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CHAPTER 9
" Pittman Realty, Brenda speaking..."
Brenda was going over some escrow figures for a closing she had scheduled later in the morning. Where the hell was Joyce? It irked her when there was no one else in the office to screen phone calls. She really would have rather avoided any conversations right now, but business was business. It surprised her to hear Sarah Michaud's voice.
Hi Brenda, have you seen Ray this morning?"
Sarah's blunt question seemed more like an interrogation than a request for information. This was out of character for Sarah, and it alarmed her.
"No, Sarah, I haven't, what's wrong, sweetie?"
Brenda liked Sarah, though the two weren’t close. Sarah, quiet and reserved, was likeable and pleasant. She had always helped out when Brenda had asked.
"Oh, Ray didn't come home last night and I'm worried sick. I called Luther this morning, you know how they pal around, but he said he hadn't heard from him. Brenda, can I ask you a personal question, I don't have anyone else to turn to."
Sarah was starting to lose it again, so she covered her mouth and tried to regain her composure. She didn't wait for Brenda's reply, she just blurted out, " Is Luther covering for Ray, in some way? I suspect that Ray may be having an affair."
There was a long pause, as Brenda collected her thoughts in an attempt to formulate a response. Her mind was racing now. What, in the name of God, was happening? Suddenly, nothing was making sense to her.
"Listen to me, Sarah. You know as well as I do, Ray is not that sort of man. Talk to me, Sarah. When did you last see Ray?"
Brenda hadn't heard the back door open. As she waited for a response, she felt the hand on her shoulder. Startled, she jumped and turned to see Luther smiling down at her.
"Who were you talking to?"
Turning away from him, she said, "Mrs. Fielding, the closing is going to have to be rescheduled. Can I call you back in a little while?"
"Good God, Luther, are you trying to scare me to death?" Her eyes raged at him, and she stood to face him. "Are you totally void of common decency? Can’t you let someone know you're around without scaring the crap out of them?"
Physically, his size intimidated her, it always had, but lately she was starting to see elements of his demeanor that were downright scary. It was an aloof quality, a coldness. Maybe she was reading her own lack of feelings into it, she wasn't sure.
"Since when does a man have to make an appointment to drop in on his wife?"
There was a knowing tone to his voice, Brenda reasoned. Somehow, he knew whom she had been talking to. All she wanted to do was get away from him.
"Luther, I don't have time for this right now, I've got a closing in twenty minutes. You waltz in here, scare me half to death, and act like nothing happened? Is there something on your mind or did you just come over here to harass me?"
"Harass you? HARASS YOU?? Darlin', you don't know the meaning of harassment! If I want to harass you, it'll be more than touching you on the shoulder, so lose the attitude! You must think I'm the stupidest man alive. I just heard you sit there and pretend that you didn't know where Ray is! Come on, lady, you're a better liar than that! Tell the woman what you've been up to. I guess you don't think I know the difference between a committee meeting and the horizontal mambo? Is Ray waiting for you now? The only closing you're going to be doing twenty minutes from now is closing your legs around his neck!"
He was raging now. Luther backed her against the desk as she tried to push him away with her hands.
"Luther, don't! You're hurting me. Please… don’t!"
Pinheads of rage now focused on Brenda’s throat as Luther lunged toward her. A gurgling deep in her throat responded to the pressure of his fingers as she struggled in vain against his merciless grip. The jingling of the bells on the front door broke the silence and Luther released her as if he’d been poked with a cattle prod. His head jerked around in time to see Edwina Hershey fire the pistol. An explosion resounded inside the small office milliseconds before Luther's body jumped backwards, falling next to Brenda's desk. No sounds emanated as his face contorted in pain. Slowly, the crazed sheriff assessed the situation and kneeled beside the desk before clumsily struggling to his feet, using the desk as a support. Luther’s face mirrored his bewilderment as he stood and made his way toward the back door.
Mother and daughter stared at each other for a moment, trying to digest what had transpired. A moment frozen in time, neither woman dared move. The figure of Tom Meyer removed the gun from Fudge's hand, placed it in his jacket pocket, and gently embraced her shoulders. Luther backed out the rear door, his eyes trained on the drifter. Tom guided Edwina to the overstuffed easy chair meant for Brenda’s clients. Brenda made her way across the room to her mother, and sobs of relief replaced the horror as the pair embraced lovingly.
Tom could hear them whispering soothing phrases, and though he couldn't hear the words, it wasn't necessary. He understood implicitly, and maintained his distance for a time. Then, he walked over and gestured for Brenda to come and speak to him.
