“Steve, I really appreciate the time and effort you’ve spent on my problem. You could have come in, opened the package, and left thinking me a complete dolt. But instead, you dug deeper and found serious threats to my existence…and now a solution. I’m really grateful.” But no way in hell was she going to date him.
“But…”
“But nothing. I’m really grateful.”
He laughed softly and stared at his feet a few moments before meeting her eyes. “I could have sworn there was a ‘but’ coming. You’re a hard read. But no matter, I am very happy to improve your chances of survival. Although, I still believe you need to hire a cook when you get to Iowa.”
Chapter 2
A sense of dread overcame Meg as she stared at a tiny, white Toyota basking in her rental slot on this fine sunny Iowa day. Where the hell was the Subaru she’d requested?
God, what if changing her name wasn’t enough? What if the Lottery Curse still clung to her?
No! I’m not under a curse. This is just one of those annoying things travelers endure all the time.
She threw her suitcase in the trunk and slammed it shut. After placing her nothing-can-destroy-me computer case on the passenger floorboard, she stormed to the driver’s side and got in. Her knees slammed into the underside of the steering wheel.
God! Had the last driver been a midget?
Upon pushing the seat a foot back, she pondered the car’s knobs, sticks, and buttons in bewilderment. Why couldn’t they have given her a Subaru as she’d asked? This tiny car was a different species.
It was also an automatic. Her request had been for a standard since that’s what she drove. Now her left foot would be slamming on the brakes every time the car felt ready to shift. Closing her eyes, the words of her former shrink spoke in her head. Think of something pleasant and soothing.
Detective Williams came to mind. While her feelings for him weren’t exactly “soothing”, they were pleasant. Over the last weeks, as the FBI had assisted her by phone in moving one billion, mostly in investments, to her new name, he’d stopped by on a daily basis. One of her investment brokers refused to move her assets as directed. Instead, they insisted she would have to sell all her stocks and send cash to the new brokerage firm. Since the market was presently at a low, this would potentially cost her over four-hundred thousand in losses.
Fortunately, Steve helped her put the matter in perspective. “Would you pay four-hundred thousand to get rid of all the negatives accompanying your half a billion? That’s what…one percent of your winnings?”
Her mouth gaped for the longest time. Was he nuts? Four hundred thousand dollars was a big deal. Then her brain did the math.
“What the hell am I going on about?” Filled with gratitude for bringing her to her senses, she rose and kissed him on his freshly shaven cheek. “Thank you for questioning my priorities. And it’s actually point-oh-four percent so my objection was ridiculously absurd. When I was a single-digit millionaire, it was significant money, but now it’s pocket change.”
She called the broker and told him to liquidate and transfer the money.
When she got off the phone, warm fuzzy vibes radiated from her door. Detective Williams…Steve was smiling at her with what looked to be great admiration.
“What?”
“You really are some sort of financial genius, aren’t you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Clearly not.”
“Clearly you are. Most lottery winners are bankrupt within ten years. You, on the other hand, have become a billionaire in four.”
She shrugged, rather proud of herself. It was her only success in an otherwise miserable life. “Okay, I’m good with money, but fixing my life—not so much.”
“I think this new identity will do wonders for you, assuming you don’t try to remain here where everyone knows who you are. If you do, any relief will be temporary.”
“Actually, I’m planning to move to Iowa and buy two hundred thousand acres of land.”
“Excellent. Just try to make the purchase without getting your picture in the paper…and cut your hair, maybe part it on the side.”
“Good idea.” She then scowled. “Agent Thomas at the FBI suggested I color my hair and put on weight, but I don’t want to be dying my hair for the rest of my life, and I like being healthy.”
“Your hair is a gorgeous color, and such a silky texture…it’d be a crime to ruin it with dyes.”
She never said her hair was gorgeous or silky, but she wasn’t going to correct him. It had been awhile since anyone had complimented her.
A dark cloud of mistrust moved in as she recalled the compliments fell like rain when she was being seduced for her money. Maybe in her new life she could trust men again, but not now, and not with Steve.
“I’ve wasted too much time here. I need to get back to work. Did you need anything else?”
Her snappish tone had the desired effect. He left, and he never stopped by again, not even to wish her good luck when she left New Jersey forever.
A part of her regretted being such a bitch, but another part of her recalled all the fortune hunters she’d fallen for. With each guy, she’d start out believing he was different. Unlike the ones before, he truly loved her. The prenup proved her wrong every time.
Still, her conscience struggled with her last words to Steve because action-wise, he’d been nothing but nice to her. Nor had he ever come on to her. He’d been concerned yet professional up to the day she’d kissed him on his cheek.
God! He probably thought she liked him, which she had until he complimented her hair.
“I’m a fucking basket case,” she muttered. So far her shrinks couldn’t help her resolve her distrust issues. Still, she owed Steve Williams an apology for being a bitch and stealing his last name. What if he knew she’d claimed his last name as well? Talk about sending mixed signals.
First thing, she was going to have to find a new shrink. Otherwise, her new life was doomed from the start.
