After scrambling up the rest of the bank, he pulled his phone from the pocket of his trousers.
A low-pitched, wobbly voice answered. “Shit, man, what took so long? Been waiting on your call for two hours.”
“Don’t get your boxers in a bunch, Bones. She made a stop at a gas station and didn’t exactly fly down the Interstate.”
“I asked you to stop calling me Bones.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Call me forgetful or maybe intent on reminding you that I know a lot more about you than you think.” He belly-laughed. “I mean that is what you do, pick the bones cleans, or more specifically the teeth clean, of dead people.”
“Abuse didn’t come with the contract. Besides, I got a bad feeling about this one.”
“You got two choices: Back out, in which case I’ll have the Feds knocking on the door of that seedy funeral home with warrants to exhume some cadavers,” he paused, “or pick up the body and take it back to Des Moines.”
“What if I get stopped by the Highway Patrol?”
“We’ve been over this you German blockhead. Ain’t no Highway Patrol gonna stop you if you’re acting normal. Pretend it’s like any routine run to retrieve a dead body and for Christ sake, don’t speed.”
Silence met him.
“Hans, you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Thinking about my future life behind bars. Jesus, disposing of dead bodies without a Death Certificate from the coroner is serious shit.”
“Little late for second thoughts, isn’t it? You took the money, Bones, ten thousand in Franklins. Did you spend it already?”
“I got expenses, bill collectors knocking at my door.”
“You’re in deep already then. Again, I’m gonna give ya two choices: Pick up the dead girl or Shark and Tuna will pay you a visit soon. They won’t be knocking on your door, Hans; they’ll be breaking it down…before they crush your kneecaps. Any other questions?”
“No.”
“Good. Now, when your furnace cools off, give me a call. I need to make sure all the loose ends are tied up, got it blockhead?”
“Yes.”
“You gotta beat the tow truck there. I’ll wait twenty minutes before I call them, and I can’t tell you how much shit is gonna hit the fan if that body ain’t outta of the car before they arrive.”
“Okay, okay, I hear ya. So I turn left outta the 7-Eleven and I’ll come to a gravel road. Keep driving until I see a big bend, right?”
“Exactly. I’m gonna guess she went over the bank about half-mile into that curve.” He looked down the steep cliff again. “Hell, you can’t miss the skid marks in the road. Get outta the car and follow them. Look down and bingo! Denali on its back, dead girl inside.”
“You’re a bastard, you know that?”
“Yeah, but I’m a rich bastard which is more than I can say for you.”
The line went dead.
He walked back to his car and dialed the tow truck company he paid off yesterday. Another ten thousand Franklins in cold, hard cash down the drain to convince the hick to haul the Denali out of that ditch and pulverize it. When he attempted to hand over five-thousand, the clodhopper had the nerve to give him the evil eye. “Your contact said ten.”
Murder didn’t come cheap these days.
With her bag and purse slung over his shoulder, her cell in the pocket of his shirt, he walked back to his car and counted off the minutes until he could make the call to the tow truck company.
Chapter 16
It is better to be the head of a mouse, then the tail of a lion.
“Answer your cell, please answer your cell.”
Rann paced the kitchen and then moved to the yard. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time and groaned his frustration to a robin sitting in a branch of an oak. Rook sniffed the ground, stopping now and then to cock his head to the side to look at him. “Where is she, boy? I know in my gut something happened. There is no way, no way in hell, she wouldn’t pick up.”
As if sensing his frustration the lab whined like a desolate wind.
Duna! Do I call him or give it another hour? Shit, it’s six o’clock. Think, man, think. What time was it when you made that last call? Duh, look at your cell, dummy. Two, he spoke to her at two o’clock. His brain a jumbled mass of conflict and chaos, he tried to recall exactly what she’d said. Janesville, something about Janesville. Did she stop there? Jesus, he told her not to pull into any rest stops along the highway. Truckers could be a rough lot. He didn’t say anything about small towns though.
