by J. D. Webb
Well, the first step has been taken. Now I just have to get out of this alive.
SEVENTEEN
Fifteen minutes before the alarm would have buzzed at 6:30, three cardinals fluttering and twittering around a bird feeder wakened Trish. She stretched and kicked off the covers, relishing the first restful sleep she’d had in—well, she couldn’t remember how long. A wonderful aroma of fresh coffee, bacon and something toasted made Trish’s stomach rumble and she took less time than normal getting ready for work. She realized she had eaten very lightly since her dinner with Heather.
The dining room was awash with fresh-cut flowers; the table was set for two with old-fashioned place settings. Three covered dishes rested on trivets. A large pot of coffee sat on a stand, beckoning her to sit. Bev’s finches whistled and warbled in their cage responding to her attention on her trips to and from the kitchen.
Bev returned with a plate of toast in one hand and a butter dish in the other. “Morning, Trish. Did you sleep well?”
“I don’t think I’ve had a better night’s sleep in years. Thank you.”
Bev beamed. “Sit yourself down and dig in. If you don’t mind, I’d like to join you. Haven’t had anyone to talk to for some time.”
“Please do.” Trish sat and dished up a portion of a delicious-looking egg casserole. Bev sat and bowed her head. Trish stopped and embarrassedly bowed her head as well. Nothing was spoken out loud, but Trish said a silent prayer of thanks that she was beginning the next chapter in her life. Trish had always gone to church, but it seemed lately she didn’t have time to pray. Pastor Gardiner would say that was a cop-out.
They talked about Millvale politics, Trish’s job and her plans to go into private practice. Bev talked about her family and brought Trish up-to-date on some of her former friends who had moved away.
“We’ve scampered all around what I really want to talk to you about. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I realized I made a mistake and now I’m correcting it.”
“Leaving Jim Morgan is a big step. He won’t be happy. I know that much about him. Used to baby sit him and his older brother years ago. There were two opposites if I ever saw ’em. When Tyler got killed, Jim seemed to lose interest in school, friends and even family. He went around with deep depression in his eyes.”
Trish shrugged. “I knew him from college. He seemed okay for the first years we were married. Then his dad died and he became a different person. One I don’t know and don’t particularly like.”
Bev pushed a stray silver lock from in front of her bifocals. “Been there, done that. My first husband was a mean cuss, till I fixed him. I accidentally bumped him with my fifty-two Nash Ambassador, twice. And I threatened him with some nasty stuff when he went to sleep.” She chuckled and her eyes twinkled. “Sure became a changed man then. You don’t have a Nash, but the Jaguar would do nicely.”
“No, nothing like that. I cleaned out our account and moved away.”
“Oh, that’s good. If there’s anything I can do, you let me know.” Bev patted Trish’s hand and gathered the empty plates. “How about pork chops and home made applesauce for supper tonight?”
“Sounds great, but I have no idea when I’ll be here. I missed work yesterday. I’ll have a huge pile to dig through when I get there.”
Bev spoke over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. “I’ll save some for when you get here. Won’t be a problem to heat up.”
“Thanks, Bev. I’ll see you tonight.” She wasn’t sure Bev heard. Pans and dishes clanked together in the kitchen. She headed back to her room to grab her purse and arrive at SWW&S a bit early.
EIGHTEEN
Normally Trish would have enjoyed the deep blue sky and mild temperatures. Not today. Her life was in upheaval, and she had a mountain of work to catch up on. She grabbed the office doorknob and started to insert her key.
“Good morning, Trish.”
She jumped at the sound of Mr. Sloan’s voice and dropped the key. “Oh, you startled me.” She bent for the key and promptly butted heads with Sloan, who had bent down to help her. “Sorry.” She rubbed the sore spot.
Now beet red, Sloan waved a hand and opened the door. “No problem. You’re early today. Are you feeling okay?”
