Killerwatt

by Sharon Woods Hopkins

  Following the struggle with Kenneth, her left wrist began swelling and the throbbing pain had intensified. Rhetta had asked Dr. Marinthe to look at it. Kenneth had used that arm to launch her across the room, and she feared a broken wrist as the result.

  Marinthe came to Randolph’s room and examined her arm. He called the night admissions clerk, insisting she come to the room, so that Rhetta could complete the necessary paperwork allowing him to order an X-ray. A half hour after the clerk left, Rhetta was out of Radiology Room 3 with her X-ray completed.

  “It isn’t broken,” Marinthe announced as he came through the door from Radiology into the small waiting room where Rhetta sat. “Soft tissue swelling, however, doesn’t show up on the X-ray. I shall refer you to an orthopedic physician who can help. I believe your ligaments and tendons are badly sprained.” Gently, Marinthe lifted her arm and examined it again.

  “Let’s get you in a sling for now to ease the throbbing. You will need to keep your wrist elevated.” Marinthe led the way through the physician’s entry to the Emergency room. “Stay here a moment,” he said, holding up his hand. Rhetta obeyed. Marinthe disappeared behind a curtained partition.

  A strong sense of déjà vu washed over Rhetta as she glanced around. How long ago was it that she’d rushed here to see Randolph after hearing news of his accident? Two days? Three? A glance at her watch told her it was four thirty-five. She shook her head. In the morning? Panic welled. She honestly couldn’t remember what day it was. Was it still Saturday? No, wait, it’s Sunday. Isn’t it? She couldn’t remember.

  Marinthe returned carrying a sling kit. He motioned for her to follow him. He led her to the elevator.

  “What day is it?” Rhetta asked as they rode upward. She pressed against the elevator wall, her head spinning from fatigue.

  “It’s Sunday morning,” Marinthe answered.

  She nodded. Good, I thought it was Sunday. She wasn’t completely crazy, just exhausted.

  The soft ding of the elevator signaled they had arrived at Randolph’s floor.

  Marinthe stopped Rhetta outside Randolph’s door where he carefully fastened the sling on Rhetta’s arm. “You should go home now and get some rest,” he said, putting the finishing touches on the knot he tied on her sling.

  “I’ll call my friend to come and get me, but I don’t want to go home just yet. I want to stay here and make sure Randolph is really all right.”

  “I will be here until eight. Page me if you need me,” said Marinthe, and turned to leave.

  Rhetta reached out and touched Marinthe’s arm. “What will happen to Kenneth?”

  “I do not know, Mrs. McCarter.” Marinthe turned to face her. “I’m sure however, that it will take a full investigation to determine what he did to your husband.”

  “Why did he do it?” Rhetta asked. A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. She found herself deeply saddened by Kenneth’s betrayal. Her mind wrestled to comprehend why Kenneth would harm her husband. She needed an answer.

  Marinthe merely shook his head, shrugged, and limped away.

 

  * * *

  Rhetta pulled the room phone as far away from her sleeping husband as the cord would allow. “Are you up?” Rhetta asked when Ricky Lane answered on the tenth ring.

  “I guess I am now. What time is it?” When Rhetta announced it was six in the morning, Ricky said, “Dear God, Rhetta, it’s the middle of the night.” Stifling a yawn Ricky added, “What’s up?”

  “I need a ride home from St. Mark’s Hospital. Can you come and get me?”

  “Of course. Give me twenty minutes. What happened?”

  Of everything that had occurred, Rhetta especially dreaded telling her friend about losing Cami. Rhetta sighed. “I’ll fill you in on the way home. I’ll be at the visitors’ entrance.”

  When she hung up the hospital phone, Randolph woke up. He held his arms out to her and she went to him. He held her close, rubbing her neck and back, picking small pieces of twigs and debris from her hair.

  “Babe, I’m fine. Go home and get some sleep.” He kissed her cheek.

  “I was hoping to check on Woody and Billy Dan before I left.”

  “You better go and clean up or you’ll scare them to death.”

  Randolph was right. After glimpsing herself in the bathroom mirror, she understood why everyone had been staring at her. Covered in dried mud, twigs, and blood, she resembled a zombie, recently arisen from the grave.

