Better Late Than Dead: Episode 14

  This is episode fourteen of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 14 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Rich pulled into a parking space at Hiram’s office building. After pulling the key from the ignition, he paused and thought, How did I get here? Did I run any lights? Geez, did I hit anyone?

He hurried to Hiram’s office, and Maxine told him to go right in. Hiram rose from his desk, and a man in a gray jacket and tie stood also. He was clean-looking and had a fresh shave and haircut.

“I’m Ned Ingram. A special agent from the CIA.”

Rich glanced at Hiram and quickly back to the agent. Rich quickly sized him up. These guys are trained liars and deceivers, he thought. I should watch myself. After all the denials, someone finally shows up.

Ingram held out his hand to shake it.

“I’d like to see your ID,” Rich said.

Ingram hesitated and reached into the inside lapel pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a leather holder and handed it to Rich. Rich looked it over and looked Ingram over. He handed the ID back to Ingram.

“How long have you been with the agency?” Rich asked.

“I’m asking the questions here,” Ingram said.

“I understand you have questions,” Rich said. “But my questions come first.”

“Ten and a half years,” Ingram said.

“Have you ever worked in the field?” Rich asked.

Ingram gave Rich a cold stare. Rich sat down, and so did Ingram.

“Did I pass?” Ingram asked.

“Agents say nothing about assignments,” Rich said.

“Why are you and your lawyer calling us and…” Ingram reached into his other pocket. He pulled out a notepad and read from it, “…and asking about a Clyde Akers.”

Hiram leaned forward. “You didn’t come all this way just to find out why we’re calling about this guy Akers. There’s something there.”

“Mr. Holiday,” Ingram said, “you’ve called half a dozen times and so has Larsen. We want to know what’s up.”

“I imagine you guys get all kinds of crackpot calls,” Rich said. “And why are you so interested in this one that you make a personal visit? Every communication from the CIA had indicated to us that Akers is lost in the shuffle, in the field somewhere, or dead.”

“You and Holiday are hardly crackpots,” Ingram said.

“Exactly,” Rich said, “and if we asked for Gomer Pyle, you wouldn’t have come here. Akers is a real person, and it concerns you that we asked about a real person.”

“Okay,” Ingram said, “why do you want to know about Akers?”

“Do you know who I am?” Rich asked.

“No, should I?” Ingram asked.

“I don’t know how the CIA works,” Rich said. “But I have been compensated by them in the past. I have helped with some covert operations which I will not talk about in Hiram’s presence or, for that matter, even in your presence.”

Ingram pressed his lips.

“Have you run my name?” Rich asked.

“Yes,” Ingram said.

“And you found nothing?”

Ingram said nothing.

“Look,” Rich said, “my back is against the wall here. This is my lawyer. Having a lawyer has nothing to do with my involvement with the CIA. My problem is that a few weeks ago, my mom and dad were murdered. And I’m the only suspect. They have no evidence that puts me at the scene when it occurred, but you know as well as I do that you can put anybody anyplace if you want to.”

“How does this affect Akers and the Agency?” Ingram asked.

“I’ve had more than one attempt on my life,” Rich said. “I have names and places. Akers must some sort of record of me. He paid me five thousand dollars. It was probably from a black budget, cover job income, ghost money, or whatever you may choose to call it.”

Ingram straightened up in his chair.

“Hit a nerve?” Rich snarked.

“What is it you want?” Ingram asked.

“I want to know if any of this is tied to anything I was involved in,” Rich said. “If it is, I sure wish in some covert manner you might persuade the local sheriff to back off and pursue some other course and clear my name.”

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Ingram said. “You seem to know more about the workings of the agency than others in a similar position to yours. However, we might be able to swap information.”

“I don’t know what information that I might have that would be useful to you,” Rich said.

“Elbert Percival,” Ingram said.

“Elbert Percival,” Rich repeated. “Never heard of him. Oh, wait. There was someone a few years ahead of me in high school. I think his name was Elbert Percival. If you could get a hold of a school annual, that might help you.”

“You teamed up with him in Africa,” Ingram said. “You made off with a large sum of money.”

“Does it look to you like I made off with a large sum of money?” Rich said. “I drive an Army surplus Jeep.”

“Maybe Percival made off with it,” Ingram said.

“And maybe the earth is flat,” Rich said.

“Where is Elbert Percival?” Ingram insisted.

