We thought about that while the house made terrifying sounds, like pieces of it might fly apart at any minute. I downed my wine, and Justin refilled the empty glass. The cats got so freaked out that Millie had to sedate them. She left them locked in one of the spare bedrooms, yowling. Flush and Bandit were jittery, but content to stay close to their humans.
We watched The Weather Channel until wind ripped the satellite dish off the house, and listened to storm reports on the radio until the station went dead, and put on a jazz CD until the power went out and everything went dark. I lit more candles and Pop distributed flashlights. We continued to play cards and brainstorm about revitalization ideas to keep our heads occupied with something other than the fact that we were at the mercy of a deadly storm. An ensemble of unfamiliar noises filled the room: ear-splitting pops as trees snapped, violent blasts of winds thrashing the house at racecar speeds, and walls of rain pounding boarded windows. I completely lost track of time. When I looked at my wrist, I remembered Bandit swiped it from my nightstand, the night I’d had the dream and found Aldora’s letter.
“If we make it through this thing, I’m going to strangle that raccoon!” I said. “She stole my watch.”
Pop patted Bandit on the top of the head. “She just likes shiny things is all, Lass. Check the spittoon, where she hid your car keys.”
Using a flashlight, I moved slowly into the den and located the spittoon. Right on top, my watch flashed in the beam of light. I grabbed it, and noticed a small key fob lying beneath it. It was a mass storage device with a USB plug beneath a removable cap, and a clasp at the other end. At the agency, we often gave Shine logo flash drives to clients. It was a much classier way to present them with a digital copy of their ad campaign, than to hand over DVD.
Curious as to where it had come from since Pop didn’t own a computer and would have no need for a storage device, I brought it back to the table with me. “Any idea where this came from? I found it in Bandit’s stash.”
Pop turned on a battery-operated lantern, and aimed it so the light shone on the key fob. “What is it?”
“A portable storage device for digital files. Some people call them flash drives, but they’re also called key fobs because some people use them as a key chain. See this clasp? You just hook it right on, and carry it with your car keys.”
“What does it do?” Pop said.
“Stores data. It plugs into a port on your computer.” I read the lettering on its cap. “This one is a ten gig.”
A wrinkle formed between Pop’s eyes. “Eh?”
Justin laughed. “A ten gigabyte. That means it will hold a lot of data.”
Millie cocked her head. “In that tiny little thing?”
I started to nod, but jumped instead when an ear-splitting crack of thunder exploded, seemingly inside the room with us.
“Huh,” Pop said. “Can’t imagine who Bandit swiped that from. I don’t know anybody who regularly uses a computer. Except Billy. And he hasn’t been to the house in a long time.”
I found my laptop on the kitchen counter and was glad I’d charged the battery before Hailey hit. Justin and I leaned in to look at the illuminated screen, and I plugged in the fob. It held three files. I opened the first with Acrobat Reader. A blueprint for a proposed retirement community, it consisted of several detailed drawings. Flipping through the electronic pages, we saw plans for single family homes and condos, as well as a golf course, clubhouse, exercise facility, and shopping center.
“Lester,” I said. “The key fob is Lester’s. He owns a development company that specializes in master-planned communities, remember? This must be what he planned for Rumton.”
I passed the computer around for Pop and Millie to see.
Justin shook his head. “It looks like one of those giant Sun City communities in Florida. But it doesn’t make sense. We’ve already established that large scale residential development isn’t feasible here. People don’t want to retire to a coastal area that’s landlocked.”
Intrigued, I blocked out the raging storm and concentrated on the second file. A text document, it was some sort of an amendment, or proposed legislation for the federal government to officially recognize extinct Native American Indian tribes. The proposal went on to say that sufficient written documentation must be in place to prove the existence of the tribes, including towns in which they lived. It went on to talk about goodwill and the reasoning statement was loaded with a bunch of warm and fuzzy crap. Fluff, I called it. I knew, because I’d written my fair share of it for Shine Advertising and PR.
