Corpse on the Cob

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “What did the woman look like?”

  “I didn’t see her, just heard her voice.”

  Willie glanced at the cabin. All was still.

  “When you get the call, arrange to meet him. I’m hoping he goes alone. In fact, I’m pretty sure he will. With him out of the way, I can take her.”

  “But how could he deliver Greg if he doesn’t take him along?”

  Willie glanced at me, then turned back to stare at the cabin.

  Understanding sucked the air out of my lungs and turned my world momentarily black. “You don’t think they’re going to make the exchange, do you?”

  Willie turned to look me full in the face. “No, Odelia, I don’t. I think they’ll take the money and kill Greg. They probably would have killed you, too.”

  I felt my insides spasm at the realization of what Willie was telling me. “But they said they’d let him go.”

  Willie moved closer and put his gun-free hand tight over my mouth. Then he whispered in my ear. “Grady’s in the back of that old truck. He’s alive, but barely.”

  I screamed in silence against his hand.

  “Now here’s what we’re going to do.” Willie kept his hand over my mouth while he whispered. “As soon as that bastard leaves, I’ll move around the back and enter through the bedroom window. The screen on it is loose, and the window is open. You will go around the other way and watch the door. If she comes out for any reason, you’re to pull the gun on her. Don’t even think twice about it, just do it. And if she points a gun at you, shoot her. Got it? Just shoot, don’t hesitate.”

  I nodded. He pulled his hand away.

  We waited a few more minutes before my cell phone silently vibrated in my shirt pocket. “Hello,” I said, keeping my voice down.

  “Why are you whispering?” the caller demanded.

  “I don’t want anyone to hear me.”

  “Good. You know where the Blue Lobster is?”

  “Yes.”

  “At the intersection, turn south off the main road. You’ll pass behind the restaurant. Follow it for about three miles until you cross a small stone bridge. Just beyond the bridge is a picnic area with tables under the trees. Meet me there in thirty minutes with the money.”

  “And my husband?”

  “You bring the two hundred thousand, I’ll bring your husband. But you’d better come alone.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  When we hung up, I told Willie about the instructions. Then I leaned against a tree and took several deep breaths while Willie kept watch.

  “There he goes,” he whispered to me.

  I moved forward and watched McKenna climb into his truck and drive off. As Willie had predicted, he did not take Greg along.

  “Won’t he see your SUV on the way out?”

  “Not if we’re lucky. Someone coming down the road might, but not someone leaving from this direction. Keep your fingers crossed that this asshole is sloppy and not very observant.”

  They were crossed. So were my toes inside my sneakers.

  “Dial the chief. If you reach him, give me the phone.” I did as he instructed, handing it off as soon as Clark came on the line.

  “Chief, the killer is not the boy. The real killer is on the move right now.” Keeping his voice low, Willie gave him the directions to the meeting and a description and partial plate of the truck. “We’re at a cabin at the end of Pond Road. Send an ambulance. Grady’s hurt bad.”

  “Cold Pond Road,” I corrected in a whisper, keeping my eyes on the cabin.

  “That’s Cold Pond Road. We’re going in after Greg.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Don’t know. Hung up before he could say anything.”

  A soon as Willie felt it safe, we took off for the cabin, keeping low and quiet. We left the bag of money behind. Willie went towards the back of the house and disappeared around the corner. I pressed myself against the short wall, splitting my attention between the front of the cabin and the road, just in case McKenna came back. I used the old truck as cover. I glanced into the truck bed. Grady was covered in a tarp. I pulled it back and gasped. He looked dead to me, then I heard him moan softly. It wasn’t much more than a mew from a newborn kitten. I gently pulled the tarp back so he could get more air.

  “Help’s coming, Grady,” I whispered. “Hang in there.”

  “If you’re the help, he’s really in trouble.”

  I started to turn but was stopped by the feel of a gun pressed into the middle of my back. “Not so fast,” I was told. “Hands in the air where I can see them.”

