Save Me

Chapter Seventy

Rose stood talking on her phone at the edge of the cornfield, trying to understand the federal bureaucracy and watching moths fly into her car headlights. There was an analogy there, but she couldn’t put her finger on it and she had solved enough mysteries for one night.

“Let me get this straight, sir,” she said. “You’re with the FBI, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m a Complaint Agent.”

“But you can’t take complaints?”

“Not after 4:45 P.M. or on weekends.”

“So you’re a Complaint Agent who can’t take complaints?”

“Not at 8:36 at night, I can’t.”

Rose had told him that she had information regarding a murder, because six murders would have sounded crazy. For the same reason, she’d left out the Senator Martin part. “But the FBI switchboard operator transferred me to you.”

“I know, but we don’t take complaints over the phone after business hours.”

“Then why did she transfer me?”

“So I could tell you that.”

Rose was dumbfounded. “You took the call to tell me you can’t take the call?”

The Complaint Agent hesitated. “It’s important to the Bureau that the public be able to reach a human being rather than an answering machine, to speak to them as we are, now.”

“I don’t know if I feel better that I’m talking to a human being, when I tell him that I have information regarding a murder, and he tells me he can’t hear it right now. That sounds like a machine, to me.” Rose looked over at the car, where Kristen was still on the phone with Eileen, her head down. “Sir, I’m sorry. My friend’s life is at stake, and I don’t know what to do.”

“If your friend is in danger, then he or she should call 911 or the local police.”

“But she can’t. She’s worried they may be in on it, like a conspiracy.” Rose heard herself, and even she thought she sounded crazy.

“Then I encourage you and your friend to come down to our offices and make a complaint, or call back tomorrow and we’ll take it over the phone.”

“Okay, thank you.” Rose hung up just as Kristen was getting out of the car and walking toward her, her smooth cheeks stained with new tears. In her outstretched hand was an open cell phone. Rose went weak in the knees, and she flashed on the explosion in the cafeteria. The fireball. Amanda screaming. Blood in her blond hair. The missing sandal.

Kristen held out the phone. “Eileen wants to talk to you.”

Rose stared at the phone, but she couldn’t take it. She didn’t want to know. She couldn’t hear it, not now. And not from a grief-stricken mother.

“Take it,” Kristen said, softly. “Please.”

Rose shook her head, no. The only sound was the crickets chirping and the moths hitting the car headlamps.

“No, it’s not that,” Kristen said, reading Rose’s expression. “Amanda’s alive, still in Intensive Care, but I messed up, I’m so sorry. I told Eileen about Bill’s being murdered, and she’s freaking out. Please, take the phone. Calm her down.”

“What?” Rose felt stunned. “You told her? Why would you do that?”

“It just came out.” Kristen covered the phone with her palm, stricken. “She called to tell me that a man came by the hospital looking for me, saying he was my father. It had to be someone sent by Modjeska or even Modjeska himself. I said, ‘Watch out, he’s a murderer,’ and she said, ‘What are you talking about,’ so I told her.”

Rose kicked herself. She should have warned Kristen not to blab.

“Rose, talk to her. Explain it to her. She has a right to know, doesn’t she?”

“Of course she does, but not now. Not this way. She’s at her daughter’s bedside, for God’s sake.”

“Please talk to her. I told her we’re calling the FBI, but she’s going to the plant to confront them.”

“To Homestead? When?”

“Now. Tonight. She says it’s the Harvest Conference, and all the bosses will be there. She’s going to confront them about what really happened to Bill and the peanut machines and-”

“No, she can’t.” Rose grabbed the phone. “Eileen, don’t go to Homestead! It’s dangerous for you-”

The phone line went dead.

“No!” Rose thumbed to the log, then pressed CALL to call Eileen back. The phone rang and rang, then went to voicemail, and she left a message. “Eileen, please stop! Don’t go to the plant. They’ll kill-”

“End of message,” interrupted a mechanical voice.