Beneath the proposal, a list of extinct tribes, organized by state caught our attention. Those beneath South Carolina were marked with an asterisk. Pop and Millie waited, while Justin and I read the rest of the proposed legislation, cheek-to-cheek. He pointed to the screen. “Open the other file, Jax.”
I did. The last one was a set of plans for a gambling casino. It looked like something from Las Vegas, with row after row of slot machines and clusters of game tables.
Millie screamed when a crack of lightning hit something, which exploded with the sound of a canon.
“Probably a tree,” Pop said, and patted Millie’s back to comfort her. “Hope it wasn’t my big oak. I’d hate to lose that one.”
I looked at my watch. Hailey had battered us for four and a half hours, and showed no signs of letting up. Trying to ignore the sound and feel of destruction around us, we wondered why Lester would carry blueprints for both a master-planned retirement community and a casino. None of it made sense.
Justin stood suddenly. “My God, it’s brilliant. A wicked scheme, but brilliant.”
From the beginning, Justin surmised, Lester’s intent had been to erect a casino. He wanted to turn Rumton into a gambling destination, similar to the one in Cherokee, North Carolina. Pop said that gambling was illegal in South Carolina, but a federally recognized Native American Indian tribe could operate a gaming facility if it was on tribal property, and if the tribe was native to the area.
Pop leaned back in his chair, as the picture came together in his head. “And the only federally recognized Native American Indians in South Carolina are the Catawbas.”
“Right. Several tribes are recognized by the state, but they’ve been unable to obtain federal recognition.” Deep in analytical thought, Justin rubbed his temple. “According to your investigator, Lester is in bed with Senator Wands, who is also on the Indian Affairs Committee. There’s legislation that would give federal recognition to Indian tribes, post mortem. For goodwill, and all that. But once passed, it will come back to bite them in the ass, because Lester will somehow produce a real, live, Native American Indian who supposedly belongs to one of the South Carolina tribes thought to be extinct.”
“Meanwhile,” I said, “he’s buying up land to put the casino on, maybe in the name of his company, which is really owned by the supposed tribe. But he won’t apply for a gambling permit until after the extinct tribes are recognized. He’s going to resurrect a tribe!”
“Why, that scoundrel!” Millie piped up. “All that stuff about a high tech think tank was pure hooey.”
Pop brought a plate of her cookies to the table and refilled his bourbon, adding only a splash of water. I refilled my and Millie’s wine glasses, and gave Flush and Bandit a few treats. Justin nursed a beer. We munched cookies and wondered how many others were involved in Lester’s plan. And thought again about Aaron’s warning that we were in danger. Earlier, we’d called the hospital to check on him and try to learn more, but the nurse said that Aaron was in no condition to speak to anyone.
“It’s simple, Jaxie,” Justin said in a low, serious voice. He pointed to the computer. “Not only did you stop the land vote at the council meeting, but more importantly, you’ve got Lester’s flash drive.”
Pop bit into a cookie and slowly chewed. “He came ‘ere on the way to Riley’s funeral. Played with Bandit and fed her pretzels. That must be when she snatched the computer gizmo. Probably unhooked i
t, and took it right off his key chain.”
Another piece of the puzzle dropped into place. “That’s why somebody broke in, Pop. It was Lester, or one of his cronies, searching for the key fob.”
As though she knew she’d broken Lester’s plot wide open, Bandit hopped on the table and took a bow. Or she may have just been after a snack, but it looked like a bow. She snatched a cookie from the plate, broke a piece off, dunked it in Pop’s bourbon, and chewed with delight.
The danger surrounding us instantly became that much more real. Not only was Hailey a threat, but somebody wanted Lester’s casino blueprints back. Next time, they might do worse than just break in and rummage through Pop’s belongings.
Figuring we should tell somebody, Pop felt his way to the kitchen wall and found the telephone, the old style one that was attached to a landline and didn’t require power to operate. Miraculously, he heard a faint dial tone. Even though many of the poles that held the telephone lines had to be down, a signal was still getting through. He tried the police chief at the movie house, but didn’t get a ring. Next he dialed the Chat ‘N Chew, as it was the town’s gathering place, and the quickest way to spread the word about something. Amazingly, Bull answered.
