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

by C. Ruth Daly

  The professor jerked around and stared at Donna with wide-eyed terror while the woman by his side turned and offered a smirk. Rhonda was the first to speak, “Hello, Donna. Steven, it’s Donna. Our Dan said you may find us here. My name is Rhonda Davis, Donna. I know you know my boyfriend, Steven Lucero—Doctor Lucero.”

  “Rhonda Davis?” Donna asked, “You seem very familiar to me, Rhonda. You—you look like someone I knew a long time ago—that’s all. Professor Lucero, why are you here? It can’t be that you chose Morrelli River Resorts as an ideal vacation destination.” Donna painfully picked her words. Professor Lucero was her ally, she had thought, and now she realized he was a nemesis. How she had entrusted him with the single coin and she tried to imagine what he did with it during the time he possessed it. Why, Professor Lucero? She shook her head slightly in dismay—her feelings crushed by someone in whom she had entrusted her secret—but at least not the entirety of the secret.

  “Donna,” Steven Lucero began slowly, “Donna this is my girlfriend, Rhonda. This—this is Rhonda’s decision to locate a map or the Confederate gold—not mine.” He turned to his girlfriend, somewhat fearful of the possible outcome of his statement. “Please, Rhonda, please explain to her.”

  Rhonda sighed, “Steven’s right. I am here to find a map—I owe it to a—a friend. That’s all. If I don’t find it—if it isn’t real then, well, there’s nothing lost. We’re here to enjoy the resorts. I live in Tennessee, you see. I met Steven years ago and travel frequently on business, so I talked Steve into coming along with me on this trip. It is a resort—we’re making a vacation out of it, too.” She smiled at her boyfriend who seemed to relax. “Why don’t you come back to our cabin and we can talk? Are you okay with that Steven?”

  The professor nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. “Join us Donna, will you?” The three of them strolled down the path with Donna imagining what may transpire once at the cabins. At least Trevor knows where to find her. She hoped.

  While Donna engaged her time with the professor and his girlfriend, Glynda Myer stood on the porch of Thelma Carson’s house. She had knocked repeatedly to no avail, so she wandered around to the back where she found Cucumber on his side, panting hard and moaning. She leaned over to soothe the animal and see what may be troubling him when she noticed a dark welt on his abdomen. Blood trickled from the wound and as she gently lifted the dog’s head, she noticed the ground was dark with the animal’s blood and now so was her hand.

  “Cucumber, what happened?” Glynda’s voice strained as she tried to suppress the tears welling in her throat. She glanced around the backyard and to the barn where Thelma kept her prized shiny blue sedan. The barn doors were closed. Wishing she had not ventured out here alone, Glynda gently moved Cucumber beneath the shade of the apple tree and quietly walked back to her car. Her heart beat loudly in her ears masking any real noise she might hear on the property. Quickly in the safety of her vehicle, she locked all the doors and hurriedly backed down the lane and onto the road where she headed straight for the Burgenton police station.

  She couldn’t hurry faster and wishfully wondered if a police or sheriff’s car would stop her for speeding but it did not happen. The solo stoplight at the town’s intersection was green and she jerked the wheel to the left and sped to the station three blocks away. An officer had just pulled up in his squad car when Glynda hopped out and waved to get his attention. “Hey, Delbert, I need your help!”

  He stopped and turned around, “Glynda? What’s wrong? What’s going on?” he asked as she darted over to him.

  “There’s trouble out at the Carson place—Thelma Carson. I drove out to check on her and her dog Cucumber is hurt real bad—I think he’s dying. I couldn’t get Thelma to answer the door of her house and her barn is locked up—the doors are closed and I know she always leaves them open so she can get at her car easily. You’ve gotta help.”

  Officer Delbert reached through his window and grabbed his radio to alert the county. “Need another car out at the Thelma Carson place, Highway 22 North. You stay here, Glynda, while we head out. Are you okay?”

