She laughed again. “What do you mean, prefer?”
“Well…you know. Share a room or…if you’d like, we could get a couple of singles.” Good Lord, here I was in my early 60s and I was stammering like a guilty 10-year-old.
She pulled her feet from my lap so she could draw up her knees and lean toward me. She grasped my shoulders and pulled me forward for a kiss.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “We’ll share a room.”
Three days before Christmas Carlyle Wilson opened his mailbox and withdrew the usual assortment of junk mail, a Schuyler County Co-op utilities bill, two Christmas cards from relatives and a business-sized white security envelope.
He tossed the junk and opened the Christmas cards first. One was from a cousin in Arkansas, the other from an aunt in Pennsylvania. He ignored the utilities bill for the moment and opened the business envelope. Inside was a sheet of plain white printer paper folded in thirds. He opened it and read a single typewritten line: “For your trouble. Sorry about the wrongful imprisonment. Merry Christmas.”
There was also a cashier’s check, drawn on a well-known nationwide bank, made out to him for $10,000. The signature on the check was an illegible scrawl, impossible to decipher.
“What the…” he said aloud, immediately reaching for his phone to call Allie. As he did so he glanced again at the plain white envelope on the table. Whoever had addressed it—the writing was neat block printing—had used his, Carlyle’s, own address for the return address as well.
He speed-dialed Allie and picked up the envelope for a closer look. He could make out the postmark of the city from which it had been mailed.
Minneapolis.
He burst out laughing.
EPILOGUE
James Collins answered his phone on the second ring at 7:15 on the morning of December 23.
He recognized the caller’s number and said, “Hey, cuz. What’s up?”
“Hey, Jimmy,” Allie Marshall replied. “Sorry to be calling so early but I wanted to catch you before work.” She laughed. “You’re gonna love this.”
“No problem; I was up. What am I gonna love?”
“You know that old joke, the difference between a classic fairy tale and a redneck fairy tale?”
“Never heard that one. Tell me.”
“A classic fairy tale begins, ‘Once upon a time’; a redneck fairy tale begins”—she mimicked a Southern drawl—“‘Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit!’ Well, that saying applies here.”
James Collins laughed. “What are you talking about?”
“Your hit man sent Carlyle a check for $10,000.”
“What?!”
“Yep, Carlyle got it yesterday. The envelope had a Minneapolis postmark. So he must have used those Billy Joel tickets you sent him and mailed the check while he was up there.”
“Oh, man. That’s crazy! But let me guess…he sent the check anonymously.”
“Well, almost. It’s a cashier’s check and you can’t read the signature. There was also a typed note apologizing for Carlyle being in jail. There’s no signature on the note.”
“That’s crazy!” James Collins said again.
“I told you you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Let me think about this for a second. Ten thousand is what I paid him to kill Frank Reynolds. The last time we talked, I asked him if he wanted me to share the cost for the follow-up on Charlie Flanagan but he said no, he’d eat the cost. So basically, if he sent Carlyle a check for ten thousand, he refunded what I paid him…we got both hits for free.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re right; I don’t believe this shit.”
“I know; I couldn’t believe it, either, when Carlyle called me last night to tell me.”
“That’s crazy,” Collins said for the third time. “How’s he doing, by the way?”
“Carlyle? Oh, he’s doing OK. He started back to work last week at Pella and he said everyone was very nice about his absence; said they were glad the charges had been dropped and that they knew all along he couldn’t have done such a thing.”
James Collins laughed again. “Wouldn’t they be surprised if they knew what he did do…deliver an Academy Award performance by getting himself arrested for killing a guy by confessing to a crime he didn’t commit.”
“Right. He says sitting in that jail cell for all those weeks was the toughest thing he’s ever done, but it was worth it to avenge Mandi’s death and my rape.”
Collins snorted. “Big football stud Charlie Flanagan had it coming after what he did to you in high school…I’m glad things fell into place like they did.”
Allie laughed. “I still can’t believe how it all worked out,” she said. “Almost like it was…what’s the word I want? Pre-ordained?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far. But yeah, we got super lucky when Vance decided to kill Reynolds while he was deer hunting. If he’d killed him in Chicago we never would have had the chance to rope Charlie in.”
“Right. And if we hadn’t known about the deer hunt beforehand, there’s no way Carlyle could have gone out there to find the body,” Allie said. “Which, by the way, he said was pretty tough to do. There’s a lot of woods on that farm where Reynolds hunted, and Carlyle said it took him nearly three hours to find him.”
“I can believe it.” They’d already gone over a lot of this during a couple of previous calls but they were enjoying the rehash. It wasn’t every day you got to put one over on a contract killer.
