“You caught that. Good for you, MacKenzie,” said Williams as he began to disentangle himself from a knot of taped wires and box-like things from under his jacket. “These devices start to itch after a while.”
“Plus, you had to keep me in the dark about what was happening, so my reactions, and to some extent Kyle’s, would be genuine and convincing to Dolan during our confrontation. My naivete would support the idea that the drive was not a trap or a fake, and your death convinced Dolan of your loyalty.”
“That was the plan, in a nutshell.”
“But still, even with my little knowledge, I could have blown the entire operation.”
Williams’ voice became flat. “Let’s just say, we strongly hoped that you wouldn’t. There was, of course, a plan if you inadvertently blew the cover off this operation. If that happened, we would not be having this pleasant chat at this moment . . . if you get my drift.”
Oooh, that sent a shiver up my spine. “I see.”
“But that didn’t happen. You astutely figured out the situation and saw through the masquerade.”
“Yeah — ” I swallowed hard. “I didn’t figure it out until you rose from the dead.”
“So we’re not going to be killed now?” Kyle asked again.
Williams and I looked at him and answered with a resounding, “No!”
Kyle’s immediate reaction was more anger than relief. The resumption of my laughing fit didn’t help matters.
“You knew about this,” said Kyle as he tried to take fraternal jabs at me with his foot. But being spryer than he, I got to my feet, leaving him contorting about on the floor like a snared tuna on a trawler’s deck.
“Honestly, Kyle, I didn’t . . . .I just now figured it out.”
After my brother had calmed down somewhat, Williams and I helped him to his feet. Still complaining that he had been put upon and made to look like a fool, Kyle demanded answers.
Since I was not fully in the loop, so to speak, I didn’t know that much more to tell my brother. And with the restrictions placed on me about what to say and not to say by Mrs. Prosper and friends, I left the explaining business to Williams.
Before starting, our gory associate locked the door and searched around the room the for, Lord only knows what — listening devices, I suppose. When he was satisfied, he had Kyle sit on the bed and told my brother what he could. As it turned out, Williams gave Kyle less information than I did in the car trip over here, which made me a little nervous. Ultimately, Williams tried to impress on Kyle that what he did that day was a heroic service to the country, but that he could never talk about it to anyone. He also mentioned that the government has no special plans for him or me if we keep silent about our recent escapades at the inn. When I heard that last item, I was relieved, but I wondered why the topic would come up at all. I was also happy that Kyle had the good sense not to press Williams for any more information. The adage, “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” still haunted my brain.
On the other hand, I had a whole bunch of questions, but they weren’t for Williams; they were for someone special. You see, the more I thought about what had happened to me over the past several days, the more I was coming to the conclusion that this entire affair had been one big, colossal, deadly hoax.
My thoughts were interrupted by the distinct sound of approaching footsteps. Kyle nervously eyed the door, but Williams seemed to be completely unconcerned. He had brought out from his jacket pocket something like a cell phone and was preoccupied diddling about with its keys.
There was a knock at the door.
“Don’t worry, guys. You can open it,” Williams said, nonchalantly as he worked his device.
Another knock.
“Open the door,” I said to my suspicious brother.
“No. It’s best that you do it,” said Kyle as he signaled with his eyes for me to go to the door. He discreetly retrieved his gun and held it at the ready.
Another knock, louder than the previous ones.
“I’m coming.” I unlocked the door and opened it.
“Hi, Old Sport, had a rough day?”
“Bo?”
My ex-girlfriend, who was wearing a cam jumpsuit and toting some sort of long barrel assault rifle, wasted no more time on pleasantries. She pushed past me and walked straight to Williams.
“It was you who shot at us from the window,” I said as my eyes followed her into the room.
“I didn’t shoot at you. I shot at the wall . . . there and there,” said Bo, gleefully pointing to the two holes in the wall next to me. “Have you forgotten, Old Sport, that I am an excellent shot.” I’m glad that she didn’t wait for an answer. I remembered so many things about Boswell, but her being a markswoman wasn’t one them. “I always wanted to participate in the Olympic games, but work was always preventing my trying out for the team. Alas, Old Sport, such is life.”