He pushed operator and when a woman answered, forced the words from his mouth. “Janesville Police Department.”
“Is that Wisconsin, sir?”
“Yes, yes, Wisconsin.”
“Emergency or non-emergency number?”
His stomach clenched. “Emergency.”
“Connecting you now. Have a nice day, sir.”
On the second ring, a man’s voice came over the line. “Janesville Police Department, do you have an emergency?”
“Yes…I mean I’m not sure. Look, I’m calling from Chicago. A friend left here about noon and-and I spoke with her about two.” Christ, four hours ago? Four freakin’ hours ago? “I’ve been calling her cell for hours and she’s not answering.”
“Where’s she headed?”
“Minnesota, northern Minnesota.”
“Hmm. Everything all right when she left?”
“What?”
“Were you getting along when she left?”
“Yes, yes. What are you insinuating?”
“I’m not insinuating anything, but before we go off half-cocked, I want to make sure we’re not wasting our time.”
His tone changed from anxious to mad. “It’s nothing like that.”
“All right, all right, settle down.”
“Has anyone called in an accident?”
“Let me check.”
Long minutes passed before he returned. “Nothing of significance.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone called in a fender-bender in the Costco parking lot. Think that could be her?”
“Costco…no.”
“What if she met with an accident after she passed through Janesville?”
“Checked that. Nothing within one hundred miles of here. Looked at everything from thirty miles before Rock County and seventy after. Computers sure have changed available data, huh?”
“Yeah. Hey, can I give you my name and number just in case….” God, he couldn’t stand the thought.
“Sure, give me your name. I have your number already, comes up automatically. Your friend’s name too. I hear anything or if anyone calls something in, I’ll get a hold of you.”
“Thanks, man, appreciate it. The name is Rann Brogan, R-A-N-N Brogan with a B. And her name is,” he gagged and wondered if he could finish the conversation without vomiting. “Her name is Season Scrimshaw.”
“Did you say, ‘Season’ as in winter, summer—”
“Yes, S-E-A-S-O-N.” He closed his eyes. Like shimmering snowflakes gliding to earth in the winter, soft rain tapping on your roof in the spring, a warm breeze kissing your face in autumn or the brilliant summer sun, so breathtaking it steals your breath.
“Got it. Good luck, son. Hope everything turns out all right.”
“Wait! What’s your name?”
“Oh, yeah, that might help. Cruikshank, Thomas Cruikshank.”
“Thanks again Officer Cruikshank. You won’t forget about me, will you?”
“No, I promise. I’m on ‘til midnight. We pull double shifts around here.”
“Okay. I’d say talk to you later but I don’t want to talk to you later. That would mean….”
“No worries, I understand. Hope I don’t have to call you back with news, especially bad news.”
“Bye.”
“Have a good day, son.”
He shoved his cell into his pants’ pocket, bent at the waist and threw up in the gras
s. Rook wandered over to him and licked his hand.
He wasn’t normally an alarmist, and therein laid the problem. He felt the loss in his gut, in ever fiber of his being. He remembered telling her she was in his blood now. He should have added DNA.
Checking his watch again, he wandered into the house, his heart heavy, his feet leaden. Somewhere in the list of names from Pine Bay he saw a phone number for the Scrimshaw property. By eight o’clock he’d have to call Duna.
Until then, he’d beg, grovel and bargain with God for mercy.
Between repeating his frantic gait ‘round and ‘round the breakfast bar and begging, he fed Rook, filled the dog’s water bowl and downed two gimlets. To steady his nerves, he told himself. He had to stay together both physically and mentally in case someone called. Please let it be her that calls, please.
