Disk of Death

by Kim Smith

  Tillie answered, immediately chastising me for not calling. After that she began grilling me. I told her about the visit to the police station and the fingerprinting.

  “Was it like on television?” she asked.

  “Yes, very similar. I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything from the news reports? I haven’t had time to tune in.”

  “Well, you know I have. I’m the news person in this family. I cannot believe that you and Nancy don’t listen to the news.”

  “Do the cops have any new information or a suspect?”

  “No,” she replied. “But it does say arrangements have been made. The burial is Tuesday at Memory Gardens. Did you make plans to go shopping? I just know you haven’t got anything worth wearing to a funeral.”

  I tilted my head back, warding off a smart remark. “I have a black dress.”

  “Is it long?”

  “It’s fine, Aunt Till. No one will care anyway.”

  Something in my voice must have softened her worries about propriety. She clucked her tongue. “You poor thing. Are you all right? This is just terrible for you, I know.”

  “I’m going to be—well, I won’t say all right. It’s going to be a long while.”

  “Why don’t you come over? I know it’s hard for you right now, but that’s what families are for, dear. Maybe Nancy and I can dredge up something for you to wear Tuesday. Land sakes, you really should eat. You always starve yourself when you get stressed.”

  I smiled. Sunday dinner at the Mamas’ house was just what I needed. I agreed, and she disconnected, leaving me dreaming of the lavish way they would try to bolster my spirits. Aunt Tillie would line the dinner table with all her specialties, and Aunt Nancy would regale us with tales of life as a postal worker until we cried with laughter. Tillie was right. Families needed to be together during times of tragedy.

  I thought of Dwayne. His Granny was out of town. He wasn’t directly affected by Rick’s untimely departure, but he was my friend. I decided to invite him, so I called.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Hey. Want to come with me to the Mamas’ for some food?”

  He chuckled. “I can’t, girl. I got a lunch date.”

  “With who?”

  “You don’t know him, but cross your fingers that I get to. He’s hotter than hotcakes, Honey, h-o-t-t-e-r.”

  We shared a laugh for a few moments and after we disconnected, I turned my phone off. I didn’t want to think about dating and all that went with it. The hole in my social life gaped depressingly before me and what had led to that hole returned for more haunting.

  Concern about Rick’s videos struck me anew. What had become of that SD card? As I wandered through my apartment, a thought occurred to me. What if he had been watching the footage when I showed up? What if he had been making DVDs of it and had rushed to hide them so I wouldn’t know? He was evil-minded enough to do something like that.

  Did the killer have them? I had to get into Rick’s apartment to see if he had stuck them safely in his special hiding place. The only place he would feel safe stashing them.

  I pulled pale blue denim shorts and a matching tee shirt out of the drawer. My stomach twisted, partly from being overwrought, mostly from being totally empty. I hadn’t eaten enough since Friday to sustain an amoeba and had begun to feel the effects of my self-imposed starvation.

  Peering into the mirror hanging on the back of my bathroom door, I realized I had pretty distinguishable features. Slanting eyes, high cheekbones, and a slightly cleft chin from my Celtic heritage all worked together to produce what Rick had called an actor’s face.

  I locked my apartment, slid behind the wheel of ole Betsy, and drove through the heart of South Lake toward the Mamas’ house. The dark interiors of the antique stores on Main Street buzzed by. Most local businesses were closed on Sunday. Even Aunt Tillie closed the restaurant in favor of being at home.

  Stopped at a four-way, I glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see a truck roaring toward me. Rather, I could see the front grill. Big, silver, and bent in such a way that it resembled a nasty metal grin. “Oh shit!”

  Luckily, no one waited to cross at the intersection, because pure, fear-fueled adrenaline caused me to stomp on the gas and gun my car forward. The truck never even slowed for the stop sign. It came zooming at me.

  I flew through the light at River’s Edge Road, yanked the wheel hard to the right, and skidded into the National Bank parking lot. Afraid to slow down, I kept going until I was out on River’s Edge again going in the opposite direction.

