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.

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 11

This is episode eleven 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 11 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Rich and Hiram reached the office at the same time. Rich carried a large brown envelope. They stepped into the office. Maxine greeted them.

“You look bright and cheery,” Hiram said to Rich. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. How’d it go this morning?”

“I relived an old baseball memory,” Rich said. “This time the first baseman didn’t drop the ball.”

“Well, I’m not sure what that means,” Hiram said, “but I’ve got some work to do.”

“And I have something to share with you,” Rich said.

“Let’s go in and talk,” Hiram said.

They went into Hiram’s office. Hiram sat behind his desk, and Rich sat in the chair in front of the desk.

“What’s on your mind, Rich?”

“As you know, this morning I met with an old workmate,” Rich began. “We met at the park. He was wearing a wire.”

“How do you know?”

“I suspected it. I wrote on a piece of paper as we talked. I asked if we were being recorded. From what he said, we were. We spoke in code. Nothing weird. You know, clear your throat.”

“Smart,” Hiram said. “How did the conversation go?”

“He said that if I needed an alibi for any particular time, he would provide it.”

“Hmmph,” Hiram chuckled under his breath. “That proves they have zeroed in on only you, and it proves they are having trouble with the timeline.”

“What did you tell him?” Hiram asked.

“I told him thanks, but I didn’t need an alibi from him,” Rich said. “Is that legal?”

“Yes,” Hiram said. “I could make an issue of it, entrapment, but they can do that. You haven’t been charged. If you were charged, that would be a different story. However, our defense will show how desperate they are.”

“As much as I think it is underhanded, I guess it’s just good police work,” Rich said.

“Only if they had cause,” Hiram raised his voice. “You have an alibi. They have the right to crack it, but they should first crack it with the information they have investigated. They had no reason to do that. Have they told you that you are a suspect? I mean in those exact words.”

“No,” Rich said.

“That’s my point,” Hiram said. “We are under the assumption you have not been charged, nor are you a suspect. Sure, we know that those closest to the victims are persons of interest. But there has been nothing communicated that you are a suspect.”

“Is there anything we can do about it?”

“Not until you are charged and we start with discovery hearings,” Hiram said.

Rich reached across the desk and handed the brown envelope to Hiram.

“What’s this?” Hiram asked.

“Did you get hold of the CIA?” Rich asked.

“Yeah,” Hiram said, “but I got nothing but a run-around.”

“I don’t think it was a run-around,” Rich said, “I think it was a try to run you down. I don’t know where Clyde Akers ranks in the CIA pecking order, but he got me paid. I'm sure they have started some sort of ball rolling.”

“The envelope?” Hiram asked again.

“In that envelope are all the things I’ve been involved in at the direction of the CIA.”

“This is for real?” Hiram asked.

“Yes,” Rich said. “And there are other names with no connection to the CIA who can verify much of what happened.”

“Are you thinking this may be related to something you’ve been involved with in the past?”

“I don’t think so,” Rich said. “This is not to suggest the CIA is behind anything. I had interactions with other entities. And again, I can’t begin to imagine what could be gained by what was done to my parents.”

Hiram tapped the envelope on his desk. It appeared he had a thousand words on his lips.

“Hiram,” Rich said solemnly, “if this is too much for you, let me know. I wouldn’t blame you if you referred me to someone else.”

“Nah, no way,” Hiram said. “I defend some of the worst in our community. It’s not always a case of guilt or innocence. It’s a matter of making sure justice is carried out equitably. Or to test the veracity of the evidence and let a judge or jury decide. I defended a case in which the prosecution had six sets of facts that could only point to one person. I took the same set of facts, and they pointed to the prosecutor’s teenage son, a local policeman, a factory worker, and a nurse. That was a murder case. I got the guy off, and two years later, guess what? It was the nurse! And the nurse contacted me to defend him.”

“Did ya?” Rich asked.

Hiram grinned. “I was busy. You didn’t think I was going to defend him and point the evidence back to my original client, did ya? That would have been double jeopardy. I couldn’t handle the nationwide attention. That would have been a case of the ages. Clients would be expecting a rabbit out of the hat every time. One great case like that can ruin a guy.”

“I see writing and reporting much the same way,” Rich said. “I don’t see the difference between a big city story and a little town story. They should both be written with the same truth and vigor. I can’t help but think the same about your work; a poor client deserves the same representation and vigor as a wealthy one. And I’d never want a Pulitzer or a bestseller early in my career.”

“Sometimes the poor one needs a lot more vigor,” Hiram said. “It sometimes amazes me how a guy in a suit gets off easy after embezzling hundreds of thousands, and some poor guy two months earlier breaks into the embezzler's house and steals some jewelry and spends a year in jail.”

They both thought for a moment.

