The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

by Sally Berneathy

"Least I can do for Charley's widow. Meet me back here tomorrow night. I'll get you a good one."

  "Smith and Wesson .38 Chiefs Special, blue."

  Dub frowned. "I can get you a gun easy enough, but if it has to be a certain one, this may take longer. There's other guns out there that kill just as good as a Smith and Wesson."

  "I realize that, and I hate to be picky, but it has to be a Smith and Wesson .38 Chiefs Special, blue." She hesitated, then continued. "It's for more than protection. It's part of my plan to expose Kimball."

  "Our plan," Charley corrected.

  "May take more than a day or two."

  "I need it as soon as you can get it."

  "I'll do my best."

  She wrote her phone number on a napkin, thanked Dub and chugged her Coke. Picking up her helmet and gloves, she left the bar, amazed at how fresh the night air smelled when they got outside.

  "You said we could get a gun tonight," she accused. "Dub said it could take more than a day or two."

  Charley shrugged. "Well, since it's a special order. But don't worry. He'll get it fast. Dub's a good guy."

  Amanda reached her bike and shoved her helmet onto her head. "Let's just hope he gets it before Kimball gets to me." She tugged her chin strap tight and snapped it in place, then climbed onto her Harley. The roar of the bike's engine in the still night air gave her a sense of security in a world where nothing seemed secure anymore.

  As she rode through the warm summer night, she constantly searched the roadside shadows and tried to distinguish the faces in oncoming cars. This time she knew she was not being paranoid. Someone had been outside last night. Kimball was following her.

  Charley appeared to be making an effort to look out for her. At least, that's what she assumed he was doing, darting back and forth in front of her, obstructing her view.

  When she pulled into the Randolphs' yard and parked her bike, he stood directly in front of her, waving his arms frantically. She yanked off her helmet. "What is up with you? Do you have any idea how annoying that was, not to mention dangerous? I need to be able to see where I'm going."

  "I've been trying to tell you, somebody followed you!"

  Amanda's stomach clenched, and suddenly she felt cold even wearing a leather jacket in the summer heat. "Who?"

  "I don't know." Charley glared at her. "He stayed far enough back, I couldn't see him up close, and you wouldn't stop so I could get closer!"

  "Are you positive he was following me and not just going the same way?" she asked, grasping for any explanation other than the creepy idea of somebody following her. Even though she'd suspected it, actually knowing sent chills up her spine.

  "Yeah, coincidentally somebody that was parked in the trees at the Shade Tree left right behind you, and headed directly for my parents' house, but decided to pull off the road and park a couple of hundred yards back."

  Amanda swallowed around the huge lump in her throat. "He…parked?"

  "Yeah. Just down the road. Probably so he can sneak through the trees and spy on you again tonight."

  "Thank you for being so comforting," she snapped, her fear increasing her irritability.

  "If you would have stopped when I tried to get you to stop, we could have confronted him."

  "And then what? Shoot him with the gun I don't have? Or maybe you could have punched him in the nose."

  "Don't you think it might be important to know who's following you?"

  "Not Kimball?"

  "Not his Cadillac. This car's an old Pontiac."

  Had Kimball hired somebody to follow her? She found that easier to believe than the possibility that His Arrogance, the mayor, would want to be seen driving an older, inexpensive car.

  She drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Then let's go see who's in that car."

  "Let's go," Charley agreed. "And don't worry. I've got your back."

  "Great. That's so reassuring." She swung off her bike, stuffed her gloves in her helmet and secured it on the handlebars. "Think your folks have got a hammer somewhere close?"

  "Probably one in the shed behind the house."

  "I'd feel a lot better if I had a weapon of some sort."

  The shed was unlocked, and Amanda selected the sturdiest hammer she could find. "Okay. Now I'm ready to confront this guy." She headed back toward the front of the house.

  "You do realize a gun trumps a hammer?"

  "I realize that. Thank you for reminding me. I may not have a gun, but I am counting on my annoying ghost ex-husband to be my advance scout and warn me if I'm in danger of getting shot."

  "I wish you wouldn't call me your ex-husband. Our divorce wasn't final."

  "Your death was."

  This wasn't exactly her idea of partying on a Friday night, Amanda thought as she walked across the moonlit yard toward the side of the road, clutching her hammer. But there was nothing else for it. The cops weren't going to help her. She had to take care of herself, and that meant confronting her stalker.

  Keeping as close as possible to the shelter of trees, Amanda made her way down the side of the road.

  Charley darted ahead, then came back. "I see the car! Right around that curve."

  "Can you see who's in it?"

  "Nobody. He must be already circling around to the house to look in your window."

  Amanda let out a long breath and tried to talk the knot in her stomach into relaxing. Knowing she wasn't going to confront her stalker in the next few minutes made her feel a little safer. On the other hand, knowing he was out there somewhere, maybe watching her window for her appearance, maybe watching her right now as she tried to sneak up on his car, ramped up the feeling of danger and sent prickles down her spine.

