Jillie

by Olive Balla

  All the girls had wanted to be Johnnie’s girlfriend. Tall, dark, and handsome, he could have snapped his fingers, and a dozen would have flocked around him. Instead of detracting from his looks, his small hands and over-long arms added a kind of magnetic, primal element.

  And he’d chosen Margo to be his girl, at least, for a while.

  The look on Chlorine’s face had been priceless when Margo showed her Johnnie’s ring hanging from a chain around her neck. For days, she basked in her sister’s radio-active jealousy, enjoyed the bitter verbal jibes, and smiled at the constant put-downs. She even managed to convince herself that she’d finally outdone her sister, finally gotten possession of something of her own—something Chlorine couldn’t take away from her.

  The dream ended when Margo made the mistake of introducing Johnnie to her sister.

  Within the next two weeks, Margo’s precious times with Johnnie grew more and more sporadic before stopping altogether.

  She’d burned up the phone lines calling him, pleading with him to come see her, to tell her what was going on. She’d even shown up at his house at all hours of the day and night, until his mom put a stop to that.

  One night, unable to sleep, Margo called Johnnie and left a message that she was on her way over, and for him to please meet her. But when she rang the doorbell, his mom instantly flung the door open, threw a huge pan of ice water over Margo, yelled something obscene, and slammed the door in her face.

  The next day, Margo was served a restraining order. She’d raged then cried her heart out while reading some judge’s command that she have no further contact with Johnnie, or she’d suffer legal consequences.

  No further contact. She’d been devastated and angry enough to choke someone.

  The humiliation had been hard to take, but not as hard as when Chlorine announced her engagement to Johnnie. Whoever coined that phrase Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned knew his beans. Margo could have incinerated the town and all its inhabitants with her barely controlled blast furnace of anger.

  And all the time, there stood Cleg with his tongue hanging out, hoping for a bit of her attention. In a last-ditch effort to make Johnnie jealous and show her sister up, Margo turned her attentions to Cleg.

  But Johnnie hadn’t batted an eye. On the contrary, he’d pounded Cleg on the back and congratulated him.

  Then Margo discovered she was pregnant. That had been the toughest pill of all to swallow.

  With nothing left to do, she’d asked Cleg to marry her. He’d been so excited, she thought he was going to wet himself. He’d agreed to all her requests for the wedding and honeymoon.

  The wedding was top shelf. It bested Chlorine’s by a mile, and people talked about it for months. Except for Cleg’s clumsy fawning, the honeymoon in Paris had been okay.

  Surprisingly, marriage to Cleg hadn’t been so bad at first. He’d been attentive, obliging, willing to do whatever he could to please her. He even went so far as to set up revolving charge accounts at a local dress boutique and beauty shop.

  After a couple of years, he changed. Where he’d once been strong-willed, he became like a wilted celery stalk—flavorless and weak. Where he’d been attentive, he began questioning her purchases. When he canceled her charge accounts, he placed himself firmly and irrevocably on her list of enemies.

  Then, joy of joys, after only a few of years of marriage, Johnnie left Chlorine for a local barmaid. Rumor had it the thirty-something barkeep knew things other women didn’t know about sex, stuff she’d read in some book called the Something-or-other Sutra.

  Chlorine had flown into a rage the likes of which the town had never before witnessed. She snarled at everyone, even the hapless folks who made the mistake of showing a bit of sympathy. It didn’t take long for the townsfolk to begin to steer clear of her.

  Margo smiled to herself at the memory. Good times.

  She’d call her sister on the phone and yell things like: How does it feel to be kicked to the curb? How do you like being thrown out with the rest of the garbage? What do you think Johnnie’s doing with his barmaid right now?

  After Chlorine got an unlisted phone number, Margo resorted to showing up at her trailer house. The face-to-face taunting had been delicious but short-lived when Chlorine stopped answering the door.

  Margo had been pleased beyond measure when her sister disappeared. She enjoyed the locals whispering and speculating that she herself had been responsible. She reveled in the mixture of fear and intrigue on people’s faces.

