nodded.

  A minute later, her call completed, she freed the older woman.

  “I-I hear two gunshots. Is …”

  “First one hit Roscoe. I didn’t check him up close but I saw him lying still on the dirt and suspect he’s dead. Lester was shot in the shoulder.”

  Together they ran to the barn, where Hilda tended to her husband while Betsy watched over the attacker. His eyes were open, and his breathing seemed unsettled. He offered no sounds but a rare moan, and no movement of any limb. Betsy guessed she might have broken his back, or maybe his neck, by jumping on him as he stretched across the metal tub. Serves him right, she thought, at first without remorse. Then a nagging worry hit her. Will I get in trouble for this?

  By the time the first police car arrived, Lester had regained consciousness. Hilda waved her over. Betsy breathed easier now. Had Dewey or her pa been with the man, they would have revealed themselves by now. Only now did she reflect on how the day had done. First, Mr. Mathews. Now Lester. Her ma had always said bad things came in threes. She didn’t want to ponder that possibility.