"Mrs. Pittman, my name is Tom Meyer. It’s important that we leave this area as quickly as possible. Your husband is a threat to us all, and I think it best that we leave temporarily, find somewhere your husband wouldn’t think to look for us. Please, you have to trust me, it's the only chance we have. I promise I'll explain, but let's just go, now."
"Honey, he's telling the truth. Let's go, please!", Edwina muttered pleadingly, her eyes red and only half-open.
Brenda took her by the arm, nodded at the stranger in affirmation, and said, "My car is out back." As she rose and guided her mother toward the back door, Tom grabbed her arm and told her to wait.
"He may still be out there. Let me go first. I'll come to the back door and get you when it's safe. If I don't come back in a few minutes, leave this office by the front door and find a spot where he can't locate you. Fudge, give me a key to the diner. If I don't come back, go to a phone and call me there. Keep trying if I'm not there, and if I don't show up, I guess you're on your own. At all costs, don't trust anyone who you think will tell him of your whereabouts. Remember, you can't be sure who you can trust. Luther is out of control."
Tom squeezed Fudge's right hand a little, took the key she offered him and walked out the front door. Quickly, he faded into the shadows at the side of the building. His senses were on red alert now, he suddenly felt alive and vibrant. Many years had past since he last felt this exhiliration. Tom Mayer had a purpose again, a reason to try to live. He felt needed and it felt good, even if it cost him his life.
Sidling against the back side of the building, he dropped to his knees, a habit derived from years of watching wildlife. Humans' senses, though not extremely acute, were well-developed enough to detect sudden movement, and Luther was an accomplished hunter. Plus, he was wounded. This made him unpredictable and dangerous. Tom saw no signs of movement in the area behind the office. He looked up and down the alleyway for objects which looked out of place or foreign, and he payed particular attention to the only car in the small parking area, a bluish-green Subaru sedan that had to be Brenda’s. A man Luther’s size could not easily hide inside. The Walking Man quickly peered underneath the car.
Tom glanced into the interior and saw exactly what he expected, nothing. Luther was too smart to just sit inside a car and wait, unless he was mortally wounded. It was too exposed, too confining. Luther nowhere to be found, Tom walked back into the rear door of Pittman Realty and escorted the women to the car.
Brenda sat behind the wheel, and Fudge sobbed in the passenger seat. Once the car was started, Brenda turned in the seat to back out, making eye contact with the man in the rear. Her mind raced to try to make sense of the situation. Who was this man with the lines on his face? Character lines, she mused, wondering if it were true, or tracks etched from years of running or worse… Certainly, he had earned her respect to this point. Her mother would never have allowed anyone to get close to her unless he had shown at least a hint of courage or compassion.
"Where do we go? Luther has friends and cronies in every surrounding county. I imagine he is circling the wagons as we speak. I wish we could contact Ray, he would know what to do.” Brenda glanced at Fudge. “Mom, Sarah called me this morning. I was talking to her when Luther walked in. He suspects me of having an affair with Ray, and what makes matters worse, Sarah told me that Ray didn't come home last night! She must have called Luther!"
Brenda looked over at her mother, but the woman now had her face buried in her handkerchief, and this time she was crying hard. Tom grabbed the back of the headrest and pulled himself toward the front seat.
"Do you have cash or credit cards, Brenda, we need supplies, and we have almost no time. There is nowhere in this town that is safe. We need to leave, and we can't use this car. Who can we get to help us? Who has a vehicle that Luther wouldn't expect us to be in? I’m taking you to a cabin I know of, up on Diamondback Ridge in Cass County. It's dry and safe, I think. I've used it twice and I've yet to see another
human."
"I think Sarah Michaud can be trusted, but she's looking for Ray, I don't know if we can contact her. I can try her home and her cellular...."
Brenda grabbed the phone from its mount and pushed the buttons. She pulled into a secluded driveway lined with pine trees, virtually invisible from the highway.
"Come on, Sarah, answer..." On the fourth ring, she heard Sarah's quivering voice. " Oh, thank God, Sarah, you answered. Brenda here. Listen to me, I need to meet with you. Come to Delvecchio's Sporting Goods, now! Wear something durable, but do it now! Don't talk to anyone, don't tell anyone where you're going, just do it, O.K.?"
"Brenda, what's-"
"Damn it, Sarah, just do it! I'll explain later!" Brenda pushed the OFF button and placed the phone back in its mounting.
Now, Brenda was in attack mode, too. Instinctively, the same personality traits that made her a good salesperson and administrator were working to her advantage. She was no longer some victim who would acquiesce to the threats of a madman. She was now proactive, and Tom knew it. He wouldn't have to tell her what to do. She had that uncommon leadership characteristic the Marine Corps called 'command presence'. He only hoped that she had enough survival skills to be able to escape without getting them all killed.
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