Read Baby Be Mine for Free Online Page A

on July 10.
    A few days later, McElroy took center stage in Skidmore’sD&G Tavern. He flaunted an assault rifle with a bayonet as he demonstrated how he’d finish off the job on Bowencamp. He bragged he’d put a bullet in Bowencamp’s head and then carve him up with the blade. Prosecutor Baird tried to get McElroy’s bail revoked after this incident, but the judge thought July 10 was soon enough to put McElroy back behind bars.
    The townfolk awoke to the day of McElroy’s hearing with plans to travel to court to encourage his immediate incarceration. Then they got the word that the legal proceedings were postponed until July 20 because McElroy’s attorney had a scheduling conflict.
    About sixty distraught citizens gathered in the American Legion hall to meet with Nodaway County Sheriff Danny Estes. They discussed forming a neighborhood watch, but the suggestion generated little enthusiasm. They wanted a more proactive approach.
    While Estes drove away from the meeting with the frustrated Skidmore citizens and headed back to his office in Maryville, trouble was brewing. McElroy got word of the town gathering. He drove to Main Street and parked his new Chevrolet Silverado pickup truck in plain sight. He sauntered into the D&G Tavern to gloat to his neighbors.
    The disgruntled crowd of men heard the word that McElroy was at the D&G. They all moved down the street and gathered outside. About thirty men in the crowd went inside. Some ordered a soda or a beer—others just stood and stared at the man who tormented their days.
    McElroy ordered a six-pack to go. He sauntered out of the bar with his wife Trena by his side. Most of the men who’d been inside the bar followed them out and joined the others still waiting outside on Main Street at Newton’s corner. As they watched, Trena climbed into the passenger seat. McElroy hefted his weight up behind the wheel.
    McElroy smiled—pleased with the fear, anxiety and anger he saw on the faces of his neighbors. He basked in the glow of their hatred. He didn’t want to back up and drive offright away, he was enjoying the drama too much not to perpetuate it a bit longer.
    He put a Camel to his lips. He pulled out a lighter. Held it up with a flourish. His thumb flicked the striking wheel. The flame flared. The first shot rang out. Two shots came from the left. Four exploded in the rear.
    Men hit the ground. Others fled the scene. Eyes met then slid away. A blood-spattered Trena leaped out of the truck screaming. One man in the crowd grabbed her and rushed her out of the line of fire. Then silence hit the streets of Skidmore. And an unspoken oath was sworn. Eyes met and held. Heads nodded.
    Estes—still en route to Maryville—got a call over his radio. He raced back to Skidmore. When he arrived, the crowd had dispersed, weapons were concealed and McElroy was dead.
    Despite the presence of dozens of witnesses, no one saw anything. The only people who called in on the tip hotline were media. Despite the work of a task force of twenty-three officers from six law enforcement agencies, and testimony from Trena and others present at the shooting, the grand jury adjourned without issuing an indictment against anyone. They ruled that McElroy “died from bullets fired by a person or persons unknown.”
    The vigilante incident drew media attention from across the globe. Editorials by newspapers at home and abroad expressed outrage at the community’s act of violence and their willingness to remain silent. The citizens of Skidmore, however, were sanguine about the event. As Postmaster Jim Hartman told reporters, the killers should get a medal. He compared them to the inventors of penicillin—“Nobody tried to hang them for finding a way to kill a germ.”
    The only regret any of the townspeople expressed was about the damage to McElroy’s shiny new Silverado.
    Now, decades later, one of their own was an
innocent
victim. She