by L C Hayden
“Not if you’re a policeman and you kill your critically ill wife. In cases like that, someone is bound to find out and either turn you in or blackmail you. Carrier went for the blackmail.”
Bronson remained quiet, digesting the information. “That day at Clark’s house, why didn’t Marshall take the chance to finish Carrier off after I shot him? That would have ended the blackmail.”
“Carrier didn’t trust anyone. He left clues behind that would incriminate Marshall. Only way to guarantee they didn’t become public was to make sure Carrier remained alive. That’s the reason you didn’t kill Carrier when you shot him at Clark’s. He was wearing body armor, and I bet you anything Marshall gave it to him.”
“Damn Marshall.”
“I’m sure he is. The FBI arrested him and several other so-called police officers,” Mike said. “And now it’s your turn. Fill me in.”
“Linda and I were held prisoner by two thugs who are currently locked in a basement under the barn. By the way, one of them is wounded—not seriously—but he will need medical assistance.”
“I’ll make sure an ambulance gets there. Did they hurt you?”
“Nah, you know me. I’m tough.”
“Yeah, like grass.”
“Exactly, it gets trampled and springs back to life.”
Mike laughed. “Okay, you got me on that one. You deserve that victory.”
Bronson smiled and looked at his cell. “My phone is chargin’.”
“Good for you.”
“Yes, definitely so. It’s got a GPS unit.”
“I’ve got you, buddy.” Bronson could almost feel Mike’s smile. “I’ll get someone to track you down. We’ll be there ASAP.”
Bronson nodded. He could use the time to shower and shave, maybe even rest. “I’ll be waitin’.”
“How does Carrier fit into all this?”
Bronson filled him in. When he finished, he said, “That accounts for Linda and me, but not Eric.”
“Don’t worry about that. I found him. He and the baby are okay. But I still don’t know who the main power behind the formula-stealing scheme is.”
“Definitely not Doc Ponce or Mitch, but we’ll take it one step at a time.” Bronson flopped down on the couch. He could hear Linda and Margaret murmuring together even though the bedroom door was closed. “Linda needs a break. I’d like to help her and Eric reconcile. Can you bring him with you and drop him off at a local motel?”
“Will do my best,” Mike said, “but there’s no guarantee. Is there anything you need?”
“Just for you to hurry.”
Bronson hung up and dialed Carol’s number. She answered on the first ring. “Harry, is this really you?”
It felt so good to hear her voice, even filled with anxiety. He had done it again. He had worried her. “It sure is, hon. I love you so much.”
She began to cry.
fifty-seven
In less than an hour, an assortment of cars arrived at the farm. A freshly shaved and bathed Bronson, wearing some clean clothes that were a bit too small, stepped out and watched Mike approach. They stared at each other, then hugged. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” Mike said.
“If it helps any, I was pretty scared myself,” Bronson said. “Did Eric come?”
Mike nodded. “I told him why you wanted him to.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He feels sorry for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to reconcile.”
Bronson shook his head. “At least he came. That’s somethin’.”
Mike pointed to a tall, thin man. “I want to introduce you to Schwein, the FBI agent handling the case.” They headed toward him. He greeted Bronson with a smile and an extended hand.
Bronson shook it. “Carrier’s body is in the back bedroom. Linda Randig and Margaret Susans are in the front. Linda’s tryin’ to comfort Margaret, who’s still very upset. The prisoners are in the basement beneath the barn. There’s a trap door inside the stable. Keys are on the steel table inside the basement. One of them has a minor stab wound that will need to be looked at.”
Schwein pulled his gun and nodded. “Let’s get to work.” He signaled for the paramedics to follow him.
* * * * *
Bronson and Linda watched Margaret get in the passenger seat of a waiting car. The driver pulled off. Bronson turned to Linda. “They’re takin’ her to the hospital for a checkup. They want you to go, too, but I’ve cleared it with Schwein to make a small stop. Are you ready?”