  I did as directed. Clark’s gun dangled from my right hand. My assailant removed the gun, then told me to turn around. When I did, I was face to face with Joan Cummings. She didn’t seem surprised to see my battered face.

  “We need to get Grady to a doctor.”

  Keeping the gun on me, Joan’s eyes did a quick scan of the surrounding woods. “Who’s with you?”

  “No one,” I lied. “I’m alone.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “McKenna told me to come alone.”

  “He also told you to meet him at the picnic area. How’d you even find this place?”

  “I tracked it through my phone.”

  “Couldn’t have. We dumped your phone.”

  “Not my BlackBerry. It was in my tote bag in the car.”

  “Only emergency personnel can do that.” She stared at me with such coldness, the hair on my neck stood and tried to run away. “How many cops are out there?” She jerked her chin towards the woods.

  “None.” This time I didn’t have to lie.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  A light wind rustled the branches overhead. Joan tensed. “Let’s take this inside.” She waved the gun, indicating for me to move towards the front of the cabin.

  “But what about Grady?” Although I was concerned for Grady, I also knew the more time we spent outside, the more time I could buy Willie to rescue Greg.

  “Grady got what he deserved. Now move!”

  Doing as I was told, I shuffled to the front and entered the cabin.

  It was a small, rustic building with pine walls and rough plank flooring. Next to the front door was a window looking out to the parking area. A kitchenette was built along the wall to our right. Opposite it was a table with three mismatched chairs and a window looking out at a small clearing. The fourth wall, the one opposite the front door, held two doors on either side of a wood-burning stove that was currently cold. One door was ajar, giving me a view of a tiny bathroom. The other door was almost closed, but not quite. It probably led to the bedroom where they’d stashed Greg. I wasn’t sure if the door had been left open by Joan or if Willie had opened it a crack to watch. I would have to make sure my eyes didn’t wander to it, looking for signs of Willie and Greg.

  Besides the table and chairs, the cabin was sparsely furnished with an old floral-print sofa oozing stuffing and a brown leather recliner with a torn seat. The rips in the recliner’s covering had been haphazardly mended with silver duct tape. In a corner was Greg’s wheelchair.

  “Where’s Greg?”

  “In the back, trussed like a rodeo calf.”

  With her free hand, Joan pushed me towards the recliner. When I plopped down, my butt felt the springs in the lumpy seat up close and personal. Joan stood between the front door and window but cautiously out of view from the outside. She kept the gun trained on me. Every few seconds she looked out, totally unaware that the cavalry was already in the cabin, just waiting for a chance to spring without causing bloodshed.

  She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and punched at it. When no one answered, she scowled. “He must be on his way back. He’s not going to like being stood up.”

  Quick as a bunny, I weighed my options. I could tell her that Frankie McKenna was being met by the police, or I could let her think he was coming back mad as a wet hen. I finally settled on a third option.

  “McKenna
didn’t take Greg to the meeting. He never intended to make an exchange, did he?”

  At the mention of McKenna’s name, Joan did a double take. “What do you know about Frankie?”

  “I know he’s been seeing Tara Brown on the side. I know he killed Les Morgan and stole the drugs, drug money, and the blackmail money that my mother paid Les Morgan.”

  “Then you know too much, and that’s going to cost you when Frankie comes back. I guess one beating wasn’t enough. This time he won’t be so gentle.”

  “If he comes back.”

  When I received another double take, I continued. “He double-crossed me, Joan. He never intended to trade my husband for the money. What makes you think he’s not double-crossing you? He could have planned to take the money I was bringing and hit the road. Tara Brown was already on the run when I last saw her. In fact, she was gassing up before getting on the interstate.”

  At that point, it crossed my mind that Tara wasn’t running from both Frankie and Clem, but only from Clem. She might have been rendezvousing with McKenna after he took the ransom money. But the white-hot fright I read on her face at the mention of Brenda’s death had seemed genuine. If she wasn’t afraid of McKenna, she was a damn good actress.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Joan wrapped the comment in a dull sneer.