  She’d never wondered where her sister went, never questioned whether it was foul play, and never wondered who might have been involved. As far as she was concerned, if Chlorine had been a victim of foul play, the person or persons unknown should be given a reward.

  Of course, even though her own marriage was a mess, she’d never considered leaving Cleg—not for an instant. Cleg, the house, and the land was all hers, and she never gave anything away.

  Now, after all the years of struggling to pay the bills, of shopping at discount clothing stores, and of doing her own nails, now she had a once-in-a-lifetime chance at Wealth, with a capital W.

  That was something worth killing for.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Dix whimpered as Cleg lifted the butcher knife, apparently aiming the blade at her chest. With an intensity she’d rarely seen, even in her most disturbed clients, he stared into her eyes. But at the last instant, instead of following through with a thrust into her abdomen, he arched the knife blade down toward her hands and severed the orange-colored nylon rope with which they were bound.

  Her hands shaking so badly she could hardly control them, Dix threw the segments of cord onto the floor. “Thank you, Cleg.”

  The man reached into his pocket, pulled out his pickup keys, and dropped them into Dix’s open palm. “It’s the old brown banger.” Then, before Dix could stop him, he pushed the knife blade into the meaty part of his forearm.

  As if mesmerized, he cocked his head and stared at the trickle of blood oozing from the wound. Moving in slow motion, he withdrew the blade and pointed it toward his chest, a far-away look in his eyes.

  Dix instinctively grabbed Cleg’s hands. Gripping them as tightly as she could, she pulled them down until the knife blade pointed away from the man’s body. “This isn’t the only way to freedom, Cleg.” Gently, she removed the knife from his hands. “Untie me from this chair; you’ve been hurt enough.”

  Tears pouring down his cheeks, Cleg fumbled with the cord. “I’ve lost my chance. Now I’ll never get shut of her.”

  Dix shifted the knife to her left hand and put her right on Cleg’s unhurt forearm. “You’ve already taken the first step.” Dix stood. Hurriedly, she scooted the chair to which she’d been tied across the floor and positioned it next to the still-open drawer. “This will make it look like I managed to drag myself to the cabinet for the knife.”

  Cleg nodded once.

  Dix studied the man’s wound. “You managed to miss everything major, by the looks of it.” She found a dishtowel in one of the drawers and held it toward Cleg. “There’s not a great deal of blood, but enough to back up your story.”

  Cleg surprised her with a shy smile. “You mean I did something right?”

  “Oh, you didn’t just do something right, you did something truly wonderful. I meant what I said. As soon as Jillie and I get away, I’ll call the police and tell them how you helped us.”

  Once Cleg had dabbed a convincing amount of blood onto the towel, Dix laid the knife on the counter. She was taking a chance by leaving it where Cleg could get to it, but it would offer credence to his story. And the hopeful light in the man’s eyes told her he’d moved beyond his self-destructive impulse.

  “After I’ve gone, knock over the chair and yell for help. When they come running, tell them I said I was taking Jillie to stay with an elderly family member.” Dix smiled. “Thank you, Cleg. You’re saving our lives, you know.”

  Cleg’s face lit up, and he square
d his shoulders. “Yeah, I know.”

  Dix hurried through the house and out the front door. Sticking close to the stuccoed walls, she sneaked around toward the back where the three pickups were parked and peered around the corner of the house.

  Beyond the driveway, the group of adults surrounded Jillie. Voices floated on the light autumn breeze.

  “What are we going to do with her?” Mort said.

  Margo’s lips pulled themselves into a smile. “We’re going to make a deal, that’s what.” She jerked her head toward Jillie. “You either give us the treasure, or we’ll throw you and the old lady into the septic tank.” She waved her hand in an arc. “All the way out here, no one’ll hear you scream. And no one will ever find you. For a day or two, the news will be filled with the story of a poor little lost orphan and an old woman who disappeared. But pretty soon, you’ll be forgotten.” She looked at Toby. “How long you reckon it’ll take them to die in there?”