She nodded. “The sooner I get out of here, the better.”
Bronson led her to Schwein’s car. “He said I could borrow it as long as I bring it back before he’s finished here. We’ve got maybe two hours.”
“Where are we going?” Linda asked once she’d settled inside.
“There’s someone you need to talk to.” Bronson drove off. Silence filled the ride. Linda couldn’t imagine whom she needed to talk to. Probably more police. She didn’t care. Her freedom felt so good she didn’t bother to ask. She rolled down the window and sucked in fresh air.
Bronson pulled into a motel parking lot and led her up to a room upstairs. When he opened the door and she saw Eric, her eyes filled with tears. She turned to stare at Bronson.
“Take your time, ma’am. I’ll be out here waitin’ for you.” He closed the door behind him.
* * * * *
Linda faced Eric. “Hello, son.” A gamut of emotions, ranging from relief to anger to resentment to anticipation, flooded over her.
Eric crossed his arms and stared at her.
Linda’s mind, like a meandering stream, raised question after question. Why have you shut me out of your life? Why have you prevented me from seeing my grandson? Six months is a long time. Even a week, sometimes a day, makes a big difference at his age. He probably doesn’t even remember me. Why did you keep him from me? What have I done to deserve this? Aloud she said, “What happened?”
Eric frowned and looked away.
“Eric, talk to me. What have I done?” All the hurt she had bottled up peaked and exploded. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She cried for the loss of her parents, for Mitch’s death, for the lost six months, and for all the fright and grief she’d endured in the last few days. She angrily wiped away the tears and turned her back to Eric.
“That would have worked once, but not anymore.” Eric’s tone spoke of the bitterness inside him.
Linda closed her eyes. She knew a time existed when he would have cared if she cried. He used to love her. He’d wanted her, needed her. Her heart ached for those simpler times. “What happened?” she asked again.
“As though you don’t know.”
The venom in his tone pierced her heart. I don’t, she thought and felt too drained to say it aloud. “Tell me.”
His eyes glowed like hot coals. “Before Dad—died—he told me.”
“Told you what?”
The veins in Eric’s temples stood out against his skin. He stepped forward, his shoulders rising, his chest puffing out. “About the formula.”
Linda gasped. “You know.”
“Yes, I know.” He curled his hands into fists.
“I’m sorry, Eric. But why are you mad at me? You should be angry with your dad.”
“He told me why he was doing it, and that was you. He knew if he could no longer provide for you in the fashion you’re accustomed to, you’d divorce him.”
Linda held her breath. Had Mitch really told him that and Eric believed him? The pain of betrayal came with sharp, striking suddenness. She crossed her arms and took a step backward.
Eric’s jaw stiffened and his eyes bored into hers. “How could you? Dad and Grandpa and Grandma are dead because of you and your selfish ways. You killed them.” His voice rose an octave. “You killed Dad.”
His words hit her like a straight shot just below her heart. She collapsed onto the bed. “And you believed him?” Her mind roared with white noise. He had tried and convicted her, and he hadn’t even a
sked. He had assumed the worst and for that he had punished her.
And Mitch had committed the ultimate betrayal. Why had he lied? To justify the theft? Nothing she could say could ever mend the road that had been paved with lies and deception. Her pain grew and settled inward, like a burrow that had been closed. It would always be present underneath each smile, always behind each tear. She looked at Eric and held his gaze for a long time. Then, silently, she stood up and headed out.
“Mom?” she heard him say.
She closed the door behind her.
fifty-eight
Bronson didn’t arrive at The Roost Resort until 7:15 that night. He had bummed a ride with Linda after Bronson, Mike, and Schwein had found her camper in the storage shed behind the house.
As Linda and Bronson pulled into the campground, Bronson felt as happy as a puppy. His heart swelled with joy as he saw his motor home. It had taken him two days after Schwein and Mike had arrived at the farm, but he’d finally made it back, safe, alive.
