by Bill H Myers
She reached over and took Abby's hand and they walked away.
Dylan turned to me. “I need to get into her motorhome. Think you might be able to change her mind?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. But I'll try. You stay here; I'll go talk to her.”
I walked away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the crystal mine. If he thought anything was up, he didn't show it.
Chapter Forty-One
Abby and Kat had moved far enough away so that Dylan wouldn't be able to hear their conversation. I went over to join them.
The first thing I said was, “You know what he wants.”
Kat nodded. “Yeah, he wants to get into the motorhome.”
“And he doesn't have a key.”
Kat turned away so Dylan couldn't read her lips. She said, “I don't have my keys. I gave them to the deputy.”
Apparently, Abby had told Kat we had spoken to the deputy and that we knew what was up with Dylan.
Kat shook her head. “I can't go to the motorhome with him. He got me into this mess, and I'm so mad I might just finish him off. Then dump his body in the woods where no one would ever find him.”
She could have been kidding, but there was a good chance she wasn't. Being the daughter of a Russian Mafia boss, she had been trained to do things like making people disappear without a trace. She could do it if she wanted to. No problem.
Abby could see that Kat was getting worked up, so she leaned in and whispered, “There's no need to kill anyone. We've got this under control.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key she hadn't given the deputy. The key that opened the side door.
“Give him this. Tell him to use it to get in the motorhome and leave it at the campground office.”
Kat looked surprised. “You have a key? You didn't give it to the deputy?”
Abby shook her head. “I gave her a key but not all of them. I thought it'd be a good idea to keep at least one.”
She put it in Kat's hand. “This will unlock the side door but won't start the motor. He can use it to get in, but he can't use it to drive away.”
Kat understood. “So, I give this to Dylan. He uses it to get in. Then what?”
Abby reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out the business card the deputy had given her that morning. “When you give him the key, and he leaves with Digger, we call the deputy and let her know he's on his way. Then we spend the rest of the day here, digging crystals.
“When we get hungry, we'll send Walker over to the Bluebell and have him bring us lunch.
“Then, if things are not wrapped up by the end of the day, you can spend the night with us. We're camped about five miles from here.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw that Dylan was still standing where I left him. In the middle of the mine. Just looking around like he had no worries in the world. He saw me look in his direction and he nodded. I gave him a thumbs up, and he smiled.
He started to walk toward us, but I shook my head. Not yet. He got the message and stopped.
I turned to Kat. “It's up to you. Either give him the key or tell him to go away. If you don't give him the key, my guess is he'll go back to your motorhome and break in. Probably knock out a window.
“If he does that, you won't be able to drive it until you get it fixed. If it rains, it'll be trouble.”
She thought about it for a moment, then said, “You two stay here. I'll go talk to him.”
Abby and I stood our ground as we watched Kat walk over to Dylan. She spoke a few words, handed him the key and they hugged. He waved in our direction and walked away. Happy and carefree.
Kat watched until he was out of the mine area and then she came back to us. She was shaking her head. “That bastard. He really messed things up. He could have taken me down with him.”
Abby nodded. “He could have. But he didn’t. Now that he's gone, let’s go over to my car and catch up on a few things.”
We left the mine area and walked over to Abby's green Jeep. When we got close, Kat said, “This is yours? How cute! When did you get it?”
Abby told her how we had found the Jeep for sale just outside of Hot Springs and how she had always wanted one and, when she saw it, she just had to have it.
We piled inside, with Abby and Kat in the front and me in the back. Kat drummed her hands on the dash and asked, “Where we going?”
Abby shook her head. “Nowhere. Not until we make a call.”
She held out her phone. “You want me to call the deputy or do you want to do it?”
Kat shook her head. “You call. I'm afraid I might say the wrong thing.”
Abby pulled the deputy's card out of her pocket and called the handwritten number on the back. When the call ended, she filled us in.
“She said they'll have someone watching the motorhome. They won't try to bust him while he's inside. They'll wait till he walks out and has the stuff on him.
“She said none of us should go over there until she calls back and says it's clear.”
Kat thought about it for a minute and then reached out for Abby's phone. Her own phone was still back in her motorhome, and she wanted to make a call. But Abby wouldn't let her. Not before asking a question. “Who you want to call?”
Kat smiled. “My dad. He needs to know where I am.”
Abby said, “Good. He'll be happy to hear from you.”
But she didn't give Kat her phone. Instead, she made the call herself and when Kat's father answered, she said, “I'm sitting here next to your daughter. Would you like to speak to her?”
Chapter Forty-Two
When Kat took the phone, Abby and I stepped out of the Jeep, giving her some privacy while she spoke with her father.
The call lasted about ten minutes; we couldn't hear much of it. We did hear her say she was safe, and was sorry she hadn't called earlier and let him know where she was.
It didn't sound like she told him about the problem with Dylan or the drugs. Her father wouldn't have been happy hearing about that and might have wanted to get some of his heavy hitters involved. It was probably good she hadn’t mentioned it.