  She nodded as the officer got into his car and sped onto the street, his lights flashing as he zipped around cars and out of town toward the farm. He had radioed the county sheriffs who met him at Thelma’s place and the two cars careened down her lane and came to a halt by her front porch. As the officers approached the front door of the house another sheriff’s car zipped down the gravel lane and stopped by the barn. The officer got out of the car and with his hand near his weapon, he walked over to Cucumber, lying in the shade of the apple tree with eyes half open. All sign of life had been arrested.

  The officers at the front door deliberated about entering. Delbert jiggled the doorknob to find the house was unlocked. They entered quietly and checked out the downstairs and then moved to the upstairs to find there were two bedrooms in use and both beds were unmade. The room that appeared to be Thelma’s was disheveled with the bedding strewn across the carpet and dresser drawers open. A few bank notes had fallen from the dresser to the floor and a framed photo of Thelma and her mother was cracked down the middle. Decorative bottles which were once neatly placed on the dresser top had fallen over and the oval, mahogany mirror hung crookedly above it and in its center, the county sheriff noticed a handprint as is someone had been pushed—or had almost fallen. The constables’ eyes met and they drew their weapons, quietly opening closet doors and moving from room to room in the old house for any sign of Thelma—or the male occupant of the other bedroom for upon examining the room, they found dirty briefs and socks crammed into a corner.

  The officer outside scanned the area and ready for his weapon, he returned to the front of the house where he radioed for another car. Inside the premises the law had finished canvasing every room and met the other county sheriff on the porch. “What did you find inside the house?” The shorter sheriff asked the tall, thin one who had covered Thelma’s house with Officer Delbert.

  “There’s evidence of two people living here: male and female. Didn’t you say she lived alone, Delbert? The bedroom is torn up—appears she left against her own will. What did you find outside?”

  “The dog’s dead—appears to have been beaten—we need to enter the barn—another car is coming. It’s about seven miles from here.” Before the officer finished his sentence the third county sheriff’s car turned down Thelma’s lane. The officer joined the rest and the four stealthily navigated the gravel to the barn door. Officer Delbert with weapon drawn stepped lightly to a barn window to catch a glimpse of the interior, quickly returning.

  “I couldn’t see anything,” Delbert offered, “Let’s lift these wood latches and go inside.” Three of them hoisted the old weathered latches and gently raised them while the fourth officer pried open a door, pistol in hand while the other three readied— quickly drew weapons and entered. Thelma’s prized possession was gone and the barn was empty with the exception of a row of tools hanging on a pegboard on one wall. Gazing up into the loft, one officer climbed the ladder and the second followed to explore above for any sign of Thelma, a strange man, or evidence of crime. There was nothing except remnants of hay from a period when the farm was industrious and flourishing. Delbert leaned over the loft edge and shook his head, “Nothing here.” The two quickly climbed down while another county sheriff radioed for another officer to tape off the area. Thelma’s rustic brick home was no longer quaint but tarnished with yellow tape. It had become a crime scene.

  “We have an apparent abduction,” the second officer radioed to a distant source to inform a superior that there was now not just a murder in quiet Camden County, but one of its law abiding citizens appeared to have been kidnapped.

  Chapter Eighteen

  While Glynda completed a report at the police station, Donna sat in a soft leather chair conversing with Steven Lucero and Rhonda Davis. She was somewhat on edge as the two sat across from her on the rich brown loveseat. Rhonda was the one with the questions,
and Donna remained guarded as the feisty woman pegged her on the events that had occurred fourteen years ago. “How well did you know this Ned Hollis before you had the experience in the woods with him that ended his life?”

  “Not at all. My friends and I first spied on him at a New Year’s Eve party that he had at his house—we spied through a picture window. I ran into him around town and knowing what I know now, he had a paranoid personality and accused me of trailing him or following him. I was just a kid so I didn’t know what to think of him.”

