by Olive Balla
Mrs. Potter motioned toward the road. “Yep.”
“So, have you, or have you not seen a little old lady and kid.” Lil pursed her lips. The other old lady’s attitude was not only beginning to irritate her, but it was wasting her time.
“Like I said before you put in your plugs, I didn’t see them, but your police-kin came ‘round asking questions.”
“I see.” If Davie had talked to Mrs. Potter earlier, he could already be at the Ross place. Although Lil had utmost respect for Davie’s detective-instincts, he could find himself in a whole mess of trouble if the contents of that toolbox was any indication of the kind of people the Elliotts were. “Would you be kind enough to point me in the right direction?”
A speculative look on her face, Mrs. Potter remained silent.
“Okay, fine, thanks.” Lil nodded toward the woman and started to power up her window.
But Mrs. Potter put her hands on top of the rising glass and narrowed her eyes. “I think we should talk.”
“I don’t have time to chat, or did you not understand what I said about their being in danger? You can either take your hands off my window before I close it or learn if you can run fast enough to keep from losing your fingers.”
“And what if you find Jillie at the same time you find your sister; what’ll you do, call that young cop?”
“What’s that to you?” Lil squinted her eyes.
“Maybe you’d leave Jillie for someone else to take care of, someone like her godmother?”
Lil studied the woman’s face. “Seems to me a godmother would be a good person for that kid to stay with, at least until her sister Beth could claim her.”
Mrs. Potter nodded. “Good answer. What’s your plan?”
“My sister’s car is at the Elliott place, but no one’s there. The kid had been there, I’m pretty sure, locked in an outbuilding. The only thing I can figure is, based on what the girl told us, the Elliott clan is going to try to make her take them to some kind of treasure.”
Mrs. Potter’s face assumed an expression that didn’t bode well for those responsible for hurting the kid. “The Elliotts,” she said through clenched teeth. “I never met any of the others, other than Digger, that is. Digger, now, he was a real piece of work. The most foul-mouthed, meanest, laziest snake I’ve ever known. He cut Beth and Jillie completely off from the rest of the world.” She shook her head. “True to his name, that waste-of-space was. He dug up nearly every inch of that yard. There never was any treasure; that was just a rumor.”
Lil nodded her head. The fact that this crusty old woman cared so much about Jillie said something about her and about the kid.
Mrs. Potter frowned. “I drove to the hospital several times to see Beth. Tell the truth, I was surprised that I never saw Jillie there. Those two are more than just sisters; they have a special bond. I called the Elliott house several times to talk to Jillie, but there was always some reason she couldn’t come to the phone. Beth, now she’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. That whole Ross family was. You know their dad used to help build barns and out buildings for local folks? The economy out here’s pretty stagnant, but Mister Ross never charged a penny for his services. He brought his own tools, too.”
Lil held her hand up to stop the flow of words. “Much as I’m enjoying this, I need to get going.”
“Well, then, we’d best get a move on. Come in, I was just about to get my gear when you pulled up.”
“I don’t have time—”
Mrs. Potter moved her hand in a shushing motion. “Now don’t go off half-cocked. Your nephew might or might not be at the farm yet, but if that’s where those folks have taken Jillie, I guarantee you, she’s in trouble. I’m going to get my nun chucks.”
“My sis got into that martial arts stuff some years back. Are you any good?”
Mrs. Potter smiled. “Oh, I have my moments. Come in, I have all kinds of stuff you can choose from, if you want.” Muttering under her breath something that sounded like I should have known something was up…all that traffic, Mrs. Potter hurried toward her house.
Lil shut off her engine, exited the car, and followed. “You have two minutes, then I’m leaving, with or without you.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Cleg waited as long as he dared before hollering for help. Getting into his role as a stabbing victim, he flopped around on the floor, dabbing spots of blood here and there. By the time Margo and Toby rushed into the house, he’d worked himself into a lather of pseudo-outrage.
“She stabbed me then took off. Threatened to finish me off if I so much as peeped before she got away.”
