by Rick Murcer
“Bad luck, Mum. That’s all.”
After entertaining a strange, almost haunting look, she gave both of them a quick peck on the cheek. “Bad luck, huh? Perhaps. At any rate, I believe Jen is right about needing some sleep. I’ll be heading that way myself.”
Then, as if each step were slowed by the weight of the world, she trudged to her room, leaving Manny wondering how much more Haley Rose could bear. Hopefully, sleep would give them all a better take on the day’s events come morning.
“She’s resilient, Manny, but what she went through is the limit of what she can bear,” said Chloe softly.
“You’re right, she’s tough. She gets no blame from us, and that’ll go a long way in helping her resolve her guilt.”
“Should I go talk to her? Tell her that?”
“I think she knows. I guess the question is, if you were her, would you want to talk or sleep?”
Tilting her head, Chloe stared down the hall and then glanced up at Manny. “I’d want to sleep. Too much talk can make it worse.”
Ian made a sound, and Chloe was quick to pick him up, pressing him close, soothing their son like only mothers can.
“Do you two want to do this now? It’s almost one a.m., and I’m sure you’re beat yourselves,” said Frank, sliding to the edge of the sofa.
“I’d like to hear what happened,” said Chloe. “I’m wired anyway.”
“Then let’s get some coffee and talk,” said Manny.
“Great. Do you have donuts or cookies too? I’m hungry,” said Frank.
“I think I can scare something up,” said Chloe. She handed Ian to Manny and went into the kitchen.
Ian was warm, comfortable, and that baby scent was strong and alive. Just like his son. He felt his gratitude stick in his throat as he thought how brave his daughter had been. Because of that tough-minded teen, their family was intact.
Could a bigger blessing exist?
Chloe came back into the room, sat down a tray of coffee and soft, chocolate-chip cookies, then took Ian away from Manny, smiling as she did.
“My turn, Dad.”
Frank leaned in toward the treats. “Thanks for the snack, Chloe.”
“So how did this all come about?” asked Manny.
Frank went into the detail of everything involving Ennis Preston’s crime spree in the last two days, ending in his death.
“The Irish officials had no reason to worry about him leaving the country; he wasn’t deemed any kind of threat after he was released. He fooled them by getting counterfeit documents to get to the U.S. and set his warped plan in motion.”
“Just exactly what was that plan?” asked Manny.
Frank shoved another cookie into his mouth, then raised a finger to notify Manny and Chloe that he would continue momentarily.
“According to Jen and Haley Rose, he was going to take Chloe’s mom home with him, but she rejected his advances, so to speak. He went off the deep end, and Jen had to put him down.” The big detective frowned. “Jen put a man down. That’s sort of hard to say. I remember her when she turned ten, you know?”
“I do know, Frank. I do,” answered Manny.
Reaching into his pocket, Frank tossed two passports on the coffee table. “I think maybe he was thinking about taking one or both of your kids back to Ireland too. Maybe starting his own version of a family, right?”
Manny felt his veins grow cold as he stared at the blue booklets. It was hard for him to comprehend what kind of hell that would have been.
He finally exhaled. “You’re right. Insane doesn’t cover this one.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying. Anyway, when we got there, Jen and Haley Rose were hugging each other, Ian in the middle, and Preston was unresponsive. Good riddance, I say.” Grabbing another cookie, he held it high while he spoke. “After Chloe and I talked on the phone, we took them out of the room, put them in my car, and then brought them here. I took statements, and we waited for you to get home.”
“Our department shrink showed up too, right?” asked Chloe.
“Yep. Standard operating procedure, but neither wanted to talk to her. Maybe they will later. Or maybe you two will be all they need.”
“Let’s hope. Anything else?” asked Manny.
