by Toni Leland
“No, let me get it. Just tell me where to go and what to buy.”
Casey looked dubious and Julia hastened to add, “Really, I want to help.” She glanced at “her” new baby. “She’s wonderful.”
Casey chuckled. “Be careful what you wish for. She’s two weeks old and needs to nurse every two to three hours. Having some solid food will help once she can eat it, and you might want to teach her to drink out of a pail.”
Julia blinked. “Uh, okaaay…”
Casey’s laugh was friendly and genuine. “I’ll help ya, don’t worry about it.”
Chapter 31
Dillon stared at the dark sky on the horizon. A promise of heavy rain lurked in the glowering clouds. Leon had kept a steady pace for the past three hours, not doing much passing and staying strictly within the speed limit. Dillon scowled, wishing the guy would stop for something to eat. His stomach rumbled in response to his thoughts. If he’d known he was going to be on a rolling stake-out, he’d have been prepared. Hopefully, Leon would soon give a clue as to which direction he’d be heading. All the interstates more or less converged around Pittsburgh.
A few drops of rain hit the windshield in big splats, then more followed and, in moments, a deluge pounded the hood. Visibility dropped and Dillon had to slow down with the rest of the traffic. The road began a gradual climb into the Alleghenies and, in minutes, the rain contained large blobs of snow. Dillon shook his head. This would not make Leon happy. The grade steepened, and the ribbon of trucks and cars slowed to a crawl at the entrance to the first of two long tunnels that burrowed through the mountain.
Dillon let his thoughts return to Ginger—not to her deception or her problems, but to the passion on the rug in front of the fireplace. A pleasant stir moved through his belly and he shook his head. He’d actually rejected her subsequent overtures. Was he crazy? In hindsight, it would seem so, but at the time, he’d truly wanted to be fair. He shook his head in wonder. The remainder of the weekend could have been spent in bed, only coming up for food and water. Where had all this altruism come from? Maybe to simply assure both of them that whatever they had, or could have, stood on its own and wasn’t simply an impulse of the moment.
Brake lights came on in front of him and Dillon’s attention snapped back to his driving. He squinted a little as he entered the gaping mouth of the tunnel. Only half the overhead lights were on and, in many places, dark patches on the wall showed where the tile had fallen off. The tunnels had been built in the early thirties and most of the tiles were in poor condition. Construction work on this stretch would be a real challenge, given the amount of traffic passing through twenty-four hours a day. The tunnel echoed with the hiss of hundreds of tires on wet pavement and, of course, someone had to honk a horn. Two minutes later, Dillon emerged into the daylight and blinked at how bright it seemed, even though the clouds hung lower at that altitude.
A few minutes later, he entered the second tunnel. Emerging on the other side, he was glad he wasn’t driving the tractor-trailer. Even when the road was dry, the steep descent was dangerous for truck drivers who weren’t paying attention. Runaway ramps had been installed at several wide places in the road, and Dillon had seen more than one semi that had used the escape and been buried to the axles in gravel. He checked on Leon’s position up ahead. He didn’t know much about the guy, other than he hadn’t been driving for very long. And Leon had made no bones about not liking to drive in bad weather. Hauling for the casket company must pay extraordinarily well for him to do this.
The descent to the bottom of the mountain took about twenty-five minutes. The rain continued, the conditions worsened by a high wind that blew water across the road and buffeted the high-profile trucks. As the road began to level out, the traffic picked up speed. Suddenly, a long string of brake lights came on and Dillon straightened in his seat. The cars and trucks were stopping, and he craned his neck to see what was happening up ahead. Nausea swept over him as he watched Leon’s trailer fishtail in slow motion, sliding first one way, then the other. Dillon moved into the passing lane to get a better view. Leon was trying to turn into each slide, but the weight of the truck was too much. The tractor dived through the guardrail on the shoulder and overturned. The high squeal of metal tearing apart pierced the air. Dillon quickly moved back into the right lane and onto the shoulder, inching his small car up as close as possible to the wreck. He turned on his emergency flashers and jumped out. The acrid odor of burning rubber assailed him as he sprinted toward the overturned semi. He didn’t see smoke or flames, but time was critical. If fuel caught on fire, all the rain in the world wouldn’t put it out.
