Third Time's a Crime

by Diana Orgain

  “Bert,” Cheryl said. “It’s very important. We’ve come back to Gordon’s house and he’s nowhere to be found. Did you have any more visions of him?”

  I heard Cheryl mumble something to him and then turn to me, covering the phone.

  “He needs something of Gordon’s to see if he can locate him.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” I said. “What is he, a blood-sniffing hound dog?”

  Scott patted my shoulder. “Don’t lose your patience, Georgia. Everything is going to be fine.”

  “We should have brought him with us.” I said.

  Cheryl got a faraway look in her eye.

  “Well, do you have anything he gave you?” I asked. “Earrings or a blouse?”

  She shrugged. “There may be something in my bag that’s in my office.”

  “Well, send him there. Try that,” I said.

  Cheryl instructed Bert to go to her trailer office to where her suitcase and gear were. “I think I might have a T-shirt of Gordon’s,” she said, giving me a strange look, almost as if she didn’t want me to know that my father had left clothes with her.

  I shrugged my indifference. At this point all that mattered was finding my father and Becca safe.

  Bert promised to call us back if he could get a sense of anything.

  INT. CHERYL’S OFFICE DAY

  The office is empty. Kyle rushes in followed by Bert.

  KYLE

  I hope they find Gordon and Becca. This is terrible. (He riffles through the duffel bag near Cheryl’s desk and pulls out a man’s shirt.) Here, will this do?

  BERT

  (nods) I can try it.

  KYLE

  Oh, okay. I’ll go outside. Give you some privacy.

  (Kyle leaves the office. Bert is alone. He sits at the desk and sees the file with the red block print, CONFIDENTIAL: THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MURDER OF JANE REINER. He waves a hand over the file and laughs. Then he holds Gordon’s shirt close to his heart. He takes several deep breaths and closes his eyes.)

  After fifteen minutes of waiting, looking at each other quietly, and drinking tea, we all jumped at the sound of gravel crunching in the front yard. I was the first to reach the front window and see the car.

  “Is it them?” Cheryl screeched.

  “No, the sheriff,” I replied.

  Cheryl’s shoulders hunched forward, disappointment making her look like a sagging party balloon with a slow leak.

  Scott reached out to her. “We’re going to find them tonight! I promise, Cheryl. I’ll take the Jeep myself and drive up and down every country road.”

  I opened the door for the sheriff, just as Cheryl’s phone rang. She scrambled to grab it and saw Kyle’s phone number on the display. “It must be Bert,” she said.

  The sheriff took off his hat as he greeted me. I updated him with all the information we had from Mr. Hornsby and Mr. Johnson. I left out the part about the psychic because I figured the sheriff would take that about as seriously as I did.

  It didn’t help matters when Cheryl picked up the phone, and we all heard Bert’s voice through the line.

  “I did have a vision,” Bert said. “They’re on the side of a road.”

  “Where?” Cheryl asked.

  “It’s not clear to me. There’s trees. Many trees,” Bert said.

  “Well, we’re in the country!” Cheryl shrieked. “There’s trees everywhere!”

  “These are cherry . . . no . . . no . . . that’s not right . . . almond . . . yes almond trees,” Bert said.

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” Cheryl said.

  “Let me talk to him,” I said, pulling the phone out of her hand. “Where do you think they are, Bert?”

  He said, “They’re on the side of the road. They’re sitting on the side of the road hitchhiking.”

  As ridiculous as it sounded, I probed further. “Any idea where? Do you see any identifying landmarks?”

  “No,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I can’t get a clear location.”

  I handed back the phone to Cheryl and shook my head.

  The sheriff frowned. “What’s all that about?”

  “Our friend, who tends toward psychic abilities, thinks that Gordon and Becca may be hitchhiking.”

  The sheriff surprised me by rubbing at his chin and looking thoughtful. “He say where?”

  “No.” I shrugged. “Just the side of the road.”