When seven o’clock came and went he thought about calling Matt. His friend would be there in a heartbeat but he wasn’t sure he could handle Matt’s concern and questions right now. And he knew he couldn’t call Charlotte. She’d never been there once when he needed her. He learned at a young age that his mother went overboard with the expensive cars, fancy clothes, and luxury vacations when it came to him, but he’d have traded them all for one thing from her…time. Oh, she loved him all right, in the best way Charlotte could define love, but her drive to succeed, to win at any cost, surpassed every facet of the woman’s life. She even put her marriage on the back burner for the business. Dad! He could call his father but knowing his caring nature, he’d hop on the first plane to Chicago. That wouldn’t be fair to his dad and premature. God Rann, get your head straight.
He glanced to the wall clock, just for a change of scenery. Eight thirty. No word from Officer Cruikshank. Should he call the police in the next county? Season had identification, her cell with numbers listed. He couldn’t put it off any longer. His hands shaking, he didn’t know if he could punch in Duna’s number.
The man’s voice came on the line after six tortuous rings. “Scrimshaws.”
“Duna, it’s me, Rann.”
“Veshengo, how are you?” Nothing in his tone indicated dread or sorrow.
“I’m fine, good. Hey, has Season made it home yet?”
“No. I won’t start stewing until ten o’clock. I figured you’d shoo her out at a decent hour, wouldn’t want to take a chance on her driving at night.”
“Right, right. She left here about noon.”
A short pause. “Should be pulling in any minute now. I made a salad and we’re gonna have burgers on the grill. Thought she’d like that.”
“I spoke to her about two o’clock, shortly before she’d be passing by Janesville.”
His voice slowed. “Two? You mean you haven’t talked to her since?”
He chewed on his lower lip. “I’m thinking she had a flat tire or ran into some minor car problem. She might have pulled off the Interstate to check on it and doesn’t have phone service.”
“Is that normal, the phone service?”
“Yes, sometimes.” An image of the tires on the Denali rose behind his closed eyelids. A flat tire would be unusual unless she picked up a nail or glass.
“I’m getting a bad feeling in my stomach right now. Since you called. I didn’t have it before.”
“I shouldn’t have called, didn’t mean to worry you. I’m sure everything is all right.” Liar. Is that normal, the bad feeling in your stomach?”
“Nope. Usually means something isn’t right.”
“Like what, can you explain?”
“When Season’s parents died, my only son and his wife, I woke up that morning and knew something had happened. Course, I didn’t know what, or how bad it would be. Doesn’t work like that.”
“Hey, let’s not worry quite yet.” Who was he trying to kid? “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen handy?’
“Right here.”
He rattled off his number. “If she doesn’t come home by ten, give me a call back.”
“Do you think we should wait that long?”
“I called the Janesville police. Spoke to an officer who seemed quite thorough. He said he’d call me right away if anything seemed amiss.”
“If they knew of an accident, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh. What if she ran off the road or something happened and no one knows about it?”
Don’t go there, please don’t go there. “You’re right. Tell you what, I’ll leave right now and head for Janesville. It’s still light for a few hours.” He knew he’d never make it in time, couldn’t scour the Interstate or search in the ditches at night.
“How long will it take you to get to this place? It gets dark around ten now.”
“I can cover the road she traveled to Janesville if I leave now. If she hasn’t returned by dark, I’ll start out at first light again.” And search every gully, culvert and body of water from here to Canada if I have to.
“Season doesn’t do this kind of stuff. She wouldn’t make me worry, thinks of others before herself.”
He wanted to punch a wall, scream his rage to the heavens. “Call me by ten, Duna. If I don’t hear from you I’ll call you by midnight from Janesville.”
“Veshengo?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t lose her. She’s all I have now.”
Shit, the enormity of it all. “You won’t lose her. No matter what it takes, I’ll find her.”
The moment Duna hung up he whistled for Rook, ran to the garage and fired up the Cayenne. When he hit Elgin, he realized he hadn’t brought a change of clothing, food for the dog or even locked his front door. He could buy dog food anywhere, and the other things he didn’t care about. Only one thing mattered now…finding her.
