Killertrust (8 page)

A languid orange sun hoisted
itself slowly from a dark horizon into the morning sky on the shortest day of
the year—the first official day of winter. Red-orange fingers of light seeped
through the clouds, turning their edges from dark indigo to daylight golden.
Rhetta watched it all from her kitchen window as she sipped her morning coffee.
Randolph was still in the shower, and she’d turned off
First News
so she
could relish the breaking dawn in peace and quiet.

Although there had already
been one early round of snow and ice, the weather had turned unseasonably mild
for the final week before Christmas. Rhetta picked out a multi-toned blue wool
tweed blazer to coordinate with her navy slacks and donned her high-heeled
boots. She didn’t feel the need for a heavy coat. High afternoon temperatures
were forecast to peak around sixty degrees.

By the time she arrived at
the office, she’d had to root around her purse for sunglasses, and had even
rolled the driver side window down enough to bring in some fresh air. And to
dispel any lingering smoke odor that may have clung to her jacket.

She’d stopped at the Gas ’n’
Go on the way in looking for coffee, even though she’d just finished the mug
she’d taken with her from the house and would soon be at the office where she
would put on another pot. She paid for her beverage, plus a bakery turnover for
Woody and two crisp apples, one each for LuEllen and herself. And, before she
could stop herself, she ordered a pack of cigarettes. While she was waiting to
pay, she had watched the young woman working behind the counter climb down from
the ladder from stocking up the cigarette bins with fresh packs. Smelling the
new fresh cartons stacked up fueled an uncontrollable urge to smoke.

After paying for her sorry
booty, she peered around to see if anyone she knew was in the convenience
store. Not spotting anyone she knew, she dashed outside clutching her plainly
wrapped package to her bosom. She stopped beside Streak, hands shaking, while
she fished out the pack, tore into it, then lit up. Like a junkie she’d seen
toking up in a movie recently, she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes while the
nicotine rush spread through her body. After four more drags, she tossed the
still-lit cigarette onto the asphalt, and stomped it out with the heel of her
boot. She plucked the dead butt and tossed it, along with the rest of the
unused package into the nearby Dumpster. Before she could make it to Streak’s
driver door, the foul odor of the full Dumpster hit her and she threw up. She
glanced around to see if anyone was watching her. If anyone did happen to see
her, they’d probably assume she was hung over or was purging. One look at her
figure and anyone would know she wasn’t thin enough to be purging.

Her truth was just as sad.
She had just binged on cigarettes, causing her to throw up. She had fibbed to
everyone, including her husband, telling everyone that she’d quit. Not only was
she hiding the truth, she was lying to herself. Disgusted, she rolled the
window down and prayed the smoke smell wouldn’t linger on the sleeves of her
jacket and gauzy print scarf.

Maybe it was the stress
making her act out. She had heard nothing from Sergeant Delmonti in over a
week. She’d shown Delmonti the video and told him everything she knew. He
hadn’t said much, only asked her if she could make him a copy of the video,
which she did. He took plenty of notes about Tontine trusts.

Also, she had not heard
anything more from her father. For that, she was glad. He had probably
disappeared again, as was his pattern. After a sharp intake of air, she tasted
the stale smoke at the back of her throat. She coughed, then groped around the
console for the Tic Tacs she usually kept on hand. She found the plastic box
and slid several out into her palm, then plopped them into her mouth.

She was reasonably sure that
their phones weren’t tapped. Last week, Billy Dan had checked the office and
their home, and found no evidence of any phone tampering. Again, she was
relieved, but now she couldn’t figure out how anyone knew about the key at the
airport. Her father must have told someone. Maybe someone he trusted. Her head
began spinning about the key, her father, Tontine trusts, and hit and run
accidents. No wonder she caved in and smoked. At least that’s what she told
herself.

She was alone in the office shortly after lunch when Evan
shuffled through the front door. Woody had left around ten to meet Jenn and
finish his Christmas shopping, and LuEllen had gone to the bank. If possible,
Evan looked even more unkempt than usual. Rhetta met him near LuEllen’s desk.

“Hi there, Evan. What’s up?”
she asked as she settled her haunch on the corner of LuEllen’s metal desk.

“Jeff asked me to come by and
give you this,” he said, handing her a strange-looking key.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s a new key to the lock
on the Dumpster. Someone broke the lock on the old one, so the trash company
got us all new keys.”

