Jane and Ingrid were stocking the drawers under the exam table when Agent Masterson knocked on the open office door. They knew that the chief and agents Masterson, Fuller, and Wagner had spent the last two days tracking Hal and Heather. Scuttlebutt moved through Turners Bend like wildfire. Through cell phone and credit card records the pair had been traced to the Cayman Islands. Financial records revealed that all the funds from AgriDynamics’s accounts had been emptied. Hal, Heather, and the money were gone. Jane sensed that Ingrid’s emotions swung between despising her father and anxiety and worry over his welfare.
“I’d like to ask you a few more questions about your husband, Dr. Swanson.”
“My ex-husband. We’ve been divorced for many years.”
“I stand corrected. Were you aware that he was defrauding the government and stashing funds offshore?”
“No. He paid his child support, and I kept out of his business.”
“What about this Steffenhauser woman, did you know about her?”
“Like I said before, she’s just one of a long line of Hal’s girlfriends.”
“She’s a slut,” interjected Ingrid. “She was always talking about how she and Dad were going to move to Miami and buy a yacht and sail around the world, and how Dad was going to hire a photographer to take her picture for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Dad was always drooling over her. It was disgusting.”
“If he makes any attempt to contact you, let us know. There are more than a few federal agencies that would like to have a talk with him.”
Iver and Mabel were enjoying the sun on their patio, having a late afternoon Bud Light and pretzels. The old well had been sealed and a new one drilled. The days of pounding and clanking had just about driven Mabel to the edge. The well workers were gone and the yard had been destroyed in the process—patches of sod had been ripped up and the drilling equipment had left deep ruts in the ground—but the water was now safe to drink.
“I don’t know, Iver, it just about broke my heart when they plowed through my lilac bushes. Here we are in May, and I should be enjoying their sweet smell. Instead I’m looking at Ground Zero. Where do we start to repair this mess?”
“Let’s just pave it over and paint it green,” said Iver.
“Not very funny, my dear.”
A white van came up the driveway. “Oh, Iver, I bet those are the EPA guys that closed down the plant. I heard they spent all day today collecting samples of trash at the landfill. Goodness, they look like astronauts, don’t they?”
Two men still in their neon yellow HAZMAT suits stepped out of the van and lumbered over to Mabel and Iver.
“You Mabel Ingebretson?” asked one of the men.
“Yes, I am, young man.”
“We’d like to take a sample from the creek out back and take some soil samples from your yard. We’d also like your signed permission to look at your medical records at the Mayo Clinic.”
“Certainly, you collect your samples. It’s a good thing you arrived before my husband here poured concrete over the whole shebang. When you’re done you come into the kitchen, I’ll put on a pot of coffee and give you a nice piece of chocolate cake.” When in a dubious situation, Mabel believed offering cake and coffee was always the proper thing to do.
Within three days life in Turners Bend had been turned upside down, churned and spit out in pieces. Tongues wagged, heads shook, women cried, men swore, and pots boiled all over town. It gave Chip a lot to think about. It appeared that Hal was into a lot more than just dumping hazardous waste, just like in Brain Freeze where Candleworth was proving to be a complicated criminal, as well as a totally evil sleazebag.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Turners Bend
May
The EPA vans pulled out of Turners Bend followed by Agent Masterson and her two underlings. AgriDynamics was closed, and Hal and Heather had vanished into the Bermuda Triangle. The FBI, CIA, EPA and Treasury Department were all on the hunt. In the meantime, Chief Fredrickson was left to deal with local crimes, namely the robbery and its two perps, as Deputy Jim liked to call Sven and Leif.
On a fresh sunny morning in May, a small caravan left Turners Bend for Juvenile Court in the Boone County courthouse. Sven rode with Jane and Chip, Leif with his parents and the chief led the way in his squad car.
Sven sat in the back of Chip’s Volvo. He was wearing his church clothes and his freshly cut hair was spiky from the gel he applied that morning. He hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast, and it felt like worms were gnawing away on the lining of his stomach. “Mom, what’s going to happen to me?” His voice cracked.
“I don’t know, Sven. We can only hope the judge will be lenient, given this is your first offense.” His mother’s voice sounded more sad than hopeful.
“If they find Dad, will he go to jail?” He wasn’t sure whether he wanted the answer to be yes or no. He hated his father for what he had done to their family, but he loved him, too. Love and hate were duking it out in his head and any way Sven looked at it, there wasn’t going to be a winner.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen to your father, Sven. I imagine he’ll have a lot of explaining to do to the authorities.”
“He’s not going to give me a car, is he?” Sven already knew the answer to his question. He wondered how he could have been so stupid, so naïve, so willing to be duped for the promise of a car.
“No, I expect not.”
Looking out the car window was making Sven nauseous. He closed his eyes willing back the acid he felt rising from his stomach. He recalled driving down the dusty road to his dad’s hunting shack. He had only been fourteen, but Hal let him drive. They turned up the radio full blast and sang “Country Roads” along with John Denver. Hal made him promise not to tell his mother. He never did, and he never would. That once wonderful memory was now painful. His mother would only see it as another example of Hal leading him astray.
