Kentucky Woman

by Mike J. Brogan

“Mr. Falcone’s ‘specting y’all.”

  They followed Ramada down the hall toward Falcone’s office. They entered, and saw Falcone on the phone. When he saw them, he smiled and ended his call. He hoisted his considerable girth and scurried around his desk.

  Quinn introduced Ellie and they shook hands.

  Falcone studied her face for several moments then smiled. “By golly, yes, I do see some resemblance. I swear I do. You’ve got Leland’s blue eyes, and your cheekbones seem kinda similar. And well, you’re tall like him. And your brown hair seems close to his brown before it turned gray.”

  Ellie was relieved to bear some resemblance to the man who might be her father.

  “Please sit and tell old Fletcher how y’all figured all this out.”

  They told him about the House of Grace where Loretta Mae recalled Jacqueline had a baby girl named Alex … and how baby Alex was delivered to the Stuarts in Harlan.

  Falcone wrote notes.

  When they finished, Falcone sat back in his chair, took a deep breath, shook his head and smiled. “Incredible! Flat-out incredible!” He looked back at his notes.

  “So, when Irene finally told Leland in the hospital that Jacqueline had their baby, both Irene and Leland figured the baby was a boy?”

  “Right. Because Irene remembered the baby had a boy’s name. Alex.”

  Falcone nodded. “And then Radford told Irene that he wanted the boy to be his heir, is that correct?”

  “Yes. A nurse also witnessed Leland Radford make that statement.”

  “A nurse, too?” Falcone seemed surprised and made another note. “The nurse will help. Do you have her name?”

  “Irene couldn’t remember it.”

  “No problem,” Falcone said. “We’ll get the name. The hospital keeps photos of nurses. It’s the law.”

  “Doesn’t Kentucky law also require two witnesses to Mr. Radford’s statement?” Quinn asked.

  “That’s correct, Quinn.” Falcone stood and paced. “Well by golly, this sure does change everything y’all. And not a moment too soon. Our probate hearing is just days away. Lordy! I don’t know about you two, but this old country lawyer needs a libation! Y’all want something?”

  Ellie and Quinn declined.

  Falcone poured two fingers of bourbon, gulped it down and plopped back down in his chair. He crammed a fistful of cashews into his mouth and munched away. Some crumbs tumbled out and got trapped between his double chins. Ellie thought he looked a little like Jabba the Hutt.

  Ramada sashayed into the office. “They’re ready for y’all over at the courthouse, Mr. Falcone.”

  Falcone turned toward Ellie. “Let’s mosey over to the courthouse. A nurse from Manchester Hospital is there to take a sample of your DNA.”

  Two blocks later, Falcone escorted Ellie and Quinn between the gray pillars of the Clay County Justice Center. She felt reassured that a nurse would take her DNA sample in a courthouse.

  Falcone led them down a hallway to a small meeting room where she saw a gray-haired woman in a Manchester nurse’s uniform. Her hospital nametag said Nessie Smith. Beside Nessie sat a short woman with a courthouse ID badge. The two women sat at a conference table, smiling at something on a cell phone. Falcone introduced everyone.

  “Y’all ready for us?” Falcone said.

  “Yes, indeed,” Nessie said, putting on a pair of surgical gloves. From her handbag, she took out a large tan Manchester Hospital envelope and removed four transparent plastic tubes, each containing a long Q-tip.

  “Ellie, just rub these Q-tips against the inside of your cheek. Rub them hard so we get good DNA samples to work with.”

  Ellie swabbed each of the Q-tips against the inside of her cheek and handed them back to the nurse. The nurse placed the Q-tips back into their individual tubes and sealed them. Each tube had a bar code, a number, and Ellie Stuart typed on the side. Nessie placed the four tubes back in the hospital envelope and re-sealed it.

  Then she stood up. “I’ll have these DNA samples driven right over to Southern Genetic Lab in Lexington. It’s one of the best in the state.”

  “How long for results?” Falcone asked.

  “Usually five days. But I’ve asked for two-day turnaround, ‘cuz I heard y’all got a probate court date coming up fast.”

  “That’s right!” Falcone said.

