Deadly Payload (Rim Country Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  Deadly Payload

  A Rim Country Mystery

  Karen Randau

  Deadly Payload

  Copyright © 2018 by Karen Randau

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters and the events in this book are from my imagination. Any resemblances to any living or dead persons or any actual incidents are completely unintentional and coincidental.

  A SHORT ON TIME BOOK:

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  To the men and women in the military who risk it all to protect our country.

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank you to the people who made this book happen. Author Arthur Kerns provided vital expertise on the FBI. I appreciate the keen eyes and helpful insights of beta readers Eric Randau, Judy Cruse and Beth Allen. Thanks for the valuable insights and unique ideas provided by the members of my critique group: Margaret Morse, Laurie Fagen, and Wendy Fallon. And a huge thanks to my editor, Shirley Pearson, and Karen M. Bryson of Short on Time Books for continuing to believe in me and get my books out there.

  1

  It started raining dead birds as I turned my Lexus into the driveway of Rim Vista Park. A crow thudded against my windshield, leaving a web-shaped crack and a red smear as it slid to the hood.

  Adrenalin displaced my sleep-deprived sluggishness.

  The right tire veered off the edge of the cement driveway and onto the grass. The bumpy jolt ratcheted up my daughter-in-law Katy’s shriek as she white-knuckled her door’s armrest and the center console. Her eyes wide, she pumped a non-existent brake pedal on the front passenger floorboard.

  “It’s okay,” I promised. “I’ve got this.” I hoped Katy didn’t sense my doubt.

  The tires screeched against the cement as I pulled the steering wheel to the left, stopping the car. Increased pressure on the accelerator got the car back onto the path toward the parking area, next to a gazebo where we had planned to picnic and watch six-year-old Neri flaunt her tumbling prowess.

  A glimpse in the rearview mirror showed Neri’s eyes grow wide, her mouth twist, and her black curls bounce as she grabbed the door with both hands.

  Katy reached back and clutched her daughter’s leg. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  Neri answered, but their voices faded as I parked in a slot between a red Explorer and a beat-up blue Honda then exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I’d held in. I touched my chest and willed my heart rate to slow.

  “Gross,” Neri said.

  In the rearview mirror, I saw my granddaughter’s entire face crinkle. Her eyes glistened like blue pools.

  I followed Neri’s line of sight toward the gazebo. A mother gathered her three young children and pulled their faces to her mid-section. Lifeless crows, cardinals, blue jays, and hummingbirds littered the grass ahead of the huddled family.

  I needed one of the anxiety pills tucked in the back pocket of my purse.

  As I reached for the bag beside my left foot, a cardinal fell on my hood. Another crow crashed onto the Explorer beside us and uncorked an ear-piercing car alarm. In response to Neri’s wail, Katy unlatched and flung off her seatbelt. The metal fastener banged against the front passenger door, and Katy catapulted to the backseat to wrap her arms around Neri.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Don’t look.” Katy’s soothing tone didn’t match the fear in her brown eyes or the worried crease in her freckled forehead.

  My purse caught between the steering wheel and my thigh. I tugged harder to deposit it onto my lap, snatched the prescription bottle, and swallowed a pill. Hoping it would take effect before the shivers inside swelled into another panic attack, I pulled my cell from the front pocket and punched speed dial number one.

  Why didn’t my husband answer?

  I left a voicemail. “Cliff, dead birds are falling from the sky. I told you something was wrong. Call as soon as you can.”

  “Rita.” Katy pointed toward the corner of the lot. A spindly woman with dark, tangled hair hunched against the dumpster. She grasped her shopping cart with one filthy hand and shielded her head with the other arm.

  I fumbled with the button to roll down the window. “Mary,” I yelled until she turned my way. “Over here.” I motioned for her to take refuge in the Lexus.

  Mary’s hands remained on her head as she scuttled in a stooped zigzag toward the car, opened the door, and took an awkward leap onto the seat Katy had vacated.

