[To Die For 01] - A View to Die For (2012) (2 page)

Fred was back before I could answer. “Sure,” I said, grabbing his collar. “I’ll catch you before I leave, after I’ve put my dog away.” I had the hardest time holding Fred back from the baby. Why he thought all babies need a tongue-bath was beyond me.

After Fred left his contribution on the lawn, I put him back in the van and reached for my wallet. Showing a full wallet to strangers isn’t the best of ideas, so I removed a five-dollar bill before I walked over to the girl. She was putting the baby in a car seat and trying to wipe tears from her eyes at the same time. The father, or at least I assumed he was the father, was talking to a man down by the restrooms. I put the five dollars back in my pocket as I approached.

“Where you guys headed?” I asked.

“Kansas City,” she answered. “Mike’s got a friend who works at the airport there and thinks he can get Mike a job fueling the planes. We ain’t got nuthin back in Denver, and we can stay with Mike’s buddy until he finds a job.”

“This won’t get you to Kansas City, but it should help with diapers or something,” I said, opening my wallet and giving her a couple twenties.

“Thank you, Mister,” she said, staring at my wallet. “Are you going to Kansas City, too?”

“Not if I can help it. We’re headed for Truman down by Lake of the Ozarks. My GPS keeps trying to route us through KC, but I prefer to take the back roads and avoid the big cities.”

“I got a sister in Truman. You should take highway seven out of Harrisonville,” she said.

“Well, take care of that little cutie. We better get going,” I replied, then turned and headed for my van.

“God bless you, Mister,” she shouted as we passed their truck on our way out of the rest area. Fred answered for me with a loud bark.

God must have approved. My phone started ringing before we could merge into traffic. “Jacob, where are you?”

“Hi, Mom. How’s Dad doing?”

“Your father is going to be fine. He’s out of intensive care and resting now. Why didn’t you get Megan a lawyer? I thought you said you would help?”

“Sorry, Mom. I couldn’t get a signal.”

“Then how come I got through if you couldn’t get a signal?”

“Mom, I’m not lying, honest.” She had me on the defensive already; she must be feeling her old self again.

“Well, the judge postponed the hearing until she could get a lawyer. When do you think you will be in Truman?”

“I’ll use my phone to find her a lawyer as soon as I get to Hays. I should be there within an hour.”

“You can do that from your phone? How is that possible, Jacob?”

“The web, Mom,” I answered. “I can surf the web and then call the lawyer from Hays. I should have enough left on my credit card to pay his retainer, but I may need help with the bail.”

“Seems like a big waste, if you ask me. What’s wrong with a good old fashioned phone booth and phone book? It’s no wonder your credit card is at its limit. I bet you pay a fortune for that stupid smart phone.”

My phone cut out before I could comment on my mother’s oxymoron. She may have been right about the new technology if not for the fact that phone booths had gone the way of television antennas, which was another one of her peeves.

Less than an hour later, while eating a burger at the McDonald’s in Hays, I found a lawyer. Fred wasn’t too happy about staying in the van alone, but I wanted to use my laptop and the free wireless internet access to avoid using up my data download limit imposed on my cellphone plan. The lawyer agreed to help as soon as I could come up with his retainer. It was far more than what I had left on my credit card. I was beginning to wonder if Missouri had any decent public defenders.

“Could you accept a deposit with my debit card, Mister Rosenblum?” I asked. “I can give you the balance in cash once I get to Truman.”

His attitude seemed to change instantly. “No problem. Cash always works. I’ll have my secretary call you back in a few minutes to get your card number. I better get on over to the courthouse before George leaves for lunch,” he said.

“George?” I asked.

“The judge. He’s an old friend of mine. It’ll take some talking, but I should be able to get him to set bail. Lucky for your sister, you called the right lawyer.”

Bail, if there was any, would be another hurdle I’d have to jump when I got to Truman. The lawyer’s fee would make my wallet look like the week’s biggest loser at Weight Watchers.

Fred would have to wait for his lunch a bit longer. I decided to search the web while I waited for Rosenblum’s secretary to call me back. I was curious so see if Megan had made the news. The wire services didn’t even mention the small town murder, but my search did produce an article on a Springfield, Missouri television web page. I had chosen the keywords of Missouri, and murder. I found the link on the tenth page of my search results. Who would have thought Missouri would have so much homicide. The article was titled “Black Widow Strikes Again.” There was even a video clip of an exclusive report.

