The River Waits for Murder (The Burgenton Files Book 2)

by C. Ruth Daly

  A large bay window looked out toward the river below, not quite visible through the thickness of the trees. The property was well lit at night and the outside Jacuzzi was situated to view the river by day. Rhonda sat down in one of the richly brown, wingback leather chairs in front of the window and picked up the telephone book for Camden County. She began scanning for names she had memorized over the years since she had heard about the treasure along the river and quickly found Thelma Carson, McNally on Livingston Street, Myer’s number, and located the address for the former Hollis house. “Too easy,” she muttered to herself. Then she marked each page with papers from the notepad and returned to the living area to find Steven sound asleep on the loveseat, his short frame fit it well. Not wanting to disturb him, Rhonda moved to the bar on the other side of the room to see the small adjacent kitchenette with a microwave and a refrigerator. She stooped to see if anything was behind the counter and found small liquor bottles neatly lined up for her convenience. Reaching for a vodka, she emptied the bottle straight into her mouth, then gently tossed the empty glass into a trashcan and headed for the bedroom. There was work to be done tomorrow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As usual, Steven was the first to awaken, unaware that he had fallen asleep on the loveseat; he rolled over and surprised himself by bumping his arm on the coffee table. With his feet on the floor, he paused to survey his surroundings. Remembering where he was, he wandered to the kitchenette in search of a coffee pot and noticed the single item in the trash can: a tiny empty bottle of vodka. He frowned and shook his head in disappointment. Surprised to see that there was not coffee in the room, he grumbled to himself and quietly stepped into the bedroom where Rhonda was still asleep, her golden brown hair flowed across the pillow and her slightly parted lips aroused feelings in him that could wait until later, he mused. Smiling to himself Steven located his bag and removed his toiletries, then stepped to the bathroom for his morning ritual—before having his coffee. He disliked the interruption in his routine but remembered breakfast was free. Not wanting to wait for the late sleeper, Rhonda, the professor quietly opened the cabin door and stepped outside to hear the sounds of cicadas, the rush of an artificial waterfall and in the distance, the soothing flow of the river. Other dwellers were awakening and he followed the crushed rock pathway that led to the restaurant. Inside he located a spot by the window while a waiter came by and offered him a steaming cup of black coffee then placed the small carafe in the center of the table.

  Steven gazed out the window to see a thicket of oaks, sycamores, and pines at the edge of the dew covered grass. He lingered over his mug as he watched the restaurant tables quickly fill. A younger couple appeared in the doorway and scanned the room for a place to sit. The young waiter darted to Steven’s table, “May a couple join you, sir? We are fuller than normal this morning.” The professor wondered how the place could be beyond its usual capacity when this was supposed to be the first breakfast served.

  With hesitation, he agreed, “Of course.” Then asked, “May I take the carafe back to my cabin?”

  “No, I’m sorry, but they have to stay in the restaurant,” the young man replied, then motioned for the couple to join Steven at his table.

  The two skirted between the tables and Steven rose and gestured to the chairs on the other side. “Hello,” the slender woman said, “I’m Tonya.” She reached out a delicate hand while the man offered a firm grip, “Eric’s my name,” he smiled, “and you are?”

  “Steve Lucero,” he answered and returned to his seat to savor the black bottomless cup of coffee.

  The two were chatty, which made it easy for the taciturn professor, who in the classroom was quite comfortable, but in the company of strangers, he became quite uneasy. They fired one question after another at Steven, “Where are you staying?” Tonya asked, and then in surprise added, “Maybe we’re neighbors! How very wonderful. Are you here alone?”

  “No,” Steve replied, “I’m with my girlfriend, Rhonda. We arrived last night.”

  “We’re from the Chicago area,” Eric added, “What about you? Indiana or Illinois?”

  “Neither,” Steven said, “We arrived last night from Arizona and plan to stay for a few weeks.” He sipped his coffee and glanced out the window, hoping this gesture would keep the pair from conversing with him anymore.

