Killertrust (25 page)

“That is absolutely the best
shrimp pasta I have ever eaten in my life!” Rhetta mopped up the remaining
sauce from her plate with the last piece of baguette. She swallowed her wine,
then dabbed her lips with the linen napkin.

There were only three other
guests with them in the dining room enjoying an early lunch. Instead of wine,
Randolph topped his meal off with strong local coffee. Although he had a past
history of abusing fermented beverages, she knew he steered clear of imbibing
much of any spirits any more. He used to partake daily of a gin and tonic or a
highball or few at home while he painted, but after nearly being killed in a
bad wreck where the police thought he had been driving drunk, he’d all but
eliminated alcohol from his routine. Some days he joined Rhetta in a glass of
wine after dinner, but generally no more than one glass.

Rhetta admired his willpower.
He’d told her he was doing it for her, that if she was strong enough to quit
smoking, he could quit drinking. The guilt pangs stabbed her again as she
thought about what he said. She made up her mind that she really would quit
this time. Besides, she hadn’t brought any cigarettes with her on this trip,
and they would be together, so she could resist the temptation to smoke. She
only smoked when she felt stressed. Okay, maybe not always because she was
stressed. She decided she’d better not think about cigarettes, because she
could feel the craving coming on.

“Hello, earth to Rhetta. Are
you somewhere without me?” He tilted his head sideways and smiled at her as he
scribbled on the guest check and handed it back to the waiter.

She quickly cleared her head
of her guilty thoughts. “Sorry Sweets. I guess I was thinking about how
beautiful this place is. I wish we were here for a fun trip instead of this
business. What did you say?”

He put his arm around her
shoulders. “Maybe we can get all this over with and have some fun. This place
is gorgeous. But we best hit the road if we’re going to Vera Mardola. It’s past
noon, so we want to be sure we have plenty of time to get to the ferry.”

“I need to brush my teeth.
Let’s go to our room and I’ll make sure I have everything we need.” She tapped
the tote she still carried.

The elevator whisked them
quickly up to the third floor. She found her key in her pocket instead of
inside the oversized tote, and let herself in the room.

While Randolph took care of
brushing his teeth, she dumped the contents of the tote onto the bed, selected
all the documents she needed, and put them into a little shoulder pouch along
with her cell phone and her smaller than normal purse that she selected
especially for the trip. She hoisted the pouch on her shoulder and grabbed a
light sweater to wear in case it turned chilly. It felt very strange to go from
heavy winter clothes to wearing white cotton slacks and a short-sleeved top and
sandals in the space of what, she glanced at her iPhone and did some math,
maybe thirty hours. Give or take.

She had slept a little on the
flight over but woke up often. She knew she would really sleep better, later.
After the trip to Vera Mardola.

“I’m ready,” Randolph said as
he rummaged through their bags for a light jacket.

She brushed her teeth
quickly, then double-checking everything she arranged all the paperwork in her
purse again, then scanned the room one last time. Randolph locked the door. “Let’s
use the stairs. I want to work off some of the pasta.”

At the bottom of the stairs,
they rounded the corner and Rhetta scanned the portico area. She waved when she
saw Jorge pull up with the car. Just as she passed under the arch of the
portico, her pouch bumped a man walking toward her. Instinctively she hugged
the pouch to her body. She’d heard about pickpocketing being a rampant problem
for tourists in Europe. But the man hadn’t bothered it. He also walked away so
quickly that her apology fell on empty air.

As she watched him leave, she
recognized him as the same man checking in, whom she thought she knew from
somewhere. She watched as he disappeared around the corner. She shook her head.
I
must be imagining things. He can’t be anyone I know.

“See that man over there? He
was at the counter when we got upstairs. I saw him when I glanced down at the
front desk.”

“What about him?”

“I hate to say this, but I
swear he looks familiar.” Randolph stopped and looked around for the man.

He was gone.

