Author: DiAnn Mills
Category: Suspense
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She focused on the passenger-side window. “A couple.”
“And?”
“Personal, Denton.”
“I have a listening ear.”
“Right. It’s part of your job.” She moaned. “That wasn’t necessary. I appreciate your offer but no thanks. For lack of a better word, I need a diversion.” She massaged her neck. “Did Marissa and Dad work through their argument?”
“Yes. The conversation didn’t put you in a good spot, though.”
“That’s what I’d asked her to do. She needs to stay on Dad’s good side. Her situation in raising Aria and her future in owning the bakery rest on keeping him pacified.”
“Would you do anything for your sister?”
“Absolutely.”
My concern about her possible deceit vanished. I reached across the truck and took her hand. The intimacy lasted two seconds before she pulled back.
“I’m making a new life for myself,” she said.
“Not until those against you are stopped.”
“Or I’m stopped.”
“You’re not alone. You have your faith, friends, and for what it’s worth, I’m in for the duration.”
She focused on me. “Today has been very hard.”
She needed time. Both of us did. “While you talked to your mother, I checked in with the agents who’ll be handling your protection. We have a transfer in about twenty minutes. Two agents will take you to a safe house about fifty miles from here. I’ve used it before on cases in my jurisdiction. Sheriff Wendall and I will follow through with our part.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing. Wish we knew the culprit’s name. As it is, I feel I’ve exchanged one cell for another.”
“The temporary housing protects you from the bad guys.”
“I’m just voicing my messed-up emotions. Will you check in with me every morning and night?”
“Sure. If I keep you posted, you’ll stay put?”
“I can’t promise.” She reached into her backpack. “Here’s the note. I’ve already rewritten it.”
“Read it to me.” If the wording needed to be tweaked, she’d have time to make changes.
Shelby opened the folded piece of paper. “‘Life has no meaning for me. Mom will soon be gone, and my family refuses to forgive me. Who can blame them? I thought after prison I’d be able to start over. It’s impossible. My crimes haunt me day and night. One lie builds on another. Edie, Amy-Jo, and Pastor Emory believe in me . . . my lies. They are dear people and deserve more than my sham. I’m a murderer and a thief. Yes, I took the $500,000 from Marissa and Travis’s account. I forged an ID and placed it in an overseas account. The words of my Bible convicted me of the truth. May whoever reads this also find the treasure in that truth.’ Rather fitting, don’t you think, with all my Jesus talk?”
I asked her to reread it and digested her words. “That works.”
“Good. Please give it to the sheriff.”
“Will do.” I remembered her poem tucked inside her Bible and hoped she’d removed it. “I arranged for hidden cameras inside and outside of your cabin. They’ll be installed by the time I drive back.”
I sensed her staring at me. “Are you really convinced of my innocence?”
“More with each passing hour.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your support today, for being with me to face my family.”
I dug deep for a chuckle. “What choice did I have? If Edie or Amy-Jo had driven you, they’d have flattened your dad. Then I’d have to arrest both of them.”
She forced a laugh. “What a pigsty that would have been.”
“But funny. Your time with your mom went well?”
“We talked, and she knows I love her.” Shelby pressed her lips together, and I thought she might cry. “It was worth facing Dad.”
“And seeing Marissa?”
I nodded. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what my reception would be. Marissa had a breakdown during the trial, and her parting words to me were filled with hatred, bitterness. I deserved it but living under Dad’s thumb had its price too.” Shelby leaned back against the headrest. “Denton, when will this be over?”
The weariness in her voice drew me into her lonely world, a place I longed to be to fill the void. And yet she filled an empty spot I thought I’d never fill again. When my plans for marriage and family had exploded in my face, I swore to have a bachelor’s life. But I never thought a soft voice with undeniable strength would melt the glacier around my heart. Unlike Lisa, no avalanche of tears to persuade me to her way of thinking or silence that could last for hours.
