by Julia Keller
“So why not do both?” Bell asked. “Why not go after the dealers and the CEOs?”
“I guess because—last time I checked—there were only twenty-four hours in a day.” Rhonda’s voice was steeped in weariness.
Hard to argue with that. Bell didn’t answer for several seconds. She buttered a roll that she had no intention of eating. Rhonda watched her.
“Okay,” Bell said. She set down her knife and set down the roll and dusted off her hands. “So what’s the verdict?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m asking if I can count on you to help me, despite your doubts. I’m going to get in touch with Roderick McMurdo—he’s the CEO of Utley—and see if I can make any progress. Point out what his company has done and ask him to help make things right.”
“How? How can he do that?”
“I’ve got lots of ideas. College scholarships, maybe, for kids graduating from Acker’s Gap High School? Rehab centers? Funding for neuroscience research on addiction? Or even—this is blue-sky thinking, so bear with me—how about building their next manufacturing plant right here in Raythune County? Or another county in West Virginia? That would provide a substantial number of good-paying jobs. Why shouldn’t they make their medicine in one of their prime markets? All kinds of ways a big corporation like that can do good. Getting the CEO’s attention is just the first step.” Bell leaned forward. “So are you with me? Will you help?”
Rhonda let her gaze wander around the restaurant. They were the last two customers.
Her eyes returned to Bell’s expectant face. “No. I can’t. Brett Topping’s murder is the biggest case we’ve had in years. You remember what that’s like. My first responsibility is to the office that I—”
“Never mind,” Bell said. “Forget it.”
Silence.
Rhonda finally broke it. “I’d like to be able to count on your help with the Topping case. Off the record.”
Bell waited.
“Sure,” she said, after a pause that spoke for itself.
Solve your own damned case. That’s what she wanted to say.
But no one—especially not Rhonda—would ever have believed that she meant it. And they would have been right.
Chapter Twenty-four
The next morning, Rhonda shut off the engine of her cherry-red CRV. She rubbed her hands together. The day was sunny but very cold, and the drive from her apartment to the courthouse had not lasted long enough for the car to heat up properly.
She had just pulled into the parking space directly in front of the courthouse. This spot was, as the sign stated, reserved for the exclusive use of the county prosecutor. The sign continued to note that violators would be towed. No exceptions.
Rhonda found that declaration to be deeply satisfying. Rarely was a crime and its punishment so clearly and unambiguously delineated.
Something caught her eye. She peered out the window at the courthouse lawn. On the east side of it—visible to her only now that she had swung her gaze away from the wide gray steps and the arched double-sided doorway—was an unusual sight.
No. It couldn’t be.
No.
Please, Lord—tell me this isn’t happening.
Three elderly women with white hair and stooped postures had placed themselves in the vicinity of a large galvanized steel washtub. They looked, Rhonda thought, like arthritic witches around a would-be cauldron. All three wore mustard-colored work boots, baggy Levi’s and oversized sweaters. Two of them had tucked the sweaters into their jeans, which made the area around their hips balloon out unbecomingly. But clearly they didn’t care.
They talked earnestly amongst themselves, pointing at the tub and then at the ground, and then back at the tub again. Next to the tub was a stack that included a mattock, two shovels, and a garden hose. Alongside the tools was a mound of yellow-and-black sacks of Quikrete.
One of the women picked up the mattock. The other two nodded and backed away.
The mattock-bearer, Rhonda noted with dismay, was Lee Ann Frickie.
She jumped out of the CRV, crossing the sidewalk and marching up to the trio. The dew had frozen on the grass overnight. Rhonda’s heels crunched with every step.
Lee Ann watched her approach. Lifting her chin, clutching the heavy mattock with two knobby hands, shaking her head back and forth, she was the very portrait of extreme stubbornness.
“You keep away, Rhonda Lovejoy,” Lee Ann declared. “I gave you ample notice of what we are called to do here and we are surely going to do it. I offered you a chance to be on the right side of this. You declined.”