She turned to Williams. “It’s all clear; he’s gone. We can leave now.”
“That’s it then,” responded Williams as he put away his gizmo. “Guys, you will come with us. We are to escort you back to . . . ?”
“Albany, for debriefing,” added Bo.
“Albany? . . . To Albany then,” said Williams.
“Albany? Albany, New York?” said Kyle.
“Don’t fret about it, Kyle. It’s less than a three-hour drive from here. Plenty of places for you to eat on the way,” said Bo smugly.
”I can’t go Albany. Why Albany?” protested Kyle.
“You don’t really have a choice in the matter, Sheriff,” said Williams.
“What happened to Dolan?” I asked and let the topic of our pending destination go by the boards for the moment, “Where is he?”
“Dolan is no longer your concern,” said Williams.
“He is if he thinks that Kyle and I are somehow a threat to him,” I countered.
Bo and Williams looked at each other in the way that two kids would before they shoot fingers to choose who is it. Boswell lost. “He is on his way out of the country.”
“Out of the country?” said Kyle.
There was a long silence from Bo and Williams; too much silence for Kyle’s comfort, and much too long for mine. “We have to stop him,” said Kyle, “before he gets away.”
“We should be going,” said Williams.
“Your people will catch him before he does?” Kyle pressed the issue again.
“No, they aren’t, Kyle,” I said — things were becoming clear to me.
“Are you kidding me!” protested Kyle. “That guy, Dolan, is guilty of murder, assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, assaulting a police officer, hitting Rich over the head with — ”
“Kyle,” I said, “nobody will go after him. Dolan could as well have strangled the President’s wife and the Pope’s aunt Tilly while they were both attending a PTA meeting at a children’s hospital. It still wouldn’t matter. Agent Boswell and her colleagues are letting Dolan get away.”
“Wh, wh, why?” asked Kyle.
Our two camouflage-dressed companions stayed quiet again.
I answered for them. “Because Dolan has to get away.” Williams’ countenance conveyed as much information to me as would a blank sheet of paper, but Bo’s was telling. Maybe because of our history together, but I could read something in her eyes that told me I was correct about Dolan. — Yes, that was it! The cold hearted truth of the matter was Dolan had to get away; otherwise this entire charade would have been done in vain. Why make a big deal about getting the thumb drive to him if you were going to arrest him? — “Isn’t that so?”
Williams broke the duet’s silence. “As I said before, MacKenzie, you are smart, but you also know that we can’t tell you anything more about it.”
That I did, but I knew someone who could.
With the Dolan gone off to points unknown, I thought it safe enough for me to return to the room that Morgana and I stayed in and to pick up our things. Outside of the fact, that the acrid smell of tear gas and sm
oke had leeched into our clothes, I found our things were pretty much in the same condition as I left them. Stuffing our gear into two matching sand colored travel bags as I would dress a pair of capons for roasting, I was ready to quit the Whyte Post and happy never to see it again — some romantic weekend!
When I got downstairs to the lobby, my three companions were busily engaged in a heated discussion about the arrangements to Albany. “I’ll drive!” Kyle declared. “I have the keys to the car that Rich and I arrived in, so I’ll drive.”
“Hand them over, Sheriff,” ordered Williams. “I’m driving. That’s the end of it.”
With a grunt, my brother dug into his pocket and eventually pulled out the SUV keys, and reluctantly gave them to the agent.
“Don’t worry, Kyle,” I said while waving my keys, “you can drive my car.”
“Righty-oh!” Kyle marched over to me, got my keys, and the two of us briskly headed towards the exit.
“Hold on you two; you don’t where you’re going,” yelled Bo.
“Yes, we do,” I said. “We’re out of here, and we’ll follow you. I promise.”