  Two days! Ellie thought, wondering if she could contain her excitement that long.

  “In the meantime,” Falcone said, flashing a big smile at Ellie, “I’ll prepare contingency documents in the likelihood that you are Leland’s daughter, because I’ll tell you what – the more I look at you, Ellie, the more your eyes remind me of Leland’s. And that’s a fact!”

  She smiled back.

  “Any questions, Ellie?”

  “Just a couple, sir.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Do you know where Jacqueline Moreau is buried?”

  “I’m sorry, Ellie, I don’t. In fact, I didn’t even know about Jacqueline Moreau until Quinn told me earlier today.”

  “What about Mr. Radford?”

  “Oh yes … Leland’s buried up at The Pines. Private cemetery in the gardens out back. Irene can show y’all.”

  “Thank you.”

  Back outside, Ellie turned to Quinn. “Could we go briefly talk to Irene about Jacqueline and visit Mr. Radford’s grave?”

  “Take all the time you want, Ellie.”

  After trying – but failing – to force Quinn’s TrailBlazer into a deep ravine, Huntoon Harris replaced his large black Navigator with a gray Nissan pickup.

  Now, he sat in the pickup, reading an ad in Soldier of Fortune magazine. The ad for a security guard in the Middle East paid damn good money. Maybe he should consider the job. This Ellie Stuart job would be over after the probate hearing and he was tired of waiting for business to show up.

  Be good to get back whacking towelheads again, and especially those ISIS assholes. Tomorrow, he call the ad’s 800 number, check it out.

  He looked up and saw Ellie and Quinn leave the law office, get in Quinn’s TrailBlazer and drive off. He wondered where they were going now.

  His phone rang and he answered.

  “Call me on the CVS #4 phone in one hour,” the caller said, then hung up.

  THIRTY

  Huntoon Harris kept his gray Nissan pickup six vehicles behind Ellie Stuart and Quinn Parker as they drove toward Leland Radford’s estate, The Pines.

  Harris grabbed his cell phone and called Bubba Leezer and Narvel Felps, his pals since Desert Storm where the Army unfairly and dishonorably discharged them all on the same day.

  “Bubba …?”

  “Yeah?

  “You and Narvel got y’allself a job.”

  “How much?”

  “Double yer rate.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Huntoon explained in detail what the boss wanted.

  “Gotta be a accident?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just her?”

  “Yeah. But the guy too if’n he gives you any shit!”

  Bubba Leezer paused. “Well what if we can’t make it look like no accident?”

  Huntoon thought about that a bit. “Then do ‘em like we done Cooter and his skanky bitch.”

  “Spittin’ image!” Irene Whitten said, smiling at Ellie. “You got your momma’s pretty face and hair, same high cheekbones too. And you’re tall and curvy like Jackie. But your eyes, now them’s your daddy’s blue eyes! And that’s a fact!”

  Ellie and Quinn sat with Irene in the gazebo of the colorful flower gardens behind The Pines. Irene had just shared everything she remembered about Jacqueline Moreau and Ellie’d snatched up each detail like it was a gold nugget. Her mom was a smart, pretty, friendly, funny young woman with an unabashed joie de vie, as she might say.

  “Your momma and daddy loved each other very much, Ellie.”

  Ellie smiled. “That means everything, Irene.
Could you show us Mr. Radford’s grave now?”

  “Follow me, hon …”

  They strolled behind the garden to a small white-fenced cemetery. Irene pointed to a new marble headstone marked Leland T. Radford. Ellie walked over and ran her fingers over his etched name and thought, If you are my father, I’m honored, and hope I can live up to your expectations … If you’re not my father, thank you for loving my mother.

  She paused, then turned to Irene. “Do you know where my mother is buried?”

  Irene wrote out the directions.

  Minutes later, in a tiny country cemetery, Ellie placed her hand on the small stained headstone of Jacqueline Moreau.

  Sorry I’m late getting here, mom. Wish we could have known each other … but well … I’ll learn more about you in the days ahead. And maybe even meet your family. Nothing could make me happier.

