“You knew my father. Is that what he would expect me to do?” he said to this man, a champion that within a twenty-minute conversation had become a stranger.
“Keep your priorities straight and you’re going to have an incredible career, young man.”
Chief Dorsett patted his shoulder and walked away. Randall watched him walk across the lot to the police headquarters. The security team managing the cameras mounted on the roof pivoted one to follow the chief. The second one remained trained on Randall.
Chapter Nineteen
Traci
“WHAT KIND OF PERSON drives around with a bucket of horse poop in their trunk?” Traci asked, smiling. It was her first time driving the Chevelle on her own, it was a struggle, but a happy one.
“The best kind.” Milo smiled back.
“So, tell me again why you need this.”
“It's for the compost at Bent Willow. I mix it with the kitchen scraps from Moe's, just the vegetables, not the meat. It makes everything grow better. But you have to take your time and mix it just right.”
“How did you learn about that?”
“On the internet at the library. I learned a lot of stuff like that from the videos.”
“Sure ... but you don't want to go to school. Why not?”
“I'm not good with books and ... I'm just not smart enough for school, I guess.”
“Who told you that?”
“Some people ... Josh said it didn’t matter, though.”
“You and Josh used to talk a lot, huh?”
“Yeah, when he would take me fishing. Most of the time we didn’t catch much but we just sat around and talked about whatever. He had lots of plans. Stuff he didn't tell nobody else. But now, it doesn’t matter ... I guess. I still remember all of it, though.” He turned away at the tremor in his voice.
“I miss him, too.”
“Are we gonna have to leave the campground?”
“I don't know but, don't you worry about that right now. We've gotta get this poop out the trunk before Randall finds it.” They enjoyed a soul-cleansing laugh. The kind that made the atmosphere around you feel new.
TRACI SAT ON A MILK crate as Milo used a pitchfork to turn the compost pile over and over. The manure would need to “cure” before it was useful. As disgusting as that sounded, Traci wanted to sit there as long as possible. She missed spending time in the fields at Bent Willow. There were only a few monarchs left fluttering around the wildflowers that persevered through the temperature changes into Fall. Milo cleaned off his boots with the hose and they got back in the car. She managed to get the car started without stalling out and headed to Arrow Learning Center.
“There are so many crazy things going on in Keeferton right now with the election coming up soon. At least the investigation proved that Randall was cleared from doing anything wrong and he’s back to his regular duties. I’ll probably never understand why he was treated that way, but I still want to know why the police showed up at my place that night. The counselor said they got a call and Randall got a message. It makes no sense. It sure wasn't me.”
“Josh got one, too.”
“What? I never ...”
“No, it was somebody pretending to be you.”
“I keep my phone with me all the time. Nobody could have broken into it.”
“I bet they did a copycat with your phone number. They don't need your phone if they can find your number in somebody else's ...”
“Contacts!” they both said together.
Milo pulled a green RigidPac covered cellphone out of his pocket and held it in front of Traci.
“What's that?” She pulled over and parked in the loading zone of the Grace Family Market.
“Josh's phone. I was gonna throw it in the river, but ... I think it might help us figure this out some kinda way. It's not right what they did, whoever it is.”
“Give me the phone.” She started to open the case, but her hands froze when she touched the phone. She handed it back to Milo.
“Josh knew a lot of people. It would feel weird going through his phone like this.”
“It’s all we’ve got, right?” Milo said and opened the Contacts app.
“Right. Keep going. I’ll tell you if anyone sounds familiar.”
“Aaron, Amy, Auggie, Booker, Bae ... “
“Bae? I wonder who that is,” she giggled.
“Bradford, Buddy, Candi, Charlotte ... “
“Could that be the same woman who ... “
Randall’s ringtone sounded through her phone and startled them. She retrieved it from her pocket, put it on speaker and set it into the holder on the dash.
“Hello, angel. Just checking with you real quick. I left your birthday present on the table this morning. I know it’s late, couldn’t help that. Did you get it?”
“I got your gift.” She glanced at Milo and pushed the box inside her totebag under the seat. “I didn't open it. I want you to return it.”
“Traci, we've already talked about it.”
“No, we didn't. You talked but you didn't listen. Randall, if you don't take it back, I will.”
“Go ahead and open it because we’ve already settled this. I've gotta go.”
“But ...”
“No arguments, Tracinda. I can't talk now.” He ended the call.
“But I want to talk now.” She shouted at the phone, then looked at Milo and shook her head. She drove down a shortcut behind the market and pulled up in front of the learning center. “I’ll be back, I’ve got to return something before the place closes tonight.”
“Did you know about this app on your phone?” Milo tapped on the FriendsTagAlong app, enlarged the image and pointed to Randall's green dot on the map.
“Is that him?” She gritted her teeth, “Is that Randall?”
“Yeah,” Milo said slyly as he climbed out of the car.
“That sneaky ...” Traci forced the car into gear with a metal grinding groan, pressed the accelerator, and sent the tires screeching into a U-turn on Grant Street. “Oh, we’re definitely gonna talk about this.”
