A Fair to Die For (18 page)

“Wait,” Milton said. “Talk to the sheriff first.”

Henry snatched the cell phone from his pocket, scrolled to the number, and got Investigator Burke immediately, without remembering the man might be alert to a phone call because he was expecting Carrie to call him back. Henry tried to give details coherently, but there was too much to tell. He shoved the phone toward Milton. “You tell them the danger. You get them on the road, searching for that van.”

Looking stunned, Milton Sales was silent for a moment, and then, as he began speaking, Henry turned to Edie. “This is
your
fault. You involved her in your mess. You put her in this danger. If there is anything more you haven’t told me, you do it now, and you
will
tell the deputy that Carrie’s only interest in Sales was because of you. She thought you needed him to clear your father. That’s all! She has no connection with drug dealing or distribution.
You will tell them ALL the truth!

“
NOW, Edie, WHO are those men? Why have they taken Carrie, and how did they know we were here?
”

Behind him, Milton said, “She doesn’t know, and I’m not sure, but I suspect they’re either part of a cartel in competition with the Harleys, or higher-ups in the group John Harley was with. They probably took Carrie because she was easily available, and with the thought they could use her as leverage to get at information they think Edie or I may have. It’s also possible they think Carrie is somehow involved in all this mess. As to how they knew we were here, I haven’t a clue. There was a tracking device on my truck last week, but I removed it, and there’s nothing there now. I am so very, very sorry.”

“It’s a bit late for being sorry,” Henry said, shutting his eyes. He wanted to hit someone—including himself, for being so blind. He wanted to roar down the road to find Carrie. He wanted to
do
something. He had to find Carrie, he had to see to it that she was safe. There must be something, something . . . .

He had to do something.

His brain went numb, and he stood in frozen silence beside Edie and Milton, trying to breathe evenly. Had to be calm. Had to.
Oh Carrie, Little Love.

Couldn’t just stand here.

He began pacing back and forth in the parking lot and was still at it when a deputy sheriff’s car, coming a bit too fast, slid into the lot, raising a cloud of dust.

In a minute both Investigator Burke and Deputy Olinda Rosten were out of the car, asking him to repeat his story and describe the van. Henry shut his eyes to focus on forming a picture, and was surprised at how much he had noticed without realizing it. When he finished giving details, he said, “Talk to these two. They can tell you how all this got started, and how this woman drew Carrie into it.”

While Deputy Rosten returned to the car to broadcast Henry’s description of the van, Investigator Burke turned to Edie. “Guess there’s more to this whole situation than we’ve learned so far. I know how Sales is connected, but what about you, Ms. Embler?”

“I’m Carrie’s cousin.”

Henry glared at her and had about decided to say, “Tell it all, blast it,” when Burke spoke instead.

“Yes? And?”

“I came here to look for Milton Sales because he, along with my dad, was an agent in the old Bureau of Drug Abuse Control back in the sixties. Dad disappeared in 1968 while tracking down dealers who were providing drugs to truckers in the United States. Mother and I have known for years that Daddy was suspected of being a double agent, possibly even selling drugs to truckers himself. Doing research on my own, I learned about Milton Sales. I hoped he could help me clear my father’s name and tell me what really happened to him. When I learned Sales had retired, moved to Arkansas, and was selling his woodcarvings at craft fairs in the area, I came here to see if I could find him. The fact I have a cousin here was fortuitous.”

“And?”

“That’s all. I found Milton Sales. I learned the truth about my father. Milton is going to be able to clear my father’s name.”

Henry said, “Edie . . .” and took a step toward her. She didn’t flinch or even look at him.

Burke said, much to Henry’s surprise, “Ms. Embler, your connection to the DEA is now known to selected people in the County Sheriff’s Office here. I am one of them. We work closely with the Drug Enforcement Administration office in this area.” He put his foot on the bumper of Shirley’s Cadillac and, his voice cold, said, “Now, do we understand each other?”

Henry hadn’t a clue what Edie would say next, and Olinda Rosten saved her from needing to answer when she slammed the door of the Deputy Sheriff’s car and trotted over to rejoin them, frowning. “I have news that complicates things,” she said, voice quivering. “About two hours ago a housekeeper at the Ozark Suites Motel found the body of John Harley in the room registered to him and his wife Elizabeth.”

