by Terry Odell
He’d be happy to leave Buzz where he was until he found Rose. But a cop couldn’t let emotions rule. He didn’t bury them completely, however, and snapped at the man lying beside him. “Wake up, you bastard. Where’s Rose?”
Not even a groan.
Seconds ticked into eternity before headlights illuminated the trail. A car door slammed. He twisted his neck to see Colfax jogging toward him, a first aid kit thumping against his leg.
“Give me more light,” Colfax said. His motions smooth and competent, he snapped open the medical kit and checked Buzz’s wound. “Go. I’ll keep an eye on him until the medics get here.”
Trusting Colfax, Gordon rushed after Solomon and Buster. Hearing the dog’s eager barking raised his hopes, and he headed down a side trail in the direction of the sound.
“Rose! Rose Kretzer! It’s Gordon Hepler. You’re safe. Where are you?” Buster dashed back and forth along the trail, darting into clumps of trees, in one direction, then the other.
“What’s with him?” Gordon asked.
“Don’t know,” Solomon said. “He’s definitely got a scent.”
Buster bounded off, barking louder. Gordon followed Solomon and the dog down a side trail where Buster, sniffing and whining, circled Buzz’s rental car. Both front doors were open.
Gordon rushed forward. “Rose?” The car was empty. Gordon’s heart sank.
“Flat,” Solomon said, pointing his light at the right front tire. But she was in here. He gave Buster the sweater again. “Find.”
They continued on, both calling Rose’s name. Had she escaped only to meet with some other disaster? Bears came to mind.
“Here.” A quiet voice came from the trees to his left, well off the trail. He shone his light in that direction. Near a large fallen tree, a pile of leaves moved. A form emerged, like some forest monster, shedding leaves and detritus. And clutching a bloody knife.
“Rose!” Gordon said. “Are you all right?” He dashed toward her.
Solomon released Buster. “Let him reach her. It’s good for him to succeed.”
Gordon made a mental note to increase Buster’s kibble ration no matter what budget items he had to cut. Hell, he’d throw in for some steak out of his own pocket. Gordon cradled Rose. Buster sat at their feet until Solomon called him back.
“Sam? Justin? Megan?” Rose asked.
“All fine.”
“Mr. Turner? Alive?”
“Yes.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t seem able to walk very well.” The knife slipped from her fingers.
“Get the knife,” Gordon ordered Solomon. Carrying Rose like a rag doll, Gordon started toward the vehicles.
“I’m fine,” Rose said.
“Of course you are. But it’s against regulations to let an injured victim out of protective custody. Especially if she’s also a witness.”
Rose’s quiet laugh was the nicest sound he’d heard all night.
When they got to the car, a cuffed Buzz sat in the backseat of Colfax’s SUV. Colfax leaned against the front bumper. Apparently Buzz wasn’t as bad off as Gordon feared. Rose hadn’t been willing to talk about how she’d escaped. All she’d said was Buzz wanted some mysterious journal, and would go to any lengths to get it.
Colfax stepped forward and helped ease Rose into the front seat of Solomon’s SUV. “Time to go home.”
Gordon recognized the subtext. Get rid of the woman, there’s work to be done. He smoothed Rose’s hair and kissed her hand. “You’re going to the emergency room. No arguments. And yes, I’ll call Sam. I’ll see you later.”
She smiled, the way she had when he’d stumbled through a passage in a book when he was eight. He swelled with the same pride.
With Rose safe, Gordon turned his attention to Colfax. “Turner hasn’t asked for a lawyer?”
“Not yet. Don’t know why, but that’s a gift horse I’m not playing dentist with. I told him I’d cancel the medics if he didn’t tell us what he’s been doing. I guess he’s hurting enough to believe me.”
Hell. Given the way Buzz operated, he was probably composing his next story, figuring out how to spin this one to his advantage. “You have a recorder?” Gordon asked Colfax.
Colfax tapped his pocket. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
Gordon pulled open the back door of the SUV. After dealing with the formalities, he said, “It’s over, Buzz. Time for you to do the talking. Why the hell did you do this?”
Buzz shrugged, then winced. “Money. Fame. Glory. Why else?”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning, Buzz. Help us understand.”
Another shrug, another wince. “With everyone who’d lived through World War II dying, I needed to write my book while there was time.”
“The book you told me about. The Holocaust?”
“Yeah. I did a lot of research. I found this old guy who was going to get away with being a war criminal. Henry Carpenter, but his real name was Heinrich Kaestner. I was checking him out, and I found he’d kept records, then hired a PI to dig up his brother so he could clear his conscience.”
“The PI’s name?” Gordon asked.
