Killer Reads: A Collection of the Best in Inspirational Suspense

by Luana Ehrlich

  Myra waved her hand to stop her. “I know what it is,” she whispered.

  “Your ammonia level was one of the highest he’d ever seen. When we mentioned you were on the transplant list at USC, he calculated your MELD Score and contacted Doctor Kennison at UCLA. Together they arranged your transfer to Duke, so right now you’re at the Duke Medical Center, scheduled for transplant in two days.”

  Myra had trouble absorbing this news. “Two days?” Then she remembered the purpose of her trip to North Carolina. “I can’t. I need to –”

  This time Oni put her hand up to stop Myra. “We’re taking care of it. I still have your power of attorney, right?” Myra nodded. “And Alexia was quite efficient in contacting her friends at the Innocence Project, as well as the eighth division superior judge needed to handle the appeal. We asked that the matter be kept discreet because of the threats on your lives.”

  “Y-you did this all in one afternoon?”

  Oni waggled her head. “Not exactly. You’ve been here three days.”

  Myra felt her spirits sag. She turned to face Alexia. “What else …” She noticed for the first time that Alexia’s attire matched her own ‘haute couture’ patient garb. “What’s wrong with you?” Her first thought was that the assailant had found them and injured Alexia. “Did he find us? Did he hurt you?”

  Alexia smiled. “No, actually, they somehow caught him in Little Rock trying to make flight reservations back here. His car rental had been tagged. So, as soon as he turned in the car, the airport police were notified and they actually got him. He hasn’t talked, and they have nothing to hold him with in Arkansas, but seems he had outstanding warrants here in North Carolina, so ...”

  “So, why are you, you know?” Myra waved her hand up and down highlighting the luxurious patient gown.

  She smiled again. “Because God works in mysterious ways.”

  Myra furrowed her brow. “And that means what?”

  “You’re a Cummings. My great grandmother was a Cummings and if I’m right, she was your grandmother’s sister. We’re family.” Alexia snickered. “Just what you wanted to hear, I know. I should have mentioned that my interest in the Umfleet case was a little more involved than I led you to believe.”

  Myra didn’t believe, couldn’t believe, what she was hearing. The closeted skeletons began parading through her room.

  “I volunteered to be tested, and as it ends up, I’m as close a match for you as they can find, short of a twin sibling.”

  That revelation took Myra’s breath. The young woman she almost dismissed twice had volunteered to be her living donor. As Doctor Kennison had explained it, her priority on the transplant waiting list meant nothing if there was a living donor explicitly offering her the life-saving tissue she required. This young woman was personally responsible for the surgery she was about to undergo. Maybe there truly was a God who loved her.

  Tears flashed down her cheeks.

  “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, that’s a first,” retorted Oni as Alexia laughed.

  Myra wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I, uh, I promise it won’t happen again,” Myra replied, her voice cracking. She took Alexia’s hand in hers and squeezed. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

  Alexia shook her head. “Hey, stop with the clichés.”

  “Look, I have an appointment tomorrow morning with Superior Court Judge Warren in Waynesville, about Curt Umfleet. So I need to get going. I have your papers. Don’t worry, they’re safe with me. He may want to meet and talk with you personally, but we’ll work that around your surgery. I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

  Oni rose and leaned over Myra to kiss her on the forehead. “Believe it or not, I am so glad this is out in the open. It’s one secret I’d grown tired of keeping, especially from Angela.”

  Myra took Oni’s hand. “Speaking of which, where is she?”

  Oni’s face relayed her concern. “I don’t know. She doesn’t answer her cell and she was supposed to meet us here over an hour ago.”

  Forty-one

  **********

  Albritton paced in the small room, five steps up and five steps back. The monitor revealed an equally nervous woman in the adjacent room. He never “dirtied” his own hands. That’s what he paid guys like Hastings to do, but Hastings had failed and would soon fertilize daisies somewhere. Wilkins had failed, too. Big time. He was in custody and could become trouble. Albritton felt like his back was against a cliff in some blind desert canyon. He could feel the heat.