  Rhonda’s caustic mouth let loose years of anticipation, “My friend, Rita, told me she gave you something that Hollis had given her as a gift—it was a large portrait he had taken of her. She—she said there was something hidden behind the photo—she wasn’t quite sure what it was—she was under such duress when she left that she didn’t make a connection to the gold Hollis bragged about when he was drunk. She knew it was something—but not the gold. She thought maybe it was a blueprint of his house and on it; the blueprint would show where he kept his cash—that was something Hollis also bragged to Rita about. She thought the hidden cash was more probable than a treasure hidden somewhere in a woods along a river—there are a few rivers here, but Rita said it was the Tippecanoe.”

  Donna calculated her words and chose them carefully yet remained cool, “That photo? My dad was such a devout Catholic that when he saw what I brought home, he quickly took it to the back alley and broke it into pieces, tossed it in our old steel trash can and set it on fire. We used to burn trash back in those days. That photo is gone.” Then the question she really wanted to ask, “How do you know Rita?”

  Rhonda’s mouth dropped slightly. She bought it, Donna thought and then repeated her question, “How do you know Rita?”

  The fiery woman was reduced to cinders; Rhonda shook her head slightly, “Burned? Burned? You never followed her directions that she sent in the letter and checked out the back?” She turned to her Steven, “Steve?” as if he could correct the situation.

  Her boyfriend threw his hands up in the air and shrugged his shoulders, turned to Donna and smirked, “How did you get the coin?”

  Donna hadn’t thought this part through and then quickly came up with another lie, “When my now brother-in-law was dating my sister he broke into Hollis’s house to steal a roll of film that would prove his friend’s innocence in the murder of Linda Miles. It—it was at that time he found this single coin in Hollis’s bedroom and well, he took it. It was later when Hollis approached me about having something of his and I didn’t know what he was talking about—it must have been that coin I later learned. After my event in the woods on that Halloween night and Hollis’s resulting death, it was then when Gil gave me the coin—because I earned it, he had said. It was a hero’s reward.” She held her breath slightly then slowly released it. The professor and his girlfriend did not even notice.

  Steven smiled at Rhonda, “Well, Rhonda, are you satisfied?”

  “You know me, darling. I am never satisfied.” She stood up and walked toward the bedroom, “And Rita? Rita is dead. That’s all I can tell you.” Rhonda slammed the door behind her, leaving the professor and Donna alone in the living area.

  Donna was stunned. She wasn’t’ sure to believe Rhonda or not—after all, she had lied to the two of them. Why would Rhonda not lie to her?

  “She’s—Rhonda’s a little emotional, Donna. This find is very important to her. I can’t explain her relationship to Rita. I must respect that request of hers—to not tell. Do you want to go get a cup of coffee? I have a feeling Rhonda will be in there for a bit.”

  Donna’s familiar ease with the professor returned as she nodded in agreement. The two left the cabin and strolled along the path to the restaurant. They walked in silence and Donna gazed about the grounds, taking in the changes that had occurred over the past years while Steven Lucero dragged his feet, hands in pockets, and gazed at the ground. The man finally spoke. “It isn’t my intention to betray your trust, Donna. I—I like you. I’ve gotten to know you over the past couple of years and I respect your determination and integrity. I’m not a bad person, you know. Not at all.” He shook his head, “Some of my colleague friends may say I am—well whipped, but I’m not, you see,” another shake of the head, “I’m in love with Rhonda—I’d do anything for her. I’ve never had a woman like her in my life.” Donna directed her attention to the professor, “We’re here, Donna; shall we go inside?”

  While Donna and Steven waited for their coffee, Evan Miles and Trevor were wandering the resort grounds. Donna could see them from the window and wondered what they were doing until she realized Trevor was consulting with Evan about the poison ivy at the end of the woods and located so close to the area where customers walk.