They were silent for a moment, then Allie said, “In some ways, Vance was pretty smart about things, but in others, he was pretty dumb. I mean, he never suspected anything the entire time he was at Hidden Hollow, that I knew why he was really there.”
Collins interrupted. “Props to you for your performance, cuz.”
“Thanks. I did my best to convince him that Charlie was a bully and had framed Carlyle, and some of the people in town evidently told him the same thing. But even if he never knew that I knew what he was really there for, it was still pretty clever the way he made Charlie’s death look like a suicide. And with Charlie’s own gun, no less.”
“Right. There’s no question that he’s good at what he does.”
“No question. But I still think it’s pretty funny that he didn’t know that we knew why he was at Hidden Hollow.”
“Well, that’s another place we got lucky. When I sent him the clip about Carlyle being arrested in Rushville, he went online to find out what he could about the town and apparently he found Hidden Hollow on his own…I didn’t have to guide him to it by dropping hints. When you called and told me he’d talked to Amy and scheduled a hunt, I knew he’d be heading over to take care of Charlie Flanagan. But he still doesn’t know that I know who he really is. Early on he told me to call him Tom and that’s what I’ve been doing.”
“Oh, one other thing,” Allie added. “He also took Charlie’s dog…at least, that’s what we think happened.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Charlie had a nice yellow Lab and it was missing from its kennel. No one knows what happened to it so I’m guessing Vance took it. Unless it just ran away. That’s what everyone else thinks happened.”
“Interesting. Maybe he took the dog as a bonus for himself.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Another moment of silence, then Allie said, “So…now we have this check for $10,000. Do you want us to send it to you, or…?”
“No, you don’t need to do that. That’s what I paid Vance anyway so I wasn’t expecting to get it back. Why don’t you and Carlyle keep it…consider it an early wedding present.”
“That’s some wedding present!” Allie sounded incredulous. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m sure. Believe me, it was worth $10,000 to get some justice for Mandi. And for you.”
“Wow. I mean…well, OK, then. I’m sure Carlyle will be thrilled and I know we can put it to good use.”
“I’m sure you can. Maybe ta
ke that Hawaii trip you’ve always wanted to take. That would make a great honeymoon for you two.”
“I’ll suggest that to Carlyle. Oh, and before I forget, Vance is going to write a story about Hidden Hollow for that magazine he’s the editor of. So Mitch and Amy are getting a bonus out of this also—the publicity should help their business.”
“That’s great. Have you told Amy about any of this?”
“No. Some secrets even sisters don’t share.”
Another laugh. “Probably safer that way,” Collins said.
“That’s what I thought. Anyhow, I’d better let you go. I just wanted to let you know about the check.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. And FYI, when I talked to Vance a few days ago I offered to help him again in the future…I said I might be able to do some backgrounding for him if he needed information on a new target.”
“Really? Are you sure that’s safe? I mean, isn’t that kinda playing with fire, keeping in touch with the guy?”
“Oh, maybe. But I doubt he’ll take me up on it anyway.”
“Well, just be careful.”
James Collins laughed. “Always. And hey, you and Carlyle have a merry Christmas, Allie. And please tell Amy and Mitch the same.”
“Thanks, I will. Merry Christmas to you too, Jimmy.”
James Collins hung up the phone, smiling and shaking his head. So Vance had sent $10,000 to Carlyle to make up for his supposed wrongful imprisonment, and now Allie could have the Hawaiian honeymoon she’d always dreamed of.
Imagine that.
Sometimes folks just got dumbass lucky.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Let me begin with a disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Yes, the same statement appears in small type on the copyright page, but it bears repeating here. This is a work of fiction; it’s neither autobiography nor instruction manual. To paraphrase (badly) Mark Twain’s “Notice” at the beginning of Huckleberry Finn, persons attempting to find anything but fiction or entertainment in this narrative will be shot. (Kidding!)
OK, with that out of the way, it’s time to thank some folks who provided valuable assistance on my maiden voyage into novel writing.
I’ll start with my three cousins, Randy, Doug and Ryan Clark. The four of us grew up sharing many happy days afield and they each contributed to this effort. Randy shared his considerable expertise on hunting preserve operations and also served as first reader of the entire manuscript, tactfully pointing out the errors, inconsistencies and typos throughout.
Doug—our family’s resident comedian and punster—supplied the much-needed laughs at critical moments along the way, and Ryan patiently answered my too-numerous questions about computers and the mysteries of their operation. Readers would not be mistaken in assuming that the Parks brothers in this story are based on Randy, Doug and Ryan.
Thanks also to Kerry Nielsen, my best friend since third grade, for input on the forensics details in a criminal case and the effects of alprazolam combined with alcohol, and to Thomas G. Ross, attorney at law (retired), for help on matters of evidence in a homicide investigation. Additional thanks to Abby Gripp, formerly a relationship banker at the Southridge branch of Bankers Trust in Des Moines, Iowa, for explaining certain regulations concerning LLCs and cashier’s checks.
