“What do you want?” he said.
“I want you tell me what you did with Kelly.”
“Who?”
“The woman I was with. At the roadside rest area? This morning? That ring any bells?”
“I got no idea what you’re talking about, pal.”
“That a fact?”
“Yeah. That’s a fact.”
“Well maybe you need a little refresher course.”
“Maybe I do.”
“You and your two buddies followed us all the way from the hospital in Watertown to that roadside rest area where you confronted me for supposedly taking your parking space. You remember now?”
“You must have me mixed up with somebody else. I never seen you before in my life. And I got no idea who this Kelly woman is.”
“Bull.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“What kind of game are you playing? I don’t like it. I don’t like games. And I don’t like you.”
“Can’t help you, pal. You got the wrong guy. That’s all I can say. Now how about letting me go.”
I lost it.
My hand reached out and snatched a fistful of his collar and shook him like a hurricane shakes a house.
His mouth opened and shut. He gasped for air.
“Not much of a fighter either. Are you?”
I was about to transform from a hurricane into a tornado when Sheriff Cooper appeared.
He held his gun on me.
“Let him go, Mr. Lane.”
The beefy man wheezed when I let go of his collar.
Sheriff Cooper holstered the gun.
“You okay, sir?” he said to the wheezer.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Would you like to press charges against this man?”
“No. I just want to get out of here.”
“I understand. But I need to ask a few questions first. Starting with Mr. Lane here.” Eyeing me. “We’ve got laws in this town, Mr. Lane. Everybody follows them. Nobody breaks them. Including former deputy U.S. marshals. Understand?”
“I do.”
“You can’t chase down people. You can’t assault them.”
“I understand.”
“This man could press charges against you if he wanted to. You’re lucky he doesn’t. You could be spending the night in jail.”
I shifted my weight.
Enough with the lecture already. Let’s move on. Time to talk about the real crime.
“This man took Kelly,” I said.
The beefy man snorted.
“I did no such thing.”
“Then why’d you run from me?”
“Because you chased me. I didn’t know who you were. Or what you wanted. I thought maybe you wanted to rob me or something. So I ran.”
“That’s a lie. You know who I am. You know damn well.”
“You keep saying that. But I never seen you before in my life. And I got no idea who this Kelly woman is.”
I worked my jaw. Glaring at him. A hard glare.
Why’s he lying? What’s his angle? Where’s Kelly?
“He’s lying, Sheriff. And I can prove that.”
“I’m listening.”
“He says he’s never seen me before. But I know he drives a white Escalade. I even know the license-plate number. How do I know? Because he and I had a confrontation this morning.”
“An Escalade? I don’t own an Escalade.”
“Sheriff, can you run the plate now? That’ll settle the question of ownership.”
He nodded. Then turned to the beefy man.
“Sir, I need to see your driver’s license.”
“Here you go.”
Sheriff Cooper wrote down the man’s information.
“Dmitry Petrov. Did I pronounce your name correctly?”
“Yeah.”
“This your current address?”
“Yeah.”
Sheriff Cooper keyed his radio.
“Susan?”
“I’m here, Sheriff.”
“Can you run a plate for me?”
“Most certainly.”
He checked his notes and found the license-plate number I had told him earlier. He recited the number into the radio.
We waited while Susan ran the plate.
A burst of static from Sheriff Cooper’s radio.
“I found the owner,” Susan said.
“Name?” Sheriff Cooper said.
“Oryol Financial Group.”
“A company owns the Escalade?”
“Correct.”
“No other names are listed?”
“Correct.”
“Thanks, Susan.”
Sheriff Cooper handed the driver’s license back to Dmitry.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Petrov. But I had to check.”
“No problem. I understand. Am I free to go now?”
“Yes. You are.”
I frowned.
Dmitry winked at me.
“You son of a bitch,” I said and stepped toward him.
Sheriff Cooper stepped between us.
“Am I going to have to arrest you, Mr. Lane?”
I drew a deep breath.
Calm down, Rip. Get your act together. Handle this the right way. The sheriff isn’t going to help you. You’re on your own here.
“No, Sheriff. You’re not going to have to arrest me.”
“Good. I hate paperwork.”
He turned and started walking toward the mouth of the alley.
Dmitry grinned and pointed a finger gun at me.
Bang bang, he mouthed.
CHAPTER 14
A CALL BELL sat on the counter.
I hit the bell.
Then waited.
Nobody came.
I hit the bell again.
“Earl? You here?”
I hoped he had finished repairing my brakes.
“Earl?”
I hit the bell again.
Then waited.
Nobody came.
I looked around.
No other customers.
Where’s Earl?
In the men’s room?
I checked. No Earl.
How about the garage?
Nope. Not there either.
I knocked on his office door.
No response.
Maybe he left to pick up his lunch order from Burgatory.
I took out my phone and punched in the number.
