Chapter 20
Levi’s weekly newspaper was delivered to my mother’s front yard every Thursday by 7 a.m. If Jackson Conner was right, the danger we were in would be doubled when her notice of probate was filed.
Stepping onto the front porch with my cup of coffee, I breathed deeply of the peony and rose-scented morning. No paper yet lay in the yard, but then it was only 6:55. As I turned to go back into the house, I noticed a pickup truck parked on the road beside our driveway.
A cold twinge of unease caused me to pause. Who was that? Could Ray Drake have changed vehicles and still be stalking us?
As I stood on the porch, the door of the truck opened and a gray-haired man stepped out. “Good morning, Darcy!” he called. “Is everything all right with you this morning?”
Although I had not seen Chuck Sullivan for several years, I recognized him immediately. A few years ago, he retired from the Oklahoma City police force after being shot in the leg. I remembered hearing that he returned to Levi and moved into his parents’ old home place outside of town.
Pushing open the front gate, Chuck limped toward me. He stuck out his hand. I liked his warm, firm grip.
“Good morning to you too, Chuck. What are you doing out our way so bright and early?”
“Grant is worried about you and your mom. He asked for volunteers to keep an eye on you two. There are three of us who take eight-hour shifts, just to make sure nobody is hanging around who shouldn’t be.”
So this was how Grant solved his deputy shortage problem. The rush of gratitude I felt toward Grant and these unselfish men warmed me.
“Thanks more than I can say, Chuck. You must have been out here all night. Come on in for a cup of Mom’s coffee.”
“Don’t mind if I do. Miss Flora makes the best coffee in the whole state.”
“I believe she has some fresh cinnamon rolls too,” I told him. “You’re welcome to both.”
A familiar yellow Volkswagen Beetle slowed down as it reached the gate and Levi’s morning paper sailed into the yard.
Trotting down the steps, I called, “I’ll just pick up the paper, Chuck, and be right in.”
Compared to big city papers, this hometown paper was thin. I flipped it open as I walked back toward the house, skimming through to the back page. There, in bold black print was the notice I had been expecting:
In the Probate Court of Ventris County, Oklahoma, in the Matter of the Estate of Benjamin W. Ventris, notice is hereby given that a petition to admit to probate a handwritten instrument to be the Last Will and Testament of Benjamin W. Ventris was filed in this court . . . .
Reading further, the clerk’s signature was followed with Jackson Conner’s name, address, and phone number. Mom’s lawyer had worded the notice so that my mother was not mentioned but I knew that people would start guessing and the murderer would know for sure he wasn’t the petitioner. He almost surely would have a pretty good idea of who it was that beat him to the punch.
Chuck Sullivan had been reading over my shoulder. Now, he followed me up the porch steps.
“You know, Darcy,” Chuck said, “most folks around here believed old Ben was dirt-poor, but I always suspected otherwise. I investigated a case in Oklahoma City involving a murdered rancher. The dead man’s land bordered some oil land that belonged to Ben and Skye. Since this showed up in my investigation, I knew that Ben had to have a pretty good wad of money to buy that chunk of real estate.”
Both Chuck and I saw the package at the same time—a canister-shaped box wrapped in paper decorated with pink roses with a big bow on top. It was in the lee of the porch just behind a pot of Mom’s red geraniums.
Before either of us could speak, Mom opened the front door. “Good morning, Chuck,” she said, smiling. Stepping out of the house, she looked down and spied the package.
“Why, look at that!” she said. “Where did that come from? Did you bring it, Chuck?”
Chuck Sullivan shook his head. “Afraid not, Miss Flora. Wait a minute. Don’t pick it up just yet. Let me take a look at it. I’ve been parked in front of your house all night and the only person I’ve seen anywhere close has been that newspaper boy a few minutes ago. Whoever put that package there must have come by foot. If it wasn’t there yesterday, somebody was on the porch last night.”
Bending closer to squint at the attached tag, Mom said, “It’s got my name on it.”
Chuck motioned us back. “Move away from it, Miss Flora. You too, Darcy. I want to check this out.”
Chuck carefully picked up the package and turned it around, frowning as he did so. “It’s not very heavy. Can’t weigh more than three or four pounds. Were you expecting something, Miss Flora?”
My mother shook her head. “No. The only thing I can think of is a couple of weeks ago, I worked two days at the church rummage sale for Emily when she got sick. She said she was going to send me some flowers or candy. I’ll bet that’s what it is.”