They didn’t seem to believe me. No sooner had Kyle and I got to the doorway that Bo and Williams trapped us between them. “You two are going in SUV,” said Williams. “We are all traveling to Albany — together. And I’m driving.”
Williams sounded grumpy, and I knew what he was capable of doing, and I was in no mood for him to do it on me, so I acquiesced. “Fine, fine. We will all go in the SUV. Kyle, would you lock up my car, please.”
Kyle aimed the remote, which was attached to the keys, at my car.
The engine began to crank up.
“Kyle, you started up the car. To lock the car, press the button with the picture of a lock on — ”
There was a flash — an explosion — and ringing in my ears.
An intense ball of fire suddenly consumed my car. Falling to the ground, the four of us threw our hands in front of our faces to guard against the heat. The explosion reverberated, like thunder, down through the river valley. Within a split second my car ceased to be a source of transportation and became a burning testament to wonders of modern chemistry.
As car parts and dirt precipitated from the sky, I must have given my brother a look similar to ones that my father gave him when my brother brought home bad report cards. And true to ingrained habits, Kyle gave the same immediate response as he did years ago. “Oops, sorry.”
“My car blows up, and all you can say is, ‘oops, sorry?’” There was a moment when I really thought I was going to beat him silly with the carry-on luggage.
“Hey, Rich, Kyle didn’t do it,” Bo said as she came between the two of us. “This must have been Dolan’s work.”
Deep down, I knew that she was at least partially correct. My flash of anger fizzled out. My overreaction stemmed from the many painful experiences that Kyle’s ineptitude caused me over years. Those little irreparable physical and mental injuries that I have tried to forget as an adult — a broken nose, a destroyed bicycle, a lost book report, a mangled teddy bear, the loss of my bedroom when he was a baby, and the such. I let go of my bag and watched the flames eat what was left of my car. What else could I do?
Bo put her hand on my shoulder. “The bright side of this is that if you two had used your car for the trip, you all would have been inside that inferno.”
The nearby flames looked like something out of Dante’s Inferno. Each tongue of flame took on a fiendish shape that danced amid my vehicle’s skeletal remains.
“Rich, I’m sorry,” said Kyle, “but I did press the unlock button on the remote. But the motor started instead. Maybe when the bomb was placed some of the wiring got disturbed, screwing up the signal for the remote.”
As Kyle pled his case, I saw that young girl, who had been haunting me for the last two days, come out from my car and stare right at me. She was totally oblivious to the blazing wreckage around her. She just simply looked at me.
“She could be burnt to ashes,” I said to myself, louder than I should have.
“Who?” asked Kyle.
“That girl by the car.”
“Girl?”
“There by the car.” I pointed to her for Kyle to see, but as I did, she slowly started to walk away, in the direction of the river.
“Rich, I don’t see a girl,” said someone.
I didn’t stay to debate; I ran to follow her.
The girl went down a narrow path that meandered from the inn’s parking area to the river bank, the trail ending not far from the spot where Dolan tried to get me on his boat. Though she didn’t appear to be in any hurry, I had a difficult time keeping up with her. She always managed to stay several yards in front of me.
She finally stopped by the river, or as I should correctly say, she stopped several feet from the bank, in the river. She stood in the very same spot where I felt that I was being held under when Dolan dropped me from his boat. The water was almost up to girl’s chest. She just stood there in the water and sort of smiled at me. As I cautiously approached her, I could see that the river’s water level was much lower than it was the day before, when I took my plunge. By the speed of the floating debris, I could tell there was still a strong current in that muddy flood, but it didn’t affect the mysterious child at all. Neither she nor any square inch of her clothing moved or fluttered in accordance with the rushing waters. She quietly stood in the river and looked at me.
I heard voices behind me; I turned and saw Bo, Williams, and finally Kyle emerge from the path. “The girl is in the river,” I looked at my followers as I pointed in the direction of my chase.
“What girl?” shouted Bo.
I turned again to face the river, and she was gone.
“She was there in the water,” I yelled back. I began to panic that the girl had been dragged under by the current.
