At a popular local gun club, a federal warden named Sidney O'Neil is found dead on the skeet range. Investigators believe the death was accidental, but O'Neil's friends know better. Not only did O'Neil never shoot skeet, but he was also engaged in a political battle with right-wing extremists. It had to be murder, plain and simple. Jane Lindsey, the wife of one of O'Neil's friends, begins snooping around, with the help of her husband and his co-workers. She digs into the records of C. Jeffery Compton, medical director of the local hospital. He and his cronies are part of the group squaring off against O'Neil and just happened to have been in the gun club's clubhouse the day O'Neil died. When Jane learns from Sid's grieving widow that Compton had a short affair with Mrs. O'Neil, the stakes grow larger. Jane realizes that not only was O'Neil's death possibly politically-motivated, but that it also might have been the result of a love affair gone wrong. But Compton isn't the only suspect on her list; as Jane digs deeper into the mystery, her shocking discoveries put her directly in the killer's path. With heart-pumping tension and a plot full of twists and turns, Nothing But Dust introduces a charming amateur detective in Jane Lindsey.
Nothing But Dust
By Edwin G. RiceiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Edwin G. Rice
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4502-3608-9Chapter One
The cross hairs of the scope were steady and on target. It was a routine he had absorbed and practiced each year before November and deer season came. This day as he walked to the range he had visualized exactly how it would appear to his eye. Now the moment had come; it was no more than a reflex. "Breathe in, hold, light squeeze." It was over.
Eyes still narrowed but smiling he drew back the bolt ejecting the spent cartridge. He then cased the rifle, walked the 50 yards to his 350 Ford and drove off. His only feeling was the flush of confidence that always came after adjusting the scope for wind and elevation and squeezing off a round that was dead on target.
Only the hum of the big tires of his pick-up on the paving penetrated his thoughts as he drove west. "Knew the moment would come; there was nobody on the skeet range and plenty of shooters on the pistol range. Everyone was wearing hearing guards. Nobody did and nobody could hear anything different; like one rifle shot."
The rifle range was now empty. It would be almost two hours before anyone would venture into the skeet range and discover its lone occupant.
The one man there was silent; - he was Warden Sid O'Neil and he was dead.
Chapter Two
The recoil was enough to loosen his teeth; not to mention detach a retina, and make him flinch. "I'll whip that cocky bozo yet if I have to shoot these 3 inch 20 gauge shells all day to do it!"
They were at the last station; there would be a true-pair. Compton had nailed them both; then turned his smug face and grandly proclaimed, "Nothing but dust; your turn," as the last of clay and pitch fragments settled to the ground.
The true pair were sharply angled; the first at 45 degrees to the right the second 45 to the left. This meant a right to left shot on the second. It was a problem for many right-handed shooters and without doubt he knew it was his nemesis. "Keep your chin on that stock, Charley" he admonished himself. "Pull," Charles called. He knocked a chip off the first clay bird but hit only air on the second. Compton had beaten him again 44 to 43.
Charles Forsyth shook his hand, murmured a congratulatory, "Good shooting," and headed back to the club house to grab some field cleaner. His intention was to run it through the bore, pack up and then, "Get the heck out of here."
This done, his mood still foul, Charles Forsyth wove his way through the crowd in the club house hearing as he passed the words of friends, "You almost had that jerk Doc," or other words to that effect.
Back at his Chevy SUV, Forsyth slid the Weatherby into its case then into the back of the truck. After climbing into the cab, he started and began winding his way down the curving drive to the county road that would lead him to US No. 2.
Evening was at hand. As he drove on to the west; ahead near the bridge over the Red Lake River he could see the trees standing in dark silhouette against the golden glow of the western horizon as the sun eased its way out from under the overhanging cloud cover.
After passing through Crookston and having made the turn back to the west, Forsyth, unable to quell his anger, turned his thoughts once again to Jeffrey Compton who like a right to left shot was another nemesis. "No," he thought, "it's not just that he's so cock-sure and always wins with his $20,000 Krieghoff; it's what he's up to back at the club house and I would believe elsewhere too. That bunch he hangs out with; I couldn't take them for more than a minute."
Having passed Fisher and the turn at the Ross Seed Company, he could begin to see the lights of Grand Forks and East Grand brightening the underside of the increasingly heavy cloud cover. "Rain shower moving this way," he thought, "If it weren't for the wake tonight, I would have considered staying at my place, listen to the rain on the roof and see if John and his wife cared to come down for a late cup of coffee. I'm sure they are there. I could have driven back early in the morning, easily enough."