  Thank God for corner drive-through lots.

  As my heart resumed a normal rhythm, I wanted desperately to go back and follow the truck, but decided against it. If I caught up to the driver, I would certainly give him a piece of my mind which could lead to getting shot. Totally not worth it.

  What made someone in that much of a hurry, I couldn’t imagine. Some idiot had probably been talking on his cell phone and not paying attention. Relieved and a little calmer, I turned off and swung down the back road toward the Mamas.

  When I slowed to turn on Crease Road, the white truck reappeared. Puffs of smoke sputtered from the tires as it accelerated. Whoever was behind the wheel must have hit the gas when they saw me. “Oh my freaking God!”

  The race to obliterate me appeared intentional. What if someone had a vendetta against Rick and it included his ex-girlfriend? Suddenly my hands shook and my mouth became chalk-dry. The killer had murdered once. Offing me wouldn’t be a big deal.

  I sped across the street onto the road running north and south along the highway, zipped across the bridge, made a left onto the ramp, and watched behind me as I merged with cars going seventy on the highway.

  A quick glimpse told me it was a male driver or a female with really short hair. I doubted the female angle, unless she was a NASCAR fan. The driver had slid way down in the seat trying to remain invisible. Nothing else appeared remotely distinguishable.

  I wanted to scream.

  Betsy’s speedometer rose to eighty, and the truck still gained. My old car couldn’t take more or she would shimmy and shake like a fifties dance party. I gritted my teeth and waited.

  The truck was almost on top of me when the off ramp for Greenman Road came up. I zoomed off at the last minute hoping the bigger, heavier vehicle couldn’t make it.

  Traffic stopped at the bottom of the ramp for a light. Surely the fool wouldn’t plow into me and take a chance on killing innocent people?

  Hysterical laughter followed this thought. The nut in the truck could care less about innocent people. Saving their lives was up to me right now.

  I watched and prayed the light would change. It did, just as I began to slow. Taking advantage of this change of events, I drove Betsy onto the median and around the cars, zipped through the light, and went up the ramp on the other side, leaving everyone honking behind me.

  It was a miracle I hadn’t been side-swiped.

  Hightailing it down the interstate, I floored the car, slowing only for the off ramp at River’s Edge. The white truck didn’t appear. I’d lost him.

  Thanking God for saving my life, I headed straight to the police department, saying prayers aloud that Sal would be in his office on a Sunday afternoon.

  The front desk officer yawned and stretched, and when she finally saw me, she slid the bullet-proof window aside. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to see Sal Ramirez.”

  “Doesn’t come in on Sunday.”

  “Call him.” Her face went all surly at my demand, but I had some surly-sour mojo going on too. “Look, I need to talk to him. I can do it here on the phone or here in person. It doesn’t matter to me, but someone’s trying to kill me, and I think it’s related to his case.”

  Before she could protest, I held up my hand and took a three-second beat. How can you make someone understand that your life is in danger and you can’t go home, you can’t go to dinner at your aunts’ house, and you can’t even leav
e the freaking police station?

  “Please.” I gave her the most pleading look I could muster. She snapped the window shut, swiveling her chair around to grab the phone. I wandered away a few feet to give her space, where I was unable to hear what was being said. In a few moments, she came back.

  “Okay, he’s on his way.”

  “Thank goodness. Does he live very far?”

  She gave me a long look as though she figured I wanted to know on a personal level.

  I groped for words. “I mean how long will I have to wait?”

  “Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Thanks.” I moved away, forcing a small smile that I really didn’t feel. Settling down on one of the hard plastic chairs proved nearly impossible. You would think they might get something more comfortable in here. Leather chairs and cherry wood tables would be nice.

  Nothing of interest to read greeted me, either. Aside from the latest ‘wanted’ posters on the walls, which made me think of a late-night western.

