Killerfind (22 page)

hetta
paused at LuEllen’s
desk on her way out. “Please call Woody and tell him I’m not in the office. He
may come in sooner.” Although LuEllen regarded her quizzically, she didn’t ask
what that statement meant. Rhetta didn’t take time to explain. “I need to go to
Paducah, Kentucky, but if you need me, call me on my cell.” LuEllen nodded and
Rhetta swore she heard her “tsk” under her breath. She’d explain later. She was
the boss and could leave whenever she wanted to, but still, she liked to be
there if anyone needed her. She knew Woody wouldn’t need her; he was extremely
efficient. Did Obsessive Compulsive Disorder go hand in hand with
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? If not, then Woody manifested both. It didn’t
matter. He was the best agent she could ask for.

*
* *

Streak’s
fuel tank required replenishing, as did Rhetta’s caffeine, so it was twenty
minutes before Rhetta made it into Ricky’s driveway. Ricky sailed out her back
door, locking it and sliding the key under The Rock. She loped toward the
garage where she kept Monster.

Rhetta honked and stuck her head out her window.
“Let’s take Streak. I just filled it, it’s got air conditioning, and we won’t
have to worry about getting dust all over your car.”

Ricky gave her a thumbs-up and slid into the
passenger seat. She shivered.

“I know, I know. It’s cold enough to hang beef in
here.” Rhetta turned up the temperature so Ricky wouldn’t catch a chill. Ricky
had dressed for hot weather in a pale blue T-shirt, white Capris and sandals.
She hadn’t brought along a sweater or a sweatshirt. Rhetta knew that she was
probably the only person whose passengers consistently carried outerwear with
them whenever they accompanied her during the summer.

“So tell me what we’re going to do in Paducah.”
Ricky set her Dr. Pepper can into the beverage holder, and snapped her shoulder
and seat belt harness into place.

“Here’s my plan. We go to this Trevor Brinkman’s
address, then park where we can watch the house. We follow him as he goes to
pick up the Western Union MoneyGram.” Rhetta tucked her purse into the back
seat, and made sure her phone was handy.

“Then what do we do?”

“We ask him for it back, of course.”

Ricky groaned. “He’s not likely to give it back
without a fight. The guy is probably ten feet tall and bulletproof. How about
we get the cops to back us up?”

“Sure, we’ll ask them. Good idea.” Rhetta thought
the local cops wouldn’t care a whit about helping them get back interstate
fraud money. And she already knew what the feds thought.

As they approached the Emerson Bridge that took them
into Illinois over the Mississippi River, Rhetta realized that she hadn’t
crossed that bridge as many times in a month as what she had the past two days.
At least this time she could enjoy the view. Bright sunshine sparkled on the
water below them, creating the illusion of a dancing firefly festival. Two tugs
were languidly pushing their strings of barges upriver. It was amazing those
little boats could push or pull the long rows of barges. They were little, but
mighty.

Once across the bridge, Rhetta shivered, not from
the cold air, but because she remembered Randolph’s warning to stay out of
Alexander County. And here she was again. She slowed to five miles under the
speed limit, in case any deputies were out seeking to fill any quotas.

“How long will it take us to get to Paducah?” Ricky
sipped from her soda.

“Normally it takes about an hour and a half, but
today it might need to take a little longer.” She glanced at her speedometer,
making sure she was still obeying the speed limit. “I don’t want to get arrested
in Illinois again.”

“What do you mean, again? When were you ever
arrested in Illinois?”

“Yesterday.”

Ricky was in mid-gulp and nearly choked on the soda.
She set the can down and wiped her chin. “You got arrested yesterday? What on
earth for?”

“Woody and I got arrested at the Pink Peacock. Over
there.” She pointed to the bar, which was coming up on their right. Rhetta
slowed, turned right and eased into the empty parking lot. No Viper today. In
fact, the windows on the bar were boarded up.

“Holy blazes, did you shoot someone?” Rhetta was
known to carry a .38 from time to time. And the Peacock had a reputation for
gunfights.

“No, silly. Woody and I were in there talking to
Mylene Allard when the place got raided, and we were arrested along with her.”

“Who’s Mylene Allard?”

Rhetta realized she hadn’t caught Ricky up on her
adventure from the previous day. “Boy, have I got lots to tell you.”

Rhetta turned Streak around to exit the parking lot,
but as she drove by the door, she spotted a sheet of paper taped to it that
might be a note. She stopped, got out and read the neat handwriting. “Gone
Quilting.”

hat on
earth does
‘Gone
Quilting’ mean?” Rhetta muttered the question almost to herself, knowing Ricky
wouldn’t have a clue. In fact, Ricky hadn’t known anything about what had
happened yesterday until Rhetta filled her in.

“Oh, blazes, Rhetta, what will you do? You have to
go back to court in Cairo?” Cairo, the county seat for Alexander County was
nothing more than a forgotten, burned-out shell of a former elegant river city.
And infamous for its corruption.

“Randolph is calling the State’s Attorney to try to
get charges against us dismissed. Woody is totally ticked at me. I’m afraid of
a PTSD episode. He got really upset in jail.” Woody had sat alone in a holding
cell across the hall from her, staring off, saying nothing. When the deputy
came to tell them they could leave, he walked like an automaton to the office
to collect his things, and didn’t speak until they got back to Missouri. She
prayed Randolph would be able to convince the State’s Attorney that she and
Woody were victims of circumstance, and not dope pushers.

Rhetta kept Streak at a sedate 50 miles per hour
until she pulled on to Interstate 24 at Vienna. From there she floored it to
70, crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky and exited just west of Paducah. She
cruised along at the speed limit until the Paducah city limits sign came into
view. The trip from Cape had taken them close to two hours.