As he entered East Grand Forks, Forsyth began working on another series of thoughts, "After the wake, I'd better go over the point bridge and not past Cabela's. I might be tempted to buy something I don't need but can't live without. Seriously, it might get my mind off not only Compton but the undercurrent that I sense coming from that bunch he hangs out with. There are two of them that particularly trouble me; there's the guy that bought the resort down the lake and to be sure the one they call Preacher Man from over by Lengby. "They talk and spout Christianity and Christian words, but you can bet your bottom dollar the real message is politics and the wrong kind. Of all people to have said it, Huey Long said it way back in the thirties, "If fascism comes to America it will wear an American Face." The truth is that Sinclair Lewis said it too; just slightly different words. "If fascism comes to the United States it will be wrapped in the flag and wearing a cross."
"Either way it chills me up and down my spine. I can't forget one other thing can I? They were all there in the club house that day when O'Neil took a bullet through his brain; but at the inquest they never saw or heard a thing. - What I'm sure of is that Sid's thoughts were about as opposed to theirs as anyone I could name. - Could they have known that?-Charles Forsyth what are you saying and thinking?"
As he passed the potato barons' warehouses Forsyth concluded his dark thoughts for the moment as he muttered, "Anyway there's Sacred Heart up there around the bend and it's time to pay my last respects to my friend Sid O'Neil. One thing is for sure; it was one darned unusual accident!" As he stopped before Sacred Heart Forsyth paused before getting out and muttered again.
"And what was Sid doing on the skeet range? - He never shoots skeet?"
Chapter Three
The shoot had been the week before on Sunday. The next week had passed with Charles Forsyth back at work and taking call on the weekend.
Although by nature he was not a competitive man; his wishing to top Compton in Sporting Clays had its origin early after Compton's arrival at the clinic in the position of Medical Director. It was Compton's obvious condescending and patronizing management style with the physicians that first began to grate upon Forsyth, a 20 year member of the clinic. Even the surgeons were recipients of his abrasive smugness despite the crucially important productivity generated by the procedural nature of their work. For internists such as Forsyth, Compton's attitude bordered on near open contempt every time he reviewed with them the subject of their productivity.
The younger internists seemed less troubled; Charles suspected because they had never known medicine before business 'took it over' seeking as it did to drain personal fortunes from the nation's health care system. Many already had done exactly that.
However, trouble Charles it did; and in one sharp exchange with Compton he remembered 'telling it like it was.' "When I care for my patients, I use my information, my experience and investigate ethically their complaints. They receive medical care that is the best that I can deliver. I will not deviate from this standard nor manipulate it to dishonorably exploit my patients in an effort to garner greater financial return!"
Virtually every Monday morning as he walked into the clinic Charles Forsyth recalled that conversation and this morning was no exception. In fact this day's recollection brought for him an unusually intense flush of anger, only in part augmented by the competition of the week before. This day there was to be a noon time meeting of his department with the man who was the object of his wrath.
The morning's appointments and examinations went well with the lone exception of the last one, a man of 60 whose symptoms suggested the real likelihood of an upper gastrointestinal malignancy. Forsyth finished their appointment having ordered tests including an ultra sound of the pancreatic bed.
Minutes later as he rose to go to the meeting, he shook his head thinking, "If I had ordered a CT scan, there would have been the request for a second opinion about its necessity; undoubtedly to be rendered by someone who has never seen the patient! What are we coming to?"
The meeting that day embraced the usual issues of care quality, recruitment, hospital usage and the coding for insurance reimbursement. Charles found it less than inspiring and throughout he was certain that his fine friend, a younger internist seated next to him, had found it equally burdensome.
After a rather cursory coverage of the usual issues, Compton's eyes and face assumed a look of intense self-satisfaction as he announced to his 'subjects,' as they termed themselves, that there was an addition to the day's agenda.
Wearing a smile of near imperial pomposity he began, "Ladies and Gentlemen, you know that I have had an interest in the civic affairs of our fine community since I came; among them being music and the arts. I am happy to inform you that last evening at the Country Club a gathering was held. The men who were present I can say are influential men, and had come from about the country. Present also were some friends of mine from nearby Minnesota. I am gratified and happy to tell you that they have chosen me to be their candidate for Representative to the United States Congress from my district of Minnesota. As we speak they are developing a strategy, a platform and the funds for underwriting my candidacy. I assure you they are men of patriotic principle and hold in high esteem most of the issues that I'm certain are dear to you as well. Now as we adjourn, let me say that from all of you I anticipate and will expect your fullest support, most particularly from the many of those of you who have chosen to live on the Minnesota side of the river. - Thank you for coming. These will be exciting days."
Dan Lindsey the fine and very handsome young physician seated beside him had joined Forsyth at the wake one week earlier. Dan had grown up on the Canadian Prairie in Brandon, Manitoba. He had graduated from the University of Manitoba School of Medicine and gone on to Calgary, Alberta where he met and married a pretty young nurse. Upon completion of his residency in Medicine he and his wife Jane had moved south of the border. That had been three years earlier; a year later Dan's father Clyde, a widower, had also moved to the United States to be near Dan and his wife.