  Cheryl hung up. “He’s on his way to join us,” she announced.

  “Well,” the sheriff said, “we’ve got a lot of roads to cover and we’re short-staffed.” He looked over at Scott and me. “Feel like driving the south side of town, Georgia? I’ll take the north side.”

  I agreed. “Cheryl. You wait here in case Dad comes home.”

  She nodded and we separated. I took her cell phone so we could be in touch, promising to phone the home line if we found them.

  INT. PRAYER ROOM DAY

  Dr. Arch is seated in a red-striped high-back chair. He looks especially handsome in a crisp white shirt. He rubs his Roman nose and turns his square jaw at just the right angle for the camera. When he’s sure he is looking his best, he leans forward, rests his chin on his hands, and stares directly into the camera with his electric blue eyes.

  DR. ARCH

  (smiles) Hello, America. I’m here to caution you! Karen Kenley and myself are doing our utmost to solve the murder of Jane Reiner, but there are others here that are imposters! Things are not what they seem. You will see something tonight that will look horrible. (He lowers his eyes and looks remorseful.) But I assure you . . . cameras can lie.

  Karen and I are getting close to solving this mystery. (He glances over his shoulder, then turns back to the camera, his voice an urgent whisper.) The others feel the threat from us. They know Karen is a serious investigator and that I am not easily fooled.

  America, please vote for us tonight.

  Sixteen

  Night was falling. The only light on the country road was from our Jeep. Scott and I made our way slowly down the dirt road, backtracking to the harvester, looking for Becca and my father. I held a high-powered searchlight the sheriff had loaned me and scanned the sides of the road, searching for any sign of a tire blowout, fender bender, broken glass, or anything that would give us a clue to where they could be.

  Unfortunately, the roads were empty with only a few raccoons scavenging around looking for a nighttime treat.

  The search was starting to feel a bit futile.

  Scott reached out and touched my leg as he drove. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Things seem awkward between us now,” he said. “I’m sorry to have put us in a bad position.”

  I shook my head. “You haven’t put us in a bad position, Scott. You were just being honest.”

  “I know,” he said, “but it seems worse now than before. I probably shouldn’t have said anything about how I felt.”

  Surprise coursed through my body. “The only thing worse than what you said, Scott, would have been to keep it to yourself,” I said. “Whatever you’re feeling, you have to let me know.”

  He nodded. “Of course, communication is important in a relationship.”

  “It is,” I said. “I know you’re not sure where we are, but I’m going to be patient. I’m going to give you your space just like you asked, and I’m going to be here for you.”

  He squeezed my knee and said nothing, and I was grateful that he was here next to me, searching Cottonwood for my family.

  We drove another half hour in silence. Finally, he turned to me and said, “Do you think we should go back to the house?”

  “I don’t know what else to do,” I said, fighting back the tears that threatened. “I could drive all night looking for them.”

  He nodded. “Maybe Cheryl’s heard somethi
ng.”

  The despair in my chest began to overwhelm me, and my throat constricted. “If she had heard something, she would have called.”

  “That’s true,” he said.

  Suddenly, my phone rang and Cheryl’s name came across the display. I hurried to answer it. “Wait a minute! That’s her. Fingers crossed.”

  “Georgia!” Cheryl shouted into the phone. “Get back here.”

  “What’s going on? Are they there?” I asked.

  “No, not Gordon or Becca, but Bert’s joined me at the farmhouse. He wants to ride along with you and Scott. He thinks he can help you find them.”

  When we arrived back at my father’s house, Mr. Hornsby’s pickup truck was parked in the driveway. Bert and Cheryl were standing in front of the house. Cheryl opened my passenger side door and yanked me out of the Jeep.

  Bert took my place in the passenger seat, while Cheryl opened the back door, pushed me in, and followed suit.

  “Shouldn’t you stay here?” I asked. “What if they return?”