“Your place still standing, Bull?”
“Barely!” we heard Bull shout through the receiver before her voice got drowned out by a long, screeching wind gust. Shouting back so he’d be heard over the static, Pop told Bull what we’d learned about Lester and asked her to tell the police chief if she saw him before we did. Assuring him she would, Bull told Pop she planned to open her doors as soon as it was safe. He disconnected and started to make another call, but the line went dead. Another pole must have fallen and completely severed the already weak signal.
Despite the monster swirling over us and the fear swirling inside us, we were physically and emotionally drained.
“Nothing we can do but wait,” Pop said. He and Millie decided to get some sleep. Bandit clung to him, and the three of them went to bed, Pop carrying the shotgun and Millie leading the way with a flashlight.
Justin blew out the candles and, armed with flashlights, we moved to the sofa. I lit a small jar candle on the coffee table in front of us, so it wouldn’t be pitch black. Flush jumped up and burrowed his way between us. The three of us settled in to wait out the rest of the storm.
Chapter 24
When the back door crashed open, we figured the storm had done it, until two figures appeared in the kitchen. Justin reached for the .45 but immediately realized he’d left it on the kitchen table, where we’d played cards. Thankfully, the blackout would prevent the intruders from spotting the gun, as long as they didn’t aim a flashlight at the tabletop. On the other hand, they’d probably come armed anyway. Whipping wind slammed the open door back and forth against the wall.
I aimed a flashlight just in time to see Lester throw his weight against the door. Struggling against the wind, he managed to get it shut. Short and stocky, and wearing a heavy parka and boots, the other man wedged an ax against what was left of the door handle to secure it. When he turned, I recognized Marty, the supposed accountant Aaron had brought with him on his last visit to Rumton. The man gripped a menacing gun that looked like it was equipped with a silencer. Drenched, both of them came in to the living room where we were, just as Flush trotted off to guard his master.
“Nasty little wind storm you got yourselves, here,” Marty said. He pointed the gun at me. “Bring me a towel.”
“Guess you’re not here to look at financial statements this time,” I mumbled, making my way past them to the kitchen. When I reached the table, I purposely fell, grabbing the gun we’d left there. I stuck it in the waistband of my jeans, at the small of my back, when I hit the floor. A flashlight beam immediately found me.
I threw my hands up like a criminal in front of a cop. “Sorry, I slipped. The floor is soaking wet.”
I got up slowly and backed my way to the counter, where I found a dish towel. I thought about shooting the guy instead of handing him the towel, but something told me he was much quicker than I was. Marty had to be a pro, and trying to pull a gun on him would be suicide. I handed over the dish towel, wondering how my boss ever could have hooked up with such a guy.
Keeping the gun loosely pointed at both me and Justin, Marty wiped down his face and head. He pulled a tree branch out of his parka hood and dabbed at a jagged cut on his face, which left a thick trail of blood down his neck.
No longer playing the role of smooth politician, a bedraggled Lester pointed a shaky finger at me. “The bitch is here, Marty, just like I said she would be. She’s more annoying than the mayor was. It will be a pleasure to kill her.”
Justin spoke in a surprisingly calm voice. “You murdered Riley? I’m surprised you don’t have people to do that kind of dirty work for you.”
Lester spit on the floor and wiped a hand across his face to clear dripping water from his eyes. “Wasn’t time to get somebody else. Besides, poison’s easy. I doctored up a beer, knowing Riley wouldn’t turn down a free beer.” He spit again, studying Justin in the dim light. “Who the hell are you?”
“Just a friend. What did Riley do to warrant murder?”
“He was in on the land buys. As mayor, he was our social lubrication. Help push everything through, and he’d get a little cut of each option. But he started asking too many questions.”
Marty shrugged. “Your mayor took advantage of a situation to put a little cash in his pocket. Then he developed a conscience. Can’t have it both ways.”
