Forget Me Not: A Novel (Crossroads Crisis Center)

by Vicki Hinze

  “A few days ago.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Doris said. “Mr. Denham has been in Europe for weeks.”

  Ben cocked his head. “He might be in Europe now, but he was at Gregory Chessman’s dinner party then.”

  That triggered Kelly’s memory. “I talked to him not fifteen minutes before the carjacking.”

  “Was it a foreign call?” Harvey asked.

  “It was his cell number.” Kelly shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “He could be forwarding from anywhere,” Mark said.

  “So what is this person trying to tell me with all this?” Kelly couldn’t figure it out. She looked to the next photo and gasped. “That’s him, Ben.” She pointed. “One of the carjackers.”

  Mark bent over and took a hard look. “His name is Edward Johnson. He and his partner, Harry Donaldson, were killed in a car explosion this morning.” He paused. “Well, that might not prove exactly accurate.”

  Harvey rocked forward in his chair. “How can that not be accurate? They’re either dead or they’re not.”

  “Oh, they’re dead,” Mark said. “Edward was behind the wheel in his car. Someone rigged explosives to the starter. But Harry’s body was found in the trunk. Jeff Meyers spotted a bullet hole in Harry’s forehead. They’re assuming it was Harry, anyway, since the car blew up in his yard and someone bled a lot on his bed. Splatter pattern suggests it was a gunshot, but they’re still sorting it all out.”

  “What does the note say?” Lisa asked.

  Kelly opened the folded page and read. “‘If you are reading this, it means I am dead.’”

  Ben turned to Peggy. “How did this get here?”

  “The Shipping Store messenger brought it. Carl.”

  “I’ve already quizzed him,” Harvey told the group. “He couldn’t really describe the man who’d brought it in, but my money’s on Paul Johnson.”

  “Why?” Mark asked.

  “Two reasons,” Harvey said. “Edward was already dead, so he couldn’t have brought it in. And because Carl said the man told him it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to walk it down because it was an anonymous gift from Mr. Chessman. Who else but Paul Johnson would handle something like that for Gregory?”

  Kelly looked at Ben. “A lot of roads are taking us right to him.”

  “Yes, they are.” Ben looked back at the note.

  “But why would Paul Johnson say that unless he wanted this connected to Chessman?”

  “He wouldn’t.” Ben frowned. ““What else does the note say? Anything?”

  “No, that’s it,” Kelly said. “Wait. There’s a second page. It was stuck.” She peeled the clinging pages apart and read what was written on it out loud. “Beach house. Tonight. Ten o’clock. Heavily armed. Call in FBI. You must stop them. Severe national consequences.”

  “Ouch.” Lisa grimaced. “That sounds really bad.” Her cell phone chimed. She looked at the number and grumbled. “Excuse me.” Shoulders bent, she left the room.

  From the looks around the table watching her departure, the caller had to be either her harassing stepfather or her conflicted mother. Bless Lisa’s heart.

  Mark asked Peggy, “Is Dutch still harassing her? Even with the restraining order?”

  “Not as much. Just when he gets tanked up or Annie is slow to do something he wants her to do.” Peggy glanced at Kelly. “Annie is Lisa’s mother.”

  Kelly nodded, noting Mark’s special interest in Lisa. It seemed Peggy was fostering it too.

  Mark’s frown was fierce. “We have to do something about that man.”

  “We will. But one problem at a time, okay?” Peggy fanned a hand down the table. “So what does all this mean?”

  “Whatever this is, it’s out of our league.” Bent doubled over the photos, Kelly slid a worried look to Ben. “It’s time to call in the FBI.”

  Mumbles of agreement sounded from everyone at the table.

  “If you don’t want to ruffle feathers, Ben,” Mark said, “better call the locals and let them call in reinforcements. They get touchy about anyone invading their turf uninvited.”

  Ben agreed, and then made the call.

  Paul had watched Carl the messenger walk down the block to deliver the envelope promptly at three. He could be trusted, and Paul made a mental note of that.

