by L C Hayden
“So you say.”
“Who did you call?”
“The school. Checked to see when the last time Durango substituted. I pretended to be a loan officer and was checking up on his employment status.”
“Very smart. Proud of you. When was the last time he subbed?”
“That would be never.” Mike cast Bronson a sideways glance. “Wonder what else he lied about.”
“And why he lied.”
Bronson’s phone chirped. He recognized the number that flashed on the screen—Devono’s private line. Bronson showed it to Mike. He arched his eyebrows, and Bronson got the feeling he was saying, I told you so.
“Bronson here.”
“I understand congratulations are in order.”
“And why would that be?”
“Don’t be so modest. You exposed an art theft ring and in the process you found the reason Lorraine was murdered.”
That wasn’t common knowledge. The news hadn’t yet been released. “And how did you know that?”
“I’ve got my contacts. They also tell me that Mother Nature’s Anger is worth over a million dollars, and that painting belonged to Lorraine. I want you to get me that La Carcé painting, the original and all the copies.”
Shiiit! “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Of course you can. You owe me, and this is one of the ways you’re paying me back. So yes, you can and will do it.”
Shiiit.
*****
Durango slammed down the phone. All the administrative personnel at the Daniel Jenkins School for Boys were informed that if anyone called about him, they were to hail him as the greatest substitute teacher. But apparently someone wasn’t told, or that someone refused to follow orders. Either way, Durango would make sure she would get her ass in trouble, then fired.
Not that this would help him any. The damage had already been done. Somehow he’d have to rectify the situation.
Bronson should take the full blame for this mess. He couldn’t leave it alone, could he? He had to talk to the Jenkins kid, not that Daniel Jr. knew anything, but Bronson could find a hidden cabin by just looking at a twig.
Durango rubbed his chin as he recalled what his boss had told him. “You make the decision, and I’ll support you.” Fine. He’d been itching to get Bronson, now he had the excuse. But he would check with his boss, make sure the orders remained the same.
Durango took out his cell, punched in the familiar numbers, and heard the phone ring. After exchanging pleasantries, Durango said, “Bronson is creating waves.”
“You’re taking care of it, right?”
“Tomorrow’s the funeral, a very stressful time for Bronson. After the funeral, there’ll be a gathering—especially since the future President of the United States will be there. Bronson is a coffee drinker. I’ll drug his drink, take him with me, and that’s the last time anyone will hear from that meddling son-of-a-bitch. At first when people notice he’s gone, they’ll think he wants time to himself. By the time they realize he’s gone for good, he’ll be dead. Then, Hoover, if need be, will meet with an unfortunate accident.”
“You know your business, so I won’t question you other than to ask, how you plan to dispose of the body?”
“Remember I told you I’m getting a new swimming pool?”
“You mentioned it, yes.”
“They’re coming to lay the cement day after tomorrow. Bronson will be rotting at the bottom of my pool while I enjoy doing my laps.”
Chapter 84
Laughter danced through the playground, filling the air with its soft melody. “You can’t catch me,” six-year old Lorraine teased Bronson, then pranced away.
Bronson could catch her all right, but he pretended not to. Let her live in her child world. He was, after all, two years older and much more mature.
Her laughter filled the air and warmed Bronson’s heart.
*****
Bronson, drenched in perspiration, sat bolt upright, Lorraine’s laughter still echoing in his mind.
Carol sat up and wrapped her arms around him. “Is there anything I can do?”
Bronson turned and kissed her lips. “It was just a dream. Go back to sleep. The funeral is in the morning.”
The funeral is in the morning.
“Sorry I woke you up.” Bronson planted both feet on the floor and stood up.
The funeral is in the morning and he was to blame. If only he’d come when Lorraine first called.
He parted the bedroom drapes just enough for him to glance out. The leaves of the black cherry tree in Ellen’s front yard barely swayed as though listening to the same laughing melody embedded in his memory. He closed the drapes, stepped away, and headed for the bed.
Carol had gone back to sleep. Bronson watched her chest slowly rise and lower with each breath she took.
Bronson tried not to move so he wouldn’t disturb her. He wished he too could fall asleep, but for the rest of the night, sleep evaded him.
*****
At exactly nine o’clock, the limousine arrived. Mike, Ellen, Carol, and Bronson, all silent, one by one, got in. Bronson found refuge in the scenery as the driver maneuvered the limo in and out of the shadows of the buildings, homes, trees, and shrubs. The green grass in people’s yards still dazzled from the early morning dew. The sun’s rays ignited the trees causing them to shimmer with a brilliant light, Lorraine’s light.
She would never again enjoy any of these sights.
Fate had robbed him of his sister and erased the time they could have spent together. All memories he had of her were those when she was a little kid.
Bronson closed his eyes.
Don’t leave me.
*****
They were the first to arrive. Bronson heard Carol gasp when she saw the various sizes of the numerous flower arrangements. Bronson, Carol, Mike and Ellen stood by the entrance. Bronson finally stepped forward, leading Carol toward Lorraine. He saw the body, but didn’t recognize it. In his mind, Lorraine would always be that little girl he adored.