“Fine. The twenty-four hour flu, I guess. I came in to catch up on what I missed doing yesterday.”
A touch of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Admirable. Admirable. I’ll let you get to it. Um, would you make some coffee?”
She gave him a sidelong look. “Yes.” At least he had asked, and that was a plus after some of their heated discussions about her office duties.
After preparing extra strong coffee, she returned to her desk, which contained a huge pile of documents. She grimaced. Several folders had been tagged with red sticky notes, indicating urgency. Separating those into a neat stack, she began to tackle the most pressing. She barely acknowledged her office partners when they arrived. Inquiries about her illness were answered with short sentences.
When Henry Davis, the mailman, cleared his throat at her desk, Trish remembered her plan to be absent when he arrived. In all the hubbub, she’d forgotten. “Hello, Henry.”
“Got a minute, Mrs. M?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t this morning, Henry. I’m swamped and the alligators are nipping at my…” She paused. “…heels.”
Henry’s freckles darkened as a loud grunt erupted from him. “Hey, that’s a good ’n, Mrs. M. It’s real important to hear what the Dems are going to do. It affects our very lives. They got this bill they’re puttin’ in the Congress that will take away our right to bear arms as is in the Second Amendment.”
“Henry, I have no time to discuss this. Can we do it another time, please?”
Henry snatched up his mailbag and marched off, loudly proclaiming over his shoulder she had better pay more attention to what the government was doing to them. Because he for one, wasn’t going to stand for it.
Trish sighed and returned to her work. Ten minutes later the phone rang.
“You gave me the wrong DVD. I want mine.”
Trish clapped her hand over her mouth. It’s him. Shit. She forced herself to take a couple of deep breaths. “What do you mean? I put it in the mail slot like you told me.”
“No. The cops must have switched it on you. You get that DVD or someone close to you is dead.” He yelled into the phone. “Get it tomorrow. I’ll call and tell you where to deliver it. I don’t care that you have a cop watching you. I can take him out whenever I want. Oh yes, I know you’re staying at Miss Beverly’s house so don’t think you’re safe.”
Trish shivered and squeezed the phone tighter. When she looked up Jim stood in front of her desk. “We need to talk. Now.” He planted his hands on his hips.
She covered the phone with one hand. “I can’t talk right now, Jim.”
“Put the phone down.”
Before she knew it she had pressed the hold button. Oh great. I just put a murderer on hold. Jeez. “Jim, leave or I’ll have you thrown out.” She punched the hold button and was greeted with a stream of profanity the likes of which she’d never heard before.
“I’m sorry. I pushed the hold button in error. It won’t happen again.”
He was screaming now. “You damn bet ya it won’t or you’re toast! When you get to your room tonight, check the closet. I left you a present. Then get that DVD or you’ll resemble my gift.” The phone clicked. She leaned back into her chair, exhaling heavily.
Trish’s heart seemed to leap into her throat. My God, he’s been in my room. What kind of present did he leave? I’d better call Bev and warn her.
Jim cleared his throat. “I’m waiting. Where can we talk? Or do you want to do it here in front of everyone?”
Trish stood up, gritted her teeth, and leaned across her desk. “I just got off the phone with a killer. He threatened me. Do you think you’re going to scare me with anything you can say? Now get your butt out of here. We’re
through. I’ve left for good. I’ll send for the rest of my belongings.”
She’d never seen her husband so perplexed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Slowly—very slowly—he turned and walked away, staring at Trish’s fellow workers, who were openly gawking.
As the door closed behind Jim, Heather rose from her desk and hurried over to Trish, clapping her hands. “I’ve been waiting for over a year for you to get some backbone. Way to go!”
Shaking, Trish fell into her chair. “I talked to the murderer again. He wants his disk back. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not. Wait a minute.” Heather ran to her desk and pulled out a thermos bottle. She grabbed a handkerchief out of her purse and shook some water onto it. “Here, put this on your head. You’ll be fine.” Heather slapped the wet rag on Trish’s forehead and held it in place.