How did a grown man approach what had been the unthinkable? How did I reconcile her past as a killer? Confusion beat me up. Being attracted to her labeled me a fool or a victim of some cosmic joke.
“Let’s take one day at a time,” I said. “The person making the threats has grown bold, as though he or she thinks they’re invincible. We need them to believe you’re out of the picture, so they’re free to search the cabin. Then it will be over.”
34
SHELBY
Denton assured me the men we were about to encounter had experience and wisdom. But I wasn’t convinced. He drove me down a dirt road where we met two older men in a navy-blue sedan. He knew both agents, which gave me a huge dose of comfort. After the two men introduced themselves, Denton and I said our goodbyes, and I slid into the back seat of the sedan.
I expected a black SUV like in the movies and agents who had their real teeth. The car wove in and around country roads until the driver, Isaac Sims, stopped at a rusty mobile home nestled in thick pine and oak trees several feet from the road.
“Home sweet home.” His raspy voice indicated a man in his early seventies. He had a round face and black hair, which had to be dyed.
“Is it a World War II tank?” I said.
Both men laughed, and the other agent, Aaron Marod, a man of basketball-player height and bushy silver eyebrows, pointed to the mobile home. “The last time I was here, I had to clean up varmints from the kitchen before I could put the food away. Denton told me he’d keep this place clean, but he lied to us.”
“How long ago?” Suspicions about these two crowded my mind.
Aaron rubbed his chin. “Whatcha say, Ike? Ten years ago? Right after the big scare of the Y2K?”
“Sounds about right.”
“That is more than twenty years.” I glanced from one man to the other. “Are you two active agents?”
“Retired.” Isaac opened the car door. “We’re doing this protective detail as a favor to Denton.”
“Is he paying you?” How fast could I get Denton on the phone?
“Yes, missy. Private job. Why else would we agree to live out here in this run-down trailer?” He turned to Aaron. “Hold off on bringing in the ice chest until I take a look inside. No point hauling it in until we get the place cleaned up.”
Retired agents and a mobile home that looked like it needed to be hauled away? And Denton agreed to pay them? Shock washed over me. “Private job.” What had this protection detail cost him?
My thoughts trailed back to what he’d done for me since my release. True, he was motivated by finding a link to the five hundred thousand dollars. Later, he changed his tune. Other factors pointed to his being a good man, one who’d gone above and beyond to prove I’d paid my debt to society. He’d been convinced of my innocence. Despite my stained past, he sacrificed his time and money.
Stunned and emotional best described me. So many times, I wished I could tell him the truth about Travis’s death.
“I thought the FBI had sanctioned this assignment,” I said.
“Investigating it only. But the kid needed more evidence for protection detail, so you’re stuck with us.” Isaac stepped out of the car, and for the first time, I noted a rounded belly. “We are your best defense. Them young agents have more training than real-life experience. Trip over their own firearms.”
Isaac disappeared up wobbly, concret
e-block steps and inside the metal structure. I tilted my head to study my “temporary housing,” as Denton called the situation. No broken windows, but a screen door rested on one rusty hinge. Weeds grew from under the mobile home as though they tickled its belly, and a thick layer of yellow-green pollen covered every visible inch of grass and metal and foliage. I was allergic to most substances that existed outside, and my inhaler weighed in at nearly empty. At least I had a spare for emergencies.
The structure looked more like it hadn’t seen human habitation in decades. I’d say in the last fifty years except power lines were connected to whatever needed electricity inside. An oak tree leaned precariously close to the roof, defying the next gust of wind to blow it down. A crow swept from the treetops and perched on the roof. When the bird cawed, it sounded like a protest against the intruders. A fat tawny cat crept in front of the car, offering a little reassurance to the reduction of mice and rats.
Isaac left the mobile home, shoving the broken screen door back until it broke. His stocky build served him well. He tossed it into the weeds and signaled for us to join him. “Looks like no one’s been here since us.”
