Guns, Wives and Chocolate

by Sally Berneathy

  Dumford blinked slowly but didn’t challenge Fred. He and Fred were the same height. He had at least fifty pounds on Fred, but Fred was blatantly the Alpha.

  Dumford was a bully. He beat his wife, someone half his size. If Fred hadn’t been there, he would probably have tried to intimidate Grace and me. In that event, I would have had to zap him. All bullies are cowards when someone stands up to them.

  We left the house, the whole freaking party of us, and headed out into the dark and stormy night.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fred left Grace and me on the porch while he got his car. I wanted to call Trent and find out where he was, whether he was coming with us, if he was getting all this, if he was ever going to speak to me again. But Howdy Doody might see me on the phone.

  He and George waited in his white tank until Fred drove up behind him.

  Grace and I charged through the rain and slid into the back seat of Fred’s Mercedes.

  “We’re wet,” Grace said. “I hope we don’t ruin your upholstery.”

  “It’s leather.” He eased into the street behind Dumford’s vehicle. “And treated against stains.”

  “That’s so he can haul bodies in here,” I said.

  Grace gulped. “Really?”

  Fred didn’t answer.

  I called Trent.

  He answered.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Two car lengths behind you. I don’t have a lot of hope we’ll be able to get evidence against Dumford, but if he tries to kill you, I can claim exigent circumstances and rush in to save your life.”

  “So if my life is in danger, you can break down the door to save me? You don’t have to have a warrant? Let’s talk about exigent circumstances.”

  “We’re not going to talk about them, and you’re not going to create them.”

  “I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. Anyway, Fred’s here.”

  “If he wasn’t, I’d put you in handcuffs and drag you away.”

  “That sounds kinky. We can talk about that later.”

  “Would you be serious? This is dangerous.”

  “Gotta go! Fred’s calling me!”

  “No, he’s not!”

  “No, I’m not.”

  I ended the call. “Trent’s right behind us.”

  “This might work,” Grace said. She sounded surprised.

  We followed Dumford and George across town, past the suburbs, to a compound. Maybe I wouldn’t have thought of it like that if I didn’t know what was going on there.

  Several buildings surrounded a large church with an elaborate steeple. Rain sparkled and danced in the flood lights. A charming place if I didn’t know…but I did know.

  Dumford pulled up in front of the Messianic Resurrection Church.

  Fred parked next to him.

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle.

  We followed Dumford and George up the wide steps. George looked back, one eyebrow raised in a question. I nodded reassuringly. I was ninety-nine percent certain Trent was somewhere close. Maybe ninety-eight. Approximately.

  Dumford withdrew a key and unlocked the tall, elaborately carved wooden doors.

  “Must have a very affluent congregation,” I said.

  “I don’t think they built this from members’ tithes,” Grace whispered.

  One of these days I’d have to teach her about sarcasm.

  The auditorium was large. Soft light from the wall sconces revealed plush crimson seats, stained glass windows, and a sanctuary at the front. The place was beautiful and felt hushed and reverent, the way a church should…not the way a drug storage unit would.

  We didn’t linger but headed down to the basement, a large open space with a tiled floor and folded tables on one side. Doors opened to rooms on the other. Did Laurie’s daughters attend Sunday School in those rooms? What were they teaching them? How to cook meth? Proper etiquette for serving it to guests? Thank goodness my fictional daughter wouldn’t be going there.

  We went through the basement to a well-appointed kitchen and a pantry loaded with large cans of green beans, tomatoes, soups, and a lower shelf of cleaning supplies. It all looked like the kitchen of a normal church where meals would be prepared for fellowship, weddings…and funerals.

  Was Dumford really taking us to his meth storage or was he luring us to a secret passage where we would be slaughtered and our bodies never recovered? If Trent saw me go in this place and not come out, would that constitute exigent circumstances? What would Henry do when I didn’t return home to let him in the house and feed him? Find another home? Was that how he came to me in the first place?

  “Lindsay?” Fred’s voice pulled me back to the situation at hand.

  Dumford, George, and Grace stood in a dimly lit room behind the pantry, looking back at Fred and me. Mostly at me since I was in front of Fred. George’s forehead glowed. He needed to do something about that tendency to sweat when he was scared.

  I entered the room with confidence knowing I had a cell phone in one pocket, a stun gun in the other, and Fred behind me.

  I had expected a huge area with large bags stacked to the ceiling and a narrow path to walk between them. The reality was much less impressive. Smaller than my extra bedroom. Boxes sat on shelves at one end of the room, the same type shelves as in the pantry behind us. Large bottles—some empty, some containing various amounts of ugly liquids—littered the floor along with bits and pieces of debris.

  Dumford reached into one of the boxes and withdrew a plastic bag containing white crystals. “This is good stuff. I got a great cook. Nobody’s ever complained.”

  He didn’t say nobody had ever died from it. Dead people don’t complain.

  Fred took the package from him, opened it, and sniffed.

  “Hey!” Dumford protested.

  “My client told you we need to verify the product.” He took out a half-inch crystal then returned the bag to Dumford. From his shirt pocket he produced a glass test tube.

