by Carolina Mac
“A handicap sticker?”
“Yep. He had one.”
“How did you see that, Cindy? I don’t believe you, sometimes.”
“Your wife has been extremely helpful, Mr. Cornell. I appreciate it.”
“Can we leave now, Ranger?”
“Yes, thanks. You can go.”
The Cornell’s left for their car and Blaine said, “Bro, have the unis check all the neighbors for this shiny black Jeep with a handicap sticker. I hope to hell none of them have one and we’ll get a BOLO out on it.”
CELIA STONE opened the door of the condo with a blank look on her face. “Police here again? I’ve got nothing else to tell y’all.”
“May we come in?” asked Blaine. “We have some unpleasant news to deliver.”
“Unpleasant, then it must involve Ward,” her voice took on an edge. “What’s he done?”
“He died,” said Blaine. “Someone killed him at the house he was about to show this morning.”
Celia never flinched. “Why would anybody kill Ward?”
“He owed a lot of money to people who weren’t happy about it.”
“That I believe,” she said. “It’s a wonder the condo people didn’t kill him too.”
“You don’t sound too grief-stricken, Ms. Stone,” said Blaine.
“I’m not. In fact, I was packing when you knocked on the door. Ward and I are over.”
“Where will you be moving, Ms. Stone?”
“I’m not going far. Just moving next door with Bartley Churchill.”
“Would you happen to know who Mr. Ingram’s next of kin is, ma’am?” asked Farrell.
“Umm… sure. He has a brother and a sister, but both are out of state. Hang on and I’ll get you their numbers from his book.”
Celia came back with the book and handed it to Blaine. “I’d like to keep this for now if you don’t mind. Might help me track down Mr. Ingram’s murderer.”
“Will crime scene people be coming to the condo?” she asked.
“No, the crime scene is at the property where he died, but I might need to come here to look for certain things. Could I have a key, temporarily?”
“Sure, we have an extra we leave for the cleaning service—well, back when we could afford a cleaning service.”
LOU CALLED the number Mattie had texted him and waited until she answered. “Are you almost finished?”
“No, I can’t do anything on a Sunday. I have to do it tomorrow and it might take more than a day to open the account and get the transfers all done. Why don’t you come down here?”
“I can’t,” said Lou. “The cops are watching the house.”
“You’re not a criminal. You can leave the country if you want to.”
“One of those guys from the Blackmore Agency will follow me to where you are. They want you, Mattie.”
“I’ll be back in a day or two and the money will be safe. No one can take it from us no matter what happens.”
“Ewing might be able to make you give it back,” said Lou. “He’s not going to take this lightly.”
“Ew won’t come back there. Don’t worry about him.”
“Don’t worry? My brother would kill me in a nanosecond if he thought I was in on taking his money. He’ll come back here to find out where you are, I’m damn sure of it.”
“You aren’t gonna tell him, and he’ll be dead in a couple days, so how will he find out?”
BLAINE called Cat on the way home after speaking to Celia. “There’s been a development in Mrs. Churchill’s murder.”
“Did you find out who killed her?”
“No, but what I do know for almost certain, is she was not the intended victim. Mrs. Churchill was killed by mistake.”
Cat began weeping. “That’s so unfair.”
“It is sad and unfair. I didn’t want to upset you again, but there’s been a second victim and you had to know.”
“Do I know them?”
“You do. Ward Ingram was killed this morning at one of his listings. I believe he was the target all along.”
“Why?”
“He owed a large amount of money to bad people,” said Blaine.
“Celia must be devastated,” said the Governor.
“Not so much,” said Blaine. “She was moving out when Farrell and I went to do the notification.”
“They were splitting up?”
“Uh huh.”
I’m not telling her about Bartley Churchill.
“If Max is deceased, why doesn’t she stay in the condo?”
“Ward was behind on the payments and it’s going to be foreclosed on at the end of the month.”
“Oh,” said Cat. “I didn’t know things were so bad for them. Did Celia say where she was going?”
