Back in their RV, Bill said, “Your phone will be a decoy. He’ll never figure out why the signal says we’re here but we’re not. We need to buy disposable phones.”
“Is it okay if I give the new number to my sister? I worry about her.”
“That should be no problem.”
“Let’s get out of here. Start putting things away. After I talk to them at the office, I’ll unhook, and we’ll go.” He put his laptop in its case and set it behind the driver’s seat.
“Where?”
“We’ll talk about that along the way. Look, this isn’t your fault.”
“No need to apologize. It is my fault.”
Still suppressing his anger, Bill turned away and began stowing loose items.
After trudging across the grass to the campground office, Bill composed himself before opening the door. He smiled at the over-tanned woman behind the desk and said, “Good morning.”
She stapled some papers and smiled back, a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. Atop a haphazard stack of unopened envelopes sat an oversized ceramic coffee cup, brimming with cigarette butts.
He continued, “We’ll be leaving, so I wanted to settle up. I recall we prepaid at your monthly rate, and we’ve only been here two weeks. Okay with me if we call it even.”
“I hope you didn’t have any complaints here at the Rocking Horse.”
“Not at all. You have a pretty, quiet place—exactly what we wanted. Only now, wifey says she wants to be on some water.”
The woman nodded.
“Ma’am, do you recommend any places over by Fort Myers?”
“Sure. One place is called San Carlos. It overlooks a few small islands in the bay. Another is right on the ocean in Fort Myers Beach—Red Coconut. I’ll refund you the difference—we didn’t turn anyone away because of you.” Bill understood her with difficulty, peering to read the movement of her lips on the side of her mouth away from the cigarette.
He thanked her and told her they would pick one of the places in Fort Myers.
After unhooking the motorhome, Bill drove past the office and wound his way back to US 27, where he turned north.
“I told the lady back there we were going to one of two places she suggested. What we’re really going to do is find a place not too far from here where we can hunker down. If Willis—Trip—talks to her, she’ll send him to the west coast of Florida. I hope he wastes a lot of time looking for us over there. We should think about ditching the motorhome for a regular house, in case they come back this way.”
They drove twenty minutes north on US 27 and found a gated RV community named Highlands Haven, geared primarily for owners of the sites. Bill went in the office and found they could rent an unused site, one-month minimum.
“This is perfect. The access gate is a nice feature. I told the lady we wanted privacy, that we left the last place to avoid an obnoxious guy who went overboard befriending us. I said I wouldn’t put it past him to try to find us. She said no problem, they wouldn’t give any info out.
“She asked me if it was like the people in the movie RV, who were pestering Robin Williams and his family. I told her I hadn’t seen the movie, but based on this guy we’re trying to avoid, I didn’t need to see it.”
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Aren’t you something.” Vicki sounded relieved.
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“The homespun sayings.” Bill cleared his throat and gestured toward the grounds. His tone was conciliatory. “Good-sized pool here, beautiful covered patio beside our unit. This is a good spot to stay while we think about making sure Trip doesn’t catch up with us.”
Once the motorhome was hooked up in its new location, the Honda uncoupled and parked behind it, Bill opened his laptop and searched. In a few minutes, he said, “Vicki, listen to this. I found an app that allows tracking another phone without having physical access to that phone. I think we should do that. Do you remember Trip’s number?
“No. It should be in my phone.”
“Boogers. Okay, I’ll have to go back and retrieve it. Is the number listed in that phone under ‘Trip’?”
“Yes.”
Bill threw himself into the Honda and sped back to Rocking Horse Campground. Parking beside the unoccupied fifth wheel, out of sight from the office, he removed the phone and found Trip’s number. He put the phone back under the vinyl tire and was back on US 27 in minutes.
Back at Highlands Haven, Vicki unlocked the door when he knocked. “I did it,” he said. “Set it up on my phone, smooth as silk. Of course, I’ll find another phone for myself as soon as I can. Then I can take the battery out of this one when I’m not using it to track them. Can’t be too careful.”
Bill fiddled with the new app and held the phone for Vicki to see. “Here. We can now track Trip’s phone.” He touched the screen, and a map of south Florida appeared, a blue dot on the screen near the one showing their own location.
“He’s right behind us, near that Rocking Horse Campground. I’ll listen to find out if he goes in there and talks to the lady in the office. I hope he takes the bait and goes to Fort Myers. We can even use Trip’s phone as a listening device and do a few other things I don’t think we’ll need.”
“Like what?”
“For one, take a picture and send it to my phone.”
“Bill, that’s scary.”
“Yep.”
Chapter 13
The old white Volvo wagon pulled into Rocking Horse Campground just off US 27, twenty miles south of Highlands Haven Campground where Bill and Vicki sat monitoring their progress.
Malcolm Weaver shifted to ease his discomfort in the boxy vehicle’s lumpy passenger seat. He thought of it as a fallen-over refrigerator, with ride quality to match. The air-conditioning wheezed, and the blown diaphragms of the radio speakers buzzed on every bass note. This made Willis Turek’s country music CDs even more unbearable.
“We should have gone to see your Mr. Cruz and gotten the names on the fake IDs,” Willis said.
Malcolm glared. “I decided it was more important to get on the road after them. We’ll double back to Miami if I decide we need to.”
“Well, we’re here. Let’s drive around the campground and find our favorite crooks,”
An hour later, the Volvo parked near the campground office, and the atmosphere in the car had changed from optimism to anger. Dusty and hot from cruising the campground with the windows open to give them air, Malcolm shifted in his seat. “No sign of them. I think we should come back here several times a day and hope to catch a glimpse. They’ll have to go out sometime, to dinner or to buy supplies. Sooner or later, we’ll see them.”
“Problem with that. The management of this place will become suspicious. Remember, you don’t want any doings with John Law.”
“Okay, genius, what do you suggest?”
Turek cracked his car door open, and more breeze swept in. “I hate to say it, but I think we need to rent an RV and stay here a few days. We can keep an eye out for them without attracting attention.”
“So that will be our cover. A couple of gay guys RVing together.”
“Listen, you’re so used to being top dog you don’t recall how to behave now. You think you’re cooler’n the other side of the pillow, but you’re not. Not in this car. Stuff the attitude and recognize that we’re equals—although I will admit our shares aren’t equal. We ought to talk about something more equitable.”
Malcolm showed his gritted teeth. “No. What you’ve asked me for is already too much. We’re not going to talk about increasing it.”
“What you mean to say is the five hundred thousand you’ve agreed to. Isn’t that right?”
Malcolm cleared his throat with his mouth closed.
“I’m taking your grunt to mean, ‘Yes, sir.’�
�
“The idea of renting an RV isn’t going to work,” Malcolm said. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Even if we find one, what do we do when they take off? We can’t follow them in our car and leave it sitting here.”
“Sure we can, but I’ll admit it involves some practical difficulties. Tell you what. Let me go in the office. I’ll get more information.”
Willis entered the office. He put his hands on the counter and said to the ancient manager, “How are you?”
“I’m fine, hope you are,” was the garbled response from the side of her mouth opposite a dangling cigarette. Willis hadn’t heard that one before. He detected no hint of sarcasm, and her body language was open. He smiled at the sun-browned and wrinkled woman and eyed the inch of ash hanging from the end of the cigarette.
“I came to ask you for a favor. My buddy and I are staying at the campground in South Bay. We met a couple there who said they were coming up this way to find a more secluded place.
“The thing is …” He leaned closer. “One afternoon we got to talking about unusual places in Florida. I told them about a castle built out of scrap metal, but I couldn’t remember the name of it or even where it is.”
“Solomon’s Castle.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Some other campers had told us about it. Said it’s not hard to find. So we took a drive up here to visit these folks. Now I can give them the details on the castle, thanks to you. Also wanted to check out your campground for future reference.”
The ash at the end of her cigarette landed in the pile of papers below her. The woman removed the cigarette from her mouth, about to say something.
He held his open hands out. “I don’t remember their names. He’s about my age, a little taller than me, hair a little thicker. Distinctive nose with a bump on the bridge, probably broke it somewhere along the way. I’d say the wife is around forty-five, attractive with curly reddish hair. I didn’t see their RV here. We must be in the wrong place.”
The office manager thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. They left this morning.” She shuffled through the papers, spreading the ash among them. “Bill and Vicki. Yeah, they have an old Holiday Rambler, white with tan stripes. Friendly people.”
Hearing they were gone, Willis took a deep breath, forcing himself not to rush the conversation. “Friendly people, yes.” His own voice sounded reedy to him, so he cleared his throat. “You don’t happen to know where they were headed, do you?”
“No, but they did ask for suggestions. I believe they were going to check out a couple places by Fort Myers—San Carlos and Red Coconut.”
“Bill and Vicki, yeah. Do you remember their last name?”
She raised her head, and he knew he had asked one too many questions.
The woman said, “I’m sure you have enough information to find them, with a little luck. I hope you do.”
“Fort Myers is too far for us to go for a visit. I’m sure they’ll run into someone who can fill them in about this castle, if they’re still interested. Thanks anyway.”
Willis got back in the car, slammed the door, and stared through the windshield. “The phone tracking isn’t working right. They’re gone. The hick in the office was kind of helpful. They’re going by the names Bill and Vicki—couldn’t get her to tell me the last name. In case I forget, remember the two campgrounds she referred them to. San Carlos and Red Coconut, near Fort Myers. They should be at one or the other.
“To keep the lady from becoming suspicious, I told her we didn’t want to go that far to see them. But we can be in Fort Myers in an hour and find something decent to eat. Then we’ll surprise our friends.”
Malcolm gazed out the window, a soft smile spreading. “I met Oscar at the Red Coconut Soda Shop in Vero Beach. Why are you bringing him up? What business is it of yours who he is and what we do?”
“I don’t understand. What has that got to do with—”
“You don’t believe in man-boy, do you?”
Willis turned to Malcolm and studied his eyes. He spoke in a loud voice. “Malcolm, are you all right? What you’re saying doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Sorry, what were we saying? Something’s interfering with my brain.”
“What are you talking about?”
Malcolm stared at Willis under hooded eyelids, gave an infinitesimal shake of his head, and gazed at his knees.
“Malcolm, what’s going on?”
“Never mind. I’m fine.”
“I’m not at all sure of that.” Willis waited for a response and received none. “Well, let’s check these two places. Hope to God they’re at one of them.”
Bill snickered. “It works. I can track their movement, and I’ve been listening.” He held his cell up to Vicki’s ear. “Can you hear?”
She shook her head.
Bill put the phone back to his ear. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
“What?”
“Malcolm’s not dead; he’s alive, in the car with Trip.”
“Good grief. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. They’re arguing about money and how to find us. I think Malcolm must have staged his own disappearance. Why else would he be sneaking around? And Trip? What’s he doing with Malcolm?”
Bill watched the blue dot moving in a westerly direction, his hand holding the phone up to Vicki. He hummed with satisfaction as the blue dot moved south faster on US 27 and chuckled when it turned on State Route 29, heading southwest toward LaBelle and Fort Myers.
“They bought it. They’re on their way to Fort Myers. From what I could make out, I think Malcolm’s losing his mind.”
Chapter 14
For the next month, Bill and Vicki explored the area around Highlands Haven. As they drove up from Miami, the scenery had changed from cane fields to ranches and then to orange groves. North of the campground was the small town of Lake Creed, more orange groves, and two other bigger towns, which boasted more shopping and restaurants. Several lakes were visible from the highway, ringed by homes.
One afternoon, they sat in folding chairs, shaded by the awning of the RV, enjoying the breeze and white wine. Bill said, “By the way—you’ve told me a few times how you worry about your sister, but you’ve never given me many details. You said she’s had a drug problem, but that’s about all. Do you want to tell me about her?”
Vicki sighed. “Her name is Rachel. She’s two years younger. She’s always been a little slow, and I try to look after her. She won’t leave Ray City; it’s the only place she’s ever known, and she panics at the idea of living anywhere else. Her life’s a mess, but I do what I can. I need to go visit her soon.”
“I’m sorry.” Bill set his glass down.
“Our mother died when I was fourteen. Our stepfather took care of us after that. The old man—Ebern Wilson—was an alcoholic living on disability. I did my best to keep up the household, but sometimes we went hungry. We wore old, ill-fitting clothes to school. The plumbing in our run-down house was broken.”
“That must have been very hard for you.”
Vicki raised a quivering hand to her eye and brushed a tear away. “We were both harassed by the other kids as ‘white trash.’” A weak smile appeared on her face and vanished in seconds. “I beat a few asses before they realized I wouldn’t stand for it. Rachel had a tougher time, because she was afraid of them and because of her dullness. I protected her when I could. The schools held her back twice. Other years, they promoted her only to move her along.”
Vicki’s voice thickened, and she stopped to swallow. “Our stepfather was a nasty drunk. The smallest thing could trigger a rage. He beat us both every week or so.”
“That’s terrible, Vicki. I wish you’d never had to endure this.”
“When social workers came to check on us, Ebern’s sisters would show up. They’d be all dressed up and telling the workers about ho
w they weren’t aware we were living that way. Told them they’d make sure we had a proper home and food. Passed off our bruises as what rough kids do, and we were scared to say otherwise. A couple times, one of the aunts took us in for a few weeks, but then something happened, and we were back with Ebern. I think it was about who got the welfare for us.”
“So you were never removed from Ebern’s home?”
“The social workers never found enough to justify it. Bill, the truth is a foster or group home in our county wouldn’t have been an improvement anyway. Of course, they didn’t know the whole story—the drunkenness, the beatings, the lack of food and clothing. Ebern and his sisters managed to paper things over, and I think social services didn’t want to be involved. They knew he was a mean sonofabitch.”
“Did Ebern ever sexually abuse either of you?”
Vicki’s voice was sharp. “I jammed my fingers in Ebern’s eyes when he tried to fondle me, and he never tried again. He took revenge by beating me more often.
“After that, I saw how he looked at my sister when he thought I wasn’t watching. He had a hunger. One afternoon, I came in the house to the sounds of rustling and muffled squealing from Ebern’s bedroom. I grabbed a kitchen knife and kicked his door open—broke the flimsy lock. I stuck the tip under his chin. I’ve never seen such hate in anyone’s eyes. I told Ebern, ‘I’m almost fixin’ to shove this up into your brain. There better not be a next time, or I’ll do it, for sure.’”
“What happened after you did that?”
Vicki dabbed at her eyes with a knuckle.
“It was strange. He never beat or molested either one of us again. He still was drunk most of the time, but when he was half-sober, he became almost kind. He talked to me about conjuring. Said he saw me in the woods at night, making foxfire dance in the air, and making deer freeze in their tracks so I could pet them. Said I didn’t understand my powers, and the less I did of that stuff the better. He told me he’d been a conjurer too, when he was young, and he still had nightmares about some spirits he saw. Liquor made the dreams go away.”
Never Again, Seriously Page 10
