Secrets at Sweetwater Cove

by Sally Roseveare

  But now things were different. From all he’d heard, it sounded like La Grande Maison’s days of secrecy were over. Soon cops would be swarming over the vast estate, arresting all the employees, scaring the high and mighty guests. Maybe he’d just keep going when he dropped off his two passengers, fly off into the sunset, start a new life. Good thing the boss was out of the country on a so-called fact-finding trip for the government.

  Jim looked at his watch. In 40 minutes, he’d land the chopper on his buddy’s private landing strip between Lovingston and Charlottesville. His friend Wade would be waiting at the airstrip to refuel the chopper. Jim knew he’d ask no questions, would never even see the two passengers.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  Greenville, North Carolina, 5:45 p.m.

  “I don’t feel safe,” said Etta as they left the police station. “He’s close, watching, waiting for his chance to kill me. I can sense him.”

  Mac scanned the parking lot and the on-street parking as best he could. He saw no dark blue truck like Butch’s. “Etta, you’re exhausted and jumpy. Stop worrying. My guess is that he’s still searching the highway for you.” He opened the car door for her.

  A hungry Mouser voiced his outrage at still being in the carrier. Etta stuck a finger in the carrier to console him. “Ouch!” she said as a claw swiped her finger, drew blood. She sucked her wound, twisted a tissue around it.

  “When we get home we’ll put Mouser on our screened porch. Right now he’s one irritated cat. Don’t think I want him to have the run of our entire house when he’s in such a foul mood,” said Sue. “We can fix him a bed on the porch. It won’t be cold tonight. That okay with you, Etta?”

  “Of course. Whatever you wish. I appreciate you and Mac helping us. If you hadn’t, Mouser and I would probably be dead. And a killer would still be loose. Actually, Butch is still free, and I’m not out of danger yet. Neither are y’all.”

  Butch felt a little conspicuous sitting in a stolen vehicle so close to the police station, but he had no other choice. Besides, the cops would never guess a stolen car would be parked at their doorstep. He thought about the woman who owned the car. He probably should have pumped a few bullets into her instead of just throwing her on the ground and driving off in her car, but he’d figured somebody at the shopping center would hear the shots and investigate. He hoped no one saw her hit the pavement. Nowadays, though, most people would be afraid to help another human being. They’d just stand around and gawk or pretend they hadn’t seen or heard a thing. Now if an animal were in trouble….

  He couldn’t believe his good luck when he saw Etta sitting in the back seat of some guy’s car right beside him at a stop light. She hadn’t even looked in his direction. Of course, if he hadn’t ditched his truck….

  Mac drove away from the police station. “We’ll be at the house in about 20 minutes, Etta. You can relax then, get Mouser settled in, eat a good meal.” He glanced at Sue and smiled. “My wife’s a great cook.” He reached across the seat, patted Sue’s hand.

  “Thanks,” Sue said. “Etta, sometimes Mac exaggerates. You can’t believe everything he says.” She twisted her head to smile at Etta in the back seat. “Mac, did you know there’s a car close behind us?”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. It’s a small one, not a monster truck like Butch’s.” He frowned. He didn’t want to worry Sue and Etta, but the car had tailed them ever since they left the police station.

  Mac turned left, made a quick right at the next corner. The mystery car shadowed them. Three minutes and several unnecessary turns later, the car still hugged Mac’s bumper.

  “Sue, call 911. Tell them we’re being followed. Give them our location. I think that’s Butch behind us. No, Etta, don’t look back. We don’t want him to think we’re suspicious.” He glanced at Sue, saw her dial.

  “I knew he’d find me. He’ll kill me; y’all, too. Let me out, Mac.” She tried to open the door, but Mac had already pushed the child lock button for the rear seat.

  “They’re on their way. Said they’d notify Detective Stein,” Sue said. “I’m still on the line.”

  “Tell the operator I’m trying to double back to the police station, tell them what street we’re on. I doubt Butch knows Greenville. If I take him down the back streets he won’t recognize the station until we’re there.” At least I hope not, Mack thought.