Margo stooped, studied Cleg’s wound. “I’ve cut myself worse with my toenail clippers.” She snorted and sneered into her husband’s face. “Could you possibly be more of a wimp?”
“I could’ve been killed—” Cleg whined.
Margo lifted her foot and stepped down on her husband’s wounded arm. “But you weren’t, were you?” She smiled at Cleg’s pain-filled yelp, then spoke over her shoulder. “Toby, you go get the kid. Mort and I’ll catch Granny; she can’t have gone far.” She turned back to her husband. “Get up. We’ve got work to do.”
Puffing, grunting, and groaning, Cleg made several attempts to get up, but flopped back onto the floor after each effort. “I can’t get up, Cream Puff. I gotta have some help.”
“Oh my Lord. Mort, help your father.”
Mort stooped and grabbed Cleg under his arms. “You gotta put some weight on your own feet. I can’t lift you by myself.”
After a spate of cursing and flailing, Cleg stood upright.
“Let’s go.” Margo grabbed her husband’s arm. Ignoring his groans, she pulled him toward the door. “Where’s Toby?” she asked Mort.
“He took off after the old lady, I think,” Mort said.
“And where’s the girl?” Margo raised her fist toward Mort. “You just run in here and leave her alone?”
“Same as you,” Mort snarled.
“You search every inch of this place. Start with the barn.” Margo pulled on Cleg’s arm. “We’re going to drive up and down every road between here and Wyoming, if we have to.”
“The old lady took my keys, Honeydew. We’ll have to take Mort’s truck.”
“How am I supposed to get home?” Mort said.
“Call Toby to pick you up.” Margo-The-Shrike shoved Cleg out the door and onto the back porch. With her hand clamped on his upper arm, she pulled him across the yard toward Mort’s pickup. “If we lose out because of you, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Suddenly, like a slide show run amok, memories of his mistreatment tumbled through Cleg’s head. Margo hitting and berating him, pulling his hair and slapping his face. Taunting him, questioning his manhood. He ran his fingers over a scar on his forearm—a bite mark, barely dimmed, even after all these years.
Thirty years of his life gone, vanished into a black hole.
He couldn’t do it any longer. Not for one more day. Even if he had to get another mortgage on the house to pay for a divorce, he’d do it.
As Margo dragged him near a thick sumac bush, he jerked free from her grip, pretending to lose his balance. When she automatically made a grab for him, he shoved her, hard as he could, toward the bush. He giggled as Margo’s subsequent fighting-to-stay-upright jig failed, and she fell headlong into the sumac. A few pokes and scratches from the sharp twigs would serve her right. As rebellion went, it wasn’t much, but it made him feel ten feet tall.
“You pig, I’ll rip your—” But Margo never finished her threat.
To Cleg’s surprise, the bush came alive. Leaves rustled, and branches moved at the same instant a dozen or so rattlesnakes of all sizes covered Margo’s upper body. She screamed and thrashed as what appeared to be a startled mama snake and her writhing new-born babies repeatedly plunged their poison-filled fangs into the woman’s face, neck, and shoulders.
Margo’s screams brought Mort rushing back from t
he barn. Standing side by side, he and Cleg stared in shocked silence at the macabre dance playing out in front of them.
“We have to get her out of there,” Mort said. He made a move to grab Margo’s ankles and pull her out of the den.
But Cleg knocked Mort’s arms aside. “If you get too close, they’ll come after you, too. You’ll be no use to anyone then. It’s best to wait a bit.”
Mort nodded. “Right, you’re right.”
Father and son stood spellbound until Margo stopped screaming and lay limp on the ground. As if on cue, the snakes pulled their fangs free and slithered away in different directions.
Cleg squelched a chuckle and wondered if the snakes had any idea how lucky they were to escape before Margo could bite them back. At Mort’s shocked expression, he regained his composure.
He’d heard about that thing called Karma, but never really believed in it, at least, not until then.
“We ought to call an ambulance,” Mort said. “We should do it now, before she comes to and starts moving around. If she starts moving, it’ll make the venom move through her body faster.” He pulled his cellphone out of his hip pocket and punched the screen.
