by L C Hayden
Bronson nodded. “We’re listening.”
“The great congressman’s wife gave me real good sex.”
“Shut up, you fool.” Mrs. Jenkins eyes narrowed and her lips trembled.
“In return, I killed Lorraine for her.” Durango kept the revolver on the woman he held captive. “You were next, Bronson. I was supposed to kill you tonight, but you already knew that. That’s why you wouldn’t drink that coffee.”
“I said shut up.” Mrs. Jenkins bolted toward him, her fingers curved like claws.
Mike grabbed her and held her back.
She squirmed. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”
Bronson took a step toward Durango, but he caught the movement and inched the revolver closer to the woman’s forehead.
Bronson raised his hands. “This is between you and me. She has nothing to do with it. Let her go.”
“Sure. Anything you say.” Durango threw her toward Bronson, swung the revolver, aimed, and fired.
At the same time, Randig released a round, and Durango tumbled to the floor.
“You okay?” Bronson held the woman Durango had held captive.
She nodded and her eyes filled with tears.
Bronson released her and knelt down. He felt Durango’s neck for a pulse. He shook his head and glanced at Mrs. Jenkins. She lay on the floor, blood trickling out of her right shoulder from where Durango had shot her.
Cannady checked on Mrs. Jenkins’ vitals. “She’s okay, but we need to call 911.”
Mike reached for the cell and made the call.
It took a couple of men to hold Daniel Jr., who fought to get free.
Jenkins Sr., still on the floor, half-way sat up, his eyes bigger than a full moon. He first glanced at his son, then at Durango’s body, and finally at his wife. “Is that true? You set up Lorraine’s and Bronson’s deaths?”
In spite of her injury, Mrs. Jenkins squirmed her way to a sitting position and glared at her husband.
“Why did you do that?”
“They were getting in the way. After all I’ve gone through, I deserve to be First Lady. I earned that privilege. Then watching you here at the funeral, I changed my mind.” Venom spat out of Mrs. Jenkins eyes. “I’ve always believed that all that’s important to you is your lousy ambition. You want to be President and for that you’re willing to sacrifice everything, including our marriage. I saw the pain in your eyes when you saw Lorraine’s body. Why couldn’t you love me like that? Why couldn’t you forget her when I agreed to a false pregnancy so everyone would think Daniel was ours? You had no right to ask me to do that. And for what reason? So you can keep that Mr. Clean image alive.” She breathed hard through her mouth several times and held her arm. “Your career is ruined and I’m the one who brought you down. So how do you feel now?”
In the not too far distance, sirens wailed, announcing their emergency. Within minutes, Ellen’s house swarmed with police, the paramedics, and the press.
Bronson wrapped his arm around Daniel Jr. and led him back to the privacy of the bedroom. Both Ellen and Carol stayed with him while Bronson talked to the police.
Chapter 91
Daniel Jenkins Sr. clung to the shadow of the once-great man he had been. He swore he would create a new start, but often the public’s unforgiving nature builds a wall too high to climb. Jenkins had become the main source of every comic’s routine, especially late night TV hosts. Depression strangled Jenkins.
After a three days’ stay in different motel rooms, Mike and Ellen felt ready to return home. “You sure you want me to move back with you?” Mike leaned on the dresser as he watched Ellen organize her clothes. It had taken him less than five minutes to pack and his suitcase showed it. “I’ll be fine here in the motel.”
Ellen finished rolling her blouses and placed them in neat rows in the suitcase. “We’re both mature adults, and we need to find out if we—if I—can get past this. The next few days will be crucial, and we need to face them together.”
Back at the camper, Bronson once again donned the black suit he had worn for Lorraine’s funeral. This time he wore it for Wellington.
He and Carol sat toward the back of the very well attended service. The police hadn’t released Amanda but Bronson would be willing to bet she wouldn’t have wanted to come. She would rather miss her father’s funeral than face the public’s eye.
Bronson looked at the sea of faces. Some he recognized, but only because they were VIP’s. From where Bronson sat, he had a clear view of the casket. Bronson imagined that Wellington and Lorraine stood side-by-side in Heaven. The image brought him a half-smile and a half-tear.
When the service concluded, Bronson grasped Carol’s hand and led her out.
“Mr. Bronson?” Someone called from behind.
Bronson stopped and pivoted to face a woman in her mid-fifties. She wore a simple black dress and a plain gold chain. Bronson thought he recognized her, but couldn’t place her.
“I’m Julia Nenji.”