  Then he’d waited until he’d seen Kelly and Ben return to Crossroads. Minutes later, Mark Taylor arrived. Where they’d been, Paul didn’t know. He hadn’t been able to trail them all day. When they all came to the center, however, he knew all was well. They’d get the message in time to coordinate the bust.

  Paul flipped open his phone and called Chessman. He was either at or watching a ball game. “Hello, sir.”

  “Get your business done?”

  “Absolutely.” More than the man could ever imagine. He’d be in prison at least forty years. Maybe longer. Of course, he’d be dead before then, but regardless, his days of a life of luxury were nearly at an end.

  “Are you calling for a reason? I’m a bit busy.”

  “Sorry to intrude, sir. You asked me to let you know when the mayor returned. He isn’t yet officially back, but Mrs. Green is out and about, so unless they traveled separately, I’d say the mayor is back in the village.”

  “Thank you, Paul. Anything else?”

  “No sir.”

  “See you at ten sharp.”

  “Yes sir.”

  He shouldn’t have betrayed Paul Johnson. No one set him up to take the fall.

  Soon, Gregory Chessman would learn the penalty for that, and he would pay it.

  Gregory hung up the phone, dialed John’s personal business number, then texted him yet another message: THIRD CONTACT ATTEMPT. ON SCHEDULE. TRANSPORT POSITIONED. FINAL COUNT TWELVE. ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT OF THIS MESSAGE.

  Extremely irritating thing for a secret partner to do, ignoring messages—particularly at this critical time. If his cooperation wasn’t crucial—his trophy wife, the airhead, who owned the Crestburg Airport—then Gregory would drop John Green so fast his head would spin. He’d been a solid partner, at times perfect. But mayor or not, his lack of professionalism on this shipment was dangerous and annoying.

  Gregory didn’t like being annoyed. Especially on shipment nights …

  26

  Detective Meyers stashed Ben, Kelly, and Mark across the street from the beach house. “Watch that water hose,” Meyers told Kelly. “Don’t trip.”

  Kelly stepped over the hose snaking across the lawn and followed Ben and Mark onto the porch. “Won’t these people mind us being here?”

  “They’re seasonal,” Jeff said. “No one’s here this time of year.”

  “Jeff,” Mark said from behind her, “I still don’t like the idea of Kelly being out here. We have no idea—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You can’t know that.” Ben stepped closer, protectively clasping her hand.

  Jeff swiped at his pug nose. “I had no choice, Mark. The mayor isn’t back from New Orleans yet—still out of reach—which is an advantage, considering we’re keeping him out of the loop on this. But Kelly summoning us here is all that’s saving us and the FBI from issues with authorization. We could do it without her, but the timing could be problematic.”

  At least that had worked out for them. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ben scan the beach house and the neighboring properties. Unless his eyes were far better than hers, he couldn’t see much of anything through the darkness and fog, and no one else seemed to be in the vicinity.

  “When will the FBI get here?” Ben asked Jeff.

  “They’ve been in position for nearly an hour.” He dropped his voice so it wouldn’t carry beyond their little porch circle. “When I described the saltwater pool leading into the gulf, they went a little nuts.”

  “I hope the activity hasn’t signaled NINA.” Kelly fretted that it might have, and who knew when another opportunity would come to nab NINA red-handed. “How many agents are out here?”


  “Together with my folks,” Jeff said, “nineteen.”

  She hadn’t seen the first sign of any of them. The vise gripping her chest loosened. She could actually draw a deep breath.

  He rested a hand on the butt of his gun. “Just lay low, don’t talk or make any noise, and stay put. No matter what happens, do not leave this porch.”

  Kelly sat on the bench at the far end of the porch, leaving the two chairs for Ben and Mark. They sat down and the wait began, minutes creeping by.

  At 9:45, two cars drove up the street and stopped near the curb at the beach house. The tension on the porch went dense in an instant and grew thick enough to slice. Kelly stiffened, folded her hands in her lap, gazed heavenward, and prayed.

  A man got out of each of the cars. She recognized them both: Chessman and Alexander Denham. Betrayal shot through her, sharp and swift. Denham had taken her into his house but never into his heart. She’d regretted that, wondered a million times what was wrong with her, why she was so unlovable. She’d put herself through years of anguish in all the ways only a confused child and teen could. So self-destructive but oh, so human.