Blaine skirted around that one. “Do you want to keep in touch with her?”
“Not really. Just curious.”
“You could call her,” said Blaine.
“I’ll do that.”
JESSE sat on the porch with Charity on his knee waiting for Jan to arrive for dinner.
“Down, Daddy,” said Charity.
Jesse grinned at his daughter, dressed up in a frilly pink dress and matching shoes. “If I let you down, you’ll be dirty inside of a minute, little girl.”
Charity wiggled and tried to get free of him and he laughed. “I’m stronger than you.”
“Mad, Daddy.”
Jesse snorted. “Are you getting mad at Daddy?”
She nodded her head and her dark curls bounced. Her hair was identical to her mother’s and though Jesse loved Charity’s hair it made him sad for Lacey at the same time.
“Stay on the porch.” Jesse pointed at the wide curving steps and shook his head. “Do not go down the steps.”
She nodded and smiled, happy to be getting her own way.
Jesse set her down and she tore around the porch from one end to the other and back again.
“Don’t run so fast. You’ll fall.” He got to his feet to keep an eye on her and caught sight of Jan driving down the long laneway. “Here comes Jan. Come and say hello to her.”
Charity turned at the far end of the porch and ran at full speed back towards Jesse who was standing at the top of the steps. She tripped, and he tried to catch her as she fell, but she rolled past him and tumbled down the three wooden steps to the ground.
Jan broke into a run from her car and scooped a wailing Charity up. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re okay.” She carried the baby up the steps and handed her to Jesse. “Sit down with her, Jesse.”
Pale as a ghost, Jesse sank into one of the wicker chairs holding Charity close to him. Filled with panic, he couldn’t speak. Not a breath of air was left in his body.
Jan stood next to him, one hand on the pulse in his neck and with the other she stroked his hair to calm him. “I’ll get you some water.”
“I’m okay,” he said in a whisper.
Jan shook her head. “No, you’re not.” She hurried inside to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. “Drink a few sips and sit quietly for a couple of minutes.
Charity had stopped crying and was holding tight to Jesse’s neck with both arms. Her right knee was skinned and bleeding.
Jan bent down and tried to take her. “Let’s wash off your knee and put a bandage on it.”
She shook her head and clung tighter to Jesse.
Tyler came out the door and greeted Jan. “Hi, Doctor Wagner. Did I hear crying out here?” He held his arms out for Charity and she pointed to her knee.
“What happened, little girl?”
“She fell down the steps,” said Jesse and Ty barely heard his brother Jesse was so short of breath.
Tyler nodded at Jan with concern in his eyes. “Come on wild girl. Looks like you ripped your dress too.” Tyler picked her up and took her inside.
EWING cleaned himself up in the cramped bathroom of Kristin’s little trailer. More pain killers and a couple more shots of whiskey and he’d be good to go.
“You look better,” she said as he headed for the door. “Where you going?”
“Out.”
“Can I come?” She jumped up and crossed the kitchen in three strides.
“Don’t matter. I guess you can.”
Outside, Ewing stared at the car for a minute then said, “You drive. Be easier for me.”
“I don’t have a license.”
“So what? You gotta learn some time.” He got in the passenger side and closed the door.
“How do I start it?” Kirstin fiddled with the keys.
“Shove the key in—the fat black one—and turn it.” The engine roared to life and she smiled. “I’m driving.”
“Not yet, you ain’t.”
“What are these letters?”
“Oh, fuck, girl. You don’t know how to drive. Put it in reverse—that’s ‘R’.
She pulled the shifter down and the car didn’t move.
“Step on the gas,” hollered Ewing.
She stamped down hard on the gas and the car shot backwards from her trailer across the road and smashed into a pickup parked at the neighbor’s.
Ewing reached over and rammed the shifter into ‘park’ causing great pain to his left arm. “You fucking idiot.” Ewing twisted around and punched her over the console with his right hand. “Get out. I’m gonna drive.”
Ewing staggered out of the car and was rounding the hood when the neighbor came out to investigate the noise.
