by E B Corbin
"We don't need to tell you anything." Bud stood at the counter scooping spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee.
Chester ignored Bud as he addressed Pete. "Do you know how he died? Was it a heart attack? Or a stroke? Seth took medication for high blood pressure."
"I'm afraid neither of those, sir," Pete answered. "Nothing close to a natural cause. When we turned him over, there was a hunting knife sticking out of his chest."
"Oh, God," Roxanne muttered.
"I didn't see any blood," Callahan said.
"That's because you followed protocol and didn't move him. The way the body fell, all the blood pooled underneath. We didn't see it, either, until the medical examiner turned him. Between the cold temperature and snow cover, the blood didn't spread far. The weather's going to make it difficult to establish an accurate time of death."
"But it can be done," Chester pointed out, looking visibly shaken at hearing the details. "Seth was a good friend of mine. I'd like to be kept in the loop."
"You'll have to keep out of this one," Bud said. "As long as it's an ongoing investigation, we don't have to share anything with you." He planted himself in a seat at the opposite end of the table from Chester.
The older man wore a deep frown and stiffened in his chair. Roxanne could feel his pain as he struggled to deal with what had happened to Seth. No doubt Bud's insensitivity only made it worse.
"For all we know, any one of you could have stabbed him," Bud continued, oblivious to the disgusted expressions he must have seen on all the faces around the table.
"Whoa, let's slow down here," Pete interrupted. "It's way too early to go around making accusations. We need to hear back from the state folks."
"Yeah, but you don't know these three like I do," Bud said. "Give 'em an inch and the next thing you know, they're taking over."
"We wouldn't do that--not if we're satisfied it's being handled in a professional manner. And I think Pete has the experience to handle things." Callahan raised his eyes to look at Bud. "I'm not so sure about you."
Bud slurped his coffee, gave Callahan a hard look and fell silent.
"When was the last time you saw Seth?" Pete asked Chester, pulling a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket.
"He was here, at this very table, last night. It was poker night. Seth, Tom O'Malley, Stan Oliver and myself, get together once a month. Last night it was my turn to host the game. It broke up around 9:30. We're all getting a little too old to go much later. Seth was the last to leave, somewhere around 10:00."
"Is there a reason he stayed later than the others? Did something seem to be bothering him?" Pete glanced up from his scribbled notes.
"If it was, he never let on. He stayed late to help me clean up," Chester sighed. "Maybe if he'd left with the others, he'd still be alive. Have you told his daughter yet? She works at the supermarket out on the highway."
"No, sir. We came straight over here," Pete said. "I'll see that she's notified as soon as we leave."
Chester stared straight ahead, lost in reverie. "I'll miss him."
Pete gave Chester time to pull himself back to the present then asked, "Did Seth get along with everyone at the game last night? Maybe he won big and someone was unhappy about that?"
Chester chuckled. "No, son, we play for pennies. I think the biggest pot was about seventy-five cents. Hardly worth killing over."
"Sorry, sir, I have to ask these questions." Pete looked at Callahan and Roxy. "And neither of you saw anything strange when you arrived at the cabin this morning?"
"Nothing to indicate what happened to Seth," Callahan said while Roxanne shook her head.
"Except that Roxy, my mother, was supposed to be staying there last night. We went looking for her this morning, but her truck was gone and it didn't look like she'd spent the night at the cabin. You noticed, I'm sure, that the snow was undisturbed at both the front or back doors." Roxanne raised her eyebrows. "She's still missing, I assume?"
"No one showed up at the cabin before we left." Pete jotted something in his notebook. "Could she have gone somewhere else for the night?"
"Don't know why she would," Chester put in. "It's her cabin, after all. Still has all her belongings in it."
"But there's no indication she stayed there last night," Pete said, agreeing with Roxanne's observations. "If she did, she might have seen something that could help us."
Bud swallowed more coffee before setting his mug down with a thud. "Or she might be the one who stabbed him," he offered. "Strange she'd just run away like that. 'Course she did it before, so..."