  She looked at a photo of her mother that Irene gave her and felt her eyes moisten. She and her mother looked similar and seemed about the same height, 5′9″. Ellie looked back at the headstone of the woman who brought her into this world … and felt a warm sense of calm and peace wash over her.

  She walked back over to Quinn and showed him the photo of her mother.

  “You do have her eyes,” Quinn said.

  “No way!”

  “Why not?”

  “Hers eyes are light brown, mine are blue.”

  “I meant your eyes are attractive and intriguing.”

  “Oh … ”

  Ellie blushed and wondered if by ‘intriguing’ he only meant that her right eye was lighter blue than the left one.

  She paused, then looked at Quinn. “Thanks for driving me here, Quinn. It means more than you’ll ever know. But I’m ready to go now.”

  As they drove off toward Louisville, she saw black clouds pushing across the evening sky. Wind gusts swayed the trees and a couple of fat raindrops splished onto the windshield.

  “Storm ahead,” Quinn said.

  “Yeah, but nothing can rain on my parade today.”

  Quinn smiled.

  Minutes later, a steady rain began to fall. Thunder rolled across the sky.

  “You’re tired,” he said, glancing at her.

  “Can you tell by my attractive and intriguing eyes?”

  “Yep. Close those puppies and I’ll wake you when we’re back in Louisville.”

  “Okay.” She closed her eyes and listened to the swish of the windshield wipers. A minute later, she felt herself growing sleepy, and soon after, drifting off …

  THIRTY ONE

  “What the hell?” Quinn shouted.

  Ellie jerked wide-awake in her seat, wondering what was happening?

  Quinn slammed on his brakes to avoid an old green RAM pickup swerving in front of him.

  He tried to go around it, but was blocked in by a dented blue van.

  “Quinn, what’s hap – ?”

  “Bad guys!”

  The RAM pickup and van slowed in tandem, blocking Quinn in, forcing him to stop on the road’s shoulder inches from a deep gulley. The van blocked him from the back.

  “Quinn – the pickup man has a gun!”

  Pickup Man, a big bullnecked guy in a faded Black Sabbath T-shirt jumped from the truck, waving his gun.

  The van driver, skinny, wearing dirty bib overalls, aimed a sawed-off shotgun at them.

  Ellie saw no other vehicles in the rearview mirror, but noticed the mirror’s OnStar button and pushed it.

  A second later -

  “Mr. Parker?” the OnStar woman said, “is everything all right?”

  “No!” Ellie whispered. “We’ve just been forced off the road by two armed men!”

  OnStar woman paused and whispered, “I hear you.”

  Pickup Man whacked his gun barrel on Quinn’s window. “Get the fuck out of the car now!”

  “Okay,” Quinn said.

  Ellie saw him slide something from under his seat up into his sleeve.

  “NOW!” Pickup Man screamed, his neck arteries bulging like computer cables.

  “Okay, okay!” Quinn said.

  She and Quinn got out slowly.

  “Just take our money and leave,” Quinn said.

  “Shut the fuck up! I talk. You listen. Walk into that field!”

  The two men forced her and Quinn through a wet, knee-high grassy field. Wet briars scratched her legs. Mud sucked at their shoes. Fifty yards in, they stopped behind a wall of evergreens.

  “Take my wallet and credit cards,” Quinn said. “I’ll give you the PIN numbers.” He tossed his wallet on the ground. “There’s eighty dollars in it.”

  Van Man reached down and snatched the eighty dollars, but left the wallet there.

  “Where’s your wallet?” Pickup Man asked Ellie.

  She held it out to him. As he took it, he rubbed his finger slowly along her finger, sending chills through her body. She jerked her hand away and stepped back.

  Smiling, Pickup Man opened her wallet and studied her driver’s license for several seconds as though making sure who she was. He grabbed her twenty-dollar bill, studied her license again, then tossed her wallet in the weeds.

  He’s after me! Ellie realized, her heart punching against her chest.

  “What do you want?” Quinn said.

  Pickup Man grinned, revealing stubby yellow teeth. “Well, see … life’s kinda borin’ back in these hills. Fella’s gotta find hisself some fun.”