“Hey, did you assholes crash my truck?”
“Just a dent,” hollered Ewing. “Can hardly notice it.”
“I’m getting a flashlight and we’ll see what we can notice.” He ran back into his trailer and Ewing took off.
“Ted’s gonna be pissed,” said Kirstin. “He’s got a temper.”
“So have I.”
“You didn’t need to hit me, Ewing. I told you I couldn’t drive.”
“Yeah, you did. Sorry, kid.”
THE T n T ROADHOUSE was rocking into their first Sunday night set when Ewing and Kirstin arrived. All the booths and tables were crammed full of customers and there were only a couple of empty stools at the bar. Ewing pointed, and Kirstin sat down.
“I’ll have a shot of Petron,” she said to the bartender and Ewing nodded that he’d have the same.
The bartender poured the shots and asked them if they were running a tab.
“Yeah, put it on Lou’s tab. He invited us.”
“Sure, okay.”
When the band broke at the end of the set, Ewing stood up. “I have to talk to my brother for a minute. You wait here.”
“I want to go with you.”
“No. Stay put.” He shuffled down the back hallway that contained washrooms marked with male and female sticks of dynamite, then a couple of dressing rooms for the entertainment, then the manager’s office.
Ewing opened a door with his brother’s name on it and walked in on a couple of band members having a beer with his brother. Lou glanced up, saw who it was and said, “You guys give us a minute?”
“Sure Lou,” said the drummer who was a big guy with a black beard and a lot of tats. He eyed Ewing up and down and sneered at him. “Call if you need me.”
As soon as they were gone, Ewing said, “Tell me where Mattie is with my money.”
“Don’t know. She left and didn’t tell me where she was going.”
Ewing swung his right fist and connected with Lou’s eye. “Try again. You know damn well where she is. Tell me now.”
Lou swiped the blood away from above his eye with the back of his wrist, made a fist and smashed Ewing a wicked one in the middle of his face. Ewing went down with a grunt and Lou roared. He kicked his brother in his wounded arm three times in succession, then left Ewing clutching his arm and rolling on the floor groaning.
Lou stepped into the hallway and called Blaine. “This is Lou, Ranger. Come now and hurry. My brother is here right now at the club.”
BLAINE drained his last Corona and stood up to head for bed.
“Don’t you want to see the ending, Beb?”
“Too tired, Mist,” said Blaine. “You can tell me how it ends tomorrow.”
“I’ll stay up with you,” said Farrell to Misty. “I never leave before the fucking ending.”
Blaine was in the process of giving his brother a hand signal when his cell rang on his belt. He grabbed for it and stepped into the foyer away from the TV. “Blackmore.” He listened to Lou talking fast on the other end of the line. “I’m on my way, Lou.” To Farrell: “Ewing’s at the club.”
Farrell was on his feet and out the door ahead of Blaine.
Traffic was light with the lateness of the hour, but it still took them a good twenty minutes to reach the roadhouse. Blaine had alerted patrols in the area to meet him there to keep Ewing from getting away, but they weren’t successful.
Lou was ready to go back on stage for the next set. “I tried to keep him here and we had a helluva fight. I beat him up good, but the girl helped him get to the car.”
“What girl?” asked Farrell.
“Some young chick he was with,” said Lou. “Looked about twelve but they carded her at the door.”
“See what they were driving?” Farrell had his notebook.
“Gray. It was gray. Might have been a Nissan.”
“Tag?”
“No tag. I just stuck my head out the door and caught a glimpse of it pulling away.”
“Thanks for your effort, Lou,” said Blaine. “I’ll get this out and maybe we’ll snag the car.”
“Gotta get him, man. He’s gonna kill Mattie.”
“That’s the gospel,” said Farrell.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Monday, March 16th.
BLAINE AND JESSE met in Chief Calhoun’s office first thing Monday morning. Blaine brought coffee and so did Jesse.
Calhoun laughed. “Two each. I should be wired until lunch. Sit down boys and let’s sort out this Churchill mess.” He patted the blue murder book on his desk.
