Beautifully Cruel by M. William Phelps

Author:M. William Phelps [Phelps, M. W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-10-06T04:00:00+00:00

42

ON THE DAY DUSTIN WEHDE was murdered, December 13, 2001, Michael Roberts and one of his employees were out of state, traveling for an “emergency business meeting” that put them in Denver and Minneapolis. Tracey was at home, alone with the kids. Michael had been gone nearly a week. Tracey knew, however, he would be home after midnight on the thirteenth, or early on the fourteenth.

It was three months and two days after the deadliest terrorist attack in contemporary American history, the World Trade Center plane bombings. The country was still on edge, reeling from such a devastating loss that exposed how vulnerable and perhaps close we were to the absolute carnage and bloodshed going on in the Mideast. Where would terrorists strike next? How many “sleeper cells” were planning an attack right now? The media was still covering the attacks 24/7. The entire world, truly, felt violated, especially Americans, now driving around with flags draped from their car windows and truck beds; “red, white, and blue” was pumping through their veins. People were kind to one another. There was an unspoken connection, a brotherhood, between every single American, no matter race, creed, or social status.

During the interview that Tracey gave to SCSO lieutenant Dennis Cessford hours after the events that led to Dustin Wehde’s death, she claimed to have “cleaned the house,” along with “some other routine chores” for most of that morning and early afternoon. With Tracey’s track record of lies, however, it becomes hard to accept even these basic facts. Nevertheless, she was at home, alone with two kids (Bert was in school much of the day).

Tracey said she spoke to her mother, Anna, and planned on meeting up with Anna for coffee later in Storm Lake. This would be one of many contradictions Tracey would inject into the narrative account of the events that led to premeditated violence and bloodshed inside her home.

Just down the street at her Linden Lane residence, Mona had some work to finish up in her office and also felt like doing some Christmas shopping in Sioux City. Before she left, Mona spoke to her daughter, who didn’t feel good that morning. Brett, Dustin’s father, was one of those hardworking, blue-collar guys that came home from the plant for lunch every day. Dustin had an orthodontist’s appointment at one o’clock.

Mona called home at about 11:30 a.m. as she finished up her work and before she headed to Sioux City. She wanted to make sure Dustin was awake and getting ready for his appointment. She also wanted to see how her daughter, who wound up staying home from school, was feeling.

“Dad’s not home from work for lunch yet,” Mona’s daughter said. “I’m feeling better, Mom.”

“Is your brother up?”

“Yeah. He’s been up. He showered and got ready and looked nice. I think he left, though.”

Mona asked her daughter—because she did not believe Dustin to be punctual—to check and make sure she was correct. She asked her to see if Dustin’s keys and car were gone.

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