  I glanced at my watch. The Mamas probably wondered where I was and would be ringing my cell soon. Remembering my phone, I yanked it out of my purse and dialed Dwayne. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, it’s me. I’m at the police department. I don’t know what’s going on, but a truck just tried to run me down.”

  “Run you down? You mean like, run you over? Damn girl, who’d you piss off, the Krispy Kreme man?”

  “This freaking truck topped the hill on Crease, and I knew if I didn’t step on it, it would hit me. I took off on the interstate and wound up on the other side of town closer to the PD. This nut never slowed down, he just kept coming. I lost him long enough to get here.”

  Dwayne let out a breath. “You’re okay, though?” I could picture him with his hand over his heart.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Don’t you leave out nothin’ when you make your statement, and call me as soon as you get done. And for Christ’s sake, be careful. This is tripping me out.”

  “Yep. Will do.”

  I dropped the phone back into my bag as I paced back to the door from the couch again. A white car—screaming unmarked police vehicle—slid into a slot and Sal emerged, still dressed in his church clothes; tan slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt. I envisioned him ditching his tie, suit coat, and dress shoes and just getting comfortable in his easy chair when the call came.

  Bet he hated putting those shoes on again.

  He stepped through the door, surprise registering on his face when he saw me. “Oh, it’s you. What’s going on?” he asked as he approached.

  “Someone tried to kill me.”

  “Yeah, Tracey called to tell me some woman was here, scared out of her mind, saying something about my case.”

  I started to stand, but he waved me to stay put and sat beside me. His cologne wafted to my nose, strangely comforting in its male pheromone way. “I was nearly killed by somebody in a huge truck today. I think its related to Rick’s murder.”

  His brow furrowed as he pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket. “What happened?”

  “A guy in a truck came at me like he was going to run me down. At first I thought it was some kid on a cell phone not paying attention or something. Then he showed up again. It was so scary.”

  “What kind of truck was it? Pick up?”

  I struggled to remember television commercials touting the accolades of the beast who had chased me. “A Dodge...something.”

  “A Dodge Ram?”

  “Yeah, the one with a big grill on the front. White.”

  He didn’t look at me as he took notes. “Do you know anyone with a truck like that?”

  “No. No one I know has a truck, period.”

  “Did you get the license number? Or see the driver’s face, you know, get me any kind of description?”

  I cringed and gave him a palms-up gesture. “No, I didn’t. I mean, I was too worried about staying alive.”

  “You keep saying ‘he’. Are you certain it was a man?”

  I shrugged. “Who else would drive a truck just the right size for Godzilla?”

  He resumed writing. “And you think this person is after you because you knew Mr. Fine?”

  “I don’t know. It could be. This is happening now, after Rick is dead. After he’s been murdered. We were dating. Yeah, I think it could be related.”

  He tucked the notepad back into his pocket. “I’ll put out a BOLO on the truck, but I’d be willing to bet there are about two hundred Dodge Rams in this area matching your description. Those are pretty popular vehicles, and white is a standard color. Don’t hold your breath on this one.”

  “So…what are you saying?”

  “Unless this truck shows up again and we get involved in the chase, there’s not a lot I can do.”

  “An attempt on my life and the cops are no help. Great. What am I supposed to do? Just drive around out there and wait for him to reappear?”

  He straightened. “I know it sounds terrible. The best I can do for you right now is have patrol keep an eye out for it, and maybe see if they can make a few extra swings by your place to keep a tab on you. You’ll need to tell me where that is, by the way.”

  I stood, panicked. “How ridiculous. What if I leave here, and he shows up and does me in before help can arrive?”

  He rose also, towering over me. “Don’t think like that.” His voice softened. “It’s okay to be scared, Shannon; just let your fear make you smart. Don’t be a hero. Call us.”

  “Smart? I’m so scared I’m jumping out of my skin!” I grabbed the door handle and snatched it open letting bright afternoon sun burn into the room. “I should go buy a gun. That’s the smart thing to do.”