Cleg nodded. “That’s the thing to do, Boy, you go ahead and call for help.” He breathed in the clean desert air and looked around the farm.
It was a nice place. People had been happy there. At least, they had before Digger managed to mess it up. That was just one of many unhappy outcomes to be laid at The Shrike’s feet.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Margo’s face had begun to swell, and her breathing was rapid and labored. She’d vomited a couple of times.
Unable to look away from her swollen, nearly unrecognizable face and soundlessly moving lips, Cleg whistled a golden oldie and mentally sang the only lyrics he could remember: Now I’m free…
Cleg’s dad once told him about a man who was bitten by a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake. The guy hadn’t realized how bad it was for several hours, so he didn’t get to the hospital for the antivenin that would have cleared it up. When the skin around the bite swelled and started turning black, he realized he was in trouble. By the time he got help, irreversible damage had already been done. At some point, his kidneys shut down. Of course, that was before the time of dialysis machines. Though it had become rare for anyone to die of snakebite, without immediate help, damage to vital organs could send a person into his endgame.
Endgame.
Unable to hide the joy erupting from every pore, Cleg’s face creased in a huge grin. Even if Margo survived, she’d never be the same. She’d be weak, vulnerable, unable to care for herself. She might even need round the clock attention, the kind of attention found in a convalescent home. And by the time she got out, he’d be long gone.
Reflecting that he should have been feeling guilty, angry, worried, or some other heavy emotion, Cleg tried to gin up a smidgen of sadness. Instead, like an unstoppable tidal wave brought on by an undersea earthquake, he felt only relief.
Life was suddenly worth living.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Dix was backing the pickup in preparation for pulling from behind the juniper trees, when screaming sirens flew down the road toward the Ross farm.
“An ambulance? The old man didn’t look like he was hurt that bad,” Toby said under his breath. “Soon as they get past, get a move on. There’s way too much activity around here for my liking.”
Once they were back on the road, Toby chuckled. “Maybe all the commotion isn’t such a bad thing. It’ll keep the rest of them occupied and out of my way for a while. Always look for the silver lining, that’s the one thing I learned from Uncle Clot.”
As Dix turned up the Potter’s drive, Toby exclaimed, “I thought you said the old lady lived alone.”
“She does,” Jillie said.
“Then she must be worth a few shekels.” He motioned toward two vehicles parked one behind the other. “A pickup and a car.”
Dix sat bolt upright at the sight of the tan car parked behind a white truck. It was so like Lil—just in time to become part of the problem.
“Here’s the plan,” Toby was saying to Jillie, “you and Granny walk ahead of me. Once we’re in the house, you bring me the map. If I see any signs you’re misbehaving, I’m going to have to hurt someone.” He jabbed the pistol barrel against Dix’s neck. “Oh, and, act natural, got it Granny?”
The three stepped out of the truck and Jillie led the way up the drive. They’d just stepped onto the porch when a tiny, prune-faced woman flung the door open.
A huge smile creasing the woman’s face, she grabbed Jillie in a bear hug. “Oh my, what a wonderful surprise.” She turned to Dix and Toby. “And you’ve brought friends. Welcome, welcome.” She stood to one side and held the door open then closed it behind them. “Come in. I’ve just pulled a loaf of cinnamon bread out of the oven. Two coffees and one milk coming up.” Mrs. Potter held her hand out toward Dix. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Dix took the extended hand and, following the unspoken cue, said, “I’m Dixie. Jillie’s told me all about you.”
Mrs. Potter smiled and extended her hand toward Toby, who automatically began to offer his left hand. Before he could complete the move, the old lady grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back in one of the smoothest Tang Soo Do Arm Bar moves Dix had ever seen. “Welcome to my house, Slick.” Forcing Toby’s elbow to bend backward, she twisted the arm upward until he howled. “Drop your weapon, or I swear I’ll break if off at the shoulder.”
Dix’s head swiveled toward a movement behind Mrs. Potter, and Lil stepped into the room. Holding a Taser in her right hand, Lil gave her sister a short side-of-the-body hug.