  The professor guessed her thoughts incorrectly, “It is beautiful here, isn’t it? It’s not at all like Arizona. I’ve never been this far east, Donna. So, tell me, do you think there’s a pot of gold hidden in these woods. I can’t imagine where one would first begin to locate this treasure—if it is actually something tangible. My Rhonda insists that it is, and well—that’s why she hired Dan Stanley to research it. And here we are—enjoying this lovely and humid resort.” The professor smiled and thanked the server as she placed two steaming cups before them.

  Donna reached over to pick up her coffee and realized all she had consumed that morning was the equivalent of six cups of coffee and motioned for the server to return, “May I have some toast to go with this, please?” Then turning to the professor, “I doubt if there’s a hidden treasure of gold in these woods. Frankly, it would be difficult to hide something in that nature out there. Everyone uses these for either hunting or mushroom hunting—even camping, so how, if it is even true, would Ned Hollis have hidden Confederate gold in this Indiana forest?” Her toast delivered, she quickly occupied her mouth with it and let the professor guide the conversation.

  “Yes, of course. I—I will try to talk to Rhonda and convince her that this is a waste—it’s only a vacation.”

  Meanwhile Glynda Myer finished answering questions from the Burgenton police and county sheriffs, and while Donna sipped coffee with Professor Lucero, Glynda frantically hurried to the Laundromat where at the door stood Dan Stanley Green with two paper grocery bags full of smelly, dirty laundry. It was the last thing Glynda wanted as she barely made opening. She had hoped that after her morning, she would have a moment to compose herself in the office and drink a pop before patrons dragged their drudgery into the place.

  Dan Green knew of Glynda’s relationship with Donna and he also knew she was one of the individuals involved in the death of Ned Hollis. He sought this opportunity to capture the laundry mistress alone. Dan was aware of Glynda’s schedule and he planned for today to be the first one at the Laundromat where he could corner Glynda and ask her questions about the night in the woods, location of the trailer, and anything else he could get out of her about the murderous night. Glynda nodded her head at him as she unlocked the doors, she entered first, leaving Dan on the stoop where she opened the door for him. He entered and instead of taking the first machine by the door, he chose one right by the manager’s office. Glynda checked to make sure Dan didn’t need anything and she went into the little office with a stool, adding machine, cash register full of coins, and a shelf full of small boxes of detergents, and quickly closed the door behind her. She could watch Dan and other patrons through the rectangular window in the door, but today she didn’t care to, and she didn’t want to leave the office for the vending machine and her diet cola so she sat down on the stool, turned the radio to low, and surfed for her favorite station. A country station out of Moline, Illinois was her choice and she sat and listened to a country crooner’s melodic voice—his soothing tones eased her worries and she tried not to think about the morning and what may have happened to her friend, Thelma.

  Dan Green loaded his machines and wondered why Glynda was not leaving her office. He was frustrated. For days he planned and s
aved up dirty clothes to be the first one at the Laundromat and today was supposed to be his day. Now it seemed this woman was not even leaving her office. How could he strike a conversation with her if she didn’t come out? Like the stealthy hunter, Dan loaded his clothes in three washers, plopped up on the folding table and removed a pile of papers from his CPO jacket and waited. He thumbed through the same documents he had already browsed over and over. But today was his time to gather more information and use his calculated tactics to gather information from Glynda Myer that would lead him to a treasure in the Indiana woods. He knew he had to have information for Rhonda or else she would cut him off and then he’d have to find a way to make some money to go west or maybe head back south.

  Glynda was content to listen to her station and count change. She quietly prayed the stranger would just leave and she really didn’t know how long she could stay inside the booth. The washing machines were on the last spin cycle when another patron entered. It was one of the locals—everyone knew Ernie, one of the town’s maintenance workers, and he knew Glynda. Ernie stepped inside and jerked his head around, looking for the laundry mistress, then spotted her in her booth. Pound, pound, pound. His fist slammed against the door and Glynda peeked over to see his wide face plastered against the window, his grin steaming the glass.