Ricky sniffled, as though she might cry. “I know what you said, but I kept getting emails telling me that I needed to send the money right away, so that the buyer could make arrangements to get the car. They said it was urgent that I do it immediately. I emailed them back and told them I wanted to check it out first, but they told me that I had their money and that they expected me to live up to my side of the deal. They convinced me they had really sent me the money.” Ricky blew her nose. “In fact, they threatened to report me to the FBI if I didn’t send them the money, because they said they verified that I received the funds.” Then she added in a small voice. “Rhetta, they are so convincing. Are you positive that the check was no good?”
Rhetta couldn’t believe Ricky sent a thousand dollars via Western Union to the supposed shipper in Paducah, Kentucky after Rhetta had specifically warned her not to. No use in chastising her anymore. She could tell her friend felt terrible. Nobody likes to lose a thousand bucks. “I’m calling the FBI. We have to get your money back.”
Before Ricky could argue, Rhetta disconnected and searched for the phone book. After riffling through three drawers, she found it under the desk phone, where it was logically supposed to be. The girl who cleaned the office must have put it there. She hated when that happened.
After thumbing through the endless listings for the Federal Government, she finally located a toll free number for the FBI. She tapped it into the desk phone and waited while the number rang. When the number finally auto answered, she was invited via voice prompts to select a destination for her call. None of the choices was what she needed, so she repeatedly punched the zero button. Finally, a human came on the line. “Federal Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your call?” asked a very bored-sounding young female voice.
“I want to speak to an agent, please.”
“What is the purpose of your call?”
“I just told you, to speak to an agent.”
“Hold, please.” Rhetta was treated to a tinny instrumental version of “Light My Fire” before an agent finally came on the line.
“Agent John Wa…” He mumbled the last part of his name so that Rhetta didn’t really catch it. Was it Waxman? Whitman? Whatever.
“Agent, I want to report an interstate scam. It started with a phony offer to buy a car my friend had listed on eBay.” Then Rhetta told him the story. To his credit, he never once interrupted her.
“Did your friend lose any money?”
“Yes, I told you, she sent a thousand dollars via Western Union to someone who claimed to be a shipper in Paducah, Kentucky.”
“Well, ma’am, I’m sorry she did that, but the only thing I can tell you to do is to go on line to wwwdotIC3dotgov and file a complaint to the internet crimes unit.”
“File a complaint online? Are you telling me she has to go online and do this? You can’t help her?”
“Ma’am, if we took the time to investigate every one of these kinds of reports we get, then that’s all we’d be doing. There are thousands of cases like this.”
Rhetta felt her blood begin to simmer and her temperature shoot up. “Maybe if the FBI would start going after these people and prosecuting them, they wouldn’t continue to operate so blatantly. Then there wouldn’t be so many, and you might put a stop to it. They probably know you don’t care about stopping them.”
“Yes, ma’am. She needs to go online.” Rhetta swore she heard him yawn.
“No, agent whatever-your-name is, we won’t go online and file a complaint. I think that’s what you get paid for. It’s not our job and it’s obviously a waste of time, since this type of crime is so rampant. Have a nice day.” She slammed the receiver.
Why the heck hadn’t Ricky listened to her? She cradled her head in her hands, hoping to ward off the headache she felt crawling across her forehead from her temples and squeezing her head. She headed to the kitchen for water to down some Advil.
She rushed back to her desk and snatched her iPhone from her purse and called Ricky. She had an idea.
“When did you send out the money?
“Uh, around eight this morning.”
Rhetta’s heart began to thump with excitement. “Did Western Union say how long it would take before the recipient could pick it up?” Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rhetta thought she remembered that it took up to six hours to get the money to its destination.
“They said it wouldn’t be ready before two this afternoon.”
“Do you still have all the information and the address of the pickup location?”
“Yes, of course.”
Rhetta glanced at her watch. It was 11:35. They had time.
“Fire up the Monster. We’re going to Paducah.”
