Killertrust (17 page)

“Dear God!” Rhetta cried as
she opened the door from the garage into the house.

If she hadn’t known better,
she’d have sworn that Super Storm Sandy had barreled through. Every kitchen
cabinet door gaped open, as did the pantry. Boxes and cans of food lay tossed to
the floor and all over the counters. Smashed jars spilled out colorful contents
amidst shards of broken glass, while indistinguishable foodstuff splattered
along the walls and the cabinet fronts. Piles of dishes lay smashed, while the
silverware, cooking utensils and the remaining contents of the drawers lay atop
the heap.

The living room furniture was
upended. Two lamps lay on their sides, their shades smashed. The fireplace
screen lay in the middle of the floor while ashes from the fireplace covered everything.

The dining room chairs lay on
their sides. One had a leg dangling.

Rhetta ran upstairs only to
stop at the top and let out a wail. “Oh, God! Everything has been ransacked.
The entire house!” She ran back downstairs, outside and to the Garage Mahal.
“What did they do to Cami? Oh, no, please, no.”

Randolph stopped her at the
door to the garage, and enveloped her in his arms. “Wait here, let me look
first.” Rhetta choked back a sob. He kissed her forehead. She started to follow
him. “No, honey,” he insisted. “Stay here. Let me check the garage.”

In a minute, he was back, a
faint smile on his lips. “Nothing out of place. Cami is fine.”

Rhetta buried her head in his
shoulder. “Thank God. I couldn’t stand it if they tore up Cami.”

Randolph pulled out his phone
and dialed 9-1-1.

Sheriff Reasoner had donned plastic booties and gloves
before entering the house. Rhetta and Randolph waited outside and repeated
their story to the young deputy while the sheriff inspected inside. The deputy
had just finished taking their statements when Reasoner ambled up.

“I hope you called your
insurance agent,” he said. Rhetta nodded. That would be herself. She had called
her adjuster, since she was her own agent. She had worked with Carlton, her
adjuster for several years, and considered him a friend. He promised to drive
out right away.

“What do you think they were
looking for?” Reasoner asked as he slipped off the gloves, and smoothed his hat
brim.

Randolph motioned for the
sheriff to join him on the patio. Reasoner settled onto a wood bench, and
Rhetta sat next to her husband on the double platform swing.

“It’s a rather long story,
but here goes. It started with Rhetta’s father.” Randolph and Rhetta then told
Reasoner everything they knew about Frank, the Tontine Trust and her recent
attack.

Reasoner said, “I spoke to
Sergeant Delmonti after you went down there to identify your things. He’s
pretty confident they have your assailant. So obviously this,” he waved toward
the house, “isn’t connected. Their suspect is still in custody.”

Rhetta glanced at Randolph
before commenting. “You’re right, Talbot. This looks like someone breaking into
our home looking for something specific. Can we go in now and see if we can
tell if anything is missing? I only just glanced at my bedroom, so I don’t know
if any of my jewelry has been stolen. Although, how I’ll tell if anything’s
missing, I don’t know.” She stood and wiped her hands on her jacket.

Reasoner motioned for the
deputy to come forward. “Deputy, since you’re done taking pictures, please
accompany Judge and Mrs. McCarter and let them look through their things.” They
headed for the door. “Wait,” Reasoner called, “Suit them up first. We’re
waiting on the fingerprint team.”

Rhetta and Randolph “suited
up” in shoe coverings and latex gloves and trudged up the stairs. The deputy
followed. The bedroom was as chaotic as the rest of the house. Although her
jewelry armoire lay on its side, after a quick examination, she felt that all
her costume jewelry was there. As she riffled through it some more, so was all
her good jewelry, including several valuable rings. She examined the rest of
the room. Her walk-in closet had barely been touched, except that the drawers
at the end of the closet were pulled out and dumped over, as had been all the dresser
drawers in the room. The mattress had been pulled off the bed, too.

Randolph’s computer and her
laptop, plus her new iPad were still on the desk. The intruder had, however,
pulled open and tossed the drawers of the desk. Now that she was calming down,
Rhetta could see a pattern.

It was clear that the home
invasion was all about finding something specific. She knew what it was. The
car title.

After they trooped back
downstairs, and out onto the porch, Rhetta told the sheriff, “I’m pretty sure
they were only looking for one thing.” Rhetta and Randolph exchanged glances.

After Randolph and Rhetta
removed their protective coverings, Randolph spoke up, “Talbot, we need to
check my studio. I installed a safe there yesterday. I believe a car title is
what he’s looking for, and we put that in the safe.”

“My office safe was broken
into and a cylinder with some papers was taken,” Rhetta said, breaking into a
trot. “I reported it to the Cape police. If the same guy did this, he may have
gotten the title.”

Reasoner examined the lock to
the studio door. “This doesn’t appear tampered with,” he said. “Do you have
your key?”

Randolph inserted his key,
and pushed the door open. Nothing inside was disturbed. “Evidently, whoever
broke into the house didn’t know I have a studio here, or didn’t think what he
wanted was in the studio.” He walked to the safe, spun the combination and when
the door opened, he examined the contents. “Still here,” he said, closing the
safe and locking it again.