  Ignoring the man’s attempt, Eric responded, “Arizona! I bet Trevor was excited to hear that you heard about the resorts so far from the Midwest.”

  “Actually, my girlfriend knew about them—she travels for business.” Steven smiled and his gaze returned to the view outside.

  Eric continued, “Well, what cabin are you in? Tonya and I are staying in Sycamore Three. What about you?”

  Damn, Steven thought and then answered, “Uh, we’re in Sycamore Four. Just got in last night.” Then excusing himself, “Uh, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my cabin. You two may enjoy the table. Nice meeting you.”

  “Hold on,” Eric said, “It would be great to get to know you and your girlfriend. How about cocktails tonight?” Tonya nodded in affirmation.

  Steven smiled slightly and said, “We have a friend to visit tonight. Thank you for the offer. Uh, maybe another time?” He stood up and nodded to the Chicagoans and exited the restaurant, returning to the cabin by skirting the exterior of the property. The rolling water was alluring and he wanted to get a better view of the Tippecanoe below. Glancing at his wristwatch he saw it was nearing eight-thirty and realized he needed to head back to the cabin to be there for his awakening Rhonda. He turned abruptly, not noticing a man standing behind an oak down the incline to the river. The stranger watched Steven as he headed back to the walkway and to Sycamore Four, noting the professor’s location, then turned and side-stepped down the slope to his row boat on the river.

  Back inside their cabin, Rhonda was still snoozing and Steven picked up his satchel and removed some papers, laid them out on the coffee table and began thumbing through the history of Camden County and some of its founding members—relatives of the Hollis man. He found the report from the professor in Atlanta and wondered about Donna McNally. Nice kid, he thought, and I’d like to find her but I don’t want her to find me. He shook his head slightly and clenched his fists, leaned forward and turned to see his awakening Rhonda in the queen size bed.

  With a deep yawn, she awoke, “Steven, darling. Good morning.” Rhonda flung her feet on the floor and sat to capture the view from the window. It is like Tennessee here, she pondered, and so unlike Arizona. Her eyes darted to the phone on the table by the window and she questioned if Dan Stanley-Green would be calling soon. After all, he knew their flight number and arrival date. Surely he will contact us—unless he’s in a place where he can’t contact us—jail.

  “Good morning, my dear.” Steven entered the bedroom and propped up the bed pillows, and situated himself to recline from where he had awakened hours earlier. “I’ve already been to the restaurant for coffee. I’m hoping you will join me there.” He reached over and let his index finger run the length of her spine and back up and down again. “What do you say, Rhonda? A little breakfast?” He smiled coyly at her while the girlfriend reached behind her to remove his hand.

  “Not now, darling. Later. And yes, breakfast sounds wonderful.” Her arms stretched above her head then the woman bent over, exposing her lace-trimmed buttocks to the professor, and searched in her luggage for the slacks and blouse she would don today.

  Steven smiled and reached over the stroke her behind, but his girlfriend again struck down his advances, “Later darling, we have business to attend to.” She grabbed her clothes and headed to the bathroom while Steven sighed and returned to the loveseat to examine the papers on the coffee table. He picked up one and noticed it was an account of a Franklin Hollister. A man of the theater and one who traveled before meeting a Hattie McCormick of Gardenville, Indiana. Hmm…he deliberated, this opera house sounds interesting; I wonder if it is still in the town and available to th
e public. That is something I would certainly enjoy exploring. He made a mental note to find it in Burgenton for if Dan Stanley Green did not call them soon, they would be heading into the town soon after breakfast to find him.

  Rhonda emerged from the bathroom neatly garbed in her navy blue slacks and light blue blouse. Tiny heeled sandals adorned her feet and her hair hung straight over her shoulders. Steven smiled at her petite frame and got up from his seat to escort her to the restaurant. The sun was brighter now in the hazy sky and several other vacationers were meandering about the grounds, exploring the options available. Nearing the restaurant, Steven stopped suddenly and grabbed Rhonda’s arm. Pulling up in front of the office was a pick-up truck with Arizona plates and in the driver’s seat sat none other than Donna McNally. The woman hopped out and entered the office, unaware of the professor and his girlfriend only a few yards away. Steven turned to Rhonda and asked, “Why would she be here, do you think? This place seems remote and an unlikely spot for Donna.”

