by Mia Caldwell
“How are things, Heidi?” he asked.
“All’s well,” she answered, but there was something in her voice that belied her cheery disposition.
After wiping down the water spots in the sink and putting away his liquor, he retrieved several trash bags and a large rock from the backyard. He wiped the fingerprints off his service revolver and emptied the chamber. Placing the gun in one of the bags, he rolled the bag around it, then secured it with duct tape. Then he placed that bundle into another black trash bag and this time added the heavy rock. He put on his equipment belt and put his spare Glock in the holster.
On the way to work, he pulled off the main road and drove until he came to a bridge. The creek below it ran deep and fast. No one would see the gun if he could get it between the rocks. He tossed it in and watched it disappear. He regretted losing the Sig, but something told him he’d done something stupid the night before.
On his way to the sheriff’s office, he called Fletcher, and told him to meet him at the Well Service store. They arrived at the same time and Fletcher took point outside, keeping watch and deterring other customers from stopping by for a chat about their wells.
“Sheriff!” the owner’s wife looked alarmed as Harold strolled into the showroom. She got up from the reception desk and hurried into a back room. Sheriff Buck waited patiently.
The woman’s husband appeared a moment later. “Sheriff Buck,” he said nervously.
The sheriff walked over to the wall and ran his forefinger over the line of family photos on the wall – all of them showing the owner’s happy children at various stages of their development. As he brushed his finger against each picture, he made a point to put each one off balance.
“I’m disappointed in you, Pete,” Harold said, without looking at the small business owner. “It would be a shame if something bad happened to your source of livelihood, just because you couldn’t remember to pay for insurance. I thought you cared about your family more than that.”
“I’m sorry – it was just an oversight. Uh, I’ll write you a check right now,” the man stammered and hurried over towards a desk.
Before he could get to it, Harold advanced on the man and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He lifted him up by the throat with one powerful hand, then slammed him against the wall of pictures, causing two of them to crash to the floor. The worm wiggled and struggled in his grip, clutching desperately on the sheriff’s powerful arms, trying to save himself from strangulation.
“You know I don’t take checks, worm! Cash. I want cash. Have it for me by two o’clock this afternoon, or else.”
Harold released the worm, dropping him to the floor. The man gasped and grabbed his throat. Harold turned on his heels. Fletcher had come inside to watch the show. Fletcher poked his head out the door then gave Harold the thumbs up.
Harold could hear Pete’s wife shouting and calling out her husband’s name. Then he heard her crying. He liked it when women cried. These people were weak, useless idiots. They deserved what he was doing to them.
Fletcher headed off to do his duty in another section of the county and Harold drove to the office. In his mind he went through his to-do list for the day. Pick up the money at two – get Fletcher his cut, then visit his arms supplier for an unregistered Sig 9. He’d put a new note in his file and make sure the office records on his old weapon got lost. The new gun would be the one he’d always had. If Jana was dead somewhere, they’d never pin the murder on him. He was untouchable. No one in town had the balls to stop him.
Chapter Seven
After a disturbing and restless night’s sleep, Holly woke to the sound of someone moving around in her kitchen. “Jana,” she said as she got out of bed and stepped into her slippers. Jimmy was in the kitchen putting bread slices in the toaster.
“Any word from Jana?” Holly poured herself some coffee.
“No,” Jimmy said. He put the toast on a plate, then carried it to the living room and plopped down on the couch.
“Tell me everything you remember,” Holly said as she sat down on the chair on the other side of the coffee table. That’s where Jana usually sat. Her chest squeezed.
“Well, I went there like we agreed, and I got there just before the show started. I had the brought the spot, like you suggested. You were right – it really improved the atmosphere.”
“Who cares about the atmosphere? Tell me about Jana.”
“You want all the details or not?” Jimmy said huffily. “Because I can call a cab and go home right now if you aren’t happy with my delivery.”
“Calm down, prima donna –- fine, tell it your way.”