  He cupped her face with both of his hands and grinned. “You’re my forever hero, Rhetta. But you need a shower.”

  A smile worked its way across her lips. Then she grinned.

 

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Rhetta slid into the passenger seat of Ricky’s 1978 Trans Am. As soon as she was buckled in, Ricky gave Rhetta a once over. “I love your outfit. Nice shoes.” The Trans Am sped away, all four hundred horses responding powerfully as Ricky shifted easily through its gears. She’d juiced her ride with an LS1 engine like the one she installed in Cami.

  “I debated putting the T-tops in before coming to get you.” Ricky eyed her friend as they headed up the ramp to I-55. “Glad to know our open air ride won’t mess up your hair. What in the devil’s recipe happened to you, girlfriend? Have you been through World War III when I wasn’t looking?”

  Pretty close to the truth!

  Ricky was a night owl who usually turned wrenches in her garage until after midnight. She yawned. “This had better be good.”

  “I’ll tell you over coffee when we get to the house,” Rhetta said, closing her eyes, and melting into the soft leather interior.

  She’d have to think of something to explain how she’d let Cami burn up. Randolph had advised her not to tell anyone other than the authorities that there had been an attack on the power grid, and that she and Woody had wounded three of the four terrorists doing the attacking. And that later the fourth terrorist had attacked her in the stairwell of the hospital.

  Why cause a panic? And would anybody, including Ricky, believe her?

  CHAPTER 55

  Damn, what’s that fool doing?” The Trans Am swerved hard to the right. “Now he’s right on me again.” This time, Ricky swerved equally hard to the left, her tires squealing in protest.

  Rhetta bolted awake, her heart hammering. She twisted around to see which car had provoked Ricky.

  Bearing down on them was a familiar-looking, dark green SUV.

  “Take this exit, now,” Rhetta screamed.

  Ricky careened across two lanes, and raced down the off-ramp. The SUV didn’t make the exit and flew on past. She pulled over, letting the Trans Am idle at the bottom of the ramp.

  “What the hell was that all about?” said Ricky, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.

  “Let me have your cell phone,” Rhetta said, holding out her hand while checking behind them for any sign of the SUV.

  “Where’s your phone? In fact, where’s your purse? And where’s Cami?” asked Ricky as she groped behind her seat and located her cell phone on the floor.

  As soon as Ricky dropped the phone into her hand, Rhetta grabbed it and punched 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what is your emergency?” The police dispatcher answered after two rings.

  “I need to speak to Sergeant Quentin Meade, please. It’s an emergency,” Rhetta said.

  “This is the Cape Girardeau police,” the operator replied. “I can’t connect you to Sergeant Meade. He’s with the Missouri Highway Patrol.”

  Disconnecting without taking time to explain, Rhetta stretched out her leg and dug into her jeans pocket, producing the card that Meade had given her when they got ready to leave Benton on the way to the hospital.

  He’d told her to call him if she needed him. She needed him.

  “It’s a really long story,” Rhetta said to Ricky. She focused on dialing the number on the card.

  “Please answer, please answer, please answer,” Rhetta intoned as she listened
to the rings.

  “Meade,” said a familiar voice.

  The phone chirped in her ear. The 9-1-1 operator was calling back. Rhetta pressed IGNORE.

  “Sergeant Meade, it’s Rhetta McCarter. The terrorist in the green SUV is on I-55 northbound out of Cape. He just tried to run us off the road.”

  Ricky’s hand flew to her mouth. “Terrorist? What have you gotten yourself into?”

  Rhetta held up an index finger to Ricky in a signal meaning just a minute.

  After describing her exact location to Meade, Rhetta disconnected and handed the phone back to Ricky. “It’s a long story, and it’s a short ride to my house. Let’s go. I’ll fill you in.”

  * * *

  The same man who had tried to kill Rhetta earlier had nearly run Ricky off the road. Rhetta ignored Randolph’s advice not to tell anyone what had happened. Ricky deserved an explanation.

  “Does the creep in the SUV have anything to do with your fashion statement, your sling, the highway patrol, and terrorists?” Ricky downshifted, and slowed for Rhetta’s driveway.

