A Memory Worth Dying For

by Bruce, Joanie

  “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused her all these years. She didn’t deserve what I did to her. Guilt won’t let me live with what I’ve done. Zach

  Marti gasped.

  “Marti? Are you okay?”

  Her hands covered her mouth. “Do you think Zach might be talking about me?”

  Gerald read the note again. “Well, it does sound like it fits, doesn’t it? But, did you even know Zach before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Max, do you have any idea what he meant?”

  “No sir, but the backhoe’s gone too. Warren was supposed to work on the brakes this morning, but he came and told me it wasn’t in the equipment shed. I thought you or Daniel had moved it for the picnic, so I didn’t think about it anymore until now.”

  “Well, if Zach left on the backhoe, he can’t be far. That old thing won’t travel more than fifteen miles an hour. Did you say the brakes needed work?”

  “Yes, sir. They gave out yesterday. You couldn’t stop it if your life depended on it.”

  “Take the truck and see if you and the boys can find him, Max. Look in the storage shed. Maybe he’s stacking the tables from the picnic. And look in the hay pasture—he could be hauling in a load of hay. If you find him, bring him back in the truck. I don’t want him driving the backhoe if the brakes are bad. I don’t know what that letter’s about, but when we find him, we’ll ask him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gerald patted Marti on the shoulder. “We’ll figure out what’s going on, Marti. If Zach is the one stalking you, we’ll find out why.”

  Marti’s face was pale, but she returned a trembling smile and nodded.

  Gerald left his breakfast and went to find Parker. Anita must have started on her spring cleaning projects, because he found Parker hanging up blinds that Anita had washed and dried with a towel. Parker’s two-year-old son Gavin was playing with blocks on the floor.

  Gerald leaned over and touched the little boy on the nose. “Hello, Gavin. You sure have grown since I saw you last.”

  The look on Parker’s face surprised Gerald. He looked like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

  “Parker, have you seen Zach this morning?”

  “No, sir. I was in town until about an hour ago. I had to go get Gavin from daycare. I’m sorry, sir.” He ducked his head and averted his eyes.

  “It’s okay for you to have Gavin here, Parker. I know sometimes you and Anita have scheduling problems.”

  Parker’s eyes searched Gerald’s. “Are you sure, sir? I didn’t want to keep him here, but we couldn’t find a babysitter, and—”

  “It’s fine. Now, if you see Zach, tell him I’m looking for him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gerald gave him a calming look and walked out the back door. He was walking to the barn when the old white pickup came rumbling into the barnyard. It slid to a stop in front of Gerald, and Max leaped out—agitated about something.

  “Mr. Gerald, Caleb found Zach at the bottom of the ravine in the back forty. The boys are rigging up a rope system to get him out.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “No, sir.”

  Gerald turned to rush inside. “I’ll call 9-1-1.”

  Max grabbed Gerald’s arm to stop him. “No, Mr. Gerald. It’s too late. He’s gone.”

  Gerald’s face felt cold. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir. The backhoe fell on top of him.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “I already called 9-1-1, so they’ll be sending out the coroner.”

  Gerald sat down on the chair sitting in the yard. His fists gripped the edge of the seat. “I don’t understand. We spent all last summer reinforcing that fence. Why didn’t the fence stop him?”

  “I don’t know. It looks like he ran the backhoe right through the fence and off the cliff. After that note we found, some of the boys are wondering if it was suicide.”

  “Suicide?” Gerald lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Max, you knew him better than anybody. Do you believe he could have been stalking Marti?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Zach kept to himself most of the time, but even Houdini couldn’t be in two places at one time. I’m not sure Zach was gone enough to stalk anybody. He didn’t act like he was planning suicide either, but there were no skid marks on the ground where he went over. It doesn’t look like he touched the brake at all.”

  “You said the backhoe had no brakes. Maybe he tried but they wouldn’t work.”

  “If that was the case, Mr. Gerald, he would have had time to jump off before it reached the edge. Or he could have turned the thing away from the edge when he realized the brakes weren’t working.”

  Gerald’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, Max. I’ll come out with the sheriff when he gets here. Go back and help the boys rig up the rope, but tell them not to touch anything until the sheriff says it’s okay.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gerald leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Thoughts of the backhoe going over the edge of the cliff with Zach straddling the seat burned into his thoughts. Max was right. Zach would have known long before he reached the edge that the brakes were not working. That backhoe was as slow as a new born foal rising to his feet. Why didn’t Zach jump? Would they ever know the truth of what happened? And what about that note? Was Marti the one Zach mentioned?

  FORTY-SIX

  CLARA WATTING LEANED HER TALL body up under the hood of her Tahoe as she watched steam bubble up from the engine. The water hose was still attached at both ends, but a gaping crack spewed steam that quickly covered everything under the hood in droplets of water.

  Nothing was turning out as she’d planned. The man she was “requesting” money from—blackmail seemed like such a nasty word—seemed determined to ignore her demands. She’d put a scare into him. Maybe that would light a fire under his dillydallying.

  But the bigger problem at the moment was getting to town. Maybe she could wrap tape around the water hose and make a temporary patch. Every good nurse had tape in a first-aid kit, and she just happened to have one in the trunk.