  “Your father’s friend is here. He came over with some dinner for us and to see if we had any news. He’ll call me if anything develops,” she said. “Anyway, I was going stir-crazy waiting. I’d rather be with you guys when you find them,” she said.

  The last bit was starting to sound a little like wishful thinking and I admonished myself for being negative. We would find them.

  We have to find them!

  As Scott pulled out of the driveway, I glimpsed Mr. Hornsby’s hopeful face in the window; he was waving at us and nodding. Seeing him fortified my spirit. He believed we could bring them home and I had to believe it, too.

  Bert, holding one of my father’s flannel shirts, sat with his eyes closed. It felt a little absurd, but I decided to place my faith in him.

  Scott asked, “How are you going to tell us where to go if your eyes are closed?”

  “Shh,” Bert said. “I’m focusing.”

  “Right,” Scott said.

  Bert moaned slightly then placed the shirt right up to his nose almost as if he really was a bloodhound on a trail.

  Scott turned to look at Cheryl and me in the backseat and said, “I feel like I’m trapped in a Scooby-Doo episode.”

  “It’s a little hard to swallow,” I agreed.

  Cheryl poked me in the ribs. “Have some faith, Georgia.”

  “I’m trying,” I replied.

  Bert moaned louder, then said, “Oh! Turn right up ahead.”

  Scott slowed down and made a right turn.

  “Carry on this way,” Bert instructed.

  “There’s nothing here but orchards,” I said.

  “Shh,” he said.

  Oh, goodness.

  This was going to be one heck of a ride. He’d take us in circles all night if we let him. I could feel it.

  We proceeded down the dirt trail. It was dark with only the headlights to illuminate the way. The front tire dug into a divot, the Jeep rocking us all.

  “The searchlight is in the front seat, Bert,” I said. “We can shine—”

  Bert’s eyes popped open and he whirled around to look at me. “What’s Becca’s favorite song?”

  I glanced at Cheryl, trying to hold on to any patience I had left. This wasn’t exactly the time to be trying to get to know my best friend better. “What’s it matter?” I asked him.

  “Just tell me. Sing it,” he said.

  Sing it?

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  Cheryl jabbed me again in the ribs, this time with intent to injure. “Don’t be so difficult, Georgia. Sing her favorite song.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what her favorite song is. She likes all types of music.”

  “Dolly Parton. She likes Dolly Parton,” Scott said, from the front seat.

  That much was true. Becca was a huge country music fan, but I was a little stunned that Scott had been the one to come up with the answer.

  “‘Coat of Many Colors,’” he continued. “That’s her favorite song.”

  “How do you know?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “She told me once.”

  “She told you?” I asked, shocked. How could Scott know my best friend better than I did?

  “We were up late talking, and a Dolly Parton special came on. Dolly said her favorite song was ‘Coat of Many Colors,’ and then Becca told me it was her favorite, too.”

  “Aww,” Bert said. And even though I couldn’t see his expression in the dark, I figured he was a little moon-eyed for Becca right now.

  “All right, people, let’s focus,” I said. “This nonsense isn’t going to help us find them.” I strained to see out the window.

  Bert said, “I love Dolly Parton. I love Becca.”

  I punched him in the arm. “Would you stop? We need to get back to the task of finding them.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was overwhelmed by emotion.”

  “Why don’t we turn left?” I said to Scott. “I think we’re getting close to the south side of town and that’s the part the sheriff is searching. I don’t want to waste our—”

  “Don’t turn yet,” Bert said.

  Scott slowed the Jeep. “Folks, we have to agree. Georgia, what if I take you back to the house. Maybe you can borrow Mr. Hornsby’s truck—”

  “Good idea! Or what about . . . Bert, did you drive down? What car did you bring? I can take—”

  Bert held up his hands “Stop. Please! Stop chattering and sing.”

  “What?” I asked. “Sing what?”

  “‘Coat of Many Colors,’” he replied.

