Head in a Haymow

by Chris Seaton

  She became acutely aware of her complete vulnerability, naked in the bed. It aggravated her. She rolled over and began to feel around the floor for her undergarments.

  “Psst,” came the beckoning from the window.

  Bernice looked up. Agent Wyatt was shaking his head jerkily. Bernice stopped moving and returned to her original position, but she let him know she wasn't happy about it.

  He ignored her and continued his surveillance. They could still hear someone outside, but the person was further away now. He rose and walked to the bed grabbing up his shirt and her dress as he went. He flipped the goggles out of his sight of vision, but left them engaged.

  “Did you see anyone?” Bernice asked anxiously as she quickly assembled her clothes.

  He shook his head. His features were hardened into a tense mask. He pulled up the black case from under the bed and opened it again, retrieving a rifle.

  She watched him assemble and load the weapon. The sheer size of it amplified the seriousness of their situation.

  Agent Wyatt glanced at her and froze. Her face in its state of raw fear tugged at his gut with a painful awareness. Glancing down at the pistol discarded on the foam of the case, he took two seconds and came to a decision, handing it to her. “Here.”

  She held it like it was a ticking bomb. “What do want me to do with this?” Her dismay and complete ineptitude with fire arms conveyed themselves effectively with that pointed question.

  Agent Wyatt lacked the time or patience for her reluctance. “The safety's off. If anyone comes through a door or a window, just start firing.”

  Bernice gaped at him in abject disbelief. “Are you insane? What if you come back? What if I shoot you?” She thought holding a gun was supposed to make a person feel empowered. It made her feel repulsed.

  “I know you have a loaded gun in here, so I will yell 'all clear' before I come anywhere near you.”

  “This can't be standard procedure.” She frowned at him, feeling her fright overriding her common sense.

  “There could be a killer outside, and you want to talk policy?” He glared at her. “You can't run in those stupid shoes, and I can't protect you and track this fucker down. I don't have time to argue. Just keep the gun and protect yourself until I get back.”

  Agent Wyatt leaned over and planted a quick, fervent kiss on her lips. He hovered for a moment on the verge of speaking but changed his mind. Instead, he plopped the goggles back down and left the bed.

  She watched him crouch in front of the door, carefully crack it open and sneak outside.

  Then Bernice realized how utterly alone she was.

  The stupidity of their present situation weighed down on him like an oxen yoke. He walked and scanned, walked and scanned, looking for any sign of movement in the black woods. Silently he cursed to himself for leaving them so defenseless.

  Especially Bernice; this was the second time he dropped the ball and left her unprotected. All of the precautions he could have taken but didn't flipped across his mind mocking him.

  The cautious crunch of dried leaves snapped him back to reality. Agent Wyatt whipped around and saw a slim form moving away from him and toward the cabin. Slowly, he raised his rifle. He took one excruciatingly slow step. Unfortunately, it was into a hole. He slipped just enough to give away his position.

  “Fuck!” He whispered the curse bitterly. When he regained his footing and looked up, the form was gone. He could hear the person running now and straight at Bernice.

  Bernice swore she could feel every nerve ending in her body. Her brain sizzled with activity. She listened with hypersensitivity for suspicious noises outside.

  They came in the form of someone running back in her direction. She shakily picked up the pistol and pointed it at the door. As she did, every single afternoon special she had been subjected to as a kid about guns came rushing back with startling clarity. She looked at the foreign object in her hand and made the most absurd expression.

  “Fuck this!” she exclaimed and put the gun back into Agent Wyatt's empty case, snapping the lock shut. She knew he'd be pissed, especially if she ended up dying, but in that case what did she care? She felt better now.

  She jumped down on the floor and wiggled under the bed. The running had stopped somewhere at the front of the cabin. She stared with utmost concentration at the entrance, waiting and listening for that telltale footfall on the hefty steps.

  It never came. What came instead was the sound of a rifle shot that thundered through Bernice's head like a sonic boom. Tears burst though the ducts in her eyes as she forced down the natural tendency to close them. They remained peeled to the door.