“Sergeant Bennet, a deputy with the Fremont County Sheriff’s office, said he became suspicious when the victim’s autopsy showed he had died by carbon monoxide poisoning and not by the accident,” said the reporter. Then she had the cameraman cut to the sergeant.

“That and the insurance company,” he added. “I did a little detective work and called Mrs. Carver’s insurance company. That’s when I had the coroner do an autopsy. The adjuster pointed out that Mrs. Carver’s two previous husbands had died in auto accidents after overdosing on medication, the last only two years ago, and she had collected a sizeable amount on those policies.”

“How much is the current policy?” the reporter asked.

“One million,” Bennet replied.

“Almost double the amount she collected from her last husband,” the reporter said, and then cut to an interview shot earlier.

“That bitch stole my husband, and now she’s gonna pay.” The woman being interviewed was still dressed in her bathrobe and standing outside an old mobile home. All she needed to complete my mental picture were curlers in her hair and runny mascara, but, sadly, she had neither. In fact she was a very attractive woman, much better looking than my sister.

I was surprised they didn’t bleep her, but I suppose calling someone a female dog isn’t considered swearing in the Ozarks. “I tried to tell Mike she was just a no good bitch, and he better watch his back. But he was always in heat himself and couldn’t keep his BLEEP in his pants.” That time they did bleep her, but it was obvious what they cut. The reporter was probing for more information when I saw the old truck from the rest area pull into the parking lot. I had parked my van in the back lot under some shade trees for Fred. They must not have noticed it.

The couple was met in the lot by one of the McDonald’s workers, a woman; the worker had been waiting by an SUV with Colorado plates. That’s when I noticed the Kansas plates on the truck. Something didn’t ring true. If this couple was from Denver, why did their truck have Kansas plates? And why hadn’t I noticed that back at the rest area?

Although I couldn’t hear what was going on, it was obvious the McDonald’s employee was upset with the couple. The worker took the keys from the girl and was still yelling as she got into the truck and checked on the baby in its car seat.

My concentration on the show outside was interrupted by another employee. “Would you like a refill on your coffee, Sir?”

“Sure,” I responded, somewhat in shock. “Is this a new policy or just Kansas hospitality?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’ve never been in a fast-food restaurant that waited on its customers with refills,” I answered.

“Really? Where are you from?” she asked.

“Colorado. On my way to Missouri. I hope they are this friendly there.”

“Shelia’s little sister is from Colorado, too. That’s them out there. Sorry you had to see that, but her little sister and her boyfriend are a real pain in Shelia’s neck. That girl is always late bringing back Shelia’s baby, but at least it’s free babysitting.”

My phone started to ring, and the waitress took it as her cue to go on to the next table. “Hello,” I said.

“Mr. Martin?” Without waiting for me to answer, she continued. “Mr. Rosenblum asked me to run your debit card.”

I gave the lawyer’s secretary the info she needed, and then waited while she made sure it cleared. By the time she was finished with me, it was too late to catch the couple who had conned me at the rest area. They were already leaving the parking lot in their SUV. I grabbed Fred’s hamburgers and headed out the door.

By now, Fred’s burgers were quite cold, but he ate them in two gulps when I let him out of the van. I barely had time to get out his water bowl before the burgers disappeared. “That will have to hold you for now, Boy. Drink up. We’ve got a long trip ahead.”

But Fred wasn’t quite ready to leave. Next to swimming, there is nothing a male Golden Retriever likes to do more than sniff out the markings of another male dog’s claim to a tree. He had to circle it three times before declaring it his own. “Come on, Fred. Let’s go get your aunt out of jail.”

* * *

I was beat by the time we got to Kansas City. I had given up fighting my GPS to route me through the back roads of Kansas. It acted like they didn’t exist. I had been driving for ten hours straight and still had another two hours to go. The drive across eastern Colorado and Kansas must be the most boring five hundred miles in America. Without coffee and radar guns, I would have fallen asleep at the wheel long ago. It had been four hours since I’d heard from my mother or anyone other than a McDonald’s voice asking to take my order. I owe them and the Kansas Highway Patrol my life. But now, I was in traffic worse than anything I had seen in Denver since the rebuilding of I-25, and I was lost. Just as I was looking for a place to pull over and check my GPS, the phone rang.

