by Carrie Carr
With her heart in her throat, Amanda gasped as Lex edged closer to the stranger. She thought for certain that Lex had lost her mind. Amanda looked on nervously as the two women faced each other in a standoff. "Lex!"
"Stay back, Amanda." Lex smiled gently at the woman in front of her. "You don't want to hurt anyone, do you?" Seeing the indecision cross her face, Lex wrapped her hand around the barrel of the shotgun. "Come on. Let it go."
Amanda watched in relief as the woman released the weapon and allowed Lex to take it out of her hands. Breathing a sigh of relief, Amanda decided she was going to kill Lex herself. Deciding the danger was past, she walked to where the other two women stood. "Is everything okay here?"
"Who are you people, and what are you doing at my parents's cabin?" The woman's face harbored an angry look. "You have no right to be here."
"Look, lady--" Lex was beginning to get angry herself.
"I'm sorry, did you say your parents's cabin?" Amanda asked, pulling on one of Lex's arms to bring her back a few steps. "Let's start over. Hi, my name's Amanda Cauble, and this is my fiancée, Lex Walters." She held out her hand.
The woman accepted her hand slowly. "Fiancée?" She looked from one woman to the other curiously. When she met the angry glare of Lex, she didn'st seem intimidated in the least. "Oh, sorry. I'm Sherry Charlton. My parents have owned this cabin since before I was born."
"Well, Ms. Charlton, your mother gave us permission to use the cabin for a few days. We didn'st see anyone else here, so we assumed it was deserted." Lex had one hand on her hip, upset at having had a gun pointed at her. "You shouldn'st go pointing guns at folks until you understand what's going on."
"Not my fault. You're the ones who came in and took over. I live on the other side of the lake, and I always come here to check on the place and make sure there are no trespassers," she retorted, giving Lex a dirty look of her own. "And besides, the shells to the gun are in my pocket. I wouldn'st have shot you."
Lex broke open the gun and checked the chambers. She wasn'st lying. "It doesn'st give you the right to scare us half to death." She tossed the gun back to its owner, who draped the weapon casually against her shoulder.
Even though Lex was at least five inches taller than she was, Sherry refused to back down. "Get over it, Stretch. Nobody was hurt." Her short dark hair blew gently around her face as she brought Amanda back into the conversation. "I'm sorry I scared you. How long do you plan on staying here?"
"Only for a couple of days." Amanda linked arms with Lex. "Why don't you come in for some coffee, Ms. Charlton? You can tell us about the lake."
"Only if you call me Sherry. Ms. Charlton makes me sound old." She looked up at Lex and held out her hand. "Truce?"
"Yeah, truce." Lex shook her hand. "Sorry I got so bent out of shape."
"No problem. Sorry I pointed a shotgun at you. It's just no one's been out to the cabin since my father died a few years ago, and I was a little concerned."
Amanda touched her arm. "I'm sorry. If you want us to leave--"
"Nah. Bout time this old place had some guests. There's a storage shed on the west side of the cabin. It should still have a barbecue grill in it. How about I go get some steaks and cook dinner for you to apologize?"
Lex shook her head as they climbed the steps to the cabin. "You don't have to." She held open the door for the other two women to enter, looking around the perimeter of the cabin before following them inside. The eerie feeling from earlier hadn'st subsided. She was going to be looking over her shoulder for quite some time.
"THANK YOU AGAIN for stopping by, Mr. Wise. I do appreciate all your cooperation and hard work on this case." Charlie stood and offered his hand to the man on the other side of his desk. "You haven'st changed your mind about my offer, have you?"
The small, stocky man stood and brushed off his khaki slacks. "I'm sorry, Sheriff. But I'm afraid the county couldn'st begin to match my salary." He gathered up his briefcase and started for the door. "I'm glad we were able to help. Mr. Edwards emphasized to me we were to turn over any leads to your office."
"Travis is a good man. I realize he was afraid of stepping on my toes by hiring you." He opened the door. "But there's no way my office would have ever found the truck in Austin. We don't have the manpower. Thanks again."