Reasoner walked around the
studio. “Nothing’s out of place?”

“Everything looks fine,”
Randolph answered, sidling up to his shivering wife and placing his arms around
her shoulders. “Someone is on to the trust,” Randolph said. “It can’t be George
Erickson, but whoever it is has figured out he needs the VIN from your father’s
car. He obviously didn’t know about the safe.”

“The new Lamplighter Suites is
really nice, Woody,” Rhetta said.

She and Randolph had spent
the night in the new motel near the cancer hospital. The police had strung
yellow crime scene tape around the house and had informed them it might be a
few days before they got finished sifting through the debris and collecting
evidence.

“I heard that. I think they
built it to accommodate the cancer hospital next door to it. Lots of folks
probably stay long term. How long will you stay there?” her assistant asked as
he swiveled his office chair around to talk to her.

“I think we’re going back
home tomorrow, so just one more night. They should be through sifting around
today or tomorrow at the latest. Sherriff Reasoner is supposed to call and tell
me when we can go back.”

“I bet they won’t find
anything. I’m sure your intruder wore protective clothing, et cetera. He seems
pretty smart to me.” The way Woody said it, made it sound like he almost
admired him, or them.

“Why do you say that?” She
took her coffee cup back to the kitchen then returned to her desk. “He, or they
have obviously been following me, and I haven’t been aware of it. So I guess I agree
with you.” She opened her middle drawer and fumbled through the envelope with
her father’s death certificate, hoping to find anything that would enlighten
her about who might be following her. She folded it back and replaced it into
the drawer. Nothing there. A chill passed over her. The thought that somebody
knew to break into her safe for something that would have key information meant
that whoever did it had probably looked at the envelope in her desk drawer,
too.

Woody rolled his chair up to
her desk, held up his hand, and began raising a finger each time he spoke,
ticking off each item. First finger, “Whoever broke in here knew how to get in,
how to get into the safe, knew we were going to be at the airport before we got
there, knew about your meeting with Frank at Tri-County Impound.” He waggled
four fingers at her. “I think he’s been stalking you. He knows you’re Frank’s
daughter, that’s a given. Therefore, he knows all about the trust, and now
knows that the VIN on Frank’s car is the code for the bank account. By the way,
I sure hope you put that title in a safe place.”

Rhetta picked up a pen and
began drumming on a notepad. “Somebody must know all about the trust, but what
I can’t get past, is how does whoever that is figure he’s going to collect on
the trust, even with me out of the picture? Frank was the keeper, and he’s
provided evidence to the bank that he was or is, the last of the members.” She
shook her head and tossed the pen down. “Dang it, Woody, I can’t make a
connection. Does somebody want me dead, or does he think he can get the money
without me? Is Frank dead? Dammit, I wish I knew what was going on!” She stood
and began pacing.

“Well, did you?” Woody asked.

“Did I what?” She stopped in
front of Woody.

“Put the title in a safe
place?”

“Yes, I…” She clamped a hand
over her mouth and dashed to her desk. Grabbing a pen and paper, she scribbled,
I
put it in my bank safety deposit box this morning.
She showed it to Woody.

“In your…” Rhetta shushed him
by putting her index finger up against her lips.

She continued writing.
I think someone
is listening in on our office. That’s how they know everything!

Woody nodded and scribbled
furiously,
I
thought you had Billy Dan sweep the office?

Rhetta motioned for Woody to
follow her outside. She strode to the middle of the parking lot. Woody trotted
behind her.

“I did, and Billy Dan didn’t
find anything. Somehow, somebody is listening to our conversations. That’s the
only way I can figure that he or they know what’s going on in here, and also
know when we aren’t here. We keep erratic hours. Well, at least you do. You
meet people down here by appointment, so somebody has to be listening to know
when you’re here.” Rhetta ran her hands though her hair and winced as she
fingered her almost-healed wound.

“That makes sense,” Woody
said, rubbing his head. One hand, not two.

“All right, if there is no
listening device, how do they hear?”

Rhetta paced, then turned to
Woody. “I know how.”

Woody stared at her. “How?”

“Someone in our building can
hear through the walls, or vents, or something. You know whose office is right
behind us? Philip Corini. I knew I didn’t trust that guy! I bet he’s behind
this!”

“I’m on my way to
Dockside to meet Ricky for lunch,” Rhetta told LuEllen as she headed to the
door. Ellen waved at her in acknowledgement. She never looked up from her
monitor.

The January thaw made the day
temperature hover around sixty, so Rhetta left her coat at the office. While
her music blasted from the car radio, she thought about when a trip to Kansas
City might be in order. As she pondered that, she began checking her rear view
and side mirrors to see if anyone was following her.
Good
God, now I’m
paranoid
.

No,
I’m not
,
she chided herself.
Someone who knows how to crack a
combination on a safe broke into our office and got Frank’s stuff. That’s not
being paranoid. That’s a fact.
Yet, he didn’t touch our safe at the
studio. It had to be because he didn’t know we have a safe there. That was just
lucky.