  Toby looked thoughtful. “I’m thinking they’d die of thirst before starving to death, so maybe two or three days.” He looked at Jillie. “Three days of standing in all that wet, smelly stuff up to your armpits…not a pretty way to go.”

  “How do I know you’ll let her go if I tell you about the treasure?” Inside the circle of angry adults, Jillie stood like the Biblical David facing down Goliath.

  “You really don’t have a choice.” Margo said.

  “I’ll only show you where it is after you’ve let Miss Dixie go.” Jillie folded her arms across her chest, lifted her head, and jutted out her lower jaw.

  Mort moved closer to Jillie. “Come on, kid. All you have to do is—”

  Suddenly Cleg let loose a war whoop from inside the house. “Help, someone help. She’s stabbed me.”

  All heads swiveled toward the sound. Then, after an instant of indecision, the three adults rushed toward the house, leaving Jillie behind.

  From the corner of the house, Dix waved her arms above her head to get the child’s attention then sprinted toward Cleg’s vehicle. No sooner had she climbed into the driver’s seat than Jillie vaulted into the passenger’s side. Jubilant, Dix jammed the keys into the ignition, fired the thing up, pointed its nose toward the open road, and stomped on the gas pedal.

  The vehicle had only gone a few yards before it coughed and died. Frantically, Dix turned the key over and over, but the engine only sputtered in response.

  “Out of gas,” Dix said.

  “Miss Dixie, Toby’s—”

  Jillie’s warning was interrupted by the sudden tap of metal against the driver’s window. Dix whipped her head toward the sound just as Toby yanked her door open.

  “So predictable.” Toby made a tsk, tsk sound. “But then, how could you know Uncle Clot’s gas gauge is busted?” He moved the pistol’s barrel until it pointed at Dix’s right eye. “Out of the pickup, ladies.”

  “Wait,” Jillie twisted in her seat and leaned forward to peer at Toby. “I’ll show you where the treasure is if you let us go.” She nodded toward the house. “More for you if we leave before the rest of them get back.”

  Toby cocked his head. “You take me to the treasure first, then I let you go.” He glanced toward the house and licked his lips. “Make it fast.”

  Jillie rapidly nodded her head. “I can show you a sample of the stuff Pop found. He gave me a few things, just in case I ever needed some fast money. He said the best place to hide things is in plain sight.”

  Sample of the stuff? Dix’s stomach did a pirouette.

  “I’m listening,” Toby said.

  “It’s in my backpack.”

  “Ah, and here was me thinking you only insisted on bringing the thing because you couldn’t be separated from your teddy bear.”

  And you’ve bought her story, hook, line, and sinker. Dix shook her head as Lil’s words blasted through her mind. Could she have so completely misread the child?

  “Let’s get moving,” Toby said.

  With Dix leading the way, the three hurried to Toby’s pickup.

  “You drive again, Granny. I want to be long gone before Team Elliott discovers they’ve been had.”

  Dix climbed behind the steering wheel as Jillie jumped into the passenger’s seat. Toby again took up his position in the back, his pistol aimed at Dix’s head.

  Barely able to control her shaking hands, Dix fired the engine, backed up, then whipped the steering wheel toward the open road.

  They’d traveled only about a quarter of a mile when Toby jabbed the pistol barrel into Dix’s neck. “Turn right here.” He motioned to a dirt, farm-to-market road. “Pull around behind that group of juniper trees. We wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt our discussion, now would we?”

  Dix did as she was told.

  “Stop the engine.” Toby retrieved Jillie’s backpack from the seat beside him and shoved it over the seat toward her. “We’re not going any further until I see what you have.”

  Refusing to look at Dix, Jillie opened the backpack and pulled out a small wooden box engraved with tiny roses. She opened the lid, took out a couple of stones, and held them toward Toby in her open palm.

  “What’re those supposed to be?” Toby said. “They look like clear white rocks to me.”

  “They’re what my pop called rough diamonds. That’s what they look like before they’ve been cut and polished.”