“Karl Franklin. He tells me about this secret journal connected to this one-horse town in Colorado. Said the journal was full of war secrets, and worth a fortune. I did some digging. There were a lot of immigrant Jews in the town, so I moved here to do more research. All on the QT, of course. About a week ago, Franklin says he has more information for me, but insists on meeting in person to close the deal, and then he tries to up his price. We fought. He lost.” Buzz scowled. “Bastard kicked off before he told me what the new information was.”
“You never saw the envelope?” Gordon asked.
Buzz squinted in puzzlement. “What envelope?”
“Guess you’re not the investigative reporter you think you are.”
“Go on,” Colfax urged. “Did Franklin say what was in the journal?”
“Not in so many words. He thought it might tell about all those treasures the Nazis stole, where they hid them. Or a list of war criminals. Either way, it would give me information for a great story. At the very least, I’d get a list of people who might be willing to pay to have their secrets kept out of print.”
“Why Betty Bedford?” Gordon asked. “What did she have to do with all this?”
“That’s the address where Franklin told me he mailed the journal. The biddy said she didn’t know what I was talking about. She was getting noisy, so I had to shut her up. She said she’d turned everything over to the Kretzers, so I went to their place. But they came home before I could finish. Then, I figured it would be easier to deal with them directly, and if you hadn’t shown up, they’d have told me where it was, and I’d have my book deal. Money. Fame. Glory. I’ve earned it.” He crossed his arms across his chest and stared into nothingness.
The wail of sirens announced the medics were on their way. Gordon restrained himself from dragging Buzz out of the backseat of Colfax’s SUV and leaving him for the medics to deal with. He stormed away, leaving Colfax to take charge.
How had someone as sick as Turner kept it hidden so well? Were his actions brushed aside as part of the annoying reporter perception? Hell, Gordon hadn’t seen it, and he prided himself on having a first-rate bullshit meter. And what if Turner had seen the envelope? He’d have gone straight to Rose and Sam. Betty might still be alive. But Rose and Sam…He refused to follow that thought train.
Once the medics had ministered to Buzz and loaded him into the ambulance, Gordon threw himself into Colfax’s passenger seat. “Get me out of here.”
For once, the detective kept his trap shut.
Chapter Thirty-one
Nothing like putting away a bad guy to counteract sleep deprivation. Gordon relaxed his grip on the bouquet of flowers and knocked on the door. After a moment, Megan appeared.
“Hope it’s not too late.” He extended the flowers. “For Rose.”
Megan motioned him in and took t
he flowers. “She’ll love them. I’ll put them in water. Everyone’s upstairs.”
Gordon collected his thoughts until Megan returned, and they went upstairs together. “How’s she doing?” he asked.
“Typical Rose. Took a few stitches to close the gash in her arm, and she’s got a strained ligament in her ankle. She’s not complaining about the pain. More about how she’s not allowed on her feet for a few days.”
“I trust the three of you will be able to hold her down. If you need help, I can send a couple of cops over.”
“As if she’d be afraid of them,” Megan said. She stepped into the room and announced his arrival with a flourish of her hands, as if he was being presented at court, then set the vase of flowers on the dresser beside a bottle of brandy. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, Justin in a chair. Both swirled crystal snifters.
Gordon crossed to the bed and kissed Rose’s forehead. “You scared us, you know. Should have known you could take care of yourself.”
She’d been holding the bloody knife. How had she explained Buzz’s injuries to her family?
“I hid.” She drilled him with a defiant stare that sent a chill through him. “Where I grew up, hiding from evil tyrants was a skill we learned at an early age. I had plenty of practice.” Her face closed, and he didn’t ask for more. There would be time for her official statement another day.
“I just wanted to check on you,” Gordon said. “I should let you rest.”
Sam’s gaze shifted from Rose to him, saying he knew damn well that was only part of the reason for his visit. “Justin, get Gordon a drink. We might as well go over everything now. And then Rose will sleep.” The last was delivered with an attempt at a stern look.
Gordon accepted a brandy from Justin. He sipped. Warm and smooth. He nodded his approval to Sam.
“You want to know of the mysterious journal,” Sam said.
“We all do,” Justin said, a touch of impatience in his tone. As if Gordon’s arrival was Sam’s signal to talk.
“You know where it is?” Gordon asked.
Sam took a slow sip of his brandy. “Ja. I saw it.”
“You did?” Megan’s voice was incredulous. “When? You knew?”
Sam gave her an indulgent smile. “Slow down, Kinde.” He swirled his snifter again, staring into the amber depths. “Several years ago. I don’t recall exactly. It was in a box of books, papers, other tschotschkes that Betty found while she was setting up her shop.”
“But you read it?” Justin said. “And it didn’t bother you?”