Chuck lifted the canister above his head to examine its underside. That’s when I saw a tiny spot on the bottom that the wrapping paper had not completely covered. An inch of fine copper wire protruded. Realization hit me like a freight train as I remembered a case I had covered for my newspaper a few years ago. If this thing had a timer that had been activated by the movement of picking it up, we all might have only a few seconds to live.
Grabbing the package from Chuck’s hands, I ran down the steps and flung it toward our neighbor’s pasture. It tumbled end over end and lodged against the trunk of an elm.
“What . . .” began Sullivan.
All three of us heard it—a small pop like the breaking of a balloon. Mesmerized, we stared at a cloud of yellow dust pouring out of the box top. The dust cloud lasted for thirty seconds, then disappeared.
My heart hammered against my ribs and I turned toward my mother. She stood like a marble statue, staring at the pasture.
Chuck started down the steps.
“No! Wait, Chuck!” I yelled. “Don’t go near that thing!”
He kept walking. “I’m not going anywhere close, Darcy. I’m going to my truck for my cell phone. Grant has got to get out here. If it’s what I think it is, we’d all be dead right about now if you hadn’t thrown that thing when you did.”
Mom’s eyes were big and scared. She tugged at my sleeve. “What under the sun are you two talking about? What was in that package?”
Putting my arm around her shoulders, I said, “I’m afraid it’s poison dust, Mom. I wouldn’t have guessed, but my newspaper covered a case like this a few years ago when a similar package was sent to the mailbox of a state senator. According to what we found out then, that yellow dust was made from a deadly plant that grows only some place in Africa.”
Chuck climbed back up the porch steps, his cell phone in his hand and joined the conversation. “I remember that too, Darcy. The Dallas cops determined the device was gang-related. Nobody found the bad guys, but the police report said that not many people knew about that particular poison. That timing mechanism was a devilish trick.”
Mom was shivering as if she were in a blizzard. “How about the senator? Did he die?”
Chuck nodded. “Afraid so, Miss Flora. He was dead when his wife found him but by that time, the poison had mostly dissipated. Enough was left, though, for the crime lab to analyze it.”
Leaning against the porch railing, I whispered, “It sounds as if we are dealing with a big-time criminal, a professional crook.”
Mom wobbled to the porch swing and sank down into it.
My head was swimming. As if from a great distance, I heard Chuck talking to Grant. “We’ve got some pretty heavy stuff out here at Flora Tucker’s place,” he said. “Somebody left them a surprise package that nearly killed all of us. Yes, certainly, they are both all right.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Right. Will do.”
Within ten minutes, the sheriff’s white truck roared down the road and skidded to a stop beside Chuck’s vehicle.
Grant sprinted
up the porch steps and grabbed my arms, his face pale.
“Thank God you’re safe, Darcy,” he said hoarsely. “You too, Miss Flora.”
Turning to Chuck, he said, “The crime lab boys will be here in a few minutes. Let’s take a look around.”
I noticed that deputy Jim Clendon did not make an appearance.
Mom and I went back into the house. I felt as weak and shaky as she looked. Grant and Chuck were professionals. They could do their job with no assistance from us; besides, I felt the need for a cup of coffee.
My mother and I were sitting at the kitchen table, warming our cold hands around our coffee cups when Grant came into the kitchen, thirty minutes later.
Pulling out a chair, he sat down facing us. “Miss Flora,” he said, “you’ve got to promise me something.”
Puzzled, Mom gazed at him. “What is it, Grant?”
“You both need to get out of town for a while. I don’t know why you haven’t left before now.” His voice and face looked grim. “Darcy may not have enough sense to realize the danger, but you do! The men I had patrolling your house didn’t catch this guy who left the booby trap, whoever he is. He seems to always be one step ahead of us, and I don’t know what he’s going to come up with next. So I’m ordering you to leave. Go to Florida or somewhere else far away. Take Darcy with you. And leave immediately before your enemy knows what you are up to.”
My face felt hot. I could think of no retort. This blunt man certainly wasn’t the boy I had a crush on so many years ago.
Mom answered for us. “Thank you, Grant, for your concern and patience. You’re right. The good Lord expects us to use the common sense he gave us. We have been a worry to you and those kind men who have been keeping watch over us. Darcy and I will leave for a vacation somewhere. The fault is mine, though, not Darcy’s. She wanted to leave some time ago but I’ve been the willful one. Just trying to prove a point, I guess.”