by Lisa Wingate
Over time, things could work themselves out at Andrea’s pace, couldn’t they? I knew what it was like to be pushed for something I didn’t have to offer right then, and I didn’t like it when I was on the receiving end. If we needed to keep it cool until she thought Dustin could adjust to the idea, a decent guy would respect that. He’d wait. Wouldn’t he?
It was a risky plan, I knew. I’d taken a pretty good blow last night, and I was still smarting from it. If a girl could knock the wind out of me like that after only a few weeks, how much worse would it be after another week, or two, or ten? In the meantime, I’d feel like I was lying to her boy. What would he think when he found out?
Maybe the right thing was to do what she asked and leave her alone. Sometimes, even when something seems good, the timing’s just not right. My mama would’ve said that a gentleman respects a lady’s wishes. Always.
That student teacher who got me to wear the green tights and the Robin Hood outfit would’ve said that Robin Hood wouldn’t let the rules stand in the way of love.
Love?
That idea came out of nowhere, like a dust devil rushing around the edge of a barn, carrying all sorts of debris in it. Was it possible to start to feel that way about someone you’d only just met? I’d really let myself get blindsided, and if I didn’t watch out, I’d end up flat out on the turf, off my feet. And for what? A woman I’d known less than a month? A woman who came with a whole lot of baggage I had no control over? Did that really make any sense? She’d made her position pretty clear last night. The smart thing to do was just back off and let her be… .
I tried to talk myself into the back off and let it be approach as I drove home from the vet’s office, but no sooner had I made it to my cabin than I was out on the lake, telling myself I needed to tool by the Waterbird to see how Pop’s hoist was coming along. I was curious, since I hadn’t been able to help today. Yep, I was curious about the hoist. And while I was out, I should probably take a loop around the lake and make sure the run of bass hadn’t tempted some fellas into going over the keeper limit. Heard they’d been biting out past the Scissortail … up around Larkspur Cove.
I knew where I was going, of course. Before dusk had settled, I’d circled the Scissortail three times and wandered up Larkspur Cove twice, looking at registration stickers on fishing boats trolling along the shore. By the time night fell, it was obvious there was no one at Andrea’s house. Not a light on in the place. Maybe she and Dustin had gone somewhere.
It crossed my mind that I ought to call Dustin’s cell phone – let him know that, since today’d gotten gummed up with work, I planned to put in some time on the dock project tomorrow after the dinner-on-the-grounds at Lakeshore Church. That’d tell me whether Dustin had talked his mom into coming to the Sunday picnic… .
It was a lame excuse, but I dialed the number anyway. Dustin’s voice was faint when he answered. I finally put it together that his grandpa had died and he was headed to the funeral in North Dakota with his dad. His mom wasn’t with him. He told me he was sorry he couldn’t help with rest of the dock-and-hoist project, and then we hung up.
I cruised around the lake awhile longer, then went back by Andrea’s house. Nobody there. She’d probably gone out to dinner or shopping somewhere, since that was what women did when they were on their own.
Thinking about dinner reminded me that I was hungry, so I headed to the Waterbird to get a sandwich before they closed up for the night. Sheila was working the counter when I got there, and Pop was over at the tables with a couple of the docksiders, playing dominoes. They were discussing the hoist in whispers, so as not to bring Sheila into the conversation. I decided I’d hang around awhile. There wasn’t anyplace I needed to be, and I figured I’d cruise through Larkspur on the way home.
“Heard y’all had a pretty good adventure today, over in the Chinquapin Peaks area,” Sheila said, nodding toward the police scanner. When things got dull at the Waterbird, the police scanner served as backup entertainment.
“You catch them drug pushers, Mart?” Burt asked. He and Pop were playing dominoes with a couple docksiders and Hay. Nester was AWOL tonight. His wife must’ve made him stay home.
“Not yet,” I admitted, getting my sandwich and moving to the table next to theirs. I opened the sandwich and checked for soybeans and alfalfa sprouts. It looked safe enough. Just meat and normal vegetables. Some good homegrown tomatoes from Len’s place. “If you fellas see any vehicles matching those descriptions holed up on the park roads or down along the shore, don’t mess with them, just call it in.”
“We will,” Burt promised. “We been passin’ the word along.”
“I’m sure y’all have,” I said and took a bite of the sandwich.That was one good tomato. Len sure knew how to raise fine produce.
“Heard Dustin’s grandpa died,” Hay commented, and the rest of them flicked stray glances my way to see if I was already in on the news.
“Yeah, I heard that,” I said, trying to keep it cool. I didn’t need the whole crew nosing into my business.