“Where do I stand?” Rich asked.

“You’re going to need a lot of vigor,” Hiram said. “I don’t know what they have, but they are acting very sure of themselves. I’ve never been turned down for a meeting with the prosecutor before. He won’t ever return my calls. Usually, he’s calling me, and we’re trying to work out a deal. Working out a deal usually means a weak case. Frankly, I don’t know what’s up.”

“Maybe it’s a bluff?” Rich asked.

“It could be,” Hiram said, “but they know me better than that. The only thing they might be doing is waiting for a crack.”

“What do you mean?” Rich said.

“That could be some piece of evidence that strengthens their position. Or, if we come to them for a plea, that will signal there is something somewhere that will incriminate you.”

“There’s nothing,” Rich said.

“What about what’s in this?” Hiram said, tapping on the envelope.

Rich gave Hiram a half-smile. “Keep it in a safe place.”

Rich stood. He removed a five-dollar bill from his billfold. He placed it on Hiram’s desk.

“What’s this for?” Hiram asked.

“I want to use one of your phones to place a couple of calls,” Rich said. “I have a job waiting for me on the first of the month in Augusta. It appears I won’t make it. And I want to call an old friend.”

Hiram handed the five-dollar bill back. “I just tack it on to your final bill.”

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 10

   This is episode ten 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 10 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

Rich drove from the park in his Jeep and had breakfast at a diner. He sat in a booth. It was more private. The waitress was nice. No one recognized him. He had a second cup of coffee after he finished eating.

He mulled over the event with Stan at the park. He wondered what pressure was put on Stan. He didn’t deserve this. Why drag him into this?

Thoughts about his mom and dad swept through his mind. It was something he felt compelled to think about, but too disturbing to visualize. They didn’t deserve to die like that. I think they would have come around. Our last night was our first real try at managing what happened nine years ago. I should have eased into things rather than plopping it down on the dining room table. We needed some space again. Going back to Maine would have given us both time to come to grips with things. They’ve lived like that all their married life and probably before. I broke away from it. And I was lucky to find good people along the way. Mom and Dad needed good people in their lives. Endless nights at bars; they only exchanged their miseries with other people, just as wanting and just as desperate.

Rich folded a dollar and placed it beneath his cup’s saucer. The waitress walked by and noticed the dollar. She sat across from him in the booth.

“That’s a big tip around here.”

“You’ve been kind and efficient,” Rich said, smiling.

“I know who you are,” she said.

Rich tried to give a crooked smile. “Nearly everyone knows who I am.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said and added, “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Rich said, “should I?”

“Jane Burks,” she said, “we went to school together.”

“Yes,” Rich smiled, “I see it now. The smile; you always smiled. You had good teeth. History and English.”

“That’s right,” Jane said. “You got a good memory.”

“For pretty girls,” Rich smiled.

“That’s something,” Jane said. “I’m flattered.”

“I don’t flatter,” Rich said.

“So what ever happened to you?” Jane asked. “I mean, I read the papers and watch the news, but I mean, all of a sudden you were gone from school.”

“I left home at the beginning of my freshman year,” Rich said.

“Really,” Jane said, “I would have sworn you were at homecoming our sophomore year. You didn’t end up in the reformatory, did you?”

Rich chuckled. “Now what would make you think that?”

“Everybody from our end of town, if they suddenly don’t show up for homeroom, odds are they’re in the reformatory. Remember that black kid named Howie?”

“Yeah, an old buddy.”

“Reformatory. Now the big house. How about Benny Staples?”

“I remember Benny.”

“Reformatory. He is the groundskeeper at some cemetery, now, and has a paper route.”

“How about Tinker Baldwin?” Jane said.

“Reformatory?” Rich replied.

“Only if,” Jane said. “Dead. Tried to hold up some bar, The Royal Flush. There’s a few more, but I don’t mean to depress you. You got your own problems.”

“Indeed, I do,” Rich said. “To satisfy your curiosity and fill in some blanks, I went up to Maine. I lived there for three years. I learned how to write and worked for a newspaper.”

“Yeah,” Jane said, “I wondered how you got a job at a newspaper. You were a dropout. I even thought for a while they were talking about another Rich Larsen. Then I saw your picture.”

Rich pulled out his wallet. He tugged out a picture and handed it to Jane. “That is me and my boat. That’s some little island in the Pacific.”

“It sounds like you’ve been around,” Jane said.

“What about you?” Rich asked.

“Oh, I’ve been around all right,” Jane said. “Got knocked up on graduation night, married four months later, divorced two years ago, and raising a kid on my own. I’ve been around.”

“There’s something I remember about you,” Rich said. “You weren’t afraid of anything. And you stuck your neck out for others. I remember when you stood up to Mr. Brimmer. He was wrong, and nobody would tell him he was wrong except for you.”

