Dropping Like Pies, page 3
“If you do, you’ll go down with us,” Brent promised in a voice that sent a chill down Norton’s back.
Norton knew he was in a stalemate. The Graft brothers were in no position to win, and neither was he. The only option was to work as a team. “Okay, Brent, look…we all need to calm down and think,” Norton said as a powerful blast of arctic wind struck the office window, reminding him that he was in a very remote part of the world. “I’ll call Holston and talk with him. In the meantime, cool it on the murder thing. One murder was enough, okay? We don’t need a bunch of dead bodies lying around.”
Brent narrowed his old eyes. “Norton, if this deal falls through, you may be the next dead body,” he warned. “We want Holston dead, but we’ll deal with the Georgia farmer. And rest assured that before he dies, that hillbilly will turn his land over to us.” Brent squeezed the phone as he spoke. He despised Norton, but for the time being, he needed the man alive. “You will use your legal resources to ensure that the land remains in your custody and that my brother and I receive our share of the gold. If you fail to do so, prepare to go back to prison!”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Norton stammered, grabbing his coffee cup with a nervous hand. “Look, I’ll call Holston just like I said. Just give me a day or so to figure out what he’s up to. In the meantime, don’t kill anyone, do you hear me? I’m not sure about the legalities here; we may need that Billy Northfield person alive.”
“Very well,” Brent allowed. “You have until the snowstorm passes, Norton. When the snow stops falling, the bodies will start piling up…unless you give us a good answer.” He slammed down the phone and looked at his brother. “All we can do is wait,” he said to Tom.
Tom walked away from the kitchen, entered a small living room that resembled a western-style ranch, and sat down on a couch. “We’ve been living at this lodge like scared moles for the past thirty years, Brent,” he said, glancing down at the gray flannel shirt that made him look like a cold headstone. “I want to feel warm sunshine before I die. That’s why I agreed to work with Norton. I don’t know, maybe the time has come for us to take what money we have and leave.”
“Without the gold?” Brent asked in a shocked voice. He walked over to the old fireplace, carefully added a log, and then brushed at the sweater that barely fit over his belly. “Tom, we can’t leave without our share of the gold. We don’t have enough money to make it one year in Europe.”
“I’m worried that Norton may be in Holston’s corner,” Tom explained. “What if Norton’s betrayed us?”
“We have recorded conversations as well as the photo of Norton standing over Roger Edwards’s dead body,” Brent reminded his brother. “I didn’t tell Norton about the photo. The recorded phone conversations seemed to have shaken him up enough.”
Tom rubbed his chin. “So you believe Norton isn’t in Holston’s corner?” he asked carefully. “Do you really believe we can manipulate Norton?”
Brent darted his old, deadly eyes to the front door of the small apartment he called home. “Norton told us he intended to betray Holston. My guess is Holston became wise to him. I doubt that Norton slithered into Holston’s corner.”
Tom grew silent for a minute. “If that’s true, then why did Holston turn to Billy Northfield? How is Billy Northfield connected? Norton has to know the answer—”
“I’m telling you, Tom, I don’t believe Norton is connected to Holston,” Brent insisted as the log in the fireplace crackled and popped. “We both know that Norton was using Holston to help him take care of all the legal matters involved with the Caribou Falls tribe. The state government, the federal government, the IRS—all the trash we can’t handle.”
Tom rubbed his chin again. Trusting Brent was hard sometimes—brother or not. Brent thought with his temper, while Tom thought with his brain; however, there were times when Tom thought with his temper, too.
“Let’s make an agreement, Brent,” Tom said. “We’ll give Norton until the storm passes, like you said. If by then, I still feel Norton is betraying us, we’ll go after that Billy Northfield guy and get the answers we need.”
“And if Norton isn’t betraying us, we’ll force him to kill Holston and leave Billy Northfield in our hands,” Brent added. “One way or the other, Tom, we have to get the gold.” He turned toward the fireplace. “I would kill Norton myself, but we need him alive even after we get our share of the gold. We have to leave him alive, Tom. Unfortunately, though, Norton knows who we are, and that’s dangerous.”