  The running went away from the cabin. More running could be heard coming closer then away in pursuit of the other. Bernice waited, cramped and chilly in her hiding spot, listening as her breathing became labored.

  Several minutes ticked by, revealing nothing. Her joints ached in protest to her discomfort. Eventually she relented and exhaled completely for the first time since her nightmare. She strained her neck, listening and trying to comprehend if she was safe to move or not. Nothing was affording her an answer.

  On all fours she slowly inched to the screened-in porch, waiting for a shout or a rustle, anything to let her know what was going on. She was disappointed and growing impatient. She grabbed her heels and slipped them on.

  With nothing else to do she finally stood up. Erect, she kept her back to the wall, keeping her eyes fixated at the entrance to the cabin.

  Something finally changed. Lights flashed through the woods, revealing the hulking trunks of the trees, jet black against the brilliant bursts of rotating red and blue.

  It was a precarious walk back. Not having a key to the cabin, Bernice felt obligated to grab the gun case. She lugged it in one hand as she held the flashlight out in the other. She had to constantly readjust her shoulders to support Agent Wyatt's blazer.

  She expected to be stopped or questioned by cops roaming through the woods, but she was conspicuously alone. She heard nothing in her vicinity except the haphazard shuffle of her own feet. Looking around her, Bernice could only make out the foliage exposed in the rhythm of the flashing lights.

  As she approached the parking area, several vehicles awaited her there. She could make out a handful of deputies walking around. Agent Wyatt was under the hood of his own car. She silently wondered why he didn't bother to come back and get her.

  All eyes landed on her. Agent Wyatt stood up and walked over, relieving Bernice of her burdens. His face gave nothing away. “You should have stayed in the cabin,” he scolded softly, taking his blazer.

  “Why didn't you come and get me?” Bernice asked with as much insincere sweetness as she could bring forth in consideration of their audience.

  “I had to clear things up down here first.”

  That's when Bernice noticed a person in the back of one of the squads. She inhaled then just held it as recognition kicked in.

  Bernardo Mescualez was staring straight ahead, watching everything and nothing. She guessed the vacant look was well honed from previous brushes with the law. Her heart sank. “I don't believe it.”

  Agent Wyatt had no sympathy for her disappointment. “Wait for me in the car,” he ordered and walked away.

  Bernice hugged herself from the chill and scrutiny and did as she was told. Staring out at Bernardo, she could only speculate why. The betrayal felt very similar to the one she had experienced with Mila. Her faith in mankind was nicked away at once again, leaving her disenchanted and sad. She turned from them all and let her cheek lay on the seat, shutting her eyes.

  During all of the chaos, she actually managed to dose off. Her brief snooze was interrupted by the dropping of the car's hood. Around them the deputies were leaving, including the one escorting Bernardo back to jail.

  Agent Wyatt opened the trunk, loaded it up and shut it again. She watched him join her in the car but said nothing. Once they started moving, she slumped down and closed her ey
es.

  The last thing she expected was for her companion to initiate conversation.

  “He's denying everything.”

  “Did you expect anything less?” was Bernice's sullen response. “You obviously caught him red handed. He doesn't really have a defense, does he?”

  “We found his car down the road,” Agent Wyatt revealed without answering her. “Search of his trunk turned up another box just like yours with fifty grand inside.” He slowed down for a stray raccoon lumbering across the road. Speeding back up, he added, “When I confronted him about it, he looked like I shot him in the gut.”

  “Well, that's guilt for ya.” Bernice couldn't garner any enthusiasm for the new development. Something did occur to her though. “By the way,” she brought up, “how'd the cops get there so fast?”

  “Someone called them.” Agent Wyatt turned to the road leading to the farm.

  “Hmm,” she remarked, “Someone must've heard your gunshot. But that's-”

  “Impossible?” he finished for her. “You bet your sweet ass it is. They showed up at the exact time Mr. Mescualez was disabling my car.”