Chapter 17
You have to dig deep to bury your daddy.
Trucking down Interstate 80, Hans thought about the poor thing lying in the casket in the back of his hearse. For the last thirty miles, he’d been trying to convince himself he had nothing to do with her death. It wasn’t his business to ask why someone wanted her dead. Yet, a person wouldn’t be human if they didn’t wonder.
He couldn’t believe his eyes when he pulled her from the overturned car. She might have been pretty, even beautiful. Not anymore. A large flap of skin hung loose on her face, forehead to cheek. Pieces of glass protruded from a dozen gashes on her face, ranging from glittering bits to finger-size shards. Her nose had been flattened from the impact, and he didn’t want to think about the rest of the bones in her body. Under broad daylight at the time, he had to get her out of that mangled Denali and into the hearse.
He looked at the night sky and hoped his mother wasn’t peering down on him right now. Mama had looked away many times in his life but involvement in a murder? She wouldn’t listen to his reasons—the funeral home drowning in debt, bad economy, too few dead people and too many mausoleums and other crematories hawking their services. No, sir, when it came to murder, his mama would have taken a stick to him, beat him black, blue and devil green.
The contracts helped him through some rough times. At first they only wanted him to repossess cars or tough-talk small business owners who didn’t want to pay their fair share of territorial taxes. Two years later, they upped the payments and the dirty work. On occasion, he had to twist an arm or two…literally, or burglarize a building at night. This last contract brought him up short when the details of what they needed from him were revealed. It was one thing to put on a hood and bust a window at an unsecured structure in the dark of night, another to transport a dead body.
A muffled sound broke into his thoughts. His tires must have met up with a critter crossing the highway. He should have noticed or felt a thud though. He rolled up his windows and turned an ear toward the rear of the hearse. This time the noise sounded like a groan. Anxiety wormed its way into his throat. If he pulled over, he’d be prime pickings for a patrolman with miles of highway to cruise and boredom riding shotgun. If he didn’t stop, he’d be a ju
mble of nerves by the time he reached Des Moines.
Slowing down, he spotted a driveway up ahead. As he got closer, he realized it led to some type of abode, a farmhouse or cabin, sitting so far from the Interstate not a soul would see him pull in.
Ya gotta look, Hans, or you’ll go crazy.
He stepped from the car, his neck rotating like an owl’s as he walked to the back. After pushing the button near the license plate to open the door, he hesitated. Hell, he didn’t want to extend the bar, slide the casket out. Too risky. He climbed inside and steeled himself before lifting the lid.
Holy Mother of Jesus! Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths and a muscle twitched in her little finger. The soft moan wrenched his heart, a heart he thought indifferent to humans and all their trials in life. He slapped a hand to his head. Shit…shit…shit.
Rendered mute, he stared at her…and stared some more. Something about her touched him, maybe the violent manner in which she almost died, or the act from God that saved her. She wasn’t supposed to have a chance, not against the kind of people she was chumming around with. Maybe she didn’t know any of them personally, but just happened to be one of those innocents caught in their vicious path.
Hans, I’m watching you. Jesus, his mother’s voice.
“You hold on girl, you hear me? Don’t you die, don’t you dare die now.”
He left the lid of the casket open, couldn’t bear to leave her in the dark. Clambering from the rear of the hearse, he slammed the massive door and sprinted toward the driver’s seat. “Ol’ Hans gonna get you help. You hear me, girl?”
~*~
The wheels screeched when the hearse came to a halt in front of Mercy Medical Center’s Emergency Room. Relieved he’d never stepped foot in this hospital before, he rushed from the car, climbed inside the back and lifted her from the casket.
Still alive. “Hang on, girl. You’ll get the best help in Des Moines now.”
Carrying her in his arms, and terrified he might be harming her more than helping her, he bolted through the massive, sliding doors. “Injured girl here! Help! Someone…anyone! We need help!”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 185