They pulled over into a convenience store to use the
facilities and restock on Diet Coke and Dr. Pepper. Rhetta set the address
Ricky had given her into Streak’s GPS. “That’s funny. The GPS can find the
street, but not that number on the street. Let’s drive that way, and see what
we can figure out.”

“Shouldn’t we contact the Paducah police before we
go there?” Ricky glanced back and forth from the paper in her hand with Trevor
Brinkman’s address, to the GPS screen.

“We don’t need to bring them in on a wild goose
chase. Let’s make sure that the address is bona fide. Then we can call them.”

“Okay, that’s a plan. Let’s go.” Ricky agreed. She
and Rhetta buckled up and Rhetta followed the turn-by-turn directions to the
street. They began searching for the house number Rhetta glanced at her watch.
Fifteen minutes to two.

Although they easily found the street, finding the
number was a different matter. Instead of a house or office being at the
location where the number should have been, there was only an empty church
parking lot.

Rhetta checked the time again. Five minutes had
elapsed. “Maybe we’d better just drive to the supermarket where he was supposed
to pick it up. We’ll go in and see if Trevor Brinkman shows up to collect his
money.”

“Rhetta, let’s call the police to meet us there.
This is making me nervous.”

“You’re right. I’ll call on the way over.” Rhetta
reprogrammed the GPS for the address of the Shop ’n’ Save at 11439 Hickory
Hills Boulevard. It was less than a block from the church lot.

They sat in Streak in the parking lot outside the
supermarket while Rhetta called 9-1-1. The dispatcher couldn’t seem to figure
out what Rhetta was trying to tell her. Frustrated after trying two different
ways of explaining, Rhetta finally said, “Please, just have an officer come to
the Shop ’n’ Save on Hickory Hills Boulevard. A man there is about to steal a
thousand dollars.” Then she disconnected. “That dispatcher couldn’t make any sense
out of what I was trying to tell her. Maybe if she thinks there’s a robbery,
she’ll dispatch a car.”

“I wish we knew what this guy Trevor Brinkman looks
like,” Ricky said.

“Let’s go in.” Rhetta figured that Brinkman would be
standing near the customer service counter just waiting for the money to
arrive. She didn’t want to miss him.

Ricky scrambled out of the SUV. Rhetta snatched her
purse and keys, locked the door and jogged after Ricky. The only thing Ricky
carried was a handful of papers with the information and the receipt.

The sole person standing at the customer service
counter was a stocky woman in jeans and a plaid shirt carrying a baby in an
infant carrier. No Brinkman. Scanning the nearly empty store, Rhetta could find
no one else showing any interest in the customer service counter. After
cruising up and down the aisles, Rhetta joined Ricky at the front of the
counter. They stood behind the woman and baby and waited for her to complete
her transaction.

The young man behind the counter consulted his
watch. “Not yet, ma’am. Give it another fifteen minutes, at least. These things
sometimes take a little while.” The woman nodded and shuffled aside.

“What can I help you with?” the clerk asked as
Rhetta and Ricky stepped up to the counter.

“Has a Trevor Brinkman been in to pick up a
MoneyGram?”

The clerk, a look of confusion blanketing his acne
covered face, glanced from Rhetta to the woman with the baby. “Ah, no. No
Trevor Brinkman.” He shook his head. Rhetta nodded and began to move aside.
“But this woman, over here, said her name is Treva Brinkman, and she’s waiting
for a MoneyGram.” He pointed at the woman and baby.

Rhetta and Ricky spun toward the woman, but were a
fraction of a second too late. In a burst of speed, the woman reared back and
flung the baby carrier. It hurtled toward them. Ricky cried out and caught it,
clutching the carrier to her chest, like a wide receiver catching a pass. With
a heavy thud, she landed on the floor flat on her back. Miraculously, she still
clutched the baby carrier. Rhetta stumbled over Ricky and sprawled to the
floor. She picked herself up and, knee throbbing, scurried after the fleeing
baby-tosser. She spotted the woman halfway across the parking lot, and hobbled
toward her. With each step, her knee shot out a bolt of pain.

Rhetta spotted the woman, and just as she prepared
to tackle her, the woman turned. Rhetta stopped in mid-tackle. To her
amazement, it was a different lady—a woman Rhetta guessed to be in her late
sixties carrying a walking stick. She was definitely not the woman who had
rushed out of the store, but was dressed similarly in light blue jeans and a
baggy plaid shirt. The old woman raised her three-toed aluminum cane and was
about to slam it over Rhetta’s head when Rhetta threw up her arms in self-defense.
“Please, I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was chasing someone else. A thief,” she
panted. The woman cautiously lowered her clawed weapon. Rhetta doubled over to
catch her breath. She massaged her painful right knee while the old woman
voiced her opinions about young hooligans.

As Rhetta mumbled apologies to the frightened
elderly woman, a black, late model, high-riding pickup truck with tires as tall
as Rhetta, burned out of the parking lot. Fishtailing while it smoked rubber,
it nearly collided with a blue and white police cruiser careening into the lot.
While the truck roared off, the police car screamed to a stop at the front door
of the Shop ’n’ Save. Rhetta limped back to the market, huffing to catch her
breath.
What the heck was going on? That crazy woman inside the store just
tossed her baby at us. What kind of person would do that?

A crowd began to gather and murmur. Several young
men stood menacingly near the police car, pointing toward the cops who had
their weapons drawn as they stormed the store. God, she hoped a riot wasn’t
about to break out. How would she explain that to Randolph?