Chapter 8 - Sunday Morning Return
On Sunday afternoon at 2:15 PM, Robert’s heavy pickup truck rumbled into the gravel driveway.
He looked tanned, rested, and smelled of cheap hotel soap and expensive cigar smoke as he stepped out of the cab.
He carried a fresh cooler full of grocery-store walleye fillets to maintain the illusion of a successful fishing expedition.
He whistled a cheerful country tune as he pushed open the back screen porch door and walked into the kitchen.
"Sweetheart, I'm home! The walleye were biting like crazy out on the bay!"
Robert stopped dead in the center of the kitchen floor, his smile vanishing as his eyes darted around the room.
The kitchen table was completely bare, stripped of its tablecloth, its chairs, and the bread basket.
Sitting on the counter was the black package he had hidden behind the frozen trout, sliced open and completely empty.
Sitting on the lone kitchen stool was Helen, wearing a tailored navy suit and holding a warm mug of black coffee.
Beside her stood Marcus Vance, holding a leather briefcase, and two federal agents in dark windbreakers bearing gold badges.
Robert dropped the heavy cooler onto the linoleum, ice water splashing across his muddy boots.
"Helen... what is this? Who are these people?"
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"These are federal agents, Robert," Helen said calmly, taking a slow sip of her coffee.
"And they know all about your distributor Wade, your workshop in the garage, and your lovely weekend with Amber in Cleveland."
