John Miller - Smoke and Mirrors

Winter got the casino’s main number from information and asked the hotel operator to ring suite 825 for him.

After several rings, Kurt Klein’s voice came on. “Yes,” he answered pleasantly. He had no idea who was calling, because there was no caller ID on hotel phones.

“It’s Winter Massey.”

There was a short pause before Klein said, “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“There was the flash of an explosion when we were there. You and I were chatting, remember?”

“Yes? And…?”

“At the time I thought it was lightning, a transformer blowing or something, but it was actually dynamite and a lot of it. It came from an equipment storage building of yours across the Tunica County line, near the river. The place is crawling with cops, fire trucks, and EMS. Albert White’s SUV was there, along with what’s left of a limousine you own.”

“Okay, Mr. Massey, and I’m wondering why this is of interest to me?”

Winter knew by his voice that it was very much of interest to him, and he was sure Klein knew who had been out there and why.

“I just called to tell you that the sheriff of that county is going to call you very soon, as will the FBI and ATF. At least one of the people out there had a machine gun, an MP5SD, which if you look it up on the Internet under Heckler amp; Koch, you will understand the significance of. I do not want to know who was carrying that particular military-use-only weapon. Whoever it was out there is now scattered all over the landscape. I kind of thought you might want to make some inquiries of your own.”

Winter snapped the phone closed.

“You think he knew anything about it?” Brad asked.

“I doubt the old bastard is going to get any sleep tonight.”

“Did you notice that there were none of Klein’s security men at the meeting tonight?” Brad asked.

“Why would Mr. Klein need security people?” Leigh asked.

“He might need to hire some new ones,” Winter said.

“Well, it’s too late to eat,” Leigh said.

“You have to be tired,” Brad said.

“Not too tired to cook you fellows a nice thick steak. Let’s stop at the grocery and pick up a few, and we’ll go to the house. I bet your deputies could eat a hot meal about now.”

Styer put a knee in Cynthia’s back and taped her mouth shut. Then he removed the explosives belt she had been wearing and laid it aside. “Remember the bomb downstairs, Cynthia,” he whispered tenderly as he secured her hands and lashed her ankles with tape.

He surveyed the blood rapidly pooling under Alexa’s head and listened for any sounds of people coming to investigate the noise made by bodies hitting the floor. After a few seconds, with only the sound of the grandfather clock ticking, he heard something in the back of the house-a motor perhaps. Moving slowly down the hall he went into the kitchen, which was filled with the smell of coffee. On the table he spotted a copy of a tabloid lying open, a cup of coffee beside it. It was still hot and freshly poured.

He moved to the closed door of the utility room and realized the sound was a clothes dryer running. Someone was doing the laundry. He heard the lid of a washing machine close, the unmistakable sound of the dial being twisted and pulled, and the water running into the tub.

Crossing the hall, Styer moved back into the kitchen and sat down at the table to wait, placing the gun in his lap.

The door opened and the maid came out and turned into the kitchen, her arms holding a basket filled with folded towels. When she saw Styer, she smiled, glad to see him. Most of the locals knew the physician. “You pour you some coffee, Doc, and let me go fold these towels up. Been a busy and tragic time around here lately. I’m way behind. I didn’t know you was coming out. Take your hat and that wet coat off and stay awhile.”

“I’ll be here just a little while,” he said.

The maid’s expression changed slowly, and she tilted her head. He knew he had been pressed to make a quick study of this subject. His disguise depended on people not knowing the man more than superficially or getting a good look, and it hadn’t fooled that chief deputy either. The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly and Styer saw that despite the wide-brimmed hat pulled low, the accent and pitch of the voice, and the resemblance, she knew.

When the gun came up, she just stood wide-eyed-the proverbial deer frozen in the headlights.

“If you want to live,” he said in his own voice, “tell me where the boy is.”

“Gone,” she said, turning her eyes to the counter, where the block held a selection of knives. He knew she was trying to decide if she could get to them before he could shoot her.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” he said. “Word of honor.”

The big woman hurled the basket at him. For her size, she was amazingly agile, but of course she couldn’t out run a bullet.

The sleet had become a chilled rain that coated the tree limbs, roads, and wires with ice. Brad said that if it stopped soon, like the forecasters said it would, the damage wouldn’t amount to much more than a few snapped limbs and fender benders.

Winter used the few minutes Leigh was spending inside the grocery store to search the interior of the Jeep. He found an audio transmitter the size of a coat button attached to the backside of the rearview mirror, rolled down the window, and tossed it out across the parking lot, certain that the listeners were busy figuring what to do about their dead team members.

While they waited, Winter shared his theory about what had happened at the barn. “Styer was probably in charge of getting White to do a taped confession and the cutouts figured out who Styer was and followed him there. I expect the explosives were set off during the shoot-out.”

“Could Styer have been disguised well enough to be one of Klein’s guys?”

“A cakewalk for him.”

“It’s just hard to imagine,” Brad said. “At least they let Cyn go beforehand. Sure solved your problem.”

He dialed Alexa, got her voicemail, and left the message. “Lex, we’re heading to the Gardner house. See you when you get there.” He closed the phone. “I know she’s there. She probably can’t hear it ringing through her purse.”

Through the window Winter saw Leigh checking out and chattering happily with the young cashier.

“She’s something,” Brad said.

“Yep,” Winter agreed. He thought it was amazing that, after all she’d been through, she could be thinking about feeding a bunch of people. She was something, all right. Delta women were a breed apart.

“You know, don’t you?” Brad asked him meaningfully.

“Yeah.”

“I think everything is going to work out now. She’s the girl I fell in love with. I hate that she went through all this grief, but I think it’s going to be Brad and Leigh again, like it should have been.”

“Does Cynthia have any idea?”

Brad stared at Winter. “All this just happened.”

“Well,” Winter started, “it’s none of my business, but I have eyes. Somebody else must have noticed. It’s fairly obvious.”

“What’s that?”

“Cynthia’s got your eyes and your smile. I understand why you and Leigh didn’t want to tell her, but doesn’t you guys being patched up mean you can tell her now? Or will she keep thinking Jacob is her father?” He saw Brad’s eyes change and his face slacken, and only then did he realize that the poor guy had had no clue about his daughter. Winter felt that old hollow, what-the-hell-have-I-done feeling, and he knew he couldn’t make it right. “Listen, Brad, maybe…”

Staring out at Leigh, Brad opened the door to the Jeep and strode to the store without seeming to notice the icy rain. He stood outside and waited for Leigh to approach. Her smile vanished when she stepped out and he started talking to her. He saw her chin drop before rising again, and she nodded. Winter didn’t have to hear what they were saying to understand that Leigh had just confirmed what Winter had assumed Brad knew all along. He knew that Cynthia was why Leigh had married Jacob Gardner so suddenly after she turned her back on Brad.