She stopped to catch her breath and Henry wondered, briefly, why she was so upset by this news. The Harleys, whatever they did, shouldn’t cause a skilled law officer this degree of agitation.

Olinda went on, “He was in the bathtub. He’d slit his wrists. Only been dead an hour or so.”

For a minute no one said anything. Then Milton Sales asked, “What about his wife? What about Liz?”

“No sign of her,” Deputy Rosten said, voice shaking again. She took another deep breath and continued more steadily. “Her clothing and toiletries are still in the room. No sign of their SUV, or the enclosed trailer it was towing.”

This deputy is too tender hearted,
Henry thought.

Carrie had been trying hard to identify sounds as the van hummed over paved roads, listening for anything that said where they were. Eventually she heard a train whistle, and then, when the van stopped, the easily identifiable sound of train cars on tracks in front of them. It didn’t take long for the train to pass, so it couldn’t be one of those hundred-car-plus coal trains on the Kansas City Southern tracks. They probably hadn’t gone far enough to cross those tracks anyway. It must be a freight run on the Arkansas and Missouri line.

After the train sounds faded and they bumped across the tracks, the van spent what seemed like a long time in city traffic, with pauses for stoplights, until things were quieter again and they turned off on an unpaved road. The van rattled along for probably three or four minutes before it turned left and paused, engine idling.

She heard the hum of a large truck engine nearby. Eighteen wheeler? On this road? The sound wasn’t rough enough for a dump truck, though that would be more common on a road like this. Maybe a live-haul chicken truck, but nothing here, including the smell, told her they were anywhere near chicken houses.

The noise stopped, a door slammed, and male voices shouted greetings. She could distinguish only “Smooth,” and what sounded like “Cash.” Then silence.

W
here was she?

The man next to her got out of the van, there was the sound of a large door opening, and they rolled onto a hard-surface floor. The door shut. She heard more voices, and one of them belonged to a woman.
A woman?
The female voice was easier to hear than the men’s had been. Carrie understood “Hurry,” and “Get her to tell you.”

Then the woman said “ Use the car. They’ll be searching for the van by now.”

Second Man returned and dragged her toward the van’s side door, bouncing her out and onto the building’s floor. Carrie tried to anticipate his moves so she could brace or bend her body and minimize injury, but she hit her knees on the metal step and began to fall. Male arms grabbed at her, catching her under one arm, and she was pulled forward several feet until a voice she recognized as the second man’s said, “Get in and sit.” She leaned toward the car, judging with her shoulder and the side of her left arm where the door opening was. Then she turned her back to the opening, bent forward, and moved down cautiously until her rear end touched the seat and she could scoot in.
Now what?

The man got in beside her, and two car doors slammed. She assumed Arnie was driving, and the woman had been left behind. The car backed, and then they were moving forward on the unpaved road.

“Get her to tell you,”
the woman had said.
Tell them what?

What do they want to know? How much do they know already? Will I need to lie? Can I lie and get away with it? What’s Henry doing? Is he looking for me? And, how did they know we were at the mill? Who told them?

Too many questions. This isn’t productive.

She blocked the questions out and began praying.

It seemed no time at all before the car stopped. Someone, probably Second Man, pulled the tape off her ankles and she was told to get out. He took her arm. She heard a key in a door, then was shoved across a threshold.
No, it couldn’t be.

Her key. Taken from her purse?

It felt and smelled like . . . home.

Second Man released the pillowcase, yanked it off, and Carrie was dragged to a seat at her own kitchen table.

Arnie stood beside her, saying nothing, while Second Man disappeared. Taking a quick look through the house, she supposed. Or, maybe, using her bathroom.

When he returned, both men stood over her, and Carrie noticed they were both wearing surgical gloves.

“Where are the toys?” Arnie asked.

Careful, careful.

“Toys? What toys?”