"Any time, Sheriff. Good luck." The private investigator left the office with a smile on his face. He had been pleasantly surprised to be treated as a colleague by the sheriff, not a bottom feeder.
Charlie closed the door and sat at his desk. The investigator had found the truck at an auto repair shop in Austin. Someone had dropped it off less than a month ago, paying a cash deposit and leaving a phony name. The flyers the detective agency had sent out all over Texas and the neighboring states paid off, and luckily the shop owner had seen the reward offer before doing any work on the vehicle. From the description the man had given him on the phone, there were large traces of green paint present on the sides and the front. After speaking to the owner of the body shop, Charlie sent two deputies to Austin to bring the vehicle back to Somerville.
He looked at one of the pictures on his desk, which was a smaller version of the portrait Michael had given Lex and Amanda at Christmas. "Don't worry, girls. We'll catch these bastards soon. I promise."
"HELLO, RICK. I've been looking for you," a deep voice drawled from behind the man stocking the store shelves.
Rick turned around slowly, dropping the box of cat box liners to the floor. With his heart pumping wildly, the skittish man almost fainted with relief when he saw the face of the store manager. "Mr. Michaels. You scared the hell out me."
The overweight man brushed his thumb and index finger over his greasy mustache. "Too bad, Thompson. Haven'st you been listening to the overhead announcements? Some kid puked spaghetti on aisle four, and they'sve been calling for a cleanup for the last ten minutes."
"So? I'm stocking the shelves. Get one of those damned kids who are always smoking in the men's room to clean it up."
"You don't seem to understand, stock boy. It wasn'st a request, it was an order." The manager gasped in surprise when the larger man grabbed his arms and shoved him against the shelves of cat litter. "What do you think you're doing? Let go of me."
"I am so fucking sick and tired of your attitude, Michaels. I used to make more in a week than you get paid for a month." Rick shoved the sweating man hard again and then released him.
The store manager brushed off his red vest and glared at him. "You must be so proud of how far you'sve come," he commented. Not waiting for an answer, he walked away. At the end of the aisle, Michaels turned around. "By the way, Thompson, you're fired. Turn in your apron to the courtesy booth, and get out of my store."
Rick stared after the man, incredulous. "You can'st fucking fire me, asshole," he yelled. "I quit!" Feeling somewhat vindicated, Rick tore off his apron and stomped through the store. He tossed the red fabric at the assistant manager as he left, pleased by the shocked look on his recently promoted nephew's face.
"Uncle Rick? What--"
"Fuck off, Kenny."
Once out in the parking lot, Rick sat in his car and contemplated his next move. "This is all that bitch Kentucky's fault. Smartass whore. I hope Bobby finds her and kicks her ass." He opened up the glove compartment and pulled out a small bottle of vodka. After a healthy swig, he laughed. "Boy, I'd like to be there to see that." Another few swallows and he began to feel a buzz. "Maybe he'd take out the little blonde slut at the same time. That would be perfect." Rick sat in his car until he finished the bottle, then tossed it out the window. "Shit. I got to go get some more." Struggling to slip the key into the ignition, the drunken man finally succeeded and drove off into the evening.
"I'M GLAD THIS day is done," Charlie sighed, gathering up a few files and tossing them into his briefcase to study after dinner. He checked his watch. "Martha's going to have my hide if I don't get home soon."
The sheriff walked through the empty offices, stopping to turn off
the lights and lock the doors behind him. He inhaled the sweet April air, glad to finally be outdoors. The crickets nesting in the shrubbery on either side of the sidewalk serenaded him, and the contented man whistled a nameless tune along with them. It was great to be alive.
"This is Sheriff Bristol, signing off," Charlie informed the dispatcher on the radio after he got settled in the police cruiser.
"Goodnight, Charlie. Give Martha my best," Carla answered. "And tell her I'm waiting patiently for her chili recipe."