  Toby’s gaze riveted on the stones. He nodded and smiled. “I knew it. I knew your old man found treasure. I read about the lost diamond mine at Encino. That must be where these came from.” He blew air through his open mouth, then whipped his head back around to Jillie. “Where’s the rest?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Toby’s face contorted into a mask. He raised his hand with the obvious intention of backhanding Jillie, but Dix threw her hand up and blocked the blow.

  “Oh, now, you oughtn’t have done that.” Toby snarled and lifted the pistol toward Dixie.

  “Stop,” Jillie cried. “I said I don’t know where the rest of the treasure is. Pops only brought home a few stones at a time; he said some of them are big as walnuts.”

  Toby licked his lips, his eyes bright. “So, if the treasure’s not at your place, where is it?”

  “Pop left a map.”

  “A map.” Toby chuckled. “Okay then. You got that in there, too?”

  Jillie shook her head. “Pop left it with my godmother for safe keeping. She’s our neighbor just up the road.”

  Toby nodded, a crooked smile creasing his face. “Now it’s all making sense. You ever see the map? You know where the mine is?”

  “I’ve never actually seen it, and I haven’t been to the mine. But Pops said there were enough of these just lying on the ground to take care of us in style for the rest of our lives.” Again, she lifted the stones toward Toby.

  Toby smirked, grabbed the stones and dropped them into his shirt pocket. “Let’s go. The quicker I get the map, the quicker you and Granny can get on with your useless lives.”

  At Dix’s hesitation, Toby prodded her neck with the pistol barrel. “Quit stalling. I said, let’s go.”

  Her insides screaming for her to do something, anything, Dix started the engine. If she were going to make a play, it had to be soon. Contrary to Toby’s words, she had no doubt his plans didn’t include allowing the two of them to go free.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  After recalculating for the fourth time in as many minutes, the female, robotic voice of Lil’s ancient GPS commanded her to “Bear left at the next curve. Your destination will be on the right.”

  “Finally,” Lil said to the one-time expensive piece of electronic junk sitting in its cradle on her dashboard. “Tell me again why I need you when a paper map works just as well, is cheaper, and allows me to opt out of taking the longest, most circuitous route possible?”

  With a blossoming suspicion that her desired destination and the place to which she’d been directed might not be one and the same, she pulled up the driveway and parked beh
ind a shiny white, late-model Ford 350 pickup.

  A quick scan of the house and grounds reinforced her fears. The yard was carefully groomed. Artistically arranged plantings, trimmed bushes and professionally pruned trees dotted the area. No holes pockmarked the yard, and no weeds were in evidence.

  “You lying bimbo,” she mouthed toward the now-silent device.

  An elderly woman wearing a heavy plaid jacket, blue jeans, and boots stepped out onto the porch. Unsmiling, she stood and stared at Lil.

  Lil powered down her window. “I’m pretty sure I’m lost.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re right,” the old woman said. “Where do you want to be?”

  “I’m trying to get to the Ross farm.”

  The old woman pursed her lips and squinted. “You and just about everyone else in Belen. Who might you be?” She stepped off the porch and walked slowly toward Lil. “And what business do you have at the Ross farm?”

  Her hackles rising at the woman’s tone of voice, Lil commanded herself to be civil. “I’m looking for my sister. She looks like me, maybe with a kid in tow?”

  “How old?”

  “Same age as me.”

  “Not your sister, the kid.”

  “Eleven or twelve. You know her?”

  The woman nodded. “And I’m guessing you’re the twin to the woman who’s spent the night searching for this kid.” The woman bent at the waist and peered through Lil’s open window.

  “Maybe,” Lil said.

  “Nice young man came ‘round looking for Jillie and your sister. You just missed him.” She stuck out her hand. “Beverly Potter.”

  Lil ignored the hand. “Reverend who?”

  At first, the old woman looked taken aback. Then her face broke out into a wry smile and she chuckled. “No, certainly not Reverend, just Beverly Potter.”

  “Just a sec.” Lil reached into the pocket of her shirt and extracted a small square black box, from which she pulled two tiny, flesh-colored bulbs. After inserting one in each ear, she scowled at the Potter woman. “Am I anywhere near the Ross place?”