“Where are they?” Arnie struck her across the face and she tasted blood where a tooth had cut into the inside of her cheek. She wanted to spit, but didn’t. They were in her home. She swallowed, and wondered what would happen if she asked for a drink of water and a paper towel.

“Tell us where they are. Harley said he gave them to you. He never lied.”

For some reason, both men laughed.

The past tense of lie stuck in Carrie’s head.
Why“lied?” What has happened to John Harley?
She shook her head, and hoped she’d misunderstood.

“Don’t shake your head. We’ll rip this house apart if we have to.
Tell us!”

Wouldn’t telling them she knew about the four pull toys get her into more trouble? Then they’d understand she knew powder had been hidden inside.

“I don’t have any toys here but the wooden police car I bought for my husband at the fair.” Tears were stinging her eyes, running down her cheeks, dropping unhindered on her jacket. She swallowed again.

Arnie and Second Man looked at each other.

“Where is it?”

“In a drawer in the bedroom. If you will take these things off my hands, I’ll get it for you.”

“Tell us where.”

I don’t want them touching my things.

“TELL us!”

“Chest of drawers. Bottom drawer on the right. Under my sweaters.”

Arnie disappeared, and came back with the little car.

“Too small Arn. It was a bigger haul than that for sure. Can’t be it.”

“I—know—it,” Arnie said. Taking her iron skillet off its hook, he put the car down on the kitchen floor and smashed the bottom edge of the skillet against it several times, finally splintering the car and leaving dents in her vinyl flooring.

Arnie advanced toward her, swinging the skillet. Holding it over her head, he said, “I’m getting angry. If you don’t want me to treat you like I did that car, tell me where the toys are.” He hit the side of her face again with his hand, not the skillet. “Tell me!”

Carrie spoke as slowly and calmly as she could, talking through the pain banging in her face and mouth. “I don’t have any other toys here. The guy who makes bird feeders did give me some pull toys he said belonged to Milton Sales. Said he was too busy to leave his booth, and asked me to take them to the fair office so Sales could pick them up later. We got busy at the booth where I was working, and I forgot. They were loaded in my husband’s truck by mistake, and we ended up carrying them to a friend’s house and taking them inside to show her. The cow’s udder came off on her kitchen table and spilled white powder all over. There were four large toys, and all of them had white powder inside. So we called the sheriff, and someone came out and made tests on the powder. He said it was probably baking soda. Anyway, it wasn’t drugs.”

Arnie stopped her with a growl. “Not drugs?”

“Definitely not drugs. The sheriff’s deputy took the toys away. Said he would send them to be tested in Little Rock.”

“Bull.”

“No. Truth. What possible reason could I have for lying to you? You can rip this house apart if you want, but I am telling the truth. The only toy I had here was the little police car I bought for my husband.” She looked at the mess on the floor and then lifted her chin and looked straight into Arnie’s eyes, repeating, “I am telling the truth, and I wish I’d thought to tell you about those stupid pull-toys first. Then you wouldn’t have smashed the gift for my husband.”

Second Man said, “Arn, I don’t think she stole our goods. Doesn’t fit. Hell, she’s a grandma. Got Bibles and church stuff all over the house.”

While Arnie and Second Man looked at each other, she said again, “I am telling the truth. The sheriff’s deputy took the toys, and they were never in this house anyway.”

Finally Arnie nodded, and Second Man went outside, returning in a couple of minutes. “Cell phone doesn’t work here. How about the land line?”

“No, they’d find the records too easily. We’ll have to drive to where the phone works. But first, maybe we can find that information the boss wants, and we’d better hurry at it. No telling how long before hubby comes back.”

“Nah, he’ll be out looking for this one for a while yet. We’ve got time, then we can report to the boss when we get to where there’s a signal.”

Carrie said, “There are some bananas in a bowl over on the counter. Could I have one, please? And feel free to take one for each of you if you like. Also, I’d like a drink of water. Glasses in that cabinet to the left of the sink.

Without comment, Second Man brought her water, and put a banana in front of her on the table. “Banana, Arnie?” he asked, peeling one for himself.

“No.” He looked at Carrie. “Embler’s staying here. Right?”

She chewed on a bite of banana and nodded.
No use lying now.