  “What’s that going to do?” I asked, not even attempting to keep the disdain out of my voice.

  “It’ll help. I promise,” he said. “We’ll find them soon. I think we’re close.”

  Oh, brother. This psychic business was just too much.

  Cheryl didn’t wait for a second invitation. She began to belt out “Coat of Many Colors.” Scott snickered, and I did all I could to keep my temper in check.

  “Turn left up ahead,” Bert said.

  The irony struck me, that turning left was just the thing I’d said to do, but I bit my tongue.

  Scott turned and soon we were on another road. This road was a little wider and more of a major thoroughfare than the one we’d just been on. Within a few minutes, two figures came into view, walking down the trail.

  Oh, my god.

  My heart nearly leapt out of my chest.

  As we slowly rolled down the road, the two figures stopped and looked into the headlights and waved madly.

  It was my father and Becca!

  Scott honked and flashed the headlights. He stopped the car, and we all tumbled out, rushing toward them.

  “Dad! Dad! Becca!” I yelled, racing to get to them.

  Cheryl reached my father first and hugged him fiercely. I hugged them both and soon the six of us were all huddled in a group embrace.

  “What happened?” I asked. “What are you doing down this road?”

  Becca grabbed my arms. “Oh, my God, Georgia. It was terrible,” she said. “We were carjacked!”

  “What?” Scott asked.

  “My almond harvest was hijacked,” Dad said.

  “How can that be?” Cheryl asked.

  “Two bearded men with guns,” Becca said. “They took Gordon’s full bank out wagon. They forced us out of the truck at gunpoint. They took our phones, everything,” Becca said. “It was horrible. Thank God, I was with Gordon or I would have peed my pants!”

  Bert laughed and hugged her. All of a sudden, Becca was overcome with embarrassment and flushed bright red.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe,” Cheryl said. “We’ve been worried sick.”

  Something niggled at me.

  How ha
d Bert known where to find Becca and my father? How had he even known they’d been in danger? Could he really be psychic?

  I closed the distance between us and grabbed Bert’s arm. “Thank you for helping us.”

  He patted my hand, and smiled. “I’m glad I was able to help.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I am, and sometimes I’m not. That makes people wonder about me, but it’s not like I’m a computer, you know? I don’t really know how or why inspiration hits me, but when it does watch out.”

  He speech seemed to move Becca, because she clutched at him and said, “They blindfolded us and tied us up.”

  “Give themselves a little time to get away with my harvest, I suspect,” Dad grumbled.

  “Oh, Dad,” I said, collapsing into his arms. “All your hard work. The season. Your whole season!”

  He squeezed me tight. “We were heading toward Old Man Stone’s house. Going to ask him to call the sheriff from there.”

  “Feels like we’ve been walking for hours,” Becca said.

  “Stone’s house is still at least seven miles,” I said.

  “I know,” Becca said. “I have blisters on my blisters.”

  “What are you all doing here?” Dad asked. “How did you know we were in trouble?”

  I shifted around awkwardly. “Well, that’s a story in and of itself. Let’s get home and let the sheriff know we found you.”

  Back at my father’s house, Mr. Hornsby was delighted to heat the supper his wife had prepared for us: a hearty bowl of homemade split-pea soup and a fresh loaf of bread.

  When we reported the carjacking to the sheriff, he surprised us by saying my father was the third almond farmer in the area to make such a report.

  “The draught really wreaked havoc in the area,” the sheriff said.

  “Almond prices are sky-high right now,” Dad agreed.

  “A shortage does that,” Scott said.

  “You got insurance, Gordon?” the sheriff asked.

  Dad snorted. “Sure, but they only guarantee last year’s price.”

  Cheryl groaned. “Gordon, I’m so sorry.”

  Dad and Becca gave the sheriff as many details on the men as they could, and Sheriff Bentley promised to do his best to catch the ring of thieves.