“The last time I saw Elbert Percival,” Rich said, “was outside the school cafeteria smoking cigarettes with his hood friends. Wait, maybe it wasn’t him. That’s been a while, and I didn’t run with that crowd, so I may have gotten him mixed up with somebody else.”

“You’re playing games,” Ingram said.

“You have the file on me,” Rich said. “You’ve read it. Now those were games.”

Ingram stood. He handed a business card to Rich and one to Hiram.

“Mr. Larsen, if you should have a change of heart, call me. That’s my number on the card. But until you do, there’s no reason to help you.”

Ingram walked out of the room and didn’t shut the door behind him. Rich got up and shut the door. He sat back down in his chair.

Hiram clicked his cheek. “Your tax dollars at work.”

Rich stroked his chin and raised his eyebrows at Hiram. “Are you still my lawyer?”

“More than ever,” Hiram said. “I suppose that envelope you gave me is a complete report on all your dealings with the CIA.”

“I left a lot of things out,” Rich said.

“Things that have to do with Elbert Percival,” Hiram said.

“Exactly,” Rich said. “He’s a good and decent man. He broke free from the craziness he was involved in. He leads a quiet life. He’s married and has a child.”

“He must mean a lot to you,” Hiram said. “Giving him up, it sounds like you could be let off the hook.”

“We’ve been through a lot together,” Rich said. “If not for him, I might be dead. And if not for me, he might be dead. There’s no way I would give him up.”

“So,” Rich smacked his hands on his thighs, “besides Ingram, what else is cookin’?”

“The prosecutor is supposed to call me after lunch,” Hiram said. “He sounded to me like the cat who swallowed the canary. I think he has something. It’s probably nothing. They always promise filet mignon and deliver hamburger.”

“By the way,” Hiram said, “how are you holding out?”

“I’m fine,” Rich said. "The Hillcrest is not exactly the Waldorf Astoria. What I pay a night at the Hillcrest will get me a shoe shine at the Waldorf.”

“If the prosecutor doesn’t charge you in another week, ignore them and take off. Leave them a contact number or tell them you’ll contact them as soon as you settle in.”

“Is that a lawyer speaking or a friend?” Rich asked.

“Both,” Hiram said. “The prosecutor and the sheriff’s department are playing this as secret as my grandma’s cookie recipe. She took it to the grave.”

“That doesn’t stop the newspaper from suggesting,” Rich said. “Some of the stuff they are printing is libelous.”

“That reminds me,” Hiram said. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I don’t want you to think this is escaping my attention. If this goes to trial, because of the libelous nature of those articles, we can ask for a change of venue. We can get this tried on the other side of the state. And after that, we sue for damages. When this is all over, you may own the newspaper.”

Rich tipped his brow. “I’ll be back at the motel. My soap opera is about to start.”

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 13

 This is episode thirteen of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode posts every Monday and Friday. However, you can purchase it on Amazon as a Kindle or paperback.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.

Episode 13 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

The next two days, Rich and Don spent some time together. Eventually, they said goodbye, with Don wishing Rich all the luck in the world. During that time, Rich checked in with Hiram a couple of times a day. Nothing had changed.

It was Friday morning, around 9:00 AM. Rich drove to the diner where Jane Burks waitressed. The breakfast crowd had gone, and the place was nearly empty. Jane sat across the table from Rich. They chatted for a while. Rich told Jane about meeting up with Don.

“Really,” Jane said, “you ought to bring him by, and we’ll have a class reunion.”

Rich smiled. “Yeah, maybe we could sing the school fight song or something.”

Jane smiled, and her face took on a compassionate look. “How are you doing?”

“Well,” Rich said, “the time spent with Don and with you has done me a lot of good.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jane said.

“In some ways, it’s sad,” Rich said. “Seeing Don and you is a reminder of all that I missed.”

“Are we the only ones you’ve seen?” Jane asked.

“There’s a guy on the sports desk who was a year ahead of us,” Rich said. “That’s been it. From age fifteen to twenty-four, there’s a lot of change. I could have walked by a dozen people we’ve gone to school with, and we never recognized each other.”

“That’s not too far off from me,” Jane said. She cleared her throat. It shook Rich from nearly drifting into a trance. He looked at Jane, as if waiting for her to speak.

“I saw you about six months ago,” Jane said.

“You did? Where?” Rich said.

“I took my little girl to the park,” Jane said. “She wanted to swing. You were sitting at a picnic table. Coffee in a thermos. A sandwich. I walked by, and you smiled at my little girl and never looked at me.”

