Colleen dialed Joan’s number, remembered that she was more than likely passed out in the den, and hung up after the second ring. She turned the ringer of her cell up as loud as it would go, hoping she would hear it in a Morphine-induced slumber when Augie called… if she called.
Colleen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What next?” she whispered to herself. Her head spun. Her heart was in her throat. She worried about Joan. “One more night,” she whispered and shook her head. She felt betrayed by Augie. “Where in the Sam hell…” she started to say aloud, and caught herself. She opened her eyes, and the tears poured. “Sheila,” she sobbed. “Oh, my God…” Her whole body shook with worry.
She breathed short, choppy breaths that were more a series of uncontrollable gasps. She could not get a full breath. She felt as if her head were about to explode.
Suddenly her cell phone rang. She bolted upright, and fumbled for her phone on the bed tray. Her water pitcher tumbled to the floor. “Hello? Hello?” Silence. Not a peep. Not so much as a breath. “Augie? Is that you?”
She looked at her phone display. It was an 818 number she didn’t recognize. It had to be Augie, she thought. “Augie? I can’t hear you, but maybe you can hear me. Call me back. Or I’ll try to call you back.” Colleen ended the call, cycled through her call log, and hit dial. One ring. Two.
A recording announced, “The voice mailbox for the customer you are trying to reach has not been activated. Message two… four. Goodbye.”
“Shit!” Colleen hung up and tried again. No ring. Straight to voicemail.
“The voice mailbox…”
Colleen hung up again. “Shit! SHIT! SHIT SHIT!” She tried to calm herself. “Okay… deep breath. She’ll call back. Shhh!” She managed another breath. And another. She placed the phone carefully in her lap, picked up the button for the pain pump, and mashed it. The pump beeped a cheery response. She leaned back, closed her eyes and caught her breath. She mashed the button again. The pump beeped a low tone, which meant the Morphine was locked out for ten minutes. “Fuck it,” said Colleen aloud.
Each minute she waited for Augie’s call seemed like a lifetime. She felt her whole body getting lighter. “Morphine,” she said sleepily. She began to drift. She opened her eyes and shook her head, trying to fight off sleep, but it was no use. The Morphine was too much. She was exhausted. She couldn’t hold her eyes open anymore. “One… more… night,” she whispered.
Leah poked her head in the door. Colleen breathed heavily. She was out. Leah pulled the door shut quietly and headed for the time clock. “Poor thing,” she thought to herself.
CHAPTER 12
“Is it okay to wake her?” Joan whispered to Liz, the overnight nurse.
“You can try,” Liz said. “She barely moved a muscle all night. I doubt she even remembers getting her vitals taken. She didn’t even open her eyes.”
Joan stood at the bedside and stroked Colleen’s hair softly. “Sweetheart,” Joan whispered.
“Hmmm?” Colleen hummed in her sleep.
“Sweetheart,” Joan repeated a little louder.
Colleen frowned, her eyes still closed. “Hmmm?”
“Wake up, honey,” Joan said softly.
“Mom?” Colleen said with a yawn. “Is that you?”
“It’s me.”
Colleen opened her eyes for an instant, and then closed them tightly again. “Why is it so bright in here? What time is it?”
Liz left the room and closed the door behind her.
“About six thirty.”
“What?” Colleen opened her eyes and blinked exaggeratedly. “Six thirty? Already?”
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Joan said with a forced smile. “How do you feel?”
Colleen tried to focus on Joan’s face. “Like shit… How about you? You look like I feel,” she grunted.
“Hung over,” admitted Joan.
“That makes two of us,” Colleen said sleepily. She frowned again, confused. “Why are you here so early? You said, ‘morning,’ right?”
Joan felt tears coming. She started to say something, but couldn’t find words. She turned away and took a deep breath.
Colleen adjusted the head of her bed and shifted her behind. “My ass hurts,” she said. Colleen suddenly remembered her cell phone. It was still in her lap. She mashed a few buttons on her phone and frowned. “I forgot to plug in my damn phone,” she announced, and then went limp, disgusted at herself. “Would you plug it in for me… please?”
Joan turned and tried not to make eye contact. Colleen noticed, but decided not to say anything just yet. Her eyes followed Joan to the other side of the bed. Joan squatted, grabbed the cord to the charger, plugged it in, and offered it to Colleen, but still would not make eye contact.
“Thank you,” Colleen said, and then turned her attention to her phone.
