“I’ll have Miz Martha call the hospital to see if anyone has come into the emergency room.”
“Ten-four. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
R.C. radioed Martha. While he waited for her response, he perused the calendars. Chastity is as hot as any of these girls. Maybe hotter.
“R.C.?” his radio crackled loudly.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, grabbing the shoulder mic.
“The ER’s had two folks in earlier this evenin’. One was a stabbin’ from down by the river. It was over a fishin’ hole. One guy kept gettin’ too close to where the other was catching some crappie. Stabbed him in the leg. He’s OK. Told the doctor it was an accident. They’d been drinkin’. Apparently the fish are bitin’.”
“Well, a good crappie hole is pretty valuable,” R.C. responded, nodding his head.
“And the second was a burn victim. Grease got too hot while she was frying chicken livers. Caught the cabinets on fire. Her hands got burned swattin’ the fire out.”
“Ouch!” he added.
“Does that help at all?”
“Yes and no…but thanks, Miz Martha,” he replied while admiring another calendar.
R.C. heard vehicles, so he stepped outside. The sheriff arrived first in his Ford Expedition with Mick Johnson behind. They parked behind R.C.’s cruiser and got out.
“Find anything new?”
“No, Chief. I can show you the blood, though.”
Ollie glared at him for the “Chief” reference. “R.C., hang on. Mick, let’s start at the beginning…and don’t leave out any detail, no matter how small,” Ollie said, leaning against R.C.’s patrol car.
Mick told his story. Ollie and R.C. glanced at each other from time to time, trying to mentally put it all together.
“Show me what you found, R.C.”
R.C. showed Ollie the pool of blood and how it trailed off, careful not to contaminate the area. The sheriff walked around, looked in the camper, and then walked toward the camp house. He was working several theories in his mind. He really needed daylight. The grass is so tall it would hide any evidence-if there’s any. He considered calling Jake Crosby’s family to see if they had heard anything from him. He hated to sound any false alarms. He’s just as likely to be at a bar somewhere, drunk. He knew a lot of guys used hunting as an excuse just to get out of the house. He’d ask Mick later if that was a possibility.
The three men walked into the camp house. Ollie and Mick sat down on bar stools. R.C. otherwise occupied himself.
“R.C., R.C.! Pay attention. Quit lookin’ at those calendars!” Ollie yelled across the room.
“Chastity’s as hot as any of these girls,” R.C said with pride.
“What do you think about this situation?” Ollie asked.
“There’s not much to go on. The blood bothers me…but it could be any number of things. No one’s checked into the ER that fits this scenario. I don’t know, boss.”
“Mick, do you think a jealous husband could have been chasing him?” Ollie asked, trying to think of the wildest scenario.
“I seriously doubt it. Nothin’ less than Charlize Theron would get Jake’s attention…Charlize Theron in a camo swimsuit maybe…he’s happily married, or certainly appears to be,” Mick replied.
“Charlize Theron has not been in the area; I would know,” R.C. said, smiling.
“Jake is a pretty levelheaded guy. He doesn’t get into trouble. I just wish I could have heard him better,” Mick added, growing anxious.
“And I’m pretty sure he’s got his kid with him,” R.C. added nervously.
Ollie sat quietly, weighing his options. He didn’t have the manpower necessary to launch a full-scale manhunt, even if it was necessary-which at this point it wasn’t-and he hated to call in any other departments on a false alarm at this hour. He had done that before and sworn he wouldn’t ever again. He placed his face in his hands. He needed to make a decision. He needed some sleep.
Morgan was looking forward to having the house to herself. She had the perfect evening planned. She rented two DVDs at Movie Gallery. Then she went by the liquor store to purchase a bottle of Barefoot California Merlot. Morgan tried not to be self-conscious in the store. She prayed her Sunday School teacher wouldn’t see her. West Point was such a small town, and Jake always bought the wine.
Not wanting to cook, she called Domino’s for a pizza packed with mushrooms and anchovies. Jake hated mushrooms and anchovies. After eating the medium-size pizza, she piled on the couch to watch Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton in Something’s Gotta Give. The title of that movie described Morgan’s life. Something had to give. She had material things, but she wasn’t happy. She needed more; she wanted more. I’m entitled to more. She had decided to leave Jake-she just had some details to work out. Their marriage had grown to be so boring and predictable.
“Of all the trust-fund babies I dated, I end up marrying a broke guy who listens to NPR and loves the Weather Channel?” she said aloud with no small amount of disdain.
After the movie, Morgan decided to sit in her Jacuzzi, drink wine, and read a self-help book. She was enjoying the light-headedness and lack of responsibilities. Around midnight, with a slight buzz from the wine, she went to bed.
