The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 53

The first step in finding Ricky Mason was to go to his address and check out the lay of the land. My options and opportunities would ride on whether he was there, who might be with him, and how he'd react to seeing me. My first foray into his domain needed to be during the bright light of day so I could see clearly – I wanted to bolster my ability to protect and defend myself.

As I approached the address Claire had provided, I saw Mason's old blue Civic in the drive with its hatch open. And there was the diminutive Mason, carrying a large box in one hand and a duffle bag in the other. He crossed the yard quickly to place the cardboard container in the open hatch and the duffel bag in the front passenger seat.

I pulled up on the opposite side of the street just as he hurried back into the house. I could see from my vantage point that he'd already stuffed the Honda to the gills. It was apparent Mason was flying the coop, and he would soon be on his way.

My pulse began pounding at the sheer stupidity of what I was about to do. The choices left to me were to alert someone who couldn't possibly make it here in time or take the situation head-on as it was. The only compromise I found acceptable was to reduce the risk somewhat. I'd let my only reliable police contact know what was happening and hope Marci would send backup. But I wasn't sure she wanted to help me again with any problems I was about to create for myself.

When we last talked, her tone changed for the better once Marci learned I was bringing her a material witness the police had missed. Even so, she had wanted to have a "discussion" with me later, and I don't think that the conversation we were about to have was quite the one she had in mind.

Still, I punched the speed dial I'd set up for Marci on my burner phone. I was worried the call would go straight to voicemail, and I'd never know when or if she'd gotten my message. I was happy to hear Marci's voice answering live.

"Hi, Marci, this is Debra Ann—this is my burner, so no Caller ID."

"Oh, hi, Debra Ann; I was just thinking about you," Marci said, sounding upbeat.

"Thank you for your text message about arresting James Seaver - a good thing to know, and it explains what's going on over here," I replied. "Look, I'm sorry if this seems rude, but I have a situation here and I'm out of time. I know I don't have the right to ask, but I was hoping you could believe in me one more time. I'm across the street from Ricky Mason's house at 13482 Elm Bluff, the one described in Brian Pierce's letters. I'm guessing he knows they've arrested Seaver. He's packing his car in a rush, and it looks like he's getting ready to flee the jurisdiction. I'm going to stall him."

"Dammit, Debra Ann, you can't be pulling this kind of crap!" Marci exclaimed, now almost screaming at me through the phone. "You're going to get yourself killed. Get away from that man's property right now! You don't need to do this; we'll get him. You promised me you'd leave it alone! Chrissakes, that was for your benefit, to keep you out of this kind of trouble."

"Look, I get it, Marci," I pleaded. "I know I have no credibility with the department, but you must believe me. Please, send a squad car. I'll slow him down as long as possible, but he'll feel cornered, and there's no telling what he might do. Please, Marci. I have to go."

I hung up without getting assurance that she'd send anyone. Mason was coming out of his front door again with an armload of loose clothes, and this time he locked the door behind him. If I was going to intercept him, I needed to do it now.

I pulled the rental across the end of his driveway, blocking the Civic in so it couldn't take off. With a short red-brick wall running the length of one side of the drive and tall hedges on the other, the car was effectively trapped in place.