Bronson shook her hand, introduced Carol, and searched his mind. He had seen her before. Where? An image flickered in his mind and he remembered. At Wellington’s. “You look different out of your uniform.”
She smiled. “You do remember me. I didn’t think you would. We never talked.”
“My loss.”
Julia looked at Carol. “Is he always this charming?”
“Sometimes he’s more.”
Bronson felt the blood rush to his face. He had never learned how to accept compliments.
“Lucky you.” Julia opened her purse and pulled out a sealed envelope. “I was with Mr. Wellington when he passed away. His last thoughts were of you. He wanted to make sure I personally delivered this to you.” She handed Bronson the envelope. “He really took to you, just as he did Lorraine.”
Bronson reached for the envelope and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. They chatted for a few minutes longer before she joined the rest of the household staff. Bronson and Carol left the funeral.
Once inside the car, Carol pointed to Bronson’s jacket pocket. “What’s that about?”
“Ohh, you are a curious one, aren’t you?” He reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief to wipe his glasses.
Carol playfully hit him in his arm. “Harry Bronson, you open up that envelope right now.”
“Not only are you curious, you’re nosey—not to mention bossy.” He winked and smiled.
“Harry Bronson.”
That was her warning tone. Bronson smiled. Truth be known, he felt every bit as curious as Carol, and Carol knew it. He pulled out the envelope and opened it. He cleared his throat and read it aloud.
Bronson,
Did you know Lorraine had a tendency to be very stubborn? Reason I mentioned it is because you’re exactly the same. In a way, I found that endearing but also frustrating.
That is in reference to the credit card I gave you and you still haven’t really used. Okay, I can understand why you didn’t want to charge to find your sister’s killer.
So I’m hiring you for another job. I want you to find Lorraine’s child. To that purpose, I put $300,000 in the bank to pay all of the monthly charges I’m hoping you make.
If you don’t use the card, the money will sit in the bank until it eventually turns over to the state as unclaimed property. So use the card. Take your wife on a cruise, eat outrageously priced—but oh, so delicious—meals.
Enjoy the money, no strings attached, but find Lorraine’s child. When you do, I have set another $300,000 (same bank, different account) aside. You, as the guardian, will have complete control of that money.
Use it to pay for the teen’s education or get him/her a car. Use it anyway you see fit.
In the event there’s no such child, set up a scholarship account for deserving teens.
It has been a pleasure working with you.
Mark Wellington III
Chapter 92
Bronson and Carol agreed to do a Bed and Breakfast tour of the area.
Mike and Ellen would join them. The expenses would be charged to the credit card. The remaining money would supplement the Bronson’s retirement fund.
Daniel Jr. returned to school. Bronson and Carol—and hopefully Mike—would come down for graduation and stay at Ellen’s. Daniel Jr. planned to spend the summer between high school and college with Bronson. “But Lizzy will be with us a lot,” Daniel wrapped his arm around her. Bronson and Carol both thought Lizzy would one day make a great addition to the family.
“This may not come as a shock to either of you,” Daniel said, “but I hope to go into politics and clear the Jenkins’ name of the sting of gossip. I want the world to know there can be good, clean politicians whose main concern is what the public wants and needs.”
“Oh Lordy,” Carol said. “That’s what we need, a nephew in politics.”
* * *
Like Mike, Bronson finished packing way before Carol and Ellen did. Bronson watched Carol pack, unpack, and repack. He shook his head. She never failed to amaze him.
She opened the medicine cabinet and took out the jars and gadgets she thought she’d need. She stood staring at the contents and caught Bronson studying her. “Shoo, scat. Go away. You’re making me nervous, and I’ll forget to pack something important.”
That’s what Bronson had been hoping to hear. “I’m going to grab me a cup of coffee at the local bakery.”
“One teaspoon of sugar.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He saluted her.
She stuck out her tongue at him and returned to packing.
Mike, who had a similar conversation with Ellen, decided to join him. Once in the car, Mike looked at Bronson. “Where to?”
“How about that bakery beside the gas station?”
“Is that before or after we do whatever you’re planning on doing?”
Bronson flashed him the wide-eyed innocent look. “Whatever makes you think I have an alternate agenda?”
“Can’t drive if you don’t tell me where to go.”
“Do you remember how to get to Miller’s secret art studio?”
“Yeeeah, why?”
“Devono’s expectin’ Lorraine’s paintin’. I’ve got to deliver.”
Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We’ll be breaking and entering—again. Then even though the painting is considered still missing, we’ll be stealing. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”
“I’m one step ahead of you. I’ve already drawn the line. Now let’s go before the girls start wonderin’ what we’re up to.”