“Yes, it is,” Tom agreed. “There’s no telling what traps Norton has set up to ensure we don’t harm him.” He stood up and walked back into the rugged kitchen. “We won’t harm Norton, but that doesn’t mean we can’t harm Billy Northfield. If Norton fails to give me the answers I want, we’re going to make Billy Northfield talk and do exactly what we want.”
“What about his friends—those two women and that other man?” Brent asked as he slowly turned away from the fireplace to face his brother. “Guy comes with baggage, Tom. And don’t forget, we do have guests.”
Tom felt a pang of frustration. Billy had shown up when the lodge was filled with guests, which presented a problem. Not only that, he had also shown up with a fiancée and two friends—and that presented an even greater problem. However, Tom wasn’t a stupid man. “Brent, people are stupid creatures—gullible and easily manipulated. I’m sure you and I can come up with a creative solution to our problem.”
Brent watched his brother pour two cups of coffee, then turned back to the fireplace. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the fire. “If worse comes to worst, we’ll inject the Northfield guy with the same serum we used on Roger Edwards. Billy Northfield looks due for a heart attack, anyway. All we have to do is make sure he’s down at the lake ice fishing if we’re forced to kill him.”
“Oh, we’ll be forced to kill Billy Northfield in the end,” Tom assured his brother. “He has to die, Brent. It doesn’t matter how Norton plays out with Holston; Billy has to die regardless, but not before doing what we demand of him.” He handed Brent a cup of coffee and then sat back down on the couch. “In the meantime,” Tom said with a grin, “perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to apologize to the farmer for our early attitude and try to become his best friends?”
Brent stared into his brother’s devious eyes and grinned. “Yeah. Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” He took a sip of coffee. “Tom, tomorrow we’re going to make Billy Northfield the man of the hour.”
Tom grinned again, leaning back on the couch as he thought about poor Billy.
Chapter Four
Rita and Rhonda, having no idea that the Graft brothers were planning to kill Billy, were still trapped inside the lodge, held hostage by the powerful winter storm.
“At least it’s morning,” Rhonda said with a yawn.
Rita let out a miserable groan. “You snored! Why didn’t you go sleep in your own room?”
“I wanted to sleep here,” Rhonda shot back, grabbing the comforter. “Stop hogging the bed covers, it’s freezing in here. Go make a fire!”
“You go make a fire,” Rita snapped, yanking back her share of the comforter. “Rhonda, stop taking all the covers.”
Rhonda heard a powerful gust of icy wind strike the window and then shivered all over. “Oh, the storm has gotten worse.” She stuck her head under the covers. “I’m not leaving this warm bed today, and that’s final.”
Rita leaned her head over the side of the bed and looked down at the floor. Billy was fast asleep, wrapped up warmly in a thick green sleeping bag. “Uh, Billy? Honey?” she called softly.
Billy let out a deep snort, rolled onto his right side, and went back to sleep.
Rita sighed, lying back down on her warm pillow. “Call Zach and have him make us a fire, okay?”
“I’m not leaving this bed,” Rhonda insisted. “Remember Maine? I got really sick in Maine, remember? I’m not getting sick this time.”
“Rhonda—”
“And if I recall,” Rhonda added, “you had a hard time figuring out your feelings for Billy in Maine. And in Vermont, it snowed, and you know how Vermont went.” She shook her head. “Snow equals bad news for us, Rita. I’m staying right here under the covers.”
Rita wanted to claim that her twin sister was acting childish, but deep down, she knew Rhonda was speaking the truth: snow meant bad news. Maine and Vermont had been drenched with snow, and the sisters had faced nothing but danger and confusion there.
“Fine, I’ll call Zach myself,” Rita said, reaching for the nightstand beside the bed. As she did, a hard hand struck the door.
“It’s Zach! You guys awake?”
“Yes, come in,” Rita said hurriedly.
Zach opened the door, spotting Rhonda hiding under the comforter and Billy sound asleep on the floor.
“Make a fire, please,” Rita pleaded with him. “It’s freezing in here.”
Zach tugged on his coat. “It’s freezing in my room, too. I thought we could all go get some breakfast and then spend the day in your room near a warm fire.”
