Brad struggled to break free. “Yes, you are,” he said over his shoulder. “You just accused my dead sister of smuggling. She can’t even defend herself.”
“If she’s not involved, then put that energy into finding out who is.” Will released him with a shove and walked to his car. He didn’t know which hurt more, his cheek or his heart.
“I’ll make you eat your words,” Brad called after him.
Will kept walking. Anything he said would only make his friend angrier. He hoped Brad did find evidence that pointed to someone else. But Will didn’t see that happening. Either Stephanie smuggled the diamonds in and stole the three in the sculpture or she was hiding them for someone else. Either way, Will believed the diamonds got her killed.
30
“I’VE NEVER BEEN TO DOSKIE BEFORE,” Andi said. “But it’s beautiful.” They were off the interstate and approaching the downtown area. “We’re in the foothills of the Appalachians.”
“I bet it’s pretty in the fall,” Maggie said as they parked in front of the small post office. “You know, they may not give us Jillian’s address.”
“Only one way to find out.” Andi climbed out of her car and followed Maggie into the building. A postal worker was locking the door to the lobby. Andi checked her watch. “Do you close at noon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can we get in?” Maggie asked. “It’s really important that we speak to the postmaster.”
“Sorry, he’s not here.”
“Can we speak to the next person in charge?” Maggie asked.
“That’d be the woman at the window, but as you can see, we’re closed.”
“But it’s a matter of life and death.”
“Honey, you have no idea how many times I hear that.”
“This time it’s true,” Maggie said. “I’m a lawyer, and the man I represent will die if we don’t get the information we need.”
The clerk shot them a dubious look, but she didn’t reject their request outright.
“Please,” Andi said.
“I gotta hear this,” she said and unlocked the door.
They followed her inside.
“This attorney and her friend say they have a matter of life and death to discuss with you,” the clerk said.
“You don’t say,” the second in charge said. “They’ll have to wait until I’m finished with Mrs. Darby.”
Andi rubbed her thumb against her fingers. Why weren’t they taking this seriously?
Mrs. Darby finished and moved to the counter, where she took her time putting her money away. Andi wished the two clerks were as interested in hearing what they had to say as the dowdy matron. Andi took a better look. She hadn’t seen a floral print dress like that since her grandmother was alive. Or thick hose and sensible black shoes. The woman was dressed for a different century.
“Now, what can I do for you?” the clerk said.
Andi brought her attention back to the clerk as Maggie stepped forward.
“We have a post office box for Jillian Bennett, but we need her physical address, Ms. . . .”—Maggie glanced at the nametag—“Bergman.”
The two women exchanged glances. “If you’re an attorney, you ought to know we can’t give that information out,” Ms. Bergman said.
Andi’s heart sank. Bergman was going to take a hard line. But sometimes being a TV reporter helped. She fished a card from her bag. “I’m Andi Hollister—”
Mrs. Darby’s fit of coughing cut Andi off. When she caught her breath, she said, “Hannah, if you’ll unlock the door, I’ll be on my way.”
“Be right there, Mrs. Darby.”
While Hannah was opening the door, Andi handed Ms. Bergman her card. “I’m with WLTZ in Memphis, and I’m working on a story that involves the woman in this photo,” she said as Maggie took the photograph from her bag.
“She sent a Christmas card from this post office,” Maggie said, “and her box number is 129. Have you seen her?”
Hannah returned to the counter, and the two clerks passed the photo between them, then exchanged looks. A chill filled the post office.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t help you,” the assistant postmistress said.
“Can’t or won’t?” Andi said. It was evident the two women knew Jillian.
“Excuse me?” Ms. Bergman looked over her glasses at them.
“You obviously recognize her.”
“No, actually, we don’t—at least I don’t. Do you, Hannah?”
Hannah shook her head. “There’s something familiar about her, but she’s not one of our patrons.”
Ms. Bergman said, “Even if we knew her, people around here value their privacy.”
Andi balled her hands. They were so close, but the women seemed to be telling the truth.
The chill deepened as the assistant postmistress folded her arms. Maggie tugged on Andi’s arm. “Come on. Maybe we’ll have better luck somewhere else.” She nodded to the women. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Andi blew out a breath. Everything seemed to be stacked against them. They stopped outside the door in the lobby.
“Where do we go now?” Maggie asked.
“Local hardware store.” It was the first place Andi checked when she was looking for information in a small town. “We’ll show the photo around. Unless there’s a Walmart nearby, Jillian probably does business there.”
They found a hardware store two blocks down, and when they showed the photo, the storekeeper stared at it, then took his cap off and smoothed his hair back. “Why are you looking for her?”
Andi shot a look at Maggie. They hadn’t really thought about a cover story.
“I’m an attorney,” Maggie said and fished a card from her purse. “I hope the woman in the photo can help me with a case.”
“I see,” he said and studied the photo again. “Not sure, but this could be Mrs. Darby. Can’t remember her first name. She’s been living here about five years, comes in occasionally for plumbing supplies for that old house of hers.”
