Chip looked at her without responding.
“It suddenly dawned on me as I was lying there, locked in that little metal box, that all of this was planned years ago. You didn’t walk into the saloon by accident a year ago, did you Chip? It was no coincidence that you first appeared just weeks after my father died. You knew my father was dead. But there was something else of my father’s – something perhaps even more important than this book – you still wanted. So you came up with this elaborate idea of getting close to me in the hopes I could help you get it. How am I doing so far?”
“Quite well,” he replied.
Jeri tossed her father’s book at Chip and glanced around the van. She noticed a rusty utility knife lying on the floor and picked it up. Chip watched her curiously as she quickly assessed the blade before gripping it tightly in her hand. She then looked at him with a menacing smile.
“I have to say though, the letters were brilliant. What better way to arouse my curiosity than with some handsome, mysterious world traveler? Of course, I now know they weren’t intended just for me. All those ridiculously written letters were nothing more than Chilly’s cryptic progress reports to you… updates on where he was and how he was planning to kill his next victim. You obviously knew when the letters were arriving, just as you knew that with enough prodding I’d share them with you. No texts or emails that might be traceable by others – just simple, old-school pen and paper. Once Chilly had my interest, you had him hit me with the Polaroid of my father’s book. After that, you waited to see what I did. Or perhaps I should say you waited to see what I uncovered.”
Chip looked at her quizzically.
“The only thing I haven’t figured out yet is Tom Coleman,” Jeri continued, taking a step towards him. “Was he part of your plan too?”
“No,” Chip said quietly. “At least not initially. But after I realized who he was and what he was up to, I figured out a way to put him to use. In the end, he turned out to be quite handy.” He absently thumbed through the book in his hands before fixing his pale blue eyes on Jeri. “So where did you find the book?”
Jeri pointed the knife at him threateningly. “You’ve spent over a year of your life sitting on a barstool to get that answer – to get your hands on everything my father had hidden away, haven’t you? Well tough shit, old man. I’m not telling you.”
Chip shrugged in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Jeri narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t try to play me, Chip.
You know I have it.”
“Have what?”
“My father’s research. Everything he collected from those years preparing for his book. Journals… field notes… boxes of recorded interviews. God knows how many sellable secrets are collecting dust on those pages. But then that was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Manipulate me into giving it to you, and then auction it to the highest bidder.” Jeri took another step forward. “I even have documents surrounding the government pension plans that nearly got him killed. Financial statements, transaction logs, internal memos – enough evidence to send everyone responsible to jail.” Jeri paused and looked at Chip with disgust. “Or, in your case, bribe them for your silence.”
Chip stared at her for a long moment before a small grin appeared on his face. He stepped back and suddenly erupted in laughter.
“What the hell is so funny?” Jeri demanded. She watched as Chip tried to speak but was seized by another fit of laughter. Nearly a minute passed as he leaned against the side of the van trembling uncontrollably. When he was finally able to compose himself, he wiped the tears from his handsome, weathered face and looked apologetically at Jeri.
“I’m sorry Jeri… I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just…well…is that really what you thought we were after? Some buried old lockbox of your father’s?”
“Of course I did,” Jeri replied cautiously. “What else could it be?”
Chip stepped towards her, his expression again serious. “You’re right… you did figure it out. Almost everything you said was true, Jeri – with a few notable exceptions. We’ll talk about those later. But what I can tell you right now is that we were never after your father’s journals.”
Jeri shook her head in confusion. “Then what were you after?” she demanded.
A hot, arid gust of wind whipped through the van as Chip ran a hand through his hair. “What we’ve always been after, Jeri,” he said as he pointed his finger and grinned.
“You.”