Killertrust Read Online Free PDF

they married, Rhetta
and Randolph spent months looking for the perfect place while living in a
modest two-bedroom apartment. Rhetta had loved remodeling the old house.
Installing modern vinyl siding in the clapboard style kept the outside of the
two-story white home looking very much like the old pictures of it that Rhetta
had found in the attic. Inside, however, it was beautifully modernized.
    Their location afforded them
privacy and country living, yet was only a few minutes from Rhetta’s office.
Their privacy wasn’t total, however. Their elderly neighbors, Mr. and Mrs.
Koblyk, lived in a neat cottage in a copse of pines right where the McCarters’
driveway met the county road. Rhetta waved to Mrs. Koblyk, who appeared on her
porch right on cue when she heard them approach. Mrs. Koblyk waved back, then scurried
into her house. The Koblyks had emigrated from Hungary in the early sixties.
Mr. Koblyk was long retired and tinkered, as he called it, fixing up broken
toys, and repairing jewelry, while Mrs. Koblyk delighted in baking and sharing
with the McCarters.
    As they slowed to make the
turn into their driveway, Mrs. Koblyk reappeared on the front porch holding a
large plastic bag in one hand and waving them down with the other.
    “Pull over, Randolph. Mrs.
Koblyk is motioning for us to stop.”
    “She has something in her
hand. Could be something good.” He pulled into their drive.
    As soon as he turned off the
road, Mrs. Koblyk carefully descended the steps from her porch and greeted them
when they stopped. Randolph rolled down his window.
    “Hello today Mister Judge and
Missus Rhetta,” she said, her cheeks rosy against the cold. She wore only a
hand-knitted cardigan over her skirt and blouse. Not enough to ward off the
chill. She shivered as she handed Randolph the plastic sack, recycled from
Walmart. “I bake for you the twisted poppy seed bread,” she said, smiling
broadly. Even after all the years in this country, Mrs. Koblyk still spoke with
a broad Eastern European accent.
    “Thanks,” Randolph said,
relieving her of the plastic bag. The contents felt warm. He sniffed. “It
smells wonderful.”
    “I just get them from the
oven. The poppy seeds, they may spill a little.”
    Rhetta stretched over from
the passenger seat, and inhaled the delicious aroma escaping from the bag.
“This smells heavenly, Mrs. Koblyk. You’re such a dear.” She wondered if she’d
have to hit the treadmill in the morning. That depended upon whether or not
Rhetta could hold her share to one slice.
    Mrs. Koblyk waved her hand as
though shooing away a fly. “It’s nothing. Mr. Koblyk, he ask this morning for
me to bake the poppy seed bread, so I say, why not? And I make extra for the
judge, while I am baking.”
    Randolph grinned.
    “Oh, of course, for you too,
Missus,” she added. Of
course.

    While Randolph parked, Rhetta headed for the family room,
dropping her coat on a kitchen chair on the way. “I’m going to get a fire
started, Sweets,” she called out. “It’s definitely fireplace weather.” She
placed the bag from Mrs. Koblyk on the kitchen counter. “I think Mrs. Koblyk is
sweet on you,” Rhetta added. Randolph merely chuckled.
    The blinking red message
light on the answering machine caught her eye as she loped across the kitchen.
She changed course and veered toward it. She punched the “play” button. Her
stomach knotted when she recognized the voice.
    “George was murdered.”
     
     
Chapter 6
Saturday afternoon, December 8
    With one arm circling his wife’s
shoulder, Randolph used his free hand to hit “play” again.
    “George was murdered,” the
wheezy voice began. “You know who this is. I can’t talk about this on the
phone, and it’s too dangerous to meet in person. Go to your office right away,
Rhetta, as soon as you get this message. I left a key for you in your mail
slot. It fits a locker in the Cape Girardeau airport. What’s inside will
explain all of this. And, Rhetta? Don’t