  Who carries a test tube in his pocket?

  Fred.

  He put the crystal in the tube then retrieved a bottle of bleach from the floor. “I hope your church won’t mind,” he said. “I borrowed this from the pantry. I only need a small amount. Grace, would you please take off the lid for me?”

  As though this was routine, Grace unscrewed the top of the bleach bottle and stepped back.

  Fred poured some into the test tube. The crystal jumped around frantically and dissolved. “Looks good.”

  Grace turned to Dumford. “I’m ready to make a deal.”

  Hard to believe this was the same woman who’d been nervous half an hour ago. Grace had hidden talents.

  She and Fred worked out the details of their deal with Dumford while George sweated and I gave him reassuring looks. At least, that was my intent. I knew Trent was around even though I’d seen no sign of him. That was the whole idea, that he could spy on us and stay hidden.

  But could he see us or hear us down in this basement?

  Even if he was hearing all this, would it be enough for him to make an arrest?

  We needed to walk out with drugs in hand...drugs in Dumford’s hands.

  “She’ll take that box.” I pointed to the middle of the shelves.

  “What?” Dumford, Grace, and George all spoke at once.

  Grace recovered first. “Yes. That’s the one I want. Third row down, middle of that shelf.” She looked at me as if for confirmation.

  It didn’t matter. Any box filled with illegal drugs would do, but it’s always best to be specific. “That box is in the Feng Shui position. Grace is big into Feng Shui. It’s been a guiding force in her life for many years.”

  “That’s right. Fungus on that box. I want it.”

  “You want the whole box your first time?” Dumford asked.

  This might be an opportunity to get Dumford’s confession to Chuck’s murder. I did the folded arms things again and glared at the Puppet Man/Drug Lord. “She’s got a growing boy
at home. You took his daddy away from her. The least you can do is give her the chance to make as much money as he made.”

  “Yeah,” Grace agreed. “You killed my husband. You owe me this.”

  Dumford scowled. “I didn’t kill Chuck. The cops arrested you for that. I’m giving you a chance to help us both, but I don’t owe you nothing. This whole deal is off if you go to prison.”

  My first attempt to get a confession didn’t work too well, but there would be time for that later. For the moment, I’d focus on the drug charges.

  I walked over and peered into the box in question then tugged it toward me. “It’s heavy. Too heavy for Grace. You carry it upstairs.”

  Dumford’s scowl deepened. He thrust a thumb in Fred’s direction. “You’re her manager. You carry it for her.”

  “That’s not in my job description,” he said. “My union would take me to court if I did that.”

  “Your…union?”

  “United Association of Managerial Workers of America, Local 247. If we didn’t have a strict differentiation of duties, the efforts of everyone involved in the revolution would have been squandered. Don’t you agree?”

  One does not disagree with Fred, especially when he descends into jibber-jabber.

  Dumford turned to George. “Carry the damned box.”

  George froze. He knew a cop was outside. He didn’t want to be caught in possession of drugs. His eyes shifted from Dumford to me to Grace and back to me.

  Why were people always looking to me for answers?

  If George carried the drugs outside, that would not prove Dumford’s guilt or contribute to George’s innocence. “Really?” I said. “You’re going to trust him to carry something that valuable?”

  Fred put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure George will be able to take the merchandise upstairs without a problem.”

  George’s eyes bulged to the point I expected them to fly out of his head.

  I knew Fred had a plan. I winked at George, hoping to reassure him. He didn’t look reassured.

  He picked up the box.

  Fred led us through the kitchen and up the stairs.

  As we neared the church door, I became a little nervous about Fred’s plan. He was cutting it close. The exit was only a few feet away.

  Dumford moved ahead to unlock the door.

  Fred fell back to walk beside George then leaned toward him as if to whisper in his ear.

  George tripped. The box of drugs flew across the floor, spilling white packets everywhere. George landed face-first on the carpet.

  Dumford stormed back to the mess. “What the hell?” He had more to say, a lot of words inappropriate for a church. “Get up!” Dumford started tossing packets back into the box. “Get up and help!”

  George staggered to his feet. “I think my knee’s broke!”

  Fred looked innocent. Not that he ever looks guilty.

  Dumford cursed some more as he refilled the box then picked it up. “If you want something done—”

  “Do it yourself,” I finished for him. “I told you not to trust him.”

  My remark earned me a snarl from Dumford. “Least you can do is open the door for me, idiot.”

  George limped forward to comply.

  Dumford hauled his box of drugs through the door.

  George started out, but Fred yanked him back, closed the door, and turned the key Dumford had left in the lock.

  “Police! Put the box down and raise your hands!”

  I recognized that voice. The good guys were here.

  “Open the #$%^&* door!”

  I recognized that voice too. The bad guy was locked outside with his bad drugs.

  It was a good night.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Fred, open the door!” I said. “Trent may need our help!”

  Fred didn’t budge. “I doubt it.”

  “Clear!” Trent called.

  Fred opened the door.

  Cops streamed in, at least a hundred.

  Maybe it was more like three.

  “Show them to the basement, George,” Fred directed.