  “No? Then what was in the bag McKenna put in the truck just before he left for our meeting?” I was running my mouth on guesses, but it was better than running on empty.

  “He had no bag.”

  “Right before he left, he went out for a smoke. Correct? He had a plastic bag with him, which he dumped in the truck. Dollars to donuts he’s not coming back to the cabin, Joan. I’ll bet his plan was to take the money I was bringing and add it to what he took from the cabin. Then adios, leaving you holding the bag for the murders and kidnapping.”

  “Frankie’s my cousin. We’re close. He’d never do such a thing. Without me, he’d never have gotten this far.”

  “Were you feeding him information like you were Brenda?” When I received no response, I continued. “I know he worked for the drug supplier from Boston, at least he did until recently. That’s how he met Tara.”

  “I was never involved in his drug business. I hate drugs.”

  “Ah, yes, your son Marty. Quite the little druggie, isn’t he?”

  Joan Cummings glared at me in between checking out the window. “You leave my boy out of this.”

  “But you gave Marty pot the morning of the murder, didn’t you? Did Frankie tell you to keep him out of the way?”

  “Frankie was looking out for Marty, just as he looks out for me. It was his idea to share the ransom money with me. So see,” she said with conviction, “there’s no double-cross.”

  “His idea to share, or his idea to set you up?”

  She leveled the gun at my face. “You talk too much.”

  Guilty as charged.

  Sweat soaked my shirt and ran down the small of my back, into my panties. If Willie made a move at that moment, it would be a race to see if Joan’s bullet reached me before his bullet reached Joan. So I babbled on, buying time and looking for a split-second opportunity to turn the tables.

  “How was Grady involved, Joan? Frankie may be your cousin, but Grady’s my brother. I’d like to know.”

  Joan cackled. “It was Grady who gave clear sailing, as you put it, to Frankie. He was paid well for it, too.” She glanced back out the window. “When Les took over the route, he helped him.”

  “Even though Les was Cathy Morgan’s ex-husband?”

  “On the take is on the take—doesn’t matter to a dirty cop who’s paying. And Cathy was just as involved as Grady, make no mistake about that. She was probably the one who pushed him to do it.”

  An unsavory idea entered my skull. “Les, Grady, and Cathy were working together to get Leland’s hidden money, weren’t they?” It made sense. Grady knew exactly when to watch Grace gather the money together. Had he not known about the blackmail, he wouldn’t have known what she was planning to do with the cash.

  Joan shrugged. “I’m not sure how the original blackmail idea got started. We weren’t involved in that. After Les turned up dead and the money disappeared, Grady started nosing around. That led him to Frankie.”

  “And Brenda? What was her role?”

  For the first time, Joan Cummings looked genuinely sad when she spoke. “She was just a kid reporter trying to jumpstart her career. She hooked up with Grady to get information. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen. She played him, led him on. In the end, she got in the way when Frankie and Grady came to blows over the money.”

  “A fight McKenna obviously won.”

  We went silent for a few moments. It seemed like it was taking Clark forever to find us, but on the other hand, I was worried that the sight of police in the woods would cause Joan to get trigger-happy. I was sure the same thoughts were going through Greg and Willie’s minds.

  On the small counter in the kitchenette, I spied a messenger bag just like the one Tara had been carrying in the maze. It gave me the idea to return to my original tack. I started to point at it. The movement of my arm caused Joan to go on alert.

  “Take it easy, Joan. I’m just pointing.” Without lifting my arm too much, I indicated the bag. “That the bag with the money you’ve stolen so far?”

  “You never mind about that bag.”

  “Check it. I’ll bet it’s empty now. I’ll bet the money is in McKenna’s truck.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Am I? Then check it and prove me wrong.”