“I put him on hold. How could I do that?”
“You put the killer on hold? Oh, that’s precious. I love it.”
Trish shivered. “It’s not funny. He said I was as good as dead.”
“Honey, you need to come and stay with me. I have an extra gun or two. We’ll take this sucker out if he dares come around.”
Trish shook her head, along with Heather’s hand. “Heather, will you get serious? I need some constructive suggestions from a friend. Not an invitation to a shootout.”
“Sorry. But I grew up in a nasty part of Chicago with my grandparents. We had shootouts every weekend. If it wasn’t the druggies, it was the gangs. I know how to handle myself.”
“Just the same, I’m going to the police right now and let them handle it.”
“Want me to go with you for protection?”
“They have a man outside. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
“I just wish this was over.” She removed the cloth from her head and handed it to her friend. “Thanks for the offer of a place to stay. And yes for the offer to blow this guy away but I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Offer still stands. My brother and one of my cousins were killed in a drive-by right in front of me when I was eleven. I vowed never to be afraid again. And I won’t be.” Heather winked and returned to her desk.
Trish sat for a minute. She thought about the last call from the killer. Something about his voice. His words echoed in her brain as she tried to sort through snippets of the morning conversations. No way to identify what message her mind was sending. Anyway, there were more important things to do. Like going to the police. Lord, please let this end soon.
* * * *
Millvale Police Station bustled with activity. The FBI had taken over half of the main floor. Bob Jenkins had been relocated to a desk in the far corner. He sat hunched over a computer screen and failed to see Trish until she cleared her throat.
“Oh, hi, Trish. Ah, I mean, Mrs. Morgan.” He looked around sheepishly.
“I have something to report, Bob.”
“Looks like you’ll have to spill it out here in the open. Agent Cheever has confiscated my humble abode.” He lifted his hand toward his cubicle.
“Sorry for that.”
“They didn’t like my helping you escape ‘their surveillance,’ as they put it. They banished me to this area. I call it my penalty box.” He smiled.
“I had another call from the killer. He said he wants his DVD, not the one we gave him. He apparently knows the difference in the disks.”
“Crap. Come on over here and let’s tell Cheever.” They squeezed between desks and around mounds of papers to the chief’s office where he and Cheever were in a heated conversation.
“We haven’t got any money for your meals, Cheever. We’re over our yearly budget now. I can’t authorize anything else.” He looked at Bob and Trish and raised his eyebrows. “Something we can do for you two?”
Bob pushed in front of Trish. “We need to see you both, in there.” He pointed into Landers’ office. The chief shrugged and he and Cheever led the foursome inside. Cheever headed for the chief’s chair until he caught a glimpse of the expression on Landers’ face.
Bob closed the office door and stood in front of the desk. No one sat. “Trish just got a call from the killer. He knows we switched the DVDs. He wants his back.”
Cheever exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “We can’t go through another fiasco like the first one. Especially with a civilian. God, why didn’t I use my law degree?”
Landers gave him a sneer. “We’d all have been better off if you had. Bob, take Mrs. Morgan out and get a statement. We’ll give you a call when we figure this out.”
Bob slammed his hand on the desk. “No! We’re not going anywhere. The four of us are going to discuss it. I’m tired of being excluded. I have some expertise in these matters. I insist on being involved from now on. The more heads on this the better. Trish needs to be here because…let’s face it, she’s the key to nabbing this guy. Now, let’s sit down and talk.”
NINETEEN
Tension hung in the room. Cheever and Landers exchanged looks, each waiting for the other to respond. An uncomfortable silence surrounded the group until Trish spoke.
“I may be out of line here, but shouldn’t we all work together to get out of this mess? We all seem to be control people, everyone trying to do our own thing and we’re getting nowhere.”
Chief Landers expelled a huge sigh and plopped into his chair. “You’re right, Mrs. Morgan. You’re right.”
