by Ellen Parker
“Then I visited Matt. Basil threatened me. And poof, panic takes my life path and flips it around until it’s snarled beyond recognition.” She pushed to her feet and paced an oval in her cell. Sandals three sizes too large slapped with each step. Do they have real evidence? Linc deserves better.
Male voices seeped through the cement wall from the men’s cells. She listened but failed to catch any actual words. After a minute or two she separated out three distinct voices, none of them Linc. How was he doing? He’d looked confused in the courtroom. She wrapped her arms around her torso, pretended she’d been able to give Linc a hug, a touch, a genuine smile during those brief moments. No matter what happened next, even if she aged in a cell like this, she would not blame him. If anything, he should be blaming her. She was the one who brought trouble in her wake.
A few minutes later, as she unfolded the single blanket and prepared to make her bed for the night, a new sound invaded. Loud, coarse words fitted loosely to “The City of New Orleans” escaped from the men’s side of the jail.
“Knock it off.”
“Who told you to sing?”
“My dog carries a tune better.”
The next exchanges dropped lower until they became muffled rumbles.
Mona retreated into her own mind. Who was the singer? Linc? No—according to the Tim McGraw song leaking out of the shower the other morning, he sang average or better. Would the other men harm him?
Her face warmed as memories from their conversation over breakfast surfaced. She glanced down at her red nails, noticed a few tiny chips along the edges. Tonight—she swallowed hard—should be my … his … our wedding night. They—or at least she—didn’t have special plans made. But officially it would mark their first night as a married couple.
A legal marriage. Was it her gift to Linc? Yes, you can put my name on a certificate to get land for your orchard.
And what did she receive? He’d offered protection. Yeah, like that happened. She could alibi him. Did they listen? She snorted. Law enforcement followed their own selective observations. Officials in uniforms must assume she and Linc both lied.
She perched on the edge of her bed and let her imagination work on the story that someone created out of nothing to get them here, in jail for murder and obstruction. The only story that formed in her mind—Linc left me in the orchard, went into the barn, and killed Daniel—made a bad movie. The sequel—where she lied that he hadn’t brought a body out of the barn, wrapped it in a tarp, and left it in front of the tool shed—should be laughed at.
We went to the tavern for supper. She considered the presence of Daryl, Kathy, the bartender, the server, and half a dozen other customers. Witnesses without an obvious agenda saw them in town. If Linc had had blood on his clothes, at least one person should have noticed. Did one of them lie and say they did? Can they ignore statements of all the others? What did they have? Or think they had? Why all the interest in Linc’s work boots?
“Mr. Wayne White, do you believe me?” She wrapped the blanket tight and turned her face to the wall.
Questions continued to chase each other around her mind as she lay quiet, staring at the fine cracks in gray paint over darker gray concrete. How did Daniel Larson die? Who mentioned a beating? Was Basil headed to Hilltop or another place?
“No.” She sat up, clinging to the blanket. A tie between Basil and the drug lab shone before her, more distinct than a freeway on a map.
Chapter Seventeen
Linc thumbed through the bills, counted his credit cards, and checked for insurance cards before tucking his wallet into his pocket. He turned to Daryl as he slipped on his watch. “Where’s Mona?”
“Her bail didn’t arrive with yours.” The private investigator continued a text conversation on his phone.
“But …” Linc followed his friend to the outside steps. She deserved to be released. How could they get married with her in jail? “My parents posted mine, right?”
“Put up their house for security. I believe they added a little cash from a retirement fund.”
Linc rubbed a day’s stubble on his jaw. It sounded right that the house wouldn’t be enough; his parents lived in a neighborhood where too many homes had been foreclosed, dragging down all the values. “I expected they would add a little for Mona. They know about the wedding. We Skyped a couple of days ago. Good conversation.”
“Not a matter of approval. Let’s walk.” Daryl led them past a World War I artillery piece posed on a small patch of lawn. He continued across grass to a wooden bench at the foot of the main courthouse entrance.
“She can get out for what, ten percent?” Linc pulled out his phone before sitting down. “Let me check my own accounts. I don’t want her there past lunch.”
“No need to panic.”
“Not for you.” Linc visualized his careful plans to claim the farm, plant more acres in orchard, and live with Mona toppling on him like poorly stacked bales. Today was his final chance. Be married by midnight. Or—or Mona would slip away from him. His fingers paused above the screen at the realization he wanted her, wanted to marry her today, or tomorrow. With or without the inheritance. He tapped in his bank password and selected the account he’d reserved for orchard expenses.
Sunshine warmed his face as he fought back panic. What if his balance was a little shy? Mona’s image from the courtroom returned. Orange scrubs too large for her petite frame. Her mouth sealed in neutral. A soft gasp as the judge announced the amount of bail. He needed to talk to her. Give her assurance he cared. Get a dose of courage from her amazing deep, dark eyes.
Daryl stood. “Time to walk over and talk to the clerk.”
“Does that mean what I think?” Linc aped the investigator’s movements.