“What, no ice fishing?” Rhonda called out from beneath the comforter. “I’m shocked.”
Zach winced. He had to admit that the words “ice fishing” had left his mouth about a hundred times since leaving Billy’s farm. “I was thinking we could play Monopoly?”
Billy let out a cranky snort and then went back to sleep.
“Okay, we can play another board game.”
“Fire first,” Rita ordered.
Zach nodded. He walked to the cold fireplace and studied the bin filled with firewood. “We’ll have to get more wood later, but this should do for a couple of hours,” he said, then went to work getting a fire started.
Rita pulled the comforter up to her chin and watched Zach light the fire. She was glad that he was going to be her brother-in-law. Zach had left his old life—a life filled with a deep hunger for money and pride—and settled into the shoes of a humble, honest man who would be a good husband to Rhonda. “You didn’t get much sleep, did you?”
“Been thinking about Billy,” Zach confessed as he placed kindling in the fireplace. “I saw one of the Graft brothers setting out breakfast in the main dining room. A couple of guests were already waiting for it. From an untrained eye, everything appeared normal, but my gut is telling me those two old warthogs are rotten to the core.”
Rhonda eased the comforter off her head and watched her fiancé tend to the fire. “Maybe you should get us some breakfast before we slap handcuffs on them, honey?” she asked in a hopeful voice. “Homicide detectives can’t work on empty stomachs, you know.”
“Some coffee would be nice,” Rita agreed.
“Besides,” Rhonda added, “I don’t want you to see me in my bunny pajamas.”
“Donuts,” Billy mumbled in his sleep.
Zach rolled his eyes. “Even in his sleep, Billy orders donuts.”
Rita felt a tender smile touch her face. She leaned over and looked down at the man she loved. “At least he doesn’t snore as badly as my sister.”
“I do not snore!” Rhonda exclaimed, sticking her head back under the comforter. “Rita Knight, you are just plain rude.”
“I’m truthful and practical,” Rita stated proudly.
“Practical?” Rhonda snorted. “You were once the most impractical woman I knew, but not anymore.”
“Not anymore? What do you mean?” Rita dared to ask.
“Our bakery. The Pumpkin Festival.”
“I don’t understand.” Rita made a confused face. “Our bakery did very well during the Pumpkin Festival. Tori did very well, too. That young woman learned to bake some very delicious pumpkin pies that sold for a very nice profit and—”
“Ah-ha!” Rhonda yelled, nearly scaring Rita out of her skin.
“Ah-ha, what?” Rita demanded.
“Our ‘profit’? You took ten percent of our profits and bought a delivery van.”
Rita scratched the side of her head. “Rhonda, we both agreed the van was an investment. Next year, we’ll be able to make deliveries to the fairgrounds during the Pumpkin Festival instead of being contained in town.”
“Yes, I agree.” Rhonda nodded as if she was preparing to throw cold water on Rita. “I also agreed to let you buy the van while Tori and I drove to Alabama to pick up Edna. And what did you do? What did you buy?”
“A van,” Rita insisted. “Rhonda, I bought a van.”
“You bought a 1967 Dodge van. A brown and green 1967 Dodge van that has over three hundred thousand miles on it, burns oil like there’s no tomorrow, has nonfunctional windshield wipers—”
“So the van needs a little work,” Rita said defensively. “Besides, I only spent exactly one point six percent of our profits and put the remaining part of the initial ten percent we agreed on back into our business account. I call that being very practical and responsible.”
“It’s going to cost us ninety-nine point nine percent of our profits to make the clunker you bought road-ready!” Rhonda shouted in frustration. “Good grief!”
Even though Zach was still worried about Billy’s safety, he took a second to enjoy the squabble. He loved it when Rita and Rhonda bickered. Twins were amazing—and when they fussed at each other, it sure was a fun show.
“Well, Rita,” Zach dared to speak after finally getting a warm fire going, “maybe we can find a cheap mechanic.”
“You stay out of this and go get us some coffee and breakfast,” Rita barked at Zach.
