by L C Hayden
“I imagine she’ll never call you that again.”
“No, she won’t and neither will you. Your life is over.”
Carol screamed, a loud ear-piercing wail that stemmed from the pit of her stomach. “I always wanted to do that. Did it hurt your ears?” Her raw throat ached.
Balthasar’s eyes pierced hers. “What were you hoping to accomplish with that scream? No one could possibly have heard you. We’re here alone. Just you and me and this gun.” He smiled, a cruel curvature of the lips that spoke of triumph.
Carol felt bitter with the knowledge that she had failed. She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not like this. “I don’t suppose you’d grant a dying woman a last wish.”
“This isn’t Candlelighters, but I want you to know I have nothing against you. I’m just doing my job.”
Carol’s breathing rate accelerated rapidly, as if she were hyperventilating. She saw him raise the gun. She closed her eyes. The explosion of the bullet deafened her. She started shaking, uncontrollably.
Someone held her. Called her name.
She tried to push away from the tight embrace. She had to get away. The grasp was tighter. The suffocation she felt caused her to gag.
“Carol!”
That voice!
“Carol, you’re okay.”
She tried to regain her breathing, tried to ignore the prickle of fear that drenched her body. She stared at the man holding her. Tears beamed in his eyes. Why was he crying? Who was he?
“Carol?”
She gasped. “Harry!”
He nodded as though she had asked a question.
“Oh, Harry.” She gave in to the comfort of his arms.
“You’re safe,” he said as he stroked her hair and kissed her. He wouldn’t stop kissing her, holding her.
Yes, she felt safe now. But Balthasar was going to kill her. “What happened?”
“You screamed and I heard you. I got here just in time to see Balthasar raise the gun. I shot him.”
She looked toward the cluster of trees where Balthasar once stood. “Did you kill him?” She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to see his fallen body. She purposely stared at her husband.
Bronson shook his head. “I know I wounded him, but he got away.”
“Shouldn’t you go after him?”
Bronson held her tighter. “No. I want to be with you. I want to hold you, make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. If you need to go, go.” She tried to straighten herself, attempting to look taller and stronger.
Again, Bronson shook his head. “Quaid’s got men all over this mountain. They’ll find Balthasar.” Bronson looked at his wife’s face and wiped her tears away. “Thank you, God, for giving me my Carol back.”
She smiled and they kissed.
Chapter Fifty-four
“Amazing. You in church. Never thought I’d see the day,” Carol said as Bronson opened the car door for her. The eleven o’clock service had just ended and Carol hoped her husband would take her out to eat.
After Carol settled in, Bronson closed the door and went to the driver’s side. “When I realized you’d been kidnapped, my whole world seemed to end. I felt so lost, so empty. Don’t ask me why I did it, but I asked God to keep you safe. By going to church, I’m officially thankin’ Him.”
Carol placed her palms on his cheeks and kissed his lips. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said.”
Bronson smiled. “Wish I had known it was that easy.” He looked out the car window. The day promised to be another warm one. Already the heat waves rose from the bare earth. Bronson turned on the engine and the air conditioner. “Glad you feel that way because you probably won’t like the next thing I have to say.”
Carol rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. What is it this time?”
“I’m goin’ to go see Quaid.” Bronson pulled out of the parking lot.
“Now? On a Sunday?”
“He’s on duty. You ought to know that.”
Yes, of course she knew that. Policemen—even retired ones—are always on duty, but couldn’t he wait at least until after lunch? “This is our first day after that horrible event.”
Bronson frowned and looked apologetic. For a minute, Carol thought Harry would actually give in. Then he took a deep breath and Carol knew it was over.
“I know, sweetheart, but I need to get this wrapped up. I really should have gone yesterday, but I didn’t want to leave you.”
Carol knew that was true. They had stayed together, the two of them locked in the safety of their camper. They hadn’t even gone out to eat. Carol had thought her husband would eventually leave so he could wrap things up. But instead he had chosen to stay with her, holding her, hugging her, and kissing her.
Carol appreciated that. No matter how much she had enjoyed the extra attention, she couldn’t expect him to stay with her again today. Slowly, she nodded. “I knew you would have to talk to Quaid sometime. I was just hoping. . .” She smiled. “Go. The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll get back to me, just please, don’t be gone too long.”
“I know,” he said and reached out and squeezed her hand.
* * * * *
Bronson dropped Carol off at the hotel before driving to Quaid’s office. When he saw Bronson coming, he looked at this watch. “You’re late.”
“Sorry. Church was longer than I expected.” He looked around the cramped office and at Quaid’s even more cramped desk top.
Quaid’s eyebrows arched. “You went to church?”
“Will wonders ever cease?” Bronson pulled up a chair, placed it by Quaid’s desk, and sat down. “That cabin L’ee and Balthasar used to hold my Carol prisoner, know anythin’ about it?”
