Jasper pulled out his cell and called Kurt’s home.
“Hello,” said a woman.
Jasper said nothing.
“Hello?” she said again. “Hello? Who is this? Hello?”
He hung up. If his plan had gone as scheduled, the kid would have been dead by now. He needed another plan. The kid would still die, just a little later.
A grim smile crossed his face. Butch should be catching up to Etta by now. Soon she’d be out of the way for good, then he would get rid of Butch, make it look like a domestic dispute between Butch and Etta. He’d thought to kill Kurt first, then after Butch had knocked off Etta, Butch would die. Jasper didn’t like kinks in his plans, but he would still have the same results.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Thursday, 8:00 a.m.
In the Cifax community, a frightened Etta emptied drawers of clothes into suitcases. If she stayed, Butch—or his boss—would kill her. Of that she was certain. She and Butch had shared some great times. She’d even hoped at one point that he would marry her. That would never happen now because she knew too much for him to allow her to live. Besides, she wouldn’t want to marry a man who treated Hessie so badly.
She dragged the three suitcases to the front door, stopped and looked around. Had she forgotten anything? She had her cell phone, local telephone directories, a copy of the letter and pictures she planned to mail to her friend at work.
Etta had called her friend last night, and they’d worked out a plan. Once Etta made it to New Bern safely, she’d call her friend with instructions to go ahead and send the envelope to the local newspapers and television stations. If Etta didn’t call within 48 hours, the friend would open the envelope and send the info to the cops as well as the news media. Because they’d want a hot story, she knew the newspapers would jump on the facts she’d sent them. In the envelope she’d named names, given dates. They’d publish an article, maybe put it on the front page. Even if the cops weren’t interested, the media would push them to investigate.
She’d dialed her sister in New Bern, North Carolina, left a message on her answering machine saying she hoped she could get there that evening. But she hadn’t slept at all last night, was starting out tired. If she had to, she would stop in some little town, spend the night in a cheap motel.
Etta loaded the suitcases, a pillow and comforter, maps, and a food-filled cooler in the trunk of her old red Capri.
She walked back inside her rented house at the far end of a mile-long gravel road. She loved this place, her home for the last four years. A few good neighbors lived along the road. If she ever needed help, she knew they’d come. But to tell them about Butch would put their lives in danger. She refused to do that.
Huge old oaks and poplars surrounded the tiny house, and there was a cleared space for a small garden. Her landlord plowed it for her every year. The rent was reasonable, the landlord kept the yard mowed and raked, and he maintained the home’s exterior. And if Etta wanted to spruce up the inside, he’d always been happy to supply the paint and any wallpaper she selected. Etta, a good housekeeper, was proud of her little house and how neat and clean she kept it. Folks who visited always remarked on its appearance, said it smelled like homemade apple pie. Fond thoughts of friends, neighbors and fellow workers at Bedford Memorial Hospital ran through her mind. She wished she could take the things she’d accumulated over the last few years, things like framed pictures she’d bought at Wal-Mart, pretty knickknacks she’d acquired at yard sales, stuff that helped make a house a home, gave it that lived-in feeling.
Only knowing what Butch would do when he caught her could make her leave.
Etta heard a meow seconds before the yellow cat rubbed against her leg. She scooped him up, cradled him in her arms, rested her cheek on his head. She’d found him emaciated and lying on the side of the road the day she’d moved into the house, had nursed him back to health, had him neutered. The veterinary clinic let her pay a little each month until she’d paid off the bill. She couldn’t just abandon him now.
Would one of her neighbors take him? She thought about the young girl down the gravel road and how much she loved on Mouser whenever she visited. Then Etta remembered that the girl’s mother was severely allergic to cats. Was there anyone else who would take him? She looked at her watch. Every minute she stayed put Butch closer. She didn’t have time to make phone calls. Trying not to cry, she set Mouser down on the floor, filled his food and water bowls, and walked out of the house. She’d call her landlord when she reached Oxford, ask him to find Mouser a good home.
Five minutes down the road she pulled onto the shoulder. She looked at her watch; precious time had passed, time she needed to survive. But she couldn’t do it, couldn’t desert Mouser no matter what happened to her. Butch hated cats. Etta knew Mouser would die an ugly death when Butch searched the house looking for her. She turned around in a driveway and hurried back the way she’d come.
Inside her little house again, she stuffed an uncooperative Mouser in the cat carrier, grabbed the cat food, treats, and his two bowls and loaded them in the car. Did she dare go back inside for his toys? Deciding against it, she started the car and drove down the gravel road. She prayed she could get to the main highway before Butch trapped her.
She reached 221, turned left toward Lynchburg. Normally she would have headed toward Bedford, but she knew Butch would come from that direction. In her rearview mirror, she saw a blue pickup truck turn onto the country road she had left less than a minute ago. The truck looked like Butch’s. Etta stomped on the accelerator.
Butch’s truck skidded to a stop in front of Etta’s house. Her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot. He’d figured she’d be ready to run, but had hoped she hadn’t left yet. Etta wasn’t stupid. She’d guess he would come after her. He ran to the front door, tried the knob. The door was locked. He retrieved the key she’d given him months ago from his key chain and opened the door.
He knew immediately the house was vacant. How long had she been gone? He looked at his watch—8:22. Entering the kitchen, he saw the unplugged coffee pot half-filled with coffee. He put his palm on the carafe. Still slightly warm. He smiled. She hadn’t been gone long. Now all he had to do was figure out where she’d headed.
When he saw the blinking light on the answering machine, he hit the play button and listened to the message.
Etta, dear, this is your sister. It’s 8:20. Sorry I didn’t pick up when you called. I was in the shower. I’m guessing you’re already on your way, but just in case you haven’t left yet, I wanted to let you know that I think you should go to the police. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you’re on your way here. See you in New Bern tonight or tomorrow. Drive carefully now, you hear?
Butch laughed. He knew Etta would never go to the cops. They scared her, reminded her too much of her no-good cop dad. Butch knew her sister’s name, but hadn’t known where she lived. Maybe Etta had said, but until today he hadn’t cared. Now he’d have no trouble finding the sister’s address. Etta thought she could escape by running away. Not a chance. Even though he knew how to get to New Bern—he’d driven through the town on his way to Atlantic Beach a couple times—he punched in the quickest route to New Bern on his GPS.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
8:25 a.m.
On the boat, Win groaned and rubbed his head. Groggy, he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around. What happened? Where was Carole? And where the hell was he? He felt like he had a hangover, but why? He hadn’t consumed that much wine. Carole should be the one with the hangover, a gigantic hangover. So why was she gone and he here alone? Wine. Drugs. Damn! Carole must have switched the glasses, waited for the drug to affect him, then left. But she couldn’t have gone far; her car was locked in the garage. On foot she didn’t stand a chance of escaping.
Win reached in his pocket for his cell phone, stood up and rang house security. “I’ll get you, Carole,” he said aloud, “and when I do I’ll kill you slowly. Very slowly. And I’
ll record the whole thing, just like the other times.”
“Hello,” said a voice.
“This is Win Ford. The woman I came with …” He took a step, tripped and fell. I’ll kill her, he thought as he realized Carole had tied his shoelaces together. He reached out to catch himself, stumbled again. His head hit the corner of the coffee table. The cell phone fell from his hand and slid under a chair.
“Hello? Mr. Ford, your mom wants you to call, says it’s urgent. Hello? Mr. Ford, can you hear me? Where are you? Talk to me, Mr. Ford. Mr. Ford?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Inside The Eagle’s Perch, Aurora helped Yvonne carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen. “That was delicious, Yvonne. You know, I think this sausage/grits casserole is one you should have ready to serve reporters while they’re eagerly getting your story.”
Yvonne beamed. “Thanks. I have several in the freezer, wouldn’t take long to defrost them.”
“Do you have a good soup recipe?”
“I do. Why do you ask?”
