Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) Read online

  MISSOURI

  LOVES

  COMPANY

  W.J. COSTELLO

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  MISSOURI LOVES COMPANY

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 by W.J. Costello.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. For information address: wjcostello.com

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  Novels featuring Rip Lane:

  Missouri Loves Company

  Florida Son

  California Bust

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  CHAPTER 1

  I WOULDN’T NORMALLY pick up a hitchhiker, but there was just something about the woman. Maybe it was the attitude. Head cocked to one side, thumb thrust way out into the road, raspberry-colored lips chewing gum furiously. Or maybe it was the way those white summer shorts contrasted with the dark golden tan of her lovely legs.

  “Where you heading?” I said when she opened the passenger door.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  “That’s where I’m heading too.”

  She smiled and climbed into my motor home.

  When we were about a block down the road she looked over her shoulder at my living room and kitchen. She took a good long look. Then her chestnut eyes slid my way.

  “You travel in style.”

  “Only way to go.”

  She nodded, chewed her gum. Cinnamon-flavored gum, according to my bloodhoundlike nose.

  “What is this, like a Winnebago or something?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s an Outlaw Class A toy hauler.”

  “Outlaw, huh?” she said. “Are you an outlaw too?”

  “Retired deputy U.S. marshal.”

  “Retired? What are you, forty?”

  “Forty-seven,” I said. “Retired last year, after twenty-five years of service.”

  We were quiet. Orange construction cones lined the road. I was focused on avoiding them. Not easy in a vehicle that weighs twenty-five thousand pounds and stretches forty feet in length.

  “You have the look of a law-enforcement officer. Your build, I mean. At first I thought you might be a pro wrestler.”

  “You’re in pretty good shape yourself.”

  “You should see me without clothes.”

  “No doubt.”

  She smiled at me, though not as if she wanted me to handcuff her naked to my bed.

  “You from around here?” I said.

  “That place where you picked me up? I’ve lived there my entire life.”

  “Pottsland, Missouri.”

  “My entire life.”

  “Let me ask you something.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “What’s the deal with all these construction cones? Miles and miles of them. Ever since I saw the WELCOME TO MISSOURI sign.”

  “Missouri has two seasons—winter and road construction.”

  Her black and red duffel bag had the St. Louis Cardinals logo on it. The bag was big enough to hold everything a baseball player would need. I wondered what was in it.

  “What kind of work you do in Pottsland?”

  “Waitress.”

  Maybe the duffel bag was stuffed with hamburgers.

  “But I don’t plan on being a waitress forever. I’m taking some night classes. In business.”

  “To . . . ?”

  “To start my own restaurant.”

  “Ambitious.”

  “Trying to be.”

  We were quiet again. Damn construction cones.

  “I’m driving as far as St. Louis. Going to spend a couple of weeks at a campground there. You want, I can drop you off in the city.”

  “Works for me.”

  I nodded.

  “Where are you going after your camping trip? Heading back home?”

  “This is home.”

  “No house?”

  “Not anymore. Sold it.”

  “Nice.”

  I nodded again.

  “My name’s Anna.”

  “I’m Rip.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “DAMN.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Engine’s making a strange noise.”

  Anna tilted her head to listen.

  “You mean that whooooshama noise?”

  “More like mmmphmmmph.”

  “Why’s it doing that?”

  I shrugged.

  “So you can’t fix it?”

  “That’s not in my skill set.”

  Mmmphmmmph. Mmmphmmmph. Mmmphmmmph.

  It was getting worse.

  “Any RV parks nearby, Anna? Sometimes they have mechanics on staff.”

  “S’mores and Snores Campground. It’s ten minutes down the road.”

  S’mores and Snores Campground was bigger than I had expected. There was a nice little lake in the middle. Plenty of picnic tables. Large convenience store. And there were about a hundred RV sites with full hookups.

  The place was packed. You could see all kinds of RVs. There were motor homes and pop-ups and travel trailers and truck campers. There were even a few park model RVs.

  “I’ll be back in a little while,” Anna said when I had parked in front of the campground office.

  I turned to look at her.

  “Fifteen minutes at the most,” she said. “I’m going to ask around, see if I can’t get a ride from somebody else. I’d really like to get on down the road today.”