“Where?” said Bo.
I didn’t waste my breath in answering. I ran into murky, cold, angry water. Kyle called for me to come back. Bo echoed his pleas, but I was going to put an end to this once and for all. The water was almost waist high when I got to the spot where I last saw my mysterious visitor. No sooner had I reached the place, I slipped or was pushed by a variant in the current, and toppled to my knees. The water came up over my shoulders. My hand went down to the river bed, and instinctively tried grab hold of anything to prevent myself being carried down the river again. I got hold of something that felt like a chunk of broken pottery. It seemed smooth to the touch and round like a teapot. My wayward thumb even got stuck in its spout. In short order, I regained my footing and stood up. I felt too cold and dizzy to continue my chase. As I returned to shore, I discovered that my thumb wasn’t stuck in a cast-off teapot — it wasn’t even pottery. What I had in my hand was a skull — a skull, as it turned out to be, of a young girl. And for the second time that day, I fainted.
#
CHAPTER 24
An omnipresent mist dominated the autumn morning air and diminished the sun’s warmth from all who had assembled in the Eddy family cemetery at the northeast corner of the Whyte Post Inn’s property. The neighboring trees were unusually bare for that time of year since the storm of the century had stripped them of their colorful attire and transformed the distant Vermont Green Mountains into a range of taupe-gray. The dislodged leaves clung to the dormant grass and to one’s shoes like wet scraps of construction paper. From an artist’s eye, I suppose, the scene could serve as quintessential portrayal of an October morning in New England. But for me it was Mother Nature’s way of giving closure to a troubled soul.
I observed Mr. Hograve, solemn-faced, his head slightly bowed. He held the collar of his overcoat tightly to his neck and mumbled to himself. Next to him stood his wife, who looked tired and a bit confused, having just arrived from Florida the night before last. All of the housekeeping staff of the Whyte Post Inn that I knew were in attendance to pay their respects. My brother and Deputy Peterson showed up — honoring my requ
est that they be there. And, of course, my ever caring and loving wife was at my side, looking fantastic in her new black coat.
Ignoring the elements the best we could, we all gathered around the donated small white coffin suspended over the freshly dug grave. The local Congregationalist minister, Rev. Holden Nutter, whom Kyle had persuaded to officiate at our impromptu ceremony, finished his graveside prayers with a somber ‘Amen.’
With no more to be said, four men in crumpled black suits lowered the casket into its final resting place. In short order, they were replaced by two burly guys from the We Keep Things Beautiful Landscaping Company, as indicated by the inscription on the back of their jackets.
Seeing the first shovelfuls of earth drop into the small grave, I whispered to myself, “Good-bye, Ariel. Rest in peace and . . . thank you.”
“Are you okay?” asked Morgana as she took my right hand and snuggled her arm around mine.
“Uh . . . yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” I saw Morgana’s lower lip tighten. “And you, my dear, I bet you’re cold.”
“Just a little chilly. But the worse thing is this mist. My hair is frizzing into a rat’s nest.” She snuggled closer. I felt her shiver. No doubt that she was colder than she let on.
Kyle, who was on the far side of the grave during the service, walked over to me. “How are you doing?”
“I’m all right,” I said, staring into the grave.
“Really?”
“I’m fine,” I sort of growled for being doubted. “Why is everyone asking me, ‘How am I doing?’ as if I’m the poor kid’s father?”
I saw Morgana and Kyle give each other a knowing look.
“Well,” started Morgana, “it was you who insisted on having the remains buried here in this old cemetery and hold a service.”
“Ayuh, that was the fatherly thing to do if you ask me,” said Kyle. “And if we consider how close you were with the girl — ”
“Close?” I protested. “She died over sixty years before I was born. I may have offhandedly said that I had seen shadows, or something of the kind, that reminded me of her portrait that hangs in the inn. That’s all. I had a concussion. We weren’t close.”
FATED TO THE PURPOSE (Richard and Morgana MacKenzie Mysteries Book 2) Page 29