Starting the midget car, she cranked the A/C to level five and followed the directions out of the Des Moines Airport. Glancing at her watch, she frowned at the time. 11:30. She was supposed to be at Helen’s at noon. But then, her flight should have landed at 9:00, only it decided 10:30 was more convenient for its tired old wings. And somehow she’d managed to waste another hour in this parking lot.
No way would she make it on time. Hopefully, the woman wasn’t a time freak.
On the map, the journey to Helen’s house looked easy. Reality proved different. Especially since her GPS had somehow gone missing after the contents of her purse were dumped into a plastic bin while she was escorted to the side for what proved to be both an impersonal yet intimate pat down.
But this was not necessarily caused by her Lottery Curse. Air travel had its own well-documented list of curses.
Driving long straight roads through flat farmlands proved far more stressful than Megan would have thought. With no GPS, she had to slow and read each and every tiny crossroad name. For some reason, Iowa didn’t seem to differentiate between minor country roads and the road she needed. Maybe, to them, they all went somewhere equally important. After all, Iowa was just one giant grid of square roads.
Being from New Jersey where grids were the anomaly and winding roads interacted with other roads at all sorts of strange angles, she found the grid system to be confusing in its sameness. Every corner looked identical. Roads didn’t wander and fork. Signs didn’t designate the importance of the road.
When she eventually needed to travel diagonally against the grid, to her surprise, the directions put her on a road heading northeast. After a bit of confusion in Cedar Rapids, she latched onto Highway 151 and stayed the course as it meandered its way up to the northeast section of Iowa. She wondered how it had gotten so wiggly in the land of grid. Did this road exist before the squares arrived? Had wagon trails connected towns that had long ago disappeared?
Truth was she knew nothing about Iowa or its
people, other than they all seemed to like to farm. But she now understood why Helen was so determined to save her forest. The last thing this state needed was more farms.
When she got closer to St. Donatus, the sameness of the land began to change. While there were still a lot of fields, trees had appeared, bordering the multitude of creeks that fed into larger creeks going into the Mississippi River. Water was significant enough to firmly break the grid complex. Here, roads went where they could go.
And they often went upward, for here, inexplicably, the flat land gave way to a massive line of hills.
Now this felt more like home…
And then she got lost.
For the last four years, she’d avoided going into stores for anything because someone would recognize her and tell her their sob story, begging for help. While she had no trouble throwing away letters, dealing with a living, breathing human was a whole ’nother story.
But today with her short, sassy haircut, sunglasses, and a new identity, she pulled into Bob’s Sundry gas station to ask for directions. It was a sad looking place in want of company. The broken, hole-pitted asphalt parking lot was empty except for two old vehicles parked, or abandoned, on the side of the white concrete building.
The two pumps in front of the store were so old Meg suspected they were antiques now and non-functional. When she entered the store, a jingling bell announced her arrival. The Sundry shop had a variety of items. It was like a mini Wal-Mart without the greeters, the floor space, the well-lit aisles, and cleanliness. Bob seemed to have one of everything imaginable stuffed precariously on his overcrowded shelves.
“Can you tell me where Camper Road is?”
At first Bob seemed confused by her request. So she repeated herself, talking slower this time. “Camper Road.” She read off Helen’s instructions to her house. “Helen gave me these directions.”
He shook his head. “Don’t rightly know a Helen Kemper.”
“No, Helen’s last name is Campbell…with a C.”
“Helen Campbell? Oh lord, I know her. She lives a way up the river. What do you want to see Helen about?”
Seriously? He expected her to answer his impertinent question? “She invited me to stop by if I ever came to Iowa.”
“Helen?” He shook his head. “That pig won’t fly here.”
Did he just call her a liar? “Sorry. Say again,” she challenged.
“Helen hasn’t had a visitor in twenty years.”
“Maybe they’ve all gotten lost trying to follow her directions.”
“Helen gave you those directions? Let me see.”
With reluctance, she handed over the handwritten paper. He leaned beneath his counter and retrieved a metal file box like one might have for recipes. He thumbed through the index cards and pulled one out. He laid it down beside her letter. “It sure looks like Helen’s handwriting.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
He sighed and shook his head. “You’ll just get lost again.” He faced the back of the shop and yelled for someone named Andy. A moment later, a fresh-faced teenager bounded through the store like an overgrown puppy.
“You got Helen’s groceries packed up?”
“Almost.”
“Well, when you do, this lady’s going to follow you. Don’t you dare let her get lost, or she might never find her way back. She’s not from around here.”
The skinny young man with dark, straight hair falling about his head in a bowl cut eyed her up and down, then laughed. “Where you from, ma’am?”
She almost said New Jersey, but changed it to Pennsylvania. For some reason, her choice of states cheered the boy further. “Where? I got relatives in Pennsylvania.”
Crap! “Pittsburgh.”
His smile fell. “They don’t live there. I don’t suppose you know anyone named Bourer?”
Actually her mother’s maiden name was Bourer, but she shook her head. This kid might be a distant relative, but given all her relatives hated her now, she didn’t need another. That rock was better left untouched.