Another semi had pulled over and the driver followed him as they started down the embankment. “I called 911 as soon as it happened. Hope they can get through the jam-up behind us.”
Dillon nodded, grateful for the man’s quick thinking. The heavy air echoed with squealing brakes, car horns, and the sickening crunch of metal against metal. Dillon shuddered and headed for the cab. As he rounded the end of the trailer, he saw the extent of the damage. The container had split open like a cardboard box, spewing its contents onto the grass along the highway. It was an eerie sight—coffins littering the ground like so much debris. He pushed away the disturbing image and continued toward the truck cab. Leon was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was still inside. The other driver stood by while Dillon climbed up on the wheel to peer into the cab. Leon was slumped in the seat, held firmly by his shoulder harness. His eyes were closed and blood trickled from a gash on his forehead.
Dillon turned to the driver. “Climb up here and help me get this door open. He’s unconscious.”
The two men wrestled the heavy door, no easy feat since they had to lift straight up to get it open. The other driver held onto it while Dillon worked to unbuckle Leon’s safety belt. The burning rubber odor had disappeared, but now the sharp smell of diesel fuel filled the air. Dillon worked quickly and, in a couple of minutes, they were hauling Leon out of the cab. They dragged him far away from the truck and, as Dillon shoved a jacket under Leon’s head, his eyes opened.
His voice croaked. “I’m in deep shit, man.”
He closed his eyes again and Dillon stood up to survey the wreckage. Leon was indeed in trouble if this was what Dillon thought it was. The high wail of sirens sounded in the distance, growing nearer by the minute. The other truck driver returned to his truck, and Dillon glanced down at Leon again, then strode quickly around the front of the cab. He headed toward one of the damaged caskets that lay closest to the trailer, hidden from view of the highway.
The little bit Dillon knew about Stafford Casket Company was that it was one of the oldest such companies in the country, known for the quality and workmanship of its products. The coffins were expensive, and Stafford was always the brand of choice for dignitaries and the wealthy. Even in death, appearance was everything. Dillon gazed at the burnished bronze casket lying on its side. It had connected with some part of the truck and the beautiful, fine metal was smashed and gouged. The lid was torn off one hinge, revealing a luxurious interior. White satin smoothed over plump cushioned sides, attached with satin-covered buttons. The bottom cushion where a corpse would rest was equally plump, looking invitingly comfortable. Dillon stood there for a moment, listening to the sirens closing in. He had to act fast. He whipped out his pocket knife and knelt beside the coffin. One quick slash through the plump cushioned side revealed only cotton batting. He sliced through the bottom. Same thing. Then he noticed a small tab of dark fabric at the foot of the casket, sticking up in the corner about one inch. He grabbed it and pulled. The bottom pad moved a little and he pulled harder, working his fingers under the edge, then lifting the heavy piece up. A whoosh of breath left his lungs. Bundles of crisp hundred-dollar bills were taped to the bottom of the casket frame. Dozens of bundles, probably two or three hundred-thousand dollars’ worth. He glanced around at the several other caskets on the ground. If the load contained twenty coffins filled with money, th
e total amount would be mind-boggling. Multiply that times the number of Stafford trucks on the road. Dillon exhaled slowly. This was an operation which far exceeded his original suspicions.
Car doors slammed and loud voices echoed through the mist. Dillon pulled out one bundle of bills and stuffed it inside his shirt, then quickly replaced the coffin pad. He moved back around the front of the truck, coming face to face with several Highway Patrol officers and ambulance personnel. One of the officers scowled and strode toward him.
“Hey, what are you doing? Get back to your vehicle, sir.”
“I stopped to help him. I know this driver. His name is Leon Jones.”
“May I see some identification?”