"I sure will, Carla. Good night." Charlie buckled his seatbelt and backed his car carefully out of the parking spot. "Damn. I need to go pick up some milk before I go home." He turned the big car around on the deserted street and drove toward the nearby supermarket. He decided to pick up a bouquet of flowers for his wife while he was at it.
A few blocks from the store, bright headlights blinded Charlie, making him lift one hand to shade his eyes. "Damned idiot has his high beams on."
The dark four-door sedan was moving faster than the thirty mile an hour speed limit. Its wheels scraped the right curb, before it weaved and bounced off the left curb.
Moments later, he realized, too late, the car was in his lane and barreling directly at him.
RICK's REDDENED EYES squinted through the cloudy windshield. Even with the streetlights that dotted the boulevard, he couldn'st quite make out the road in front of him. "Fucking podunk town, using worthless lights." He raised the cheap pint of vodka from between his legs and took a healthy swallow. Rick belched, gagging as the bile rose in his throat. He took another gulp to wash the acidic taste from his mouth.
His bleary vision finally made out bright lights several hundred yards in front of him. He jerked the wheel to the left, cursing when the tires rubbed against the curb. "Fuck!" He overcompensated and the car careened off the other curb.
"Goddammit!" The vodka splashed down his chest. He placed the bottle back where it came from and used one hand to wipe at his chin. The lights continued to get closer.
AS THE BRIGHT headlights approached, Charlie noticed the car was zigzagging from one curb to the next. The tree-lined street cut through a residential area, two lanes going each way with a tree-dotted grass divider between them.
Cars littered the sides of the street, leaving Charlie without options. He could feel his heart pounding while his brain tried to process the scene as it happened. Charlie was close enough he could see the driver of the other vehicle. The man behind the wheel didn'st appear confused or frightened.
Charlie saw the man raise a bottle to his lips. The cars were less than a block apart and closing in on each other. His heart pounded as the lights blinded him.
THE LIGHTS THAT shone brightly in his eyes hypnotized Rick. He stared into them unconcerned. "Stupid fucker. Get out of my way."
He raised the bottle and took another drink. As he lowered it, he finally realized he was on a collision course with the other vehicle. "Shit!" He threw the bottle into the floorboard beside him and tried to brake, but ended up hitting the gas instead. "Motherfuckin's car."
His shaking fingers slipped on the steering wheel. Rick grasped the wheel and turned it hard to the right toward the median. The car's right front tire popped and blew out as it hit the curb. He felt the sudden impact, and his head lurched forward. The final thought that ran through Rick's mind was how much a new tire was going to set him back, before everything went black.
WITH NOWHERE TO turn, Charlie slammed on the brakes and cut the steering wheel hard to the right, causing the heavy police cruiser to bounce over the curb and slide into a yard.
While he executed the defensive maneuver, the other car tried to avoid his vehicle as well. It crashed over the median, narrowly missing several trees. The sedan hit the light fixture at full speed and broke the heavy pole. It dropped hard across the roof of the car, crushing it.
Charlie's car slid across the slick grass. He struggled with the steering wheel, causing the vehicle to go into a spin. The move caused his head to hit the side window, and he instinctively closed his eyes at the sudden pain.
The cruiser shuddered to a stop, inches away from a large hedge that grew across the front of the house. Charlie opened his eyes. He was amazed he hadn'st hit anything. The left side of his head ached. He touched the spot where it had made contact with the window, surprised to find only a lump and no blood.
His entire body began to shake uncontrollably. "Oh, God." Charlie placed his hands on the steering wheel in an attempt to calm himself. Visions of his close call raced through his mind as tears trailed down his face.
He didn'st know how long he sat there before someone tapped on the passenger window. Charlie turned his head and saw a short, disheveled man looking at him curiously.
"Hey, buddy. Are you okay?" The man wore a gray work shirt. The name on a patch over his right hand pocket read, Tom's. He opened the passenger door. "Officer? Do you need me to call for help?"
Charlie rubbed his hands over his face to pull himself together. He took a deep breath and picked up his radio mike. "Dispatch, this is Charlie. I need to report an accident at," he paused and gave the man a questioning look.
"Oh. Uh, you're at ten-thirteen Timberwood."
Charlie nodded to acknowledge the information. "Ten-thirteen Timberwood. I'm going to need an ambulance, and the fire department."
"Gotcha, Sheriff." Carla was silent for a moment. "Charlie, is everything all right? You sound--"
He didn'st feel like talking. "Just get them in route, Carla. I'll pass along the details shortly." Charlie tossed the microphone on the floorboard and slid across the seat. He was grateful for Tom's helping hand. "Thanks."
"No problem, Sheriff." Tom noticed how pale Charlie was. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll get you some water."
"Thank you." Charlie waited until the man disappeared into the house before he walked toward the other vehicle, which was wrecked across the street. His shaky legs threatened to buckle.
The sound of distant sirens cut through the quiet night. Charlie considered letting someone else check the scene, but he wanted to see if the other driver somehow defied the odds and survived the crash.
When he got closer, he could hear the hiss from the radiator as fluid leaked onto the grass below. A growing stain of oil and something more sinister grew near the driver's door. The top of the black car was crushed by the light pole. He realized when he got closer that there was no way anyone could have lived through the damage. The windshield was covered by the hood, which had been crumpled like paper from the crash. Side windows were non-existent due to the crushing weight of the wooden pole. He would have to wait until the fire department arrived to see inside the vehicle. In shock, Charlie staggered backward until he bumped into a parked car. His legs gave out, and he slid down until he sat on the pavement.
Several police cars and a fire truck arrived on the scene. The flashing lights painted the night in surreal shades of red and blue, and the chatter from milling men and emergency radios serenaded the usually quiet neighborhood.
Firemen were hard at work on the wrecked car. The hydraulic rescue tool they used tore at the crumpled metal. They were able to spread the jaws enough to wrench the door open. One of the firefighters removed his glove and touched the driver's neck. "No pulse." He hadn'st been surprised. The man wasn'st wearing a seat belt, and the old car was not equipped with air bags. Covered in glass from the windows, a bloody mess was all that was left of the victim's face and head.
Deputy Oscar Richardson watched as the paramedics removed the deceased. He had to turn his head away when he saw the damage to the victim's upper body. After they covered him with a sheet, he swallowed hard and joined them. "Was he killed on impact?"
One of the paramedics shrugged. "Hard to tell. There's a huge loss of blood, so the guy could have bled out. We'll have to wait for the coroner's report to be certain."
"Okay, thanks." Oscar squatted next to the body. As much as he hated to do so, he needed to check for identif
ication.
Jeremy, another deputy, stood close to Charlie. "You should at least let the paramedics check you out, boss." It had been an ongoing argument ever since he arrived on the scene.
"There's nothing wrong with me. It's only a little bump on the head." Charlie's headache had already receded somewhat. He didn'st need a medic to look at it and tell him it was okay. He waved in the direction of the wreck. "Have we got anything on him, yet?"
"Oscar's checking. Are you sure you don't want to sit down?"
Charlie turned and glared at the younger man. "No. Let's get this taken care of so I can get home."
"Yes, sir."
Oscar jogged to where they stood. "I found a wallet." He handed the item to Charlie, who studied the contents. "Richard Thompson. I thought I recognized him." He didn'st like the man, but smashing head on into a power pole at a high rate of speed was not a good way for anyone to die. He handed the wallet back to Oscar, who placed it in a clear plastic bag.
"Do you want me to notify the next of kin?" Jeremy asked.
Charlie felt as if he'd aged five years in the past two hours. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it. If you think you can handle things around here, I'm going to go home and hug my wife."
"No problem." Jeremy waved at another deputy who had retrieved the sheriff's car from the torn up yard. "Russell, do you want to give the sheriff a ride home? I want to have his car checked out before he drives it." He ignored the outraged look from his boss. "Have someone follow you out there, and leave your car."
Russell nodded. "You got it, Jeremy."
"Wait just a damned minute." Charlie grabbed Jeremy by the arm. "I don't need a babysitter."