“Like I was saying, I walked inside with the spot and set it up near the light switches. The show started, and when I heard the emcee announce Bombshell, I knew it had to be Jana – ’cause that’s the nickname I gave her, remember?”
“Yeah, vaguely,” Holly said.
“When the emcee announced Bombshell, I flipped lights out and fired up the spot. The crowd totally responded to it, and then when Jana started her thing – God, Holly it was ten-times better than rehearsal. The audience loved her.”
“Can you cut to some part of your story that might help us find her? Please?”
“Yeah, she was doing her gig, when I got knocked over the head and me and the light went crashing to the floor.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I must have been out for a bit, because the next thing I remember was seeing this studly-looking guy in the front beating on the sheriff. The guy hit him over the head with a chair, then he made Jana leave with him.”
“And then what? Who was the guy? Did you recognize him?”
“It wasn’t exactly easy to see in there. But I don’t think I’d seen him before. I’m sure I would have remembered if I had.”
“So, what happened next? I’m trying to figure out where she is.”
“They left, and I just lay there on the floor, still feeling pretty out of it. I kept my eye on the sheriff, who managed to get up. I didn’t move and he walked outside, and then about two seconds later I heard the gunshots.”
“Oh my God, you’re saying he used his gun. What if he shot Jana? That would explain why she never came home.” Holly’s eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. If she was dead, somebody would know. Maybe the sheriff missed and she just ran off with that guy. I’m pretty sure he was drunk, so it’s a good bet his aim was off.”
Holly paced the room.
“How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many gunshots?”
“I don’t know, MacGyver. Four, maybe six?”
“Then what?” Holly pressed.
Jimmy thought a moment, eyes looking up and off to one side. “Let’s see. Okay. I remember. When I heard the gunshots, I freaked. Thinking I better go out the back somewhere and hide. I forced myself to get up, but then slipped on a puddle of beer. Then I heard a few more shots and a car’s tire squealing, then I heard the sheriff or someone coming back up the steps – so I played dead – even though I had to keep my face lying in beer on that filthy floor. It was horrible.”
“So, who came back in, was it the sheriff?”
“Yep, it was. He came in, cursing up a mean streak. He went straight for this big jar of money they had for the winner of the show, and then he left, with the money.”
“Wow,” Holly said.
“I know. Some role model, eh?”
“How did you get to the diner? You said your car was totaled.”
“Well, I don’t know about totaled, but the door was smashed, and I couldn’t open it.”
“So, how did you get to the diner?”
“Sam gave me a ride.”
“The owner of the bar, Sam?”
“Yeah. He came back about ten minutes after the sheriff had left. He turned on the lights and sort of walked around a while, shocked at the damage. I tried to tell him that what I saw. I tried to get him to call 9-1-1,
but he refused. He made me promise not to say anything about it, before he gave me a ride. I crossed my fingers behind my back, so I could at least tell you. You know how I hate keeping secrets.”
“Is that everything?”
“Yep, everything I can think of.”
“Well, get dressed. I’ll take you back to the bar and we can see how bad your car is. I’d like to talk to this Sam guy, myself.”
Chapter Eight
Pete and his wife Marge nervously walked into the Double XX Bar and Grill a few hours later after their upsetting visit from Sheriff Buck. On the drive into town they talked about asking the others for help. But that wasn’t the primary reason they were headed to town. The SSB, or Stop Sheriff Buck support group was having an emergency meeting. This secret group made up of entirely of vendors and business owners subjected to the sheriff’s extortion had been meeting more frequently in recent months as the sheriff and his deputy bat-boy Fletcher had been upping the ante and ratcheting up their demands.
After the sheriff and his slime deputy had left, Pete and Marge had first called all five of their daughters and told them to pack up the kids and leave town for a few days. None of them were willing to leave until their husbands got home from work, which meant Pete and Marge needed to find some way to raise the funds before two o’clock.