"Oh, for God's sake!" Chester cried out. "Are you out of your mind? You're accusing Roxy of committing murder and leaving the scene of a crime. Even you have to know she wouldn't do something like that. She might have been too scared to stay, but at the very least, she'd call someone and report it before she left...if she was even aware of Seth in her yard."
"Well, I ain't so sure Roxy was here last night," Bud continued. "Did anyone besides Roxanne see her?"
Callahan glanced at Chester as the elderly man looked at Roxanne. "Sorry, not me."
"I'm afraid I didn't see her either," Chester admitted. "But I have no doubt that Roxanne knows what she's talking about. Why would she make it up? We have no reason not to believe her."
Roxanne felt as invisible as a ghost while they talked around her. Her indignation at Bud's criticism of her credibility lost its edge as Chester spoke up for her.
Bud snorted. "Anyways, we're getting off the subject here. We need to find out what happened to Seth before we go on a wild goose chase looking for Roxy."
"But Roxy's disappearance could be connected. She could be in danger," Roxanne insisted. "Maybe she saw something, like Pete said, or maybe Seth saw something and was trying to help her when he was stabbed."
"I'm not ruling out that the two events are connected," Pete said. "They might well be. Does anyone have any idea where Roxy would go?"
All three of them shook their heads.
Pete stood. "We'll file a missing persons report on Roxy when we get back to the station. If we hear anything, I'll let you know."
"A missing persons report on a dead woman, that's a good one," Bud snickered. He pushed his empty coffee cup away from him on the table. "Let's get out of here," he said to Pete. "The sheriff's going to want to know more about this."
"We'll keep in touch." Pete nodded to them as he followed Bud out the kitchen door. "If any of you hear from Roxy, please let us know."
"Well," Chester said after the back door closed, "that Pete fella sure has his work cut out for him. How long do you think he'll last?"
"Long enough to find out what happened to Seth and Roxy, I hope," Callahan said. He turned to Roxanne. "You're awfully quiet."
"I've been thinking."
"Uh-oh...trouble." Callahan flinched as Roxanne slapped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand.
She looked at Chester. "You're certain you didn't know Roxy was coming here last night?"
"Of course, I'm certain, young lady. Honestly, I would never have let her surprise you like that. It must have been quite a shock."
"You can say that again," Roxanne told him. "She blew in and out in about five minutes."
"It was dark. Is it possible it wasn't her?" Callahan asked.
At what point had he stopped believing her? Before she took offense, she remembered his profession. That was how his mind worked, questioning everything. "I know what I saw. She's dyed her hair blond but I'd know her eyes anywhere. They're the same as mine."
"And yours are beautiful." Callahan reached over to pat her hand.
Roxanne gave him a warning look and pulled her hand away.
Chester smiled. "Her New York friends know her as a blonde. Roxy can be quite a chameleon when necessary."
"That probably means she was planning to go to New York. Then why did she stop here?" Roxanne rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes, muttering to herself. "Maybe she needed something, may
be some money. She had to know her cash would all be tied up in the trust. So what did she want?" She lifted her head, waiting for some kind of an answer.
"I doubt it was money. She has a bank account in New York," Chester told her.
"Jesus Christ! She has bank accounts and aliases and...and...hideouts or safe houses all over the place! What am I doing mixed up in this?"
"She never wanted you involved in any of her crusades," Chester said. "She wanted to protect you."
"Then why did she come back here at all?"
"She didn't say anything to you about why she was here?" Callahan asked her.
"Not a word. In fact, I was under the impression that she planned to stay. She said nothing about New York."
"Well, she wouldn't, would she? If she was going to live under one of her aliases, it certainly wouldn't do for her to tell anyone." Chester drummed his fingers on the table. "I wish she would have mentioned it to me, though. I'm concerned about her disappearance."
"And she could have given me a hint. I am her daughter after all." Roxanne stared at Chester without expecting a response.
