“Adding insult to injury, is that it?” Mary asked.
“Exactly,” Roy told Mary. “Your own paper is going to write your obituary.” Roy stopped grinning and aimed a deadly glare at Mary. “No one gets the best of Roy Delston and lives to tell about it,” he hissed. “No one ever gets the best of Roy Delston, do you hear me? I put my guard down at the river, Mrs. Holland, but rest assured, now that I know you’re dangerous, I will never make the same mistake again.”
Mary gently pressed down on her right ankle. Her ankle was healthy again—but still hurt when she placed too much pressure on it at one time. She could walk without limping but had to apply effort to do so. If she tried to attack Roy, tried to escape, tried to run, Mary feared her ankle wouldn’t hold up. She needed to think—be smart—and remain calm. “What are you planning to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to drive you to the river and drown you,” Roy informed Mary in a sick tone that sent chills down Mary.
Mary knew Roy wasn’t lying. Oh, how she wished Stephanie and Andy hadn’t decided to go on a picnic with Stephanie’s parents. But then she thought about Betty and felt grateful that her friend had managed to leave the office without being captured by Roy. Only William offered hope, but William was lost in thought at his typewriter, struggling to write about a crippled mayor. “You’re—”
“You’re going to write your own obituary first,” William ordered Mary. “That’s why I came to this newspaper. You’re going to write your own obituary and then we’re going to take a drive out to the country. I have picked the perfect spot for you to die...a very nice and perfectly deep spot in the river.” Roy saw Mary look at the office door. “And don’t assume the clown sitting in the front room will save you,” he taunted Mary. “That man is as dumb as a bag of dirt. But let me warn you, if you try anything funny I’ll kill him right in front of your very eyes.”
Roy wasn’t lying. Mary knew the killer meant every word he spoke. “Don’t hurt William,” she begged. “He’s been through enough.”
“Oh yes,” Roy said in a disgusted voice, “he told me about his...little accident...that has prevented him from fighting in the war.” Roy rolled his eyes. “People sicken me with their tales of sorrow.”
“You—”
“Up,” Roy hissed at Mary and pointed to her desk. “It’s time for you to write your obituary, Mrs. Holland. And afterward you’re going for a swim. Of course your hands and legs will be tied together,” Roy added with a smirk.
Mary slowly stood up and studied her desk. Maybe Roy did have a gun, and maybe the snake did have the upper hand, but he was standing in a newspaper office, on Mary’s fighting ground...and well, Mary told herself, no one threatened her in her own office. She was a newspaper woman, and a newspaper woman never stopped fighting. “Okay, John,” she whispered, “I’m not going to give up the fight.” Mary walked over to her desk, leaning more on her left ankle than her right, sat down, and looked up at Roy. It was clear to her that Roy Delston, even though he was an overweight blob with a murderous heart, wasn’t a stupid man. In fact, the man was very clever—deadly clever.
But, Mary thought to herself, the man was also very arrogant. She could plainly see that Roy honestly believed the people of Pineville were just as gullible as the people he had threatened and bullies back in Oregon. And that, Mary thought, was his fatal mistake. “What now?”
“Start writing,” Roy ordered Mary.
Mary slowly began lowering her hand down to the top right desk drawer. Roy shook his head at her. “I need paper,” Mary informed Roy and tapped the old typewriter sitting on the desk. “I can’t type without paper.”
“Very well,” Roy agreed, keeping a careful eye on Mary.
Mary pulled open the desk drawer, reached her hand down, felt her husband’s old gun that she had placed in the drawer after her first encounter with a crooked FBI agent, and looked up at Roy. “I’m all out of paper,” she said. “William was supposed to fill this drawer with typing paper while I was away.”
Roy hissed. He turned his head away from Mary for a brief second and studied the office door. A brief second was all Mary needed. She quickly snatched the gun out of the drawer and placed it down on her lap and then slapped her hand back before Roy could turn his head back around. “You will write your own obituary,” he demanded in an irritated voice and focused his eyes on the wooden filing cabinet standing next to Mary’s desk. “There has to be writing paper in this office.”