“Well, we’re into late October. We’re already getting some frosty nights and we’ll have a freeze any time now. Can you imagine how grateful those chilled-to-the-bone newspaper and television reporters will be when you offer them a cup of your homemade soup?”
“Excellent idea. I have some fresh pumpkins in the garden ready for picking. A pumpkin soup is one of my specialties. Aurora, are you into marketing, by any chance? You have such great ideas.”
Aurora laughed. “Well, kind of. I’m a videographer. I produce travelogues, commercials, that sort of thing. I also design and sell cross-stitch kits.” And somehow I get involved with mysteries and dead bodies, she thought. She prayed that Carole wouldn’t be another dead body. She didn’t think she could stand that.
Aurora was looking at her watch and wondering where Lieutenant Conner and Deputy Johnson were when the doorbell rang. Paul Bateman answered the door, ushered in the deputies.
Introductions were made, and Aurora told them about the damage to Win’s car and his license plate. “We thought you’d want to check his room,” said Sam. “We stayed out of it, so nothing’s been disturbed.” He crossed his fingers, hoped the deputies would allow Aurora and him to examine the room also.
Yvonne handed Conner the key.
“Thanks,” he said. He didn’t invite the others to join him.
After waiting 40 minutes, Aurora was on the brink of running upstairs and insisting they tell her everything they’d learned, when Conner and Johnson came downstairs. Aurora wanted to ask what had taken them so long, but kept her mouth shut.
“Interesting,” said Lieutenant Conner.
“Did you find anything that ties him to the hit and run?” asked Luke.
“We did. But that’s not all. Between what we found in his car and in his room, there’s enough evidence to incriminate him in other crimes, even murders,” said Conner. “Seems the man kept a scrapbook of newspaper articles, pictures, videos. The Smith Mountain Eagle’s story on the hit and run was the last entry. He’s a sick one, I can tell you that.” He glanced at Luke. “We found pictures of women—before and after pictures.”
“Before and after pictures of what?” asked Aurora.
“Pictures of women before and after they were murdered. We, uh, saw a picture of Carole, Luke. She was standing beside a For Sale sign. There’re no pictures showing her dead.”
Luke groaned. Aurora put her arm around him. “Carole’s not dead,” she said. “She’s one of the most resourceful people I know, always has been. And she did not trust Win. She would have guessed if she were in danger and figured a way out.”
“Are you sure your friend Carole is with Win?”
“She was when I talked with her yesterday afternoon. She said she’d call me last night.” She looked around at the people in the room. “So what happens now?”
“I’ve already put out an APB on him with descriptions of Carole and her car,” said Lieutenant Conner.
“I can’t just sit around and wait,” said Luke.
“Us either,” said Aurora. “Let’s go.”
Outside, Luke, Aurora and Sam decided on a plan. Sam and Aurora would drop Luke off at the real estate office so he could pick up his car, then they would return home so Aurora could get her Jeep. They divided the Smith Mountain Lake map into sections; each would take a section to search. King would ride with Aurora. They’d keep in touch by cell phone every 30 minutes if they could avoid “dead zones.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Thursday, 9:00 a.m.
Lillian dropped Blanche off at the front door of the hospital and drove into the parking garage. Hurrying into the building, Blanche rode the elevator up to ICU. By now she knew her way around the hospital well. Too well, she thought, and said a little prayer for Tom. Shocked when she realized she’d actually prayed, she shook her head to clear it and continued down the hall.
When they saw Blanche, Estelle and Mary Ann got up from their seats in the waiting room.
“How’s Tom this morning?” Blanche asked as they walked to his room.
“We checked on him about 45 minutes ago. The nurse told me he didn’t sleep well during the night. She wouldn’t give me details. Estelle and I took turns poking our heads in his room every two to three hours. They wouldn’t let us go in, though.”
“I think they thought we’d try to kill him,” said Estelle.
“Of course they didn’t think that,” said Blanche. “I’m shocked that you said that. Why would you say such a thing, Estelle?”