He helped Linda park her rig, this time two spaces down from them. Then he excused himself and dashed for his camper.
Even before he reached it, Carol swung the door open. Bronson stopped to stare at his wife. Her eyes sparkled with love, her extra-wide smile made her face look more round than usual. Bronson had never seen a more beautiful sight than Carol running to greet him. He opened his arms, drew her in, and felt her tremble. She pulled away and said, “Harry Bronson, I could kill you for putting us through hell.”
He kissed her lips, and then held her for what seemed to be an eternity. He studied her face, memorizing and loving the little laughter wrinkles at the edge of her eyes. They hugged again, feeling their hearts beat against each other.
He finally looked up and saw Little Carol standing on the camper stairs, watching. Bronson signaled for her to join them.
Each night Mount Rushmore offered a show filled with patriotic music and lights. They decided the three of them would attend. Afterward, they went to the Purple Pie Place, where Bronson enjoyed pie a la mode and coffee. Carol didn’t even complain when he poured in three heaping spoonfuls of sugar.
* * * * *
The next day a knock at their door interrupted Bronson’s family breakfast. Even before Bronson opened the door, he knew it would be Linda and he also knew what she’d say. He wondered what he would say. He invited her in and she joined them at the breakfast table.
Linda traced the rim of her juice glass and said, “I know you’ve gone way out on a limb for me and I have no right to ask you this, but I need this concluded. I have to know who’s behind it all.”
Carol pushed scrambled eggs around her plate. “My husband isn’t a private detective, and he’s not a police officer either.” Her tone could have melted Alaska’s Yentina Glacier.
“I know,” Linda said, “but he knows what’s going on. Maybe he could guide me. I don’t know what to do, where to go.” Her gaze shifted from Carol to Bronson. “How about it? I’ll be willing to compensate you quite well for your time.”
“What good is money if you’re not alive to enjoy it?” Carol asked.
Bronson leaned back and pushed his plate away. “The FBI will be doin’ their own investigation. You won’t be allowed to interfere.”
“But there must be something I can do.”
“If I were you, I’d try to locate that game, Ella. I think once you find that, it’ll answer most of your questions.”
“How can I do that?”
“Someone hired Carrier and a couple of thugs to take you to Minnesota. I bet that’s where your game is.”
“Minnesota is a big state.”
“Didn’t you tell me that Mitch, prior to his death, became very interested in the computer games your uncle created?” He poured himself a second cup of coffee. Carol glared at him and he shrugged. Things had returned to normal way too fast. He’d behave. He only used two spoonfuls of sugar.
“Oh, God,” Linda said, “you don’t think Uncle Phillip is in any danger, do you?”
“I think whoever hired Carrier and the thugs is going to be a lot more careful. He’s going to go after the game and not the person.” He turned to Carol. “Do we have any more sweet rolls?”
She nodded and went to retrieve them. As soon as her back was turned, Bronson reached for the sugar bowl and put one more spoonful of sugar in his coffee.
“Daddy!” Little Carol said.
Bronson put his finger to his lips.
“I’ll call Uncle Phillip so I can warn him.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’d clear it with the FBI first.”
She nodded. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll get out of your hair now.” She stood up as Carol returned with the sweet rolls, set them down on the table, reached for the sugar bowl, and put it away.
Bronson turned to his daughter. “Thanks loads.”
Little Carol smiled.
Less than five minutes later, another knock on their door interrupted them. Bronson opened the door and let Linda in.
She sat on the couch and said, “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I had to call Uncle Phillip. He was very concerned and distraught when I gave him the news. He has no idea if the game’s at his house. He promised to check. Mitch had some games there he enjoyed playing.”
“And if he finds it?”
“I’ll drive there and pick it up.”
Bronson shook his head. “I’d advise you to tell him to turn it over to the police.”