He shook his head, downing the cookie then brushing at the crumbs on his slacks. “Not really. I mean, you got the report.” Frank scratched his throat, then shrugged. “You know, I do have to say this. I’m glad you took her to the range and taught her to shoot, Manny. She grouped those shots so close together that she might have stopped a rhino.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means this guys was nuts. You know the kind that almost seem like they’re on PCP or something? If she hadn’t kept it together . . . well, we might be having a different conversation.”
More mixed emotions rattled Manny’s soul. He’d taught Jen to protect herself, praying she’d never have to use that training. Then she did, and his view of teaching her to kill, if necessary, didn’t seem so noble. But he knew that when they were at the range.
Life was as much about survival as anything else. She’d survived.
“Well, I’m leaving. If anything else comes up or you need me, you know how to reach me,”
“Thank you, Frank,” said Manny, shaking his hand. “We will.”
The detective bent low, gave Chloe an awkward hug, and then headed for the front door. Walking him to the entrance, Manny shook his hand again. Frank drove away, leaving Manny feeling grateful for good cops. Reaching for the lock on the outside door, he clicked the tumbler just as one of the FBI’s black SUVs pulled into the driveway.
Sophie jumped out of the driver’s door, followed by Alex Downs from the front passenger side.
“You busy or anything?” asked Sophie, walking up to the cement stoop.
“I’m tired and it’s been a hell of a day, but come on in.”
“No, this won’t take too long,” said Alex.
“Your call.”
Reaching to the light switch, Manny turned on the second outside lamp and sat down on the cool cement of the step. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“I know you know, but I’m sorry Jen and you had to go through that shit. I want to hug her and tell her it’s all right too,” said Sophie, sitting down beside him.
Sitting on his left, Alex nodded. “Me too. We want her to know that we’re here for her in case she doesn’t want to talk to her old man.”
Manny smiled. “Good to know you’ve both got my back.”
“Sooo?” asked Sophie.
“She’s strong, and she knows she had no choice. She gets it. It’s just not easy to deal with, at least not yet. Like we suspected when we were talking about this on the jet ride home.”
“Good. Just tell her we want to see her tomorrow, if she’s willing,” said Alex.
“I will. By the way, where is everyone else?”
Sophie rolled her eyes, scooting closer to Manny. “It’s not that warm out here. Anyway, Dean and Josh are chicken shits and went to bed at our house. They said we should leave you alone. I said they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.”
“Belle didn’t think you’d need her, yet. I love that girl. She’s going to fit well, but I think she was a little uncomfortable being in the middle of all of this. She checked into the hotel, and said she’d meet us tomorrow to wrap up Cozumel.”
“Oh yeah. Cozumel,” said Manny.
“Some getaway that wasn’t,” said Alex.
“No BS on that. Next time, Williams, I’m NOT going on vacation with you. You don’t have a damned clue what those puppies are supposed to be like,” said Sophie.
“No argument from me on that one.”
“Munoz called Josh and then sent him his Mexican Government Report. Penny Rathburn is doing well but gave a full statement. She said Andrew Kelter wanted to talk about something and called her to meet. Apparently they’d gotten close after Andrew’s wife, Diane—Penny’s
stepdaughter—died at the dig.”
“How close?” asked Manny.
“Real close. I’ll tell you more in a minute. Anyway, she says Andrew told her about Aaron’s involvement with the black market scam and the killing of his daughter Diane, from his first marriage, by a couple of thugs hired by the black market ring. Andrew went crazy when he figured out she’d been murdered and eventually contacted Penny about what he’d found out,” said Alex.
“Is that why they met at the resort?” asked Manny.
“Not exactly. Like Alex said, we’ll get to that,” said Sophie. “Anyway Penny told Andrew that she didn’t believe him. That her husband wasn’t a thief and certainly wouldn’t have killed his own flesh and blood. Andrew had insisted he was right and, on top of that, told her that her husband was cheating on her as well. He then said something to the effect that he had taken care of the people responsible for killing Diane. When Andrew confessed to Penny that he’d killed the others, including the woman in the raft who was having an affair with Aaron Rathburn, she became angry and grabbed the gun he had laying on the dashboard. They fought, and the gun went off,” said Sophie.