  He caught me by the arm just as the door closed behind us. “If this guy has you in his cross-hairs, carrying a gun might end up getting you killed. Just try and help me out by playing it cool and calm. Keep your eyes open and get me something to work with. Let the police do their job. That’s what your taxes are paying for.”

  “Right.” I stared at his hand on my arm and tugged away. “My address is 104 Mockingbird Lane, apartment 6b. Make damn sure your friends drive by a lot.”

  He nodded, quickly bringing the notebook and pen out to write it down. “Okay. I’ll give your address to the shift leader, and while I’m thinking about it, let me give you my card.”

  God, his smile could melt gemstones.

  He tucked the pad away in one pocket and brought out his wallet from the other. “You’ll have to call me at home if you need me again. Monday is my day off, too.”

  I shoved his card into my purse and worked at walking nonchalantly to my car. Betsy roared to life and I drove gently out of the lot. About halfway to the Mamas’ house, I glanced in my rearview mirror to find Sal’s white police car a few vehicles behind. It stayed with me until I turned onto their street.

  The Mamas lived in a quiet neighborhood in South Lake with roomy wooded lots. The oak and pine trees shaded the streets and perfumed the summer air. The sharp pine scent reminded me of overnighters in a pup tent in the back yard. The desire to go back to better days struck like a blow.

  My aunts had lived in the same house for over thirty years, and I expected they would live there forever. The house had been painted sky blue, which contrasted nicely with the navy shutters, and the wide porch remained littered year round with cane-bottomed chairs and magazines. Those sturdy chairs were good for sitting in and working out troubles, and I gave them a longing glance as I went inside.

  My flip-flops slapped against the hardwood floor as I walked up the hallway to the kitchen. The Mamas sat at the dining room table in the adjoining dining room wearing ‘cat who ate the canary’ expressions. The conversation ceased abruptly as soon as I entered. They’d done that thousands of times during my life. Apparently, I was an interesting topic for them.

  “Well, you finally made it, did you?” Nancy asked, directing Tillie to get the rolls from the oven.

  Till
ie complied, kissing my cheek as she rose from her chair and headed for the kitchen. “It’s so good to see you,” she said. “Go on, sit down.”

  I plopped onto a chair across from Nancy, whose face wrinkled in a thoughtful frown. She looked prepared to embark on a lengthy question and answer session about Rick, but I wasn’t ready.

  I held up my hand. “Before you start, I don’t know if I have any answers, and if I had any, I probably couldn’t share them. I’d really rather not talk about all this yet.”

  She tilted her head. “You used to bring home all your troubles. Tillie and I want to help you sort them out. If you’ll let us.” Just a few words, and I was thirteen again seeking help with my homework, like some algebraic problem.

  I pulled my legs underneath me. “The reports have said it all. Rick was killed in his apartment, and they don’t know who did it yet. What more do you want to know?”

  She frowned. “Well, for starters, why was he killed?”

  I grimaced. “How should I know? I didn’t think he had any enemies. I mean I thought everyone loved the Fine, Fine, Fine Furnishings people.”

  “Obviously someone didn’t, or he would be sitting here polishing these chairs with his bony butt.”

  “Actually, he wouldn’t—”

  Tillie joined us, setting a pitcher of sweet iced tea and glasses filled with ice in the center of the table. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Didn’t you tell me Rick had a brother who was the black sheep?”

  “Yes, he did.” I recalled my first encounter with Charles Fine with distaste. Rick’s brother was an embarrassment to the family with his gambling habits. He had an intense dislike for me, too, after I mouthed off to him a few times. “Crazy guy got caught stealing from the company. Messed up old man Fine’s plans for leaving him in charge. Rick was to be named President this year when his father announced his retirement. Well, at least Rick thought he would. I had doubts.”

  “Why?” Tillie’s azure-colored eyes gazed at me, filled with curiosity.

  “Rick wasn’t forceful enough. He couldn’t make decisions. Well, not in some situations anyway. He didn’t have trouble firing people.”