  Blam! Butch’s car slammed into the rear bumper. Etta screamed. Blam! Mouser screeched, clawed the carrier’s side.

  “Get on the floor!” Mac said. He stomped the accelerator, ran a red light. At the last minute he hit the brakes, made a wild turn to the right at the next intersection.

  Butch overshot the turn, stopped, backed up and followed Mac.

  “He’s still behind us!” screamed Etta.

  “I told you to stay on the floor. Don’t give him another target in case he has a gun.”

  “Oh, I guarantee he has a gun.”

  Coming toward them in the opposite direction, a police car turned on flashing lights. The siren blared. Butch stopped, put his car in reverse. Behind him another police car screeched to a stop. A second car followed. Police, their pistols drawn, ran toward Butch’s car.

  “Get outta the vehicle!” a cop shouted. “Now!”

  Butch grabbed his gun and sprinted from the car.

  “Stop or we’ll shoot!”

  Butch kept running, tripped over the curb. He fell to the sidewalk. His gun flew into the air and landed a few feet away. He crawled toward the firearm, stretched out his hand to reach it.

  A foot stomped his fingers. A hand picked up the gun.

  “Gotcha,” said Detective Stein.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

  Thursday, 5:55 p.m

  Aurora slept on the sofa in their sunroom. Sam busied himself in the kitchen. He’d offered to take her out to dinner, but she refused, insisted they come home instead so she could shower and relax. Well, she would still enjoy a great meal. He scrubbed two potatoes and stuck them in the oven, washed and snapped the pound of green beans Aurora had purchased three days ago, and defrosted two bacon-wrapped filet mignons from Omaha Steaks. His mouth watered in anticipation.

  Sam tip-toed to the sunroom and peeped at the love of his life. He couldn’t seem to look at her enough, figured his brain had to satisfy itself that she was still there, still alive. After all, he’d come close to losing her.

  Aurora’s camera rested on the coffee table. He picked it up and snapped a shot of her stretched out on the sofa in her pink pajamas with black and gray Labs printed on the fabric. Her hand dangled off the edge of the sofa, her fingertips rested on King’s head.

  King opened his eyes, looked at Sam. Sam could have sworn the dog smiled and winked at him before drifting back off to sleep.

  When the telephone rang, Aurora moaned and shifted her position. King raised his head. Sam snatched it and hurried to the kitchen.

  “This is Luke, Sam. I’m calling to see how Aurora is.”

  “She’s fine, just exhausted. She showered and is now sound asleep on the sofa.”

  “Hope I didn’t wake her.”

  “You didn’t. But it would have been okay if you had. I’ll get her up anyway in about 10 minutes when supper’s ready. How’s Carole? She’s been through a lot more than Aurora.”

  “You know, I can’t get over that woman of mine. Carole’s smart, resourceful, spunky. She told me that Win had the bartender at La Grande Maison mix a date-rape drug in her wine.”

  “You’re kidding. So if she was drugged, how did she manage to escape?”

  Luke laughed. “I told you she’s resourceful. She switched glasses when he wasn’t looking.” He laughed again. “Win consumed the wine meant for Carole. She even acted like she was drugged. That’s my Carole.”

  “You realize how blessed we both are, Luke?”

  “Yeah, Sam, I do.”

  At the hospital, Monique tried for the third time to talk the staff into giving her an update on Otis. For the third time they r
efused.

  “You’re not family,” they said. “We’ve told you that twice before.”

  “I will be family if he lives,” she answered. “And I’ve told you that twice before.” She struggled not to cry. “Otis saved my life. That should count for something.”

  “Sorry. You really should go home.”

  “I refuse to leave until I know his condition. Besides, I live with Otis.”

  From the hall, a nurse’s aide motioned slightly to Monique and put her finger against her lips. The aide turned and headed away from the nurses. Monique followed.

  “I can’t stand what’s happening to you, even though they’re following procedure. My boyfriend means everything to me; I consider myself part of his family. If I were in your position, I’d want to know how he’s doing.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you understand.”

