by R. P. Dahlke
His brows went up in question.
“We can always call it in tomorrow.”
He gave me a reassuring squeeze. “Okay. Why don’t you take a quick shower?”
I pulled my shirt away from my skin and sniffed. “Eeuw. I stink, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do.” Caleb tilted his head at the bathroom. “We’ll talk after your shower.”
Pearlie’s purse lay where I had left it on the entry table, her Lady Smith now back in its zippered compartment. We’d left Pearlie sleeping, so why the nagging feeling that I’d forgotten something?
I was lathering my hair with shampoo when I remembered—Reina! She had been released this afternoon, and thanks to my cousin, Mac Coker offered to—how had he put it, he would take care of Reina. My heart kicked fearfully in my chest. If Mac Coker was responsible for ferrying drugs in and out of Bethany’s place, would he decide that the unstable Reina was a liability? I quickly gathered my wet ponytail into a scrunchy and dressed.
Caleb was at the kitchen table sipping coffee.
“Dad go to bed?” I asked.
“He did,” he said, and putting a silencing finger to his lips, he motioned me to follow him out onto the back patio.
I padded outside on bare feet, barely missing the new dog’s water dish, but my other foot caught on something soft, and I leaned over to pick it up. Holding it to the light, I saw that it was khaki colored, ripped, and had slobber on it. I held it between two fingers.
“There was someone here, and it looks like Dad’s new friend took a chunk out of his pant leg.”
“Yes, and I found a couple of bugs, one under our bedside lamp, the other on the fridge, made to look like a refrigerator magnet,” he said, and ignoring the slobber, rubbed the fabric between his fingers. “This is uniform weight.”
“I hate to say it, but I think Deputy Dick may be the culprit.”
“I thought you said the deputy saved Pearlie.”
“He did, but he also told me that Mac Coker bought the tax lien on his granddad’s property, and that Mac has also been buying up property along Red Mountain Road.”
“What’s that got to do with the break-in?” Caleb asked.
“Abel admitted that if he can’t get the money to pay for the back taxes, his granddad will lose the property. He’s been working full time as a deputy and part time as a tow truck operator, and it’s still not enough.”
Caleb blinked thoughtfully for a minute doing his humming thing, then said, “You think Mac is using the tax lien to blackmail Abel Dick?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping he saw the connection as clearly as I did.
“You think Mac Coker is buying up property along a little used road to set up his daughter’s place as a drug drop?”
“It’s a direct link between Highway 92 and Bethany’s property. It also fits with Mac Coker’s relationship to the Chicago mob,” I said.
“When did Abel tell you about the tax liens and the property buys, and why is it the first time I’m hearing about it?”
“He confessed to most of it at the hospital, and you rushed me out of there before I could tell you and after that ….”
“Okay. Start over,” he said, perching on the edge of a folding chair.
I told him everything Abel said about Bethany’s side job as an internet sex worker, and Abel’s hints that the police chief was her killer.
“Then how deeply is he tied up with Mac Coker?”
“I’m getting to that. Abel was Bethany’s friend,” I said. “He liked and admired her, but I don’t believe he killed her. I think the police chief murdered Bethany.” I held up my hand for him to wait.
“We know he wasn’t dressed for a camping trip, he was a known wife beater, and I suspect if you looked into it you will find his credit card payments for Bethany’s service. I think Abel Dick or Mac Coker tried to come to her rescue. One of them killed the chief, but Abel knew where to dump a body.”
“The mine pit. Yes, he’s the local, not Mac Coker,” Caleb said.
“Right. He knew all about the pits. He’s part of it … “
“He may be an accessory to murder,” Caleb said, getting out of his chair. “I’m going to call Detective Tom. If Abel is missing a piece of his uniform, he’ll be arrested.”
“Please, Caleb, before you make that call, I need you to go with me to pick up Reina.”
“The artist who overdosed? Isn’t she still in the hospital?”
“Mac Coker picked her up when she was released today. I’m worried about her. If Mac is responsible for the drug trafficking here, he might decide that she’s a liability he can’t afford to keep around.”
.
Chapter Thirty:
Easing into the quiet yard of the art compound, I was relieved to see lights on in Reina’s cabin.
“Thank God, she’s here,” I said, getting out of the car.
“Wait up, Lalla,” Caleb said, holding me back. He had Pearlie’s pink Lady Smith in his hand, but that didn’t diminish the testosterone-fueled tension in his posture.
“No Caleb, it’s dark and seeing you at her door will only frighten her.”
I had just raised my hand to knock when I heard the blast of a shotgun tear through the night. The sound ricocheted against the buildings and died in the hills behind us. Somewhere close by, an engine shifted noisily then faded away.
I jerked back my hand. “What the hell was that?”
Caleb pushed in front of me and tried the door of Reina’s cabin. It was unlocked. Nothing looked to have been disturbed, but no one was at home, either.
“The bedroom,” I said, pointing to her bedroom door.
He pushed it open and turned on a light.
“Nothing. Let’s go,” he said.
“I couldn’t tell where that gunshot came from, could you?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “but it’s a good enough reason to ask Mac Coker. Come on.”
He pocketed the Lady Smith and started for the big house with me on his heels.
Using his fist, Caleb gave the door three hard raps. Without waiting for an answer, he turned the knob and the door swung open.
“I hear voices,” I said, pushing past him.
In the living room all the lights were on, but no one was there. I backed out and listened.
“It sounds like moaning, and it’s coming from the kitchen,” I said, leading the way.
Caleb reached around for a wall switch, and suddenly we knew where the gunshot came from.
Deputy Abel Dick lay on the floor, clutching his abdomen. His eyes fluttered open, his mouth gasping to speak.
I knelt down and took his cold hands in mine. “Who shot you?”
“I tried to stop him,” he wheezed through clenched teeth.
“Who? Abel, tell me who did this?”
He grabbed my wrist with a bloody hand. “Terrible mistake. He stole your little race car. Said it was to make up for-for losing his investment. No honor. He lied. I should’ve known better. Reina. She threatened to go to the police ….”
“Save your breath, Abel. We’ll get help.”
“No! There’s no time. You have to-to listen. He’s going to kill Reina and my granddad.”
“Why?”
“I’m so ashamed. Said if I did what he told me to, he wouldn’t take my granddad’s place. I knew it was wrong, but Bethany was already dead, so ….”
“Abel, did the chief kill Bethany?”
“Yes, but Mac killed the chief. He force-fed Reina the last of Bethany’s oxycodone, and took her. He’s going to kill them both, the lying bastard.”
His grip on my wrist fell away and his eyes closed.
I gasped. “Abel!”
Caleb put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll call 9-1-1.”
“Hang on, Abel, we’ll get you an ambulance,” I said. “Caleb?”
Caleb slammed the phone back onto the cradle. “It’s dead, and I have no cell service here, either.”
“What about Reina’s cab
in? She might have a land line we can use.”
“We don’t have time. Pull the car around to the back door. We’ll call 9-1-1 and get the sheriff after Mac Coker on the way to the hospital.”
“Can you carry him?” I asked. Caleb was as tall as Abel, but Abel outweighed him by at least fifty pounds.
“You get the car, I’ll take care of Abel.”
I was halfway to the car when Jason Stark drove into the yard.
I waved him to a stop and ran around to the driver’s side of his truck. “Abel Dick has been shot,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.
Jason looked at me and then at the lights in the big house. “Where is he?”
“In Bethany’s kitchen.”
“Hop in,” he said, and without waiting for me to close the passenger door, put the truck in gear and braked next to the back porch.
He got out and limped into the kitchen.
Seeing Abel on the floor, the dark blood pooling around his body, Jason quietly squatted and felt for a pulse.
“I’m sorry,” he said, using his hands on knees to get to his feet. “He’s gone.”
I backed into Caleb’s solid body, my hands shaking, tears marring my vision. Wiping my cheeks, I told Jason that we came looking for Reina, but found Abel gutshot, his dying words were that Mac Coker was responsible for killing the police chief and that he took Reina with the intent of killing her and Abel’s granddad.
Jason’s jaw tightened. “How long ago?”
Caleb looked at his watch. “Five-ten minutes?”
Jason blinked. “What kind of car is it? Is it fast?”
Caleb said, “It’s very fast, very rare, but it’s also old, has a small gas tank and the tires couldn’t take him very far.”
“It’s also worth a million dollars,” I said.
“He’s gone to Abel Dick’s place,” Jason said. “The Dick’s have a flatbed car hauler. He could put it on the truck and haul it out of here tonight.”
“We can’t wait for the sheriff’s department to get here,” I said. “If we take the back way over Red Mountain Road we can get to the Dick place in less than five minutes.”
Jason held out his truck keys. “Do either of you have a weapon?”
Caleb nodded and accepted the keys with his thanks. “Call 9-1-1 and report the murder and where we’ve gone.”
Jason assured us that his cell would work, and unable to look at Abel Dick’s body one more time, I hurried after Caleb.
Buckling up, we took the rutted trail behind the house and climbed the steep hill, the beams of our lights skewering the dark and pockmarked road ahead of us.
I leaned against the restraints. “Can’t you go any faster?”
“We’ll catch him,” Caleb said, dodging a pothole and coming dangerously close to the edge before swinging back onto the middle of the narrow road.
Just as the twin beams of the head lamps shifted upward to the night sky, the big truck slid over the crest and we headed downhill, jolting, rocking and bouncing as the truck picked up speed.
I pointed to the mailboxes on the left and shouted. “Don’t miss the turn-off!”
“Got it,” he said, turning the wheel hard over onto the one-lane road and then jamming the gas pedal to the floor.
The Dicks’ security lights lit up the house and yard like a carnival show. There would be no place to hide, for Mac or for us.
Caleb let off the gas and coasted up to the yard.
“There’s the flatbed truck,” I said. “He’s already got the Bugatti loaded.”
“Do you see him?”
“He’s not in the truck. I don’t know where he is.”
Caleb lowered the driver’s side window, turned off his lights, and crept up to the shadowed side of the house.
“Stay put,” he said, “I’m going to check out the car hauler.”
“Caleb, no,” I said. “He’s just killed Abel Dick and he won’t hesitate to shoot you, too.”
“I have your cousin’s revolver,” he said, and removing Pearlie’s pink Lady Smith from his pocket, he got out of the truck and crouched in the shadow of the house.
I pushed the passenger side open and came around to squat next to him.
His brows dipped but he didn’t try to talk me out of staying. “Keep behind me, and for Christ’s sake, stay low.”
With me now glued to his shadow, he darted for the nearest window.
Beyond the bedroom, Reina was out cold on the floor, and Mac Coker was busily taping an unconscious Mr. Dick to a dining room armchair. Satisfied with his handiwork, Mac turned off the interior lights and stepped through the front door.
I gave the old wood-sash window a heave. “We can get in this way.”
Just as I was about to climb inside, Caleb pulled me off the windowsill.
“Wait,” he growled.
I threw up my hands. “What the hell, Caleb?”
“I’m not letting Mac Coker get away.”
“I’d agree with you, but Abel said he’s going to kill old Mr. Dick and Reina, remember?”
“He’s already outside,” he said, shoving me behind him again. “They’re not going anywhere and he doesn’t expect us.”
.
Chapter Thirty-one:
I was stuck to Caleb’s back, creeping around the corner of the Dick house. Caleb’s plan to overpower Mac Coker went south when the barrel of his shotgun was aimed at us.
“Come out where I can see you!” Mac shouted.
“Go back to the window,” Caleb hissed. “Get them out of the house.”