“Belongs to one of our senior citizens. He said a very large lady—we assume that’s L’ee—told him she wanted to rent it. She planned to shed all of those extra pounds and the place was ideal because it was so isolated. Benny—that’s the cabin’s owner—was delighted to rent the place. It’s been years since he’d been up there and the extra cash came in handy. He had no idea what was really going on.”
Bronson nodded. He hoped the bad experience didn’t ruin the idea of using the cabin for future rentals. Benny, like most elderly people, definitely needed the extra income. Bronson took in a deep breath and shook the thought away. “Tell me about Balthasar.”
Quaid looked down and squirmed. “He, huh . . . I’m sorry to say, managed to elude us. You said you wounded him, so I thought surely we’d get him.”
Bronson sat up straighter. “You mean he got away?”
“Yeah, but I put out an APB on him. It’s just a matter of time.” Quaid tapped the table top with his fingertips. “You told me you had some information for me.”
Bronson got it. Quaid obviously didn’t want to talk about Balthasar. That was fine with him. “I do. Have you talked to L’ee yet?”
Once again, Quaid raised his eyebrows. “You haven’t heard?”
“Apparently not.”
“By the time we reached L’ee at the cabin, she had already slipped into a coma. She passed away this morning and never regained consciousness.”
It surprised Bronson that he felt almost a twinge of regret and not just because her death would complicate matters. “Then a lot of what I’m about to tell you can be considered hearsay. Somehow, you, or the Austin police, or the F.B.I—whomever—will have to find the evidence.” Anyone but me, Bronson thought.
“What kind of evidence?”
“Have you heard of Senator Ken Chalmers?”
Quaid hesitated as though afraid to hear where this would lead them. “Of course, who hasn’t?”
“There’s a dark side to Chalmers that people don’t know about.” Bronson saw Quaid’s eyes narrow in surprise or disbelief, but he didn’t say anything. Bronson proceeded to tell Quaid about how the senator had killed Casey Secrist. As Bronson narrated the story, he insisted that his role would be to reveal the details as he knew them. He would not—could not—under any
circumstances, get involved in that case.
But deep down, Bronson knew better.
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When Death Intervenes
A Harry Bronson Mystery/Thriller
by
L. C. Hayden
One
Linda Randig sat, staring at the half-empty cup of hot apple cider. She hadn’t moved for the last five minutes. She had tried calling her parents, again, and again, but the calls went unanswered. Something had to be wrong.
She took a sip of cider and tried to let her mind relax, tried to stop the worry from eating at her gut. She reached for the telephone handset that had become her constant companion. She punched in the numbers for the hundredth time.
Pick up. Pick up.
Her parents loved their hometown of Two Forks, Wyoming, but they also loved to travel. Had they left town and forgotten to tell her? Even so, that didn’t explain why they wouldn’t answer the cell. Linda slammed the phone back into its cradle.
She looked up at her husband. “I can’t stand this. I’m going over there.”
Mitch set down the newspaper and stood up. “I’ll go with you.” He grabbed the keys to the Mercedes.
As Mitch drove, Linda embraced the silence that surrounded them. His forced smile told her he, too, feared the worst. Linda stared out the side window until Mitch pulled into her parents’ sprawling driveway.
The Hummings lived in a nice, comfortable house, but it didn’t match the glamour of Mitch and Linda’s luxurious home. “You wait here.” Mitch turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. “I’ll go in and check.”
Linda shook her head. “I’m going with you.”
“Linda, please.” Mitch reached for her hand.
She opened the car door, pushing back his touch. The walk between the driveway and the door seemed to stretch for miles. Linda handed Mitch her parents’ key.
He unlocked the door and looked at his wife. She nodded. He took a deep breath and swung the door open.
“Mom? Dad?” Linda’s voice quivered. She worried her lip and listened to the silence. Now she reached for Mitch’s hand, it felt good, and together they headed past the living room on toward the dining room, the kitchen, and the utility room. Each place stood neat and empty. The bedroom, she had to check the bedroom.
Linda held her breath as she opened the bedroom door. The king-size bed had been made and only a comb and brush rested on top of the dresser. She moved on to the spare bedroom, the sewing room, and the library. Somewhere around then she noticed that Mitch was no longer following her.
As she stepped into the hallway, she saw her husband approach. The deep crease lines she had noticed in his forehead and around his eyes seemed to have evaporated. “I checked the garage. Their car is gone.” He smiled.
Tears danced in Linda’s eyes. “They’re on vacation, then? They’ll remember to call, won’t they?”
Mitch nodded and hugged her.
* * * * *
Five days later, the ringing of the doorbell woke Linda from a much-needed nap. She opened the door and when she saw a Wyoming trooper, she knew. She could read it on the young man’s face. “Mitch! Get over here. Now.” She opened the door wider and the trooper stepped in.
He remained standing, removed his hat, and played with its rim. “David and Irene Hummings—they’re your parents?”
Linda nodded and reached for Mitch’s hand.