Any inaccuracies, errors or exaggerations in the foregoing areas are mine alone.
More thanks to Marcia Thompson, another long-time friend and former colleague, for providing, via email, the joke—parable, actually—that appears in Chapter 25. Additional thanks to friends John Brynda and David A. Moeller, Lieutenant Colonel, US Army (Retired), for their readings, input and encouragement; and still more thanks to Charles Ardai at Hard Case Crime…although my manuscript didn’t “make the cut,” Charles nevertheless provided positive and helpful comments regarding my writing.
And speaking of writing…special thanks to authors John Connolly and Dave Carty. I’m a huge fan of the former’s Charlie Parker series and I greatly appreciate John’s permission to quote from The Wolf in Winter at the beginning of Part 2. Dave Carty is another former colleague whose writing I’ve long admired and I’m grateful for his willingness to read this book in draft form and provide a dynamite quote for the cover. Dave’s novel, Leaves on Frozen Ground, is definitely worth your attention.
In a similar vein, I’m also grateful to Loren Spiotta-DiMare, author of the award-winning Sergeant Reckless: Hero War Horse—as heartwarming and inspirational a story as you’ll ever find—and many other fine works for children and adults, for her help and encouragement, and especially for directing me to Karen Hodges Miller at Open Door Publications. Karen masterfully guided me through the myriad steps of getting a book into print, in addition to providing many helpful editorial suggestions that greatly improved the final product, and she in turn introduced me to designer Eric Labacz, who came up with a killer (sorry!) design for the book’s cover.
Karen also steered me to Lisa Snyder at Silver Hoop Edge; Lisa did a terrific job of setting up my website, something that (a) I couldn’t have accomplished on my own in a million years, and (b) is an absolute must for any author hoping to sell books nowadays.
Shifting gears for a moment, an acknowledgment of an entirely different sort to the decision-makers at Sturm, Ruger Firearms, who elected several years ago to drop the company’s line of Red Label shotguns. The 12-gauge Red Label carried and cherished by Robert Vance was one of the originals, made before the company decided to “improve” the guns—a classic case of “it wasn’t broken but they fixed it anyway,” in my opinion. A couple years after the so-called improvement, the line was discontinued entirely, which prompts me to ask the Ruger folks, what the hell were you guys thinking?
On a more positive note, I would also like to acknowledge that Macomb, Rushville and Mt. Sterling, Illinois, and New London, Iowa—and, of course, Des Moines—are real places. My descriptions of them are reasonably accurate (allowing for some editorial license) but there is no Rushville Tap or Hidden Hollow hunting preserve, to the best of my knowledge.
On the other hand, Skip’s restaurant on Fleur Drive in Des Moines is a real place, and if you ever have the opportunity to dine there, you should do so. Besides the ribeye steak and seared ahi tuna enjoyed by Vance and Daryl Nelson, I can also recommend the pork shank…just be warned that it’s big enough for two people to share. If you’re a jambalaya fan, I recommend it also, but be sure you have plenty of cold beverage at hand, and maybe a fire extinguisher as well. Truth is, I’ve never had a bad meal at Skip’s.
I’ll wind this up with special thanks to some special people…first, a couple of dear friends, Jamie Lamb and Kathleen “Kat” MacMurray. Jamie has been prodding me for many years to write a book, always convinced I could do so—more convinced than I was myself, in fact—so I hope she will be pleased with this effort. Kat shares my love of the stories of Albert Payson Terhune (referenced in Chapter 34) and I hope she too will be pleased.
Next, more special thanks to fellow mystery and crime-fiction fans Ruth Smith and Nichole Staker. Paraphrasing (again, badly) Gene Hackman’s statement to Kevin Costner in Wyatt Earp, nothing is more important than family. Ruth and Nikki, you’re the best…I love you both.
And finally…extra-special thanks to you, gentle reader, for taking a chance on this first-time author. I hope you liked what you’ve read and will consider paying us another visit because, Good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise…
Robert Vance and Preacher will return.
About the Author
Rick Van Etten is a former college English instructor, corporate communications professional and retired magazine editor whose numerous articles and features have appeared in Gun Dog, Wing & Shot, Sports Afield, Ducks Unlimited, Game & Fish, Petersen’s Hunting, Farm & Ranch Living and Reader’s Digest. An Illinois native and lifelong upland bird hunter, Rick now lives in Iowa with a middle-aged Irish setter and an elderly tortoiseshell cat. The Killer in the Woods is his first nove
l. You can find out more information about Rick’s books at www.ProudPointPress.com.
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