With a big smile, Jorge
held the car door open as they tucked themselves in, Randolph again behind the
wheel. The gorgeous creature had provided them with verbal directions, so they
aimed for the highway to Cadaqués.

“I asked Jorge where the car
was parked,” Randolph said. “The parking lot is off-site, next door. I made a
mental note how to find the car the next time. The tipping is already getting
out of hand.”

“Well, we are tourists,”
Rhetta answered.

“Not exactly,” Randolph
reminded her. “When we get back from Cadaqués, we can be tourists.”

“You’re right, Sweets. I
really want this to be over with.” Her stomach tightened up again, nerves
beginning to quiver with dread. She clutched her purse tightly. “This whole
thing is still so bizarre to me. And, just to add to this, I could have sworn I
recognized that man at the hotel lobby. I’m being so paranoid,” she added.

“I didn’t get much of a look
at him.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t anyone I
know. How could he be? It’s just that he looked vaguely familiar.” She patted
his arm. “How could I possibly know anyone here?”

Randolph glanced around at
the other cars. “Do you see anyone in any car near us that looks like him?”

Rhetta sat up and looked out.
“No, I don’t. But I’ll keep watching. Do you think we’re being followed?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t
want to assume we’re not. With all that’s happened ever since Frank called you,
I don’t want to take anything for granted.”

“Actually, it all started
with George getting killed, if you think about it.”

The more she thought about
it, the worse she needed a cigarette!

They pulled onto the
four-lane highway that Jorge had said was engineered to accommodate speeds in
excess of the eighty that was posted. Of course, in home talk, eighty was
barely over fifty miles per hour. Besides that, Rhetta didn’t trust the little
car. She was positive the unfamiliar sounding whine of the Peugeot’s motor
signaled an impending disaster. She didn’t know how these cars were supposed to
sound, so she immediately thought of a worst-case scenario. Was it going to
break down? And if it did, did they have the equivalent of Triple A here? Maybe
they should have gone back and rented a different car.

“What do we do if we need
roadside assistance?” Rhetta asked, as she gazed about the interior. It looked
slightly bigger now without all their “luggages.”

“There’s an information
packet in the glove box, but don’t worry. The car is new and it’s full of gas,
and it’s fine.” Randolph reached over and patted her knee.

Despite her misgivings about
the car, Randolph shifted gears perfectly and it hugged the hilly road like a
seasoned mountain climber. She was glad she wasn’t driving. This little car
worried her. It just didn’t sound right. Of course, she didn’t remember ever
hearing a Peugeot before. In fact, she didn’t remember ever even seeing one
before her arrival in Spain. Since nobody looked at them funny when they
stopped at the intersections on the way to the four-lane, it must have sounded
normal, so she tried to relax. All was well. She withdrew her iPhone from her
bag, and checked the signal. Some unfamiliar service name popped up in place of
the normal ATT, but she couldn’t read it without her glasses on. She fished
around her purse for her glasses.

“I wonder if I should call
someone to see if the phone works.” Another expedition through her purse
produced the dialing instruction card that the clerk at ATT had given her. She
began to read it.

She glanced at the road signs
as they climbed a steep incline leading onto the highway. “We’re going the
right way. That sign said,
Cadaqués
,
80
kilometers
.”
Her stomach began to flutter. She’d checked the map.
The highway followed the outside of a mountain wall. She looked out at the
disappearing canyons on one side and the sheer rock face of the mountain on the
other. Luckily, the road was new, and as Jorge had bragged, engineered for more
than a donkey’s gait.

 “I guess you could call
Woody and see how everything is at the office,” Randolph said.

Rhetta studied her watch. “I
better wait a little while. It’s only a little after six in the morning in
Missouri. Woody’s probably not up, or at least if he is, he probably hasn’t had
enough coffee yet. He’s pretty grumpy before his caffeine and breakfast.”

