A Fortune to Die For (White Oak - Mafia Series Book 1) (8 page)

After lunch, his assistant repacked the briefcases while Jonas discussed a few more concerns.

“Tess, not a word to anyone. Helen, dress up nice for our date. Meg, get in touch with the lawyer I suggested. We need the process begun at once.”

Meg pulled the business card from her pocket and glanced at the name. “I’ll call Joe Cane now,” she replied and hurried back to her room.

An hour later, she rolled her luggage into the living room.

“You’re leaving us?” Tess cried in dismay.

“Mr. Cane made room for me to see him today, but it’s at six this evening, which means I’ll need to stay overnight in Dubuque.”

“Oh…” Tess said with disappointment. “Well, you are right to plan an overnight stay. No one should drive these roads at night.” She huffed and looked at Meg with the cutest, sad, puppy dog eyes. “At least, you got one good hike.” The next moment, Tess hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re saving our woods.”

“Me, too,” Meg said and looked at Helen. “I’ll keep you two updated on the progress of the donation.”

“Update me, not Tess,” Helen said.

Tess’s mouth fell open.

“I have reason to believe your phone is bugged. Otherwise, my house wouldn’t have been full of relatives the day you arrived.”

“Grams, I would never betray you!”

“I never thought you would. Which means someone must have tapped your phone.”

“Are you certain they don’t have
your
phone tapped?” Meg asked.

“I’m sure they do by now, but they tapped the old copper-line upstairs. I have a fiber line system down here.”

Tess groaned. “Then it was my phone. It would explain how my father knew some other stuff.” She shook her head in anger. “I really hate him sometimes.” Tess’s eyes turned watery. “Mind if I just live here forever?”

Helen wrapped her arms around the young woman. “You are always welcome here.” She looked at Meg. “You, too. I realize you’ll probably want to stay far away from the fireworks, but when the dust settles, we’d love for you to come visit.”

Tess smiled for a moment, then her brow furrowed. “I gather neither Uncle Jeffrey nor Dad knows about this house going to me.”

Helen chuckled. “It’s more likely they just don’t care since they think it’s a small cabin without an indoor toilet. Now let’s see Meg off. You get her computer case, and I’ll wheel the luggage.”

With directions in hand, luggage in the trunk, and her computer case on the passenger floor board, Meg waved goodbye and set off on the “better” road.

She soon discovered the subjective nature of the word “better”.

She missed Andy leading the way and calling out potholes. Now she faced them on her own, which meant she drove at the speed of a turtle. As if frustrated by her sluggish crawl, the car would, on occasion, speed up on its own. She countered the problem by putting it into neutral and coasting down the hill.

Still, at every hairpin curve, the engine would rev frantically, and she would have to fight the wheel to get it to turn. She named her rental Christine 2 after Stephen King’s malevolent car. She crept down, using gravity and her brakes. By the time she reached flat land, her arms shook with fatigue.

If there had been a town in sight, she would have found a rental place and turned in this piece of shit. While there was the occasional house to be seen amongst the miles of crops, she saw no towns and no signs to towns. Thus, she had no choice but to put the car back into gear and drive onward.

West.

But Dubuque was clearly north of St. Donatus.

Great! She was lost once again. She cursed a flat tire on whoever stole her GPS.

Maybe the road to Dubuque looped around some natural impediment.

She continued forward, wishing for a road sign or something to confirm this theory. When she reached crossroads clearly in a grid, she abandoned hope and decided to turn north, certain she’d gotten off track.

Halfway into her turn, the car soared forward like a dog sighting a rabbit. She struggled to turn the wheel sufficiently to keep the piece of crap on the road. Seeing a pickup truck coming straight at her, she cursed and leaned her whole body into turning the wheel further. Finally, she got the car mostly back onto her side of the road. The truck passed by, horn blaring. She couldn’t blame his anger. She was more than annoyed herself.

Having failed to kill her, the deathtrap became a little angel again.

“Stupid piece of shit.”

She no longer looked for signs to Dubuque. She’d never make it to the city alive in this car. What she needed was a garage, a car rental shop, or a car lot, used or new, she didn’t care.

Then the grid ended, forcing her to turn left or right. She decided to go right, mostly because it was easier to turn the wheel that way.

Midway in the turn, the engine revved. This time, she was ready and knocked it into neutral. Unable to turn the car sufficiently, she slammed on the brakes, stopping it in the middle of the road. The engine continued to scream as she took a moment to let her heart settle and arms recover.

This had to be the Lottery’s curse. Cars did not turn into death traps on their own.

The crackling of gravel made Meg look up. A red pickup stopped behind her car.

Great! Probably a serial killer.

A white-haired man in his sixties wearing a cowboy hat climbed out and came toward her. “Trouble?”

“Yeah, my car’s gone Christine on me.”

His brow furrowed. “Could you turn off the engine and step out of the car?”

Turn off the engine…great idea!
She did and smiled at the silence. “I should have thought of that myself.”

Her door opened, and the man gently gripped her arm and helped her out.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I will be…just shaken up. I’ve never had a car decide to drive itself before.”

He led her to his pickup truck. “Just stay here while I move your car to one side. Otherwise, someone is going to plow into it.”

She looked up and down the three empty roads.
What someone?

“Be careful,” she warned, but the man had already closed the door and started the engine.

Naturally, it purred like a sweet little kitten. Of course! This man didn’t have a curse. Only for her did cars turn into Christine.

“Damn car, I should have gone back into the rental place and demanded a Subaru,” she grumbled.