  “Ew.” Neri pinched her nose when Mary’s scent of sweat, dirt, and sleeping too close to dumpsters filled the vehicle.

  “Shh.” Katy pressed an index finger against her lips to silence Neri, then placed her other hand over her nose.

  My panic subsided as I used a soft tone to avoid the risk of triggering one of her flashbacks. She’d survived so many horrors in the Middle East. “You’ll be okay here with us.” I lifted a juice box straw from her hair and opened my window to dispose of it.

  “Walled in park. Found me. And a trolley washing.” Mary’s green eyes flared.

  She touched the crescent-shaped scar on her left cheek, leaving a streak of the tar-like substance from her fingertips. With a quick glance at Neri, she leaned across the console, and dug her thick, ragged nails into my skin. “Have to save her!”

  Mary flung herself toward the door, kicked it open, and didn’t glance back as she hollered, “No water…”

  The rest of what she said faded as I watched her stoop and run back to her shopping cart. It reminded me of soldiers dodging explosions. Mary’s gait differed, showing a slight limp. Or was it a shuffle?

  Her possessions heaped in front of her at the corner of the dumpster’s enclosure, Mary sat with her face on her knees and her arms folded overhead.

  My phone buzzed. “Cliff, do you see the dead birds?”

  “Yeah. Where are you?” My husband’s voice sounded thick.

  “We’re at the park. Are you at the police station?”

  “Yeah, but I’m going home. I’m not well. We’re getting calls about the birds from all over town. You need to get home. Be careful. Don’t touch them.” He disconnected.

  Mary charged past with her arms covering three bananas in the shopping cart. “Incoming!” She stopped long enough to pick up the tattered sleeping bag that fell from her cart, smashed it around her other belongings, and disappeared around a corner two streets past the park.

  “Who was that woman?” Katy leaned forward against the back of my seat to talk, but she continued holding Neri’s head, so the child wouldn’t see the birds still raining down.

  “Some people around town call her Crazy Mary,” I explained. “She’s a homeless war veteran. Afghanistan or Iraq, I don’t know which. She keeps saying someone has found her, and it terrifies her as much as being in a park with walls around it. I don’t understand why she thinks she needs to wash a trolley.”

  “Why did she say she had to protect Neri?”

  “I’m not sure she was talking about Neri.” I unbuckled my seatbelt to crawl across and close the door Mary had left open. Returning to my position behind the steering, I surveyed the surroundings while re-buckling.

  There was no path to avoid backing over bird carcasses. They crunched beneath the tires.

  I fought against the reflex to gag by talking about Mary. “She hasn’t been too lucid most of the times I’ve tried to communicate with her. I’d like to get her help, but she won’t stay still long enough.”


  Katy’s phone chirped. “Hi, honey … yes, dead birds are falling at the park too. It seems to be slowing.” Her expression morphed from fright to concern. “What’s wrong?” She waited for her husband Travis to reply. “Okay. We’re on our way to your mom’s house … see you there. Love you. Bye.”

  She slid her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “Travis says he isn’t feeling well.”

  “That’s what Cliff said.” I worked to control the urge to race home.

  “Mommy…”

  Again, Neri’s and Katy’s voices faded into the background as questions coursed through my mind during the ten-minute drive to my house. Were the dead birds connected to Cliff’s and Travis’ illness? Would the rest of us get sick soon?

  I tuned the radio to the local news station. “If you don’t have to go out, shelter in place,” a man’s voice warned. “If you’re in your car, get home as soon as possible and stay inside. If you’re outside, find cover. We’ll keep you updated as we learn more. In the meantime, touch no birds you find on the ground. According to the mayor’s office, a representative from the health department in Phoenix will be here soon to investigate.”

  On my street, I paused in front of our driveway to pull down the visor and press the buttons to open the security gate and the garage door. The metal gate slid to the right, and I eased into the driveway, avoiding several bird corpses.