  “Miss, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this. The doctor should tell you. But he won’t, not until they notify the immediate family. I really, really hate to be the bearer of bad news.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your boyfriend died in the ambulance.”

  Monique collapsed to the floor.

  Fifteen minutes later while Sam and Aurora were finishing their meal, the hospital called.

  “I don’t know if this is the right number, but a young woman gave me two phone numbers. I can’t reach the first number, so I’m calling you. Glad you answered. The woman—her name is Monique—is in bad shape. Her boyfriend Otis died on his way to the hospital. She passed out when she heard. When she regained consciousness, she pleaded with me to let either somebody named Carole or you know. I have good intuition. Monique, in my opinion, might be suicidal.”

  “She saved my friend’s life. And, ultimately, mine. I’m sorry her boyfriend died because of it. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Will you be able to keep her at the hospital until I arrive?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Bless you,” said Aurora.

  “I’ll drive,” said Sam. He set the dirty dishes in the sink, grabbed his jacket and Aurora’s, and ushered her out the door. “Come on, King,” he called.

  Almost an hour later, Aurora and Sam helped a distraught Monique into their car. King jumped in the back seat and rested his head in Monique’s lap. “Thanks for like helping me,” Monique said between sobs. “I’d like sleep in the yard before I’d crawl in bed knowing my Otis would never come back to me.”

  “Plan on staying with us for a week or so,” said Aurora. “We have plenty of room. Have you had anything to eat?”

  “No. I couldn’t eat a thing.”

  “Aurora and I finished eating right before the nurse’s aide called. But I’ll defrost and cook another steak for you, stick a baked potato in the microwave, zap the leftover green beans. You must be famished.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I’ll cook it anyway. If you don’t want it tonight, you can warm it up tomorrow,” said Sam. “Your choice. But think about it. Otis loved you. He’d want you to take care of yourself.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

  Near Lovingston, the helicopter pilot circled the dirt landing strip twice. A familiar figure stepped out of the woods, waved him down. Jim landed the chopper, shut off the engine, jumped to the ground and shook hands with Wade.

  “Appreciate the use of your strip.” He looked back at the helicopter, said to his buddy, “This will be the last time I’ll be landing here. Once I deliver those two goons to Jersey, I’m gonna drop out of sight. The entire operation at La Grande Maison is going up in smoke—maybe literally—and I don’t plan to get caught up in it. If I were you, I’d be invisible for a few weeks, too. Go on an extended vacation with the wife and kids. Don’t tell anybody where you’ll be. These are dangerous guys we’re dealing with. I don’t trust ‘em—never have. So after you gas me up, as far as you’re concerned, you don’t know me. You never heard of me. If asked, I’ll say the same about you. Deal?” His friend nodded.

  “So where in Jersey are you going?”

  Jim told him, asked about Wade’s family. Jim often wished he’d married that special woman who’d adored him, begged him to marry her and settle down like his friend had done, raise some kids. But he’d not wanted to drag a family into the evil that La Grande Maison represented. Once he finished running, invented a new identity, he’d call his old flame, see if she’d ever married. The prospect made him smile. He hadn’t smiled in a long time. It felt good.

  Jim refueled and started the chopper. “I’ll be in touch, Wade!” he hollered and waved goodbye. He felt better knowing he’d soon be rid of his passengers, never work again for La Grande Maison.

  *

  “You want to take this one or want to wait ‘til Jersey?” Jasper asked Win.

  “I want New Jersey. This one’s yours.”

  “Whatever.” Jasper pulled his gun from his satchel, aimed and fired. Wade fell to the dirt.

  “What the hell?” yelled Jim.

  “Just fly,” ordered Jasper. “Or you’re next.”

  Jim wasn’t dumb. The man had shot Wade, his friend. Jim didn’t know if Wade had lived or not. He prayed he’d survived, but didn’t have much hope. But why did they shoot Wade? Jim figured they thought Wade knew too much. Well, Jim knew a damn sight more about these people than Wade, a country boy, would have ever guessed. So, if you put two and two together and got a dead Wade, then Jim figured he didn’t stand a chance according to the bad guys’ thinking. Well, he’d give them a little surprise. He eased his hand into a storage cubicle, pushed maps aside, retrieved his .45 and tucked it in his jacket pocket.