Mrs. Darby is Jillian? Andi looked down at the photo. It was way off. “Could you tell us how to get to her house?” Andi asked.
He looked them over, and she gave him her most appealing smile. “Guess it won’t hurt. But let me write it down—easy to get lost on those roads.”
Neither spoke until they were outside the store. “We were that close,” Andi said. “And now she knows we’re looking for her.”
“It may not be her. He just said it could be her,” Maggie said. “But let’s go find out.”
They got in the car and started driving. After twenty minutes of twists and turns, Andi made yet another turn onto a road barely wide enough for two cars. Two turns later, they were on an even narrower sand road. She wondered what drivers did when they met someone, and then saw a turnout.
“It says here there should be posted signs along the road. Have you seen any?” Maggie asked.
“No. I’ve been too busy making sure we didn’t go off in a ditch.”
“I think we’re lost.”
Will’s cheek throbbed as he drove away from the hospital. Dark thunderclouds formed to the west. Maybe he could outrun the thunderstorm. A text dinged on his phone, and he glanced at it while sitting at a stoplight.
Cass. His mother was the last person he wanted to deal with.
Be safe.
The fight went out of him. Hard-nosed Cass he could deal with, but not this softer Cass. He tapped on the details of the text and called her.
“Hello,” she said. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
“I told you I’d call when I got on the road.” That didn’t come out like he meant it to. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound so abrupt, but I got a late start.”
“You don’t have to explain. I’m just glad you called. You sound upset. Are you?”
“You could say that.”
“Can’t be me ’cause we haven’t seen each other. Tell me who, and I’ll take care of them,” s
he said with a chuckle. “Or, some people like to spill their guts to strangers. I’m willing to listen.”
He never knew when Cass was joking or serious, but this time what she said touched a chord. “I think I lost my best friends today.” He couldn’t believe he’d just blurted that out.
“Oh Will, I’m sorry. That stinks.”
“Yeah.” An image of Cass the last time he saw her popped into his mind’s eye. She would never make the first move, never say she was sorry for not being there for him . . . except she had, kind of, when she came to see him yesterday. He couldn’t believe it’d been less than twenty-four hours.
“I don’t know what to say, except if they’re really your friends, they’ll be back. And if not, they weren’t your friends to begin with.”
She had a fit of coughing, and he waited for her to catch her breath.
“Thanks.” He’d like to believe they’d get over it, but if it took him looking the other way . . . he couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t look the other way if he discovered Jimmy actually killed Stephanie. Jimmy. Will had less than forty-eight hours to dig up evidence that he could take to a judge for a stay of execution.
If Laura Delaney had been onboard and presented the evidence they had to the appellate court and requested a stay, it would have been enough to get a stay. But if she was in on the smuggling, he understood why she was fighting him. If the appellate court didn’t rule in favor of Jimmy, their last chance would be the governor.
“You still there?”
“I’m sorry, I was thinking about Jimmy.”
“Mae’s worried sick. Are you closer to getting a reprieve?”
“I hope so.” Didn’t David say something about his brother knowing the governor? Why didn’t he already have him working on getting clemency? His heart ramped up. Maybe it was time to push that idea.
“Uh, can I call you back? I just thought of someone I need to call.”
“Sure.”
He winced at the disappointment in her voice. “How about once this is over, I take you out to eat?”
“Really?”
“Really. You can name the place.”
“That would be nice, but you don’t have to.”
He hesitated. “But I want to.”
After he hung up, he realized he really did want to take her out to eat. Something was different about her, and maybe they could have a second chance at a relationship. He pressed a button on his steering wheel and said, “Call David Raines.”
For once the machine understood him, and David was soon on the phone. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Didn’t you say your brother knows the governor?”
Silence met his question, and then David cleared his throat. “I did. I’d hoped that we’d get the evidence to take to a judge before now. I’ll call my brother first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anything new?”
“Yeah, but I’d rather brief you in person. I’m on my way to meet a TBI agent about the guard’s pickup.” Will checked his watch. He’d barely make it by one.
“How about as soon as you get back? I’m at the Hollister house, searching Stephanie’s studio.”
“I’ll call you on the way back to Memphis.”
31
AN HOUR LATER, Will turned into the body shop parking area and drove behind the building. A white Ford SUV sat near the back doors, and a man in jeans and a sport shirt stood near the wrecker loaded with Larry Ray Johnson’s pickup.
Will approached him. “I’m Will Kincade,” he said and showed his badge. “That’s quite a mess, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” He pointed to the badge on his belt loop. “Ross Carter, TBI agent. I’m waiting for someone with tools to cut the cab off.”
“Did you look at the undercarriage?”
He nodded. “Saw where the tie rod end came out. That just doesn’t happen often, not with a vehicle that’s been kept up like this one.”
Will’s thoughts too. They both turned as a fire engine pulled around the corner of the building and two firemen hopped off, wielding cutting tools. Following the fire engine was a Tennessee patrol car, and Will scanned his memory for the patrolman’s name. Lee. Richard Lee.
