LuEllen returned to her desk and was out of earshot. While waiting for his computer to load, Woody said to Rhetta, “Wexler said there wouldn’t be anything about what happened on the news.”
Agent Wexler had sworn everyone involved to secrecy for the sake of national security. Rhetta hadn’t yet told LuEllen about what had happened to Woody’s leg, nor exactly what had caused Cami to burn up.
Woody had suffered a bout of depression combined with his PTSD after the shootout. Rhetta called him daily. Jenn reported Woody was recuperating, and nearly back to his old self. Rhetta understood why he’d returned to work as soon as he could. He needed to get busy and get his mind off what happened. Rhetta had taken him to lunch a few times while he was out on sick leave. His leg was healing nicely, and now, she was relieved that his spirit was healing too.
“Wexler told me the terrorist cell was cleaned out,” Rhetta said, patting Woody’s arm. “It’s all over. There won’t be an attack.”
Woody shrugged and gazed at the newscast.
Rhetta said, “He also assured me the book was closed, the terrorists were rounded up, and there would be no charges filed against us, since our shooting them was in self-defense. The entire thing has to be kept ultra-secret and nothing would appear in any news media. In fact, according to the news, Cami setting the hay bales on fire was the biggest thing that happened in Scott County that night.”
“I didn’t want it to be on the news,” Woody said. “It’d scare customers off.” He couldn’t conceal his smile behind the whiskers. “What about the power failures? How did they cover that?”
“Inland Electric called it a ‘perfect storm,’ and said it all started with lightning striking the substations in Marble Hill, which caused an overload in Cape County. In Perry County, they said a bird’s nest caught fire in that substation, causing it to crash.”
“Must’ve been a bird the size of Delaware.”
Rhetta smiled. Woody’s sense of humor was also returning.
“I also found out from Billy Dan that there are tripping stations on the nationwide power grid that would prevent a complete cascading power failure that would take out the entire grid at one time.”
She continued after adjusting her chair, sitting, and turning to face Woody. “Wexler also said that the cell here was taking out our power stations as part of a national plot to see what would happen. He confirmed that every transformer had holes shot at points that matched the markings on the schematic. Wexler also admitted that, although the FBI knew who the members of the cell were, they hadn’t discovered their plan. There had been absolutely no chatter.”
“Did Wexler ever find out where the money from Al-Serafi’s refi went?”
“When I asked him if Mahata escaped with it, he only shrugged. He implied that the FBI had been unable to track down Al-Serafi’s wife to question her. She and the money are probably holed up in a country friendly to terrorists.”
“Guess she never did get to sunbathe at Lake of the Ozarks,” Woody said. Swiveling around to Rhetta, he asked, “How’s Randolph?”
“He’s back to painting up a storm and planning his one-man show coming up at the gallery. He’s locked himself in his studio in a painting frenzy. He wants plenty ready for the show.” Grabbing a brochure off her desk, she waved it at Woody. “In fact, he’s doing so well he ordered a brand-new, three-quarter-ton Artmobile. Otherwise known as a Ford.”
Woody chuckled, then turned serious. “Not much left of the first Artmobile, was there?”
Rhetta added quietly, “He’s quit drinking altogether.” Woody nodded without speaking.
Rhetta hadn’t managed to quit smoking yet, but was working on it. She was also trying to locate her father. It was impossible to find any of his records. The only thing she could find was his birth record. So far, she was unable to find anything else. Even the military records, so far, were a dead end.
The buzzing intercom interrupted Rhetta’s thoughts. “Miss Ricky Lane is on line two for you,” LuEllen said.
Rhetta punched the blinking light “Hey, what’s up girlfriend? Do we need more parts?” Rhetta had already written Ricky a substantial check for the first batch of aftermarket parts to restore the Z28. The new LS1 engine was already on a truck making its way from Ohio.
She pulled open the drawer in search of her checkbook. “How much do I owe you?” She didn’t want Ricky to shoulder a large parts bill.
“No, no, that’s not it. We’re good on the parts.” Ricky, lowering her voice as though not wanting anyone to overhear, asked, “Do you remember Malcom Griffith?”
“Sure. He was the real estate developer who scammed his business partner several years back, then took off with millions in escrow funds.”
“Did you know that the business partner Griffith scammed was Jeremy’s father?”
“Jeremy, as in your new love interest?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I just found Malcom Griffith’s wallet wedged into the frame of your Z28.”
The End
Sharon Woods Hopkins
Sharon’s mystery series featuring mortgage banker Rhetta McCarter and her ’79 Camaro hits close to home. Sharon is a branch manager for a mortgage office of a Missouri bank. She also owns the original Cami, a restored ’79 Camaro like Rhetta’s.
The next books in the Rhetta McCarter Mystery series are Killerfind, Killertrust, and Killerground.
Sharon’s hobbies include painting, photography, flower gardening, and restoring muscle cars with her son, Jeff.
She is a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Southeast Missouri Writers’ Guild, and the Missouri Writers’ Guild.
Sharon also spent 30 years as an Appaloosa Horse Club judge, where she was privileged to judge all over the US, Canada, Mexico and Europe.
She lives on the family compound near Marble Hill, Missouri with her husband, Bill, next door to her son, Jeff, his wife, Wendy, and her grandson, Dylan, plus two dogs, one cat, and assorted second generation Camaros.
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