Marge, a gentle woman with a friendly face, was looking anything but friendly when she stormed into the bar. She’d been ranting for the whole drive into town about how wrong it was the way everyone just let him get away with murder.
Sam greeted them with a grim face as he put down an armful of debris. Several other members of the group stopped cleaning for a moment and came over to shake Pete’s hand and give Marge a hug.
Pete and Marge both looked around, scanning the damage. Thousands of dollars of liquor had been spilled, the bottles broken on the floor. Someone had put a chair into the mirror behind the bar, and an expensive-looking stage light lay on its side with a cracked lens.
“Holy crap,” Pete said. “Did he do this?”
“Sure did,” Sam said, “but that’s the last we’ll say of it. If Harold thinks we tattled on him, God knows what he’ll do to retaliate.”
“Why did he do this?” Marge asked as she grabbed a broom and started sweeping in a corner. “Did you miss a payment? ’Cause that’s why we’re here.” She burst into tears, and the owner of the flower shop came running over and put her arms around Marge.
“What’s wrong?”
Marge shook her head, so everyone looked at Pete. His mouth was in a thin line. Pete told them about Harold’s visit that morning and the threat he made to his family.
“That bastard,” Sam said with vehemence. Everyone agreed.
“How short are you?” a fellow sufferer asked Pete.
“Two thousand. I’ve got the usual five, but since I was late last month, he’s made the new payment seven thousand a month. I’ve already taken out a second mortgage on the house and asked my oldest daughter for a loan. I can’t do this anymore,” he finished, his shoulders slumped in despair.
“Isn’t there someone we can call?” Marge asked. “The FBI or something?”
“Maybe,” the florist said. She was always telling people how she used to be a lawyer, but then it had gotten to her, so she’d moved to Misty Falls and opened a flower shop.
“I don’t want nuttin’ to do with that,” Sam said. “If he finds out…”
“That’s the trouble with all of us. We’re making it easy for him. We’ve got to stand up to him, or he’ll bleed us all dry!” Marge said.
Everyone stared in astonishment at the quiet, soft-spoken Marge. They’d never seen her so mad. One by one, all but Sam agreed.
“We’ve got to do something, but in the meantime, who can help Pete and Marge with some cash?” asked the florist.
“Look,” Sam said. “I’ll cover it, but only if you people promise not to say or do anything.”
Relieved that they wouldn’t be asked to come up with money that they also had a hard time saving, thanks to the sheriff’s practices, the others quickly promised Sam that they wouldn’t say or do anything for now. Pete and Marge followed Sam to the bank and waited outside until he brought them the cash.
Grateful beyond words, Pete and Marge returned to the Double XX and worked hard with the others at cleaning up the mess.
Chapter Nine
Bombshell got in the car, and Charlie and Joann drove her to Merrick’s cabin. When they stopped in front of an ornate iron gate and Charlie punched in a code, she said, “I’ve never heard of a gated cabin before.”
Joann just laughed. “Oh, honey, you’re going to love it. It’s quite the architectural marvel, actually. Which is the reason Mr. Flynn bought it.”
“Nope,” Charlie contradicted his wife. “He bought it because of the creek and the fishing.”
Bombshell let out a small gasp of pleasure as they rounded the curve and she got her first glimpse of the cabin. The only thing remotely cabinesque about the building was the fact that it was made entirely out of pine logs. It looked more like a ski chalet, like something right out of the Swiss Alps. Bombshell wondered how she could know of such things, and yet not remember anything about her life before yesterday.
She shrugged. It didn’t matter. Clearly she was a very lucky and blessed woman. She had a rich and extremely handsome fiancé, and no reason in the world to fret. She’d get her memories back soon enough, and then she’d continue to live what appeared to be a wonderful life.