“Sorry I’m late.” Lee carried a briefcase, and he nodded at both men. “But I stopped off at headquarters and picked up the envelope with Johnson’s personal effects. Thought I’d take it to the family—he died an hour ago.”
The news shook Will, and he balled his hands. Every lead seemed to be slipping away. Whoever caused this accident was ruthless, and Will wanted to nail him. “Any leads on the accident?” Will asked.
Lee took out his notebook. “There’s a truck stop five miles west of where it happened. Showed the photo from his driver’s license around the establishments, and one waitress remembered seeing him. Said he came in by himself, and then another man joined him. It wasn’t long until Johnson left—skedaddled is the way she put it.”
Yes! “Did you get a description of the other man?”
Lee nodded. “Big guy with a beard. He ordered a steak sandwich to go.” He took a drawing from the briefcase. “I don’t normally do this with wrecks, but this one really bothered me, so I had her describe the man to a sketch artist.”
Carter looked over Will’s shoulder at the sketch. “Mean-looking dude.”
Indeed he was. Will examined the photo. The man’s neck was much skinnier than his chest. Does he have on a fat suit? Will focused on the eyes. It was the one part of the body that was almost impossible to disguise. Color could be changed, but not how the eyes were set in a person’s face or the arch of the eyebrows.
He’d seen those eyes before, but where? “Do you have a name for the waitress?”
“Josie Weatherford. She’s at the Blue Cafe. It’s in the Exxon Service Plaza.”
“Got this door off,” yelled one of the firemen.
Will turned just as the fireman working on the other door pulled it loose.
“I think we can get in there now,” Carter said and then turned to Will. “You want to take the passenger side?”
“You bet.” He appreciated the agent letting him examine the wreck. Will wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and started with the glove compartment. Nothing evidence-worthy there, then he pried the console open. A fat envelope lay in the bottom with the corner of a hundred-dollar bill showing.
“Looks like money here,” Will said. A payoff. His fingers shook as he took the envelope out and counted the money. “There’s twenty thousand dollars here.”
He handed the envelope with the money in it to Carter. “Maybe we can get latent prints from it.”
Carter put the money in a white bag. “Think it might have come from gambling?”
“The nearest casino is at Caruthersville, across the Mississippi, but wouldn’t they pay that kind of money with a check, not cash?” Will asked. “I think it’s payoff money. Johnson’s wife said he told her one night after he’d been drinking that someone named JD was paying him a hundred dollars a month to watch one of the prisoners.”
“Do you know which prisoner?” Carter asked.
“Jimmy Shelton. He’s sitting on death row for killing Stephanie Hollister. I think Johnson stole a letter that possibly could have gotten Shelton a stay of execution.” Will nodded at the white bag. “I think he traded the letter for that, and whoever he was dealing with tampered with the steering mechanism on his truck.”
“But why?”
“Because Shelton didn’t kill Hollister.”
“Hey, look at what I found!”
Both men turned toward the highway patrolman who’d continued to search the truck. He held a cell phone.
“See if it works,” Will said.
Lee powered the phone up. “Got a little juice. I’ll check his calls.”
Now if the number was still on there. Will and Carter crowded around the phone as the highway patrolman scrolled down th
e list. “There’re only two calls that aren’t identified, the same number, one incoming, the other outgoing.”
He punched the top number and put it on speaker.
“I’m sorry, but the voicemail for the person you are calling hasn’t been set up. Please try your call later.”
“The number probably belongs to a burner phone,” Carter said. “And it can’t be traced, and there won’t be a history of where the incoming call originated. Any idea of the identity of this person, other than the name JD?”
“No, he’s like a phantom.” Will stared at the drawing again. Who are you? “I believe he’s killed three people now. Just can’t prove it yet.”
“What did you find?” Brad asked from the doorway.
David and Barbara looked up. David hadn’t heard him drive up. “Your mom knew of a hiding place, and these papers were in it. They look like some sort of journal.”
He took another look at Brad. “You look shell-shocked. Anything going on?”
Brad’s jaw hardened, but he shook his head. “It’s been a long morning. How’s Dad?”
“Aggravated,” Barbara said. “He wants to come home, but the doctors want him to stay. Every time he walks down the hall, his heart rate jumps to over 150. He’ll have tests Monday.”
“He needs to stay there,” Brad said.
“I know, but you know your dad.” She checked her watch. “I better get back to the hospital.”
She stopped at the door. “Let me know what those papers are, okay?”
“Will do,” David said.
As soon as Barbara was out of hearing range, David said, “What’s going on? You look like you lost your best friend.”
Brad grunted. “I think I have.”
“I don’t understand.”
Brad folded his arms across his chest. “Will accused Stephanie of smuggling diamonds.”
David glanced at the papers Stephanie had hidden and rocked back on his feet. “I’m afraid I may have bad news.”
JD parked in front of the Doskie post office as two women walked out the door wearing postal uniforms. He’d hung back too far, and now the car tracker was showing an error message. It couldn’t connect to the satellite. At least when he reviewed the data on his tablet, it showed the car had stopped at the post office. “Wish me luck,” he said to his companion.
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