/>   “And if you can’t?”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Either way I’ll let you know.”

  In the campground office I saw a red box mounted on the wall. On its glass cover was white lettering that said IN CASE OF FIRE BREAK GLASS. In the box were two big marshmallows and a stick.

  The office manager was the size of a dome tent. The two big marshmallows behind the glass had been lucky to survive the day.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Have you a mechanic?”

  “He’ll be in at noon tomorrow.”

  I made a face. Sometimes I can’t help myself.

  “Well,” I said, “looks like I’ll be spending the night here. How much are your rates?”

  He told me.

  I gave him my credit card.

  “How many nights will you be staying, Mr. Lane?”

  “Depends on how long it takes your mechanic to fix my engine.”

  The office manager attacked a glazed donut.

  I cannot remember the last time I ate a donut. It’s not that I don’t love donuts, because I do. But not as much as I love my health. I have found that Greek yogurts taste pretty good. Almost as good as donuts. Almost. Unlike donuts, however, Greek yogurts are healthy. High in protein. Toasted coconut is the best flavor, though vanilla is pretty good too.

  The office manager patted his mouth with a napkin.

  “Bob’s a fast worker. He should be able to fix your engine by suppertime tomorrow.”

  “I’ll plan on staying two nights then.”

  No doubt the two big marshmallows would not survive that long.

  The site I paid for had a nice view of the lake—if I stood on the roof of my motor home. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t planning on staying long.

  As soon as I had parked at the site I leveled my rig. Then I began to connect the three hookups. First I connected the water hose. Then the sewer hose. Then the electric cord.

  I knew that those three hookups were the only ones I was going to get that night, because it didn’t look like I was going to hookup with Anna.

  CHAPTER 3

  A RUSTY TRAVEL trailer was parked on the site beside mine. There was a sign hanging over its door.

  LAW OFFICE OF

  HARRY MORAN

  ATTORNEY AT LAW

  It’s Not a Common Practice.

  Just because the sign said he was a lawyer didn’t necessarily mean he was one. Sometimes campers put up signs like that to keep other campers from bothering them or from parking too close. Attorney signs, used car salesperson signs, tuba player signs. Whatever keeps people away.

  A couple emerged from the rusty travel trailer and accosted me before I could make my escape.

  “Hi. We’re the Morans. Harry and Sally.”

  “Which one’s Harry?”

  “Beg pardon?” Harry said.

  “Kidding,” I said. “I’m Rip.”

  Sally’s handshake grip seemed intimate. She pulled me closer as she moistened her lips. I bet she fooled around. I bet she was trouble. No doubt she was worth it.

  Harry stared at my shiny motor home as if he were looking at a settlement check from a Fortune Five Hundred company.

  “Good-looking rig you’ve got there, Rip.”

  “If you like them that way.”

  Sally giggled.

  “We need to paint our trailer,” she said. “The rust is taking over.”

  “Your sign looks nice,” I said, just to be polite.

  “Thanks,” Harry said. “I’m a lawyer.”

  “World can always use more of those,” I said.

  His smile fizzled out like a campfire in rain.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I left something on the stove.”

  “He’s a little sensitive,” Sally said when Harry had gone.

  “About?”

  “The way people feel about lawyers.”

  “I like lawyers,” I said. “In fact my ex-wife’s divorce attorney is on my Christmas card list.”

  “You’re pulling my leg.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  Sally gave me a big smile. She wet her lips again and ran fingers through her hair. She was flirting. She wanted me—there could be no better quality in a woman.

  Women have always been attracted to me. There isn’t anything special I do to bring it on. It just happens, like lint balls on socks.

  I’m no adulterer, but there’s no harm in flirting.

  “Where you from, Sally?”

  “We live in Detroit.”

  Somebody has to.

  “And you’re visiting Missouri because . . . ?”

  “Harry wanted to see the Gateway Arch.”

  “And you?”

  “I’d rather be home. I miss Detroit.”

  “You want, I can rob you. Make you feel like you were back at home.”

  Sally giggled again.

  “You’re funny, Rip.”

  “Can’t help myself.”

  She looked me up and down, touching the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth.

  “Want to hear a funny story?” she said.

  “That’s why I’m still standing here.”