“Burgatory. Helluva burger. Heavenly shakes.”
“Hi. Can you tell me if Earl ever picked up his lunch order today? Earl from Earl’s Pump-n-Munch.”
“One moment.”
Hold music played in my ear while I waited—AC/DC’s “Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be.” Good tune.
“Sorry for the wait, sir.”
“No problem.”
“Earl never picked up his lunch order.”
“Thanks.”
“Is this the man who came in here earlier and grabbed Ernie’s phone from him?”
“Got to go. Bye.”
Never picked up his lunch order. Interesting.
I heard a sound. A muffled sound. It came from Earl’s office.
The office door stood shut.
I went to it.
“Anybody in there?”
No response.
My hand gripped the doorknob.
Locked.
More muffled sounds from the office.
“Earl? You in there?”
Muffled sounds again.
“Hang on, Earl. I’m coming in.”
My RV still sat in the garage. I entered it and went to the bedroom. I opened a drawer and took out my bump key.
Bump keys can open most locks. They are like master keys. They come in handy.
I returned to the office door.
My hands went to work. Push the bump key into the lock. Pull the bump key out a click. Turn it and smack it. Turn the doorknob. Open the door.
A man lay hog-tied on
the floor of the office. Mouth gagged. No clothes except underwear.
Not Earl.
“Mmmph,” the man said through the gag.
His eyes stared up at me.
“Who are you?” I said.
“Mmmph.”
When I took the gag from his mouth he started choking.
A bottle of water stood on the desk and I held it to his mouth and tilted it. He guzzled like a camel. Water dribbled down his chin.
“What happened to you?”
“Cut me loose.”
A box cutter did the trick.
“Thanks.”
He sat up and rubbed his wrists where the rope had been.
I crouched down in front of him.
“Who are you? What happened here? Who tied you up?”
“I’m Earl.”
“You’re Earl?”
“I just said that.”
“You mean you’re the owner of Earl’s Pump-n-Munch?”
He stared at me as if I were a moron.
“Yeah. That’s what I mean. I own this place.”
“Then who was the Earl who worked on my RV this morning?”
“Must have been the guy who tied me up.”
“When’d that happen?”
“This morning. He came in here. Held a gun on me. Forced me to take off my coverall and boots . . .”
“Blue coverall? Black boots?”
“Uh-huh. How’d you know?”
“Because that’s what the man who worked on my RV wore.”
“You said he called himself Earl?”
“He did.”
“So he impersonated me. But why?”
Good question.
CHAPTER 15
AN IMPOSTER.
I had dealt with an imposter. A trickster. A man posing as Earl the mechanic.
No wonder he had known nothing about mechanical work. Nothing about repairing brakes. Nothing about tools.
The imposter had forced the real Earl to strip at gunpoint. Then tied him up. Then put on his clothes. Then pretended to be him.
Crazy.
I was starting to hate Rising Falls. What a crazy town. A hard-assed sheriff. A restaurant from hell. People impersonating other people. Crazy town.
Nothing wrong with Key West. Plenty of nice people there. Nice weather too. Why couldn’t I be in Key West?
Earl picked up the phone.
“I’m phoning Sheriff Cooper,” he said and punched in a number.
Minutes later the sheriff’s car pulled into Earl’s Pump-n-Munch. Flashing blue lights. No siren.
The car door swung open. Sheriff Cooper got out. He hitched up his belt and headed toward the front door of the gas station.
Earl met him at the door.
“You got here fast.”
“What exactly happened here, Earl?”
“Like I told you on the phone: A man came in here this morning and pointed a gun at me. He told me take off my clothes. So I did. Then he tied me up. Tight. I could hardly move.”
“He took your clothes?”
“Sure did.”
“Huh. That’s weird.”
A pause.
“Any injuries? You need to see doctor?”
Earl shook his head.
“No. I’m not hurt. Except for my pride.”
“Everybody’s pride takes a beating now and then. No point in feeling bad about what happened to you. Not much you can do when somebody points a gun at you.”
“Yeah. Well. I still feel bad about it.”
“Can you describe the man for me?”
I spoke up.
“No surveillance cameras in here?”
“No,” Earl said. “Never thought I’d need them. Guess I was wrong about that.”
“Go ahead and describe the man,” Sheriff Cooper told Earl.
“He looked average. Average height. Average weight. Average features.”
“I need more than that. There must have been something distinctive about him. Everybody’s got at least one salient feature.”
“Salient? What’s that?”
“I saw him too,” I said.
“You were here when he tied up Earl?”
“No. I saw him after that. He impersonated Earl. Wore his coverall and boots. Called himself Earl. Pretended to know something about mechanical work. I hope he didn’t damage my RV.”
“Huh. That’s really weird.”
“No kidding.”
“Go ahead and describe him for me, Mr. Lane.”