“Ward Ingram was the second try yesterday,” said Jesse, “and damn it all, I spelled it out for him. The last thing I said to him in the interview was ‘Be careful, this is all about you.”
“Guess he wasn’t a good listener,” said Blaine.
“If the bookie has connections,” said Calhoun, “he’d have a hitter on the payroll, and both hits were definitely pro.”
Blaine recounted Mrs. Cornell’s description of the black Jeep. “BOLO out on it but haven’t heard anything yet. And yeah, it was a pro. I had to tell Cat that Mrs. Churchill’s execution was a mistake and that little morsel of information didn’t sit well with her Governorship.”
“Guess not,” said the Chief. “Bloody disaster for the Churchills.”
“Did you get a locate on the bookie?” asked Jesse.
Blaine nodded. “Uh huh. Got the phone number from Ingram’s book and ran it through for the address. Farrell and Pablo are there now bringing him in.”
The Chief’s phone rang, and he sneered at the number. “Fuckin feds.” He pressed the talk button. “Morning, Carl. Problem at a higher level?”
Jesse chuckled quietly and winked at Blacky.
“Yes, I do see. I believe I gave you my views on it from day one, and you ignored me. No, you’re damn right I’m not happy that you stepped in. Nothing to do with terrorism and I told you who was responsible five minutes after it fuckin happened.” A little red in the face, the Chief nodded a couple of times and ended the call. “Bastards dumped the train and bus terminals on me. No trace of terrorism.”
“Ewing’s own brand of terrorism,” said Jesse. “Terrifying for anyone there at the time.”
FARRELL followed the GPS to the address Blacky had come up with from the bookie’s phone number.
Pablo rode shotgun and he was an unknown quantity to Farrell. Army Ranger and outstanding service record, but Farrell hadn’t worked with Pablo before, and in a potential situation, it was dangerous not to know your part
ner.
‘You have arrived at your destination’, said the GPS babe. Farrell parked and stared at the store window. “This is a cake store.”
“Let’s check the back,” said Pablo. “A bookie wouldn’t advertise.”
“True, let’s do it.”
“I’ll take the back,” said Pablo and strode around the side of the building.
Farrell pushed through the glass front door and the smell of baking cakes filled the air. He smiled. “Smells good in here,” he said to the brunette behind the display counter. A long row of fancily decorated cakes in all sizes caught his eye. The icing looked extra thick on one of the round chocolate ones. “Yugo in?”
“Out back.” She pointed to a door at the end of the counter. “Go on through.”
“Thanks.” Farrell opened the door, walked down a short hallway and arrived at a little room outfitted with a cheap metal desk and a lot of TV screens mounted on the walls. The man behind the computer looked short sitting down, pudgy, bald with dark-rimmed glasses, and close to sixty. Shouldn’t be a problem. “Mr. Yugo?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Who are you?”
“Farrell Donovan.” He showed his credentials. “I’d like you to come to headquarters with me to answer some questions.”
“Nope. Too busy. Can’t come today.” His phone began ringing and he reached for it.
Farrell grabbed it. “Stand up Mr. Yugo. You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder.”
Yugo didn’t stand up. He leaned to his right, but before he could grab his gun from his desk drawer, Farrell had his SW against Yugo’s temple.
“Don’t do it,” said Farrell and Pablo was right beside him. “Place your hands on the desk. Do it now.”
Pablo grabbed Yugo’s wrist and snapped one cuff on. He jerked Yugo out of his chair and secured both hands behind his back.
“Now we’re ready to go,” said Farrell.
“You’ll regret this,” snarled Yugo.
“Probably,” said Farrell.
EWING sat at the little built-in Arborite table in Kirstin’s trailer and drank this third cup of coffee. “How long does it take to cook a fuckin egg?” he hollered at her.
“Hey, you’re lucky I have eggs. You haven’t forked over a single dime for groceries since you got here.” She stuck out her tongue. “Unannounced.”