“They were driving up Highway 85, heading away from town. Mr. Hummings . . .” The trooper cleared his throat. “We believe he fell asleep at the wheel. They went off the road. We estimate—based on the bodies’ appearance—the car had been down there for maybe a week.”
A week. A fog of sheer, hopeless misery enveloped Linda.
* * * * *
At the funeral, Linda’s thoughts focused on her parents’ last days. Had the car trapped them, their injuries, thirst, and hunger being their only constant companions? Had they suffered or had their deaths been instantaneous? The police had conducted a routine investigation, but other than ruling it an accident, they couldn’t answer the questions Linda needed to know. The thought tore at her heart.
She looked at her husband, who sat next to her. He provided the strength she lacked and for that, she felt thankful. She took a moment to glance around the funeral home. So many people had attended. Linda’s next-door neighbors, Russ and Belen Oaxaca, smiled and waved at her, trying to give her courage. Behind them, Eric stood. His blue eyes had lost their vibrant color, like jars filled with sorrow.
Eric. Linda had thought he wouldn’t show up, but he had. She wanted to reach out to him, hold him like she had when he loved her, when he was young. She could almost see him as a child doing what he enjoyed most, swimming in the family pool, splashing and laughing. Linda stood up and he walked away.
Eric. He hadn’t spoken to her for six long months. Half ayear of silence, and she didn’t understand why. What has she done wrong? What had she said that angered him so?
Linda didn’t know she was going to cry until she felt the tears gushing down her cheeks. She held her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle racking sobs.
Eric.
* * * * *
A week ago, Linda had buried her parents and today she didn’t feel any better than she had back then. She poured herself a cup of hot apple cider and sat in the dining room staring at the cup, letting the drink grow cold.
The doorbell rang. She reached for her cider and took a sip. Its cold taste left a bitter sting in her mouth. She set the cup down and looked at her watch. Mitch had been gone for over two hours.
At first, he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone, but she’d insisted he go. She needed time by herself, and she wasn’t ready to face her parents’ empty home. “My dad has all those ham antennas all over the roof. The house will never sell that way. You’ve got to go and take them down.”
“You’re sure?”
Without looking up, she nodded.
He bent down, kissed her forehead, and walked out.
Since then, she’d been sitting, staring at the cider, or standing, looking out the window at the empty pool.
The doorbell rang again.
She looked up toward the front door. The wall between the vestibule and the living room prevented her from seeing outside. Who would be so persistent? What did he want?
He? Eric? Oh my God, had Eric come to see her? Did he want to talk to her now? Did he love her again? She bolted up, knocking the chair down in her haste to answer the doorbell. She went into the black-and-white tiled foyer, with its huge chandelier that rained down hundreds of crystal lights. All this beauty—this glamour—surrounded her and she’d give it all away if she could see Eric, or her parents, one more time.
She swung the door open and her heart did a flip-flop. Not Eric. Never Eric and not anyone else. She looked up and down the street. She’d call Eric and leave a voice message telling him if he had come, she had answered the door too late.
She started to close the door, thinking how Eric wouldn’t return this call either, when she caught a glimpse of something that didn’t belong. Someone had delivered a large manila envelope to her door. Why did people assume she wanted sympathy cards filled with pictures of her dad and mom—pictures that would only bring her pain?
She set the envelope down on the entryway table and walked back toward the dining room where her cold cider awaited her.
The phone rang. Without thinking, she picked it up. “Hello?”
“The en
velope, Mrs. Randig. You need to open it.”
A chill went through her body. “What?”
“The envelope. The one you set down on the entry table. You need to open it.”
Linda dropped the phone and stifled a scream. She felt as if an entire drum line pounded inside her chest. Someone was watching her. She glanced at the caller I.D. screen—nothing. She dialed star sixty-nine. The call had been blocked.
Her gaze searched every corner of the room. She couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t alone. She ran outside and her cell phone rang. She unhooked it from her belt and looked at the caller I. D. The display read Unknown Caller. She flipped the cell open.
“Mrs. Randig, don’t be ridiculous.” The same voice. “You don’t want to attract attention. Get back inside.”
Linda gasped.
The caller continued, “Yes, I can see you, but I’m not inside your house. You’re perfectly safe there. You need to open that envelope. It’ll explain a lot.”
Linda stood, trembling, cold in spite of the warm breeze blowing. She stared at the cell. Call ended, the digital screen read. Feeling like a zombie, she dragged herself back inside and grabbed the envelope. Her name was printed on it in large, block letters. No other marks offered any hint as to its source. She ripped it open.
It contained three smaller envelopes. One was marked Open Me First, another one Open Me Second, and the final one Open Me Last. She thought about going out of order but decided to follow the sender’s instructions.
The first envelope contained a five-by-eight picture. Linda recognized her parents’ car. The photographer had snapped the picture after the car had gone off the road and before it hit the bottom. Linda could see her mother’s face plastered against the window. Her wide-open eyes revealed the terror she felt. Her mouth gaped grotesquely in a scream that only Linda’s father would hear.