Meanwhile, Toby had managed to move his hand so his pistol pointed at Mrs. Potter’s kneecap. His face contorting in a grimace and sweat popping out on his upper lip, he snarled, “Is that all you got? My old lady could have taken you in her sleep.”
Before Toby could fire, Lil raised the Taser toward his torso and pulled the trigger. Two prong-tipped wires attached themselves to his shirt and pulsed fifty-thousand volts into the young man’s chest. He jerked, stiffened, then crumpled onto the floor. He flopped around like a fish out of water, dropping the pistol in the process. After a few seconds of convulsing, he lay still. As if unable to decide what to do next, the four women encircled Toby and stared down at him.
Dix stooped and picked up the pistol before glancing at Mrs. Potter. “Where’d you learn that move?”
“I’m retired, not dead. I started taking martial arts a few years ago. An old woman living alone is a magnet for every bad actor in the area.”
Toby chose that moment to stir.
Dix grabbed the Taser from her sister. “That wretched human being was going to kill Jillie.” She pulled the trigger, igniting the prongs that were still attached to Toby’s shirt.
Again, Toby flopped and jerked, his teeth clenched. In full battle mode, Dix continued to jerk the trigger, her intention to fire until the battery ran down.
“Dix, you keep that up, and you could kill him.” Lil yanked the weapon out of her sister’s hands and motioned toward Toby. “You may have already, if he has a heart problem.”
As if awakening from a dream, Dix looked at her twin. “I wanted to kill him. God help me, I wanted to.” She held her hands out and stared down at them as if they belonged to someone else.
Lil patted her sister’s shoulder. “But you didn’t. Welcome to the real world, Sis.”
Mrs. Potter stepped into another room, then immediately returned with two extra-long zip-ties. “Handy things. Never know when you’ll need some of these babies.” She pulled Toby’s arms behind his back, tightly ratcheted one tie closed around his wrists, then tied his feet together at the ankles with the other.
“How’d you know we’d be coming here?” Dix asked Lil.
“We didn’t,” Lil said. “In fact, we were about to head for the Ross place when you drove up. Beverly, Mrs. Potter, told me
about Davie’s visit and said there seemed to be an awful lot of traffic headed toward the farm.” Lil glanced toward Jillie then back at Dix. “I found your car and the toolbox in the shed. I called and left a message for Davie.”
Speaking to no one in particular, Mrs. Potter gestured toward Toby. “We going to stand here jawing, or are we going to call the police?”
“How about none of the above.” All heads spun toward the open door where Mort stood holding a shotgun.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
At the sound of Mort’s voice, Dix stepped in front of Jillie and pushed the child behind her in one smooth move. “Hide,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.
But instead of running, Jillie scooted over to stand behind Lil.
“What took you so long, Cuz?” Toby held his bound wrists toward Mort. “Get me out of these things; I’m feeling distinctly anti-social. You’re going to want to get my pistol from Granny.”
“Which one?” Mort said.
“The one standing next to the short old lady.”
Mort motioned with the shotgun toward Dix. “Drop it on the floor.”
Dix did as she was told.
“Came as quick as I could, Tobes. While you were hurrying off to find the treasure, I had to call an ambulance.”
“Your old man’s a wuss. From what I saw, he wasn’t hurt that bad.”
“The ambulance wasn’t for him.” Mort shifted the barrel of the shotgun a fraction of an inch toward his cousin. “Maggot got snake-bit.” He shook his head. “Never seen anything like it. You would’ve paid money to see that.” He sniffed. “After I called for help, I noticed you’d hauled ass. Then I spotted your truck on my way back into town.”
“You got your pocketknife?” Toby asked Mort.
“Yep.” With his left hand, Mort pulled a bone-handled knife from a small scabbard attached to his belt. He tossed the knife onto the floor next to Toby. “Cut him loose, Kid.” He moved the shotgun barrel to point at Dix’s mid-section. “Sorry, but you know how it is, family being family and all.”