Who Knew

By Dorothy Baker-Hush

While hurrying home from an exhausting day at work, Jo Montana stops at an intersection.
Trying to avoid hitting a bicyclist, accidently backs into a police motorcycle stopped behind her.
She is asked for identification. The next evening, the policeman shows up at her door with a report of a peeping Tom terrorizing the neighborhood. Jos young sister becomes involved with a group headed by a man who goes by the name the Grand Zoroaster who Jo is sure is dealing drugs. When the receptionist of the company Jo works for turns up murdered and tossed in a Dumpster, she sets about to find the killer and nearly loses her own life in the process.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524537890

Dorothy Baker-Hush

Dorothy grew up on a farm in the Rose Community in Woodson County, Kansas. She is a retired school teacher and has been employed part time at the public library in Chanute, Kansas for the past eighteen years. She is a member of a local Writer’s group, and attends Faith Bible Church where she sings in the choir. She has three children and seven grandchildren.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Dorothy Baker-Hush.

ISBN:      Softcover        978-1-5245-3790-6

                eBook            978-1-5245-3789-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This a work of fiction. With the exception of Joe Montana and Len Dawson, names, characters, places, and incidents, either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, business establishments, event, or locales is entirely coincidental– (other than Kansas City, Boston, and Houston)

As far as I know, there is no small town near Kansas City by the name of West Brook.

Scripture taken from The Holy Bible, King James Version.

Cambridge Edition: 1769; King James Bible Online, 2016.

"http://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org"

www.kingjamesbibleonline.org.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/21/2016

Other books by author:

The Body in the Cemetery—Dorothy Dutro Baker

The Tea Garden-Dorothy Baker-Hush

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

Though the tragedy that devastated our family two years ago has taken awhile to come to terms with, my life seemed to be ticking along, remarkably ho-hum, but okay. Certainly not perfect, but no major complaints. While my job was not the most exciting, or paid the best, for the most part I enjoyed what I did. My family was supportive and I had two best friends: one female, one male.

That is, until one evening going home from an exhausting day at work . . .

ONE

He seemed to be taking an extraordinary long time examining a teeny, tiny dent in the chrome fender of his motorcycle.

I know how it looks, Officer, but it’s not my fault, I said.

He slowly stood and muttered, Never is. From his blue shirt pocket, he drew out an electronic gadget. Name? Registration? You got ID? Proof of insurance? he asked. Like I wouldn’t have?

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, waited for his reaction. I got it all the time. You would think in twenty-five plus years, I would be used to it. "Jo Montana. Jo with no ‘e’. And no. No relation."

Jo Montana, huh? He grinned, took off his helmet, and pushed up his sunglasses. Mercy! I was a pushover for baby blues.

If this is a dream, don’t wake me. But alas. No dream. Would it make any difference if I explained how I had accidently bumped into his cycle? It was simple. I’d stopped at a stop sign, barely started into the intersection when a boy on a bicycle came straight toward me. I backed up, not very fast, mind you. If the officer had not stopped so close behind me, this would not have happened. It was his fault, but did I tell him that? No way.

By that time I had my ID and other requirements in hand. Didn’t you see that kid come barreling right toward me!

"No, Ma’am, I didn’t. Barreling?" He shook his head as through he had never heard the word before. He perused my ID.

Ma’am? I could not remember the last time I had been Ma’amed. Nor the first.

He did! Came riding toward me as fast as he could. As you can imagine, I didn’t want to hit him, so I backed up. Simple as that.

Uh huh. The officer stared at my license for so long I began to squirm.

Is something wrong? It’s current. Look, I’m even a donor.

He read aloud, Jo Dean Montana. Not Josephine or Joanne? Just ‘Jo’? His question and tone bordered on ridiculous; like I would lie about my name? It was right there on my driver’s license. Wasn’t that proof enough? I was tired and getting a bit miffed and balled my fists on my hips and glared. "Like I said, it’s not my fault."

He grinned; actually it more resembled a smirk. Never is.

By that time, baby blues, or not, I was this close to giving a little kick to his black leathered shins. Let’s just say I felt like it. I’d had one of those days where nothing went right and I was tired. But I figured I was in plenty of trouble already, didn’t need to add assault charges to the list. Actually I am not that brave. I’d been taught by Amanda Kathleen and Douglas Aaron Montana to respect authority. Especially officers of the law.

Okay. He clicked off the electronic device he was using to check whatever he was checking. To see if I was on the Wanted list? Sunglasses in place, he proceeded to straddle his cycle.

No ticket? I said, apparently unable to leave well-enough alone.

You want one? he asked, making a move toward his pocket.

No, no. I’m good. Everything’s cool. I waved my fingers, and got into my rusted old Tempo. Oh wow! Do married cops wear wedding rings while they’re on duty? I hadn’t seen one. Why was I drooling over this guy, someone I had just met? Didn’t I already have that special someone in my life? Good heavens! My mind had drawn a total blank– What was his name?