The heads of the other two women bobbed enthusiastically. Rhonda knew them, too: Eloise Drummond and Amy Purcell. Amy, in fact, had once been her Sunday school teacher.
Lee Ann started to swing the mattock up over her head. Rhonda caught the handle before the old woman had managed to get it much above waist level and pulled it out of Lee Ann’s hands. Rhonda was gentle about it, but firm.
“Lee Ann,” she said. “Please.”
“Give that back to me. Give it back.”
“What are you doing?” Rhonda held the tool just out of Lee Ann’s reach.
“Just what it looks like. We’re breaking ground for the pillar this morning. Eloise knows how to mix Quikrete.” She motioned toward her friend, who waved, and then toward the tub. “We’ll be sinking in the poles that’ll keep the pillar straight. The carving of the Ten Commandments won’t come ’til later. Got to get the pillar in first.” She held out both of her hands, palms up. “I’d like my mattock back, please. That’s my property. You are holding on to it unlawfully.”
Rhonda blew out a long, slow sigh. “Really, Lee Ann? That’s where you want to go? You want to start talking about the law? The three of you are getting ready to deface the courthouse lawn. Public property. The law is not on your side.”
“Well, maybe the law isn’t—but Jesus is.” Lee Ann’s voice was strong. Her friends clapped. The claps rang sharply in the cold morning air.
Rhonda sighed again. “Okay, then. If you all keep this up, if you won’t stop right now and go away, I’ll have no choice but to have you arrested.”
Amy moved closer. “Look around you, honey. World’s falling apart. So it’s time. Past time, really. Folks need to be reminded of—”
Rhonda cut her off. “I’m not going to debate this with you, Amy. This isn’t the place for that.”
Amy gave her a long, sad look. “Guess you weren’t paying attention in Sunday school, Rhonda. Not like I thought you were.”
“I paid attention to every word,” Rhonda replied, somewhat testily. Why was she letting the old woman get under her skin?
By now a small crowd had gathered at the edge of the courthouse lawn. Eloise smiled at the people, giving friends a thumbs-up.
“Anybody who loves the Lord is welcome to join us!” Eloise called out. “Anybody who’s on the side of the devil can fight us—like Rhonda Lovejoy here is doing. She may mean well, but we all know that God’s law is way more important than man’s law.”
While Rhonda was busy looking out at the crowd, to make sure no one was charging at her in the name of the Lord, Lee Ann snatched her mattock back. “Instead of wasting your time trying to stop us, Rhonda,” Lee Ann snapped, “you can find me a spigot for the hose. Once I break ground, we’ll need to get the water going to mix up the Quikrete.”
An old man in the crowd laughed. Two younger girls hooted, and a dog barked. Even the dog’s making fun of me, Rhonda thought.
This had gone far enough.
She pulled her cell out of her skirt pocket, holding it up for the trio to see so they’d know she meant business. Its sleek edges winked in the morning sunlight. “You were warned. All three of you. I’m calling Sheriff Harrison. If you don’t move this stuff right now—just pack it up and get it on out of here—I’ll tell her to read you your rights.” She pointed at Lee Ann. “And if you dig up even a spoonful of the courthouse lawn, you’re going t
o be in a lot of trouble.”
The crowd booed. Several people, sensing that the drama was winding down, ambled away. The workday was commencing; they had places to be.
Lee Ann looked Rhonda squarely in the eye. Rhonda wanted to look away—there was no menace or meanness in the old woman’s expression, but there was deep disappointment, which was somehow harder to take than those other two things—but she found that she couldn’t.
Finally, still glaring at Rhonda, Lee Ann motioned to her friends.
“Ladies,” she said, “let’s do what she says—for now. I don’t want any trouble with the authorities.” As she said the “A” word, she winced ever so slightly; there was a healthy dose of How could you? in her rheumy eyes.
Amy and Eloise each took a handle of the washtub. Lee Ann slung the mattock over her narrow shoulder.
“We’ll come back for the Quikrete,” Lee Ann said. “The wheelbarrow’s in the truck Eloise borrowed from her grandson. We parked it on the other side of the courthouse.” Her friends began a slow trudge across the lawn, balancing the shiny washtub between them.
