Chapter 3

Connor checked the fitment of the metal gate, he wanted to make sure everything worked before tightening it all up. The goats in the pen bleated their displeasure at being locked up. Almost done guys, I promise. He grabbed an adjustable wrench from his red tool box and began tightening the bolts. The backdoor to the old farmhouse swung open with a drawn out creak. Karsyn Barnes bopped down the back steps and headed his way. Wheat colored blonde hair tied back in a pony tail that twirled behind her. She was wearing a pink tank top that showed off her cleavage and her farmers tan. Faded blue jeans clung to her wide hips, dark green rain boots covered in mud and manure. She hadn’t changed much from high school, she was always a little chubby, but a cute girl.

She was halfway to the goat pen when she waved, beaming smile, “Hey, Connor.” She approached the fence. “Looking good.” She gave the fence a gentle tug. “Looks like your almost done.”

Connor tightened the last bolt. “Yup, all done.” He put his wrench back in the tool box, and clamped the lid shut.

Karsyn tried the gate, open and close. She latched it. “Very nice.” She moved in close to Connor, she smelled like berries, fruity and sweet. “Thank you, Connor. I promise I’ll pay you on Friday.”

Connor nodded, “No problem, Karsyn.”

She motioned toward the house, “I was about to make dinner. If you want to come inside.”

“Thanks Karsyn, but I have a few other jobs to get to. Maybe next time.” A little lie never hurt. Maybe I could see Linda tonight.

He returned to his truck, set the tool box in the bed, next to the shovel. It’s worn, dirty handle, the blackened metal blade all chipped. Maybe I should get rid of that thing. Connor slammed the tailgate shut, and climbed into the cab of the truck.

Connor pulled into his driveway and climbed from his Chevy pickup. His house was small, simple. One story, plain white vinyl siding. Black vinyl shutters. A small, well kept yard. In the corner stood an old, fat oak tree. He approached his front steps. He stopped. The black painted front door was open. Slowly and carefully he climbed the front steps. Gingerly he pushed the front door all the way open. Connor peered around the door frame. His belongings and keepsakes scattered about the floor. Shelves empty, drawers hanging open or removed completely. Blue recliner lay on it’s side. Couch cushions tossed. The large screen tv laid on the ground, wires stretched across the tv stand. Lamps lay like fallen trees. He entered the house, careful not to crush something that might be important to him. A noise made him stop mid-step. Connor held his breath, listening for any movement from inside the house.

A knock. Behind him. He let his breath out uncontrollably with a yelp.

“Good evening, hope I’m not interrupting”

Connor turned toward the door. A police officer stood in the doorway, taller than himself, muscular build, his heart sank.

He stammered. “Chief O’Neil.” Connor swallowed hard.

O’Neil stepped through the door way, looked around and gave a low whistle. “Looks like you were robbed. Connor? Isn’t it?”

Connor nodded his head. “Yes, sir. That’s right.” Fuck. Did he do this? Did he find the money?

“Why don’t you come down to the station and file a report. I’ll give you a ride.” O’Neil smiled, but it was wrong. It wasn’t friendly. It was predatory. Linda said Chief O’Neil was not a friend.

Connor looked around. “No. It’s no big deal, nothing is missing.”

Chief O’Neil prodded a book with the toe of his left boot. On it’s thick hardcover in white letters was one word, Cancun. A picture of a white sand beach, some palm trees, perfect blue water melting into blue sky. Pillowy clouds overhead. The book was filled with highly detailed pictures of Cancun and the surrounding areas of Mexico. Connor had bought it after Linda had told him how much she enjoyed a vacation there.

“You work for the Van Wieren’s, right?” O’Neil cocked an eyebrow.

Connor nodded, his eyes darted to the kitchen. If he ran, he had to unlock the backdoor, get down the deck steps, stop. Pull the skirt panel off the deck, grab the money. Then run back to the front of the house and start the truck. That won’t work. “Yes, that’s right.”

“What is it you do for the Van Wieren’s? Exactly?”

“I maintain Johan’s properties, fix whatever needs to be fixed. That sort of stuff.” Connor shrugged his shoulders. What are these questions?

Chief O’Neil’s brow furrowed, “When was the last time you talked to Johan?”

“A couple days ago. He wanted to add a hedgerow along the garage.” Only a partial lie.

O’Neil studied the nails on his right hand. “So, he didn’t call you yesterday? Around lunchtime?”

Connor’s heart stopped. How the fuck does he know that? Did they pull phone records? Did he get to Linda? Did she tell him everything? Deny. Deny everything. “No.”

O’Neil seemed unfazed by his answer, continued to study his fingernails. Connor could feel a cold bead of sweat run down his back. “How long have you been fucking Johan’s wife?”

Connor’s breath caught in his throat, his hands began to tremble. Shit. Shitshitshit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

O’Neil stopped studying his hand, his eyes were locked on Connor. “So why were you at Van Wieren’s last night?”Shower drain! Linda said the shower drain was clogged. “Linda had called me, the shower drain was clogged. I had to fix it.” He could breathe again. It will work. O’Neil’s eyes narrowed. “She always have you come over to fix things while wearing a skimpy robe?” There was extra emphasis on ‘fix’.Shit. “I think she was about to shower.” Connor Stammered “That’s all.”

O’Neil barely let him finish. “Back when you were still swimming in your daddies nut sack, Linda was a cheerleader. We went to school together. Did you know that?”

Connor shook his head.

“She wore that uniform well. You know what I mean. That short little skirt, those long ass legs.” He paused for a few seconds. “She’d wear that skirt to the after game parties, give a show to the whole team. Get a few beers in her, and she would lose that skirt easy enough.”

Connor felt his face get hot.

“Here’s what I think kid. Linda played with your cock and balls, you fell hard. Figured, you take out the competition. Got Johan alone, offed him. Problem is you took something from Johan that didn’t belong to him.”

Connor stammered. “No.”

O’Neil pounced. Grabbed Connor by the shirt collar. Pulled him in close. Chief O’Neil’s breath was hot on his face and smelled like coffee. “Where the fuck is the money, kid?”

Connor struggled. They stumbled back. O’Neil’s footing slipped, his grip on Connor loosened. Connor pulled himself free. He launched a kick into O’Neil’s left knee. Chief O’Neil yelled out, and crashed to the floor. The Cancun book lay at Connor’s feet. He picked it up, it was hard, heavy. He raised it over his head. With all his strength he brought the book down onto the back of O’Neil’s head. The book connected with a loud crack. O’Neil collapsed his face bounced off the hardwood floor. He didn’t move.Connor darted toward the kitchen. He stumbled over his belongings scattered across the floor. Reached the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open, a half gallon of milk on the linoleum floor. Really? He unlocked the backdoor, scrambled across the deck and down the stairs. The deck skirt was untouched. Thank God. He dug his fingers into the gap and tore it free. Connor grabbed the black leather bag, and sprinted at full speed to the front of the house.