  He knew he had to give her time to worry, to let the anxiety build so she’d be more pliable. The problem was that same time delay worked on him as well. He could feel the sweat oozing into his armpits.

  “Whachu want me to do?” asked “Little Hastings,” as Ricky Lee was called behind his back. He had been a strong-arm guy along with Hastings and, being less intellectually endowed, seemed to mimic every move Dewey Hastings had made. He followed Dewey’s orders without hesitation, to the point Dewey had always said the guy would jump off a building if told to. However, ‘little’ was far from descriptive of the man’s bullish physique.

  “We’ll let her stew a bit longer, Ricky.” Albritton hoped he could last that long.

  An hour later, with a fresh shirt on, he motioned to Ricky to join him in the room next door. As he entered the room, he moved directly toward the comfortable couch facing the cabin’s stone fireplace, while Ricky Lee stood guard at the door. The cabin belonged to a very helpful campaign donor and bordered Duke Forest immediately west of campus. Secluded but convenient, and far too luxurious to be really classified a cabin.

  “Ms. Thoms, please have a seat.” He pointed to a plush, nearby chair.

  She glared at him, arms folded across her chest. She made no move to sit down.

  “Can we get you something to drink?”

  She remained still.

  “Please. I have no intention of hurting you. I need some information, that’s all.” Her defiant stare gave him his answer. “Very well. I can come back tomorrow morning. There’s a bathroom through that door.” He pointed to a closed door. “The kitchen, through there, has a limited stock. Please make yourself at home, but my friend here will keep you company. You will be limited to these three rooms. Understood?”

  No response. Why couldn’t she have made this easy? Now he wouldn’t get any more sleep than she would. Maybe less.

  With a little cajoling, Myra convinced the nursing staff to allow Alexia to remain with her. Two hours after Oni left, they still had no contact with Angela. Campus security had been notified and informed of the earlier threats and events in Eureka Springs. Despite being demonstrably unhappy to have this trouble plop on their doorstep, they stationed an extra guard on the floor and contacted the Durham Police Department and, as an extra precaution, the SBI – the State Bureau of Investigation.

  Myra’s bedside phone rang. Alexia picked it up. “It’s Oni.” She held the receiver so both of them could hear.

  “Has Angela shown up? I’m at the motel in Asheville and I’m safe, but I went by the motel in Durham and she wasn’t there. The clerk said she thought she saw her leave in the presence of a big, burly man but she wasn’t sure. I think we have a problem.”

  Myra motioned for Alexia to hand her the phone.

  “We already deduced that. We’ve talked with campus security and they’ve talked with other police agencies. The clerk gave them a description. There’s nothing else we can do from here, even if I felt up to it.” Oni didn’t reply, but Myra was certain she heard a sob on the other end. “I promise to keep you posted if anything develops.” Myra felt her own lip quiver as they said goodbye and she hung up the phone. She’d been right, but also wrong, to bring both women with them. If anything happened to Angela, she’d forego the transplant. She didn’t deserve it.

  Alexia sat up straight in the chair and looked sternly at Myra. “What do you mean, there’s nothing we can do?”

  Myra took
offense. “I feel awful as it is about bringing Angela with us and putting her in danger. I don’t need you lambasting me. Look at me. I can’t even stand without an assistant. How am I going to get out there to help?”

  “Who says we have to leave here?”

  “What?”

  “Why is she in danger? Because of us, well, me, actually. Why? We think it has to do with Curt Umfleet. Right? But why? Who has the most to gain by stopping us?” She paused. “I’ll be right back.”

  Alexia arose and left Myra’s room, returning a few minutes later with her laptop.

  “While you were, um, comatose, I took the time to do some research.” She pulled up a website of North Carolina’s digital collections on one tab and a Google map of the western tip of the state on another. “You mentioned the land owned by the Umfleet Trust. I assumed it to be this area here.” She pointed out the southwest end of Thorpe Reservoir. “Is this it?”