“That was it?” asked Manny. “Did Munoz believe her?”
“Not quite. The report was a little inconsistent, but who’s going to argue with her?” said Alex.
Manny shook his head. “How sick can people get? Kill your own daughter for money? So, Penny didn’t know about his dealings?”
“Hey, like Sophie says, it’s almost always about money or sex,” said Alex.
“Andrew found out that Diane’s father was involved in her death?” asked Manny. “That would explain the psychotic episode.”
“Your guess that he wanted revenge was spot on,” said Sophie.
“We’ve seen stranger things. Andrew may have even thought of killing Aaron as another step toward ending his pain, not just taking out Diane’s killers. No more family, no more attachment,” said Manny.
“Yeah, Munoz mentioned something like that in the report,” said Sophie.
“I do have one more question. Did you get the DNA report back from the lab?”
“From Rathburn’s Lexus that we processed at the resort?” asked Alex.
“Yes.”
“We did. We got a surprise. It wasn’t Aaron’s DNA; instead, it was Penny’s and an unknown male.”
“He’s not unknown anymore, right?” asked Manny.
“Right again,” said Alex.
“She was having sex with Andrew Kelter, our killer, wasn’t she?”
“Yep, right out of some True Love Confession kind of magazine,” said Sophie. “That makes even me want to puke.”
“Just when I think I can’t be surprised anymore,” said Manny.
“I heard that. Munoz got her to admit to the affair—sort of. She said it wasn’t what it seemed. She justified it by saying she was comforting him,” said Sophie.
“So by putting Aaron Rathburn and his play-time woman on public display, Andrew had accomplished two things. One, payback for Diane’s murder. Two, public mortification for Rathburn at being found like that,” said Manny.
“Looks that way,” said Sophie.
“In the end, this was about money and a murder, and not a spree killer carried away by his own fantasy,” said Alex.
“It was, but there’s something else. An ingredient that made most of this possible,” said Manny.
“Yeah? What?” asked Sophie.
“Grief. An unbearable loss that takes on a life of its own and takes away any sense of wrong or right can be more powerful than life itself,” he said quietly.
Images of Louise’s smiling face waltzed across his mind, then vanished in the light that Chloe, Ian, and Jen represented. She’d always be his first love and, in a way, a part of this family. But he’d learned to carry on and to find happiness. Not everyone was as fortunate. He understood the pain that Andrew Kelter must have experienced.
“I don’t think I want to find that one out any too soon,” said Alex.
“Me either,” said Sophie.
She kissed Manny on the cheek, telling him with a simple gesture that she understood he’d already run that race.
Standing, she tugged at Alex’s arm. “Well, I’ve got to get Dough Boy home to Barb, and I can’t wait to crawl in bed with Dean. He might even get lucky.”
“For once, you might be on to something. And don’t call me Dough Boy.”
Manny’s friends left the driveway. He waved, began to stand, then didn’t. Instead he scanned the heavens.
The spring stars showed bright in the Michigan sky, and for the first time in three days, everything was quiet. He knew it wouldn’t stay that way forever. That wasn’t how his world worked. But for now, he’d count his blessings and thank God for what he had.
This case in Cozumel had been born out of deception, manipulation, greed, and a husband’s love and loss. Ennis Preston had been another form of evil incarnate and had left a mark, but the Williams family would get through it together. They always had.
In the end, the positive side of life’s equation had rallied and won because people rose up and did the right thing. Who knew for sure . . . maybe they’d even had a little Heavenly help.
Rising, Manny Williams gave the incredible sky one last, long gaze before going back inside his home to hold his son.
Thank you for reading Caribbean Fire! I know you have choices out there, and I’m forever grateful that you chose Manny, the gang, and me.
As always, if you want to talk to me, so to speak, email me at [email protected]. And visit my website at www.rickmurcer.com.