Leif slumped in the backseat of the pastor’s Honda Civic. He was dressed all in black. Unbeknownst to his parents, the night before he had dyed his blond hair black with a red streak through it. He had done it purposely to upset them, to embarrass them. Being a preacher’s kid sucked. He hated it, he hated them, he hated school, he hated his life, he hated himself. Vermin were eating away at his soul. He knew the Bible, and he was pretty sure he was destined for hell.
The tension in the car was thick, cloying, suffocating. The silence was deafening. It was periodically punctuated by whimpering sighs from his mother. Here he was on the road to perdition, and he didn’t care. Or so he kept telling himself.
Presiding in Juvenile Court was Judge Harry Wallberg, an old National Guard buddy of the chief’s. Sitting on the bench had added considerable girth to the judge and his robe was more than a wee bit snug. He glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and he peered over the top of them, revealing eyebrows as bushy as caterpillars.
“Hi, Walter, nice to see you,” said the judge. “See you’ve got two hoodlums for a closed juvenile hearing today.” Aside from the judge and bailiff, the only other official present was the stone-faced court reporter.
“Well, Harry, I think you’ll see by my report these two boys got in over their heads and made a couple of poor choices, but there were some extenuating circumstances.”
“Okay, let’s me see what they have to say for themselves.” He called Sven to stand before him. He let the boy stand for a full minute, let him sweat a little, he thought.
“How’d you get involved in this robbery, son?”
“My dad asked me to get Chip’s computer because he thought Chip was plotting against him. He said he’d buy me a car, if I did it for him. I recruited Leif to help me.”
“For the record, your father’s name is Harold Swanson III, and Chip is Charles Collingsworth III, correct?”
Sven cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
The court reporter nodded in acknowledgement to the judge, and recorded the full names, never altering the neutra
lity of her face.
“The police report states you video taped the robbery and then posted it on YouTube. I’m curious as to why you would do such a thing.”
“I want to be a filmmaker someday. I heard that posting your films on social networks is a good way of getting into the business. I didn’t think anyone would be able to identify us from the tape.”
“What do you think of your choices now?”
“They were pretty stupid, I guess, and I’m really sorry I did it.”
“Okay, son, I’m going to give you 100 hours of community service under the supervision of Chief Fredrickson, and don’t let me see you in this court again, you hear?” Harry remembered doing a few stupid things himself when he was Sven’s age and an image of “Killroy Was Here” painted on the water tower came to mind. It looked to him like the kid was punishing himself enough.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, your honor.”
Leif’s answers to the judge’s questions netted a series of yups, nopes and whatevers. The judge ended by asking, “Did you drink the beer you took from Mr. Collingsworth’s refrigerator?”
“Like it was only a six-pack, no big deal,” answered Leif.
“Well young man, let me see, you have one more year of high school. I’m giving you fourteen months of probation. You will have to report to a probation office once a month. You will finish high school and get yourself into college during that time. If I get any reports of underage drinking or drugs or any other brushes with the law, you will be doing some time. Do you understand me?”
“It’s not fair that Sven got off so easy. He’s the one who started this.”
“Don’t push it or I might change my mind. Court dismissed.” He pounded his gavel and hoisted himself out of his chair. It saddened him to know this was probably not the last time he would see Leif Henderson in this courtroom.
Back in the Volvo the atmosphere had lightened considerably, relief had lifted spirits and caused Sven’s teenage hunger to kick in. “Mom, can we drive through Hardee’s? I couldn’t eat this morning, and now I’m starving. I’ll buy.”
Chip and Jane let him pay.
“Are you serious about this filmmaking?” asked Chip as they drove along the road back home.
“I know you want me to be a veterinarian, Mom, and it’s not that I don’t like animals, but I want to make films. I want to be a movie director some day. The school counselor is always saying we should follow our passion. I want to go to New York University and study film. That’s what I’m passionate about. Ingrid’s the one who wants to be a vet.”
“I’m sorry, Sven, if I was forcing those expectations on you,” said Jane. “I want both you and Ingrid to be happy with your career choices. Film is a tough way to make a living, but then so is being a vet. Maybe you can film something as part of your community service.”
“Let me tell you a little story,” said Chip. “My grandfather was a famous neurosurgeon, my father is a very prominent neurosurgeon and everyone, including myself, expected me to follow in their footsteps. I tried, but I was a miserable failure and became a huge disappointment to my family. My brother ended up being the neurosurgeon, and I became a bum, at least in their eyes. Only very recently have I discovered something I’m good at and some place I want to be. You’re lucky to have discovered your passion so young. Maybe I can help you.”
“Really, would you?” Sven was feeling like he had just been released from prison and won the lottery all in the same day.
“You finish high school and apply to NYU, then I may be able to pull some strings and get you an internship working on the filming of The Cranium Killer. Seems like my literary agent has some influence with Howard Glasser.”
“Oh, that would be way cool, Chip.”
Jane mouthed, “Thank you,” to Chip.