Chapter 37
Rhetta paused at LuEllen’s desk on her way out. “Please call Woody and tell him I’m not in the office. He may come in sooner.” Although LuEllen regarded her quizzically, she didn’t ask what that statement meant. Rhetta didn’t take time to explain. “I need to go to Paducah, Kentucky, but if you need me, call me on my cell.” LuEllen nodded and Rhetta swore she heard her “tsk” under her breath. She’d explain later. She was the boss and could leave whenever she wanted to, but still, she liked to be there if anyone needed her. She knew Woody wouldn’t need her; he was extremely efficient. Did Obsessive Compulsive Disorder go hand in hand with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? If not, then Woody manifested both. It didn’t matter. He was the best agent she could ask for.
* * *
Streak’s fuel tank required replenishing, as did Rhetta’s caffeine, so it was twenty minutes before Rhetta made it into Ricky’s driveway. Ricky sailed out her back door, locking it and sliding the key under The Rock. She loped toward the garage where she kept Monster.
Rhetta honked and stuck her head out her window. “Let’s take Streak. I just filled it, it’s got air conditioning, and we won’t have to worry about getting dust all over your car.”
Ricky gave her a thumbs-up and slid into the passenger seat. She shivered.
“I know, I know. It’s cold enough to hang beef in here.” Rhetta turned up the temperature so Ricky wouldn’t catch a chill. Ricky had dressed for hot weather in a pale blue T-shirt, white Capris and sandals. She hadn’t brought along a sweater or a sweatshirt. Rhetta knew that she was probably the only person whose passengers consistently carried outerwear with them whenever they accompanied her during the summer.
“So tell me what we’re going to do in Paducah.” Ricky set her Dr. Pepper can into the beverage holder, and snapped her shoulder and seat belt harness into place.
“Here’s my plan. We go to this Trevor Brinkman’s address, then park where we can watch the house. We follow him as he goes to pick up the Western Union MoneyGram.” Rhetta tucked her purse into the back seat, and made sure her phone was handy.
“Then what do we do?”
“We ask him for it back, of course.”
Ricky groaned. “He’s not likely to give it back without a fight. The guy is probably ten feet tall and bulletproof. How about we get the cops to back us up?”
“Sure, we’ll ask them. Good idea.” Rhetta thought the local cops wouldn’t care a whit about helping them get back interstate fraud money. And she already knew what the feds thought.
As they approached the Emerson Bridge that took them into Illinois over the Mississippi River, Rhetta realized that she hadn’t crossed that bridge as many times in a month as what she had the past two days. At least this time she could enjoy the view. Bright sunshine sparkled on the water below them, creating the illusion of a dancing firefly festival. Two tugs were languidly pushing their strings of barges upriver. It was amazing those little boats could push or pull the long rows of barges. They were little, but mighty.
Once across the bridge, Rhetta shivered, not from the cold air, but because she remembered Randolph’s warning to stay out of Alexander County. And here she was again. She slowed to five miles under the speed limit, in case any deputies were out seekin
g to fill any quotas.
“How long will it take us to get to Paducah?” Ricky sipped from her soda.
“Normally it takes about an hour and a half, but today it might need to take a little longer.” She glanced at her speedometer, making sure she was still obeying the speed limit. “I don’t want to get arrested in Illinois again.”
“What do you mean, again? When were you ever arrested in Illinois?”
“Yesterday.”
Ricky was in mid-gulp and nearly choked on the soda. She set the can down and wiped her chin. “You got arrested yesterday? What on earth for?”
“Woody and I got arrested at the Pink Peacock. Over there.” She pointed to the bar, which was coming up on their right. Rhetta slowed, turned right and eased into the empty parking lot. No Viper today. In fact, the windows on the bar were boarded up.
“Holy blazes, did you shoot someone?” Rhetta was known to carry a .38 from time to time. And the Peacock had a reputation for gunfights.
“No, silly. Woody and I were in there talking to Mylene Allard when the place got raided, and we were arrested along with her.”
“Who’s Mylene Allard?”
Rhetta realized she hadn’t caught Ricky up on her adventure from the previous day. “Boy, have I got lots to tell you.”