Merrick met them as they drove up the driveway, and Bombshell’s heart slammed against her chest at the site of him. He was freshly showered, his face smooth, his hair tousled and still damp. He wore tight blue jeans, cowboy boots and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She could see the outlines of his muscled arms and the flat rippling of his stomach through the shirt, but it was those eyes that made her melt. Oh God, she could definitely see why she’d fallen in love with him.
~~*~~
Merrick tried to hide his nerves as he waited for the signal from Joann. When she gave him the thumbs-up, he went to Bombshell’s door and opened it. He’d been talking on the phone with Joann and Charlie, arranging everything while Bombshell slept. There was one more thing he had to do, and he needed Joann to distract Bombshell while he took Charlie around the house to where he’d hidden the shot-up Land Rover, so Charlie could take it in for repairs.
“Welcome, sweetheart,” he said as he helped her out of the car. “Just so you know, this is the first time you’re seeing my cabin, so don’t feel bad if nothing looks familiar.”
“I haven’t been here before?”
“No, darling, we were on the way here when we had the accident.”
“Okay.”
“So, Bombshell, why don’t you and Joann check out the kitchen? I need to talk guy stuff with Charlie.”
“Yes, Bombshell, help me put away these groceries, or you two will have nothing to eat.”
As soon as they were inside, chatting happily, Merrick took Charlie to the car.
“Here are the keys. Drive it to Litton to the body shop and get my replacement car. It’ll be at the Hertz offices on Production Avenue. Everything is paid for, under my name. I told them you’d be coming for it.”
Charlie nodded.
“Go with Joann to the department store and help her shop. In fact – help her get it all done fast. She’s got a big list from me of things to buy and you’ll need to keep her on track.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, Tony’s flying in this afternoon – I assume the helipad is clear of debris?”
“I’ll double check before I head out,” Charlie said.
“Good man – please keep tabs on Joann – I know how women get when they shop.”
Charlie smiled. “Don’t worry, boss,” then he headed off to the back of the house to climb the hill towards the rise where they’d bulldozed out a makeshift landing pad.
When Merrick went
back inside, he found Bombshell and Joann in the kitchen. She laughed happily as she arranged apples and oranges into bowls and set them up on the large wooden table in the kitchen.
Joann looked at Merrick and said, “We’re all set in here. You going to give her the tour or what?”
Bombshell smiled from ear to ear and ran over to Merrick. “Yes, honey, give me the tour, I can’t wait to see it.”
Joann laughed and said. “You too, be good,” She headed out of the house, and got in her car. Merrick saw Charlie get into the Land Rover and he moved to block Bombshell’s view. He didn’t want her to see the shot out window and have some kind of recollection – that might make her want to stay in Misty Falls.
“Follow me,” he said and led her out of the kitchen and into the great room.
“Aww,” she said in total wonder as she walked into the room. “It’s beautiful.” He felt proud, as if he’d designed the place himself and laid every log and fireplace brick with his own hands. And then she was off, running like a small child, moving from corner to corner, bookcase to bookcase, rustic piece of furniture to rustic piece of furniture. When she collapsed in a happy heap on the sheepskin rug at the foot of the massive fireplace, he wanted to join her, to roll with her on the floor. Instead, he just smiled and walked closer to her, unable to stop himself from feeling mesmerized by her pure joy.
She was like an innocent child seeing Disneyland for the first time. She turned her happy face at him, and his heart exploded. God, he didn’t want her to remember and have to experience any of that old pain. Maybe she could stay like this forever. He wondered if the doctor might be able to ensure it. Then his face fell. No doctor would agree to do that. Hippocratic Oath and all that. But, then again, what right did he have to play God? Maybe things would work out.
She got up and tugged on his arm, like a small child.
Joann called from the kitchen, “We’re leaving now. We’ll be back around three or four, I hope.”
Merrick’s first thought was, Great. Now I can wait for the sound of two cars going down the hill, then give her a tour of the rest of the house. Then his second thought was, And it can end in the bedroom, and Bombshell and I can get reacquainted for real.