She had never suspected that Roxy was alive, especially after all the trouble she had in finding her will. When Ralph Patterson contacted her, it seemed so straightforward. Her aunt had died and left everything to Roxanne. She didn't want it--had no desire nor aptitude for running a food establishment, even one as popular and well established as Roxy's Diner. When she finally found the will, events got out of hand, and she had no choice but to accept her obligations.
As if he were following her train of thought, Chester said, "She really put you in a tough spot, didn't she? I mean having to take over everything."
"That's an understatement." All Roxy's assets were held in trust. Roxanne didn't own any of them outright, even though she was named trustee with the responsibility of figuring out what to do about the diner, the house in town and the farm. She first planned on Patti Smith managing the diner. That didn't work out and another waitress took over the diner without a hitch.
She had no problem withTom Madison handling the farm and the dairy cows. He and his family had readily agreed to remain in the original farmhouse and even kept Puka, Roxy's golden retriever, until Roxanne could claim the friendly dog.
As for her sense of purpose, helping Sylvia Patterson with her dead husband's law firm had fueled that for a while. Now, Roxy was back and everything was topsy-turvy again. She didn't know what to think or do.
"How did you pull it off?" she asked Chester as calmly as possible.
"Pull what off?" Chester shifted in his chair and did not meet her eyes. "You don't think--"
"When Roxy was shot, how did you convince everyone that she had died? And why did you do it?" Roxanne demanded.
"I didn't have much time to plan it," he told her. "Roxy was unconscious. I was sure she would bleed to death if I didn't do something quick. I called an old friend of mine from the FBI who sent a chopper with top-notch medical staff. It was touch and go, at first. We didn't know if Roxy would survive. If she lived, the bullet may have lodged in her spinal column... she might not be able to walk. I wasn't thinking about misleading anyone, just trying to save a life. But when Luke began asking suspicious sounding questions about the shooting, I became wary. Luke assumed she had died and I just let him think that. It was more an omission of the truth than anything."
"But when Patterson was killed and I ran into all that trouble finding the will, why didn't you tell me the truth?" Roxanne had no intention of letting the old man off the hook.
"I have no excuse for that." Chester's confident demeanor deserted him as his shoulders drooped and he sank into the chair, looking every one of his ninety years. "When Roxy had recuperated enough to learn what was going on, she insisted I let well enough alone and I agreed. Things seemed to be working out for you. Snukie was doing good at the diner, the farm was in capable hands, and you seemed to be quite content handling Patterson's clients. I figured there was no sense in screwing it all up."
"It's pretty screwed up now," Roxanne muttered.
"I still don't know why she showed up here." Chester looked baffled. "And what on earth happened to her after she arrived?"
His question received no answer since neither Roxanne nor Callahan had one.
"Well, this is getting us nowhere." Roxanne slapped the table with both hands as she stood and looked at Callahan. "I hate to ask, but can you take me home? I've got to be alone for a while."
"Sure," Callahan agreed without hesitation. "Will you be all right, Gramps? I'll be back in a bit."
"I'll be fine, John. Take as long as you need."
- 4 -
After convincing Callahan she was okay, Roxanne waved him off. Chester had looked so worn out when they left him, no doubt traumatized by the murder of one of his long-time friends and the reappearance, then disappearance, of another. She knew Callahan would do his best to help his grandfather deal with it all.
She turned towards the Folk Victorian cottage that had started to feel like home. Now seeing it in a new context, Roxanne still admired its dark green paint with plum trim on the porch posts. It was hard to decide what she loved more about the place--its comfortable furniture and renovated kitchen or the convenience of walking to her office on Main Street. She should have known something would throw a wrench into her beginnings of a peaceful life.
Inside the cottage, she stopped to gather the mail which had fallen to the floor from the slot in the door. A few bills and several advertisements, nothing much to be concerned with, except for the plain white envelope which stood out in sharp contrast to the weekly circulars. Thinking it was just another ad, she almost threw it away before something made her decide to look inside the sealed wrapper.