  “So Harry and I are traveling through Indiana, on our way from Michigan to Missouri, you know? Harry’s driving, I’m riding beside him. Cruising alongside our pickup truck is this enormous truck, one of those big rigs, eighteen wheels and all? Mile after mile it stays right beside us. And so finally Harry speeds up. So does the big rig. Harry speeds up some more. So does the big rig. We’re wondering what the guy’s doing. After a while Harry says to me, ‘Take your legs off the dash.’ I did. And the trucker finally slowed down. He’d been riding alongside us to get a good look at my legs.”

  “Trucker’s got good taste,” I said.

  “Who’s that behind you?” Sally said.

  I turned to look. It was Anna.

  CHAPTER 4

  “ANY LUCK?” I said to Anna.

  “No,” she said, and shook her head sadly. “None of the other campers can give me a ride out of town.”

  “So what’s Plan B?”

  “To find a way to get to the Pottsland bus station.”

  “I can take you on my motorcycle.”

  “Would you? It’s not far.”

  I turned to Sally.

  “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “You better,” she said, and winked.

  “Who was that?” Anna said when Sally had gone.

  “My neighbor for the next couple of days.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  My Outlaw Class A toy hauler came equipped with a garage where I could store “toys” like my motorcycle, ATV, and bicycle. Having these vehicles has made my life easier. I haven’t had to disconnect the hookups from my motor home every time I wanted to leave a campground, or reconnect them when I returned. Instead I’ve been able to use one of my “toys” to explore the local area while leaving my motor home at the campground.

  Anna, duffel bag in hand, waited outside my RV while I lowered the garage ramp, loosened the ratcheting straps from my Honda Fury, and inserted the key into the ignition. The roar of the engine rumbled loudly in the small confined space of the garage. It took me only a few seconds to back the motorcycle down the ramp.

  The coffee at the Pottsland bus station was bitter, though it was better than no coffee at all. By the time Anna had bought her bus ticket I was on my second cup.

  “My bus leaves in forty minutes,” she told me as she sat down on the bench beside me.

  “Want me to wait with you, keep you company?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Course not. It’ll give me the opportunity to savor more of this gourmet coffee.”

  “I’m sure it tastes like antifreeze.”

  “As long as it’s caffeinated antifreeze.”

  “Guess where my bus is going.”

  “Where?”

  “Tope
ka.”

  “Have you relatives there?”

  “No.”

  “Then you should enjoy your visit.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I spied two guys casting furtive glances at Anna. They wore expensive Armani suits, but they were still thugs. One was chewing a toothpick. If Anna noticed them, she didn’t show it.

  “Do you miss being a marshal, Rip?”

  “Can’t complain about retirement.”

  “What was the job like?”

  “Nonstop action.”

  “Were you on horseback?’

  I chuckled.

  “I was not. But I know that’s the image most people have of U.S. marshals. The reality is that we’re fugitive hunters. We’re the best manhunting force in the world. Each year we capture more criminals than every other federal law-enforcement agency—combined.”

  “So you were a bad-ass.”

  “What do you mean, ‘were’?”

  Anna laughed and crossed her legs. Then she seemed to notice the two guys staring at her. She stood up right away.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, and walked away.

  She took her duffel bag with her.

  CHAPTER 5

  ANNA RETURNED EMPTY-HANDED.

  “Where’s your duffel bag,” I said when she had resumed her seat on the bench beside me.

  “I put it in a storage locker. One of those big ones.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Just for safekeeping,” she said. “I’ll pick it up right before my bus leaves.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you do me a favor, Rip?”

  “Does it involve heavy breathing?”

  “No.”

  “Rubbing lotions?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the favor.”

  “Hold this key for me?”

  She held up an orange locker key. She held it up high enough for everybody in the bus station to see. Which seemed strange to me. But human behavior is nothing if it is not strange. So I thought nothing further of it.

  “Afraid you might lose it?” I said, taking the key from her hand.

  She nodded.

  I pocketed the key.

  Now the two Armani guys started to steal glances at me.

  I sipped my coffee.

  “Anna,” I said. “Keep your eyes locked on me. Two guys have been staring at us. They’re sitting near the entrance. In a moment I’m going to stop talking. When I do I want you to wait a few seconds before casually glancing in their direction. They’re both wearing dark suits. One guy’s got a toothpick in his mouth.”