  As far as I knew, Fred and Trent had not talked. How had Fred known to close the door and lock Dumford and his drugs outside? This event was too well-choreographed to have happened without some planning. When did that planning happen? Why wasn’t I a part of it?

  Later I would demand answers, but at the moment, I needed to see what was going on. I pushed past Fred and out the door.

  “You can’t do this to me!” Two uniformed officers dragged Dumford down the church steps in handcuffs. “I didn’t do anything! This is a setup! This is all that bitch’s fault! If I go down, she goes down with me!”

  I looked behind me at Grace. “You did a great job! He still believes you!”

  One corner of her mouth tilted slightly upward. Close to a smile. “I guess I did, except he never confessed to killing Chuck.”

  “Not yet. He will.”

  “Take these damn handcuffs off me,” Dumford bellowed. “I’m a deacon in this church! I been framed! This was all that bitch’s idea! She didn’t care about Mayfield! She wanted money! I can give you names, lots of names. I’ll give you her name. I’ll give you my cook’s name.”

  For somebody who didn’t do anything, had been set up and framed, he seemed to have a lot of information he was willing to spill.

  “Are you okay?” Out of the darkness and gloom, Trent appeared at my side.

  “Of course.” I tried to sound as if the whole event had been inconsequential, as if I’d always been certain of the outcome and never once scared out of my wits. “You believed me. You brought the entire Pleasant Grove Police Department.”

  “Not quite everybody.” He pulled me close. “I was worried about you.”

  “Have we got a deal?” George intruded on my post-crisis interlude with Trent. “You wouldn’t have caught Dumford without me. I showed those other guys where the drugs are stored.”

  “I’m not sure what kind of deal you want to make,” Trent said. “As far as I know, you aren’t guilty of any criminal acts. Your parole officer probably wouldn’t like to hear about the people you’ve been associating with, but we can keep that between you and me if you stay out of trouble.”

  “Just be sure you don’t make a deal with him!” George thrust an arm toward the squad car in the lot below where officers were shoving a protesting Dumford into the back seat. “He wants to give up other people so you’ll let him go. If you let him go, he’ll kill me!”

  “I’ll do the best I can. Even if the DA decides to cut him a deal in exchange for names, I don’t see him getting off without some prison time.”

  George clenched his fists. “Some prison time? What does that mean? That he could come after me in a year or two?”

  “I doubt it, but I can’t promise anything. Maybe you could give us the names before Dumford does. Then he won’t have anything to bargain with.”

  George dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s been too long. I don’t know anybody anymore.”

  George Murray was a totally despicable person. A drug dealer who’d played on the sympathies of his grandparents, stolen from another drug dealer, broken into Grace’s house, tried to dig up my basement. I did not feel sorry for his plight.

  “If you’d been paying more attention, you’d realize the idiot is trying to give up Grace,” I said. “He still thinks she’s really a drug dealer. That’s not going to get him anywhere.”

  “He’s got other names, real names.”

  “We’ll get him to admit he killed Chuck. He won’t be able to deal himself out of that one.”

  The mist of rain surrounding us became a mist of silence.

  “We all know he did it.” I broke the silence. “Who else? You’ve got him. All you have to do is make him confess.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Trent said. “George, you want to ride with me to the station so we can get your statement?”

  “What?” I snapped. “You’re
going to the station? Now?” We’d made it through the I’ve-got-a-secret phase. It was time to go back to a normal relationship. I wanted to take him home with me, hold him close, at least for the hours remaining before I had to go to work.

  “Yes, now. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do.”

  I sighed. I used to think cops spent all their time chasing bad guys who robbed banks or innocent women who happened to be going a few miles over the arbitrary and ridiculous speed limit. Only after I became involved with Trent did I realize how much time they spend filling out forms.

  Grace moved down the steps to stand on Trent’s other side. “You’ll make him admit he killed Chuck, won’t you?”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  I’ll do what I can? That was not the same thing as, Sure or Will do or No worries, I got this.

  “Call me when you finish with him,” I said. This conversation was far from over.

  “It’s getting close to your bedtime. I don’t want to keep you up.”

  “I am so wired, I won’t be able to sleep even with a bottle of wine!”

  He grinned. “Okay. I’ll call you.”

  “Are you finished with us, Detective Trent?”

  I’d forgotten about Fred. He loomed behind George. He was taller anyway, and standing on a higher step made him appear large and ominous in the mist.

  “You’re taking Lindsay and Grace home?” Trent asked.

  “Yes,” Fred replied.

  Trent gave me a quick kiss on the top of my damp, frizzy head. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  He and George went to his dark blue sedan. George was no longer limping. Apparently his knee wasn’t broke after all.

  “Ready?” Fred asked.

  “Yes,” Grace said immediately.

  I watched Trent and George drive away.

  The evening felt anti-climactic. Such a huge upheaval for what appeared to be minimal results. Dumford would be sent to prison for an undetermined amount of time. His wife would be safe for that time. George would be safe, though George would probably get into trouble again and might even have to share a prison cell with Dumford. That was on him. He’d helped us and we’d helped him. We were square.