  She examined the hose carefully, and what she discovered made her legs weak. The crack was not jagged, but a straight, even cut. The rubber had been sliced by something sharp. Had someone wanted her to run out of water? For what reason?

  She lifted up her head and quickly scanned the landscape. The low mountains on either side of the road fell away to rolling hills. Only one area around her gave enough cover for someone to hide.

  “Get a grip, Clara. How could he know the hose would break in this exact spot? There’s no way he’d know to hide around here. What? Did you think he’d be hiding in the bushes somewhere?”

  Talking aloud to the car eased her tension but couldn’t take away the knot in her stomach.

  Patching the long slit in the hose was out of the question. Now what was she going to do?

  She glanced at the road behind her and saw a black truck parked on the side of the road just inside the curve of the mountain she had passed a moment before. That truck hadn’t been there when she crossed the mountain, had it? A cold sweat broke out over her large frame. Could it be the same person who booby-trapped her SUV?

  She slid around behind the hood—hidden from view of the truck—and leaned against the front of the SUV, trying to think.

  As she stood mulling over ideas, the beep-beep of a horn reached her ears. She leaned around the hood in time to see a white car circle the mountain and pass the black truck, traveling toward her. When the car rounded the last curve, Clara leaned around the fender of her car and waved her hands. The white Ford Focus slowed when it came closer, and for an instant, a sliver of fear made her hesitate. But a glance at the black truck still parked in the curve strengthened her decision. Surely the person in the white car would be the lesser of two evils.

  The white car slowed and gently pulled off the road in front of Clara and her vehicle. A woman leaned out of the window. “Do you n
eed help?”

  Clara did a double-take. Martha Rushing. Before the picnic, she hadn’t seen her in years—not since the accident and the scandal. This was the second time in two days.

  Clara pushed aside her train of thought, grabbed her purse from the console, and ran to the passenger side of the white car.

  “Do you mind taking me to town?” She took one last peek at the black truck and slid into the seat. “My water hose is busted, and the radiator’s out of water.”

  “Sure. I met you at the picnic yesterday, didn’t I? Aren’t you one of the nurses at the Marvel County Clinic with Skyler and Cynthia?”

  Clara sniffed. “I’m the head nurse at the clinic, yes.”

  “I thought I recognized you. I’m Marti Rushing.”

  “Yeah, I remember who you are.” She could tell her short tones surprised Marti. Clara saw the shutters close over Marti’s eyes and turned away to fasten her seat belt. After the rumors that circulated around town about the accident three years ago, Marti had reason to be embarrassed.

  Marti put the car in gear and pulled out into the road. “I’ll drop you off at the garage on this side of town,” she said quietly.

  “Thanks.” Clara pulled the mirror down on the visor and pretended to fix her hair while she looked to see if the black truck was following. She caught a glimpse of a black shadow moving about a mile back, and anger bubbled up in her throat. She would take care of this threat for good—just as soon as she got into town and to a phone.

  She turned to Marti. “Are you going all the way in to the square?”

  Marti nodded. “Yes, I have a lunch meeting at the Carson Café in an hour.”

  “Would you mind waiting a minute while I talk to the mechanic, then taking me on into town with you?”

  Marti hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll wait.”

  Marti didn’t seem too crazy about the imposition, but Clara didn’t care. She had several things to pick up in town, but even more important was a certain phone conversation—and it would have to be taken care of immediately.

  Clara kept silent while the rolling hills gave way to gradual signs of civilization. The car garage was located on the outskirts of town in an old rundown brick building. Marti pulled into the parking spot directly in front of the door and turned off the motor.

  Clara slid out with a promise to be just a minute. She walked up to the door of the office, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black truck pull off the road and park. She squeezed her fists together and wrenched open the office door.

  “Just wait,” she murmured to herself. “I’ll take care of you next.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  THE FACE IN THE MIRROR stared back at him. He swore he had more wrinkles around his eyes than he ever had before. It was supposed to be so easy, but things weren’t going as he planned. Now he’d have to implement option number two.

  He took a deep breath and pulled a number from a tiny slip of paper in his wallet. He picked up the phone to dial, but it rang in his hand.

  “Hello.”

  “Pardner, I have her in my sights. What do you want me to do?” The voice sounded agitated through the phone.

  “Do you have that contraption with you?”

  “You mean the bomb?”

  “Don’t say that word over the phone. I’ve told you before; anybody with a scanner can hear everything that’s said on cell phones.”

  “Nobody’s got a scanner around here, and even if they do, they won’t have it tuned to this channel.”

  “The firemen and cops all have one, and I’m sure they know the exact frequency to use. You never know who might be listening. Just don’t say anything you shouldn’t.”

  “Okay, pardner.”

  “I told you to stop calling me that. Now, do you have it or not?”

  “You mean the . . . I mean, yeah, I have it.”

  Okay, then use it, and don’t let anyone see you. Do you hear?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I hear. I know what I’m doing.”

  “How will you attach the . . . er, key holder to the car?”

