Give First Place to Murder (26 page)

I didn't, not that it mattered. Linda had only come inside enough to clear the doorway for him.

"Wes is right here. Aren't you? Honey!"

"Lay off, Linda. None of this is my fault." Wes slouched in, looking from us to the trunk and back. "You two just can't keep your noses clean, can you."

Susannah looked bewildered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. What I’d remembered, what I had begun to suspect was true, was. The only question left was, what did I do now?

"The two men in the pick-up truck, they brought those two blue trunks, didn't they?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. "That's why you didn't leave. You were waiting for them."

Linda sighed. "Too smart by half, but it won't do you much good." She pulled a small, black, horrible looking gun out of her pocket and pointed it at me, then at Susannah.

"OK, Wesley Leon Fowler. Since you're getting so good at killing folks, figure out how you're going to get rid of these two."

"What? What are you talking about? Mom? What are they talking about?”

Amazing how you always turn to your mother when you need help. Only this time, Mom felt pretty helpless.

"How come I have to do it?" Wes looked at us belligerently, "Why don't you just shoot 'em?"

"You are an idiot." Her tone dripped with contempt.

"Linda, I told you. Don't start."

"Biggest mistake I ever made, starting with you. You and your stupid temper.”

I watched, fascinated, and a little hopeful, as she raged at him.

“
I told you, Linda…” Wes took a step toward her and raised his fist. I held my breath, ready to grab Susannah and make a dash for the door.

“
Don’t threaten me, you stupid red neck. This whole operation is a mess, and it’s all your fault.”

“
My fault?” Wes had taken a good look at the gun and dropped his fist. His voice sounded less belligerent as the muzzle swung around to center on his belt buckle. “Now, Linda, honey. Don’t get so upset. I’m the one who keeps saving us.”

“
Oh?” Linda sneered at him. “First you tried to bully the old lady into not selling the business, then you thought you could bully Bryce into keeping his mouth shut. That’s saving us? Push people around, that's the only thing you know how to do, besides drive a truck. If you'd kept your stupid hands off the little creep's neck, I could have made this gig last us another year."

This was another Linda. What happened to the quiet, obedient one? I hadn't much liked her, but she was a bunch better than the one in front of us.

"Neck?" Susannah's mouth was wide open. "You killed Bryce?"

I really wished she didn't feel the need to enter this conversation. I was sure the more they fought, the longer we would stay healthy. Besides, ever since I'd seen what was in the blue tack trunks I'd been certain who’d done the killing, and why. Linda, however, I hadn't figured on.

"What have you been doing to Irma?"

"Not a damn thing," Linda snapped. "The old lady's never been so well off. She wouldn't have sold, either. Not after her buyer got a load of the books I was planning to give him. It woulda' worked too, if you'd kept your nose out and hadn't dragged her off to get ‘professional advice’."

The look she shot me made me want to hide behind the hay bales. Susannah seemed oblivious. She kept staring at Wes's hands and repeated, "You killed Bryce? And Rusty?"

"Of course he killed Bryce. Killing people in a rage is one of the few things he knows how to do. And as soon as these local yokels get tired of trying to match up the prints from the bathroom and the fingerprints on the pitchfork with something on their computers and send them off to the FBI, we're finished here. I've been expecting the feds to come visiting for a week."

"Pitchfork? No." Susannah shook her head. "Wes wasn't even there when Rusty was killed. And Bryce was gone when Wes got back. He couldn't have killed either of them. There's some mistake."

"You're right about that," Linda said bitterly. "But the mistake was mine."

"Shut up, Linda," Wes snarled. "You know as well as I do no one threatens me with blackmail. And Bryce was too fond of the stuff for us to trust his mouth." He turned to Susannah and laughed. "Nice to know I fooled you all though."

“
You didn’t. Stephanie said she’d seen you pull up before Bryce had left the barn after he had his little snit. But you told us you hadn’t seen Bryce. Dan was right there when Stephanie told us. He knows you were lying, so you’d better leave us alone.”

Wes looked a little uncertain. Unfortunately, Linda didn’t. “We’ll have to think what to do about that little bitch, but first things first.” She smiled. It wasn’t pretty. “If Dan hasn’t come calling, then it’s certain he didn’t make that connection. Too bad you did.”

My weak bluff hadn’t worked. I’d better come up with something else, and fast. But what?

"Move over there." Linda waved the gun toward the hay and waited none too patiently while Susannah and I backed up. "Sit down and don't move."

I pulled Susannah down beside me and whispered, "Keep quiet. I'll try and think of something." She looked at me with huge eyes filled with fear, bewilderment, but unfortunately, not confidence. I could hardly blame her.

"Get the trunks stored before we get more company." Wes, still grumbling, glared at her. He moved over to the stall area and started to pull back a rough black rubber mat. Then he lifted up several floorboards.

"Oh my God," said Susannah.

"Sure you want them to see this?"

"Who are they going to tell?" Linda flashed us a smile that sent a chill down my spine.

"You're the one always bitching that things keep going wrong. At least no one's ever caught on to this before. And it was my idea."

"No one but Chovalo's nephew."

"I took care of him real neat. You're not the only smart one. Just the one with the biggest mouth."

"We've had Chovalo sniffing around ever since."

"He hasn't found anything, has he? All you do is bitch, but I'm the one gets things done."

Wes finished lifting the blue trunks into the hole left by the removed boards. I thought for a moment he was going to occupy it. Linda raised the gun toward his bent back and the expression on her face wasn't a loving one. But she lowered the gun, leveling it instead on us and hissed at Wes. "Get that other trunk and hurry."

Both trunks were stored, the floor boards, the mats back in place before anyone said another word. Linda gave one more instruction. "Go get the horse."