“A mop of curly hair, eyes like licorice jelly beans, and as big as saucers.”

“I have never seen such a lonely man,” Jane said.

Rich flicked a smile. “Women can analyze another human with incredible speed and accuracy.”

“Yeah,” Jane grinned and said sarcastically, “how come so many of us end up with bums?”

“You’re just trying to give us a chance,” Rich quipped.

“How ‘bout you?” Jane asked. “Have you ever been close to getting married?”

“There’s a little island off the coast of France,” Rich said solemnly. “It’s a place you can go and forget the world around you. It has a rhythm of its own. A beauty and serenity that one can’t capture in words, in music, on a canvas, or in a camera. All that collective beauty—gentle rolling hills, smooth green pastures, shimmering waters, quaint villages—all came together in one girl named Bridgett. I never knew love until I met her.”

“Is she still there?” Jane asked.

“We were married.” A tear rolled down his cheek. Jane pulled a napkin from the holder on the table and handed it to Rich. “She died a day after our wedding,” Rich said.

“Oh, no!” Jane said.

“One of those freak things,” Rich said. “A brain aneurysm. She was gone in an instant. She was eighteen. So beautiful. Better than what I deserved or hoped for.” Rich looked up from staring at the table. “Sorry, Jane. It just seemed to come out.”

“Go on,” Jane said.

“That one day of marriage is worth a lifetime,” Rich said. “We had so much fun. I was planning on bringing her here. Show her off and go back to Belle-Île-en-Mer and live out our life. I want to spend my last days there. It will help me to ease into my death.”

“You will be found innocent, Rich,” Jane said. “You will. And I will pray that you find happiness. And if things get tough, you know, you start thinking strange things, call me.”

“Thank you, Jane,” Rich said and stood. “Do you have a pay phone?”

“There’s a phone booth on the side of the building,” Jane said. “Use the one up at the cash register.”

“Thanks,” Rich said. “I check in with my lawyer a couple of times a day.”

Rich paid at the cash register and called Hiram. “Hey, Hiram. Anything new?”

“Get down to my office right away,” Hiram said. “There’s somebody from the CIA who wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Rich smiled at Jane. “Not the best news, but it will do.”

“Take care, don’t be a stranger,” Jane said, smiling. “And by the way, you know, if you stayed around here and missed out on all of this,” she flung her hand around. “And you would have never met Bridgett and had that one day of happiness.”

Rich paused. He smiled. “Jane, Jane, you are so right.”

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 12

   This is episode twelve of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday. However, it can be purchased on Amazon in the Kindle or paperback versions.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins. 

Episode 12 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Rich called Butch Hagler. He told him about the situation he found himself in. Butch told Rich that he would hold the position open for another sixty days.

Then he called Sam White. Sam expressed his sadness and expressed that he wished he could help in some way.

Then Rich called the CIA. He introduced himself to several people on the other end. Each informed him that they had no personal knowledge of Clyde Akers. However, they said that did not mean he wasn’t working with the CIA. They would have to examine their rolls, and they’d get back to him.

Rich left the office and climbed into his Jeep. He drove to the meadow near his old home. It was the meadow he always took his troubles to. He got out and walked to the stream in the middle of the meadow. The stream ran peacefully over smooth, speckled rocks. The willow hung over the stream; the slivered leaves were turning yellow. The sound of cicadas drowned out the sound of the trickling stream.

He lay under the willow and basked in the past. How much he wanted the world's intent to crush him to fade away. It was nine years ago that he lay at this very spot. It seemed as if nothing had really changed. The willow was larger. The rocks there today were there nine years ago. They were there nine hundred years ago and will be there nine hundred years from now.

His thoughts turned to his mom and dad.

“They tried,” he muttered. He wept. I should have tried earlier. I can’t imagine the pain they felt during the time I was gone. Maybe I’m deserving of all this. Maybe I’m being punished.

Rich’s eyelids blinked slowly and heavily. He heard footsteps on the dry grass, untouched by the willow's shade. He sat up and twisted around.

“Don,” Rich said.

“Don’t get up on my account,” Don said. “In fact, this looks like a right nice place to sit.”

Don sat beside Rich. They looked at each other, smiled, gripped hands, and shook hands heartily.

“It’s been a while,” Rich said.

“Nice years?” Don asked.

“Yep,” Don said. “I still have the letter you sent me when you left.”

“We had some good times, didn’t we?” Rich said.