  My heart sank at the sight of Cliff’s unmarked police sedan angled in front of the door. Instead of parking in the garage, he left it by Katy’s blue Prius, under the basketball hoop. The Ford’s engine was still running, and the driver’s side door stood open.

  What happened to Cliff?

  2

  Katy and Neri stayed in my Lexus while I peered into Cliff’s Ford, engine idling, keys dangling from the ignition, his laptop on the front passenger seat.

  Deep breaths failed to loosen the knot in my stomach.

  I parked the Ford on the left side of our three-car garage, followed by positioning my car between it and the Jeep we used for four-wheeling and camping. I thought of my son and pulled back from pressing the buttons to close the security gate and garage door.

  Was Travis okay?

  Katy slung her backpack over her shoulder and grasped Neri’s hand. They trailed me toward the door to the basement game room. We lingered, staring at the knob, silent. I reminded myself to breathe and opened the door.

  Katy clutched Neri’s hand and stood with bent knees, resembling a tennis player ready to receive an opponent’s serve.

  As I entered the house, the basement appeared normal. Pool table in the center of the room. Dart board on the far left wall near the wet bar. Black leather couch, wood coffee table, and two recliners to the right, in front of the open doors to three guest bedrooms. At the far right end, the fan whirred in the bathroom, the door open and the light on.

  Katy and I exchanged a perplexed glance. She pulled Neri into a tighter grip.

  “Stay here a sec.” I called Cliff’s name as I entered the bathroom. Other than the odor of sewage, the room seemed normal with its beige tile, brown quartz countertop, and walk-in shower. I flushed the toilet but didn’t look down as I turned to flip the light switch. On second thought, I left it on in hopes the fan would remove the odor.

  We crossed the room to the stairs leading to the main part of the house.

  Katy and Neri followed me up the stairs, through the tiled dining area, and into the kitchen. I hung my keys on a hook outside the laundry room door, near the hallway leading to the kids’ bedrooms and adjoining bath.

  Katy let go of Neri and set her backpack on the kitchen island’s granite countertop.

  “Why does it stink in here?” Neri grimaced up at her mother and shrugged away when Katy tried to pull her close.

  “I don’t know, sweetie.” Katy blocked the scent by pressing the backs of her fingers against her nostrils.

  I turned toward the living room, my gaze landing on our Pomeranian dog.

  She watched me from her crate in the corner of the room. I kneeled on the hardwood floor in front of her refuge, concerned that she didn’t lift her head or wag her fluffy red tail to greet me. When I opened the crate door, she inched out far enough to lick my land. Cradling her in my arms, I pulled her to my lap.

  “You okay, Hope?”

  She looked at me with beautiful dark eyes, nestled her head on my chest, and exhaled a brief whine. I caressed her jaw and returned her to her crate, wanting to comfort my treasured pet but eager to find my husband.

  I turned toward the center of the room where a manila folder caught my attention.

  The file lay open at an angle on the wood coffee table. Papers were strewn across the table and on the Persian rug beneath. A fallen page had two photos clipped to it. One showed a brown-haired man with a dimple in one cheek, and the other was of another stranger with darker hair and skin.

  I picked up the photos and noticed a thumb drive on the end table between the brown leather couch and contrasting loveseat. I retrieved the drive and laid it and the photos inside the folder.

  The angled recliner with a half-raised footrest rattled me. Where was Cliff?

  I straightened the recliner, catching a glance at the outside from the front window. The deluge of birds had stopped, but their corpses cluttered the driveway and the street beyond my security gate. I closed the blinds, then turned to see Katy and Neri watching me.

  I walked toward the kitchen but paused at the entrance to the hallway to Cliff’s and my suite. Why was he so quiet?

  “Cliff?” I yelled.

  A second passed.

  “Back here.” Our bedroom door muffled his voice. He didn’t sound right.

  I swallowed hard and took a step forward. “Excuse me while I check on Cl—.”