  “Go have fun with our credit cards,” Quinn said, still concealing something up his sleeve. He looked angry and Ellie feared he’d attack despite the guns aimed at him.

  Ellie held her breath.

  “I’m thinking fun here and now, if you catch my drift,” Pickup Man grinned.

  Van Man snickered so loud, mucous shot from his nostril.

  “Hey, Ellie,” Pickup Man said, “les’ you and me go over yonder, behind them bushes, and git nekkid.”

  “Save some for me,” Van Man said, wiping his nose.

  Then, she heard it … or maybe she thought she’d heard something. A very faint, brief, high-pitched wail beyond the nearby hills. It couldn’t be the police. She’d only hit the OnStar button a couple minutes ago.

  Ambulance? Fire engine?

  The two thugs didn’t seem to hear the sound. Nor did Quinn. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was wishful hearing.

  Pickup Man started pushing her toward the bushes.

  Quinn stepped toward him.

  “Whoa, big boy!” Van Man said, raising his shotgun. “Move another inch and I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!”

  Quinn looked like he might attack anyway.

  Suddenly, a high-pitched wail blared from around the side of the big hill.

  A siren!

  Pickup Man and Van Man heard it.

  As they spun toward the fast approaching siren, Quinn slid a large pipe wrench from his sleeve – and slammed it down on Van Man’s wrist, cracking bone and knocking his shotgun into nearby weeds.

  Van Man screamed as though his arm had been amputated. It almost was – a jagged, bloody bone was sticking out.

  “COPS!” Pickup Man shouted. “Run, Narvel!”

  “But my fuckin’ arm is all broke!”

  “Run – or I’ll break your fuckin’ neck!”

  Narvel, shrieking in pain, and Pickup Man ran back to their trucks, jumped in and raced off.

  Quinn held Ellie in his arms until a Kentucky State Police car skidded to a stop beside Quinn’s TrailBlazer. A tall blond police officer hurried toward them.

  “Y’all okay?”

  “Yes,” Ellie said. “Thank you, officer.”

  “Thank OnStar,” he said. “It gave us your exact location. “Can y’all describe your attackers?”

  “To a T,” Quinn said.

  “Good.”

  “We can also give you some DNA!”

  Quinn pointed at the wrench with Van Man’s blood.

  THIRTY TWO

  After filing a police report and agreeing to rev
iew mug shots via email, Ellie and Quinn continued driving back toward Louisville.

  “That pickup guy studied my driver’s license too long.”

  “Making sure who you are.”

  Ellie nodded.

  “And when add we this attack to the black Navigator that tried to force you and me into a ravine, and the mysterious 22 bullet from the forest, we know someone’s out to cause you great bodily harm.”

  “And don’t forget the van driver who knocked me off my bike riding to school.”

  “Or the night before,” Quinn added.

  “The night before?” she asked.

  “That U of L student named Elle Steward – spelled STEWARD – attacked in her room and left for dead.”

  Ellie felt sick at the memory. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s still in a coma.”

  Ellie said a quick prayer for her.

  “Her attack is related to mine.”

  “I agree.” Quinn said, as he passed an Allied Van Lines truck.

  “But why harm or kill me?”

  “Only one reason.”

  “They think I’m Leland Radford’s heir?”

  He nodded.

  “But there’s no DNA proof.”

  “Maybe they have proof.”

  “You’re saying they know my DNA test will prove it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How can they know?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Ellie took a deep breath and looked out the window at the Ohio River. “One thing I do know …”

  “What?”

  “My DNA will be irrelevant – if I’m toast!”

  “Not going to happen, Ellie.”

  Minutes later, he pulled into Celeste Barclay’s driveway. Ellie noticed the house lights were off. Celeste was not back yet from her son’s home in Elizabethtown.

  “You shouldn’t stay here tonight.”

  “I have to. Celeste’s son is bringing her here in a few minutes.”

  “Maybe she could stay with your neighbor.”

  “Sarah’s helped out so much lately, I can’t ask her again. I’ll be fine, Quinn, really. Besides, this house has an excellent alarm system. And no one followed us here. I’ve been watching. Don’t worry!”

  He looked like he’d worry anyway. “Let me check inside.”