“All of our writing paper is located in the supply room,” Mary explained and carefully closed the desk drawer and placed her right hand down onto the desk, appearing weak and scared.
Roy drew in a furious breath. “Go get the paper,” he ordered. “I will follow you. If you try anything funny, I will bypass your drowning, shoot you where you stand, kill the idiot sitting out front, and then wait until your friend Betty returns and kill her.”
Mary stared at Roy. The time had arrived for her to return to a battlefield that she believed had become silent and forgotten. “Okay, John,” she whispered, feeling her husband standing inside of her heart with a proud smile, “I won’t give up the fight...I’ll finish the story.” Mary glanced down at her nervous hands, thought of Betty’s sweet and innocent face, and nodded. “You risked your life to save me...now it’s my turn to return the favor.”
“Get up,” Roy ordered Mary.
Mary slowly began to stand up as autumn leaves rained down outside of the office window. Outside on the sidewalk, no one knew Mary was in trouble. But William—the small-town reporter who appeared dumb in the eyes of the killer—knew exactly what dangerous event was taking place.
William, hearing the drawer open and realizing Mary had most likely placed John’s gun in her lap, backed away from the door. He thought for a second and then approached the door again. “Mrs. Holland?” he called out and knocked on the front door. “Mrs. Holland, there’s a call for you!”
Roy swung away from Mary and threw his eyes at the office door, turning his back to Mary. Mary didn’t waste a second. She flew to her feet and aimed her husband’s gun directly at Roy. “Don’t move!” she yelled, feeling terrified and a bit silly. But what did you say to a killer who was holding a gun?
Roy rotated his neck and spotted Mary pointing a gun at him. Rage erupted in his heart. How had the woman managed to get the best of him for a second time? Before he could come up with an answer, the office door burst open. William appeared holding one of John’s old gold clubs. “Put the gun down!” he ordered Roy in a voice that shocked Mary.
Roy glared at Mary with rage and then focused on William. The small-town idiot suddenly didn’t seem so idiotic after all. In fact, Roy noticed, the small-town idiot looked fierce and prepared for battle. But Roy didn’t care. The rage poisoning his heart blocked the passage of any logical thinking. “I’m going to kill you!” he yelled and yanked his firing hand up into the air, hoping to get at least one shot at Mary.
“Mary!” William yelled, seeing Roy attempting to take a desperate aim at his boss and friend. He charged forward, lifted the gold club into the air, and brought it down on Roy’s firing hand just as he began to fire. Roy felt—and heard—bones shatter in his hand just as a bullet exploded from the gun Mary was aiming at him. The last thing he saw before being pulled under a deep river that he would never escape from was Mary’s brave face staring down a deadly monster that she no longer feared.
Mary saw Roy crumple down to the floor and lie still. She lowered her gun and looked at William. “I thought...how did you—”
William pointed to the Model 40-140T Philco Radio sitting on Mary’s desk. “You always turn on the radio,” he explained. “When I didn’t hear music coming from your office, I figured something was wrong.”
“I was hoping you would catch that,” Mary told William in a grateful voice. She walked out from behind her desk and looked down at Roy. “William, you saved my life,” she said. “Maybe your injury did prevent you from fighting in the war.
..but you’re fighting your own war right here in Pineville.” Mary pointed down at Roy. “And today you won a very important battle.”
William locked his eyes on Roy. “Small-town living isn’t always as it seems,” he told Mary. “I better go get the sheriff.” William left Mary’s office feeling proud of his bravery. Sure, he thought, a real story had occurred and sooner or later he would be forced to return to writing about boring small-town stuff, but so what? The simple things in life, he was learning, were far more important than writing about bright light stories that seemed good but were, in fact, a waste of time. Writing about hometown people enjoying a pumpkin contest, he realized, stepping out into the crisp autumn day, was far more important than writing about a killer. Real people made headlines...the rats of the world only poisoned the press.
After Mary heard William leave the office, she backed away to her desk and looked down at Roy. “How did you find the gold?” she whispered. “And speaking of gold...oh my!” Mary placed John’s gun down and snatched up the telephone and made a long-distance call to John Cunningham. “How soon can you get here?” she asked.