  Rhonda responded with hesitation, “I don’t know. What should we do? Do you think we should go into the restaurant?” The two stepped back and stood behind a tree, mindful of their behavior and conversed quietly between the two of them. “Let’s try to walk quickly to the restaurant. We don’t know when she’s coming back out—let’s hope she doesn’t go into the restaurant.”

  They quickened their pace, entered the dining area, and requested a table in a remote corner. The meal was to their liking and upon finishing, the two returned to their cabin. The pickup truck was gone and the couple prepared to head into Burgenton to find Dan Stanley Green. Down the hill and onto the two lane road, Steven Lucero felt foreign to this world as he drove by the freshly sprouting fields and to the Y in the road where they headed toward Burgenton, he marveled at the stately brick home on the corner. They were soon in the Burgenton proper and Steven remarked, “I thought the resorts were much farther away, my dear. Didn’t you?”

  Rhonda turned to him, “Rita had told me the area is very confined and what we might consider close in one place—like where we’re from, is distant in this county. It looks as if Dan is staying in some rentals not far from the town center.” They drove over the railroad tracks and up the hill into the heart of the town, passing the sheriff’s office along the way and gliding through the town’s stoplight in the center by the courthouse then one block to the rentals. “This was easy,” Rhonda remarked as Steven pulled up across the street from the old two story house converted into rentals. He parallel parked the sedan and the couple got out, taking in their surroundings and noting a creek less than a block from the town center.

  With a slip of paper snug in Rhonda’s fist, they entered the building and found Dan’s residence on the second floor. Two knocks on the door, and he quickly answered, apparently expecting the visitors. “Hey, you made it.” Stanley Green said. “Come on in,” and he motioned for the pair to enter. There was nowhere to sit so the three of them stood in the center of the efficiency. Steven scanned the room to see dirty clothes on the floor and a counter with a few dirty dishes. The bed was the focal point of the room and the thin bedspread was pulled up straight over the pillow. The professor scrunched his nose at the disorder. “Yeah, I’m not the best housekeeper,” Dan smiled. “Are you okay with sitting on the bed? We can talk there.”

  Steven sat down gently and Rhonda was the first to speak, “We heard about the county assessor’s death—or murder. I was afraid you were involved—not that you would do that kind of thing…” Rhonda stared at Dan and waited for his answer while Steven sat next to her, his heart pounding and his forehead beading with sweat, not comfortable with the situation he had found himself in and thinking about the cost of Rhonda’s quest. Between the two of them, they were paying Dan two hundred dollars a month to live in Burgenton and do their research.

  Dan’s head turned away from her, “No, but the police did come and talk to me,” and turning back to Rhonda, “Look, I did talk to the guy at this coffee shop over there and then when I went to the courthouse, he was there as I checked out county records. I spoke with him again. He was a likeable fellow; I was sorry to hear he was killed. But it wasn’t me, Rhonda. I don’t play that way. The cops showed up here not long after the body was found at the river—guess who found the body by the way? Donna McNally. She and two friends found it when they took a walk down to the river at the party the owner Morrelli had the night before opening the resorts. Anyway, I had been seen around town elsewhere when the assessor went missing. Luckily I had been seen by the landlord and some other tenants as well as at the local grocery store. But get this, Donna is friends with the Morrelli guy and his fiancée is Lori Bell Jameson. The Myer woman works at the Laundromat. I think she may own it or she manages it. I’ve been to both of their houses. This town is a piece of cake when it comes to finding people. It seems like I can go out the door and start walking and before I know it, I’m out of town.”

  “So, have you made friends with Donna?” Rhonda asked.

  “I tried,” Dan replied, “but she remembers me from the university. I didn’t know she was in your office the last time she was there and when I saw her, I thought I would try to blend in—you know, not really knowing who she was until I went into your office, Steve, and found out. Man, that girl is vicious. She saw me on the street near her house and cussed me out. Frankly I’m a little scared of her.”