Lee Ann followed. She stopped, though, before she’d gone more than a few feet. Her voice was still resolute, but quieter now. She wasn’t playing to the crowd. She had a message to deliver, and it was for Rhonda alone.
“Just to be clear,” she said. “This isn’t over.”
Rhonda didn’t answer out loud, but in her mind, she was giving Lee Ann an earful: Of course it’s not over. Because nothing is EVER truly over around here.
It was all on one continuous loop, all the same dilemmas and peccadillos, the same challenges. Same despair. Same problems, different day.
She knew that wasn’t what Lee Ann meant; Lee Ann meant that she and their friends would just sneak back here when they thought Rhonda and Sheriff Harrison were occupied somewhere else.
Hell—the three of them might even be planning a lawsuit.
They would lose, of course. There was no doubt about that. No doubt at all. Rhonda didn’t even have to look up the case law. It was well-known, and it was clear. But the three old ladies could make a lot of trouble before they lost, further inflaming a town that was already jittery over the murder of Brett Topping.
Rhonda was a prosecutor, an officer of the court. She knew with absolute certainty which side she was on.
And yet there was a small part of her—so small that it barely registered in her conscious mind, only sending out a weak pulse every now and again like a distress beacon from a skier buried in an avalanche—that recalled her Sunday school days, and the simple lessons taught by Amy Purcell, and how good the words had made her feel, how cherished. How they’d lifted her up. And how they secretly soothed her still.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Do you want the bad news first—or the bad news?”
Rhonda raised her eyes from the paperwork on her desk. Sheriff Harrison was framed by the doorway.
It was just after noon. There’d been no additional visits that morning by Lee Ann Frickie and her posse.
“I think I’ll take the bad news,” Rhonda said.
“Good choice.”
Harrison took two steps forward and dropped her narrow butt into the chair facing Rhonda’s desk. That was unusual. Typically the sheriff stood while she delivered her bulletins. But then again, this wasn’t a typical time; they had both been working exceptionally hard since Brett Topping’s body was discovered.
“Still no sign of Deke Foley,” the sheriff said.
Rhonda groaned.
“Hold on, hold on,” Harrison added. “We’re getting a lot of cooperation from law enforcement in all the adjacent counties. He’ll turn up sooner or later. Trust me—some other piece of scum will want to make a deal. They’ll sell him out quicker’n a minute. But in the meantime—”
“In the meantime, we’ve got to assume he’s still looking for that file.”
“Right.”
“Did the bank custodian have any useful information?”
“Name’s Evelyn Smith. She was too scared to notice many details,” the sheriff replied. “She starts her shift at five A.M. Shuts off the alarm and uses the back door. The guy was waiting for her. Jumped out, put a gun to the back of her head and ordered her to let him in. Didn’t talk much. Just enough to say what he wanted. Once inside, he went to Brett Topping’s office and tossed the place.”
“Was there anything to verify that it was Foley?”
“His face was totally covered by a black ski mask, she said. Black gloves. Black turtleneck. Dressed in black, head to toe.”
“Could’ve been Foley.”
“Yep.”
“Chances are, it was Foley.”
“Yep.”
“But we can’t prove it.”
“Nope.”
Rhonda pushed back her chair and stood up. She reached out her arms to either side, made a few small circles in the air. Let them drop. “God, that feels good. I’ve been sitting here way too long. Got about six other cases I’m trying to finish up so I can concentrate on the Topping murder.”
“Can’t Hickey Leonard give you a hand?”
“He does what he can, Pam. He’s an old man.”
The sheriff rubbed the back of her neck. “I hear you. When I dropped him off at his house after our conference here Friday night, I had to help him all the way up the steps and into the living room. Thank God his wife took him the rest of the way. I didn’t exactly relish putting old Hick to bed. What’s your bet—boxers or briefs?”
Rhonda laughed. Levity was just what they needed. That, and coffee.