  “What? Oh, . . . well, it’s magnetized. It’ll only take a second to attach. It shouldn’t be hard at all.”

  The man slumped down in his seat. “Well, be careful. If you get caught, you’re on your own.”

  “Yeah, I know. Just like always.”

  When he hung up the phone, he sat back in his chair and felt a heavy weight on his chest. It had to be done. It was the only way. It was his life or hers. She could mess everything up. He should have taken care of it long before this. If he didn’t take care of it now, it would soon be too late.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  MARTI SAT IN THE SWELTERING heat, waiting for Clara to come out of the garage. The sooner she dropped Clara off, the better. The look on the head nurse’s face proved one thing—she’d heard and believed all the rumors and accusations hurled at Marti three years ago. Marti could see it in the wary look in Clara’s eyes, and it made her uncomfortable. The court case had been in all the local papers. The Rushings were an important family in the community, and according to the rumors, Marti had disgraced their name.

  Marti’s clothes felt as if they were melting to her skin. It must be over one hundred degrees today. She reached to turn on the ignition and start up the air conditioner when Clara exited the building.

  Clara opened the door and settled into the car. “Now, I’m ready to go on into town. You said you have a meeting at the Carson Café?”

  Marti nodded and cranked the car. “Yes.”

  “Abel said he’d go out and replace the hose on my car and then drive it back to the garage. He was pretty sure it would take less than an hour. I have a couple of stops to make in town, so would it be all right if we park at the café, and then I’ll meet you there afterwards so you can bring me back here to get my car?”

  “I guess that’s okay. I’m not sure how long my lunch will be, but you can wait for me in the park if you get through before I do.”

  Marti drove to the restaurant on the corner of the square. There was nowhere to park in the restaurant parking lot, so she parallel-parked in one of the pay-by-the-hour spaces across the street. They both got out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Marti watched Clara glance down the road and scrutinize the traffic. A wrinkle appeared between her brows, and Marti turned to see what held her attention. A black truck disappeared around the corner of the next block. She wondered if it was someone Clara knew. It seemed she wasn’t too happy to see the truck. Maybe it was someone she was trying to avoid.

  Marti stepped up to the antique meter and saw it was empty. She fumbled in her purse for change, but Clara stepped forward.

  “Here, let me take care of that. It’s the least I can do to thank you for the ride into town. Would an hour and a half be enough, do you think?” When Marti nodded, Clara fed six quarters to the meter. The meter box clanged and registered ninety minutes on the display.

  Clara turned to Marti. “Would you mind leaving the car door open in case I get back before you’re done with your meeting? It’s too hot to sit in the park.”

  Marti hesitated before digging out the extra set of keys from her purse. “Here, I have an extra key. Take this in case I’m not here when you get back. It’s so hot, you might need to run the air conditioner to stay cool.”

  Clara took the key. “Thanks.”

  Marti watched Clara strut down the street toward the bus stop and plop down on the bench. Where is she going? Marti shrugged. It was really none of her business.

  She turned toward the café and saw a man walking toward her. Stanley Baxter.

  “Mr. Baxter! Hey, I thought I recognized you.”

  “Well, I’ll be doggone, if it’s not Martha Rushing.” He held out his hand, but Marti pushed by his outstretched arm and gave him a sincere hug.

  “How are all your family?”

  “They’re great. Chelsea sure missed you after you left. You should come see her little daughter,
Maria. She’s a little doll baby, and growing like a weed.”

  Marti laughed. “Maybe I will. Tell them all I said hello.”

  “Sure will, Marti. You take care now.” He held the door for her as she walked into the restaurant and then followed her in. A man in a tan suit joined Mr. Baxter. The hostess led them to a table in the back.

  Cool air hit Marti in the face as soon as she stepped up to the hostess desk, and she took pleasure in the feeling. She had forgotten how hot Texas spring days could be. The large round clock hanging above the cashier let her know she was ten minutes early.

  When the hostess returned, Marti asked for a table on the balcony so she could look out the windows to the river running through the mountains. She stopped at the overlook and saw children splashing around in the shallow rocks and jumping from one smooth rock to another. Sounds of their laughter floated up on the humid air and mingled with the conversations of the other customers, adding a hominess to the atmosphere.

  Marti glanced toward the street and noticed a man in a jumpsuit and hat lingering around her car. Her heart dropped to her stomach when he turned toward the restaurant and glanced up at the window. His sunglasses made it hard to see his features, but he stared up at the window. She nervously moved back away from the glass. When she inched back up to the side of the window and peeked around the ledge, the man was gone.

  She rubbed her forehead. You’re crazy, Marti—looking for trouble when there isn’t any.

  With a smile at the lady sitting next to her table, Marti sat down to watch the street below for her friends. Fans whirred overhead, pushing the cool air from the vents down to the tables below. Marti sat back and glanced around the room at the western style décor. She pulled out the plein air painting application Cynthia sent her through e-mail and began filling in the blanks. She was curious which orphanage they were supporting with the fundraiser. Alana had mentioned how important donors and fundraisers were to the orphanage they were connected with in Tennessee. Most non-profits existed only through donations. This was a fundraiser Marti could participate in wholeheartedly.