Road Rage

By Carol L. Jenkner

An old trunk containing the tiny bones of a human baby, plus a mysterious visitor to Nikki Starr’s antique shop involve Dr. Gerald, “Road Kill” O’Connor in a pair of mysteries that not only expose Nikki’s hidden past and put her in danger, but expose her friends, Karen and Ian Hunter’s past as well.
Romance is in the air for Nikki Starr and Ray Allen, but Nikki has a dark secret that she has not shared with anyone. Ray is frustrated by her refusal to commit to a relationship with him. A sinister visitor to her shop forces her to tell Ray about her past and seek his help.
Then her husband, reported as having died in a fiery car crash, shows up threatening her new life and the lives of those she has come to love. As her friends work to protect Nikki, Road Kill O’Connor is digging away to reveal the sad details about those tiny bones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665722988

Carol L. Jenkner

Carol L. Jenkner is a graduate of Oklahoma State University with degrees in Family and Consumer Science and Child Development. She is a retired teacher and freelance writer, currently working as an education director at a local history museum. The author’s previous work includes the book, Road Kill, the first of her novels about Dr. Gerald “Road Kill” O’Connor. She feels driven to write the running narratives that form in her head as she travels the back roads of Kansas in search of historic places, ghost towns, cemeteries, and notable sites along the Santa Fe Trail. Her inspiration comes from sights along the highway, snatches of conversation, cold cases, and news reports of odd events. She shares her home with her opinionated elder felines.

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Copyright © 2022 Carol L. Jenkner.

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-6657-2297-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2298-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022908254

Archway Publishing rev. date:  06/01/2022

CONTENTS

Prologue

1     The End Of Maggie Jo

2     Road Kill O’Connor

3     Bones In A Trunk

4     Ray Allen

5     Sheriff Jenkins

6     The Stranger

7     The Mystery Man

8     A Dangerous Man

9     Rebuilding His Life

10   His Honor, The Mayor

11   Private Eye With A Conscience

12   Going Picking

13   Joe’s Decision

14   The Truth Comes Out

15   Plan Of Action

16   Gathering The Troops

17   Disappearing Act

18   Researching The Past In Casper

19   Casper History

20   The Rest Of The Bishop Family Story

21   Finding Katy Boswell

22   The Dark Truck

23   A Confrontation

24   Jeffrey’s Business Trip

25   Scary Treasure

26   Confidences

27   Karen’s Turn

28   Ray’s Return

29   Secrets Revealed

30   New Guys In Town

31   Now Or Never

32   The Plan

33   We Have A Plan

34   Setting The Trap

35   Going Home

36   A Happy Reunion

37   Homeward Bound

38   Home At Last

39   Sorting Things Out

40   Karen’s Things

41   New Revelations

42   Placing The Blame

43   Billy Bob

44   Not Backing Down

45   Beau Has To Die

46   Back To Wyoming

47   Affairs In Order

48   The Hunt Is On

49   Falling Out

50   Evading Capture

51   Constance

52   Be Prepared

53   Joe’s Admission

54   Back In Town Again

55   Passing In The Night

56   No More Time

57   Joe Remington’s Decision

58   Karen Listens

59   O’Connor Solves The Problem

60   Insurance Fraud And Murder

61   Beau And Billy Bob

62   How It Ended

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

A man climbed slowly from the wreckage of an expensive yellow sports car, sliding carefully through the passenger side window headfirst. Looking around to make sure no one had witnessed the crash, he walked to the other side of the car and bent over at the waist, easing his head and shoulders through the broken window. Checking for the pulse of the man in the driver’s seat and finding his companion unresponsive, he smiled.

A little seeping fuel, a spark from an ignition source, and the wreckage was soon burning fiercely. The man moved quickly, putting distance between himself and the car, anticipating an explosion. When it came, it still took him by surprise and knocked him off his feet. That ought to bring the local fire department running, he thought, and laughed, satisfied that he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do.

Presently, he heard the sirens and stepped into a wooded area along the road to watch them approach. He drew deeper into the shadows as the lights of the first responders began to flash across the cover of trees and the first vehicle arrived on the scene.

Moving deeper into the trees, he found the faint path he was looking for and advanced on foot for about a half mile. Soon he saw the old truck covered by a tarp. He’d parked it there carefully concealed and maintained in anticipation of this day. He’d been planning his death for some months and, finding an appropriate replacement for his own body, had known today was that day. He regretted the loss of the signet ring he customarily wore, but he had given it to the dead man as further means of convincing the local coroner and police force of the body’s identity.