The next moment all hell broke loose. With wheels squealing and brakes burning, the car slammed into the steep ditch by the road.

Oh God, her curse had killed some well-intentioned bystander.

By the time Meg reached the ditch, the fellow had opened the door and climbed out of her wrecked car. Just then an ancient, pointy-finned, rusted car from the 1950s rolled up. A curly-haired, square-jawed guy in his late twenties jumped out and ran to her car in the ditch. “Lee, you okay?” He remained near the top of the ditch but extended his hand to help Lee up the steep incline.

Once he had the old man safely on the road, he turned to Meg. “You should be tossed in jail and have your license revoked.”

“I’m the one who drove it in the ravine,” Lee chided.

“Well, she’s the one who damn near killed me on Old Davenport. I had to go halfway into the ditch to avoid her and bent an axle doing so. My truck’s at Harvey’s getting fixed.”

The old man stared at the rusted junk heap on the road. “I see he gave you his loaner.”

“I would have told him to keep it and just called you, but I have to be in Dubuque before five.”

Meg’s head snapped up at his mention of Dubuque. “Can you give me a lift?”

His square jaw clenched for a moment. “Are you insane? You almost killed me.”

The old man interceded. “It wasn’t her fault, Traver. There is something seriously wrong with this car.”

“Yeah, it has a loose nut behind the wheel.”

“It didn’t drive any better for me.” Lee gripped Traver’s arm and led him away so Meg couldn’t hear their conversation. Didn’t work since Traver never spoke below a bellow.

“Oh come on! You have to give her a ticket at least!”

Lee responded, but his words were too soft to hear. However, his hand gestures were quite emphatic.

“The hell she won’t!” Traver replied.

The old man said something else, and both men walked toward her.

“May I see your driver’s license, please?” the old man asked.

Okay, this was getting way too weird. She stepped back a couple of feet. “I’m not comfortable handing out my driver’s license to strangers. Can we call a policeman?”

“Why, so you can stick Lee with the bill for wrecking your car?” Traver challenged.

“No…there’s something seriously wrong with the car. Driving in the ditch”—she nodded to her wrecked car—“was not his fault. However, I’d rather
you
never know my name.”

The old man chuckled. “She’s got a point there.” He then pulled out his wallet and showed her a gold star. “I’m the closest thing there is to a policeman out here. Sheriff Lee Cobbs at your service.”

Meg stared at the badge for a long moment before reaching into her purse. “Of course, you can see my driver’s license.” She paused and frowned at Traver. “But could you ask him to step back a little?”

Lee chuckled and waved Traver back.

“Can I leave then?” Traver demanded.

“Miss, do you plan to sue me for the damage I did to your car?”

“No! First, it was the car’s fault, not yours, and secondly, it’s a rental and insured.”

Lee looked at Traver with a smug smile.

Traver stomped off to the old car but didn’t drive off.

Meg handed him her license.

“How long have you had this car…Miss Williams?”

“Three days I think.”

He returned her license. “Why didn’t you take the car back on day one?”

“It wasn’t doing this back then. I did drive it up a seriously potholed road the first day. Then yesterday I didn’t drive it all, and today, when I came down a very tall hill, the engine would rev every time I took a curve, so I dropped it in neutral and coasted down.”

“And the steering?”

“Maybe it was because I was only driving at five miles an hour, but I would have to put my whole body into turning the car. Honestly, my arms are so tired I don’t think I could hold a rock right now.”

He glanced at her arms. “You look like you’re a pretty strong young lady, too.”

“Normally. I lift weights to keep my arm strength up.”

“Probably saved your life today. I’m going to have this towed to Harvey’s and have him look it over if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I still need to get to Dubuque. Any chance you can give me a ride?”

He smiled. “I would, but I have to stay here and make sure no one runs into the back of your car. It’s sticking out on the road. However, Traver has agreed to take you to Dubuque.”

“Really?” Nothing about Traver’s behavior had indicated the slightest possibility of him wishing to help her.

“He lost a bet, and taking you to Dubuque is his pay up.”

She still didn’t think getting in a car with the angry fellow sounded like a good idea.

“He’s a good boy. He just loves his truck a bit too much.” Lee turned to her car. “Is there anything you need to get out of this vehicle?”

“Oh! Thank you for reminding me. I have a computer case in the passenger’s front seat and luggage in the trunk.”

“Well, you get the luggage, and I’ll climb down and get your computer-case.” Lee didn’t wait for her agreement He just headed toward her car.

“Wait, I’ll get the computer. The ditch is really steep.”

“And there’s some massasauga in this area, so you need to let me do this.”

Meg had no idea what a massa-whatever was and without knowing what she was talking about, she doubted she could convince a sheriff she was better at handling them than he. She retrieved her suitcase out of the back and intended to help the nice Sheriff Cobbs out of the ditch no matter how much it hurt her arms, but angry, bet-losing Traver ordered her to the car and offered his help to the sheriff.

“Thank you, Sheriff Cobbs,” she said, ignoring Traver’s order.

He handed over her PC case. “Just call me Lee. Do you know where you’ll be staying in Dubuque in case I need to reach you?”

“Not yet.”

He gave her his card. “Will you call me when you do know? I’ll need to give you a copy of my final report for the insurance company.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll call you tonight. What time is too late to call?”

He chuckled. “I take calls at any hour.”

She wasn’t particularly satisfied with his obliging answer, so she questioned Grumpy Traver once they were on their way. “Will nine o’clock be too late to call the sheriff?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Ten?”

“He already answered you. Just call him before you go out partying or whatever it is you plan to do.”