Sven polished off two hamburgers, a large order of onion rings and a super-sized Dr. Pepper. “Mom, I’m still hungry. Can I go to the Bun, when we get back into town?”
“Speaking of my agent,” interrupted Chip, “If I don’t finish my second book by May 15, she’ll have my head on a platter, plus I’ll be financially penalized in a big way.”
“Surely with all that’s been happening here, she’ll give you another extension,” remarked Jane.
“You don’t know Lucinda. She’s a she-devil. If I don’t have it done on time, she will chew me up and use her pitchfork to pick me out of her teeth. I’m going to go into isolation for the next few days and finish it off. I’ve solved the murders and the romance is a done deal, I’ve just got to re-write a few spots.”
“A romance, huh,” said Jane. “Am I in this story of yours?”
“Ah, you’ll have to wait until it’s published to find out, my curious friend.”
Until the conversation in the car, Sven had not really paid much attention to Chip, much less noticed the relationship between Chip and his mother. Was this guy really an awesome dawg or was all the talk about helping him become a filmmaker just a way of getting at his mother? These thoughts drained some of the pleasure out of being saved from probation or worse, Juvenile Detention.
Chip stayed home for the next two days. He ate, drank and slept Brain Freeze. He read the whole book aloud to himself. He made corrections and edits. Finally on the afternoon of the ides of May, he saved it to a flash drive and was about to send it to Lucinda, when his phone rang. It was Jane.
“Chip, the tornado sirens are going off here in town. Get yourself and the dogs into your root cellar ASAP. I’ve got to go.” She hung up.
Chip had been working so intently he failed to notice the eerie stillness that had crept into the air. He looked out the kitchen window and was transfixed by the green hue to the sky. Honey was agitated and whining. Runt was standing stiff-legged, his eyes glazed and his tongue sticking out. He peed on the floor. Chip picked him up and with Honey following, they ran outside and around the side of the house to the root cellar door. He opened the heavy slanted hatch and descended into the hole, closing the door behind him.
The root cellar was dark and dank. Cobwebs brushed his face. As he settled himself on the dirt floor, the thought of rodents crossed his mind. He shivered. Tornadoes were an unknown to him. On the East Coast he had experienced hurricanes and nor’easters, but the weather reports had always given residents several days’ warning. This had come out of nowhere on a perfectly beautiful day. He waited with Runt on his lap and Honey nestled at his side.
Then he heard it. It sounded like a freight train rumbling through town. There was a loud crack followed by a thud on the cellar door. A few minutes passed … then silence.
At first the cellar door would not budge. He put his shoulder to it and pushed. It opened slightly, and he could see that a branch from his red maple tree had fallen across the door. He was able to squeeze out the crack and climb over the branch. His yard was full of shredded leaves. It looked like someone had taken a giant salad shooter to his trees. A few shingles from the roof were scattered around the yard. All the windows on the east side of the house had been blown out, but otherwise the house seemed to have sustained little damage. Out on the road he saw a downed telephone wire. He backed the Volvo up to the cellar door and with a towrope moved the branch and freed the dogs. He put them in the house.
He ran to the road and determined he would be able to drive around the live wire. He headed for town, figuring that help would be needed and wanting to make sure that Jane was okay.
Two tornadoes, one an F3, the other an F4, had hopped through the county. One came through Turners Bend. In its path it had chewed up hundreds of acres of corn, taken the roofs off of five houses in town, destroyed one barn and taken one precious life.
Within hours the residents of Turners Bend had mobilized into disaster teams. Temporary housing was located for the displaced families. Linemen went to work on downed power and telephone lines. A call was made to the governor for National Guard assistance and FEMA assessment.
Two days later there was a funeral at First
Lutheran for the fallen farmer. The church was packed with mourners, and Chip was among them. He didn’t cry until he came home, then he hummed a few bars of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and added a dedication to Brain Freeze.
For Oscar Nelson,
A Yankee-Doodle Dandy,
Born on the Fourth of July
He had missed his deadline. The events surrounding the storm had taken over his time and his energy. Lucinda, who time and again had granted him leniency, had called the tornado “another trumped-up excuse.” Brain Freeze would be published and the sale of the movie rights was pending, but Chip would lose the bulk of his earnings from the book. He began to wonder if other published authors were actually making any money on their books.
Chapter Forty
Brain Freeze
Two Harbors & Duluth, Minnesota
Jo led John and Belinda towards the front of the building, walking down dim corridors. She had taken a few precious minutes to pull on her boots and her clothes, making her feel human again. The anesthesia had not worn off yet and the numbness in the back of her head felt strange. It made her jumpy. She peered around corners with the Glock in her hand. John said that Candleworth had cleared the building, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
They were nearing the lobby when John called out. “Jo, wait up. I’m going to have to carry her. She can’t keep up any longer.” Belinda moaned as John whisked her up into his arms.
Jo turned around and was alarmed by the ashy hue of Belinda’s face. “John, we can’t take her with us when we go after Frisco. She’ll never make it.”
John looked down at the woman, who had passed out. “You’re right. I’ll call for an ambulance and stay with her. But you can’t go alone…”
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