When the fire and police departments began their investigation, they’d find what he wanted them to find—a burned-out car registered to the charred remains of its owner. They would see only a man so badly burned beyond recognition that he could only be identified by his general size, remnants of clothing, and the heavy signet ring he wore on his left pinky finger. He didn’t expect the local yokels to look beyond that evidence, confident that all they needed were the things he’d left for them to find and the right person to identify the remains.

By evening, the news media was carrying the story of a wealthy Oklahoma rancher found dead at the scene of a horrific, fiery crash.

1

THE END OF MAGGIE JO

Maggie Jo Stark, such an Okie name for such an Okie girl. The words were drawled in a taunting manner and continued with more hurtful verbal bullying.

Maggie saw that Beau and his friends had been drinking and tried to excuse herself and slip quietly away. Too late! Beau reached out and grabbed her wrist with his iron grip.

Come ’ere, honey. You don’t want to insult my guests, do you?

He was hurting her, but she wasn’t going to flinch. She smiled and greeted each man by name. Now maybe he’d let her go since he’d embarrassed and bruised her. But something else was going on, more than just a drinking party; the guys were playing poker too. She began to have a very bad feeling about this.

As she’d feared, Beau insisted she stay, have a drink, and watch him win at cards. But he didn’t win, and that’s when the real trouble started. He’d lost and lost. One of his buddies, drunker than a skunk, joked about Maggie being put up as collateral. She could see that Beau was considering the idea, another way to put her in her place and demean her in front of his crude friends.

Maggie, honey, why don’t you come over here and give me a little luck. Although there was a smile on his face, it was more of a sneer. Come on, he wheedled, make your big daddy happy.

She groaned to herself, gritted her teeth, and smiled as she moved next to her husband.

That’s my girl, he crooned, stroking her ass. He had dangerous written all over him tonight.

Maggie just hoped she wasn’t going to end up in the emergency room—or even worse, dead.

Say, boys, ain’t my little wife here a peach? Wouldn’t you just like to eat ’er up? Beau laughed, and then his face changed, and Maggie knew what was coming.

Honey, how ’bout you do a little stripper dance for us? Show off your merchandise ’cause if I lose this round, someone’s takin’ you home for the night. Whaddaya say, boys? You want to take a bite outta my little Porter peach here?

I’d rather not, Beau, she whispered.

Oh, she’d rather not! Beau roared with laughter. Well, it ain’t up to you, sweetheart. You belong to me. You do what I tell you to do. With that said, he reached out and grabbed the front of her blouse. Giving it a savage yank, he ripped it apart, buttons flying. She knew better than to fight him, so she stood still and stared at him.

Maggie could tell the others were sobering up and becoming uncomfortable with Beau’s treatment of her. Suddenly, they all rose to go, muttering excuses about getting home.

Instead of defusing the situation, it only made Beau angrier. He cussed them, calling them sissies and a lot of things she couldn’t understand because he tended to slur his words when drunk and angry. Then he turned his wrath on her.

I spend a small fortune on you, and you can’t make yourself attractive for my friends? he raged.

He began slapping her softly on the face, first one side and then the other, playing a game with her. Then without warning, he reared back and struck her hard. She fell back. His game was just getting started. Stunned by the blow, she lay on the floor, knowing there was more to come but too addled to even try to get away or avoid the blows he rained down on her. Before finally tiring, he’d kicked, beaten, cut, and then raped her, leaving her weak and crying in a pool of her own blood.

Then he left the house. He wouldn’t be back until she was all healed up and presentable again. She knew his pattern by now. He’d come back in a few weeks and act like nothing had happened. After lying there half-senseless for what seemed like hours, she managed to crawl to the phone and call for help.

Everyone in town knew what happened to Beau’s wife, but he insisted he’d been away from home, and Maggie had been attacked and assaulted by a home invader. Beau had money. He owned most of the town and provided most of the jobs, so the whole thing was allowed to stay on the public record as a home invasion, assailant unknown.

But this one was the final straw for Maggie Jo Stark. She had her plans ready to put into motion the minute she got her chance. It was either disappear or die.