Burt studied the dominoes to make a play. “Seems like you’d be down to Larkspur Cove tonight, bein’ as somebody’s all alone this evening. She might need help with something.”
They yucked it up among themselves, and I went on and ate my sandwich. Maybe stopping by the Waterbird wasn’t such a good idea.
“Yep, I figured they were out on a hot date somewhere tonight,” Pop put in. “When Dustin’s mom came by here earlier, I asked her to get me some more tomatoes from Len while she was out at the Crossroads. She said she would, but she never did stop back with my produce. Figured she was with you.”
“She told you she’d come back by here and she didn’t?” I asked. “You sure?”
Pop frowned and slid a poised domino back into his hand. “I been here all day.”
A warning light flickered in the back of my mind – like a radio call trying to come through out of range. The Crossroads was on the way out to Chinquapin Peaks. That side of the lake wasn’t the safest place to be today, with the manhunt going on… .
The odds that Andrea would’ve run into the group we’d been chasing were a million to one …
No sense jumping to conclusions… .
It was possible, though… .
I pulled out my phone and dialed Andrea’s number – the house first, then her cell. She didn’t answer either one, which left me wondering whether something was wrong, or she just didn’t want to talk to me. I called a second time and left messages both places, asked her to call me or call the Waterbird, just to let us know everything was all right.
I ate a few bites of my sandwich, telling myself I was jumping to conclusions. She could’ve gone any number of places after she finished taking Birdie for school supplies. She could be over at her parents’ house, visiting her sister, or at a movie with her phone on silent… .
“Seems like she’d be listening for her phone, being as her boy’s traveling,” Burt commented, like he’d read my mind. “You know how mamas worry when their kids are out of pocket.”
I thought about my mother. Whenever any of us kids were away from home, she stayed near the phone, especially after dark. It was past nine o’clock now.
“I agree.” Sheila finished counting the change in the cash register and went to the front door to lock it. With her fingers still wrapped around the bolt, she turned a worried look toward the lake. “I’ve got a general bad feeling about this. I think you’d better go check her house – see if she’s out in the yard or something.”
Any other time, I would’ve poked fun at Sheila for being such a mother hen, but right now, I had a bad feeling, too. “I think I will,” I said, grabbing my leftovers and heading for the back door. Good sense stopped me before I stepped out. “Listen, if there’s still no sign of her there, I’ll radio my partner, the sheriff ’s department, and the park ranger’s office – have them keep a lookout for her truck on the roads. Could be she broke down or got stuck somewhere out aroun
d the Crossroads. If I don’t find her at her house, I’ll head on up the river channel toward Len’s place – see when she dropped Birdie back with Len.”
“Be careful.” Sheila folded her hands prayer-style and pressed them against her lips, and for once I didn’t feel like she was making a mountain out of a molehill. “Let us know.” She reached over and turned the scanner up.
“You need any help?” Burt asked. “I can grab my old thirty-thirty and follow you up the river channel, just in case you run into the guys y’all were manhunting earlier.”
“Burt was in the army before he was a school principal,” Pop Dorsey added, like that ought to be credentials enough for me to take Burt along as backup.
I shook my head. The last thing I needed was Burt Lacey trailing me in his boat with a loaded thirty-thirty. “I’m sure it’ll amount to nothing. Andrea’s probably at her house – just not answering the phone.”
But she wasn’t, and I knew it even before I docked at her place and walked around, looking in the windows and banging on doors. Little Sydney and Ansley were out in the yard next door, catching fireflies. They told me they hadn’t seen Andrea since early that afternoon.They pointed out that the clumps of mud from tire treads were dry and hard as rocks in the driveway, which meant that Andrea hadn’t been back all afternoon. Smart girls.
I put a description of the truck out to my partner, the park ranger’s office, the sheriff ’s department, and the highway patrol, and asked them to keep an eye out. No one was near Len’s place. My partner, Jake, was almost an hour away, but he said he’d check the Crossroads and then head toward Len’s house, keeping an eye out for Andrea’s truck as he went. I headed for Len’s place by way of the lake because I could get there faster by boat.
The water was quiet under Eagle Eye Bridge and up the river channel where Len usually put his rig in, but a storm had started gathering off in the hills. Len had tied his boat up to a tree near the shore instead of dragging it up into the brush for the night, which was strange, especially considering the weather. That johnboat was of value to Len, and normally he brought it up and hid it in the brush after he finished in the evenings. Today it was rocking at the edge of the water, hooked to a cedar branch, like he’d meant to get back to it before dark.
I idled to the shore, secured my boat, and stepped off, breaking my gun forward in the holster on the way. I wasn’t so worried about what might be in the woods as I was worried about Len’s dogs. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he let them out at night to keep varmints away from his place, and one thing was for sure – neither the dogs nor Len were used to visitors showing up after dark. I’d have to make sure he knew it was me before I got close to that cabin.