"What horse?"

"The one you're supposed to be delivering."

"Why? I thought you said we need to get out of here."

"We do. And it would be nice if we didn't have anyone on our tail for a while. That horse is your cover. Just like always, she's going to stand right on top of those trunks and no one’s going to think of asking you to move her. You're going to pick up the other horses in Fresno and head for LA, drop the stuff off and drive to Lexington. Just like your schedule says."

"How about them?" He jerked his head at us.

"You're going out Hwy 41. Right? It gets pretty desolate out there. It won't be light for hours. There're plenty of canals and ditches out that way. Be sure you pick a good spot."

Wes nodded and left the van. He returned moments later leading the gray mare. He backed her up over the spot where he’d stored the trunks and swung the stanchion against her side, securing it with a large pin. He pulled a bar in place across her chest, then pulled down one of the nets and snapped it onto rings so that it made a hammock in easy reach of the mare's head. She could move enough to balance herself but she wasn't going anywhere. It didn't seem to bother the horse. She just looked expectantly from the net to Wes. He walked over to us, said "Move", tore off a large flake of hay and dumped it into the net.

"You ready?" Linda asked impatiently.

"Yep. All I need is my paperwork. If this is going to look like a real trip, let’s make it good. I need to know where to meet up with you."

"Then come on."

Wes left the van and Linda backed toward the door, keeping the gun on us. "Hate to leave you in the dark ladies, but you know how it is. Too bad I can't wish you a pleasant trip."

The lights went out and the door slammed. The loud clang that followed was the sound of a bar dropped into place. Neither of us moved or said anything for a moment. Finally Susannah said softly, "Mom, you brought your cell phone, didn't you?"

"Sure."

"See if you can call Dan. Or 911."

"Good idea, but hard to do. It's in my purse. Which I left in the car."

Her "Oh," was pretty deflated.

"Do you still have the flashlight?" .

"I think so. Why?"

"Seems better than sitting here in the dark. Turn it on. Maybe it’ll help us think of a way out of here."

"Like what? We’re locked in and we can't call for help. This doesn’t look promising. The only good part is we know Chovalo’s innocent. Of everything."

"He must have been looking for evidence, either that someone was running drugs or that his nephew was murdered. Or both."

"But now we can help him. If we ever get out of here."

I had no idea what to say to that one. Getting out of here didn’t look good. As for helping Chovalo, are chances of that were about zip to zero. My panicky thought were interrupted by a whisper. Someone was at one of the small barred windows, softly calling.

"Susannah. Can you hear me? Susannah. Come to this window quickly. Susannah."

"It's Chovalo."

Susannah shone the light at each window. "Chovalo. Where are you?"

"Here. On this side. Be quiet. They will be back any moment. I will try to open the van door and let you out, but I am afraid they have locked it. I will try now."

"No." Suddenly I had a brainstorm. "Chovalo, we need help. Is my car still there?"

"Yes. They have not been near it."

"They will soon. Listen. In my purse is a phone. Go get it and call the police. Tell them what's happened and get them out here, fast. Then see if you can get the door opened."

"Si. I will do that. Do not worry. You will be free in no time."

We both held our breaths while we listened. I was sure I could hear the crunch of footsteps going away and the soft click of a door opening. Then there was no sound but the munching of hay and the contented blowing of the horse. Moments passed. We found ourselves huddled close against the van door, trying to hear something, anything. There! A vague murmur that had to be voices. Why was Chovalo talking so loud? He didn't need to shout into the phone like that, he needed to keep his voice down. Only it wasn't Chovalo. It was Wes doing the shouting. That soft murmur must be Chovalo, but what followed was Wes. He shouted out for someone to stop. Chovalo. It must be. Oh, run, Chovalo. A shot echoed. Just one. And silence. A terrible silence, broken by a soft sob from Susannah, followed by the scrap of the bar being removed from the door. It opened, but the light didn't go back on. The moon did the job. Wes staggered in carrying a large bundle and dumped it at our feet.

"You people are a hell of a lot more trouble than you're worth. It'll be a real pleasure gettin' rid of you."

He was gone again. The door swung into place, followed by a rasping noise and a loud angry clank as the bar crashed down.

“
What was that?”

“
Wes slipped the ramp in place. We’re ready to move.”

“
Oh,” was all I could think of to say. I didn’t have time for any more. The bundle moaned, to our relief.

"Shine the light down here. Maybe we can see how badly he's hurt." She did.

The left side of Chovalo's shirt and down his arm was sticky and wet. The puny light made the blood a dull rust color. It didn't matter. The only question was how much damage the bullet had done. Neither of us knew how to find out.

"What do we do now?" Susannah knelt beside him, tears rolling down her face. "I'm afraid to touch him."

"I know, but I think we have to. Hold the flashlight closer. Here. Oh, God."

I’d been trying desperately to think what people did in the mystery books I read, but only old Western movies came to mind, the kind where the heroine pulls off her petticoat, tears it apart, and uses it to stop the hero from bleeding to death. I didn't have a petticoat, but that didn't stop me from tearing open Chovalo's shirt. He'd never miss the buttons. Below his left shoulder was a large nasty looking hole, oozing blood each time he took another ragged breath.

"Do you have a handkerchief?" I already knew the answer.

"Only one dirty Kleenex. What’re we going to do?"

"He's still alive, but we need to stop the bleeding. Anyway that's what they do in the movies. Do you have on a bra?"

She shook her head. I spent a precious second pining for the lost modesty of the younger generation. I pulled my tee shirt up, slipped off my own and used it the best I could as a bandage.

The expression on Susannah's face was a wonder to see. I might have enjoyed it more if the engine hadn’t roared to life. We started to move.