Chapter Four
"If ever I heard a grandiose overstatement of one's commitment to the arts and music that was it," said Dan Lindsay with a frown and a vigorous shake of his handsome head. Our family always loved music; before my mother passed away my parents, my sister and I would go to Winnipeg, Edmonton or even as far as Toronto just to hear good music. I seriously doubt that our man Compton knows a clarinet from a baritone!" The two men gladly free of the meeting's uselessness walked out together leaving the loftiness of the executive suites and choosing the elevator to descend to the clinical departments and their offices.
Silent in the elevator the two men paused outside the door to their office corridor. Dan, glancing at his watch spoke first, "Dr. Forsyth have you a minute to discuss a couple things?"
"Yes, I sure do but remember my name is Charles or Charley, your choice."
Laughing Dan replied, "Okay, I will remember but always in front of the nurses and the patients I'll use the formal style of address as I was raised to do and had it reinforced in my medical school."
"Dan, that's fine; and I do fully understand because I was raised the same way. When I entered medicine the standards for dress and communication, should we say, were decidedly more formal. I liked it then and I like it now."
"Growing up as I did on the prairies and the abundance of game, I was afraid that I would have little chance to enjoy the shooting sports the way I could at home. I do so appreciate that you have included me from the start in sporting clays, trap and skeet both here at the Dakota and at Dust near our lake properties. Speaking of the lake you may have thought my Jane and I were foolish to buy the cottage on Maple Lake before we bought a home; but we thought if we didn't do it first, we would never do it at all. Now I'm happy to tell you that we are pretty well settled in our new home in the south end of town. We feel that it is far enough from the river that we'll be safe from the flood issue. Let me say one more thing; I feel terrible about the death of Sid O'Neil, he had become my good friend as well. Can I ask if you felt that there was anything unusual about his death? I confess I just can't put it to rest in my mind."
Forsyth glanced at his watch then replied, "We both have about another 15 minutes; let's go to my office; there are a couple things I would like to talk to you about."
Charles had closed the door to his office and both of them were seated when he began, "Yes Dan, as you said unusual to say the least. As physicians when patients bring us their concerns we tend to unfailingly trust their sincerity and the truth of what they say. It is hard for us to shift our perceptions to one of suspicion as it concerns truth and the character of people. I don't like the situation surrounding Sid's death, not at all. There are people there at Dust, you've met some of them, and one of them is Compton whom I don't like, don't trust and who I believe would eventually have found themselves in conflict with Sid O'Neil. - That is if they hadn't already. The conflict would have been one of personal ethics, honesty and what I would call dangerously frightening political thought. - Am I implying something? Yes, I am; and that is I've asked myself the unthinkable; was it really an accident?"
Clearly seething, Forsyth paused for a moment, looked to a window then turned back to Dan speaking again very quietly. "Dan, I been around the lake area a long time. I know many of the fine people in that area and I know some of those with whom Compton associates; and I know how they think. There has been a hard core and militant vein of far right-wing thought there for a long time. In the last years it has assumed the now too familiar faade of Christian guidance and purpose much as we know is prevalent in the American south or the mountain enclaves of the western states. - Compton a patron of the arts, a figure of visionary community leadership? Nonsense! - It is, if we choose to call it by its real name, his cover. We heard confirmation today that he is politically ambitious and I strongly suspect that he is a disciple of the right wing extremist movement in this country; that is to call it what it really is. - Some contemporary scholars call it the pseudo conservative, Neo-con or a rather new term Theocracy. - Their beliefs and actions are the very antithesis of what conservative means; and their beliefs are the antithesis of logic. Much more accurate as one hears more and more frequently is the term Neo-fascist. "The men who are promoting him, are they of that persuasion? I can't believe otherwise. If elected from a state such as Minnesota can he do harm? Generally speaking Minnesota is a very fair-minded state and not subject to either of the political extremes. I should say he could do great harm in committee appointments, crucial votes; just to name a couple opportunities. I have little doubt that outside money will be flowing in, lots of it!"
Forsyth paused, raised his hands in the air as a gesture of stopping, "Forgive me Dan; I got on my soap box. The truth is that I miss our fine friend; I don't like what happened and I'm worried about what extremists of any form, of the left or of the right, can do to our country and it's now your country too."
Dan Lindsey sat in silence for a moment then in a voice that matched the seriousness of Charles' tone he replied, "Charles, my grand father was very young then, but he fought nevertheless with the Canadian Army in World War II. He was at Juneau Beach and in the hard fought campaigns when our Canadian forces liberated the Low Countries, Holland and Belgium and their cities of Amsterdam and Antwerp. - Even in those terrible days and after the war he encountered the occasional man, often an American, who had a perverse admiration for what the Nazi's had done. He is very old now but the one fear he has, perhaps his greatest fear, is that wealth, devious and sinister political ambition and complacency by the people will foster the rise of Fascism in this country.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Nothing But Dustby Edwin G. Rice Copyright © 2010 by Edwin G. Rice. Excerpted by permission.
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