I clutched at his shirt. “No, Caleb! Don’t—”
He swatted at me from behind his back, shoved the Lady Smith into the back of his pants, and stepped into the light with his hands in the air.
“Don’t shoot,” he said.
I was left in the shadows, now crazy with worry that Mac Cocker would shoot Caleb, but I did as he said, hugging the wall until I was back at the open window.
I removed my shoes and crawled inside.
Abel’s granddad was duct-taped to a dining room chair, his eyes closed and his chin on his chest. I put two fingers on his throat and was relieved to feel a steady pulse. Then I went to Reina. A quick check of her pulse assured me that she was alive.
I could’ve sympathized with Mac for killing the police chief. What father wouldn’t want to take the life of the man who murdered his daughter? But the bastard also murdered Abel Dick and was planning to kill both Reina and Abel’s granddad. So what did he have planned?
I tiptoed to the front door. Seeing it slightly ajar, I rubbed my sweaty hands on my jeans and jerked it open. He turned like I knew he would, and Caleb was on him in a second, wrestling for the shotgun.
In a sly movement, Mac released one hand from the barrel and the other end of the weapon dropped, Caleb’s hand going with it. Mac used the maneuver to slam the stock into Caleb’s shoulder.
I heard the crack of bone and Caleb dropped to his knees.
Shock and fury blew away the last of my reservations and I threw myself at Mac’s back, sending both of us rolling on the ground.
He shoved me off and made a grab for the revolver, and rolling into a squat, pointed the gun at my chest.
I raised my hands in defeat and when he waved me over next to Caleb, I meekly obeyed.
Caleb cradled his left arm.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I broke his collar bone,” Mac growled. “You’ll need to help him into the house.”
Caleb grimaced as I pulled on his good arm to get him to his feet.
With Mac behind us, Caleb and I staggered up the steps and into the house.
“You’ll never get away with killing all of us, Mac.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, motioning both of us over to a couple of side arm chairs. “Now sit down.”
Still shaking, I stepped over Reina’s legs to get to the chair.
“If Abel was helpful, then why did you have to shoot him?�
�� I asked, as I crumbled onto the chair.
“I meant to shoot him here. It would look like his granddad did it before turning the gun on himself. The old man has dementia and a shotgun; a dangerous combination as you well know,”
Then his face darkened into a hateful mask. “I had a perfectly choreographed play until you two showed up and spoiled it all.”
“Just take the Bugatti and go,” I said.
“Yes, thank you, I intend to. I already have a buyer for it. But we must have a last act.”
I wanted to tell him that Jason Stark had already called 9-1-1, but that might hurry his departure and I wanted Mac caught and put in jail for the murders of Abel Dick, if not the police chief.
His dark eyes narrowed in amusement again. Was he gloating over the fact that he’d bested all of us? Probably. Pearlie and I had naïvely accepted our parts in his murderous game.
“How did it happen, Mac? Did you come to the house and find the chief in Bethany’s room?”
Instead of answering, he held out his hand for our cell phones, then handed me the duct tape. “Tape him to that chair.”
I wrapped Caleb’s arms close to his chest and around the back of the chair. At least his broken collarbone would be immobilized.
“Now his feet,” Mac said. “I kept my trips to the caverns separate from my visits to my daughter. Nights for the caverns and days for Bethany, and since I had groceries I drove around to the kitchen entrance. That’s where I saw the stranger’s car.”
I handed Mac the tape. Seeing I wasn’t going to fight him, he quickly taped my hands to the arms of the chair while he continued his story.
“Inside I heard music and voices. It was coming from upstairs. I was surprised, to say the least, that my daughter was entertaining a man in her bedroom. At first, I mistook the grunts and squeals for pleasure, but when the music stopped, it all became deadly clear to me. I took the stairs two at a time. My daughter’s nude body had been thrown on the bed like a discarded toy, and the bastard who murdered her was zipping up as he backed out of the room. I didn’t even have to think about it. I picked up the bat she kept by the door and cracked his skull.”