Flour Day will Come, page 12
“All we wanted… was the gold,” Old Man Baker confessed. “We know about the stories… they have to be true if Phil Whinnel is back… have to be true.”
“Oh, hush,” Rhonda snapped and grew silent as she her eyes studied the woods. Somewhere deep in the woods Phil Whinnel was being held prisoner. “Hold on, you crazy old fox… we’ll find you… I hope.”
As Rhonda struggled to help Old Man Baker, Rita kept running south and didn’t stop until she burst out of the woods and came up behind Billy’s barn. “Here… home,” she said, breathing hard and forcing her legs to carry her to the back of the farmhouse.
Brad was standing in the driveway of the farmhouse giving Mrs. Cunningham, Wilma Norris, and every old man present a good tongue lashing. “And you’re going to pay for the damages!” he yelled.
“Yeah!” Billy fussed and shook an accusing finger at Mrs. Cunningham. “Why, my momma would be ashamed of you if she was standing right here. Why, you two were good friends! And look at you, acting a fool—over a bunch of nonsense!” Billy shook his head. “You know just as well as I do that Rita and Rhonda Knight ain’t no killers… shame on you, woman, shame!”
Mrs. Cunningham shook her wooden cane at Billy. “Don’t you talk to me that way, Billy Northfield. I’ll wallop a knot in your head!”
“Yeah, a knot!” Wilma yelled, still working on her sewing.
“Oh, go on yourself,” Billy said and waved an irritated hand at Mrs. Cunningham, “and don’t be coming back onto my farm because if you do, I’ll let old Chester loose on you!” Billy looked at Brad. “Forget the damages, just get these old coots off my land and—” Billy stopped when he spotted Rita running toward him. “Hey… it’s my gal!” he yelled.
Rita ran up to Billy and nearly collapsed into his arms. “Brad… we have two wounded old men… up in the woods… north… Rhonda and Zach are walking them out… they need help,” she explained, gasping for breath. “Someone took… Phil Whinnel….”
Brad yanked out his gun. “You all get back to town and stay there. I’ll deal with you later!” he yelled at Mrs. Cunningham and her gang of old prunes. “Rita… get some water. Billy, you’re with me. Let’s move!”
“We’re a-moving,” Billy said. He gave Rita a quick kiss on her cheek and took off with Brad.
Rita raised her eyes and saw a large group of old men staring at her with ashamed eyes. “We didn’t mean no harm,” Old Man Crutchfield told Rita, shooting a sour eye at Mrs. Cunningham. “Last time I ever listen to the likes of you… always getting me in trouble, ever since we were in school.”
Mrs. Cunningham told Old Man Crutchfield to hush and sat back down in her rocking chair. Oh well, you couldn’t win all the battles, she thought and decided to accept defeat. And why not? Sooner or later another juicy story would appear—especially with Rita and Rhonda Knight close by.
Chapter Nine
After an ambulance came and hauled Old Man Baker and Old Man Wilson away—two old men who would still live many more good years even though they claimed they were dying—Brad sent Mrs. Cunningham and her gang of misfits back to town. “And stay in town until I get there,” he warned, standing beside Mr. Baker’s farm truck. Mrs. Cunningham wrinkled her nose at Brad, made a pouty sound, and ordered Mr. Crutchfield to get moving. Mr. Crutchfield, who didn’t even have his driver’s license, struggled to put the farm truck in gear and started jumping down the dry dirt driveway, nearly flinging Mrs. Cunningham and Wilma Norris out of their skin. Mrs. Cunningham yelled something that made Brad grin. “Old-timers,” he said and shook his head.
“Yep,” Billy agreed and threw his hand at the line of farm trucks leaving his property. “If my daddy was alive… boy howdy!” he said and then turned to face Rita. “Reckon you’re anxious to get back up them woods, huh?”
Rita shook her head no. “Not the woods,” she explained. “Billy, we need to get to the land Phil Whinnel once owned. I have a gut feeling that’s where he’s going to show up at.”
Brad folded his arms, glanced up at a blazing sun, and then looked at Rita. “Dr. Mallard is in Tennessee,” he confirmed. “Detective Maxwell paid a visit to the man himself. As of right now we have no way of connecting that guy to anything.”
“Can we please just catch a break?” Rhonda complained, wiping sweat from her forehead. “It’s hotter than—”
“Butt… yes, sis, we know,” Rita sighed.
Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it is,” she said and then moved on, watching the line of farm trucks leave Billy’s land. “We have a body that’s burned to a crisp, a missing crazy man, and one evil doctor… not to mention a town full of prunes who are hungry to add some missing gold to their diets.” Rhonda wiped more sweat off her forehead. “We don’t have a leg to stand on unless we find Phil Whinnel.”
“Unless we find the man who kidnapped Phil Whinnel,” Rita added.
“Right.” Rhonda nodded. “Whoever snatched poor Phil is our golden ticket, which means we’re going to need to use extreme caution and catch this guy. If we let the snake slither off into the woods… well, that’ll be all she wrote for this case.”
Zach rubbed the back of his sun-roasted neck. Billy seemed content in the heat. Zach felt as if he were melting. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was take a long walk to the orchards. “Maybe we can get a cold glass of tea first?” he suggested.
“And a bite to eat,” Rita added. “It’s broad daylight. I doubt whoever snatched Phil Whinnel will act as long as the sun is resting in the sky.”
“Right,” Rhonda agreed. “When night arrives, we’ll sneak into the orchards. In the meantime, there’s not much we can do except drive into town and get a bite to eat at the diner.”
“And go to the hardware store,” Billy added, tossing a heavy thumb toward his farmhouse. “Those old-timers really did a number… gonna need a whole bunch of stuff to make this situation right… boy, if my daddy was here….” Billy shook his head. “First I have to fix up my truck that Old Phil bashed in… and now we gotta fix up the farmhouse.”
Rita tossed a painful eye toward her SUV. The front windshield was smashed. Luckily, even though Phil Whinnel had managed to flatten the front tire on Zach’s truck, the front windshield had survived the barrage of brick attacks. Zach had changed the flat tire when morning arrived after checking over his truck. As far as he could tell there wasn’t much damage except for some dents and bruises. Rita’s SUV, on the other hand, was badly damaged; two flat tires, a broken windshield, smashed in headlights, deep, ugly dents… the poor vehicle was going to need some tender care.
“Zach, we’ll need to take your truck, I’m afraid.”
Zach looked at Rita’s SUV. “I guess Brad can call a tow truck?”
“That’s a good idea,” Billy said. “Brad, all my truck has is that broken windshield and a flat tire. I can change the tire and drive my truck into town. Rita’s SUV has two flat tires and only one spare—and a whole lot of broken glass. Best call Fred and get his tow truck out here.”
“Will do,” Brad assured Billy. “In the meantime, will you four be at the diner?”
“You bet,” Billy promised and rubbed a very hungry tummy. “All that shooting done went and made me hungry.”
Zach grinned, walked to his truck, and took out the donuts he had brought back from town. “Donut, Billy?” he asked.
Billy spotted Zach holding three boxes of donuts. His eyes went wide with excitement. “The chocolate kind with them there sprinkles that remind me of Christmas?” he dared to ask, nearly drooling all over himself.
“Stand back, sis,” Rita warned Rhonda. Rhonda quickly stepped out of Billy’s path.
“Chocolate glaze with sprinkles.” Zach nodded. “It’s hot, so the donuts might not be as fresh—”
“Heat never hurt a thang!” Billy exclaimed, rubbing his hands together and then charging at Zach. Zach closed his eyes and held out the three boxes of donuts. “Hot dog, look at all these donuts. This day might have a happy ending after all. Yes sir!” Billy grabbed the top box of donuts, plopped down onto the dry dirt, folded his legs, and popped the box open. “Yeah buddy… chocolate glazed with the funny little sprinkles that remind me of Christmas!”
Rita winced as Billy grabbed a donut, shoved it into his mouth, made a delighted, blissful sigh, and then went for a second donut. “Two is your limit,” she called out in a worried voice.
“Huh?” Billy lifted his head.
“Uh… those donuts are loaded with fat, honey. Two is enough,” Rita told Billy, sounding like a worried wife.
Rhonda grinned at Zach. “The same applies to you.”
“But I haven’t even had a donut yet,” Zach complained.
“I know,” Rhonda stated, holding her grin.
Billy and Zach tossed each a look that said uh-oh. “Now wait a minute,” Billy objected. “A man needs his donuts and—”
“Two is your limit, Mr. Northfield,” Rita scolded Billy, snapping her arms together and issuing “the eye.”
Billy nearly cried out in terror. “Yes, ma’am… two is my limit… yes, ma’am.”
Zach eased away from Billy, just in case he burst into a ball of flames. “Yeah… uh, two is our limit.”