Traci turned onto Ashbury and missed the clutch, slammed into a construction barrel and the car stalled out. Her face heated up with a combination of anger and embarrassment. “Deep breaths, Traci. C’mon, focus.” She forced it into gear again, turned onto the sidewalk, up the next driveway, past the umbrella clothesline and through to the opposite street. She swerved around the detour and onto the highway without having to change gears. “Just follow the dot ...” she muttered.
Chapter Twenty
Randall
RANDALL PARKED NEAR the line of poplar trees at the west end of Wyman’s Campgrounds. The single lane road had narrowed to only accommodate pedestrians and horses through to the most remote cluster of single resident cabins. All were abandoned except one. He walked up to the door and started to knock but noticed it was already ajar. He pushed it open slowly and peered inside. His senses were overwhelmed by a gray haze, the heavy scent of marijuana and some ghastly mixture of turpentine and oil.
“Well, well ... a Wells,” came a voice that he knew but was barely recognizable with an earthy rasp.
“Good God,” Randall said staring into the battered face of his older brother. “Brad, what are you doing here?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“What? You sent me a text,” he stepped inside the cramped one room cabin. “Said meet you here ...”
“Naw, not me. I lost my phone weeks ago. But hey, it’s probably time we did ...”
“How long have you been back?” Randall walked closer and hesitated. Something was off about this whole setup. Clearly, Bradford was under the influence, but that wasn’t what caused his uneasiness.
“I got back ‘bout the same time you was putting the old man in the ground.”
“You've been out here in these woods all this time? And didn’t tell anyone? You should've come to Pop's funeral, at least.”
“Why? You think he
missed me?” Bradford squinted his eyes and stared at Randall with a smile that he could feel across the room, a mixture of disgust and contempt.
“Respect. Man, don't you believe in that anymore? What happened to you?”
“You asking me, 'what happened to you?' Are you blind, Randall?” He took a drink from a leather-bound flask.
For the first time Randall focused on the prosthetic legs protruding from Bradford’s pants hidden behind the table. “They never gave us any more updates. Nothing about the mission or that you were found. We assumed ... Say what you want, but Pops was torn up about everything. He was proud that you chose to serve ...”
“You think being a soldier was a choice for me?”
“Yeah, you chose it. It's what you wanted. You put on the uniform. Nobody forced you.”
“That proves you don't know what it meant to be Big Remy's first born. To carry on the proud tradition of warrior Wells men. Nothing with that man was a 'choice' but you wouldn't know that. You was always too busy hiding behind mother's skirt to know anything ...”
“Don't bring her up. Don't do it.”
“Yeah, okay. Nothing really to say about none of that anyway.” He took another drink. “Except to say, she had the right idea. God bless her little heart. She got that one right. Guess I’m more like her.”
“I know how we were raised. Regardless of how you felt about Pops, he raised us right. We don't give up. Looks like you did. There are treatment centers for vets.”
“And then what?” He put down the flask. “And then what, hmm? And about dear ol' daddy, he wasn't the hero he pretended to be. You wanna know what happened with them? You want me to tell you what your precious mother said about Big Remy? What all the women said?” He laughed, then coughed, then laughed some more.
“Put some respect on his name.” Randall balled up his fist and lunged toward his brother.
Bradford raised a hunting knife from the sheath attached to his thigh. “This the hill you wanna die on ... Remy Wells' reputation? You sure about that, buttercup?”
The brothers locked eyes, in a fighting stance that had played out hundreds of times between them.
“I'm gonna advise you to back off and get out now, little brother. I got me a woman on her way over in a minute, and I don't want her to have to clean up your mess.” He sucked his teeth and stared, motionless.
Finally, Randall ended the standoff and stepped back. Bradford tucked away the knife.
“You picked your life. You're not a victim. Don't try to blame Pops for the life you chose.” Randall wiped the sweat from his face. The stench in the room was unbearable.
“Naw, Randall. This is my life. You're standing dead center in it and still can't see it. Goes to show how programmed your mind is. Do you even know who you are? If Pops hadn't told you what to be, what would you be right now?”
Randall looked around at the oil paintings hung in a haphazard fashion on the walls, stacked in corners, and supplies scattered around the room. Rags and stained tablecloths were draped on the few pieces of furniture. He didn’t care about that, none of it. He focused back on his brother. “Pops wanted only the best for you, Brad, and that’s what he gave you. But you fought him at every turn, complaining about everything. Nothing was good enough for you.”
“Right .... you have no clue,” Bradford said and took another drink. “There’s one thing I can count on with you little brother ...”
“Foolish loyalty?” a woman’s voice interrupted them.
“No, I was going to say jealousy,” Bradford said with a low snicker, totally unphased by the intrusion.
“Charlotte Carter ...”
Bradford raised an eyebrow, “You know each other?”
“Yeah, she's got warrants. This woman murdered Rowena Garrett and she's a suspect in a homicide in Magnolia Grove, Josh St John.”
“The old vet that used to run this joint?”
“Yeah that's the one.”
“Another fool,” Charlotte Carter said and stepped into the room. Both of her hands were shoved deep inside the pockets of a buffalo plaid jacket, that was open over all black crew neck shirt, jeans and booties.