Mike frowned and drove off.
* * *
Almost an hour later, Bronson and Mike stood—they refused to sit down—in Devono’s office, the painting between them.
Devono smiled. “Don’t know much—actually nothing—about art, but those sure look nice. Can’t tell the difference between the original and the forgeries. You say the original is the one in the fancy frame?”
“Yep.”
“I knew you’d come through.” Devono indicated Mike. “It surprises me that you would involve your ex-partner at the scene of a crime.”
“He’s here as a witness.”
Devono leaned back on his over-stuffed chair behind his desk. “Explain what you mean.”
“We’re through. I’m not doing anythin’ else for you.”
“Don’t seem to me you have much choice.”
“Sure I do. One, I’m not from here. Soon, I’ll be gone.” Bronson raised his fingers to emphasize the numbers. “Two, and more important, I know things about you that you wouldn’t want me to tell the police.”
“Are you blackmailing me?” Devono’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Call it what you want. We are through.” He turned and walked out. Mike followed him.
Once in the car, Bronson took a deep breath. “Now for a good cup of coffee.”
Mike frowned and drove off.
Bronson opened his cell and punched some numbers. “Detective Joe Randig, please.”
Bronson waited a few seconds while Randig came to the phone. Mike cast him a whimsical look.
“Detective Randig, Bronson here. I have an address for you.”
“Who’s address?”
“Remember the artist who was murdered a couple of days ago?”
“You’re talking about Larry S. Miller?” Randig said.
“That’s the one. He had another art studio that he kept secret. That’s the address that I’m givin’ you.”
“And how do you know this? Oh, never mind. I don’t want to know. But tell me why I need to go to that art studio.”
“I’m sure if you look through the large pile of paintings scattered throughout the room, you’ll find all of the missin’ paintings you’re lookin’ for. When you get there, look for the paintings with fancy frames. Behind those paintings, you’ll find the original missin’ pieces and all forgeries.”
“Let me grab a pen.” Seconds later, Randig was back on the phone. “Give me that address.”
Bronson did. “I have one more suggestion.”
“That is?”
“I remember you tellin’ me that you wished you could get Devono. All you needed was one small thing to pin on him.”
“I did say that. Why?”
“If you hurry to his office, he’s in possession of one of the stolen pieces.”
“Which one is that?” Randig’s tone sounded guarded.
“François La Carcé’s Mother Nature’s Anger.”
“And how did he get hold of that piece?”
Bronson remained quiet.
“I see,” Randig said. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? The important thing is we’ll get him with the goods. And speaking of getting him, the lawyer spilled his guts and handed us the twins. Both are looking at a very long jail sentence.”
“That’s good news.”
“I agree and the credit goes to you. Thanks for what you’ve done. Working with you has been . . . different. Take care of yourself and stay out of my jurisdiction.”
“Plan to.” Bronson disconnected and smiled at Mike. “Let’s get us a good cup of coffee.”
Did you enjoy reading the third book in the Harry Bronson Thriller Series, When Death Intervenes?
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About the Author
Award winning author L. C. Hayden is the creator of the popular Harry Bronson and Aimee Brent mystery series and the standalone, Secrets of the Tunnels. Hayden is known in the mystery field for her edge of the seat suspense and her surprise endings. Her mysteries have hit the Kindle, the B&N, and the Pennsylvania Top Seller Lists. The books have been finalist for the Agatha and LCC Awards.
Her nonfiction angel/miracle series consists of spiritually uplifting stories that leave the reader wanting more.
Hayden’s other works include children’s picture books and a paranormal mystery that promises all the punch of a first-class horror story and the sensitivity of a romance. Help! I Want to Write offers practical advice to inspiring authors. Bell Shaped Flowers is a young adult inspirational novelette along the lines of Hallmark Hall of Fame.
Hayden invites you to check out her website for the complete line of her books. You can find it at http://www.hayden.com
Besides being an accomplished author, Hayden is a popular speaker who
is often in demand. She has done workshop and school presentations, has spoken to clubs and organizations, and was hired by several major cruise lines to speak while cruising all over the world. From October 2006 to October 2007, Hayden hosted Mystery Writers of America’s only talk show, Murder Must Air.
She is active on Facebook and enjoys talking to her readers. She invites you to befriend her and like her home page.
Hayden also enjoys traveling, reading, scuba diving, art, and spending time with her five grandchildren. Hayden, a Texas resident, lives with her husband of 47 years and their dog, a basenji named Honey.
You can find her books at http://www.tinyurl.com/LCHayden.