“Well, I’ll finish with the order. If you need gas, you better buy it now. No gas where we’ll be going. He glanced outside and frowned at her car. “Hope your car will make it.” Evidently deciding there was nothing he could do about her crappy car, he shrugged and hurried to the back.
Once he left, Bob spoke softly. “Being from the north, I expect you’ll want to tip Andy when you arrive safely at Helen’s.”
This man had zero sense of boundaries. However, given she required the guidance of his employee, she nodded.
“Go on out and wait in your car. I’ll let him know now. Then he’ll be certain not to forget about you following him.”
“Thank you,” she said, and for once actually meant it. While Bob was a nosy fellow, he seemed intent on getting her to Helen’s. “I’ve got a half tank of gas. Do I really need to fill up?”
He scratched his chin and gave it some thought. “You can get there and back on a half tank. Still, you’ll be going it alone on your way back, and if you get lost…”
“I’ll go fill up the car,” she said. While she intended to pay close attention on the way up so she didn’t get lost on her way back, this was no time for her intentions to get in the way of safety precautions.
She almost changed her mind when she realized Bob charged a dollar more a gallon than the Indian-run Casino, Grocery, and Gas Station had a hundred miles back. The thought of her wandering on foot in the dark made her decide not to be penny wise and pound foolish.
As she pumped her gas, a thought cheered her up. Steve would be so proud of me for filling up, never mind the cost… or he would if I hadn’t been such an ass.
When the handle clicked off, she hung the pump and went inside to pay. “Sorry, I forgot to give it my credit card. Can I pay in here?”
Bob laughed at her. “I don’t pump enough gas to warrant buying the new credit card pumps.”
“Oh…then you’ll want cash?” She had six hundred on her, but honestly, it was for emergencies, and before she could get more, she’d have to find a bank and have funds transferred. Given the price, Bob clearly made a profit on his gas, card or no card, so she decided to hold her ground. She focused on the credit card device by his register.
He followed her stare. “I prefer cash, but I can swipe a card for you. It’s just they take a large bite out of my profit…and profits are small enough as is.” He paused and waited to see if she wished to pay in cash.
She handed him her card. With a heavy sigh, he swiped it and gave it back to her.
When he handed her the receipt, she signed Mega, stopped, rested the pen on the a until it became a blob, and then wrote Williams.
He stared at the signature. “Never seen such a strange signature before. Do you always leave a dot in the middle?”
“No, I was about to add my middle name and remembered this card doesn’t use it.”
“Well, Andy is waiting for you outside. Just so you know, his wages are whatever you tip him.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Neither is taking half my profits every time I swipe a card. Life is rough.” He then turned his back on her as he rearranged his stacks of cigarettes.
She stormed from the store and hurried to the tiny car Andy feared wouldn’t be able to make the trip. Why didn’t the car rental place just give her what she wanted? A Subaru had no trouble going on rough roads.
Once the car’s engine came to life, Andy’s old faded pickup truck tore out of the parking lot and was gone from sight by the time she followed. Now she worried Bob hadn’t truly made her Andy’s only wages for the day, and he didn’t care if she followed or not.
By the direction the pickup truck had disappeared, she knew she hadn’t missed the turnoff, but simply hadn’t gone far enough. Thus, her directions still might be good.
When Meg crested the small hill, she spotted Andy’s truck stopped in the middle of the road with the left blinker going. As her car ne
ared, he turned and drove the speed of a turtle up the road. She was trying to figure out some way to let him know there were other reasonable speeds above twenty miles per hour. Fifty would be good.
Then they took a hairpin curve that went on for what seemed three hundred and eighty degrees, and upon completion dropped her left tire in a cavern of a pothole. Okay, twenty was reasonable, but she really needed to stay off his bumper so she had more time to avoid the potholes.
Unfortunately, when she dropped back, Andy slowed down. She waved him forward, but instead of speeding up, he slowed down more. She struck the wheel and yelled, “Damn it! Why is everything so hard?”
Now they crept along at five miles per hour. “Helen will be dead by the time I arrive,” she yelled.
Andy stopped his truck, causing her to stop as well. A moment later, he climbed out, ran back to her car and handed her a rectangular block of gray plastic. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I don’t know how fast you can go in your rental. So press the button and tell me what you want me to do.”
She stared at the brick-size object in her hand. It sure as hell didn’t look like a phone. “What is it?”
“A walkie-talkie.”
Honestly, it looked like a refugee from a recycling center. “And it works?”
“Did last week. Hopefully, it still does.”
“Couldn’t we just use phones?”
“We could, but I’m out of minutes, and my mom will kill me if I run over. Besides, phones don’t work further up.”
“Okay, we’ll try this.”
He ran back to his truck, and a moment later, the little square refugee in her hand yelled at a painful level, “Can you hear me?”
She set the plastic in her lap, fearing if it were closer, she’d be too deaf to hear Helen when she arrived. “Yes, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear. I’m starting my truck now.”
She waited.
“Have you started your car?” he asked.
God help her! “I never turned if off. Let’s go.”
A Fortune to Die For (White Oak - Mafia Series Book 1) Page 3