2

ROAD KILL O’CONNOR

Dr. Gerald O’Connor, known to friends as Road Kill O’Connor, was standing at a workbench in his taxidermy shop out back of the old mercantile building he’d bought a little more than a year ago. It was a classic late-nineteenth-century wood frame building, a reminder of the mining heritage of this part of Wyoming. He found the idea of preserving it attractive. He’d also liked the town, liked the idea of living in the apartment above the store, all part of retirement plans he hadn’t even known he had. He’d hired a skilled professional to restore the old building, fix up the second-floor apartment, and run the store. He’d never regretted the decision.

O’Connor, a retired professor with a talent for solving mysteries, found the tiny northeastern Wyoming town charming when he happened onto it by sheer serendipity. One left turn where he should have made a right had brought him into the small community as darkness was falling on a summer evening. By the light of day, he fell in love with the place and its small, quirky population of ranchers, shopkeepers, and people who’d moved out from large urban areas looking for the small-town life.

Taking a chance, he’d bought the mercantile building, store fixtures and all. He’d retired from his position as a professor at Colorado State University in Fort Collins and settled into his new life. One of the things he liked about the second-floor apartment was the fact that it overlooked the town’s main street. From his front windows, he could see almost the entire town. The newest buildings had been erected during a small population boom in the 1920s. They were made from red brick with inlaid patterns of lighter brick across the top, and big plate glass front windows. He figured every town in America had some of these buildings. The oldest buildings were made of native stone; the bank building was one of these, as was the old church at the edge of town. The exception to these building was the Wylie’s motel and diner out on the highway about a half mile from the main street. It was the quintessential mid-twentieth-century motor lodge. The extended Wylie clan had taken the place and made it a family home and community gathering place, adding personal design touches to make the motel unique.

Most of the buildings on Main Street were no longer serving their intended use. The Allens, Tom and Pam, had combined an old grocery store and adjoining restaurant to create their antique shop. Nikki Starr had an antique shop, artist’s studio, and her apartment in the old bank building. O’Connor sighed with regret when his eyes fell on the red brick building across the street from the Allen’s place. It had been Jude Bowen’s office. He’d liked the man, a retired highway patrolman and the town’s self-appointed police force. And, as it had turned out, someone he didn’t really know at all.

Finishing up a project for his friend Sheriff Jenkins, O’Connor put his supplies away and strolled up the path to the back door of the mercantile store for a cup of Larry’s coffee. Larry Wylie, whose brother ran the motor lodge, was a bit of a puzzle. He was a skilled craftsman, once a curator at a large eastern museum, but he had sought the small-town lifestyle. He’d had enough of the big city, he’d told O’Connor.

The postmaster, Ian Hunter, had once told him everyone had something to hide, skeletons in their closets they wanted kept hidden. He should know because his life was no open book. Ian did not like to talk about his life in the military, pre-Karen and pre–postal service. He wasn’t a man you wanted to pick a fight with. Beneath his standard-issue postal service uniform he usually wore on duty, one could see he kept himself in top physical shape. It was also obvious that he’d found his soul mate in his wife, Karen. They worked together, had the same hobbies, and were rarely seen one without the other. And in spite of her open countenance, no one really knew very much about Karen either.

As he poured himself a cup of coffee, O’Connor’s thoughts drifted to the Morgan family. Kate lived on her family’s ranch about twenty miles out of town. O’Connor had cautiously begun a friendship with Kate after he’d interviewed her about the disappearance of her daughter in conjunction with his investigation into their own local serial killer. She was a tremendously talented woman, an author, an artist, and artisan who also ran a good-sized ranching operation. They were friends and frequently dined together, and he admired her a great deal. Sometimes there was a spark of something stronger, but he wasn’t ready to pursue it any more than he thought she was. If there was love in their future, it would manifest itself in good time.

3

BONES IN A TRUNK

Taking his coffee out onto the front porch of the old mercantile store, O’Connor took his favorite seat and sipped the excellent brewed coffee as he watched the town come to life on this bright summer morning. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a ripple of movement, then a rush of people toward some commotion at Nikki’s place. Now he could hear Nikki squealing as she rushed out the door of her building and headed in his direction.

Doc! I need you now! she cried in obvious distress.

His coffee forgotten, O’Connor rose from his seat and stepped off the porch, moving toward her. Nikki, what in heaven’s name is the matter?

There’s bones! Little old bones! You’ve got to come tell me they’re some animal or a crazy joke, she cried.

Take a breath, Nikki, he said, and tell me exactly what you’re talking about. If you’ve found some old bones, they aren’t going anywhere, so there’s no rush to look at them until I know where they are and how you came by them.