“Why would it?” Sam asked.
“But…your brother…what he did…” Justin grew pale. He took a huge swallow of brandy, then paced the room. “All this. Everything. It’s all my fault. If I’d only come out and said something.”
“Ach, nein. No, no.” Sam started to get up. Gordon motioned him to stay where he was. He trapped Justin and gripped his shoulders.
“You can’t blame yourself. Things happen. We accept them and move on.” How many times had his father and Dix said similar words to him? Would Justin accept them any more than Gordon had? In time.
“Listen to me,” Sam said.
Justin jerked away.
“Justin, listen to your grandfather. And Gordon,” Rose said.
Justin’s jaw was clenched as he returned to his chair. “I shouldn’t have been so secretive.”
“Are you through?” Sam asked. When Justin nodded, Sam continued. “I saw the journal. Yes, reading it angered me. All thoughts of that time and its atrocities angered me. But there was nothing in the journal, nothing that would ever have led me to believe it was written by my brother. Whoever wrote it did not identify himself as such.” Sam waved a gesture of dismissal. “I sent it to the Wiesenthal Center.”
Silence descended over the room. Justin drained his snifter and set it on the dresser. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I am going to mourn the loss of my brother once more.” He patted Rose’s hand. “And then I am going to bed. I think we will all feel better in the morning after a good night’s sleep. Then you, Justin, will call this cousin of yours and let me speak to a new-found member of the family. Perhaps we can meet for Pesach Seder.”
Gordon shook Sam’s hand, kissed Rose again and went downstairs. Megan and Justin saw him to the door. “Sam has it together,” Gordon said. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Turner was crazy. He’d probably have done what he did even if you’d told him the journal wasn’t here. He wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Justin said.
“I think Sam has the right idea,” Gordon said. “Get some sleep. It’s been a stressful few days.”
“No kidding,” Megan said, but she was gazing at Justin.
The heated look they exchanged propelled Gordon’s thoughts to Angie. He checked his watch. Not that late. “Good night.”
He’d solved three crimes, put away the bad guy, and his staff could take care of the paperwork. Mapleton’s citizens could rest easy tonight. With luck, so would he. He glanced upward.
How’d I do, guys?
Maybe it was good to be the Chief. Especially when you could still be a cop.
~~~~~
Acknowledgments
When I first began writing, I thought I would write a mystery. According to my daughters, that book (and the 7 that followed) were actually romances. So, at long last, I’ve created a book that can be classified as a mystery—although hints of relationships continue to sneak in.
Deadly Secrets has its roots in my own roots. I want to thank everyone in my family—my own Oma, Opa, Nana and Gramps, and long-time family friend Curt (whose own experiences provided valued information for Heinrich’s story), as well as Mom, Dad, and the countless cousins and all the family gatherings. There’s a little of everyone in here. Traditions deserve to be preserved and shared, and our heritages should never be forgotten.
And for all the technical help, as always, Steve and Karla of Novel Alchemy provide critical eyes and advice. Mark Hussey, Lee Lofland, Josh Moulin: Thanks for answering my questions about radios and cell phones. Wally Lind and the rest of the wonderful helpers at Yahoo’s Crimescenewriter group—many thanks. Special thanks to L.J. Sellers who read the draft manuscript and gave it the green light. And of course, thanks to my wonderful editor, Brittiany Koren. Working with you is a pleasure, and the book is better for your suggestions.
And, as always, mistakes are my own, or I’ve stretched reality for the sake of the story. It IS fiction, after all.
Lastly, thanks to you, my readers, who give me the motivation to keep writing.
~~~~~
About the author
Terry Odell began writing by mistake, when her son mentioned a television show and she thought she’d be a good mom and watch it so they’d have common ground for discussions.
Little did she know she would enter the world of writing, first via fanfiction, then through Internet groups, and finally with groups with real, live partners. Her first publications were short stories, but she found more freedom in longer works and began what she thought was a mystery. Her daughters told her it was a romance so she began learning more about the genre and craft. She belongs to both the Romance Writers of America and Mystery Writers of America.
Now a multi-published, award winning author, Terry resides with her husband in the mountains of Colorado. You can find her online at:
Her website - http://www.terryodell.com
Her blog - http://terryodell.blogspot.com
Facebook -http://www.facebook.com/terry.odell
Twitter - http://twitter.com/authorterryo
Other Kindle e-books by Terry Odell:
Finding Sarah (Pine Hills Police)
Hidden Fire (Pine Hills Police)
Finding Fire (Pine Hills Police—short story anthology)
When Danger Calls (Blackthorne, Inc.
Danger in Deer Ridge (Blackthorne, Inc.)
What’s in a Name?
Terry Odell, Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets
