“Uh huh.”
“I’d see a woman of about thirty working in the yard. Cute lady with a blond ponytail, wearing a Penn State sweatshirt. She’d wave and smile at me.”
Williamson waited.
“One morning, I walked over and welcomed her to the neighborhood. She told me her name was Molly and her husband’s Jake.”
He watched me over the lip of his cup. "You seem to have taken a liking to her."
“Yeah. I mean no. Then I asked her about a bruise under her left eye. Her grin disappeared and she glanced up at the trailer. Told me I’d better go. When I turned to start down the road, a man appeared in the doorway.”
Williamson put his cup down. “What’d he look like?”
“Big—filled the doorway—black hair and a bushy beard. He wore jeans and a red checkered shirt. Anyway, over the next couple of weeks, I’d spot her out in the yard, washing their truck . . . .”
"Was she wearing a bathing suit?"
"Bikini. She looked good." Williamson was sharp. "I'd see her working in the garden. I’d wave and she’d wave back.”
“Where’s this trailer?”
“Up Smith Road, about half way to the Y with Valley Road. But then, I didn’t see her outside anymore. The flowers she’d planted wilted.”
He pulled a pen out of his pocket.
“This morning I went jogging like always. When I reached the trailer, his truck was gone. I stopped to stretch. Well, my curiosity won out. I walked up to the trailer and knocked. No answer. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to look around a little.”
“God dammit, Percy, that’s trespassing.”
“Let me finish. I was about to leave when I spotted a patch of fresh dirt.”
He put down his coffee. “How big?”
“Maybe two feet by five feet.”
I had him interested. “A shovel leaned against the trailer. As I poked around in the dirt, a truck pulled up.”
“He caught you?”
I shook my head. “I dropped the shovel and ran like hell, but he knew someone had been there.”
Williamson pulled on his graying mustache. “I can see why you’re concerned. I’ll drive by.” He put down his cup and pointed his finger at me. “I don’t care if your curiosity is killing you. Leave this alone.”
The next morning, I got the surprise of my life when a woman stood in front of the trailer washing a black Pontiac. I walked over. She could have been Molly’s twin, but her face was narrower, her eyes brown, and her figure slimmer under her shorts and halter top.
She squinted at me. “Do I know you?”
“Name’s Percy Carson. I enjoyed talking with Molly, and I’m concerned she hasn’t been around.”
“I’m Marti, Molly’s older sister. She’s visiting our sick mother.” She looked away, her fingers fidgeting with her shorts. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.”
“Do you expect her back soon?”
"Why?"
"Ah, no reason."
“Guess it depends on mom. I need to call and check on her.”
“Well, better get going. Tell Molly hello.”
“Yeah.” She turned back to the car.
That night, dressed in jeans and a black sweatshirt, I drove to within a mile of the trailer and parked my SUV behind a hunting camp.
I hiked through the woods, keeping within sight of the road, and using the moonlight to navigate the brush. At the clearing, I stopped. Jake’s truck stood in front. No sign of the Pontiac. I knelt and waited, swatting mosquitoes from my face.
About eight-thirty, the lights clicked off. Jake came outside and drove off.
After the truck disappeared, I crossed over his lawn. My boots crunched on the dry grass, my heartbeat increasing with each step. I reached the door and knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Pulled on the handle. Locked.
The sound of a vehicle made me turn. A dark Buick pulled even with the trailer, then swept by me. I pulled out a key and pretended to fumble with the lock.
Wiping sweat from my forehead, I circled to the back. A rusting oil barrel stood about ten feet behind the trailer. Pushing it under the center window, I hiked myself up and grabbed the sill.
The barrel tilted, then toppled. I fell and twisted my ankle. Pain radiated up my leg.
Gritting my teeth, I righted the barrel and climbed back up. I had to get inside that trailer.
I shined my light through the window. A Formica table with three chairs stood in the center of the kitchen, empty beer bottles stacked on the table.
I pulled on the screen. It gave, so I dropped it to the ground. I stuck my head inside and flashed my light around. Plastic microwave containers and dirty pans were stacked in the sink. I smelled burned grease.
A motor sounded from the road. I froze. Lights flashed as a vehicle passed and disappeared down the road.
Leaning in the window, I wiggled my shoulders and pushing with my legs, fell through. The living room had a love seat fronted by a cigarette-scarred coffee table.
I gimped to the back of the trailer. Bed sheets lay on the floor. Opening the accordion doors to the closet, I looked inside. Jeans and men’s shirts hung from hooks on the right side, female stuff on the left. On the floor of the closet stood three sets of boots, each one caked with mud.
I went through the pockets of the women's clothes but they were empty. As I pulled open the top dresser drawer, lights flashed across the front window and stopped. Jake's back.
I dashed for the back window, ignoring the protest of my ankle. A door slammed. I propelled myself through the window into the darkness below. My shoulder erupted in pain when I hit a rock.
Forcing myself up, I hobbled toward the woods.
Lights came on in the trailer. A voice yelled, “What the hell?” The beam from his flashlight bounced around the corner of the trailer.
“Hold it, bastard.” A round of buckshot tore through the brush, missing me by inches.
I tore through a tangle of vines and brush, thorns ripping at my skin. My leg throbbed with pain.
Another round of buckshot.
I blindly pushed branches from my face, trying to run for the road. The bobbing light gained on me.
Headlights pierced the darkness.
I yelled, “Help.”
The vehicle rolled past.
Another round of buckshot rattled the leaves next to me. I pulled up short. Forced myself to stand still.