Rhetta turned Streak around to exit the parking lot, but as she drove by the door, she spotted a sheet of paper taped to it that might be a note. She stopped, got out and read the neat handwriting. “Gone Quilting.”
Chapter 38
“What on earth does ‘Gone Quilting’ mean?” Rhetta muttered the question almost to herself, knowing Ricky wouldn’t have a clue. In fact, Ricky hadn’t known anything about what had happened yesterday until Rhetta filled her in.
“Oh, blazes, Rhetta, what will you do? You have to go back to court in Cairo?” Cairo, the county seat for Alexander County was nothing more than a forgotten, burned-out shell of a former elegant river city. And infamous for its corruption.
“Randolph is calling the State’s Attorney to try to get charges against us dismissed. Woody is totally ticked at me. I’m afraid of a PTSD episode. He got really upset in jail.” Woody had sat alone in a holding cell across the hall from her, staring off, saying nothing. When the deputy came to tell them they could leave, he walked like an automaton to the office to collect his things, and didn’t speak until they got back to Missouri. She prayed Randolph would be able to convince the State’s Attorney that she and Woody were victims of circumstance, and not dope pushers.
Rhetta kept Streak at a sedate 50 miles per hour until she pulled on to Interstate 24 at Vienna. From there she floored it to 70, crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky and exited just west of Paducah. She cruised along at the speed limit until the Paducah city limits sign came into view. The trip from Cape had taken them close to two hours.
They pulled over into a convenience store to use the facilities and restock on Diet Coke and Dr. Pepper. Rhetta set the address Ricky had given her into Streak’s GPS. “That’s funny. The GPS can find the street, but not that number on the street. Let’s drive that way, and see what we can figure out.”
“Shouldn’t we contact the Paducah police before we go there?” Ricky glanced back and forth from the paper in her hand with Trevor Brinkman’s address, to the GPS screen.
“We don’t need to bring them in on a wild goose chase. Let’s make sure that the address is bona fide. Then we can call them.”
“Okay, that’s a plan. Let’s go.” Ricky agreed. She and Rhetta buckled up and Rhetta followed the turn-by-turn directions to the street. They began searching for the house number Rhetta glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes to two.
Although they easily found the street, finding the number was a different matter. Instead of a house or office being at the location where the number should have been, there was only an empty church parking lot.
Rhetta checked the time again. Five minutes had elapsed. “Maybe we’d better just drive to the supermarket where he was supposed to pick it up. We’ll go in and see if Trevor Brinkman shows up to collect his money.”
“Rhetta, let’s call the police to meet us there. This is making me nervous.”
“You’re right. I’ll call on the way over.” Rhetta reprogrammed the GPS for the address of the Shop ’n’ Save at 11439 Hickory Hills Boulevard. It was less than a block from the church lot.
They sat in Streak in the parking lot outside the supermarket while Rhetta called 9-1-1. The dispatcher couldn’t seem to figure out what Rhetta was trying to tell her. Frustrated after trying two different ways of explaining, Rhetta finally said, “Please, just have an officer come to the Shop ’n’ Save on Hickory Hills Boulevard. A man there is about to steal a thousand dollars.” Then she disconnected. “That dispatcher couldn’t make any sense out of what I was trying to tell her. Maybe if she thinks there’s a robbery, she’ll dispatch a car.”
“I wish we knew what this guy Trevor Brinkman looks like,” Ricky said.
“Let’s go in.” Rhetta figured that Brinkman would be standing near the customer service counter just waiting for the money to arrive. She didn’t want to miss him.
Ricky scrambled out of the SUV. Rhetta snatched her purse and keys, locked the door and jogged after Ricky. The only thing Ricky carried was a handful of papers with the information and the receipt.
The sole person standing at the customer service counter was a stocky woman in jeans and a plaid shirt carrying a baby in an infant carrier. No Brinkman. Scanning the nearly empty store, Rhetta could find no one else showing any interest in the customer service counter. After cruising up and down the aisles, Rhetta joined Ricky at the front of the counter. They stood behind the woman and baby and waited for her to complete her transaction.