“Are you sure you can find the gold?” John Cunningham asked, standing in his warm, cozy living room staring out a front window at a front yard soaked with autumn leaves.
“Yes,” Mary promised.
John closed his eyes, saw hundreds of his people sitting in a safe village. He saw children playing, women talking and cooking, and brave men returning from hunting trips. He saw blue skies and autumn trees reaching for corn and pumpkin fields. “Mary, my people will always be in debt to you,” he whispered in a grateful voice. “I...assumed the gold was gone forever. Every day I have been searching for Mr. Delston’s truck but have not been able to locate it.”
“John, Roy Delston is lying dead on my office floor,” Mary assured John. “All of our enemies are...gone. Now it’s time to finish this story and put the gold in your hands, where it belongs.”
“You are an honorable woman, Mary,” John told Mary, hearing the sound of sweet children playing in his heart. “I will leave immediately.”
Mary made sure John had her address, and then said: “The gold will be waiting at my house,” she promised.
“My people can now rest,” John sighed and gently hung up the phone. He looked outside as a tear dripped from his eye. “My people can now rest.”
Mary put down the phone, rubbed her chin, and then looked down at Roy. “Well...there’s only one way to know,” she said. She bravely ran to Roy and began going through the man’s pockets. “Ah,” she said, finding the key to Roy’s truck. Next she found a key to the local hotel. “Okay, away we go.” Mary stormed out of the paper, nursing her right ankle. As she did, she bumped right into Betty. “Betty!”
“I forgot my special pen,” Betty said in an embarrassed voice. She read Mary’s alert face and panicked. “Mary, what’s the matter?”
“Gold,” Mary whispered. She grabbed Betty’s hand and hurried to her car. “I’ll explain on the way. Right now we have to get to the hotel.”
“The hotel?” Betty asked, confused.
“We need to find a treasure map,” Mary explained and jumped into the driver’s seat of the car John had bought her. “Get in, I’ll explain on the way.”
Betty hurried around to the passenger’s door, quickly climbed into the car, and buckled up. Mary brought the car to life, stomped down on the gas pedal, and stormed out onto the street, nearly running poor Mr. Weathers down. “Hold on!” she yelled, gripping the steering wheel like a woman racing to save a person from a burning fire.
Betty grabbed the dashboard and held on for dear life. “Mary...please...talk to me.”
“Roy Delston,” Mary explained as she sped down the main street, dodging one car after another, “he showed up in my office, Betty.”
“He did?” Betty asked and nearly fainted. “Oh, Mary, I thought that awful man drowned!”
“Me, too,” Mary said and hung a dangerous right onto Pine Leaf Street. In the rearview mirror she saw a lot of her friends picking up packages while others were honking their horns at her. “You’ll read all about it in the paper,” she yelled out of the window.
Betty saw Mary approaching a slow-moving car and squeezed her eyes closed. Mary swung around the car and zoomed to the hotel. “Oh...still alive...” she breathed a sigh of relief.
Mary slid her car to a stop in front of the local hotel, climbed out into the beautiful autumn day, and looked around. She didn’t spot any strange truck. “Roy Delston wouldn’t be dumb enough to park his truck in town,” she whispered and hurried into the hotel, feeling her right ankle crying out more and more. Betty quickly followed. “Hello,” Mary called out and waved at Mr. Smith, the man guarding the front desk. Mr. Smith simply waved a lazy hand without lowering the newspaper he was holding in front of his face. Mary hurried to a staircase and began a painful climb. “I’m sure...there has to be...I’m sure.”
Betty struggled to keep up with Mary. Even though Mary was now nursing her hurt ankle, the woman seemed on fire. “Mary...wait up,” she begged.
Mary reached the second floor, hung a right, and hurried down a silent hallway lined with closed doors. She stopped at room four, caught her breath, and waited for Betty. “I’m sure,” she told Betty.
“Sure of what?” Betty begged.
“You’ll see,” Mary promised, shoving the room key into the door and unlocking it. “Come on.”
“Oh my,” Betty gasped and followed Mary into a neat, cozy room lined with a single bed, a writing desk, and a nightstand. Room four wasn’t a luxury room—designed for traveling salesmen—but still held charm and quality.