  Mrs. Koblyk popped out from behind a hedge as the black Trans Am eased into the lane. Rhetta waved at her as they sped by, before continuing. “Yes, along with Randolph’s accident, Billy Dan Kercheval getting shot, and the power failures.” Believing they’d be safer if Ricky’s car was out of view, Rhetta added, “We’d better pull into the garage.”

  Hopping out once the Trans Am rumbled to a stop in front of the garage doors, Rhetta dashed through the walk door and hit the automatic door opener for the side Cami usually occupied. Rhetta’s heart turned over. She’d loved that car. Her silver Trailblazer occupied the other space.

  Rhetta motioned for Ricky to pull inside, then closed the garage door.

  “Where’s Cami?” Ricky asked, glancing around as she climbed out.

  “Yeah, well, that’s part of what I have to tell you.”

  Rhetta unlocked her house door with a key she retrieved from a hook near the freezer in the garage, and the two women trooped into the kitchen.

  “I’ll make coffee. You go shower,” Ricky called over her shoulder and began opening up the kitchen cabinet doors. “And hurry up! I’m making a double pot. I have a feeling this story’s going to be a doozy.”

  “Coffee is in the refrigerator, and the coffee-maker guts are probably still in the dishwasher,” Rhetta shouted, as she limped for the master bedroom.

  * * *

  After letting water cascade over her for twenty minutes until she depleted the hot water, Rhetta finally stepped out of the shower. After toweling off, she dressed quickly in a pair of Capris and a sleeveless blouse. She left her short hair to air dry, and padded back to the kitchen.

  “Cami’s really gone? Burned up?” Ricky’s face turned to a mask of disbelief.

  Rhetta knew that losing Cami would hit Ricky hard. Ricky had been the one to locate the original Camaro that she had transformed into Cami. Additionally, she’d done all the mechanics along with supervising as Rhetta and Randolph restored the interior.

  “Randolph is going to be fine. I haven’t checked yet on Billy Dan Kercheval or Woody, but not to worry, I was told they’re okay too.”

  “Oh, Rhetta, I didn’t mean that I wasn’t worried about them. Of course I am.” Ricky ran to her friend and hugged her. “And you? What about you? Are you okay?”

  * * *

 

  It took over an hour and two pots of coffee for Rhetta to tell Ricky everything that had happened, starting with the bizarre phone message and Al-Serafi’s death, up to the shootout with the terrorists at the Scott County substation, and the attack in the hospital.

  Everything, that is, except the part where she nearly ran down her own father. She wasn’t proud of that. Maybe she should find her father, talk to him. Did Mama really tell him never to come back? Was he dying now? Will I ever know the whole truth?

  She suddenly felt sick and put down her coffee. Her mother’s locket. It had burned in her purse, along with everything else inside the car.

  “I guess I’m not enough of a country girl, or I would’ve known not to park Cami where her exhaust would be close to the hay bales. That was dumb.” Rhetta left the kitchen table and carried their empty cups to the sink. She rinsed the cups out. “I’ll be okay. I’m just tired. Not even six cups of coffee will keep me from sleeping.”

  Ricky hugged Rhetta again. “When all this settles down we’ll need to find a replacement for Cami,” Ricky said, a smile sneaking across her lips. “I may know just the car.”

  At that moment, the thought of restoring another Camaro didn’t bring Rhetta any joy. She was heartbroken over losing her beautiful car and her mother’s locket. She forced a smile for Ricky anyway.

  Ricky continued, rubbing her hands together in gleeful anticipation. “I know of a 1981 Z28 that’s been in a barn in Gordonville for twenty-five years.”

  Rhetta had to smile. She agreed with Ricky who claimed old muscle cars were the balm to heal the world’s pain, and with Bob Seeger, who said rock’ n’ roll music soothes the soul. Her soul badly needed soothing. As did her wrist, shoulder, and both feet.

  CHAPTER 56

  Rhetta burst from sleep into an adrenalin-induced fear.

  After Ricky left, she laid across the bed to rest her eyes. A scuffling noise from the back deck startled her to her feet.