  She rounded the curve in the road and saw the car.

  The sight of the older model, two-tone blue Pontiac made it all frighteningly real. The car was parked off the road, under a tree, partially hidden. It appeared to be, as Charley had said, deserted. Nevertheless, she studied the area carefully, looking for any sign of movement.

  "What are you doing?"

  Amanda gasped and jumped at the sound of Charley's voice. "I'm checking things out before I get any closer. The driver could still be lurking."

  "He's not. I've already looked around. Didn't I just tell you he's not here? Come on."

  Even with Charley's reassurances, Amanda felt exposed and vulnerable as she approached the vehicle. Her steps sounded like gunshots. The moonlight created eerie shadows as it glowed through the trees. An owl hooted a spooky call, and Amanda let out an involuntary shriek.

  "Shhhh!" Charley cautioned. "I said the man was gone, I didn't say he was in the next county!"

  On the positive side, Charley's annoying behavior focused her anger on him and kept her fear somewhat at bay.

  Amanda made a mental note of the license plate number, then approached the car and peered through the driver's side window. Soda cans, cigarette packages and fast food wrappers littered the passenger seat and floor, but the item that caught Amanda's attention was the picture that lay on top of the mess in the seat…a picture of her on her recently-deceased motorcycle, a picture taken at least a couple of weeks ago. Where had Kimball got that picture? How long had he been stalking her?

  Chapter Nineteen

  As soon as breakfast was over the next morning, Amanda rushed upstairs and placed a phone call to Jake Daggett.

  "Detective Daggett is not in the office at the moment. Can someone else help you?"

  "No," Amanda said, leaning back in Charley's desk chair with a frustrated sigh, "but you can give him a message. This is Amanda Randolph, and I have the license plate number of the man who's stalking me." She repeated the number she'd memorized the previous night. "Please tell him…oh, just have him call me when he gets in."

  She disconnected the call and looked at Charley where he perched casually on the windowsill as if basking in the sunshine. "He was there," Charley said smugly. "He's just ignoring you because he thinks you killed me and you'
re just trying to blow smoke up his…uh…ear."

  "For once, I think you're probably right," she said dispiritedly, letting the hand holding the phone hang limply at her side. "He was there and didn't want to talk to me. I can see where he'd think I'm making all this up to divert suspicion from myself. Or maybe he thinks I'm nuts. Or both." She looked across the room, away from Charley. "He wants to arrest me. He wants to see me hang."

  "They don't hang people anymore."

  Amanda rolled her eyes, then lifted her cell phone again. "Daggett can stick it. I know somebody who can find that license plate." She punched in a number and put the phone to her ear. "Dawson, it's Amanda. Can you find out who owns a car if I give you a license plate number?"

  "Sure. That's an easy one."

  She recited the number.

  "Hang on. This will only take a minute."

  Amanda rummaged in a drawer in Charley's old desk and came up with a pen and piece of paper.

  True to his promise, Dawson returned to the phone in less than a minute. "Frank Sturgess, 259 Beale Street, Silver Creek, Texas. Do you want me to see what I can find out about him?"

  Her fingers strangely numb, she scrawled the information on the paper. The man was real. He had a name. He lived in Silver Creek. He had her picture in his car. He followed her, spied on her, invaded her life. "Yes," she said, her voice surprisingly quiet considering the turmoil going on in her mind, "find out everything you can about him."

  "I will. Amanda, are you all right? What's going on?"

  She started to give him the standard, I'm fine, but Dawson was her friend. He deserved better than to have his concerns dismissed so casually. "Not really. Things are a little strange."

  "Strange in what way?"

  She couldn't think of any reason not to tell Dawson the whole story. Well, the story minus Charley, of course. No need to let her assistant think she was nuts. "The license plate I asked you to look up, a man's been following me. I think it's somebody Kimball hired. He killed Charley, and I'm trying to prove it so I can stay out of prison."

  She waited for the expected incredulous response.

  "What data do you have to back up your supposition?" Dawson asked in his usual calm voice.

  "I've found—uh—information indicating Charley might have been blackmailing Kimball for murdering Dianne Carter. Kimball stole my gun, thinking it was the gun he killed Dianne with, the one Charley was using to blackmail him."

  "Can you take that to the police?"

  "I tried. That damned Daggett thinks I'm mental. I suspect he's just trying to get proof I did it so he can close the case and be done with it."

  "How about the gun, the one Kimball used to kill Dianne?"

  "Charley never had the gun. He lied to Kimball about that."

  "I see. This information you found, how sure are you that it's accurate?"

  "I know, anything Charley's involved in is suspect. But a few nights ago I went out to the mayor's house to spy on him. He caught me, we talked, and he pretty much admitted that he killed Dianne and Charley. So I just need to prove it."