“I will, as soon as I play the game. I have to see it. I have to know.” Her cell went off. “It’s Uncle Phillip.” She opened the cell and said, “Uncle Phil?”
Bronson stood up and went to the kitchen where Carol was washing the breakfast dishes. “Hon?”
She looked up at him, her hands covered with soapsuds. “I know.” The look in her eyes could have frozen the sun. “You’re considering going with her.”
“It’ll be different this time. Carrier is dead and the FBI will have us wired and under surveillance the entire time. She’s a headstrong woman and she’s going to find a way to sneak out and go to Minnesota. I can’t let her do that alone.”
“Then go, but don’t ever ask me to make this decision again. I’m not one bit happy about you going.”
Bronson placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her. “I love you.”
“Go,” she said, “before I change my mind.”
fifty-nine
“Now tell me exactly what your uncle said,” Bronson said. Linda drove and he sat in the passenger seat.
“Right after I called, he searched through the games for Ella. He told me he found it easy enough, but someone else, not knowing what to look for, probably wouldn’t have.”
Bronson looked at the speedometer needle. It rested somewhere between eighty and eighty-five. He knew Linda wanted to reach her uncle’s as soon as possible, but speeding was never the right answer. “Statistics show that when a cop pulls you over for speedin’, you’ll lose more time than you might have gained from goin’ too fast.”
Linda shook her head and smiled. “Ever the policeman.” She slowed down.
“Sorry. It’s embedded in me.”
“No need to apologize. That’s why I asked you to come. I really appreciate you doing this.”
“Strictly my pleasure, ma’am.” This was what kept him going each day. He couldn’t envision life without police work. “You were sayin’ about your uncle?”
“When I told him what had happened, he worried that someone might be watching his house, waiting for us.”
“What made him think someone is watchin’ his house?” Bronson leaned over and checked the speedometer. It had climbed to almost ninety.
She slowed down again. “He said he didn’t think anyone was watching, but he hadn’t been looking before. He’s concerned about me—us, I guess—and suggested we meet at his Lake City home.”
“And Lake City is where?”
“Northwest of the Tw
in Cities, about an hour and a half drive. It’s right on the Mississippi River, by Lake Pepin. The water there stretches for two miles and is twenty-five miles long.”
It figures, Bronson thought as he looked out the window and saw yet another lake. The entire state of Minnesota seemed to consist of nothing but water—some small-sized ponds, others good-sized lakes. “What would make him think someone can watch his St. Paul home, but not his Lake City one?”
“He only closed the deal on the Lake City home a couple of days ago. He hasn’t told anyone about it. That’s why he suggested it. He’ll make sure no one follows him there.”
“What about a trackin’ device?”
“I told him about someone putting one on my car. He drove his car into the garage and checked. He didn’t find any.”
Satisfied, Bronson leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He really should tell her to slow down.
* * * * *
They spent the night at the first decent-looking motel they came across. Linda waited until Bronson’s light went off, and then added half an hour just to be safe. She opened the attaché case the FBI had provided them with and took out the transmitters they were to wear once they reached Uncle Phillip’s house.
Schwein had issued each of them a device, tested them to make sure they worked, and placed them in the case. Linda reached for the first transmitter, a flat box roughly an inch square that they were to tape to their chests. She turned the device over, removed the watch-size battery, and put the box back in its container. She did the same with the other one. She closed the attaché case, wrapped the batteries in tissue paper, and flushed them down the toilet.
Uncle Phillip had always been so kind to her and had gone out of his way to make sure she and Bronson were safe. She had no intention of bringing the FBI and police crashing in on him for nothing. Besides, if anything went wrong, Bronson would protect her.
* * * * *
“We’re almost there,” Linda said and pulled in at a rest stop. “No offense, but I don’t like people touching me, so I’ve already put on my recorder. I’ll help you with yours.” She took it out. Bronson raised his shirt and she taped the transmitter to his chest. “There, all set to go.”