  She’d regretted, but not until this very moment did she realize just how much she’d also resented.

  Yet he’d never treated her as Samuel had. He’d never put her in a closet or cursed her or called her a stupid girl. He’d controlled and manipulated her, but he’d also spent countless hours teaching her how to manage money, to delegate authority, to make sound decisions. She owed him for that, and it made doing what she was doing here hard.

  And real.

  The secret hope that he had known Chessman but hadn’t been involved in his criminal activities died. Her former guardian was here, and that alone conclusively proved his guilt.

  The back of her nose burned and her eyes stung. She blinked fast, swallowed hard—and the truth she’d been too preoccupied to notice slammed into her.

  He was involved.

  And he’d known where she’d been most of the past three years they’d been looking for her.

  NINA.

  Of course, NINA. Frequent trips to Europe—he was up to his Russian neck in NINA. So why hadn’t he told Chessman or that NINA guy on the terrace where to find her?

  Money.

  He made a fortune monitoring her assets when she was on the run. He’s manipulated you all your life, but even more so the past three years. Power. Control. Points with his cohorts. Money from you.

  He’d used her—and them.

  Now he stood on the sidewalk, talking with Chessman. In the silent darkness, their muffled voices carried across the street, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  As the minutes ticked by, Gregory grew more and more agitated, pacing the walkway, checking his watch. He had to be waiting for someone else to arrive. Paul Johnson, perhaps?

  Plausible, considering he had caused the photos and note to be delivered and they were responsible for the authorities being here.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Gregory tried a half-dozen times to reach someone by phone, and each time he failed his voice elevated more and his tone sharpened.

  By ten o’clock, the man was outraged. Denham was saying something to him, using soothing hand gestures. But they seemed futile.

  Something rustled off the end of the porch. Kelly’s heart skipped a beat, then thudded. She clasped her mouth to stay silent.

  An officer dressed all in black—head to toe—slid onto the porch. Getting close, he whispered in Kelly’s ear. “I need to get you civilians out of here. We’ve had a change of plans.”

  Why? She mouthed the word but didn’t utter a sound.

  Again, the officer bent close. “Stay close.” He signaled Ben and Mark to follow, then slid off the porch.

  Kelly, Ben, and Mark followed, cut straight away from the street, and moved quickly between two beach houses to the backyard.

  The officer stopped and everyone gathered close.

  “What’s up?” Ben asked.

  He pulled off his mask. Jeff Meyers. “Bad news. Mayor Green had a massive heart attack last night in New Orleans. He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kelly said, adding her regrets to those of Ben and Mark.

  “The FBI says we’re covered, but I need Kelly here, and yet I can’t risk anything happening to any of you, so I want you to stay back here until I come after you.”

  Meyers stilled, held up a staying fingertip, then clearly listened to some earpiece transmission. He swung his lip mike down, then whispered, “Roger.”

  “Did someone else arrive?” Kelly whispered.

  Meyers shook his head. “They’ve gone inside. I’ve got to get back. Stay here, and lay low.”

  Kelly waited until he left, then started back to the porch, reversing the path they’d just taken.

  Ben circled her in his arms from behind, tugged her back, close to him, and whispered close to her ear, “What are you doing?”

  “We need to see. They don’t know what to expect any more than we do. What if a small army comes through there? Someone’s got to get word out that more help is needed.”

  “No.” Ben frowned at her. “They’re professionals and know what they’re doing. Jeff said—”

  She broke loose and kept moving, hugging the slatted house at her back, slid back up onto the porch, but stayed on the floor rather than the bench.

  Ben and Mark flanked her and simultaneously chewed her out.

  She ignored them and kept watch on the porch across the street. That bad feeling had come back, and it was blaring warning alarms like the ones used to signal five-alarm fires. She had no idea why or what she could do, but she felt strongly compelled to get back on the porch. And believing it was God nudging her, she listened.

  Ben’s phone must have vibrated; he pulled it from his hip, cupping his hand to block the light, and read a text message. “It’s Peggy,” Ben whispered close to her ear. “Says to call her.”