Joan turned away, crossed her arms and looked out the window. A shiver ran up her spine as the palms and oaks swayed together in the morning breeze.
Colleen checked her call log, which had nothing new. She dialed the 818 number from the night before and listened to the same automated greeting as before. She listened to the end, hoping for something new.
“Message two… four. Goodbye.”
“Shhhhhit,” Colleen whispered.
Joan turned back toward Colleen. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Colleen shielded her eyes with her arm and took a deep breath. “I was… Augie was supposed to… call me.”
Joan moved the tray table aside, gripped the bedrail with her right hand, and touched Colleen’s arm. Colleen lowered her arm and searched Joan’s eyes, which were bloodshot. “What is it?” She said. “What’s wrong?”
Joan took a deep breath and swallowed. She opened her mouth again, but still could not manage to speak.
“Come on,” Colleen said angrily. “What is it?”
Joan gave Colleen’s arm a squeeze and took another breath. “It’s… I…”
“Shhhh,” Colleen said. “It’s okay. I know I’m a horse’s ass, and I’m sorry. The last thing I—”
“No,” Joan interrupted. “It’s not that.”
“Well Goddamn it, Ma, what is it? What the f—”
“It’s Augie,” Joan blurted.
Colleen held her breath. A million thoughts flashed through her mind. “Jesus Christ, is that all? You’re not gonna give me shit about her staying at the ranch, are you? Because if you are, we’re gonna have a pr—”
“She’s dead.”
Colleen tried to process what she thought she just heard and jerked her arm away from Joan’s grip. “What?”
“Augie’s dead,” Joan repeated.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Colleen blasted angrily. “What do you mean, dead? Who told you that?”
Joan’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the bedrail. “I just came from Fillmore.”
“So? Who gives a shit? What does that have to do with… anything?”
Joan found strength in defense of Colleen’s angry tone. “I just came from where they found her… Augie.”
“Found her,” Colleen repeated, confused.
“Dead,” Joan repeated. “Found her dead.”
Colleen’s face changed from angry red to terrified white. She replayed “found her dead” in her head.
Joan grasped Colleen’s hand. “She was… murdered.”
No,” Colleen said blankly. “That’s not true.”
Joan nodded slowly. Tears poured from her bloodshot eyes.
†
“I seen some shit in my day, Quint,” Jeff Lohr said as he wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “But I ain’t never seen shit like this.”
Ventura County Coroner Quinton Cutforth struggled with his gloves. “Anybody touch anything?” he asked as he worked his stubby fingers into the thin latex.
“Nope,” Jeff said as he brushed dust from the rim of his Fedora and put it on his head. “None of my guys, anyway.”
“What
about the guy that found her?”
“He says he didn’t, but you know how that goes.”
“Yeah,” said Quinton. “Keep him on ice for me. He speak English?”
“Not a lick,” said Jeff.
“Figures. Documented?”
“Nope.”
“This just gets better and better. Who’s got lead on this one?”
“Yer lookin’ at ’im,” Jeff said with a thumb to his chest.
“No shit,” Quinton said as he grabbed his over-stuffed leather bag and looked up at Jeff. “I thought you gave that up.”
Jeff looked down and kicked at a rock about the size of a golf ball. “I did,” he said. “But this one’s… complicated.”
Quint shook his head. “Well, membership does have its privileges. How far in is it?”
“’Bout two hundred yards. You up for a little hike?”
“Lead the way,” Quint said, motioning toward the orchard.
Sheriff Lohr touched the brim of his hat, gave Quint a quick wink, and hopped spryly into the dry ditch. He shuffled his feet noisily through the dusty scrub brush. He knew rattlesnakes would be on the move with the coming storm, and didn’t care to scare up any.
Quinton Cutforth waddled behind him.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to all my friends who have been so indulgent and supportive while I figure out this whole being-a-novelist thing.
Thanks to my fans online who have stuck with me through thick and thin, especially those who offered words of encouragement.
Thanks to those who have spread the word, either by word-of-mouth or invitation to read the novel online.
Thanks to Amy, my girlfriend and in-house Editor. She has tolerated my many faults, put up with my obsession, and offered not only encouragement, but her undying love.
And, of course, thanks to my readers. This first novel is only the beginning.
About the Author
Rodney Earle is a producer, director, photographer, and novelist. He is currently working on the second and third novels in the Triple C Ranch Saga. He lives in Hollywood, California with his long-time girlfriend, Amy.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga) Page 36