  “Yes. As Curt explained it to me that night he drove to Cashiers, the family trust owned about two thousand acres there with miles of prime shoreline.”

  “Well, a lawyer named Emory Albritton gained control of that land and developed it into a gated community of million-plus-dollar homes. Millions of dollars were made, but I can’t find any record of that money going into a family trust for the benefit of the Umfleet heirs. As I told you, Curt’s two kids live in near-poverty conditions in the old family house in Frampton Corner. Albritton, on the other hand, lives in a mansion overlooking the lake, ran for the State legislature and then Senate, and …” She stopped.

  “And what?”

  “He’s running for the U.S. Senate now. What would happen if this story came out?”

  Myra nodded. “Plenty of motive for murder. Couldn’t have plotted it better myself. With their mother dead and no other relatives, I would have made him the guardian of the children when Curt went to prison. That would have put him in the position to pull this off.”

  Alexia suddenly looked deflated. “Did you already know this?”

  “Know what?”

  “All of this. What I just told you.” Myra shook her head. “He was named their guardian. I found the original court records. Plus, it looks like there are dozens of other shady deals involving land around Cashiers and the lake.”

  Myra suddenly saw how it all went down. The young woman she had seen murdered in her home’s drive had somehow become Alice Cummings, the fact bolstered by her pa’s testimony. He and Dewey held a grudge against Curt and used the opportunity, and the body, to frame him. How had Albritton figured into it all? There had to be a connection between Albritton and Hastings. That was the only logical explanation.

  “So, what now? We have a suspect. We have motive. Can we connect the two men, this Albritton and Hastings? Or Albritton and the guy they have in Little Rock, for that matter.”

  “No, I can’t. And I can’t prove my theory.”

  “So, plot it out. Let’s pretend this is a novel. You’re this far along in the story, the middle’s beginning to sag, and the protagonists – that’s you and me – are physically incapacitated, or about to be. Where does the story go next?”

  “Hire a PI.”

  Myra winced. “You could, but you don’t have time to bring that person up to speed, and they’d have to dance through hoops to get the information. It could take weeks to make a case that they’d then have to turn over to the authorities, who in turn would have to verify everything, take it to a Grand Jury. You get my drift. Me? I’d go straight to the cavalry, the police.”

  Alexia smiled as if she finally had one up on Myra. “You could, but that would take time, too. They’d focus on building a solid case, dotting all the “i’s,” to be clichéd. They would take weeks, if not months, to convene a Grand Jury. Can we implicate a senatorial candidate without solid evidence? How do we accomplish all this and get Angela back quickly? I was thinking more in terms of the PI staking out the Senator and trailing him. Letting him lead us, the PI, anyway, right to Angela. In the meantime, we could call the authorities tomorrow and lay out our case. If the PI finds Angela with the senator, then we have him. If not, we could still drift off into anesthetic sleep the following morning knowing we’d done everything we could.”

  “Hate to admit it, but you’re going to make one fine suspense author.”

  Minutes later, Alexia was on the phone with a sleepy investigator, a man who had worked with the Innocence Project. He walked into the room within the hour, after hearing what his retainer would be and of the healthy bonus he would earn, if he found Angela before the transplant surgery. He needed no coffee to stimulate him after that and Myra preferred being gassed knowing that all was well.

  Forty-two

  **********

  Myra awoke early, despite the late night of brainstorming with Alexia. Together they had laid out a roadmap for authorities to use to investigate what they now saw as a long history of fraud and theft by a prominent politico. State Senator Albritton’s personal wealth, and the rise to power it had funded, had been borne from over a dozen land swindles, the largest of which was the outright theft of the land owned by the Umfleet Family Trust.

  Myra’s brain simmered in anger at this man who had robbed the family of the man who had once helped her to a new life. Combined with her angst about the upcoming surgeries, for her and Alexia, she was surprised she slept at all.