“You remember that?” Jane exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Rich said, “and you can choose to believe this or not, but I often thought about you when I needed courage. This place here is only your beginning.”

“You know something,” Jane said. “I’ve never told anybody this, but I have my eye on a place that I think can be turned around. It will just take hard work.”

“Let me tell you something,” Rich said, “you draw up a business plan, take it to a bank, and just be you.”

“You’re something,” Jane said. “You’re facing a terrible fate, but you’re taking the time to give me a little boost.”

“Nah,” Rich said. “You already had it in ya.”

Rich stood and held out his hand to help Jane up. He walked to the door and turned around. Jane was clearing the table.

“Jane, I owe you more than you will ever know.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Eighth-grade dance, do you remember it?”

“Sure do.”

“That was the first time I ever danced with a girl. You weren’t the first girl I danced with, but you were the one I danced with most.”

Rich left with a smile and drove to Hiram’s office.

Better Late Than Dead: Episode 9

 This is episode nine 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 9 (Originally posted on the Jittery Goat)

A week passed. Rich met with Hiram or Miss Winslow every day. Rich steered clear of anyone from the newspaper. A reporter whom he knew slightly contacted him twice, but Rich did not give him an interview or a comment. He directed all communications to his lawyer.

As expected, the newspaper painted Rich in an unfavorable light. He couldn’t go anywhere without stares and whispers. He stayed to himself. He took occasional drives on country roads that led to nowhere. He drove once past his parents’ home but did not even slow down. The home seemed to him as dead as his parents.

A funeral was held. The funeral home made a provision for Rich to sit in a private room. He did not attend the graveside service. Not attending might be viewed by some as a sign of guilt. And attending might be viewed as a sign of gall.

Rich spent a lot of time reading alone in his room. One day in his room, the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Rich, this is Stan.”

“Getting ready for high school football season?” Rich asked.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “Our alma mater ain’t lookin’ so good this year.”

“What’s up?”

“Can we meet at the city park tomorrow morning at the shelter house?”

“How about the bleachers at diamond number two?” Rich said.

“That’s fine,” Stan said. “7:15?”

“I’ll be there,” Rich said and hung up.

Rich called Hiram immediately. Hiram told him to be cautious and aware that Stan might be wearing a wire or a recorder.

The next morning, Rich arrived shortly past seven. He sat on the bleachers. Stan showed up right on time. They greeted each other.

“Let’s take a walk,” Rich said.

They walked down the third baseline of the ball field. 

“You don’t trust me, do you?” Stan said.

“It’s not about trust,” Rich said, “it’s about being cautious.”

As they walked away from the bleachers, Rich handed him a note. “It’s a beautiful morning, wouldn’t you agree?”

The note said, If you are wired or we are being recorded, clear your throat and say, ' It sure is.

Stan cleared his throat. “It sure is, but I really hate it when the barometric pressure is high. I get a headache.”

“You know something,” Rich said, “it has the same effect on me.”

“How have you been doing?” Stan asked.

“I’m fine,” Rich said.

“How are things at the paper?”

“You know,” Stan said, “news is news.”

“Any chatter around the office about me?”

“Not much.”

“My back is kind of against the wall,” Rich said. “I have a good lawyer. There are some gaps that need to be filled, but he’s pretty confident my alibi will hold.”

“Rich,” Stan said seriously, “we’ve become good friends. One of my best friends I’ve ever had, and I hope you feel the same about me.”

“I don’t make friends easily,” Rich said, “but we’ve hit it off good. I can really trust you. I mean, you are willing to be seen with me and take some time to talk with me this morning; that’s big.”

“Look,” Stan said, “if you need me for an alibi, I’m willing. If there’s a time frame you need, I can say we had a couple of beers together.”

“Thanks, Stan,” Rich said, “but I don’t need an alibi. When I left home, my parents were alive and well. I knew nothing of their death until the police told me. If there’s a gap in my alibi, there’s a gap. There’s nothing I can do about the truth.”

Rich stopped walking and turned back toward the infield. “You ever play ball on this field?”

“A couple of times,” Stan said. 

“I played third base on this field,” Rich said. “I made a backhand grab on a grounder, deep behind the bag. Perfect throw to first. Beat the runner by a step. First baseman dropped the ball.” 

Stan placed his hand on Rich’s shoulder and grasped it. He smiled.

“I suppose you'd better head to work,” Rich said. “Thanks for the time.”

“Take care, Rich,” Stan said.

They shook hands and had a secret smile. Stan walked away, down a brick park pathway.

“Hey, Stan!” Rich cupped his hands around his mouth. Stan stopped and turned around.

“The barometric pressure will be lower tomorrow,” Rich said.

Stan gave a thumbs-up.