Your Past Will Find You
Copyright 2016, Steven M. Moore
Part Three
A knock on the kitchen door jerked Rena awake. The half-filled coffee mug went flying. She grabbed the gun.
“Rena, you in there? I wanted to thank you for sending Gadfly’s papers.”
Will Richardson! Or Richard Wills? She put the gun on the table. “Just a minute.”
She hurriedly collected the shards of the coffee cup, wiped up the spill with a paper towel, and trashed it all. When she opened the door, she realized she was hanging out of her robe a bit.
“Sorry,” she said, covering up.
“That’s certainly one of the nicest good mornings I’ve had.” She saw him stare at the gun. “Anything wrong?”
“He said he’s coming for me! You’ll remember I went to the bank to make a transfer. Somehow he spotted that and sent me an email to the new email account. I was afraid that ‘coming for me’ meant he’s already here and on his way.”
“You’re trembling. I think it’s time to go see Sheriff Jolly. You should tell him about this.”
She went to the table, sat, and hugged herself. “I don’t know. Everyone will start talking. The stalker will only have to walk into Big Mike’s, have a coffee, and listen to the gossip.”
Will smiled. “That’s a pretty good description of Big Mike’s ambiance. It’s like that old TV show. Everyone knows your name.”
“Do they know yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you Richard Wills, ex-NYPD detective?”
He took a seat at the table and frowned. “The wallet. I forgot it was in that file box. I didn’t really have any other place to put it, though. Mama Dora often straightens things up in my room. I’m neat, but she’s obsessive. It’s not nice to snoop, you know. I only wanted the papers.”
“I know. Mea culpa. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s a long story, but here’s the summary: I put the mob’s hitman into the car in my place. I made it look like I was a victim and ran for my life. Not only did I kill one of theirs, but I made them look like cop murderers. My life wasn’t worth a dime. Still isn’t if they find me.”
“Why were they after you in the first place?”
“I was in narcotics working undercover. I cost them a lot of profits when I told my buddies about a warehouse with hundreds of pounds of heroin ready to hit the streets.”
“So it was payback? And NYPD wouldn’t back you up?”
“They would have gone through the motions, but that kind of grudge is held a long time.”
“I’m glad you told me. I won’t say a word. You’re still Will Richardson.”
He smiled. “OK. Now let’s see that email.”
***
“I hate to learn this reason for you coming to our little town, Ms. Edmunds,” said Sheriff Jolly, tapping the copies of the emails. Rena had explained why she had fled New York and come west. He had read the emails. “I can increase patrol frequency out by you, but there’s not much else I can do.”
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