“Hi, Mom,” I said.

“How did you know it was me, Jacob?”

“ESP, Mom,” I answered without going into the marvels of caller ID.

“Do you always have to be such a smartass?” she asked. Then in a much softer voice she said, “Where are you now?”

“Sorry, Mom,” I said for the hundredth time in the last day. I was on I-435, and I missed the exit to Sedalia. “Looks like I’m headed to St. Louis. Don’t worry. I’ll check my GPS and should be in Truman in a couple hours.”

“Then, I take it, you didn’t get a lawyer,” she questioned.

“Yes, Mother. I got a lawyer. He is supposed to call once he arranged bail. How’s Dad by the way? Can I talk to him?”

“He’s sleeping now. I’m going to stay in your father’s hospital room tonight, so you need to check on Kevin when you get to the house. Make sure he has something to eat when you get there.”

“Mom, I didn’t drive seven hundred miles to babysit my nephew. I’m sure Kevin can order fast food as well as I can, or has that new tongue piercing stopped him from talking?”

“Don’t start in with me about Kevin. You know it’s just a stage he’s going through. There’s a motel next to the hospital. I’ll get a room there for a couple of days until your father is well enough to go home. Please take care of your nephew.”

After checking a map, since my GPS couldn’t tell me where I was, I saw I had missed the turnoff for US 71 and was going east on I-435. I had an impulse to continue on to I-70 towards Columbia and check in on my father, but then my mother would be furious. I got off at the next exit and went back in search of the wagon path my GPS couldn’t find.

It was dark by the time I finally found US 71 and headed toward Harrisonville. From there, I would take Highway Seven on into Clinton and then to Truman. Ironically, it was the route the con artist had suggested back at the rest area.

It was after ten when we got to Clinton; both Fred and I needed to relieve ourselves. Luck was with us when I turned east toward Truman and spotted the golden arches. It was too late to go inside, and there wasn’t any grass in the parking lot. I would have to go through the drive-up and find somewhere else to let Fred out. I ordered a couple burgers and a coffee then headed out of town in search of a place to pull over. I found a cemetery a couple blocks down the road. Superstitious people would have been reluctant to stop at a cemetery this late at night, but it looked like the only place to stop before the highway narrowed to shoulder-less two lanes.

“Hungry, Boy,” I asked, tossing him one of the burgers. He ate his sandwich before I could even get mine out of the wrapper. “Okay, you can have this one too.”

Fred finished the second burger then decided to wash it down, spilling more water than he actually drank. I let him take his potty break at a nearby tree. I suppose I could have done the same had it been anywhere but a cemetery. My break would have to wait. I put Fred in the van and rechecked the map. “Just another thirty miles, Freddie boy. Then another fifteen or so to Megan’s, and we can both get some sleep.”

Soon after leaving Clinton, Highway Seven turned from a pleasant drive on a four-lane divided-highway to a stomach-wrenching two-lane roller coaster. I now knew why there was a cemetery at the edge of town; this road was a killer. Headlights tried to blind me at almost every rise in the road, and more than once, an oncoming car or truck almost side swiped me. However, the road was nothing compared to the shoulder – there wasn’t any. In place of shoulders, the road builders had opted for deep ditches to drain away the water. They thought, I presumed, any driver who was stupid enough to try and pull off the road deserved to be washed away. How Fred managed to sleep through it all is anybody’s guess.

I knew enough about Missouri back roads to watch for deer after the sun goes down. Earlier, just before sunset, and before Fred fell to sleep, the deer had started to appear at the side of the road. I would have missed them if Fred hadn’t started to bark. At half the size of Rocky Mountain mule deer, he must have thought they were big dogs.

Except for the lights of a car coming up behind me, I was driving in total darkness. The time right after sunset, before the stars and moon make their appearance, is the darkest and spookiest time of night. I should have slowed down, but I was in a hurry to get off the road. Then my cell phone rang; it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. The car in my rear-view mirror was coming up fast.