With sweaty hands and wobbly knees, I put the car in gear and proceeded slowly down the street. No way was I going to give Blue Eyes another reason to give me a ticket. He might not be so generous next time. It was a week until pay day and my checking account could be termed non-existent.

Drats! A bleep. Flashing lights. What now? I coasted to the curb. My heart began to thump against my shirt; I could hear it. He strolled maddeningly slow to my car. I couldn’t have been speeding, I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He grinned. You have a tail light out. I’m going to give you a warning as a reminder, but… he held up a hand, palm out… it doesn’t mean you have to pay a fine. Did he read minds, too? He leaned in. Are you doing anything tonight? he asked. Say seven? Drinks? I know a nice little bar . . .

"Uh… I don’t drink."

He quirked an eyebrow. Not even a soda? Malts?

Oh, sure. And sometimes coffee and tea, I quipped.

Well? How about it?

Marcus. Oh, yes, that was the name of the current special someone in my life. Marcus was coming over tonight.

Uh, I’m busy; some other time? I surprised myself again. I’m usually more cautious where it comes to total strangers. Make that a lot more.

Tomorrow night then. Seven o’clock. And without further adieu, he strode to his cycle and rode off into the sunset.

Stunned, I watched until he was a mere speck in the dusky shadows. Was what just happened real? Or was I really dreaming?

TWO

My apartment is the whole top floor of what once was a three-story mansion. Probably maid’s quarters. No matter; I love it. The view is to die for– at least on the west side. Whenever I have the time, I sit on my cozy deck, small that it is, and watch a glorious golden sun sink slowly over the tree-tops. Fortunately, the house is owned by my best friend who gives me a discount on rent. She offered to let me live gratis. I don’t expect anything for free, that way I am not beholden. When she had found out what my salary was, she shook her head in disbelief. (Although it is the normal going rate per hour.) We agreed on a nominal amount. Plus, I am to water her plants whenever she is away for any length of time. I’m happy to do these little chores to save having to spend half of my hard-earned paycheck on any other place to hang my meager wardrobe of jeans, tee shirts, and sweaters. She offered the second floor apartment, but I declined. I didn’t need one with two bedrooms.

Eight years ago, Olivia and I met at a resort lodge in Alaska. Right after graduation, I got a job at an Alaskan resort for the summer; she was vacationing with her parents. We hit it off, and oddly became best friends, considering her parents had more money than Carter has liver pills, and that’s saying a lot. And I was as poor as the proverbial church mouse. Actually her name is Carter. Olivia Catherine Carter. Mostly she goes by Livvy. And sometimes just plain Liv, though there is nothing plain about Olivia. Far from it. Olivia is the most beautiful, most glamorous, sophisticated, and talented person I know. Truth be known, I may be a little in awe of her.

She also has issues with being alone. You ask: Why didn’t she get married? She did marry once. It’s a long, sad tale. I’ll give the simple condensed version.

Livvy and I stayed in constant contact. Phone calls, e-mails, even by snail-mail. She often came to the Kansas area where I lived to visit. We had great times together. One summer (it was right after she returned from her trip to the Europe) she sent plane fare, I flew to Boston to see her. At that same time, Graham Edwin Mansfield III, a top executive from an oil company in Houston, was on a business trip to the firm Olivia’s father, Franklin L. Carter, was CEO of. Mr. Carter invited Graham home to dinner. The poor (not literally) man could not keep his lustful eyes off Livvy (literally). Not surprising. Few men could. Let me insert here and now: I am not the jealous type. Some gals have all the looks, others of us don’t. I am in the latter category, but it does not bother me. (Maybe a wee smidgen.) But I digress. Graham wined and dined Olivia in the custom she was used to; she fell in love. They married; she was very happy. At first.

Did I mentioned Graham was fifteen years older than Olivia? Not that it mattered at the time. Graham was distinguished, charming, gracious, handsome, and gave Olivia everything she could ever want, everything she was already used to. Except the one thing she wanted most. Olivia, an only child, wanted children. Several, in fact. Graham did not, or rather could not, resulting from a years-ago vasectomy. He had two older children from a previous marriage.

I told Livvy they should have discussed this before tying the knot; it was like shutting the barn door after the horse escaped.

"He tricked me. He knew I wanted children, Olivia wailed, tearing a sodden tissue to shreds. Through the tears she stared at me. This is nothing like that! Barn door, indeed. The tears subsided. Where do you come up with such silly notions, Jo?"

You’ve never heard that old saying?

Of course not! It’s too preposterous. We Bostonians are above such absurdity! Then she began to laugh. That got me started. We laughed until we were gasping for breath.

She left Graham, and came to where I was in tiny West Brook, not far from Kansas City, where she bought this beautiful old mansion in an up-scale neighborhood, renovated it into three apartments: hers on the main floor, one on the second floor, where a married couple, Jason and Jennifer Cantrell lived, and mine on the third.