“Thanks.” Rhetta tucked the
key into one of LuEllen’s desk drawers. Evan didn’t leave. He clutched his
grubby wool sock hat, fingering it, turning it over in his hands. Rhetta tried
to avoid looking at his matted hair, but couldn’t keep her eyes from darting to
his head. His coat was even shabbier than the last time she saw him. And was
that a lingering scent of alcohol that drifted her way?

“Sit down, Evan. Can I get
you a cup of coffee?” She motioned to a guest chair in front of LuEllen’s desk
as she stood, ready to head to the kitchen if he said yes. He remained
standing.

“No, no coffee. What is it
you need?” He jammed the sock hat back on his head, and stuffed his hands into
his pockets.

“Do you have any family
around here?” Rhetta wondered if he had anywhere to go for Christmas. She had
called Jeff and asked him to send Evan around to her office. She felt sorry for
Evan, especially being a veteran. Besides, since she guessed him to be about
the same age as her father, she wondered if he knew Frank.

“No, ma’am.” From the dark
look on his face, Rhetta worried she may have crossed a line.

“What will you do for
Christmas?”

“Do?” He looked genuinely
perplexed.

“Do you have somewhere to go
for Christmas?”

“Here, ma’am. I’ll be staying
in my apartment.” She had hoped he had family, since she’d heard from Woody
that Evan was a Vietnam vet. He turned and began shuffling toward the door.

“Evan, I know it’s none of my
business, but I was wondering if I could ask you about your tour in Vietnam.”

She saw his shoulders
stiffen. He stopped, then slowly turned toward her.

“What about it?” His voice
had an edge.

“My father served in Vietnam,
too.”

“That so?”

“I think he did until 1973.
When were you there?”

“Until 1973, too, ma’am.” He
had reached the door.

“That’s a coincidence. My
father was Frank Caldwell, US Army. You didn’t know him, did you?”

Evan straightened his back
momentarily. Then, he slouched again, his hand on the door. “Maybe. There were
a lot of us discharged about that same time. I don’t keep up with any of them.”

“My father wasn’t discharged.
He was killed. At least I have a death certificate. But someone claiming to be
my father has shown up recently.” She wasn’t sure why she told him this, but
she wanted a reaction from Evan. Maybe he’d heard of this happening to other
veterans. According to Woody, Evan didn’t attend the local PTSD support group.
But then, Woody said a lot of soldiers didn’t. Too many wounded warriors
couldn’t get help. Woody occasionally commented on that, and Rhetta agreed that
the government should step up and do more.

“Sorry, ma’am, how do you
mean he showed up? Didn’t you say he was killed?” Evan’s tone changed, and he
tilted his head sideways.

Didn’t
he believe me?

“Yes, that’s what his death
certificate says. I really find it odd that I have a death certificate, and
he’s maybe not dead. Did the Army mess up a lot of Vietnam veterans’ records?”

“Couldn’t tell you, ma’am.
Guess he’s not dead if you seen him recently.”

“Right, Evan. That’s what my
husband says, too.”

“Anyway,” Evan said,
shuffling toward the door. “Don’t think I knew him. I got shot, and sent home.
Been messed up ever since. Happened to a lot of us.” For the first time, Rhetta
noticed his erratic gait was due to a limp in his right leg.

“Did you get shot in your
leg?”

 “Yeah, my leg. Don’t lay any
sympathy on me, ’cause I don’t want it.” He pushed open the door and limped
out. Stung, Rhetta sat down hard.

Old Evan wasn’t very
friendly.

“LuEllen, how old is Evan?”

LuEllen had returned from her
errands, her fingers flying over her keyboard. She glanced up from her monitor
at Rhetta’s question. “I wouldn’t know, why?”

“He was in Vietnam, so he’s
got to be what, sixty anyway, right?”

LuEllen stopped typing. “When
did we clear out of Vietnam? Wasn’t it around 1973, ’74? If he was eighteen
then, or nineteen, he could be late fifties, or if he was in his twenties, he’d
be sixty or more. Why on earth do you ask?”

“No real reason. He came in
here earlier and I was trying to talk to him. He said he got shot in 1973, so I
was trying to guess his age. He looks to be in his sixties, I think.”

LuEllen nodded and went back
to the computer. “Thanks for the nice crisp apple. It was delicious.”

“No, it was Gala.”

LuEllen snickered.

Rhetta snatched up her phone
and set off down the hall to the rest room. She always carried her phone with
her. She felt naked without it. It vibrated in her hand a second before it
rang.