She insisted on meeting Ricky
in person to plan the trip, regardless of whether or not lunch was involved.
Combining discussing the plans with eating at Dockside was the best idea. She
no longer trusted saying anything at the office. Besides, Dockside served the
best lunch in town.

As she made a left turn onto
Spanish Street, a thought bounced into her head. If someone was listening in at
her office, her customers’ privacy may be compromised. Thinking about that made
a headache start. Before it could explode into a full-fledged head crusher, she
reached into her purse to confirm that she had a bottle of headache medicine.
She lucked into a spot on the street near the front door at Dockside, and
thanked the parking gods and goddesses that she didn’t have to park at the public
lot and hoof it four blocks. She needed to take a pill right away. If she
didn’t, she knew from past experience that the headache could send her to bed.

Once inside, the clamor of
voices and the clattering of dishes reverberated inside her skull. While
waiting for the hostess, Rhetta groped in her bag for the medicine, then
flagged a waitress down to beg for water. She clutched the pill bottle to her
chest.

“Sure thing, hon.” The tall,
gum-chewing waitress clucked sympathetically and disappeared around a partition
and returned almost instantly with a glass of ice water. Rhetta swallowed three
pills quickly. She prayed the headache would dissolve quickly.

Ricky bounced in, waving
across the lobby. She scurried over and hugged her friend, then held her at
arms’ length. “What’s up, Rhetta? You don’t look so hot.”

“Just trying to get a
headache. I’ll be fine,” Rhetta answered and looped her arm through her
friend’s. “Let’s get a seat. I’m hungry,” she lied.

Fifteen minutes later, the
same waitress brought them their salads and warm cheese biscuits. Amazingly,
the medicine had prevailed and had pushed the headache away. Rhetta felt much
better.

Ricky had her appointment
calendar up on her phone. “How about we go this weekend? The weather is
supposed to stay nice until the following Monday or Tuesday.” She scrolled to
her weather app, then nodded. “Yep, says here a front may move in late Sunday
night or early Monday morning with the possibility of snow flurries.” She
tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “This crazy Missouri weather.
You know what the old saying is, ‘if you don’t like the weather here in
Missouri, just wait a minute. It’ll change.’
”

“Can we go Friday, then come
back Saturday? That way we will miss the weather. And, as Randolph said, by
coming home Saturday we’ll have all day Sunday to check out the car.” Rhetta
said and grinned at Ricky.

“With all of us driving, this
should be a walk in the park. No problem. Can we use Randolph’s new truck?
We’ll use my new aluminum car hauler. I don’t trust my farm truck to drive that
far.”

“Absolutely. The hitch and
hookup should be the same and work just fine for your trailer.”

“I’ll stop by and look at the
truck and make sure. But I think it’s all good.” Ricky rubbed her hands in
glee. “I have to tell you, I can’t wait to see it. Do you remember what color
it is?”

Rhetta shook her head. “No, I
don’t think he said anything about the color. Don’t get your hopes up. It may
be a rust bucket.”

Ricky sighed. “You’re right,
but if it’s been in storage all this time, you may be pleasantly surprised. I
watched a segment on Speed Channel where the owner of a storage facility sold
the contents of a delinquent unit to the Speed Channel guys. The facility owner
knew there was an old beater car inside and had called them. Turned out the car
under the cover was a 1971 Oldsmobile 4-4-2. The storage guy didn’t even bother
to lift up the tarp and see what was there. The Speed Channel guys bought it
for a thousand dollars and it was absolutely beautiful. Probably would bring at
least twenty grand at a car auction.” Ricky paused long enough to chomp a
mouthful of salad. “Do you know what the 4-4-2 stands for?” She smeared a blob
of butter across a cheese biscuit, then plopped it into her mouth.

Rhetta said, “Nope, I don’t think
I ever knew that.” She slid the nearly untouched salad bowl aside, and selected
a cheese biscuit. No butter. It melted in her mouth.

“It means four-barrel
carburetor, four-on-the-floor and two bucket seats.” Ricky grinned. “Would I
ever love to have one. In red, of course. With a white interior.” She sighed
dramatically.

The waitress brought their
ticket then, and Rhetta grabbed it. “Are you feeling better, hon?” she asked
Rhetta as she began stacking the dirty dishes.

Although being called “hon”
rankled Rhetta about as much as someone saying “no problem” instead of “you’re
welcome,” Rhetta just smiled. “I’m feeling a lot better, thanks. That glass of
water did the trick.”

“No problem,” the woman said,
as she whisked away the dirty dishes.

Rhetta closed her eyes and
shook her head.

As they walked together out
the door into the sunshine, Rhetta said, “Let’s leave Friday morning about
seven, and we can have brunch on the road.”

“Sounds good. I’ll come by
Thursday and pick up Randolph’s truck, and leave mine. That way, I’ll get the
trailer hooked up. Billy Dan and I can pick you and Randolph up early Friday
and we’ll be ready to go.”

As they stood talking beside
Streak, a dark pickup truck cruised slowly by. When Rhetta glanced at it, she
swore it picked up speed and careened around the corner.

“Did you see that truck?” she
asked Ricky.

Ricky’s head swiveled, but
the truck was long gone.

 
More paranoia.