Two old maids. Olivia definitely would not appreciate that expression. But we got along fabulously. That is, we did . . .

THREE

Marcus arrived right on time. So like Marcus. Always punctual. Unlike yours truly. Though I try. I really do. The first thing he did when I opened the door was give me a little kiss.

Wow. How about another just like it? I said.

Don’t beg, he said, with a grin, patted my cheek instead, and walked on in. Marcus Jay Lowery has a great smile of his own; it got to me nearly every time. And those eyelashes. So unfair.

Ready? I have dinner reservations at Tommy’s. He glanced at his plain old Timex, a watch he treasured. It had been bequeathed to him by his grandfather Benton Lowery: as a boy, Marcus had been fascinated that the watch could stay under water and keep on ticking.

You shouldn’t have! Reservations!

I knew how much you like tacos, and Tom’s has the best in town. Marcus had a nervous habit of jingling his keys impatiently while waiting, anxious to get on the way. Though I was used to it, it sometimes bothered me. This was one of those times. I was still reeling from the encounter with the policeman. Would he really show up at my apartment tomorrow evening? How did I really feel about that? This could explain why I felt especially irritated at Marcus now.

We were the same age, with Marcus being six months the oldest; he never let me forget it. He had a master’s degree in business management, and right out of college, got the first job he had applied to with a pharmaceutical. He got to do some traveling–all expenses paid, which he enjoyed.

For the most part, we had fun, Marcus and I. Sometimes we took strolls in the park, or went to a movie. Nothing exciting. We walked the few blocks to Tommy’s. The September evening was perfect: neither hot nor cold, and with a slight gentle breeze. Once, when I saw a policeman riding in his cop car as we left the café, I got a momentary spasm of guilt. I could cancel. But, how? I didn’t even know the guy’s name! The thought that he might have been having a bit of fun with me, did not sit well; at the same time I was sure no way would he show. I tried to shove Blue Eyes to the back of my mind. Try as I could, he would not go totally away.

When we got back to my apartment, as usual, Marcus came in for awhile. I popped some of Orville’s corn. We sat on the couch and watched TV. For once, Marcus didn’t turn to a sports channel.

You look real pretty tonight, Joey. Did you do something different to your hair? He playfully twisted a loose strand around his finger. Same old light brown messy mop. Only that morning, I had taken the scissors to it to trim frizzled ends, but it had hardly made a difference. I really needed a trip to a salon, but had not taken the time to make an appointment.

Really? Pleased, I leaned over and kissed his stubbly cheek.

Maybe we should get married, he said rather too casually I thought. "We get along pretty well, usually. We’ve both got good jobs. At least, I do. Living together, we could save money." There were times Marcus showed himself a real cheap-skate. Take our date tonight, for example, he took me to a taco place, for Pete’s sake.

To say I was stunned would be an understatement. I jerked back and stared at him. You’re serious, aren’t you? What about love? He had never once uttered the phrase: I love you.

Just as dazed, he said, What about it? Love is over-rated, you know. He saw my expression, and quickly added, Of course, I love you; we’ve been going together for nearly three years!

Like that alone was reason enough for love and marriage? I leaned back against the sofa, and crossed my arms over my modestly endowed chest. I kind of like things the way they are. We hang out, do fun things, have a good time. Believe me, living together is a whole ’nother can of worms. At least that’s the way it appeared from watching many of my married, and previously married, friends.

Marcus stood, and stretched. You’re over-reacting as usual, but take all the time you want. By the way, the late meeting was called off, so I have tomorrow night free. I’ll see you at seven.

I bristled at the words: Over-reacting as usual, ready to take him on verbally, when what he said reached my consciousness.

No! Wait. I mean, I have… something’s came up. Tim wants me to cover the Tea Party meeting.

What’s that? People actually need a meeting to get together to drink tea? he said, sounding puzzled.

Marcus was anti-political, I knew that. He had no interest in politics, but one would think in this day and age with TV and the Internet, he would keep up with some current events.

No, goofy. It’s a sort of political group. Where in the world have you been for the past several years? Peggy and Curtis Foreman organized it. You remember them. They go to the same church we do. Anyway, Tim thinks it would make an interesting story.

Honest, this really was not a lie, although the meeting was being held earlier, from 4:00 to 6:00. It would barely give me time to get home and ready for– what should I call it? A date? Truthfully, I did not expect the guy to show. One part of me hoped he wouldn’t; the other part: the curious half, hoped he would. Should I tell Marcus? I decided not to; Blue Eyes might have been having a bit of fun, and it would just upset Marcus needlessly. On the other hand . . .

Not for the first time, I asked myself how I allowed myself to get into such predicaments? Marcus and I have been together for so long that it almost seemed like adultery to date anyone else. Yet I did not want to tie myself down. I was too young for that. Still I didn’t want to ‘lose’ Marcus. He had a lot of endearing qualities.

O what a tangled web we weave, when at first we practice to deceive! I brushed Sir Walter Scott aside and sent Marcus