She ended the call, promising to call again the next day and tell him more. She climbed out of the Jeep and handed the phone back to Abby. Then she asked, “You two really getting married?”
I started to answer with an emphatic, “No,” but Abby stopped me.
She grabbed my hand and said, “It's complicated. Walker here isn't sure what he wants. But I am.”
Maybe she was kidding. Or maybe she wasn't. I was still wearing her ring and maybe she really thought we were getting married. I sure hoped not.
Then she said, “What I want right now is one of those burgers from the Bluebell back in Story.”
She turned to me. “What about you, Walker? You hungry?”
I was. A burger sounded good. A lot better than getting married, so I said, “Yeah, let's go get food.”
We piled into Abby's Jeep and headed to the Bluebell. Along the way, Kat told us she had been staying in a guest cabin on the mine grounds. The cabins usually weren't available, but when the deputy flashed her badge, the mine manager said that Kat could stay in one for a few days. It was rustic, but liveable.
The parking lot at the Blue Bell was almost full when we got there. Eight pickup trucks and a tractor. Fortunately, the tractor was just leaving when we pulled in.
Inside, a sign said, “Seat yourself. ” We looked around and found an open table by the window and claimed it. Almost immediately, a young girl in jeans came over to take our order. We all wanted the same thing, burger, fries and a Coke.
Ten minutes later, our food came and when it did, it met the promise on the sign painted outside. The best burger around. There was no doubt about it. The burger was good, the fries were fresh cut and tasty, and the Coke was ice cold.
We ate, talked about the last few days, and after everyone was through, I paid. I left a ten-dollar tip on the table, and instead of heading
back to the mine, we went to our campsite at the Fish Village.
Kat was tired and wanted to rest and Abby thought the motorhome would be a better place for a nap than the parking lot at the crystal mine.
Bob met us at the door. He rubbed up against Abby's ankles and did the same with Kat, who he had met on an earlier trip. When I stepped in, he ran from me over to Abby. I guess he preferred her over me. I didn't blame him. She petted him more than I did.
When Abby sat on the couch, he jumped up beside her and rubbed his head against her arm. Before long, he was in her lap, purring.
Kat had gone to the back to wash up. When she came back up front, she said, “I have a funny feeling about this.”
Abby nodded. “I do too. Something seems off.”
I thought for a moment then asked Kat, “When the deputy searched your motorhome and found pills, did she show them to you?”
She shook her head. “No, she didn't. She said the pills were laced with fentanyl and we shouldn't touch them.”
I nodded. “After she found the pills, did she keep searching or did she stop?”
“She stopped. She said that was all she needed.”
“How long did it take her to find the pills once she got inside your motorhome?”
“About two minutes. She went straight into the bedroom and came out saying she'd found pills.”
“But you never saw any pills, right?”
“Right, I never saw any pills.”
“Did Dylan ever do anything that made you think he was using or selling Oxy?”
She shook her head. “That's the thing. He didn't act like someone on pills. He never said anything about drugs and never tried to hide his backpack. The only thing he seemed interested in doing was finding crystals to take back to Florida. ”
I nodded and continued my questions. “Is it possible that he's clean? That maybe there weren't any pills? And maybe the deputy made it all up?”
Kat shook her head. “Why would she do that? Why go to the trouble of getting me out of the motorhome just so she could bust Dylan for not having pills?”
Abby had stayed out of it until the question about the deputy came up. At that point, she had something to say. “What if she really isn't a deputy?”
I shook my head. “She showed you her badge, right? Right after she maced me, she showed you her badge.”
Abby nodded. “Yeah, she did. And it looked real. But maybe it wasn't. Do you remember her last name?”
I didn't, but Kat did. “Moretti. That's her last name.”
Abby pulled out her phone and looked up the Garland County Sheriff's Office. She found the number and made the call. We could only hear her side of the conversation. It went something like this:
“Yes, I'd like to speak to Deputy Moretti.”
“Correct, Moretti.”
“I spoke to her earlier, and need to update her on a case she's working on.”
“Yes, this morning.”
“Okay, I'll hold.”
There were a few moments of silence, then, “Yes, I’m calling to speak to Deputy Moretti.”
“This morning.”
“Red hair, stocky build, about five foot ten.”
“Really? When?”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, she showed me her ID and badge.”
“Right now? She's probably going to the Crystal Ridge campground where the motorhome is parked.”
“She has the keys. I gave them to her.”
“She said it was a drug investigation and she had a warrant for Dylan Lancaster.”
There was a pause, then:
“Really, no warrant? Nothing on Dylan?”
“Good to know. But what about the woman?”
“I understand. We'll meet you there.”
She ended the call and said, “We need to go to Kat's motorhome. Right now. I'll tell you why on the way.”
She grabbed the keys to her Jeep and headed out the door. Kat and I followed.
Chapter Forty-Three
Abby was driving the Jeep and telling us about her call with the sheriff’s office. She said, “When I asked to speak to Deputy Moretti, I could tell there was a problem. They asked me twice if I was sure I had the name right. They wanted to be certain it was Moretti I was working with. I assured them it was.