  On the eleven o’clock news that night, a newscaster reported the murder of Wade Mulberry. “He failed to come home this evening for dinner. His wife and four kids discovered his body at their private airstrip when they went looking for him. His wife said Mulberry had planned to meet a helicopter at the airstrip to refuel it.” A short clip of the scene with the weeping family flashed on the screen.

  “Wade was a good man,” said his wife into the microphone. “He didn’t have any enemies.” She pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and blew her nose. “He was a good husband, a loving father, a Christian. Everybody loved Wade. Why would anybody want to kill him? Why?”

  She stared into the camera, wiped her eyes with the tissue the reporter handed her. “I’m offering a reward of $10,000 for any information leading to the conviction of my husband’s murderer.” A phone number to call with information flashed at the bottom of the screen.

  Aurora sat up straight in her recliner. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah,” said Sam.

  “I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but my gut tells me Win is involved in this killing. If I’m right, I’m involved, too. So are Carole, Monique, and even Otis.”

  King lifted his head from his dog bed, whined.

  “Come on, Aurora. You’re exhausted. Your imagination is doing double time.”

  “I agree with your wife, Mr. Harris.” Monique stood in the doorway. “I couldn’t sleep, so I turned on the TV in the bedroom. And when I saw the news, chills like ran all over my body. I really….”

  “Look,” interrupted Sam, “there’s a special report from this network’s New Jersey affiliate.”

  Earlier this evening, an explosion rocked a private airfield in the Cherry Hill, New Jersey, area. Authorities there report that a helicopter is burning out of control. We have no word yet of how this happened. Authorities have not ruled out terrorism. Firefighters are on the scene. The aircraft housed in hangars are not in danger at this time. A news team is en route to the location. We expect live photos before this broadcast is over. Stay tuned for more details.

  “Oh, my gosh,” said Aurora. “This is too coincidental.”

  “I agree,” said Monique.

  “Let it go, ladies.”

  “Don’t you get it, Sam?” asked Aurora. “The dead man in the Lovingston area was shot. He was refueling a helicopter.”
<
br />   “We can’t prove that.”

  “His wife stated that he’d planned to refuel a helicopter. You heard her yourself, Sam.”

  “The key word here is planned, Aurora. So far there’s no proof a helicopter ever landed.”

  “The key words in your statement, Sam, are so far. Don’t you get it? It’s a helicopter that’s burning in New Jersey, too. I’m guessing there’s just enough time for a chopper to refuel in Lovingston, and fly on to New Jersey in that same amount of time.”

  “Shh,” said Monique. She pointed to the TV. “They’re giving an update in New Jersey.”

  We just learned that the helicopter pilot jumped from the chopper the instant it touched down. Our witness, who doesn’t wish to be identified, said the pilot hit the ground, rolled, and limped towards the forest surrounding the airfield. He heard gunshots coming from the helicopter, thought one bullet may have hit the pilot in the shoulder. The pilot fired several shots back at the helicopter. The chopper burst into flames. The witness also said that two military-type vehicles drove onto the field, watched the helicopter burn, and drove away fast when they heard sirens. Our witness, who stayed hidden, fears for his own safety and the pilot’s.

  “Incredible,” said Aurora. “Unless the witness didn’t see anyone else jump from the plane, somebody died in the fire.”

  “Why do you think that?” asked Sam.

  “Because bullets were fired at the pilot from the helicopter,” said Aurora. “Now I’m even more convinced. I bet you Win was on the helicopter.”

  “I’ll take that bet. What do you want if you should happen to be right?”

  “Hmm. I’ve been thinking about getting a horse. Yep, if I’m right I want a horse.”

  “What would I get if I win?” Sam smiled at his wife.

  “You won’t win, but if by some miracle you do, I’ll treat you to a weekend on Bald Head Island.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” He looked at their houseguest. “Monique is our witness.”

  Monique laughed. “So like what kind of horse will you buy, Aurora?”