He took her gently by the arm and led her back up to the porch where he’d been sitting, then went inside to get her a bottle of her favorite soda. Here, Nikki. Take a couple sips of this and start at the beginning.

She sat quietly sipping her soda, getting her thoughts straight so that O’Connor could make sense of what she was about to tell him. Meanwhile, a small crowd was gathering as word spread that Nikki had found something to scream about.

You ready to tell me? urged O’Connor.

She nodded, took one more sip of the ice-cold soda, and began. Last week, I went to a big estate sale down in Casper. It was a really great sale, lots of amazing things—vintage clothes, jewelry, all the stuff I like. She looked at the group now gathered around her and said, Hey, Frank, you were there. It was amazing, right?

Frank confirmed that it had been worth the trip, and several others added comments.

O’Connor said, OK, so what happened this morning that relates to this sale?

Nikki looked blank for a minute, then giggled and said, I got lots of cool stuff, and I was carrying my loot out to the Jeep. I looked up just in time to see someone coming up out of the basement with this great trunk. I just love those old trunks, you know?

O’Connor nodded and waited for her to go on.

Well, I just went right up to that guy and asked if he was buying it. He said he wasn’t, just hauling it up out of the basement so more people would see it. So, I told him I’d take it, right then and there.

The crowd laughed at Nikki fluttering her hands with excitement over her purchase of the trunk. She finished up by telling them how she convinced the guy to carry it out to her Jeep before she’d even paid for it. Well, I paid for it and asked for the key. It was heavy, so I figured there had to be something good in there, right? She thought a minute, then continued, Guy told me there was no key. So, I asked him if he had any idea about what was in it. He said, ‘Nope,’ but I wanted it anyway, so I bought it.

You have a receipt for it? asked O’Connor. Remember the name of the people you bought it from?

Yes, I have to keep tax records, you know, she replied. But anyway, it’s been in the back of the Jeep all week because it was too heavy for me to lift out and carry into the shop. To be honest, I kind of forgot about it till this morning. So, I figured I’d just unpack it from the back of the Jeep. Then I remembered there wasn’t a key. So, I was like, shoot! She stopped to sip at her soda again. I called over to the post office, thinking Ian or Karen could help me. Karen came over, and we got it out and into the shop, but I still had to get it open, so she and I were experimenting with old keys I had in a bowl on the counter; one of them worked.

By this time, Karen was sitting on the porch, too, ready to tell her part of the story. O’Connor turned to her and asked, So you saw what’s in the trunk?

Karen nodded and said, I was all excited, helping Nikki unpack. I always love a mystery and the idea of buried treasure. I was just buying stuff right and left as we emptied the thing.

O’Connor asked, Can you remember the things in order? I doubt if it will make a difference, but it might tell us how long it’s been undisturbed. He jumped up and said, Hang on a minute. I’m going to grab a notebook and pen. He disappeared into the store, then returned and reseated himself. OK, let’s go with the contents.

Nikki took up the story. Well, there was a nice old baby quilt on top, and I’m like, ‘Yippee!’ I kept digging down, and I’m trying to think … Under the quilt, there were baby clothes, then some women’s undergarments with a lot of handmade lace, then linens like napkins and pillowcases. All of this stuff was Victorian period. About the middle, there was a box with mourning jewelry—like a widow of the Victorian period might wear—and there were some old photographs in cases.

Nikki, there was a paisley shawl in there too, said Karen. Where was that?

Oh, yeah, Nikki said. I think it was under the box of jewelry because we were starting to come to the end. And then the last thing in there was another bigger box, and there was a wrapped bundle, so I was thinking something breakable, like china.

We were really excited, explained Karen, but being really careful in case there was some really fragile treasure. I know my hands were kind of shaking, but that’s just me on a treasure hunt. And then Nikki shrieked, and so I leaned forward, thinking she’d found money.

But it wasn’t money, said Nikki. I was just so shocked to see those tiny bones. Then I dropped the bundle and—I couldn’t help myself—I just started screaming. Ugh! It’s awful to find a dead something when you’re expecting fine china.

The small crowd gathered around the porch laughed at her description but then quieted because it sounded like Nikki had found a skeleton in the bottom of her trunk.

Guess I better go have a look then, said O’Connor, rising from his seat. He and the two women walked over to Nikki’s store, with the crowd following.

When they got there and Nikki showed him the old