“Hey girlfriend, what’s
happening? I saw where I’d missed your call.” Ricky Lane always sounded chirpy.
She was one of those people perpetually in a good mood. Although she was a
Realtor, she had put her real estate license on inactive and was working full
time at Fast Lane. She specialized in restoring sixties- and seventies-era
muscle cars. She was the best mechanic around. She was also one heck of a body
and paint expert.

She had always gone by her
nickname, Ricky, but after about the millionth time some man had commented that
he thought Ricky Lane, mechanic, was a man, she announced to everyone that
maybe she should go by her real birth name, Victoria. She was met with
resounding disagreement among her friends. Rhetta told her there would be no
confusion once anyone met her.

Rhetta grinned. “I just
wanted to remind you of our Christmas Open House.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. By the
way, I have great news.” Her voice practically bubbled through the line.

“What, you and Billy Dan got
engaged?”

“No, silly, better than
that.” Her giggle was infectious.

Rhetta figured if it was
better than romance, it had to involve muscle cars. She knew where her friend’s
passion lay. “You got a new car.”

“Ding, ding, ding, give the
girl a prize! Corr-rr-ect!” She laughed. “Well, you know. New for me. I bought
it for myself for Christmas.”

“Uh huh, and I bet it’s a
1965 Mustang.” She remembered Ricky scouring the countryside for a first year
Mustang. “That you will paint red,” she added, having heard Ricky expound
numerous times about the correct red paint for whatever year car. To Rhetta,
red was red. Not so to Ricky.

“Close. It’s a 1967 Mustang
Fastback, decent condition, just needs my magic worked on it. And yes, it will
be Candy Apple Red.”

Rhetta joined in her friend’s
laughter. “I guess you need a project, since you finished with Cami, and sold
The Beast.” The Beast was Ricky’s 1979 Black Trans Am. She had listed the muscle
car on eBay and on Craigslist and it sold on eBay for a great price. There were
plenty of bidders on it, and Ricky realized a tidy profit.

Ricky, quieter now, said,
“I’m gonna miss The Beast, but it went to a good home in Kentucky.”

“And more importantly, the
check cleared,” added Rhetta.

Ricky giggled. “That, too.”

“All right, what will you
name this Mustang?” Ricky named her cars, too.

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to
be around it a while to tune into its personality.”

“Tune in, that’s cute.”
Rhetta snickered. “I’m confident it will reveal its true persona to you.
Anyhow, be sure to bring Billy Dan, any time after noon. Lots of food, and I’ve
already visited
Primo Vino!
and got your favorite Riesling.”

“Sounds great, we’ll be
there.” They disconnected, and Rhetta stuffed the iPhone into her blazer
pocket. Randolph always chided her when she put the phone in a pocket, telling
her that she’d lose it someday. Besides, her purse was in a drawer. She’d move
it to the purse later.

She grinned when she pictured
Ricky, her shoulder-skimming red hair tucked up under a ball cap and her lithe
figure draped in green work coveralls. Although she was stunning when she
dressed up, Ricky preferred jeans, work clothes and ball caps. Ricky was the
garage-ista to Rhetta’s fashionista.

LuEllen shut down her
computer and began slipping on her coat. Rhetta glanced at the clock, and was
surprised it was past quitting time. A quick peek out the window confirmed the
hour. The sun had already set. She was irritated at herself because she hadn’t
gotten much done all afternoon. Although there weren’t many new applications
for home loans this time of the year, she had continuing education to finish by
year’s end, and another day had slipped by without her going online to read the
material. She sighed and turned off the computer. She had a few more gifts to
buy, then she’d head home.

After waving to LuEllen as
she eased her red Kia Soul out of the parking lot, Rhetta stood on the sidewalk
outside the door, shivering in the dark, riffling through her purse for keys.
The night air was much cooler than morning had been. Noticing that the doorway
was in total darkness, she glanced up. The outside light was out. Again. She
remembered Evan replacing it.
Must have used a poor quality of bulb, or
there’s something wrong with the fixture.
“Crap,” she muttered, groping in her purse. “I can’t believe this danged
light is out again,” and buried her arm in her purse. “I’ll call Jeff first
thing in the morning.” Closing her hand around a cluster of keys that would
make a truck driver jealous, she pulled them out triumphantly. She had barely
inserted the key into the door lock and turned it when a searing pain exploded
in her skull.

She never felt the concrete
meet her face.