“Well, I tried twice to go to his bed. I wanted to speak to him, tell him I was there if he needed me. The nurse didn’t like that and made me leave.”
“You didn’t tell me that, Estelle,” said Mary Ann.
“I did. You just weren’t listening.”
Mary Ann rolled her eyes, admitted to herself that she often tuned Estelle out. “Blanche, you and Lillian must have left the lake early this morning. I didn’t expect you this soon.” She looked around. “Where is Lillian, anyway?”
“Parking the car. She dropped me off at the hospital. And yes, we left early. Lillian picked me up at 6:35.”
“Were you able to get some rest last night?”
“Not much, but I’m glad I was able to change my clothes, shower, and pack a few things in a suitcase. Also gave me chance to make some phone calls and pay a couple of bills.” They stopped outside Tom’s door.
“I’d like to see Tom alone. You girls can see him later.”
“Alone? You don’t want us to go with you?” asked Mary Ann.
“Mary Ann, have you lost your mind? Blanche wants to see her husband. Alone. Without us. Period. So you and I will wait in the hall until we’re told we can go in. Understood?” Estelle was tired of Mary Ann, tired of being at the hospital.
Mary Ann started to speak at the same time Lillian reached them.
“How’s Tom?” Lillian asked.
“I’m going to find out right now,” answered Blanche. The policeman sitting outside Tom’s door recognized her, told her to go on in.
Blanche noticed Tom was still hooked up to all sorts of contraptions.
“Mrs. Southerland,” said the nurse, “I hope you got some sleep.” Blanche nodded. “Mr. Southerland didn’t have a good night. His breathing was labored and his blood pressure was way up. The doctor thinks his foot’s infected.”
“His color doesn’t look good,” said Blanche. She put her hand on his forehead. “He’s so hot. Is his fever high?”
The nurse nodded.
Blanche rested her hand on her husband’s arm.
“Hey, Tom. I’m here.” His eyelids fluttered, but he made no sound. “Is he in a coma?”
“No, your husband is sleeping. By the way, the doctor wants to talk to you when he makes his rounds, probably in about an hour or less, so please make yourself available.”
“Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”
At that moment the door opened and Dr. Black
man hurried in. “Mrs. Southerland. Glad you’re here. I have bad news. I’m afraid your husband has taken a turn for the worse.”
“What happened?”
“You know that mangled foot of his? Well, gangrene set in.”
“Gangrene? How can that be? And why didn’t you catch it earlier?”
“Mr. Southerland developed what we call gas gangrene. We didn’t discover it right away because the surface of his skin appeared normal. When the skin on his foot turned purplish-red and he developed a foul-smelling discharge, I immediately suspected gangrene. I’ve given him strong antibiotics, done everything I know to stop the progression, but he’s getting worse fast. I can’t wait any longer. The foot must be amputated immediately. It’s either that or his life.” Dr. Blackman caught Blanche as she crumpled to the floor.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Thursday, 9:11 a.m.
She’d been on the road only a little over an hour, but Etta was already a nervous wreck. She knew Butch well, figured he wouldn’t quit looking for her until he found her and slit her throat the way he’d wanted to cut Hessie’s. Every time a dark truck appeared in her rearview mirror, her stomach would tighten and she’d hold her breath until certain the truck wasn’t Butch’s. Her blood pressure must be sky high by now. Had she taken her blood pressure pill this morning? She couldn’t remember. “Calm down, Etta,” she said aloud. Mouser meowed.
A sign for Burger King appeared and she turned off the highway, pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Etta frowned. If Butch drove past he would see her Capri. For the first time since she’d bought the car—used, of course—she wished she’d purchased a white or gray one instead of red. She needed a larger parking lot with more cars where she wouldn’t be so conspicuous. Looking across the street she spied a sign for Shoney’s. This time of day, lots of people would be eating breakfast there. Believing she’d be less conspicuous in their parking lot, she drove across the road and parked between two vans. From the back seat, Mouser voiced his dissatisfaction.
Secrets at Sweetwater Cove Page 17