  Finally getting her attention, Bernice studied his rigid profile. “How could he be out wrecking your car when he was in the woods trying to kill us?”

  “He couldn't,” Agent Wyatt announced as he pulled into the driveway of Lollygagger's Acres. “And I know for a fact that he wasn't.” He shut off the engine. Bernice didn't move an inch.

  “How do you know?” Her eyebrows were knitted together in confusion.

  Agent Wyatt unhooked his seat belt and pulled his keys before answering. “Because the person I was chasing was most likely a woman.”

  Chapter 20

  Bernice was so thrown off by Agent Wyatt's revelation that she didn't even register that he was getting out of his car and following her into the house. She also missed the light coming on upstairs and Darlene's face glued to the window, watching them walk in.

  Cameron flinched and squished his eyes shut against the intrusion of the light. “What's goin' on?” he groggily inquired.

  Darlene grabbed her terrycloth robe from the hook on her closet. “Agent Wyatt's coming in with Bernice,” she informed him softly.

  “And what's that got to do with you?” he whispered back.

  Darlene tartly cinched the tie on her robe and pursed her lips at him. “I know for a fact that she hasn't changed her sheets in a good week.” She stepped into her bed slippers and continued, “I'll just go grab a new set from the linen closet quick before anyone notices.”

  They could hear Agent Wyatt's deep voice, resonating through the floor boards.

  Cameron launched his arm out and grabbed Darlene by a pocket. She turned and sent him a reproachful look. It was reciprocated. “Hon, if he's here to sleep with Bernice, I doubt he gives a rat's ass about the condition of the sheets. Leave them in peace and come back to bed.” He finished his request with a dangerous leer.

  She reacted with a coy lowering of her eyelids. “Are you ordering me around, Mr. Sparks?”

  He responded by opening the bed covers. “I'm reminding you that the only place your booty should be is right here.” He finished with a devilish warning. “Don't make me tell you again.”

  Darlene loosened the robe, letting it drop in his hand, and stepped out of his reach. She crossed her arms over her large breasts as she faced him. “Or else what?”

  “What do you think the chances are that those bills recovered from his car match the sequence of serial numbers on the money you brought to me?”

  They were both seated at the kitchen table. Bernice looked up from removing her heels to answer and was rudely interrupted by the sudden stomping and running upstairs. They listened to the low growl and high-pitched squeal that followed, finalized with a big bump and then silence.

  “Kids,” Bernice reproved, rubbing her feet.

  Agent Wyatt watched her. “Those hurt?” He inclined his head, stating the obvious.

  “Yah, I used to run around town like freakin' Carrie Bradshaw in the old days.” She winced when she worked her thumb over an emerging blister. “Not so much now.”

  Agent Wyatt scraped his chair forward and took the foot from her, pulling it to his lap. “Here, let me.”

  Bernice gave in but not without protest. “That's okay, you don't have to.”

  “I know. I want to.” Holding it by the Achilles tendon, he rotated his fingers with loving pressure around her arch and up to the ball of her foot.

  Bernice sat watching him, unable to believe the unselfish gesture she was witnessing. “Where did you come from?”

  “Madison,” he answered simply, wearing his trademark, inscrutable expression.

  Bernice assessed this new seduction silently. Instead she asked, “You think Bernardo's been Jessica's accomplice this whole time?”

  “Not sure.” He bent down and gathered the other foot in his hands. Bernice smiled self- indulgently. Agent Wyatt concentrated on his task. “He's got motive, means, and opportunity. After Herb threatened to send him back to jail, I can see him willingly strangling the guy too.” He scooted up and began working on the lower calf muscles. “You've already established that he is a gardener and cook, so it's not a huge stretch to imagine him capable of making poisonous candy.”

  “If he is the accomplice, why would Jessica call the cops on him and put herself at risk like she did?” The working on her calf muscles was making Bernice drowsy. She hid a yawn with the back of her hand, adding, “and why the money in the trunk? It's just too convenient.”