Jake broke through the last of the vines and flashed the light in my face. “It’s you. The nosy jogger. Who the hell do you think you are?”
The glare in my eyes made it tough to think. Sweat poured down my back. “Your wife's missing. Anything happens to me, the cops are going to want to see her.”
He motioned with the gun toward the trailer. “Git going.”
“The police know I’m here.”
“Crap. Nobody’s gonna care if I put a round of buckshot into you. You broke into my trailer. I got your scrawny ass dead to rights.”
“If I refuse?”
“I’ll fill you full of shot right here. Now move.”
I limped along the edge of the road. Pain burned up my leg.
The twelve-gauge jabbed my back whenever I slowed. We reached the trailer. “Get inside.”
I stumbled up the two steps. Opened the door.
“Over there in the corner.” He pointed. “Sit your ass down.”
I limped to the couch.
A car pulled up in front. A moment later, the door opened. Marti scowled when she saw me. “Him again. What’s he doing here?”
“Nosy bastard. Found him going through the trailer.”
Forcing a weak smile I said, “Marti, thank heavens you’re here. Tell him I mean no trouble.” I looked at Jake. “Look, I worried about Molly. I should have minded my own business.” Struggling up from the couch, I stammered, “I’ll take off now and won’t bother you again.”
Jake kept the shotgun pointed at me. “Nice try. You wanted involved. Now you are.”
He looked at Marti. “What are you going to do with him?”
“What do you think? He threatens me. Fortunately my gun's nearby. Didn’t mean to kill him, but it’s dark.”
I jerked back. "No, please."
Jake glanced at me, then nervously shuffled his feet. “We don't have to kill him, do we?”
Marti pulled a .38 from behind her back and shot Jake twice through the forehead, throwing him against the wall. Noise exploded in my ears, blood splattered the walls.
She turned the gun toward me. “All you men are the same. Weak.”
My ears rang. “Why are you doing this?”
“None of your business." She waved the pistol. “All right, outside.”
When I pulled open the door, she lifted the gun for a second to grab for the door. I raised my fist and knocked her arm, then tumbled into the darkness.
She was on me like a fly on manure. “That’s it, go ahead and run. It’ll make my job easier.”
“This is murder.”
“Wrong. I’m just defending myself.”
My leg was on fire.
“Now, you gonna grab that sporting chance and run, or am I gonna shoot you right here? Don’t make no difference to me.” She grinned. “I’ll tell them you shot Jake, then tried to rape me. Pot of stew spilled on the stove, caught fire, and the whole trailer went up in flames.”
Maybe she’d miss if I ran. For sure, she’d finish the job here.
Lights moved up the road toward us.
“Stand still,” she snarled. “Make a noise. I’ll kill you.”
The headlights angled in toward the trailer. A red light flashed on top of the car and a search light blinded us. John Williamson’s voice boomed over a speaker. “Drop the gun.”
Another car pulled in from the opposite direction, another flashing red light.
“Okay, okay,” she shouted. “Don’t shoot. I'm only defending myself.” She dropped the gun. “He shot my brother-in-law and tried to assault me. I think he did something to my sister. She's missing.”
Williamson stood behind his car door. “Turn around and face the trailer.”
A trooper stepped out of the second car. He picked up the gun and patted down Marti.
“Get your goddamn hands off me. He tried to make time with my sister, rape me.”
Williamson called, “Stand still.”
The trembling started in my gut. It spread like an ocean wave through my body. I sank to the ground and threw up. Noises exploded through my brain. Everything went fuzzy. Light flickered in and out, then nothing.
I floated to the surface, opened my eyes. An IV pumped fluids into my left arm, my right leg hung suspended from a pole at the end of the bed.
The door opened. John Williamson peeked in. “How ya feeling?”
“Like crap. Have I been out long?”
“Since last night.” He sipped from a cup in his right hand, while handing me one with his left. “From the gang at the coffee shop. Last night the EMTs had to wrap your leg and shoulder. Your body looked like a road map from the scratches. I told them to take this dummy to the hospital. He’d never be smart enough to do it himself.”
I took a swallow. “Thanks.”
“We found the wife, Molly, buried in that patch of earth like you thought. Good thing because Marti swore you killed her sister, then attacked her.”
I winced. My stomach did a flip-flop and my tongue felt thick. “Why did they kill her?”
“The two were having an affair. Must have been for insurance money. Marti was a beneficiary on the insurance if anything happened to Jake and Molly. Jake told her about you hanging around. Guess they figured they could blame you.”
“I owe you, buddy.”
"Looks like they planned to dig Molly up and place her body in the trailer, then set it on fire. Another day and all the evidence would have gone up in smoke.”
I shuddered. “How did you know?”
Williamson took another sip of coffee. “A neighbor called dispatch about 9:30 last night and reported hearing shots up on Smith Road. I remembered your creature of habit story and thought I’d better check.”
“Next time I’m gonna keep on jogging.”
Williamson looked at me from under those bushy eyebrows. "There's still one thing I don't understand."
I started to relax. "What's that?"
"We called and checked on Molly. She left her mother's house after two days. That's over a week ago. Then you know what? I found this letter hidden under some papers in one of the desk drawers."
My gut tightened.
"It's addressed to you. Apparently you knew this Molly pretty well—"
During Don Helin's time in the military, he spent seven years in the Pentagon. Those assignments provide the background for his thrillers. Don's novel, Thy Kingdom Come, was published in March 2009. His latest thriller, Devil's Den is due out this fall.
For more information go to his website donhelin.com.
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