The young man behind the counter consulted his watch. “Not yet, ma’am. Give it another fifteen minutes, at least. These things sometimes take a little while.” The woman nodded and shuffled aside.
“What can I help you with?” the clerk asked as Rhetta and Ricky stepped up to the counter.
“Has a Trevor Brinkman been in to pick up a MoneyGram?”
The clerk, a look of confusion blanketing his acne covered face, glanced from Rhetta to the woman with the baby. “Ah, no. No Trevor Brinkman.” He shook his head. Rhetta nodded and began to move aside. “But this woman, over here, said her name is Treva Brinkman, and she’s waiting for a MoneyGram.” He pointed at the woman and baby.
Rhetta and Ricky spun toward the woman, but were a fraction of a second too late. In a burst of speed, the woman reared back and flung the baby carrier. It hurtled toward them. Ricky cried out and caught it, clutching the carrier to her chest, like a wide receiver catching a pass. With a heavy thud, she landed on the floor flat on her back. Miraculously, she still clutched the baby carrier. Rhetta stumbled over Ricky and sprawled to the floor. She picked herself up and, knee throbbing, scurried after the fleeing baby-tosser. She spotted the woman halfway across the parking lot, and hobbled toward her. With each step, her knee shot out a bolt of pain.
Rhetta spotted the woman, and just as she prepared to tackle her, the woman turned. Rhetta stopped in mid-tackle. To her amazement, it was a different lady—a woman Rhetta guessed to be in her late sixties carrying a walking stick. She was definitely not the woman who had rushed out of the store, but was dressed similarly in light blue jeans and a baggy plaid shirt. The old woman raised her three-toed aluminum cane and was about to slam it over Rhetta’s head when Rhetta threw up her arms in self-defense. “Please, I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was chasing someone else. A thief,” she panted. The woman cautiously lowered her clawed weapon. Rhetta doubled over to catch her breath. She massaged her painful right knee while the old woman voiced her opinions about young hooligans.
As Rhetta mumbled apologies to the frightened elderly woman, a black, late model, high-riding pickup truck with tires as tall as Rhetta, burned out of the parking lot. Fishtailing while it smoked rubber, it nearly collided with
a blue and white police cruiser careening into the lot. While the truck roared off, the police car screamed to a stop at the front door of the Shop ’n’ Save. Rhetta limped back to the market, huffing to catch her breath. What the heck was going on? That crazy woman inside the store just tossed her baby at us. What kind of person would do that?
A crowd began to gather and murmur. Several young men stood menacingly near the police car, pointing toward the cops who had their weapons drawn as they stormed the store. God, she hoped a riot wasn’t about to break out. How would she explain that to Randolph?
Chapter 39
It took two more squad cars, an officer with a megaphone, two television camera crews—one from Paducah, and one from Cape Girardeau—three newspaper reporters with cameras, and a Girl Scout selling cookies to subdue the crowd of over fifty angry people who’d gathered. The locals chanted they weren’t going to put up with any more police profiling.
Rhetta spoke up early on, trying to convince the crowd that no persons of color were being arrested. She couldn’t speak for the other minorities, like the Irish, Scots or French-Canadians. In fact, no persons at all were being arrested, since the baby-tossing woman had fled in an overgrown pickup. She gave up trying to explain anything to the crowd and retreated into the safety of the supermarket.
It took a lot more explaining to two burly police officers before Rhetta convinced them about the eBay hoax and the involvement by Trevor or Treva Brinkman, or whoever this person was. Rhetta wasn’t entirely convinced that the woman with the baby had even been a woman. The stocky build combined with the testosterone-fueled pickup led her to believe it was a man disguised as a female in this scheme. She described Brinkman as best she could. The customer service manager was able to verify the story. Finally, the cops shook their heads, took out their notepads and began to write out everyone’s statements.
The baby in the carrier turned out to be a doll covered in blankets, lending more credence to the story about the scam. The store manager, who was called in from a round of golf on his day off, was only too glad to hand over the Western Union money to Ricky, if she and Rhetta promised to leave, never come back, and take the crowd with them. He was not convinced that any of the publicity would benefit his store.