I moaned.
Aaron laughed. “Hey, Ike, I’ll get the cleaning stuff from the trunk. And the extra rifle and ammo.”
Not their first rodeo.
For the next four hours we cleaned. Isaac tuned in an old radio to country-and-western music, and Aaron took every opportunity to switch to hard rock, which took me off guard. He claimed Def Leppard, Guns N’ Roses, and Bon Jovi were the best of the eighties. Isaac argued that Willie Nelson, George Strait, and Kenny Rogers sang the heart of the south.
While I listened to their musical debate, which replaced thoughts from my own fears and distress, I disinfected the kitchen, top to bottom and inside out. Remarkably, the spotless and disinfected fridge hummed, and cold air swirled from the motor, a miracle considering the dust and dirt now covering most of me. Two out of the four burners on the electric stove burned hot, and the oven, after I wiped up a dozen dead roaches, even worked. I wasn’t a stranger to roaches, but I’d never seen so many in one place. . . . Many scurried about, still alive.
My lungs tried my body’s patience. Neither had a tolerance for the outside allergens and the inside dust. I bent and gasped for breath until I gave in to using my inhaler.
“Are you okay?” Isaac stood over my air-depleted lungs.
I held up a finger until I could breathe.
“Hope you have plenty of juice in that thing. We may be stuck here awhile.”
After a moment’s reprieve, I could speak. “This one’s empty, but I have another one in my purse.” I reached for the spare, but it was gone.
I always carried an extra inhaler. What happened to it?
35
DENTON
I missed Shelby already. Yet the miles from home gave me time to ponder the dysfunction in her family and possible scenarios of who’d threatened her. Clay Pearce was an authoritarian, and although he was supposed to be a churchgoer, I failed to see Jesus in him.
Apparently Clay’s daughters bought into his archaic methods of ruling the roost. My suspicions he’d made off with the money vanished given the condition of his bakery and home. His 2006 Honda in the driveway added to his less-than-stellar financial condition. Marissa came across as more sensible, and while she claimed to want a relationship with her sister, Clay squelched that before it moved forward. I wished I’d been privy to the sisters’ conversation outside. I always felt better to confirm information firsthand.
In the rearview mirror, I noted a dark-colored, possibly black or deep green, truck on my tail for the past several miles. Adrenaline pumped excitement into my body. I’d chosen to take back roads to Valleysburg for this very purpose.
I swung right at the next county road, and the truck followed. . . . The truck that ran Shelby off the road matched this color. Not sure I could be this lucky. I turned left. Sure enough, the truck stayed about a quarter mile behind me.
I phoned Sheriff Wendall and gave him my location.
“Not my jurisdiction,” he said. “I’ll contact the highway patrol.”
“It’s no coincidence the driver’s tailing me. I thought I spotted a pickup keeping tabs on me when Shelby and I left Sharp’s Creek, but then I lost it well before meeting up for the transfer. Until now.”
“Stay connected till the highway patrol arrives.”
With one eye on the rearview mirror, I gave the sheriff an overview of the trip to see Shelby’s mother. “I have the suicide note in my pocket. I’ll let you know when I’m home and walking to her cabin.” A question bolted into my mind about the relationship between Travis Stover and Clay Pearce, a matter I’d look into later.
I drove down the same road for another two miles. The truck, which I determined was black, inched closer. At a stop sign, with nothing in sight but fields of new planting, the truck sped up within feet of my tailgate. Front license plate removed.
He bumped me.
I cursed and raced ahead.
“This guy isn’t playing around.” I pulled my Glock from under the seat.
A second crash shoved my head into the steering wheel. My truck lunged right at a speed reserved for racetracks. I quickly attempted to straighten it without stomping on the brake and flipping the truck.
A pop like a balloon breaking caused me to jump. A bullet grazed the top of my head and embedded in the windshield. My head stung like I’d angered a swarm of bees. The shooter was either a pro or lucky.