I tried not to think of Riley’s dead bloated body, staring up at me from the marsh. Hailey weakened. She still roared loudly against a creaking, groaning house, but the force was not nearly as bad as it had been. We might have just survived the worst hurricane in history, only to be shot dead by a maniac.
“Where’s the old man? He’s got something we want back,” Marty said.
“Pop is sleeping,” Justin answered.
“Somebody’s sleeping through this shit?” Marty said. “You southerners are freakin’ crazy.”
Producing a gun of his own, Lester headed toward the bedrooms. A revolver, it was smaller than Marty’s, but just as deadly if it hit its target. A bullet was a bullet. Justin and I looked at each other, realizing that these two men had no intention of leaving any of us alive because we all knew too much. Lester and Marty were the danger Aaron had called to warn us about. And if we didn’t do something, Pop and Mille would be shot dead in their sleep. Spurred by adrenaline, I pulled the .45 from my waistband and fired three times in Lester’s direction. The explosive cracks stung my eardrums, and their echo reverberated for several frozen seconds. Lester twisted to look at me with a disbelieving expression and I wondered if I’d missed. Finally, he slumped to the floor and dropped his gun. Justin moved to grab it.
“Hold it!” Marty commanded and Justin froze.
I’d turned my gun on Marty only to find his already pointed at me. It was a standoff, but his grip held perfectly still while my hands visibly shook.
“Stay where you are or I shoot her,” Marty told Justin. “Be a shame, such a pretty thing.” Keeping the gun on me and an eye on Justin, he sidestepped his way to Lester and squatted down. Blindly feeling the floor, he found the revolver and pocketed it. And before I had a chance to react, he stood, spun me into the wall, and took my gun away from me.
“Let her go,” Pop shouted from the hallway. Dimly outlined by candlelight, his silhouette showed a shotgun held in a tight mount against his shoulder, its long double barrel aimed at the man. Flush stood at attention by his side.
Marty shook his head in disgust. “Christ. Is everybody in this house carrying a piece?”
Lester moaned. It was hard to tell in the candlelight, but it looked like a ton of blood had gushed from his shoulder and was mingling with soaking wet clothes. “The bitch shot me, Marty.”
Keeping his gun leveled at me, eyes darting between Justin and Pop, the mobster walked to wh
ere Lester was struggling to sit up on the floor. “The name isn’t Marty. You think I’d give out a real name, you’re dumber than you look.” The man jabbed Lester’s throat with the toe of a boot. Lester clutched his neck and went quiet.
Pop kept the shotgun on the intruder. Outside, blowing rain and rumbling thunder continued, but Hailey’s furor had diminished to intermittent slaps of wind, instead of a steady onslaught. And I’d be damned if I was going to die at the hand of some stranger, after living through the most powerful hurricane in history.
“What is it you want?” I asked, rubbing my shoulder. It felt like it had been pulled from its socket, and my hand throbbed, too. He’d twisted my fingers around each other when he disarmed me.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Millie stumbled into the kitchen, her flashlight beam pointed directly in front of slippered feet. “What’s everybody doing? Is the storm over?” When she got a better look at us, she aimed her flashlight into the stranger’s face. “Who are you?”
“Just visiting, ma’am,” he said pleasantly. “You packing heat, too?”
“Heat?” Millie said, puzzled.
Deciding she was harmless, Marty instructed her to sit down. Seeing the drawn guns, Millie realized something was amiss and sat. The wind died down to an occasional angry gust.
“Lester lost something here,” the man said after a minute. “It looks like a key chain. I need it back.”
“No problem.” I got my laptop from the baker’s rack where I’d left it and put it on the kitchen table. The flash drive was still plugged into it. “It’s right here. But, the casino isn’t going to happen. I’ve already emailed my contacts in Atlanta as to what’s going on,” I bluffed.
The man’s black eyes drew together, boring into me.
“The proposed legislation to give federal recognition to extinct Indian tribes is a brilliant idea,” Justin added. “Unfortunately, the feds are keeping an eye on Senator Wands. Whether or not he ends up in jail is anybody’s guess. But he’s certainly too hot to push through any legislation right now anyway.”
Carolina Booty Page 23