  “Good morning,” said Alexia as she poked her head into the room. “Looks like you slept about as much as I did.” She eased into the room and sat in the chair at Myra’s bedside.

  Myra nodded. “I could have used the anesthetist last night about 3 am.”

  “I took the liberty of contacting the SBI directly,” said Alexia. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t, but it’ll be a few days before we can talk with them.”

  Alexia rolled her eyes and turned toward the window. “Umm, actually, they’re sending someone over this morning. They should be here in about an hour, after breakfast. I asked the nursing staff to hold them at the nurses’ station until I come to get them. I’ve been told there’s a conference room down the hall where we can meet privately.”

  Myra sat there silently. Did she have the stamina? She could let Alexia lay out their case to the agents. She no longer held any reservations about the young woman’s capabilities. No. This had become too personal. She wanted to be there.

  “Could you wheel me there? I hate to ask, but I don’t think I have the strength to walk to the room on my own.”

  Alexia smiled. “What? No grand entrance?”

  Myra replied with a wan smile. “No, the diva is dead. A diagnosis of terminal disease tends to hammer reality back into even the densest mind. I, uh … I humbly ask for your assistance.”

  “No clichés? No ‘staring death in the face,’ ‘one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave?’ No ‘buying the farm’ or ‘cashing in the chips?’”

  Myra laughed. “It’s not over ‘til the pumpkin-colored lady sings.”

  Alexia stood and stepped outside the room for a moment. She rolled a wheelchair into the room. “I commandeered this on my way over. To make sure we had one when you needed it.”

  Myra looked up at Alexia and beckoned her back to her bedside. She took the woman’s hand. “Thank you, Alexia. For everything.” A tear formed in the corner of her eye.

  “God loves you,” said Alexia as she leaned over and kissed Myra on the forehead. “And you’re growing on me, too. I’ll be back to get you when they arrive. I have one more phone call to make. Remember my wanting to see Justice Hoglund in Santa Fe? Well, looks like he was the judge in the Umfleet trial. He might have some valuable testimony against Albritton.”

  Myra reflected on that comment and realized she, too, had someone to track down.

  Myra took a deep breath and straightened up in the wheelchair as Alexia rolled her into the conference room. Two men sat at the table and both rose as the women entered. Myra took the lead.

  “Ge
ntlemen, good morning. I’m Myra Mitchell and this is Alexia Hamilton.” She put her hand forward.

  The older of the two men shook her hand. He appeared to be late thirties, trim, with conservative grooming. His dark grey suit was well tailored and pricey, more expensive than Myra would have anticipated for a state investigator. The second man was a few years younger and dressed more to her expectations.

  “I’m Agent Albritton, of the Professional Standards Division of the State Bureau of Investigation. This is Agent Barrows. I understand you have some information about possible crimes by one of our state legislators.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mitchell. I’m a fan,” said Barrows as he extended his hand.

  The two women exchanged glances.

  “Excuse me, Agent Albritton, but are you related to Senator Emory Albritton?”

  The agent’s demeanor showed a subtle change. “Yes, ma’am. He’s my uncle. May I ask why?”

  Myra turned to the second man. “Agent Barrows, we have a conflict of interest issue here. I think we need to talk with you alone.”

  Albritton arose and dressed early, and was surprised to find Misty already dressed and in the kitchen. The aroma of brewing coffee began to permeate the room. Over the past two weeks she had seemed cold and indifferent. Was it his anxiety? Or was it her? On reflection, her aloofness seemed heightened over the previous week. Or was that just how he interpreted her behavior?

  “Something wrong? Is there something bothering you?” he asked, as he grabbed a travel mug and filled it with coffee.

  “I’m fine.” She sipped her coffee. “You’d better get going. I’ll be leaving right behind you to meet Teri for tennis.”

  He stepped up to kiss her and she backed away.

  “Hey.”