“I sort of figured you’d be here,” Don said. “I remember you told me that this was the place you took all your troubles to. And I figured you needed someone to talk to.”

“When I first got home, I went to your place,” Rich said, “and your mom said you were in the Air Force, Thailand.”

“I just reupped. Gonna make it a career,” Don said. “And let’s not talk about me.”

“What is it you want to know?” Rich asked.

“How can I help?” Don replied.

“Turn back time,” Rich said.

“How far?” Don huffed.

“At least to the night it happened,” Rich said.

Don looked suspiciously side-eyed at Rich.

“I might have been able to stop whatever happened,” Rich said.

“I’m only home for a week,” Don said. “It seems like empty, right, huh?”

“No, Don, it means more than you’ll ever know.”

“What does it look like for you?” Don asked.

“I’m innocent,” Rich said. “I don’t see how they can convict me. But unless the real killer or killers are caught, people will always wonder.”

“All of us have things in our lives we can’t change or outrun,” Don said.

“The only thing that will remain is for me to leave for good,” Rich said. “People leave home without any thought of returning. But they can return. I always planned to leave again, but I kept waiting for something to keep me here. Years from now, I can be sitting in a coffee shop. I’ll quietly enjoy my coffee. And whispers will start. Glances will start and turn away as if interested in an imaginary thing.”

“Really,” Don said, “I don’t know why you’d ever want to come back here.”

“It’s my home,” Rich said. “And I’d have a choice. You see, you have a choice.”

“Maybe I’ll feel differently in time,” Don said.

“The night that it happened, I tried to set things straight between us. I wanted to settle things from the past. You know how it was for me at home. You were the shoulder I cried on back then.” Rich added regretfully, “I should have left it alone. I could only see my side. I thought it was the best for them and me. I should have been satisfied to leave dead dogs lie.”

“But dead dogs begin to stink,” Don said. “You did what was best. I’m sure of that. If you were dealing with normal folks, it would have been fine. No offense, but your mom and dad were far from normal. They had problems. They had problems after you left, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“When I came home, they talked about how much they had changed and had come to understand their problems,” Rich said.

“What do people who have problems do with problems?” Don asked.

“They deny them and their existence,” Rich said. “They become so good at it, they believe it themselves. And after they are convinced, they’re ready to take on the world and convince it.”

“It’s hard for us to believe the ones we love would do that to us,” Don said.

“It happens every day and everywhere. People get caught in a trap, and their only way out is to imagine the trap is something that holds them secure.”

“Did you see that Jeep that I’m driving?” Rich asked.

“I parked behind it,” Don said.

“Do you remember we said after we got out of school, we were going to buy a Jeep and drive to Alaska?” Rich said.

“We had it all planned,” Don said. “Living in tents, cooking over an open fire, and falling asleep to the sounds of the wilderness.”

“I bought that Jeep in Maine,” Rich said, “my first year up there. Every time I got in it, I thought about driving it back here and picking you up and taking off to Alaska.”

“When I signed up, I asked for Alaska,” Don said. “I spent two years there. Every day, I thought about our plans.”

“Maybe someday, Don.” Rich found a pebble and tossed it into the stream. “Don, when did it all become so complicated?”

“I think for you it was always complicated,” Don said. “If you're born and raised in a storm, storms are a way of life. You get used to it.”

“What about you?” Rich asked.

“I enlisted right out of high school,” Don said. “Man, that’s a step. You’re barely shaving. I go to basic. Then to the aircraft maintenance school. Before I turn nineteen, I’m working on aircraft in Nam that kill whoever is in the way.”

“I guess we all have our own demons,” Rich said.

“I tried drinking for a year,” Don said. “For the demons, it’s a day at the beach. They swim in misery and guilt.”

“So why are you going to make a career of it?” Rich asked.

“That’s a good question. For one thing, I have no place else to go. It’s the perfect place for a guy without ambition. And if they send me back, I won’t go. Nam is just the wrong war. There can be good ones.”

“Really!” Rich said.

“I hope there is,” Don said. “And what will you do when this is over?” Don asked.

“There is a job for a paper in Augusta, Maine,” Rich said. “A friend is the news editor. He can’t hold the job open indefinitely, but if it clears up in the next couple of weeks, that’s where I’m going.”

“And if it goes to trial and you are found not guilty?” Don asked.

“They have newspapers in Alaska, don’t they?” Rich grinned.

They talked a little while longer. Finally, they walked back to their cars and went their separate ways.