“Wimps,” Brad fussed, grabbing a box of donuts from Zach and walking to his car. Rhonda noticed that the tough chief of police didn’t dare look at Rita as he walked away. “I’ll call a tow.”
Rhonda giggled and pulled Rita into the farmhouse. “I need a glass of cold tea,” she said, walking into the bullet-torn kitchen. “Sheesh… look at these bullet holes.”
Rita sighed. “We have a lot of work ahead of us,” she told Rhonda and then suddenly felt a ball of anger erupt in her chest. “How dare they harm my home? I love this old farmhouse!”
“Oh?” Rhonda smiled.
“Huh?” Rita asked and then kicked herself for stepping into a bear trap. “What I meant was—”
“I know what you meant,” Rhonda told Rita, walking over to the refrigerator, and pulling out a pitcher of cold sweet iced tea. “Rita, this farmhouse is going to become your home. There’s no shame is defending it.”
Rita glanced out at the back door, saw Billy still sitting in the driveway holding his box of donuts, and sighed. “I’m marrying a big kid living in a dusty old farmhouse. Can you imagine what our parents are going to think?”
“Who cares?” Rhonda said, putting the pitcher of cold tea down onto the kitchen counter and retrieving two green glasses from the cupboard. “Sis, you love Billy and he loves you, and that’s all that matters,” she explained. “Besides that, Billy is a hard worker who earns a nice living. Sure, he’s not a tuxedo-wearing city boy, but you know what?”
“What?” Rita asked, watching Rhonda fill the two green glasses with cold tea.
“If you weren’t marrying Billy I would.” Rhonda smiled. “Billy is quite a guy.”
Rita turned her attention back to the driveway, saw Zach try to take a donut out of the box Billy was holding, watched Billy growl at the guy, and laughed. “Yes, he is certainly… something.”
Rhonda handed Rita a glass of tea. “Come on, let’s get back outside and make sure our two guys don’t eat more than two donuts.”
Rita nodded and began to leave the kitchen but stopped when the kitchen telephone rang. “I better answer that,” she said and answered the call using her left hand. “Hello, Billy Northfield’s residence.”
“Listen very closely,” a man hissed at Rita. “I’ll make this quick and short. I want the gold or else.”
Rita motioned Rhonda over to the phone with her eyes. “Hello, Dr. Mallard.”
Bob Mallard gritted his teeth. Sure, he was a doctor assigned to dispense psychological medical care to criminally insane patients—a man who people assumed possessed a high intelligence. However, in reality Bob not only lacked intelligence, he lacked common sense. Pride, arrogance, and selfishness were his main allies. “This isn’t Dr. Mallard,” he stated, sitting in his dimly lit office.
“Sure it is,” Rita objected. “I recognize your voice… and I can also have this phone call traced to confirm that it is you, Dr. Mallard. You are calling me from your office, aren’t you?”
“How do you know that?” Bob demanded and then kicked himself.
“We cops have our ways, Dr. Mallard,” Rita explained, content that her bluff had earned points.
Bob felt a moment of panic strangle his chest but then managed to get a grip. After all, he was a brilliant doctor and Rita and Rhonda Knight were nothing more than two stupid cops. “Perhaps I should explain what I meant by demanding the gold,” he told Rita, pretending to sound clever. “Phil Whinnel is my gold, Detective Knight. I’m very concerned about his welfare.” Yes, Bob thought, that should push the stupid cop into a corner and salvage any damage.
Rita rolled her eyes. People like Bob Mallard sickened her very heart. “We have been informed by two very… secure sources,” she told Bob, “that Phil Whinnel has left Clovedale Falls.”
Rhonda studied Rita’s eyes and then grinned. Rita was setting a trap and outsmarting a killer at the same time. “You go, girl,” she whispered.
“Oh?” Bob asked. As far as Bob knew the bounty hunter he hired to locate Phil had the crazy man tied to a tree somewhere deep in the woods.
“That’s right,” Rita informed Bob. “Chief Bluestone is wrapping up the case. Phil Whinnel is gone.”
Bob narrowed his eyes. According to Gary Morris, the bounty hunter Bob had hired, Phil had confessed to him that he had given Rita and Rhonda Knight a map that showed where the stolen gold was buried. Gary had tried to make Phil confess the location of the gold, but Phil kept saying no… singing about chickens and ice cream and claiming Rita and Rhonda had the map to the gold.