Mary closed the door, looked around, and spotted a black briefcase sitting on the writing desk. “Ah,” she said, amazed that Roy had left a briefcase sitting out on the open. She assumed the man thought the small-minded people of Pineville posed no threat and felt safe enough to leave the briefcase out in the open; either that or whatever was inside the briefcase wasn’t worth hiding. Mary hurried to the writing case and opened the briefcase. She found several fake documents that she knew the sheriff would want to see, along with a few names that would surely be of interest. Then, to her relief, she located a hidden pocket inside the briefcase and found a folded up piece of paper tucked inside.
“Here,” she told Betty, yanking the paper out and opening it. “Look...I was right...see!” Mary exclaimed in an excited voice.
Betty looked at the piece of paper Mary was holding and saw a hand-drawn map of Pineville and the surrounding county. She leaned closer and saw a large X marked on the map. “Mary?”
Mary studied the map. “Oh my,” Mary gasped. “Roy Delston...parked his truck at the fairgrounds.” Mary lowered her eyes. “Of course...so many trucks...his truck would blend right in. And the fairgrounds isn’t a far walk from town...and the river...” Mary looked at Betty. “The river runs right behind the fairgrounds. He was planning to drown me...and escape...right in front of everyone...without them seeing.”
Betty stared at Mary. “Are you sure he’s dead this time?” she begged.
Mary nodded. “I’m sure,” she promised. Suddenly she felt all of her energy collapse. She walked over to the bed and sat down. “Betty, that awful man was going to try and drown me...in my own town, with all of my friends close by,” she said and looked down at the map she was holding. “Look,” she said and pointed at the map. “He even marked out his escape route.”
Betty walked over to Mary and looked down at the map. She saw certain streets marked. “What do we do now?” she asked Mary.
“Let’s go get the gold,” Mary told Betty and forced her legs to work. “But Betty,” she cautioned, “we can’t let Stephanie or Andy know, okay?” she begged. “Stephanie and Andy are so happy...they’re falling in love with each other.”
“How are we going to keep this a secret?” Betty asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but we will...for John Cunningham’s sake and for Step
hanie and Andy’s happiness,” Mary said. She walked Betty back outside with the briefcase in hand, got into her car, and drove to the fairgrounds. “Here we are,” she said, driving into a large field lined with trucks and cars.
“My, they're sure a lot of people here today,” Betty pointed out.
“Folks like to come and see the town set up the pumpkin festival...put up the tents, build the judging platforms...” Mary searched for a place to park, spotted a space, and pulled in next to a cattle truck holding tons of hay. “Okay,” she said, “let’s go find the gold.”
Betty looked at Mary and then, to Mary’s shock, she leaned forward and hugged Mary. “Mary Holland, I’m very proud of you.”
Mary hugged Betty back. “I’m just grateful you’re always at my side.”
Betty smiled, got out of the car, and took in a deep breath of fresh hay. “Where do we start looking?”
Mary looked around. “One truck at a time, I guess,” she said and then looked toward the river. “Or maybe not. Come on.” Mary limped away on her ankle and began moving east toward the far end of the field. “The river is this way...I wonder if Roy Delston...” Mary asked herself, limping past one car and truck after another, making her way east. “His truck has to be here,” she insisted.
Betty followed Mary all the way to the end of the field and stopped behind what appeared to be a milk truck. “Only Mr. Hayes’s milk truck,” she told Mary in a disappointed voice, spotting the river glimmering through a set of autumn trees.
Mary bit down on her lip. “Only Mr. Hayes’s milk truck,” she said and looked back toward her car. “Where would...” Mary stopped talking, focused her eyes back on the milk truck, and then made a strange face. “Why would Mr. Hayes be at the fairgrounds at this hour?” she asked and then felt a bolt of excitement strike her heart. “Betty!” she whispered in an urgent voice. She scanned the field to make sure no eyes were looking in her direction and then put the key she had found on Roy into the lock on the back of the milk truck. To her relief, the key worked. “Let’s take a look.”
Murder at Camp (Pineville Gazette Mystery Book 5) Page 14