  “Cops like convenient,” Agent Wyatt remarked, working his fingers under her knees. “Bernardo made no attempt to defend himself when we caught him. So, either he's been the accomplice all along, or Jessica has bribed him or blackmailed him into being one now.”

  “I think it's the later.” Bernice observed that Agent Wyatt's attention was moving precariously up her legs. “When I brought up Jessica the first time, he made no attempt to hide her. If he had been involved, he could have just nipped it in the bud right then.”

  “Speaking of nipping it in the bud, why don't we call it a night?” He let his knuckles trail down the backs of her thighs, taking delight in the goosebumps forming on her skin.

  She caught his fingers with her own. “Are you aware that we have yet to spend an entire night together without being interrupted?”

  He let his forehead lay on her kneecaps. “I am aware,” he mumbled.

  Bernice dropped her head to her thighs and talked to him through her legs. “It's an awfully long drive back to your motel, and there's a perfectly functional bed upstairs. What do you say?”

  He smiled and squeezed her hands as he groaned, “As much as I appreciate the offer...”

  Bernice sat up. “The only thing I'm offering is a place to sleep and a huge breakfast in the morning, if Cameron has his way.”

  Agent Wyatt perked up at that. “Breakfast?”

  Bernice was aloof now. She released his hands and gathered up her discarded shoes as she rose. “Hey, if you're more at home in a motel room with stale doughnuts, far be it for me to judge.” She began to walk up the stairs, coyly adding, “You know your way out.”

  She had placed her foot on the fourth tread by the time she heard him coming up fast behind her. She turned to mock him only to be shoved into the wall as he passed her. “Last one there,” he taunted, sprinting by.

  “Urgh!” was her battle cry as she chased up after him.

  Cameron and Darlene stopped kissing when they identified what could only be construed as a herd of crazed wildebeests stampeding up the stairs and straight into Bernice's room. The door slammed, followed by a big bump, and then silence.

  “Kids,” growled Cameron.

  The kissing continued.

  “This is just too good to be true,” Bernice thought.

  The four of them sat around the chrome kitchen table shoveling down eggs, bacon, and toast, and passing the carafe of coffee. Darlene ha
d a gleeful grin on her face that should have been reserved for meeting a Beatle or experiencing the rapture.

  If anyone took notice that Cameron had his hand planted firmly on her thigh, nothing was said. What could mistakenly be perceived as an act of affection was really an act of restraint to keep Darlene from hovering over their guest like a broody hen.

  Agent Wyatt was wearing one of Bernice's huge t-shirts over his trousers from the previous night. Freshly showered and eating with gusto, the casualness of his demeanor tugged at her heart. The egg-white eating opportunist was rapidly disappearing from her mind. However, the man that replaced that perception was going to be much harder to let go of when the time came.

  The clock on the wall echoed her thoughts as it chimed 8am. Agent Wyatt wiped his mouth and stood, gathering his dishes. While he busied himself at the sink, Darlene sent glaring looks to Bernice. Bernice glared back but relented and stood up from the table.

  “I'll see you out,” she stated rather woodenly.

  Agent Wyatt frowned at her but turned and expressed his gratitude to the couple still sitting. “Thank you very much for breakfast this morning. I hate to eat and run, but I'm still on the clock with this case.”

  Darlene bumped quickly in her chair but remained sitting, only to frown at Cameron who ignored her in turn.

  “I hope you'll accept our invitation to a barbeque before you head back south,” he interrupted her.

  “I would like that very much.” Agent Wyatt answered, amused by the couple's interaction. “I'll let you know my schedule.”

  “And you have to know that you are always welcome here.” Darlene piped in enthusiastically. “It's about time Bernice brought around someone decent for a change.”

  Bernice held her lips stubbornly shut, seething at the insult.

  “Okay then.” Agent Wyatt threw in a quick wave and went to embrace Bernice at the small of her back. She stalked out in front of him instead.

  She met him out in the driveway. She looked at everything except the man in question. “You gonna interrogate Bernardo today?” she asked the scenery.