“I see,” he said, uncertain how to proceed. Sure, he had managed to do a bit of damage control, but now what? By throwing a Band-Aid over his original threat, Bob had pushed himself into a corner, and Rita knew that. How in the world was he going to force Rita and Rhonda Knight to surrender the map to the gold? Stupid cops. “Well, then, I suppose I will have to look for Phil Whinnel elsewhere,” he stated in an annoyed voice.
“Or maybe we can make a deal?” Rita asked Bob, forcing her mind to think fast. Bob Mallard had made a fatal mistake by calling Billy’s farmhouse, which let Rita know that the farmhouse was being watched. She needed to capitalize on Bob’s mistake before the man slipped away.
“A deal?” Bob asked, staring across his desk into a dim office that offered depression rather than comfort.
“Listen, pal,” Rita stated, throwing her voice into a criminal tone that made Rhonda think of the mafia, “cut out the scam. I know you helped Tom Denmore kill those two guards and steal Phil Whinnel—”
“What? You’re insane!” Bob exploded.
“I have proof, pal,” Rita snapped. “Tom Denmore confessed,” she continued, hoping her bluff would cripple Bob. “Now listen, you want the gold… we want the gold… and if we work together, we can find the gold. Tell that bounty hunter of yours that Phil Whinnel is playing dumb. Understand?”
Bob nearly wet his pants. “I don’t know—”
“Stop playing stupid!” Rita barked. “We’re talking about millions of dollars’ worth of stolen gold, pal, Now shut up and listen.”
Bob sat stunned. How in the world did Rita Knight know about Gary Morris? Had Gary betrayed him? Certainly not. Gary despised cops. “I’m… listening,” he spoke in a very cautious voice. After all, what was the hurt in listening? If asked, Bob could claim he listened to Rita in order to get a confession from the woman to present to the FBI.
“Phil Whinnel isn’t as dumb as he looks,” Rita explained, “but that doesn’t mean he’s not crazy in the head. Now, for some reason he has a soft spot for my sister Rhonda. Rhonda can make him talk, but we need the man in one piece.” Rita looked at her sister with uncertain eyes. Rhonda nodded. “Have your bounty hunter bring Phil Whinnel to Billy’s farmhouse tonight around… midnight.”
“I see. Keep talking.”
“Rhonda will make Phil Whinnel confess,” Rita continued. “When she does, we’ll signal to your bounty hunter to take Phil back into custody—”
“While you two ladies steal the gold?” Bob asked. “I don’t think so.”
Rita bit down on her lip. How was she going to get Bob to order Gary Morris to appear with Phil Whinnel under a full moon? That’s when she looked out the back door and saw Billy gobbling down what she hoped was just his second donut. Of course, she thought, watching Billy finish off the donut and then look at the remaining donuts with sad eyes. “Listen, pal, either your bounty hunter turns Phil over to us or no donuts.”
Bob gritted his teeth. “Deal,” he hissed and slammed down the telephone. “Looks like Gary is going to kill me two cops tonight.”
Gary Morris watched Rita and Rhonda crawl into the cab of Zach’s truck, along with a very grumpy Billy who was fussing he wanted a third donut, and called Bob. “They’re leaving,” he said as Zach jumped into the driver’s seat, brought his truck to life, and drove down the dry driveway. “I heard them say something about a diner.” The camouflage bandana Gary was wearing over his cruel, ugly face felt hot and stuffy, forcing the guy to remove it and take in some fresh air. Being dressed as a backwoods hunter on a hot day wasn’t very helpful to the human body.
“I want those two cops dead, do you hear me!” Bob snapped at Morris. “They know—somehow they know. We’re at risk. They must die!”
Gary wiped sweat off his forehead with his left arm. “No deal,” he objected. “I’m already working outside of my… area,” he fired at Bob. “I agreed to help you because you’re my cousin.”
“You agreed to help me because you’re a greedy worm,” Bob fired back. “Gary, those two cops know all about Tom Denmore and the gold. They can harm us, therefore, they must die!”
“Hey,” Gary hissed, “you’re the one in deep heat. You hired me to locate Phil Whinnel and that’s what I did. I didn’t have anything to do with Tom Denmore or the killing of those two guards. That’s all on you.” Gary studied Billy’s barn with careful eyes. He was a forty-two-year-old man who spent the majority of life working as a bounty hunter—an honest bounty hunter. But because of certain gambling debts, Gary began taking… side jobs… that required him to track down people outside of the legal bounds. He was okay with that—money was money. What Gary wasn’t okay with was murder. Money was one thing—murder was another. “Look, Bob, I have Whinnel. I don’t even need you anymore.”