Bronson felt Mike come up and stand behind him. He placed a supporting hand on Bronson’s shoulder. “They say killers like to attend their victim’s funerals.” Bronson spoke only loud enough for his friend to hear.
“Don’t worry, buddy. I’ve got your back.”
Bronson nodded once and reached for Carol’s hand, pulling her toward him. “Sis, this is Carol. You would have loved her.”
Carol placed her hand on Lorraine’s shoulder. “Hi, Lorraine. I know I would have loved you too.”
Bronson and Carol stepped aside and busied themselves reading the cards attached to the flower arrangements. Some names Bronson recognized, others, he didn’t. Daniel Jenkins and family had sent the largest display, naturally.
By now people had formed a line to pay their respects. Some introduced themselves and briefly talked to Bronson.
“It’s hard, saying goodbye to someone you cared for.”
Bronson turned to face Devono. “Thank you for caring for my sister.”
Devono acknowledged Bronson’s statement with a single nod of his head. “Have you done anything about getting me those paintings?”
Bronson’s eyes narrowed and his lips formed a thin line. “It’s only been a day. Today, I’m burying my sister.”
“Precisely why I’m not putting the pressure on you. I’m giving you a couple of days. Then I expect delivery.” He walked away.
Bronson’s gaze followed him. Devono sat on the third row next to a strikingly beautiful twenty-odd year old. She raised her head and Devono kissed her lips. She then laid her head on his shoulder, and Devono wrapped his arm around her.
That S.O.B.
While Devono made himself comfortable, Detective Randig approached. “Didn’t know you knew Devono.”
“Yeah, I know that scum.”
“Considering all the ways to describe him, scum is possibly the nicest compliment he’s received.”
Bronson half smiled.
>
“I’ve been after that scumbag for years,” Randig said. “But he’s always one step ahead of me. Wish I knew who his sources were. I’d like to nail them and Devono. Seems to me the only way I’ll accomplish that is to get him for a small charge—even an unpaid parking ticket. That would lead to more serious charges. But as long as he remains Mr. Squeaky Clean, he’s beyond my reach.”
“Like Al Capone?”
Randig tilted his head.
“He was caught for income tax invasion.”
“I’ve already checked. Devono pays his taxes on time and the full amount.”
“Maybe he’s heard of Al Capone too.”
The hushed tones that filled the room silenced. Heads swiveled toward the back of the room. Daniel Jenkins, his wife, and their son entered the room. Except to occasionally stop to shake hands or pose for a picture, they worked their way toward Bronson.
“Dad, Mother, this is Harry Bronson.”
Jenkins’ strong and firm hand shake revealed the strength behind the man. “A pleasure, Mr. Bronson and our condolences.”
Mrs. Jenkins, who stood a bit behind her husband, stared at the ground. Her tight lips lightly trembled and her eyebrows furrowed. Either Lorraine’s death affected her tremendously or something or someone had angered her. Bronson suspected the latter.
Jenkins said, “We’re so sorry for your loss. Lorraine was so special to us. She’ll surely be missed.”
The pastor approached the podium and people headed for their seats. Bronson placed his hand on Daniel Jr.’s shoulder. “I saved a seat for you on the first row. I know Lorraine would have wanted that.” Bronson looked at the congressman. “You don’t mind, do you? You can sit behind us, in the second row.”
Mrs. Jenkins' lips formed a small smile.
The congressman shook himself in an attempt to cover his surprise. “Ah, no, of course not.” He looked at his son. “You go on up there.”
Once his parents were out of hearing range, Daniel leaned toward Bronson. “Thanks.”
Bronson put his arm around him and squeezed him. “My pleasure.” As they turned to sit, Bronson caught sight of Durango. Lorraine’s best friend. A substitute teacher. A liar.
He was one person he wanted to talk to.
The service began and only one chair remained vacant: Wellington’s.
Chapter 85
During the service, Bronson couldn’t help but observe Daniel Jr. The way he raised his head, defiant, but at the same time a whisper of doubt intruded. Looking at him reminded Bronson of Lorraine. He could see her in his actions, his mannerisms.
Of course, he could. From what Bronson gathered, Lorraine raised him, not his real mother. Bronson cast his glance toward her. He caught her staring at him.
*****
After the cemetery service, more people gathered around Jenkins Sr. than Bronson, and that was fine with Bronson. He had wanted Lorraine’s funeral to be intimate, only family and close friends. Apparently, Lorraine had a lot of close friends who had a lot of other close friends. At a snail’s pace, people headed for their cars. Bronson wondered how many of them would head to Ellen’s.
Bronson waited until the last person walked away from the casket before he approached it. He placed his hand on the coffin. “Sis, you asked me not to leave you and I won’t. Wherever I go, I’ll carry you in my heart. Even though we’ve been apart for all of these years, I never stopped lovin’ you. It was stupid, bitter anger that kept me away. Now I wish that just one more time we could play tag, or see which one of us could leave the best note at the Glacier Valley State Part Covered Bridge. Hell, I wish we could’ve just talked, gotten to know each other all over again. Sis, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. I love you. I already miss you.” He lowered his head and his tears rolled down onto the coffin.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. He only wished . . .
Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. Bronson straightened up, expecting to see Carol or Mike, maybe even Ellen. Instead, he looked into Daniel Jr.’s tear-filled eyes.
“I c-can’t let . . . her go.” Daniel sobbed. “Teach me . . . to let go. I don’t know h-how.” A big sob shook his young body.
Bronson wrapped him in his arms and held him. If anyone really loved Lorraine, this kid did. “I want us to sit down together and you fill me in on all that I missed with my sister.”
Daniel broke the embrace and took a step back. “And you tell me what she was like as a kid.”
Bronson nodded. “Together we’ll form a complete picture.”
Daniel wiped his tears away. “That sounds really great. I’m looking forward to that day.” He turned and his eyes widened.
His mother headed toward him.
He took a small step forward, paused, and then headed her way. When they met, she increased her pace as she walked toward Bronson. She didn’t bother to cast a glance at her son. Daniel looked down and continued toward the limousine that had brought him to the funeral. He looked for his father, but as always, a group of people had gathered around him.
Bronson watched the transaction, and then focused his attention on Mrs. Jenkins. “Ma’am.”
“I’ve been analyzing you. You seem like a good man.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Unlike your sister.”
Bronson’s jaw dropped, and then stiffened. “If you’re—”
She waived him off. “I’m not going to sugar coat anything, but I have the answers you’re looking for.”
“Go on.”
“Not here. When we get to Ellen’s house. My husband will be too busy campaigning, and Daniel will be busy with his friends.” She turned and walked away.
Chapter 86
Bronson had never seen so much food. Pasta plates, chicken, shrimp, sandwiches, tacos, enchiladas, sweet and sour pork and beef—they were labeled—along with several other types of Oriental food overflowed from the table. The china buffet held a variety of desserts, salads, and breads.
Bronson stood in front of all the food, an empty plate in his hands. All of this for Lorraine, and she couldn’t enjoy a bite.
Detective Randig grabbed a plate and stood next to Bronson.
Bronson pointed to the food. “Help yourself.”
“I will, later. But first, I have some news.”
“Go on.”
“We arrested Amanda. She confessed to the art theft and forgery scheme. She implicated the lawyer, Sam Glass. She’s willing to do anything to get a deal.”
Bronson liked it when the criminals did that. Didn’t happen often enough. “That’s good. Glad that’s over.”
“Not quite over. Amanda gave us a list of paintings. Matching the paintings to the buyers greatly reduced the numbers that are unaccounted for. In fact, only eight are still missing and that includes Lorraine’s La Carcé piece. I believe that stolen painting is the one that started your investigation.”
Bronson played with the rim of his paper plate. Interesting news. Randig hadn’t yet discovered Miller’s studio. Mother Nature’s Anger and probably the other seven masterpieces laid scattered among the lesser ones. “Yep, that’s the painting that started it all. So it’s still missin’?”
“Stolen is the word you’re looking for.” Randig shifted positions and stared deep into Bronson’s eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Bronson put on his poker face. “No, nothin’ at all.” At least not yet.
Randig puckered his lips and slowly nodded. “There’s more.”
Bronson braced himself. He knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear. “What else?”
“Amanda denies having anything to do with Lorraine’s death, either directly or indirectly.”
“Do you believe her?”
“If she admits to theft, she’s facing prison time. If she admits to murder, she’s facing life without parole. She’s a smart woman. I’m sure she realizes this. She could be lying.”
“Between you and me, what does your
gut instinct tell you?”
“She’s innocent, but before you say anything, Sam Glass did a lot of things without asking permission. He only let her think she was running the show.”
A woman and her teenage son approached them but stopped at a respectable distance. Bronson recognized the boy as being one of Daniel’s friends. Bronson nodded a hello. Detective Randig excused himself and began filling his plate. The woman introduced herself and they talked for a few minutes before she and her son wondered off.
Bronson spotted Durango and grabbed the opportunity to talk to him.
Durango sat on the couch, his plate filled with food. When he saw Bronson, he set his plate on the end table, stood up, and waved. “I owe you an apology.”
Bronson saw Mike heading toward him. He waited until Mike joined them. “Why do you owe us an apology?”
“I told you both that I met Lorraine at the school and that I sub there. That’s a lie.”
“Why would you lie?” Bronson asked.
“Because of my real job.”
“Which is?”
“I work for Congressman Daniel Jenkins. I handle his career. When I tell people that, they always want something: an introduction, a picture, or an autograph for their great aunt who just worships him. They want me to relay a message to him about one of their causes—something, they always want something, anything. I didn’t want to put up with all the B.S. that comes with the job.”
Bronson scratched his chin just like he’d seen Durango do. “Mike, you have any causes you want the congressman to support?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“You want an introduction?”
“Too late. I already met him.”
“Yeah, me too. Maybe you want an autograph or a picture?”
“Can’t say I do. What about you?”
“Nah, not me.”
Durango frowned. “Okay, so I misjudged you both. I already apologized.”
“You haven’t told us how you actually met my sister.”