  Rhonda sighed, “Dan Stanley, you are paid to be here to do one thing and that is find this map or find out where there could be more Confederate gold. It’s that simple. It’s been over a week and what have you found out besides the town is easy to find people. What about the Opera House? Have you been there? Steven has explored the records.”

  “Yeah,” Dan answered, “but it has been renovated. The place is locked up tight. I plan to visit the Carson woman—the one who’s really the mother to Ned Hollis, but I haven’t been there yet…I’m trying to find a way to see her.” He hung his head, “I just haven’t come up with any good ideas yet.”

  “Okay, Dan. So you really haven’t come up with anything other than being recognized as a suspect in a murder?” Rhonda was fuming. “Steven, the three of us are going to find the Carson woman and pay her a visit. We can be something—I don’t know—Jehovah Witnesses—or researchers from a university exploring the habitat of rural life. What do you think Professor Lucero?” She stood up and firmly planted her hands on her hips. “We are only here for three weeks and I expect to accomplish specific things: locating the gold and or locating the map because the gold may still be out in those woods—hopefully not far from the resorts.”

  Steven sat with his shoulders scrunched and his folded hands between his knees. “Rhonda, let’s be logical about this. I’m—I’m getting uncomfortable about all of this—a murder, Dan’s a suspect, Donna is associated with the resorts somehow. This—this isn’t what I was planning on. I thought we would be here for a little research, relaxation—we want to make this a vacation of some sorts. Remember?”

  The tiny woman was fiery, “We are going now!” She jumped up and slammed her heal into the floor. “Now! I didn’t come here for fun, Steven. This is business and we have only three weeks to do it because this—this guy,” she pointed to Dan Stanley Green, “this guy isn’t doing what he’s paid to do! Now let’s go. Dan, do you at least know how to get to the Carson woman?”

  The young man stared at Rhonda, “Yes, yes, I know how to get to her. I have a map with her address. Do you want to go now?”

  They were soon in the rental car heading southeast to pay a visit to the mother of the murderer Ned Hollis, Thelma Carson. Traversing the country road, the car dipped and swayed as it moved along the pitted asphalt. “Here it is,” Dan exclaimed, “This is the address right here.”

  “Here?” Professor Lucero asked, as he turned and drove up the gravelly lane toward an old brick homestead, weathered and worn from time’s harsh weather. The maintenance on the place was lacking, Steven noticed as he parked t
he car beside the long porch. “What’s the plan, Rhonda?” Steve asked, his voice full of irritation. “Are we Jehovah Witnesses or researchers?”

  “Well, Professor,” Rhonda turned to him and smiled, “We are researchers exploring the rural agricultural community. Do you have your university ID with you?”

  Lucero sighed and nodded. The three of them stepped out of the car and onto the wooden porch. A German Shepard ran up from behind the house and began barking at the uninvited guests. From behind the house came a woman’s voice, “Cucumber, stop that ruckus! What’s all the trouble?” Her voice shook as she yelled. They turned to see an elderly woman stepping lightly from the corner of the house. She was layered in fat and wrinkles and her peppered hair was bobbed on her head. “Yes, can I help you?” She asked when she saw the strangers on the stoop.

  “Hello,” Rhonda began, “Are you Thelma Carson?”

  “Yes, yes I am,” Thelma answered, “How can I help you?” She stood at the corner of the porch, eyeing the trespassers and waited for their response.

  “We’re here for a research assignment. My name is Professor Davis, this is Professor Lucero, and our graduate intern, Dan—Dan Boone.”

  Steven shook his head slightly and offered, “Please, ma’am, I have my university ID with me. I am a professor at Kaibab College—it is a small, private college in Arizona. My research team and I are conducting a sociological study on the rural residents of Middle America with a focus on individuals who have resided in the same location all of their lives. County records show you are one of the residents. May we ask you some general questions about your life and living conditions? If you would prefer, we can return at another time.”