Zach let out a quick laugh, stood, and hurried over to the door. “Breakfast here consists of donuts, muffins, waffles, oatmeal, biscuits and gravy, fruit, orange juice, and coffee.”
“Donuts and muffins, please,” Rhonda called out.
“Donuts…yum…” Billy smiled in his sleep.
“Donuts it is.” With that, Zach smiled and left the room.
As soon as Zach closed the door, Rita ripped the comforter off Rhonda’s head. “The van was an investment,” she insisted. “I clearly understand that a van that old will need some mechanical work. But according to my math, the mechanical work will only raise us to seven point two percent, still leaving a solid one point two percent left out of the initial ten percent, and—”
“Somebody shoot me!” Rhonda groaned.
Rita rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Yes, I am, Ms. Auto Dealer.” Rhonda grinned, sticking her head back under the comforter just as another powerful gust shook the window. “I’m not leaving this warm bed today, no way! It’s like the wise man says, ‘Smart woman stays warm, dumb woman gets out of bed.’”
“What wise man said that?” Rita asked, confused.
“Goober Pyle,” Rhonda informed her sister.
“Goober Pyle? Rhonda, really?”
Rhonda giggled to herself. “Well, maybe it was Barney Fife? After all, Thelma Lou told Barney she was never getting out of her warm bed when she was sick.”
“In what episode was that, dare I ask?” Rita waited for a silly response.
“Episode one of one of one.” Rhonda giggled again, glancing out from beneath the covers. “I sure wish we were home right now, watching Thelma Lou. She is a beautiful character. Barney, on the other hand, gives me ulcers.”
“Barney is enough to give anyone ulcers,” Rita stated, then smiled at her sister. So what if they fussed? At the end of the day, they could agree on one very important factor: Barney Fife was enough to give a woman ulcers.
Rhonda let out a sad sigh. “Betty Lynn is in her nineties now,” she told Rita. “Andy Griffith, Don Knotts, George Lindsey, Frances Bavier—all my old friends are either really old or have died.”
“That’s life, isn’t it?” Rita asked.
Rhonda looked up at her sister, easing up onto her pillow. “Is it?” she asked sadly.
Rita stared into Rhonda’s eyes, seeing a deep despair there. “Rhonda?”
Rhonda slowly folded her arms and looked at the crackling fire Zach had managed to start. “Betty Lynn was so beautiful back then, Rita. So beautiful. Not that she wasn’t beautiful when she got older, of course. Did you know she lived till her mid-nineties? It’s just, well, age takes away from a woman’s beauty. But at one point in time, Betty Lynn was so young and so beautiful, bringing the character of Thelma Lou to life. Oh, what a time she lived in. A forgotten time.” Rhonda looked down at her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Young today, forgotten tomorrow.”
“Sis—”
“And we’re not exactly young anymore, Rita,” Rhonda continued. “We’re in our forties; our thirties are in the rearview mirror. And look at us, stuck in some remote lodge, worrying if someone might try and kill poor Billy. Good grief, what a life we live.”
Rita glanced down at her fiancé, who was hugging a little teddy bear. She sighed and looked back at Rhonda. “We haven’t lived a boring life, and we’re certainly not arriving at a boring ending.”
“I know, I know.” Rhonda sighed. “It’s just that, well, it seems that looking back is better than looking forward, Rita. I mean, looking back at Thelma Lou and how beautiful she was then, not at Betty Lynn and how old she was at the end. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’re growing older, too, and I’m not ready to let Thelma Lou turn into Betty Lynn. Does that make any sense at all?”
Rita nodded. “I understand, sis. Sometimes, when it’s late and you’re asleep, I’ll go down to the kitchen, make a pot of coffee, and put on a rerun of some old show I like. For a while, I’m in a different place, a place back in time that makes me feel safe, young, and happy. But then morning arrives, along with the world, and takes that special place away.”
“Too bad we can’t time travel and go live in Mayberry forever, huh?” Rhonda said. “Wouldn’t it be great if Thelma Lou could never grow old, Barney was Thelma Lou’s husband, Goober was always at the gas station, Floyd was always at his barber shop, Aunt Bee was always baking cakes—”