  Heart pounding, she tried to think about what she had nearby for a weapon. She padded soundlessly along the carpeted bedroom floor to her closet and slowly opened the door. Thankfully, the hinges didn’t creak as loudly as they usually did. She promised herself to spray them with WD-40 later. Nothing much in the way of weaponry in the closet. Only clothes, shoes—the usual stuff. A glance behind the door revealed her ironing board suspended on a bracket, and next to it, the iron. Wrapping her good hand tightly around the iron’s handle, she tiptoed to the back wall of the kitchen where the sliding door opened to the deck. She flattened herself along the wall and inched to the door, her arm raised above her head, ready to strike with her iron.

  A shadow moved across the door. She held her breath. A short figure appeared.

  Clutching a cat food bag tightly to her chest, Mrs. Koblyk jumped sideways at the sight of Rhetta poised with the iron.

  “Mrs. Koblyk, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rhetta said, sliding the door open and stepping outside. “I thought you were an intruder.”

  “I see the black car leave and I think you must be again away. I come to take care of the little darlings,” she said, pointing to the cats who’d begun meowing and entwining themselves around their legs. Mrs. Koblyk looked like someone who’d just seen a ghost. Two bright red circles dotted her cheeks, and she mopped her forehead with her sleeve.

  “You’re very kind,” Rhetta said, setting her weapon down on the deck table.

  “Oh, missus, what has happened to your arm?” She pointed to Rhetta’s sling.

  “Nothing really, just a little sprain. I’ll be fine.”

  “You go on in and let me feed these babies,” Mrs. Koblyk said, taking charge and ushering Rhetta to the door. “You must rest.” Turning to the cats who were yowling plaintively, Mrs. Koblyk crooned to them in Hungarian.

  “Thanks,” Rhetta said. She hurried back inside, not wanting to take time out to think of a story to tell Mrs. Koblyk about her arm.

  Her ankle pain had eased and after she’d removed the piece of festering splinter that had remained embedded in her other foot, Rhetta was able to walk much easier. It helped that she now had on her own footwear, a pair of leather walking sandals, instead of Billy Dan’s oversized tennis shoes.

  After five minutes of rustling around the closet, Rhetta found a straw purse trimmed in yellow that matched her Capris. Because she had nothing to put in it besides car keys, she tossed the purse back on the closet shelf. She was sure she’d be able to keep up with a single set of keys. That’s what pockets were for.

  She wandered around the living room, th
e bedroom, and finally the kitchen before locating the keys to the Trailblazer. They were hanging on the hook by the back door, where they were supposed to be. She yawned. She was still in fatigue overload.

  Once inside the Trailblazer, and after adjusting the mirrors and inserting the key into the ignition, she glanced around, again mourning Cami’s empty space. Today, she was grateful for driving an automatic. This, she could manage with her good arm.

  It took a few minutes to maneuver past Mrs. Koblyk’s car that the neighbor woman had parked diagonally behind both of the garage doors, Rhetta was about to continue backing down the drive when Mrs. Koblyk ran toward her, waving both arms. Rhetta stopped.

  “I’m sorry I block the driveway. I can move.” The old woman panted.

  “No, no, I’m fine, no problem.”

  God love her.

  Rhetta arrowed down the county road, but eased up on the accelerator, not wanting to get stopped yet again. Especially with no driver’s license.

  She’d have to ask Sergeant Meade exactly how she should go about getting it back. She’d probably get it returned with an invitation to court stapled to it.

  Out of habit, she reached for her phone, then remembered where it was. Then her heart cracked like an icicle in the sun as she remembered the lost locket.

  * * *

  The entire city of Cape Girardeau was up and running like nothing had happened. All of the signal lights worked on her way into Cape. She’d chosen Kingshighway instead of using I-55. She knew all the signals worked because she caught every one that turned red. Fast-food signs blazed, reminding her that it had been years since she’d eaten. Her stomach rumbled.

  Regretting now that she hadn’t fixed herself a PBJ at home before taking off for the hospital, she groaned. She had no money. She also had no keys, so she couldn’t get into the office to raid the petty cash drawer. Oh, well, maybe starving was good for her diet. Maybe she could snatch something off Randolph’s tray at the hospital.

  Singing along with the Beach Boys, she pulled into the hospital parking lot. Rhetta continued singing about driving like an ace as she locked the car. She imagined the young Beach Boys zipping to the California beaches in first generation Camaros and Firebirds while belting out their songs.