God Bless,
Rick Murcer
Books by Rick Murcer
Manny Williams Thrillers
Caribbean Moon
Deceitful Moon
Emerald Moon
Caribbean Ran
Carolina Rain
Vegas Rain
Caribbean Fire
Ellen Harper Thrillers
Drop Dead Perfect
Short Stores
The Light House
Capital Murder
413
Herbs Home Run
Manny Blue and Black Max
The Killing Sands
For your enjoyment, the first two unedited chapters of
SEER
Chapter-1
I never saw them coming. Not the roaring, out of control tractor-trailer, the indescribable fear and pain, and most assuredly, not the inexplicable “gift” the accident would lavish on my previously benign senses.
Perhaps lavish is a somewhat paradoxical term because it means to expend without limit, and my senses certainly have limits, or at least the “gift” seems to. Those limitations unquestionably could be my lack of understanding and leery unwillingness, and not the function of the bestowed gift. I’m pretty new at this seeing thing and what it brings to the proverbial table.
And I’m scared of it.
No, that’s not quite right. Petrified works. As in, pee-my-pants, get-the-spider-off-from-my-face-there’s-a-freaking-snake-the-length-of-U.S. 75-in-my-commode, terror. Yeah, that fits.
I’d never thought of myself as someone afraid of much. Then again, seeing what I’ve seen over the last few weeks has changed that. It would change you too.
But I’m getting a head of myself. Let me bring you up to moment in the best way that a man with my unlikely background is able. I’ll hurry, but I don’t have much time.
None of us do.
My name is Gabe Stark. Actually, my parents named me Gabriel Andrew Stark, nice initials, eh? There isn’t anything particularly special about me, at least in laymen terms, until the accident changed my perception of that could entail.
I can sing a little and I have a knack for keeping most folks relatively calm. That comes in handy in my line of work. People who possess unusual athletic talent, incredible musical ability, or grand wealth seem to fulfill the criteria that special implies these days, and for that, I am grate
ful.
We, our society needs all of them, well almost all of them. I don’t watch Miley Cyrus or Tiny Tim videos any longer.
I suppose you could argue the merits of special, yet I perceive the term as subjective and elusive to quantify as “chocolate ice cream tastes better than vanilla,” or my “dad is tougher than your dad? It’s difficult to beat chocolate anything, however.
Anyway, one week after my forty-third birthday, I began my jaunt of six miles to our country home. I left around 6:30 from my job as a bill collector at the Caring Collection Agency, geared up to engage one of the sudden, blinding December snowstorms that so often attack our quaint little town of North Star along Northern Michigan’s west coast.
Sometimes these storms bring a sense of excitement to the community, suffusing the good cheer of the season and an old-fashioned Christmas theme into a more memorable Christmas experience. I suppose for some, it did exactly that. In retrospect, I wish it had been eighty degrees that evening.
As for my place of employment, I know what you’re thinking; Caring Collection Agency? What hogwash! The name of our company may very well contain as diametrically opposed ideas as any in the English language. Kind of like signing up for one of those all of the pasta and candy diets that guarantee you’ll lose five pounds a week. Or too much baseball. Or too many books. None of those ideas compute. However, we are as real as our company name implies. We do care, but more about that later.
There were two weeks remaining until glorious Christmas morning and I was contemplating what final gifts would be appropriate for my wife of twenty-one years, Kara, and our chocolate Lab, Apollo.
We hadn’t been able to conceive children over the years, not enough fish swimming upstream, so the dog, and a boat load of orphans in the local orphanage, were the fortunate recipient of our generous affections. The spoiled, oversized K-9 seemed to realize that fact better than the children in the home and played it to the hilt.
While we both love kids, we never really considered adoption because we always thought that God would provide us a child when the time was right. We had been wrong and now, in our middle-aged minds, we were well past prime child-rearing energy. And kids take energy, right?