  Whatever it was, for Peggy to text him here, it had to be more bad news. Inside Kelly staggered. She just couldn’t take any more. She was already under attack on all sides.

  Gunfire erupted.

  Shouts filled the night, and flashes of fire broke through the fog and darkness going both into and out of the beach house. Who had moved first, she had no idea, but both sides were now fully engaged.

  The front door to the beach house burst open.

  Armed men hurled themselves through windows, pouring out. They hit the ground running, taking off in all directions with guns firing fast and steady, providing cover.

  Full pandemonium erupted.

  Chaos reigned.

  Kelly had a difficult time telling who was who.

  Then Denham ran out and jumped off the beach house porch. A beefy man opened the path for him. He crossed the street and ran in a zigzag pattern down the block, the beefy man knocking out anything that threatened his path. The farther away he got, the more anxious Kelly became. She couldn’t stand it anymore. “Denham’s getting away!”

  Mark and Ben took off down the street, hugging the lawns, and quickly closed the gap. Mark took down the beefy man, hitting him hard from behind, and Ben lunged, tackling Denham.

  On three sides of Kelly, men battled. A flash of movement on the beach house porch snagged her eye. She’d thought it was empty now, and so apparently had everyone else.

  Chessman.

  He’d waited until everyone was engaged to surface.

  He rushed down the steps and cut straight across the street, coming right toward her.

  Kelly eased off the porch, hid behind a row of bushes, and bumped into the water spigot. Pain shot through her thigh. The hose was attached. She strained to see its snaky path across the lawn. There was no way she could win in hand-to-hand combat against Chessman, but maybe, with divine intervention, she could slow him down.

  She dropped to a squat, grabbed the hose attached to the spigot, and watched his progress. He was going to cut through
this beach house’s yard. He got closer … closer. Sweat chilled her body. Her palms were slick. She swiped them one at a time against her pants, then tested her grip. Closer. And closer. Then judging the timing right, she jerked hard.

  The hose came up.

  Chessman went down with a loud grunt and swoosh of breath.

  “Help! Chessman’s loose! Chessman’s loose!” There was no weapon, nothing she could use to restrain him.

  And then Ben and Jeff were there, fighting Chessman. Ben took a series of hard blows that had him staggering backward, and finally Jeff knocked out Gregory’s knee with a hard kick.

  He dropped like a stone onto the ground, and Jeff cuffed him.

  Kelly crawled out of the bushes and ran toward them.

  “I should have killed you myself.” Chessman spat on the grass.

  Ben pressed his foot over Chessman’s throat.

  “Don’t do it, Ben,” Jeff said. “Let him live and suffer. Dying is too easy.”

  Ben shook, clearly fighting the urge to crush Chessman’s throat. He clenched his teeth, stiffened while the battle inside him raged, but he didn’t seem able to stop.

  “Ben. Ben, don’t.” Kelly stopped beside him, adrenaline rushing through her, fear squeezing her chest. “Please.”

  He stared at her.

  “Please, Ben.” She couldn’t be responsible for him too. Not Susan and him too.

  Finally, he withdrew his foot and backed away. “Live, Chessman. Live a long, long time.”

  Relief swamped Kelly, turning her knees to rubber.

  “Weak.” Chessman grunted again as Jeff pulled him to his feet. “Pathetic.”

  Battling her own temptation to slap him, Kelly took his criticism for what it was worth: nothing. “I’ll try to forgive you, Mr. Chessman, but I’ll be honest. I’m going to have to really, really work at it.”

  He pulled his shoulders back, puffed his chest, and glared down at her. “I don’t want your forgiveness.”

  She smiled right up into his outraged face. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me.”

  His eyes narrowed, squinted. “You’re a brainless idiot.”

  “I’m a woman of faith,” she corrected him, “and forgiving you frees me.” The wind whipped at her hair. She smoothed it back from her face. “Every day for the rest of your life, you’ll be in prison, thinking of me. But after tonight, Mr. Chessman, I will rarely think of you. I’ll be living my life. Going to church, building my safe centers, and being content.”