Rhetta slid her phone back
into her purse. “I don’t know anyone over here, except Jorge. I guess I could
call him at the hotel.” She nudged her husband as she said it.

He raised his eyebrows, but
merely smiled. “So, dear wife, do you have everything you need in that purse of
doom to convince the bankers that you’re Frank Caldwell’s only daughter? And
that he is deceased?”

“I have an original of his
death certificate, I know the account number if Frank was right and it’s the
VIN on the Camaro.” Rhetta quickly recited the number from memory. “I have
pictures of him, and his arm with the tattoo. And of George Erickson’s tattoo
also, thanks to Matt Clippard, although Frank said he’d informed the bank of
Erickson’s death.” She hugged the bag close to her. “Along with my passport, I
also brought my birth certificate, but of course it doesn’t say if Frank had
any other children.”

Randolph downshifted. “This
is a pretty steep hill,” he said. The little engine whined in protest, but the
car slowed.

“Sweets, do you think someone
was after Frank’s Camaro for the VIN for the account number? Do you think
there’s someone else out there who thinks they have a claim on the trust?”

“After everything that
happened to you, I believe there’s more than a coincidental connection.”
Randolph shifted again as the road leveled out.

“You don’t think that my
assault at the office was connected, do you? The cops think they have that guy.
I think someone may have heard us talking when we were in the cave, and they’re
after the money that was in the glove compartment. I don’t think anyone is
after the trust. How could they be? I’m the last survivor’s only child.”

Before Randolph could answer,
Rhetta went on. “I don’t trust that weird Philip Corini. I spotted him with a 9
millimeter tucked into his waistband. Why would an accountant need that? And,
if you’ll remember, he found my purse. He may be a bookkeeper for the mob, for
all I know. He may know who conked me on the head.”

Randolph shook his head. “I
don’t like the looks of Corini either, but it just doesn’t fit together that it
would be him. Do you think he followed you to Kansas City? When you call Woody
today, put him on the case and see if he can find out if Corini was gone at the
same time we were.”

“Good idea, Sweets. I’ll
check with AskWoodydotcom.” She glanced at her watch. Woody would be up now.
With the card in hand, she followed the dialing instructions.

“Rhetta? What’s wrong?” Woody
was not only up, he recognized her phone number. Even though she was overseas,
the number display must not have changed. Of course it hadn’t. She hadn’t
gotten a different number. She really didn’t know much about overseas cell
phone usage. If she became a world traveler, she’d figure it all out.

“Hi, Woody. Nothing’s wrong.
We’re great. We’re nearly to Cadaqués, where we’ll get the ferry to Vera
Mardola. I need you to check something for me, okay?”

“Sure. What?”

“Find out where Corini was
when we went to Kansas City to get the Camaro. I’m suspicious of him.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Email me, because I don’t
know if you can reach me on this phone. I can check my email anywhere there’s a
wireless connection, and they’re everywhere here.”

“Sure thing. Tell Randolph hi
for me.”

“Likewise to Jenn. Gotta go
now. Bye.” She slid the disconnect button.

Randolph slowed the car, and downshifted
again.

“Hey, Sweets, you’re pretty
good with that four speed,” Rhetta said.

“It’s a five speed, I’ll have
you know. And yes, by golly, I am pretty good with it.” He grinned. “When my
dad taught me to drive, he told me to downshift as much as possible to slow
down. It saves your brakes.”

“I learned to drive in my
mom’s Camaro,” Rhetta said. “It was a four speed, like Cami.”

Remembering her mother,
Rhetta wondered what she’d make of all this foolishness with the Tontine Trust
and Frank Caldwell. A pang of loneliness stabbed her then, as it always did
when she missed her mother. She fingered her mother’s locket in its usual place
on the chain snugged around her neck. “The sixty-seven Camaro is a four speed,
too,” she whispered.

“Look at that sign, Rhetta.”
He pointed ahead. “We’re coming into Cadaqués.”