“She slipped custody from KMP. We've been searching all over the tri-county region for her.” Randall circled around the table to approach her.
Charlotte pulled a Ruger 38 from her coat pocket and pointed it at Randall.
“Whoa, hold up there. You crazy ...” Bradford straightened himself against the chairback.
“Shut up,” she said. “How can men control so much and still be such idiots? Joshua ... that was an accident. Life is full of accidents. But it seems I have to take care of you myself ... then the little girlfriend. She’s so high strung ... suicide probably for her. Simple.” She pointed the gun at Bradford, “I only needed him to get to you.” She stepped closer. “Sorry big brother ...”
Randall noticed Brad slowly reaching toward the hunting knife, but he kept his focus on Charlotte’s eyes. Pops had taught him the shooter’s eyes can foretell the future, and that one second can save your life. The intent in those eyes were clear. This was no bluff. He leaped and tackled Brad, tumbling them both out of the chair, and they crashed onto the floor. He braced himself tightly across his brother’s body and tucked his head down, but it was too late. He counted ... “One ... two, three ... eight shots.”
He looked up. Standing at the threshold was Traci, her arms limp at her sides, the Beretta in her hand. Charlotte Carter lay motionless in the middle of the floor.
“I see you opened the box,” Randall shouted over his shoulder. He pulled off his t-shirt, twisted it and tied it tight around his upper thigh above the wound, gritting his teeth against the searing pain. He looked back at Traci still frozen in place.
“Tracinda ...”
“Yes.”
“Put down the gun,” he said, calmly.
Traci bent her knees, slowly laid the gun on the floor in front of her, then stood back up.
“You did the right thing, angel.” He had to keep her steady right now but couldn’t reach her. She needed to follow his voice. “An ambulance is going to be here soon. Understand? I want you to go stand outside that door and wait for them. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were still fixed on the gun.
“Tracinda?”
“Yes.”
“You're okay.” He said slowly and gave her a reassuring smile.
She looked directly into his eyes. “Yes ... yes, I am,” she said and returned a jittery smile. Then she turned and walked outside.
Randall turned to his brother on the floor next to him, checked his pulse and examined the wounds. He took out his phone, hit Speed Dial #1 and announced to the dispatcher ...
“Wyman’s Campgrounds, West End, Sage Lane, Cabin 14. Shots fired, hit in left thigh. Second, thirty-eight-year-old male, Bradford Wells, gunshot wound to shoulder and abdomen, critical condition. Charlotte Carter, multiple wounds in torso, presumed dead. No other casualties.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Traci
“I DON'T THINK HE WOULD mind if I rode Jinx, do you?” Milo asked Traci as he gathered the horse’s reigns in his fist and climbed atop the saddle.
“No that's exactly what Josh would want,” Traci said, setting her boots in the stirrups and patting Bebe along her mane.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, I'm sure. Take me there.”
Milo had explained that Bebe, the twenty-five-year-old Arabian mare, was for green riders. He would ride Jinx, the nineteen-year-old thoroughbred, recently retired from the track and fostered by a family living in a wild patch along the Appalachian Mountains. Josh had bartered the horse’s release, rigged up a trailer, made it through one of the worst mudslides to hit Elbon Valley to bring Jinx back home, and had ridden him every day. Traci was amazed at how well Milo understood tac and grooming as he chatted with her while managing their way through the woods.
“The horses already know t
he trail,” he shouted to her. “All you have to do is hold on and watch for overhead branches. They’re not smart enough to figure out how tall you are above the saddle, but they’ll be safe along this trail. Stay close to me.”
Milo kept checking on her welfare as they sauntered along slowly. He wasn’t convinced that she was ready to go forward but she insisted it was time to face everything. Anticipation for the next day was bombarding her emotions. She needed some time to breathe in what was becoming her life, her new life. “Every step better ...” she reminded herself with each flutter in her stomach. They reached a clearing that she had only seen once. It was a magical place, just as she remembered. The mist never left because the canopy that shrouded the field was so thick, it was like walking through a cloud. They dismounted and Milo settled the horses along the remnants of a split rail fence. The heels of her boots sunk into the soil and the earthy scent resurrected peaceful memories. They glanced at each other and smiled.
“Too bad there’s no internet service up here,” Milo teased.
“Josh would’ve never let that happen. You know how he felt about that sort of thing. What did he always say? ‘If you let the outside world in, they’ll turn your world inside out.’”
“Yeah, he said that a lot.”
“You can always come into town. You’ll have your learner’s permit soon and Randall can teach you how to drive.”
“But I don’t have a car.”
“You can set a little money aside here and there, and then buy a used car. Nothing fancy to start with, but Randall will help you fix it up. He’s really good with cars.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“He’s trying, Milo.”
“I know, you’re right. That would be great. I appreciate it, honestly.” He gave her a small nod and his sweet smile.
“Randall never had a little brother, but that’s what it feels like.” She smiled and looked at the ground between them. “Neither have I, but here we are, right?”
“Yeah,” he smiled and looked away. “Here we are.”
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