“It means, my dear young man, that by the time we cross the threshold of the office the transfer should show in the computer. Your parents are taking her bail out of a separate account. Certain financial institutions take a little longer. Even on a Tuesday morning.”
Linc picked up his pace, held the door, and took the steps to the office two at a time. Mona would be out of jail and able to marry him.
Twenty minutes later Linc ended his phone call to Pastor Ben Cobb and smiled at Mona.
She frowned and shook her head, as close to ignoring him as possible in the small space where released prisoners reclaimed their personal possessions.
“What?” He closed his mouth before he made a fool of himself in front of three deputies and Daryl. Talk to me. It would be a long, tense trip to Eau Claire if she blamed him for yesterday. He avoided watching her hands as she inventoried her purse.
A minute later she headed for the exit with no more than a crook of one finger toward him.
“Hey.” He joined her next to the disabled artillery piece. “This whole thing—I didn’t see it coming. Don’t blame me. Please.”
She remained still for a long moment while a light breeze toyed with her dress, making the large red flowers on the skirt appear to dance. He absorbed the image. A petite figure, with curves in all the right places, begged his arms to surround her waist. A mouth drawn firm and her short dark eyebrows serving as exclamation points declared her off limits at the moment. He wanted to learn every bit of humor and intelligence below the clever packaging. All his hours in jail he’d spent thinking of her on the other side of the wall. Near, yet impossible to see, talk with, or touch. He wanted to do it all. Tease out more details of her life and share his little stories. Their conversations over ice cream in the evenings last week assured him they fit together like parts of a hinge. He wanted her on his team, by his side.
She pushed a strand of fine black hair back into place and looked him square in the face. “You have permission to get me out of your life. I’ve brought you nothing but expense and now a criminal record.”
“Not my plans at all.” He reached out, lifted her right hand in both of his, and rubbed it with his thumbs. A warm tingle swept up his arms, crisscrossed his shoulders, and lod
ged above his heart. “I’m thinking we can make a two o’clock wedding, get the signed certificate back here for Mr. White to file before end of business today, and have a quiet celebration tonight.”
“You want to marry trouble?”
“No.” He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her, and brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I want to take Mary Monica ‘call me Mona’ for a bride. I want you to stay forever.”
“Taxi for Eau Claire leaves in five,” Daryl announced.
• • •
Mona molded against Linc from her hips to her shoulders. Her head tipped back and her mouth invited his lips for a taste without a conscious command. She sighed across his tongue. Forever? Daryl’s voice intruded and she eased away, blinked the world back to focus. “Did I hear you right?”
“I meant every word. I want a second chance to protect you. Keep you close.”
“You’re not obligated.” Her mind raced with possible places to go. Cheap lodging in Eau Claire to comply with the conditions of her release topped the list. Maybe Lorraine would help her find more odd jobs. Then she caught a sparkle from Linc’s clear gray eyes. Where had his practical side gone?
“We need to follow Daryl to his car. We’ve miles to talk.”
She gazed at the sky with only enough high thin clouds to relieve the solid blue. It must be the fresh air after the stale, still atmosphere in the jail. Take the risk. She shook her head even as Linc held her hand. One of them needed to remain sensible. Who would believe the story she’d pieced together in the long quiet hours? What if she was wrong and the drugs manufactured by Daniel didn’t have a connection to Basil after all?
Linc settled next to her in the back seat, claiming the center seat belt.
She stared out the window, absorbing the sight of scattered businesses and neat farms on their way to the freeway. His arm rested across her shoulders, giving more comfort than any security blanket. Every degree of affection, or imagined fondness, made it difficult to speak of serious matters.
“How much can he hear?” She flicked the hand on her lap toward Daryl.
“Everything.” Linc put the word into a smile.
“It won’t take me long.” She straightened and steadied. “I can be gone and forgotten half an hour after we get to the duplex.”
“No.”
“It’s better that way. Safer.”
“I disagree.”
It undermined her resolve that he didn’t sound disagreeable. She detected warmth and an invitation to share in his voice. She moistened her lips and started again. “I said things … to the lawyer … to the detective… that will bring Basil’s wrath down on me. And Matt. It might engulf you.”
“I’m accused of a murder I didn’t commit. How can Basil make it worse?”
“Land is worthless to a dead man.” She studied her feet and fought a spasm of nausea.
“I thought he was after your brother.”
“He was. He is.” She licked her lips and returned her gaze to Linc’s face. “He’ll find a way.”
“I don’t see a motive.”
“Did they show you photos from the lab in the barn?” She glanced at Daryl and found reassurance in his posture that he paid attention to every word.
“Half a dozen of them. Most were close-ups of things I’d never seen before. Why?” He rubbed the lightest of circles on the back of her hand.
“The molds for the tablets … that was Basil’s design. I wasn’t sure at first. So I didn’t say anything to the detective. A double B formed into a butterfly is unique to Basil. According to Matt, it’s one way he keeps tabs on both dealers and customers.”
Linc rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. “So you think Daniel Larson made the drugs for Basil. It would give him a reason to be in Crystal Springs. Maybe he needed to deliver supplies or pick up product.”