“Okay,” she said, handing Harrison the mug she’d proceeded to fill. She topped off her own mug and then sat back down. “I assume the second helping of bad news is when you tell me you’re fresh out of ideas about where to find that file.”
The sheriff nodded. “My deputies turned the Topping house upside down. Three times. Just in case Brett Topping kept it in a notebook or stuck in an empty jar of peanut butter or an old shoe or whatever. But we didn’t find it.”
“And nothing in any of the family computers, either?”
“I had Dirk Chenoweth take a look. You know Dirk. Teaches all the computer classes at the community college. That kid’s a whiz. He double-checked the laptop that Brett Topping used at home and the desktop at work. Nothing. We returned the computers to Ellie Topping. No reason to hang on to them.”
“The bank was cooperative?”
“Oh, yeah. Bent over backward. Dot Burdette’s still shook up over the janitor being held at gunpoint—not to mention having her colleague murdered. Wants to do whatever she can,” Harrison said. Dot Burdette was president of Mountaineer Community Bank. “Every computer Brett had access to, they opened right up for us. Nada.”
“Ellie Topping—did she have any suggestions about likely hiding places?”
“She’s barely coherent. Home from the hospital now, but still out of it. Not sure when—or if—she’ll recover. They were married a long time. Seemed like a real love match, from what folks say.”
Rhonda twirled a pencil on her desktop. She couldn’t remember ever having heard Pam Harrison use the word “love” before.
Hell. I didn’t use it much, either—until recently.
“You’ve got somebody watching the house, in case Foley comes back to hunt for it again?”
“Twenty-four seven.”
“And Tyler?”
“Trying to be helpful and answer our questions, but he’s managed to screw up his brain pretty damned well with all the drugs. Not sure he remembers much of anything these days. Mainly just sits in his cell and grabs his belly and howls. Detoxing is no picnic. We’ve got him under medical supervision, but being dope sick is still a rough road.”
Rhonda’s sigh was deep and discouraged-sounding.
“Back to the computers,” she said. “Some people know how to hide files.” Grasping at straws now. “We know that from when we busted that online pedophile ring last year.”
“Rhonda.” The sheriff leaned forward, setting her empty coffee mug on the desk. “Dirk’s a pro, okay? He knows about files hidden behind other files. It’s not there. It’s just not there.”
“So what do we—” Rhonda’s private phone line rang, sparking a frown. “Hold on. Let me get rid of this call.” She answered it gruffly. “Yeah.” In a softer voice, once the caller made himself known: “Hey, sweetie. I’ll call you back, okay? Great. Okay. Soon. Promise.” She hung up and gave Harrison a sad little smile. “That man’s a saint.”
“It was Mack, I take it.”
“Yeah. I’ve had to put off the wedding so many times now that he’s gotten skittish. Needed to know if next week looks safe. Some out-of-town relatives are still pretty pissed about change fees for their flights.” She reached for Harrison’s mug. “You want more?”
“My stomach lining still hasn’t recovered from the first cup.”
“That’s a no, I take it. Or is it a yes?” Rhonda grinned and settled back in her chair. The grin disappeared. “Okay. So we don’t know where Deke Foley is. But wherever he is, he might assume that Ellie and Tyler have the file—or that Brett told them what’s on it.”
“Meaning they could be in danger for a long, long time.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, Deputy Previtt’s parked in their driveway,” the sheriff said. “And Tyler’s here at the courthouse. Both of them are safe for the time being.”
“And after that?”
Harrison crossed a black-booted foot over a knee. “Let me be honest here, Rhonda. County doesn’t have the money for any sort of long-term witness-protection detail. Even if we housed them in the same location to cut costs—it’s still a burden. The expenses for a full-time deputy, plus a motel bill and meals for Ellie and Tyler? There’s just no way.”
Rhonda nodded. “I concur.”
“You ‘concur’? I swear, Rhonda, this job’s getting to you. What happened to plain old ‘Yeah’?”
This was a secret side of Pam Harrison. Few people had ever seen her smile, much less make a joke.