Dillon handed over his commercial driver’s license. “I work for A to Z Trucking in St. Louis. I’m on my way to New York.”
The deputy examined the license, then handed it back. “Okay sir, but please go back to your vehicle.”
Adrenaline coursed through Dillon’s system as he walked away. He was damned lucky they hadn’t detained him. It would only be a matter of time before someone from Stafford arrived, and he sure didn’t want to be there when they did. The accident scene was bedlam as emergency vehicles tried to get into the area, and injured motorists began to call out for help. Dillon glanced back at the medics who were lifting Leon onto a stretcher. He was awake again and talking to the attending EMT. Dillon heaved a sigh of relief. At least it looked as though Leon would be okay.
Unfortunately, Dillon’s trail to the Pennsylvania warehouse had dried up here on the highway.
Julia drove toward town, her heart light for the first time in years. The only thing that could make her feel better would be to see Dillon again, and soon. She couldn’t wait to show him the beautiful filly foal. A ripple of anxiety moved through her head. She hadn’t finished telling him her story and, the more time that passed, the more she wondered if she should. She wanted their relationship to be open and honest, worthy of trust. But would he trust her completely if she held back and then he found out later? She shook her head as she pulled into the parking lot of the feed store. She had to tell him everything if she wanted to include him in her new life—assuming he wanted to be part of that new life.
Twenty minutes later, she got back on the road to the farm. The foal feed hadn’t seemed very expensive, but obviously Casey’s costs were higher than were immediately apparent to the casual observer. Julia tried to remember the details of running her own barn. She drew a blank. She’d never been involved in any of that. Chet had reported barn maintenance to Stephen, and Julia had written checks all over the place for tack, show entries, and other assorted items, never having to think once about where it came from, or if it was a lot of money.
She turned into the lane. It sure would be nice to be able to throw some of that money at the rescue program. She backed the truck up to the barn, feeling slightly ashamed of herself. For all those years, she’d supported the library as her “good deed” cause, and it was a worthy endeavor. But had she known the desperate straits of the animal rescue people—or the battered women’s shelter, for that matter—she could have done a lot more with Stephen’s money. She hopped down from the truck and pocketed the keys. If I ever get a “do-over,” I’ll get it right.
That evening, after a supper of frozen chicken pot pie and canned green beans, Julia and Casey sat in the living room, watching the news on an old console television set, the picture saturated with bright red and garish green.
Casey’s voice sounded weary. “I don’t stay up much past eight, but there’s a small TV in Jerry’s, er, your room. But I suspect you won’t be a night owl after today’s workout.”
“I’ve never been one to stay up late. I always get up with the chickens.”
“I also got a computer in the den. If you want to use it, go ahead. Jerry tried to teach me, but I’m hopeless at that Internet stuff. I use the machine for keeping farm records and such.”
An image came up on the TV and Julia gasped. “Oh, my gosh, look at that wreck!”
The news announcer related that a semi truck and trailer had gone off the road in eastern Pennsylvania, causing a forty-car pile-up.
“In this tragic chain reaction on the ice, several people were killed, and many injured. The driver of the truck was taken to a hospital in serious condition. The video you’re seeing was captured by a motorist right after the accident.”
Julia leaned forward, holding her breath. The camera zoomed in on the wreckage and the name on the damaged trailer was unmistakable. Stafford Casket Company. Coffins were scattered along the side of the highway. Several Highway Patrol cars were there, along with three fire trucks and five ambulances.
Casey grimaced. “Ugh. All them coffins gives me the creeps.” She stood up and handed over the remote. “I’m goin’ to bed. See you in the morning.”
Julia turned off the television and sat for a few moments, thinking again about Dillon’s piqued interest in the casket company trucks. She planned to go see Bud in the morning, and would definitely have a look at that warehouse while she was out. She stood up and stretched. She wasn’t really tired yet, mostly because her brain was processing all the new experiences of the day. She wandered around the living room, looking at the minutiae that defined Casey’s life. Family photos, primarily her son, covered most surfaces, and one shelf over the television had a collection of dusty horse figurines. Julia leaned closer, peering at a ceramic mare with a tiny foal nuzzling under her belly. Nature could be so cruel, yet so wonderful. “Little Bit,” as Casey kept referring to the filly, had been eager when Julia appeared with the second bottle that evening. The foal had bumped and pushed, suckling eagerly and making little noises in her throat. Casey had leaned on the stall door, chuckling at the animal’s enthusiasm.
“They sure are tenacious little devils. Have to be or they’d never survive.”
After the filly had finished eating, Julia placed a small rubber pan on the floor and dumped in a handful of the foal feed. Little Bit wandered over, sniffed it, then put her foot in it. They’d both laughed at her silliness, but Casey was confident that, if the filly got hungry enough before the next bottle, she’d eat some of the pellets. She wouldn’t starve.
They’d walked companionably through the barn, checking on the horses before closing up for the night. Julia had never been happier.
Flicking off the table lamp in the living room, Julia headed down the hall to find the den. She’d amuse herself on the computer for awhile before going to bed. The room was small and cramped, jammed with books, boxes, and too much furniture. An old Western saddle sat on end in the corner and a broken halter hung on the back of the desk chair. Julia stared at the computer, feeling as though she were in a museum. The machine was huge, almost as big as a small television set. She sat down and pressed the power key. A fan whirred and the screen began to flicker as the processor booted up. While she waited, she checked the phone line to be sure it was plugged into the wall and the back of the computer. Finally, the screen brightened and she began to explore the system, eventually finding the Internet application and browser. The machine hummed and clicked and she shook her head. With a dial-up connection, anything she wanted to do would take a very long time. She glanced at her watch. Just past eight. She had all night, but did she have the patience?
Her usual search for news about her disappearance brought up nothing she hadn’t already seen. Fine-tuning her search words, she found a small piece of news about Stephen’s company, something about one of the executives resigning suddenly. She knew the incident would make Stephen furious. He considered his employees, staff, and board members as personal property, and demanded that he be the only one making decisions. Unless…maybe he had orchestrated the “resignation.” She skimmed the article, looking for clues as to why the man had left the company, but found no familiar names. Remembering the heated argument in Stephen’s study, she wondered who had been there and why he’d been so upset. The small snatch of conversati
on she’d overheard sounded as though something shady was going on, but without the benefit of the full discussion, she couldn’t know for sure.
She shrugged. “Who the hell cares!”
She moved on to another search, this one for her farm and news of the possible sale. It had been eating away at her for days, but she’d had the good sense to set it aside with the knowledge she couldn’t do anything about it anyway. As the first article came up on the screen, her heartbeat faltered. The farm had been sold four days ago and the horses dispersed at auction, with the exception of two animals that went to a private buyer. Tears ran down her cheeks and she whispered Coquette’s name. How would she ever find her beloved mare? Inhaling a shuddery breath, she stared at the screen, an idea forming. In all likelihood, Coquette was one of the two horses sold privately. Remembering Cooper Carter’s desire to buy her, Julia entered the breeder’s name in the search box. His farm came up as the top hit and she entered the site. A black screen came up and soft music played as an image materialized—a magnificent black bay stallion with huge eyes and flaring nostrils. His name moved across the bottom of the picture, then the image faded into another photograph of two horses running across a pasture, then another photo of a mare and foal. Julia exhaled softly. These horses were breathtaking, the best Morgans she’d ever seen. If Coquette had to belong to anyone else, Julia prayed it would be this man. She browsed through the remainder of the farm site, arriving finally on the information page. Her eyes widened. Cooper Carter’s Morgan Horse Farm was located in Indiana, only a few hours’ drive away. Julia bit her lip. If the horses were sold in the last few days, they’d probably be at the farm by now. She ran a hand through her messy hair. If she showed up there, would he recognize her? She slumped back in the desk chair. And exactly what would she accomplish by doing that, other than assuring herself that Coquette was in good hands? Maybe that was enough.