  The three of us jumped when the front doorbell rang. My nerves stood at attention. I palmed my chest and felt my heart pounding against it as I rushed across to the tiled foyer and looked through the peephole.

  “It’s Travis.”

  When I opened the door to see my ashen son leaning against the beige stucco wall, distress filled me. His wet, thick lashes bunched together above and below his groggy, deep-sea blue eyes, yet he shivered. His eyes widened, his brows furrowed, and he slammed his hand over his mouth as he pushed past me. He darted through the kitchen, down the hallway, and toward his bedroom. The bathroom door slammed.

  “Stay with Grandma.” Katy placed Neri’s hand into mine before running after Travis.

  “What’s wrong with Daddy?” Neri’s voice quivered.

  I nudged her toward the living room and sat beside her on the couch. “He has an upset stomach. That’s all.”

  Hope wandered over and waited for me to invite her onto the couch. In response to my “Come on up,” she laid her front paws on the couch and stared at me. I picked her up and ruffled her fur as I looked back toward the hallway to Cliff’s and my suite.

  “You okay, girl?” Neri rubbed Hope’s back with the hand that wasn’t clamping my leg.

  I set the dog in my granddaughter’s lap. “Please watch Hope while I go check on Grandpa Cliff.”

  Neri nodded, but I had to peel her hand off my leg. She found comfort by clutching the dog’s fur.

  I kissed her forehead. “Everything is okay.”

  “Uh huh.” She sounded unconvinced.

  As I stepped into the hallway, our bedroom door muffled the ring of Cliff’s phone. When he didn’t answer, I stepped up my pace and opened the door to our suite.

  The shirt Cliff wore to work lay on the loveseat in the sitting alcove, the sleeves turned inside out and dangling off the side. On the nightstand to the left, Cliff’s phone continued to ring. I ran around the king size bed and checked caller ID. Ronald Williams. The town’s Chief of Police. Cliff’s boss.

  The phone fell silent.

  I turned toward the bathroom. The light was on, and the fan hummed. I approached the half-closed door, steadied myself, and pushed.

&nbs
p; As with the downstairs bath, the scent of sewage assaulted my nose.

  I charged in. The reflection of my neck-length hair swaying in the mirror above the double sinks startled me. I jumped back, grabbed the edge of the quartz counter to catch my breath, and froze at the sight of Cliff’s feet in the left lower corner of the mirror.

  I pivoted on my heel.

  Cliff sat on his knees in front of the toilet, his arms sagging from the seat. His head lay on his arms. Sweat glistened on his bare back. Dark, wet hair clung to his head.

  “Cliff?” My voice echoed on the tile floor.

  No answer.

  I crouched beside him and touched his neck, and his twitch granted me a flicker of relief. I pulled on his shoulders. “Cliff.”

  “Yeah. I’m okay.” He turned and slumped against my legs.

  Disgusting, brown liquid filled the toilet. I tilted Cliff to my shins, then leaned across and flushed, recoiling when equally revolting water replaced it.

  Was our sewer plugged up?

  The swirling sludge slammed a barrage of questions through my brain. Did the water have something to do with the illnesses of Travis and Cliff? Or … was it connected to the dead birds? Did something happen to the town’s water system?

  I had to focus on Cliff and decided to investigate it later.

  I wrapped my arms around Cliff’s chest and clasped my hands together. “Cliff, you aren’t okay. Can you get up?” I tugged on him.

  He attempted to stand, but he slid back down. “Sick.” He crawled to the toilet and heaved.

  “Rita!” Katy pounded on the bedroom door. “Travis is super sick. We need to get him to the hospital.”

  Cliff’s phone rang. I dashed to the nightstand and read Ronald’s name on caller ID.

  “Katy, Cliff is also sick. Call 9-1-1. I have to answer Cliff’s phone. It’s the Chief of Police.” I picked up the cell. “Hello, Ronald.”

  “Rita? Why are you answering this phone?”

  “Cliff is sick. So is my son. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. It looks like someone sabotaged the water treatment plant.”