West Point was such a safe little town; everybody was lulled into a false sense of security. Morgan never even thought of turning on the alarm system. And since Scout was always raising Cain at the deer standing under the feeder Jake had behind the house, she was desensitized to Scout’s barking. She didn’t pay attention to it tonight, either.
Ethan “Moon Pie” Daniels, a longtime friend of Johnny Lee and Reese’s, lived in Tupelo, Mississippi. Moon Pie was making a drug run to Starkville-“Stark Vegas” as he called it-when he got Reese’s call.
Moon Pie owed Johnny Lee a big favor. Two years earlier Moon Pie’s live-in girlfriend Sheree had been cheating on him with a guy she’d met on the Internet who lived in Jackson. Moon Pie encouraged Johnny Lee to rough him up-send him a message. Moon Pie made sure he was seen at the Tupelo Fire Ants football game-a solid alibi. Sheree knew he had done it. The police suspected it, but could never connect him to the crime. And the computer geek in Jackson couldn’t send any more e-mails because he lost all the fingers on his right hand. Johnny Lee had done Moon Pie right. That’s what friends do, he thought.
Moon Pie couldn’t believe Johnny Lee was dead. He would do his part to reap revenge. The house was easy enough to find. The lots in the area were large, wooded, and very private. Piece of cake. Surveying the scene, he noticed a new Jeep Grand Cherokee that was probably used to haul kids to school. The driveway was big enough for several vehicles, and since only one car was there, he knew the woman was probably alone though she might have a kid or two in there. He hoped not. He wished he had more planning time. He could see a fancy fishing boat, and it was certain to have rods and reels worth stealing. Moon Pie loved to fish, but he hated to pay for good tackle. He’d check the boat on the way out.
As Moon Pie slowly approached the house, a large dog barked halfheartedly. Moon Pie had anticipated a dog. Dropping to a knee, he acted as friendly as he could, but the dog didn’t buy it. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a hot dog he’d just bought at the Quik Mart, broke it in half, and tossed half to the dog. It stopped barking, smelled the bait, and then ate it. He waved the rest of it and tossed it only a few feet in front of him. The dog slowly approached, still very suspicious. She was accustomed to men in camouflage coming up to the house at all hours. Usually she got fussed at for barking. But this guy had food. Torn between protecting the house and eating a delicious hot dog, the wiener won. She then escorted him up the front porch steps.
Peeking in through glass in the front door, Moon Pie could see an illuminated alarm keypad. All the lights were green. He smiled. This is too easy. Then, something wet and cold touched his hand. Moon Pie jumped. Quickly looking down, he saw the black dog sitting, wagging its tail.
Jake drove like a bat fleeing hell down the old road, hitting small trees the entire way. He had already knocked the mirrors off one side of his truck. He was in the beginning stages of panic. He kept telling himself to calm down and think. As he approached the top of a ridge, he slowed down to try his cell phone.
“I can’t believe I can’t get a signal,” Jake said with disgust as he threw the phone down and looked in his rearview. He couldn’t see any lights following them. Visibility in the deep woods was less than a hundred yards.
Jake turned off the truck, then stood outside to listen. He couldn’t hear anything. Maybe they weren’t coming? Maybe he and Katy had gotten away? He had no idea how far he could hear, but it should be quite some distance. Katy was busy pulling on her pants as Jake climbed back in. She looked nervous, but he was keeping her busy.
“Put on the heavy gray socks,” he said.
“These?” she said, and he could hear the fear in her voice.
“Yes, baby.” Jake nodded his head also.
Jake cranked the truck and checked his gauges. Half a tank of gas. Plenty. They needed to make it to the Dummy Line and get the hell out of there. He guessed he had about twenty miles to reach a county road. His cell phone probably wouldn’t work again until he got back to Highway 17. He wondered about the big mud hole that he knew lay ahead as he dropped the truck into gear and drove forward.
Jake couldn’t get the image of the shooting out of his mind. He couldn’t believe he had shot that guy. He had no choice, but this was unbelievable. What a nightmare! Deep down he knew he had made the right decision. But still he questioned whether it could it have been avoided. Should he have stepped out of the shadows and shown his gun? He’d never know. Who were those guys? What did they want? Why did Katy have to come on this trip…of all the trips he had been on! Katy, my dear, sweet Katy. He shuddered to think what might have happened to her. Morgan was going to be pissed.
“Dad, where are my boots?” Katy asked.
Jake realized he had left them in the camper. “Damn,” he said under his breath. He had placed them in the camper so they would be warm in the morning. In all the confusion of leaving, he’d remembered her clothes but forgotten the boots.