She unfolded a sheet of plain white paper and read the typewritten message:
IF YOU WANT TO SAVE ROXY O'HARA, LEAVE THE CASH ON THE DECK OF THE BOAT NAMED MARIA ELENA DOCKED AT THE COMMODORE PERRY YACHT CLUB IN ERIE NO LATER THAN MIDNIGHT ON MONDAY.
YOU WILL RECEIVE NO FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.
IF WE DO NOT RECEIVE ALL FIVE MILLION BELONGING TO THE NEW IRISH REPUBLICAN ARMY, ROXY WILL PAY THE PRICE.
COME ALONE, WE WILL BE WATCHING.
The words if you want to save Roxy and Roxy will pay the price leapt out at her. Her mother was being held for ransom?
She inspected the sheet of paper, front and back. Then she studied the envelope. No return address. Of course not. Its anonymity frightened her--a plain white envelope that could be purchased in any office supply chain or the corner drug store. Whoever sent the message had delivered it in person since no postage stamp showed in the corner. That meant someone or several someones were watching her. They had seen her leave and used the opportunity to slip the note in the mail slot.
By opening the envelope, she realized she'd destroyed any evidence the sender might have left. Then she shrugged--little chance they would have been stupid enough to leave clues like fingerprints or sealing the envelope with saliva.
She fought off her first wave of panic and reread the message a few times. Five million dollars! Could it be a mistake? The bags of cash they had recovered from O'Malley's cabin amounted to only a fraction of that amount. Was there more lying around somewhere? If so, why did they expect her to know where it was?
Since it was already late Saturday afternoon, she had roughly two days to come up with a solution.
The note said to come alone but she wasn't foolish enough to even consider that. She grabbed her cell phone to call Callahan, then realized he hadn't had time to get back to Chester's. She could call the new cop, Pete Sterling, but she still had doubts about whose side he was on. Besides, since she had no way to contact him directly, she'd have to go through the main number at the station and there was no love lost between her and Gertrude, the dispatcher. For the time being, she was on her own.
Sylvia Patterson lived directly across the street. Perhaps she had seen someone hanging around the neighborhood. Needing to
take action, no matter how small, Roxanne grabbed her coat and headed over to Sylvia's.
She rang the doorbell several times before she checked around back. Sylvia's garage faced an alley behind her house the same as Roxanne's. She peeked in the small side window and saw an empty space where Sylvia's Honda usually sat. Roxanne started to leave when she heard the garage door start up. She waited while her friend and business partner pulled in.
"Hey, what's up?" Sylvia asked as she opened the car door. "Did you come over to help me unload the groceries?"
Roxanne hid her anxiety with a laugh. "Not exactly, but I'd be happy to help."
Sylvia popped the trunk and they each grabbed two bags and walked into the kitchen. She started unpacking the items that needed refrigeration while Roxanne put the bread and cereal aside. When she turned back to Roxanne, she said, "So, what's on your mind? I appreciate the help, but I know that's not why you're here."
"I, um, was just wondering if you saw anyone hanging around my place earlier today." Roxanne knew she sounded upset but could no longer hide how she felt.
"Did something happen?"
"No, I just got a strange piece of mail that didn't come through the post office and thought maybe you saw someone dropping it in my slot." She resolved not to mention the ransom note. Sylvia had been through enough in the past few months. She didn't need to worry about Roxanne's problems, too.
"I'm sorry, I didn't see anything. I had a hair appointment this morning, then picked up these groceries and just got back. Did you ask the Hendersons? I hate to call them busybodies but if anyone saw anything, it would be them." After a pause, she said, "What kind of mail was it? Something nasty?"
"Nothing like that. It was strange, that's all." Roxanne hoped she sounded reassuring. "I shouldn't have bothered you with it."
Sylvia looked at her closely. "Are you sure everything's okay?"
"I'm sure." Roxanne started for the door. "Forget I asked, it's no big deal."