“He had a prison tattoo under his left eye.”
“What kind of prison tattoo.”
“A teardrop.”
“That means he killed somebody.”
“Yes. It does.”
“I never saw the tattoo,” Earl said.
“Understandable,” I said. “He pointed a gun at you. That tends to distract people a little bit.”
“It sure distracted me.”
“Anything missing?” Sheriff Cooper said. “Money? Tools?”
“I don’t know,” Earl said. “Haven’t checked yet.”
“Go ahead and check.”
Earl checked. Cash register. Safe. Toolbox.
“Nothing’s missing,” he said when he had finished.
“Let me get this straight,” Sheriff Cooper said and scratched his head. “Guy comes in here. Points a gun at Earl. Makes him undress. Ties him up. Takes his clothes. Puts them on. Impersonates Earl. Works on Mr. Lane’s RV. Guy goes through all that trouble but then steals nothing. No money. No tools. Nothing.”
Earl nodded.
Sheriff Cooper scratched his head some more.
Then he eyed me.
“We’ve had a lot of trouble around here since you hit town.”
“Story of my life.”
“Let me see your driver’s license.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why? You think I had something to do with this?”
“Driver’s license, Mr. Lane.”
Unbelievable.
I reached reluctantly for my wallet.
Sheriff Cooper wrote down my information.
“What’s next?” I said. “Telling me not to leave town?”
“It’d be suspicious if you left town.”
“Be sure to check your mailbox for my postcard.”
CHAPTER 16
“GOOD-BYE, SHERIFF.”
Earl waved good-bye to him.
I didn’t. Other hand gestures came to mind. But I refrained.
Sheriff Cooper got into his car. He started the engine and hit the gas. The car pulled out of the parking lot.
Good riddance.
“My RV still needs repair work,” I told Earl. “The brakes went out this morning. Think you can work on it today?”
“Not only will I work on it today but I won’t even charge you.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. I’d still be tied up on the office floor if it weren’t for you. Lucky for me you came along when you did. Otherwise who knows how long I would have been in there.”
“Glad I could help.”
“You and me both.”
He started working on my RV immediately.
Meanwhile I inspected the interior of my RV. The imposter had had access to it. He could have stolen something.
First I checked the safe.
Glock Twenty-two? Check.
Glock Twenty-seven? Check.
Pepper spray? Check.
Taser? Check.
Passport? Check.
Next I checked the bedroom.
In drawers. In closets. Under the bed.
Nothing missing.
My RV has a garage in the back where I keep my motorcycle and ATV and bicycle. None of them had been taken.
What’s left?
Bathroom. Kitchen. Living room.
I checked all three places and found nothing missing.
Whew.
My stomach growled.
It h
ad been some time since I had eaten. The day had gotten away from me. That happens sometimes.
Usually I eat every three hours. My blood-sugar level drops quickly if I go too long without eating. Eating every three hours prevents that from happening.
Since I eat so often, I generally eat small meals. Otherwise I would blow up like a balloon.
My stomach growled again.
I opened the refrigerator and took out a Greek yogurt. Toasted-coconut flavor. My favorite.
I looked absently around the RV while I stood eating the yogurt.
My eyes stopped at the red Samsonite suitcase. Kelly’s suitcase. It sat under the dinette table.
Hmm.
Should I?
Of course.
Maybe I could find an answer in the suitcase. Some kind of a clue. Something that would give me a lead on what had happened to Kelly.
Opening her suitcase would be prying into her privacy. But I had no choice. Nothing mattered more than her safe return.
The weight of the suitcase surprised me.
What’s in here? A bowling ball?
I dragged it out from under the dinette table. I laid it on its side. I popped open the latches and lifted the lid.
Wads of tightly packed clothes sprang up. Sweaters. Shirts. Pants.
Some people really know how to pack a suitcase efficiently. Clothes stay crisp. No wrinkles.
Kelly had an admirable collection of lingerie. A dozen wonders of silk and lace. Items meant to entice and arouse. Though not very practical.
I was holding a pair of red panties when the entry door swung open and Earl looked in.
“Everything okay in here?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Just checking. You’ve been in here for a while.”
“These panties aren’t mine.”
“No need to explain yourself.”
“No. Really. They’re not mine.”
“Don’t ask. Don’t tell.”
“They belong to a friend of mine. She’s gone missing.”
“Missing?”
I told him the story.
“Sorry to hear that,” he said when I had finished. “I hope you find her soon. Let me know if I can do anything to help.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m almost done repairing your brakes. You should be able to get out of here pretty soon.”
“That’ll help.”
He shut the door and I resumed the suitcase search. Rummaging through the clothes. Poking through the jewelry. Searching for a clue.
A zippered pocket of the suitcase contained a file. I took it out and fingered through the contents. I saw this:
A letter from the University of Rochester School of Nursing.
New York Strip Page 4