“That's when they put me on hold. A few seconds later, a man picked up. He said he was the sheriff and wanted me to confirm I had spoken to Moretti. I told him we had spoken to her a few hours earlier and she had shown us her badge and ID.
“He wanted me to describe the deputy and I did. That's when he told me the real Deputy Moretti had been killed three months earlier. Her body had been found in the woods, minus her ID, badge and gun.
“Since then, a woman matching the description I gave had been using Moretti's badge to impersonate her and rip off tourists. The sheriff's office had been trying to find the woman so they could question her about a number of crimes, including the real deputy’s death.
“The Sheriff said if the fake deputy had the keys to the motorhome, chances were good she planned to steal it. The only way to stop her was to get to the motorhome before she took off in it. He was sending two cars and said if we got there first, detain her if we could.”
It was about twenty-eight miles from the Fish Village to the Crystal Ridge RV park. With Abby driving the Jeep flat out, it would take us at least thirty minutes to get there on the narrow mountain roads.
We were halfway there when I popped open the Jeep's glove compartment and pulled out the map we had bought from Digger. I was hoping he had put his phone number on it somewhere. But he hadn't.
Kat, who was sitting in the back seat, saw the map and said, “I've got one of those. Got it from Digger.”
I nodded. “He told us he gave you one. Any chance he wrote his phone number on yours?”
She smiled. “Yeah, in fact he did. But I left my phone in the RV and couldn't call him. I've got the map if you want to see it.”
She pulled it out her pocket and handed it to me. Near the bottom of the page, below the driving directions, a phone number had been scrawled in pencil.
I pulled out my phone and called it.
After three rings, Digger answered.
“This is Digger.”
“Digger, this is Walker. Saw you this morning at Sweet Surrender. Remember me?”
“Yeah, I remember. What do you want?”
“Kat's motorhome. Next to yours. Is it still there?”
“Hold on. I'll look.”
I heard him take a few steps and open a door. A few seconds later, he came back on line.
“Yeah, it's still there. Looks like somebody's in it though. The door's wide open. Yeah, I can see her now. There's a woman going in. A big woman. Carrying a duffel bag.
“She's not alone. There are two guys with her. Young fella and an older man. Looks like they're in a hurry to get on the road.”
He paused, then said, “Yep, they're fixing to leave. Guy outside went around to unhook and the other guy just started the motor.”
This was bad news. We were at least ten minutes away, and if the Sheriff didn't get there in time, Kat's motorhome would be long gone before anyone could stop it.
Digger was our only hope.
I filled him in on what was going on. “Digger, they're trying to steal Kat's motorhome. The cops are on the way but may not get there in time. I need you to keep those people from leaving in it.”
There was a pause as Digger thought about what I had said.
“You’re sure they're stealing it? I saw them go in. They had a key.”
“Yeah Digger, I'm sure they're stealing it. Kat's with me. They stole her keys and are trying to take her motorhome.”
He got serious. “That ain't good. What you want me to do?”
“Block them in. Move your car over and park in front so they can't go anywhere. Make it so they can't leave. Think you can do that?”
“I'll try. I'll ca
ll you back in a minute.”
He ended the call.
I turned to Kat. “You heard that, right?”
She nodded.
“Good. Digger says they're over at your motorhome right now, getting ready to leave in it. He's going to try to stop them.”
We were five minutes out when the first state trooper went around us. Two minutes later, two more cops went past, both in a hurry.
By the time we reached the campground, it was all over. Patrol cars surrounded Kat's motorhome. Four people stood in front, in cuffs. One of them was Digger.
Abby tried to pull the Jeep up close, but her way was blocked by patrol car. She pulled up to it and started to get out, but a trooper walked over, his hand on his holster, and said, “Sorry miss, this area is closed.”
She nodded. “We know. We're the ones who called the sheriff about the fake deputy.”
She pointed to Kat in the backseat. “It's her motorhome they were trying to steal.”
The trooper nodded, pulled out his walkie talkie and spoke a few words. After hearing a response, he came back to Abby's window and said, “Park over there. By the restrooms. Don't get out of your car until an officer arrives.”
Abby did as she was told. She pulled into the parking space in front of the campground showers and killed the motor. Seeing the number and intensity of the police and all the guns they were carrying, we decided it would be best to stay in the car until we were told to get out.
Thirty minutes later, an officer walked up and tapped the roof of the Jeep with his flashlight. He asked, “Which one of you is Katrina Chesnokov?”
From the backseat, Kat said, “I am.”
The officer leaned over to see who had spoken and then said, “Okay Katrina, get out. You other two stay in there until I come back.”
Kat got out, and she and the officer walked toward her motorhome. They spoke as they walked, but neither Abby nor I could hear what was being said.
When they got to where Digger stood with his hands cuffed behind his back, Kat pointed at him and said something to the officer. Another officer came over and spoke with her at length. A few minutes later, he instructed one of the uniformed cops to uncuff Digger.