“Please, call me Trish.”
Cheever pointed his finger at her. “I’ll agree, but I remind you, I want you under surveillance at all times. No more sneaking around without protection. It’s for your own good.”
“I promise to be good.”
An hour later Trish was back in her room. Cheever had called her boss and told him she would not be at work the rest of the day and would be there only part of the day tomorrow. Trish wished she could have heard the other end of that conversation.
A knock at her door startled her.
“Who is it?”
“Bev. I noticed you were home and I wondered if you were okay.”
Trish opened the door. Mrs. Williams stood there, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. A worried look was etched on her face. “I’m all right. Thank you for your concern, Bev. I’m taking a break today.”
“Look, it’s none of my business…but I see you all stressed out, a strange car’s sitting in the street, and these old busybody bones are telling me something’s going on. I want you to know if there’s anything I can help with, you just holler.”
Trish smiled and patted Bev on the shoulder. “You are a dear. I am dealing with a…situation right now. I hope it will be cleared up soon. Don’t you worry.”
“All right, if you say so. Hey, it’s eleven thirty; I’m making lunch. You’re welcome to join me. If you want to talk, I’d enjoy the company. Since Harold passed, I’ve had no one to chatter at.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Trouble? What’s trouble about a chicken salad sandwich and some homemade raspberry tea? Come on.” She grabbed Trish’s arm and dragged her toward the kitchen. “You sit down and I’ll fix you right up. How about the bread toasted? It’s wheat bread from Donally’s Bakery.”
“Sounds divine. Thanks.”
Bev efficiently prepared and served Trish one of the best lunches she’d had in a great while. Most of the time she was forced to grab fast food, gobbling it down to meet the 30-minute lunch limit imposed by SWW&S. This was five-star to her.
Trish leaned back in her chair and sighed. “That was absolutely delicious, Bev. Thank you.”
The older woman looked down at Trish through bifocals as she refilled Trish’s glass. “I’m glad you liked it. I only ask one favor for payment.”
“What’s that?”
Bev set the tea container loudly onto the table and plopped into her chair. “Tell me what’s going on. I’d like to help. And yes, it’s none of my business. I promise I’ll not gossip. ’Sides, I hate gossips.
Got some in our church. I won’t have anything to do with them.”
The woman’s face radiated excitement. Trish thought for a moment. I’m actually putting this lovely woman in jeopardy. She at least ought to be aware of the circumstances. Before Trish knew it the whole story had tumbled out. Surprisingly, she felt better. Having Bev know what she was going through seemed comforting. While Trish related the story, Bev hung on every word, offering no more than a nod or short grunt.
When Trish finished Bev was shaking her head. “My, oh my. You’ve gotten into one hell of a mess, as my old pappy used to say. The FBI working right here in Millvale? I bet the chief is bustin’ his buttons.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but he’s certainly yanking Bob around on a short chain.”
“Seems to me you should be getting paid for putting your life on the line.”
“All I want is for it to be over. One other important thing, Bev. The killer knows I’m staying here, so watch yourself.”
“Shucks, I’m eighty-three years old and lived a good life. I’m happy to get some excitement going on rather than occupyin’ a rocker and snappin’ beans.” Her eyes sparkled. She pounded the table. “Great guns, I got to find the twenty-two Harold used for hunting. You know, I’m a good shot. He taught me everything he knew ’bout shooting. That SOB comes around here, he’ll get himself ventilated.”
“No. No guns. You might shoot the FBI agent. My friend Heather has a thing about guns as well. What is it with you two?”
“I learned early on, I need to take care of myself if there ain’t no man around. That’s what I intend to do.”
“Well, do it while I’m not here, okay?”
Bev patted Trish’s hand. “Don’t you fret none. I’m not yet senile. I promise to ask questions first, before I blow anybody away.” She smiled, looking nothing like a gun-toting grandmother.