A second pop and a bullet zipped by my left ear, sending me into a whirl of disorientation. My foot slipped from easing the brake to the gas.
My truck took flight. Spun. Flipped. More than once. Pain stabbed me like a jolt of electricity down the right side of my body.
My world went black.
36
SHELBY
Most people took each breath for granted, but not those who suffered from asthma. What had happened to my extra inhaler? After I had taken a hot shower, another welcome surprise compliments of the trailer’s hot-water tank, Aaron brewed me a cup of herbal tea with honey from their supply of groceries. Mom used to fix the same home remedy for asthma, although it seldom worked. At this point, I’d try anything. As a kid I had made more than one trip to the ER. That’s when the doctor insisted I always carry a spare inhaler.
“Let’s get a doctor to look at you,” Isaac said.
“Haven’t a prescription for an inhaler.” I wheezed and fought for breath. “I’ll be . . . fine.”
“You’re a far shot from fine.”
“I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten all day.” The sharp pain in my chest caused my eyes to water. “I’ll fix chili and corn bread.”
Isaac huffed. “Typical woman . . . change the subject when things aren’t going your way. If you get worse, I’m handcuffing you and we’re heading to the hospital.” His voice held a menacing growl, but I appreciated his concern.
“You two are my hero-protectors. I’ll keep you posted.”
Isaac shook his head. “No need. We can hear it.”
Not sure I could tackle any more cleaning with the inhaler operating on fumes. Everything in the trailer looked in order, but my approval had a lot to do with the condition of my lungs. Isaac helped Aaron remake the disinfected beds while I browned hamburger and onion and stirred together jalapeño corn bread. Tossed a salad too. After setting the small table, we scrunched around it together. I could hear and feel my labored breathing.
“Your wheezing is worse.” Aaron dug his spoon into the chili.
“I’m all right.”
Isaac spread butter over a hunk of corn bread. “What else can you take?”
“I said I’m all right.”
“In the words of Jon Bon Jovi,” Aaron said, “‘There’s a vintage which comes with age and experience.’”
I coughed, and it resembled a train whistle.
Isaac pointed his butter knife at me. “We’re old. Not senile. You
r asthma isn’t getting any better. One last time . . . what do you need to stop a full-blown asthma attack?”
I’d tried not to think about the inability of a drugstore brand relieving the symptoms. Except hiding my gasps for air and wheezing had met the impossible zone. I took a sip of my second cup of herbal tea. “The best solution is an over-the-counter inhaler. I’m sorry. I always have an extra one, except this time. Must have been my concern about my mother.”
“Once we’re finished with dinner, I’m driving into town to get you one from Walmart.” Isaac snapped his fingers. “I’ll call my Teladoc en route, see if he’ll prescribe something without seeing you.”
“Thanks. But this can wait until morning.” When he held up the butter knife again, I veered from opposing him. “How long will it take?”
“Round trip, oh, about an hour and a half. Probably less. Aaron can handle everything here. He’s a nicer guy than me.”
“You two are angels.”
Aaron laughed. “Does that mean you like my rock music over his country?”
I held up a finger. “Not going there. How about more chili and corn bread?”
A short while later, Isaac rinsed his bowl and fished keys from his jean pocket. He patted his stomach. “Good dinner. I’ll hurry. Text me if you need anything else.”
Tears filled my eyes, and I hugged him. “Thank you for all you’re doing. The asthma is making me all emotional.”
Once he left, Aaron towered over me with his basketball height and ordered me to my bedroom while he washed the few dishes. Propped up in a twin bed, I clutched my chest and thanked God for Isaac and Aaron, two men with fitting names from the Old Testament. From their language and conversation, faith leaned toward an afterthought for them. But they were a blessing to me. I’d texted Denton to check on his part of the plan, but he hadn’t responded. He’d take good care of Joy. Sweet man . . . The asthma tightened my chest, but still I drifted toward sleep.