“Teach Daniel a lesson. Meet an accomplice.” She released the two ideas which had swirled in her head for the last twelve hours.
“The sheriff follows evidence. You’re talking like a movie script.” Daryl reminded them he followed their conversation while driving.
“I had lots of time to think this over, Mr. Frieberg. Basil has a reputation with his fists. Did the police tell you how Mr. Larson died?”
“Blunt-force trauma. The Whites shared with me.” Daryl changed lanes before the freeway exit. “Beaten with a weapon of opportunity—they’re looking at shovels and heavy wrenches to find a match. The bar with your prints was too thin for the head wound.”
“Can you—” Linc didn’t get further.
“I’ll kick the investigation in that direction as soon as wedding witness and musician duties are complete.”
• • •
Basil caressed the front fender of his El Camino and reviewed the three years spent hunting down parts and restoring the vehicle to showroom condition. Good times, baby. And you’re worth every penny. Every minute. “Treat her right, Nick.”
“Sure thing. Be careful, boss.” The new manager of the warehouse gripped Basil’s hand, the fresh star in the cluster on his forearm denoting his promotion.
Basil gave the classic car one more loving, farewell pat and walked over to the dark green minivan. “Open the door, Nick. I’m outta here.”
As he eased the van into the street Basil gave his loyal friend a thumbs-up sign. From this moment forward he was out of the drug business. Nick possessed the keys, safe combination, and leads to a new chemist. Basil would never seek out any members of the South Minneapolis organization again. The surrender of his beloved, flashy ride for a blend-into-the-crowd vehicle capable of holding his brother Kevin’s wheelchair spoke his exit clearer than words.
Less than five minutes later Basil merged onto the eastbound freeway. One errand, seventy miles to the east, needed to be done before he’d pick up Kevin and drive into the sunset. He felt confident he could convince Mona Smith to cooperate. Her instinct to protect her brother worked in his favor. Plus he carried several photos of Matt enhanced with various injuries to use as incentive to follow his rules. He could picture her a few days from now assisting him with Kevin’s care and posing as a loving cousin, or his girlfriend. Yeah, he’d like to feel her small, soft body against him.
I’ll pick her up first and convince her later. But he’d have to make it quick, before the police discovered he’d jumped bail.
“First things first.” He smiled to the empty passenger seat as he crossed into Wisconsin.
An hour later, Basil parked the van and walked back past one building in the row of duplexes on Benson Place. He adopted the demeanor of a person familiar with the neighborhood and rehearsed a story including concrete repairs. He expected the home to be empty. It was early Tuesday afternoon and Linc worked. Mona appeared to either have a job or a new friend with the woman at the greenhouse. But a stop would be prudent. She might be home. Or left an indication of her location. He wanted to find her quick, and alone.
He pressed the doorbell once, listened to simple chimes, and waited.
Silence. No radio or TV. No footsteps or kitchen appliances. He pulled out his picks and entered the house.
He glanced up the short flight of steps. A glimpse of a recliner convinced him this was the main living level and best place for a clue to Mona’s current location. A suit coat on the back of a chair and a red tie tossed across the table seemed at odds with a normal weekday. The great room seating area and open blinds to the small deck seemed normal enough. He stepped into a small room at the top of the steps and found a computer in sleep mode. Papers, magazines, and a few manila envelopes lay scattered across the flat surfaces.
He nudged the mouse with a knuckle. A menu emblazoned with The Bronze Feather over a faded collection of game birds morphed into view. He searched the screen, found an address, and frowned. Why the interest in a supper club outside of Wagoner, Wisconsin? Eau Claire contained nice restaurants without the hour drive on two-lane road. Not my business.
A quick walk and inspection of the downstairs rooms didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. Mona’s backpack sat under a small table decorated with two framed photographs. The bed was made and no stray clothing or notes lay in plain sight. Linc’s room appeared on the tidy side without any sign of a woman. Is there something wrong with the man? Basil would never have an attractive woman in his place this long without installing her in his bed.
He took the short flight of steps back to the foyer and tested the walk door into the garage. The door swung open and he stood still, afraid to breathe.
Linc’s van sat parked on the right side of the garage. White paint and a chrome bumper gleamed in the subdued light. A trace of auto wax confirmed a recent, careful wash.
Where are they? Sweat seeped on his neck. Unexpected. Uncertain. He forced an exhale. He fought the instinct to flee. Better to call on cold logic and explore all of his options. Yes, he’d leave. But not in any sort of a panic.
He returned to the foyer, closed the door, and wiped the hardware clean of any stray prints.
One more peek into the office. His foot touched the second step and froze. A vehicle approached on the small street. He stayed still as a rock and listened. The engine came close, stopped.
Basil glanced out the glass portion of the foyer door, swallowed hard, and sped up the stairs. A moment later he secured the slider to the deck behind him and descended the open wooden steps.
“Don’t dawdle.” A male voice escaped from the duplex.
“Five minutes. No more.”
Mona’s voice. Basil remained under the deck and pressed against the wall between the two lower-level windows. A second man spoke indistinguishable words. Water ran from a tap while shoes slapped against hard flooring.