  Like termites on wood, I could tell my words, coupled with the lapse of time since McKenna had left, were eating, bit by tiny bit, into Joan’s mind. Her eyes darted quickly from me to the bag to the window as she processed the possibility that she’d been had. In the end, she shook it off and made no move towards the bag.

  Damn.

  Then, after a glance at her watch, she said to me, “Get up and get the bag.”

  I got out of the recliner and covered the couple of steps towards the counter. My hand reached for the bag.

  “Leave it on the counter and turn the opening in my direction,” she ordered.

  I did what she asked.

  “Now slowly open the flap.” While I complied, she took a step closer. “A little wider.”

  I placed one hand around the bag’s strap and raised it up, holding the lower portion down with my other hand, until the bag’s opening resembled a bigmouth bass.

  It was empty.

  “That bastard!” Joan cried.

  She dashed to the counter to inspect the bag herself. When she did, she let the gun in her hand go slack. It was the chance I’d been waiting for.

  With one hand still wrapped around the bag’s strap, I swung it upward, catching Joan hard in the chin. As she staggered backward, I barreled into her, taking her to the floor. The gun fell from her hand.

  “Willie!” I screamed.

  “I’m right here, little mama.”

  Willie stood over me and Joan, his gun trained on Joan’s head.

  It felt good to be home. The trip to Massachusetts seemed like years ago, instead of just a month ago. As soon as we got home, Dev took Greg and me to dinner and gave us both a sound verbal slapping. Seth and Zee did the same. Steele didn’t speak to me for nearly a week, but that was more of a blessing than a punishment. To the horror of our friends and family, we both came off the plane with battered faces.

  It also felt good to be loved.

  After he’d slipped through the bedroom window, Willie unbound Greg. He was about to spring on Joan when she left the cabin and returned with me marching in front of her. That left Willie waiting for the right moment to make his move.

  Following Willie’s directions, the state police closed in on McKenna. He put up a fight, turning the peaceful picnic spot into the OK Corral. Thankfully, it wasn’t during the summer or on a weekend, so it was empty of visitors
. He was killed after wounding a police officer.

  Tara Brown was picked up in New Jersey and told the police what she told me. Seems she did have the sense to be frightened of both men in her life. The Brown drug biz was shut down, and Cathy, Clem, and Buster were charged with drug dealing. Buster claimed he knew nothing about it, but his brother and sister threw him under the bus the first chance they had. Sadly, Troy was moved to foster care until everything was sorted out. I couldn’t help but think he was the real victim in all of this.

  It came out that Joan Cummings had been selling police information to Frankie McKenna and McKenna’s previous employer. When McKenna put his plan in motion regarding the drug and blackmail money, he promised her a nice cut if she helped. Originally, they’d gone to my mother’s house to shake Grace down, but seeing Greg in the car had given McKenna other ideas. Like Tara, Joan claimed she only thought Frankie was going to rob Les Morgan, not kill him.

  When the dust settled, the police unraveled two different schemes with two different sets of schemers—one set out to steal the drug money and the other to blackmail Grace Littlejohn. The two plans had collided that fateful morning in the corn maze, with my mother caught in the middle.

  So much for peaceful country living.

  Grady Littlejohn died in the back of the rusty pickup truck—the same truck that nearly killed me.

  Willie left Tuesday night with Sybil by his side. Somehow he had deftly handled the police questioning, but he wasn’t sticking around in case they got curious about him personally. The day of Grady’s funeral, Clark asked me about Willie.

  “Seems Willie left in a big hurry.” The familiar voice came from behind me.

  I was on the deck, looking out at the stand of birch trees behind my mother’s house. I turned to see Clark dressed in a dark suit, holding a mug of coffee. Behind him in the house, friends of the family were milling about, eating coffee cake and casseroles. The small community was in shock over the string of murders and the drug bust and was doing its best to comfort each other in addition to Grace and Clark.

  “He had business in New York. Something he couldn’t postpone.”