  "You went to his house? Amanda, that was very reckless. You could be in danger."

  "Yeah, I think that's a given. Can you do one more thing for me? I talked to Dianne's college roommate, and it sounds like somebody may have been hurt…killed…the night Kimball and Dianne broke up. Can you check on murders in Austin around that time, especially any in the vicinity of the college? It was her birthday their junior year. I don't know the date, but I can probably find out."

  "No need. I can find her birthday. I'll get back to you on the murders."

  Amanda ended the call and focused on the information Dawson had given her of the stalker's identity. Frank Sturgess.

  Charley peered at the words Amanda had written. "What is that? Freak Stings? Amanda, you have the worst handwriting in the world." Charley had a way of bringing her back to reality.

  "Maybe you should give up on the vanity thing and get a pair of glasses. Anybody can see that says Frank Sturgess."

  Charley frowned, shaking his head. "Don't know him. I thought I knew everybody in this town that would…uh…slide around the law."

  "Oh, darn! You missed one. You could have been best buds with this guy. He could have taught you to be a peeping tom, and you could have taught him to be a scam artist. Doubled both your skills."

  Charley rolled his eyes. "I just meant it must be somebody new here, somebody Kimball brought in from out of town."

  Amanda drummed her fingers on the desk. "I bet your mother would know all about him. She seems to know about everybody who lives here."

  "She does," Charley agreed. "Everybody in town is her friend."

  Amanda looked at him and scowled. "So you admit your mother is a wonderful person. Your whole family is wonderful. Why on earth did you tell me those horrible stories about them?"

  Charley's lips clenched shut, and he looked away.

  Amanda threw her hands into the air. "Fine. I get it. You have no excuse for such despicable behavior. I'm going down to talk to your much-maligned mother about Frank Sturgess."

  Amanda came down the stairs in time to see Paula and Penny heading out the front door. "Bye, Amanda," Penny said. "We're going to hang with friends. See you later!" They waved and darted out the door.

  Amanda returned their waves and continued on to find Irene and Herbert sitting at the kitchen table, heads together, making a grocery list.

  "Cokes for Amanda," Irene said, writing on a note pad.

  "There's our Coke lady now," Herbert said, greeting Amanda with a big grin.

  Irene looked up, a warm smile on her face. "Hi, sweetheart. How does meatloaf sound for dinner tonight?"

  Amanda felt a sudden surge of guilt. She'd accepted the hospitality of this family, and they'd given it so easily, she hadn't stopped to think about the imposition and extra cost she created. "If you're making it, I know it'll be wonderful. But why don't I go pick up some fried chicken or a pizza so you don't have to cook?"

  Irene waved a negligent hand. "I love to cook for my family."

  "And we love to eat her cooking." Herbert stood, then bent over and kissed his wife. "I'm going to the hardware store to pick up stuff to fix that toilet stool that won't quit running."

  Herbert left, and Amanda took his seat beside Irene. "I'd like to go grocery shopping with you and pay for some of the groceries," she said. "I feel guilty staying here, eating your food, creating extra work for you and doing nothing to help."

  Irene looked shocked. "My goodness, don't you dare think like that! You're not causing any extra work. You think after raising seven kids that one more is going to make even a ripple?" She laid a hand over Amanda's and squeezed. "And don't think you're not helping. Having you here is like having a little bit of Charley with us. You're helping all of us cope with losing him."

  That made the guilt dig in its heels more deeply. If they only knew how much of Charley was there, and how unhappy Amanda was about it, Irene would probably feel very different about Amanda's presence there. Though she couldn't change how she felt about Charley, Amanda resolved to figure out something she could do to repay the Randolphs for their kindness.

  In the meantime, she needed to do her best to stay alive.

  "I have a question. You said you might be able to help me with that information I need to find."

  "Of course. What's your question?"

  "Do you know anything about Frank Sturgess?"

  "Frank Sturgess," Irene mused, her brow wrinkling in thought. "I know that name. Just give me a minute." Her brow smoothed and she smiled. "Of course. Frank Sturgess. He's one of Sunny's success stories."

  Amanda thought about the scum who'd been following her, spying on her, probably reporting back to Kimball so he could kill her. I'd hate to see Sunny's failures.

  "He came to town a couple of years ago with his wife and two little babies," Irene continued.

  The scum had a family? That was doubly creepy.

 
; "Bought the old Renfrow house. He went to work doing odd jobs, but about a year ago, he got in trouble. Tried to rob a convenience store. He admitted he did it when they brought him in. Didn't try to tap dance around it. Said he was desperate, needed the money to support his family. Anyway, Sunny took his case. Got him probation, then helped him get a decent job. Him and his wife joined the church, and they've been good members of the community ever since."

  Except for stalking me. "Do you know where he works?" She'd be willing to bet it was one of the Kimball family companies.