About halfway up the hill, I heard something – voices. Two men. Not by the cabin, but downhill between the river and me. They hadn’t come off a boat – I would’ve heard it. Hunters, maybe, out night-shooting varmints … or a couple fellas harvesting a marijuana patch they’d tucked back in the woods somewhere. Nobody else would be out walking around in the trees at night, especially with a storm starting to gather.
My belt radio hissed, and I jerked my hand up to silence it. Not quick enough, though. The fellas by the water stopped walking. They knew they weren’t alone.
“Who’s over there?” one of them called out. “That you, B.B.? You come sneakin’ up on us, you’re like to get your sorry self shot clean through. Whoever that is, you better come outta there right now.”
I ducked behind a tree, doused my flashlight, and waited while they moved my way. My mind sprinted ahead, analyzing the logical next step and how the situation might develop, based on what I decided to do now. If I called for backup, I’d give away my position. If I didn’t, I was on my own until whenever Jake made it to Len’s house. There’d been more than one game warden who got waylaid in the woods and was never heard from again.
I slid my pistol out of the holster and waited while they walked past.They were taking their time, looking around, shining a flashlight into the dark, sending long shadows slinking across the forest carpet in shifting, crooked shapes.
“That you, girl?” The voice was nearer this time, and the good-ol’-boy tone was gone. “That you, you better come on out now. You don’t, somebody gonna tan your hide. We ain’t gonna hurt ya. C’mere, girl. C’mere.You better quit hidin’.” They were getting closer, their movements cautious, telling me they knew someone was nearby. I heard the click of a rifle going off safety. It’d only be a matter of time before they stumbled right over me.
One thing I’d learned from experience is that you’re better off finding a perpetrator than being found by one. At least then you’ve got the element of surprise in your favor.
I waited a minute longer, listened, tried to gauge their exact positions from the footsteps. Twelve, maybe fifteen feet, the two of them together. A beam of light strafed my tree. There was a man’s shadow in it, one arm longer than the other, dangling a rifle.
I gripped my flashlight with one hand and tightened my fingers on my pistol, ready to identify myself and hit them with the beam.They’d be blinded for a moment when I did. Hopefully, that’d be long enough.
I took in air, got my mind still and focused, ready.
An owl called somewhere overhead, then took flight, and in the brush a few feet away, a small animal – rabbit or coon, maybe – made a run for it.
“There she is!” one of the men hollered. “She’s over that way!” They turned and headed for the lakeshore, crashing through the brush, their flashlight beams bobbing.
I leaned against the tree and caught my breath, taking advantage of the opportunity to call for backup. If the situation turned out to be nothing more than a couple poachers whose hunting dog had run off in the woods, and Len was up there in his cabin, and Andrea had left hours ago, I’d come out looking like an idiot, but that was a chance I was willing to take. There was an uneasiness up my spine that told me something more was going on.
I moved up the hill, staying off the path and working my way through the woods to the edge of Len’s field. Before stepping into the clearing, I stopped, listened, looked around. The lights were on in the cabin, but the rest of the place was dark. It seemed quiet enough. Peaceful, but something didn’t feel right. The place was too quiet. No puppies scuffling and yipping. No dogs barking.
There wasn’t any way those dogs would let me come up after dark without raising a full-out ruckus. What were the chances that Len had packed up all the dogs and Birdie and gone somewhere? Not too likely.
Something was way south of normal.
I slipped from the tall grass and rounded the yard from behind, staying in the shadow of the barn, thinking it’d be just my luck that any minute now, I’d find out the dogs weren’t gone; they were just dozing. But the eerie quiet thickened, the only sign of movement coming from Len’s milk cow stomping and calling out long, low complaints, her bag in need of an evening milking. Len wouldn’t have gone off and just left her in that condition.
Moving closer to the house, I turned on the flashlight and shined the beam around, called out Len’s name. The back door was hanging open, the bottom section of screen flapping loose. No one who’d experienced the Texas-sized mosquitoes around the lake would go to bed and leave a door open at night.
The makeshift gate to the backyard was hanging loose on its bailing-wire hinges, which explained why the dogs weren’t barking. They were out … somewhere. Stepping through the gate, I called Len’s name again, moved into the yard. A long, low whine answered from inside – a dog whimpering.The grunting and whining of puppies followed. I slid my gun out, shined my flashlight beam on the door, then downward to the rock steps. A sticky red trail glistened against the light. Blood.
My pulse sped up and my stomach squeezed tight. I had a vision of Len and Birdie dead inside, the dogs making a meal of them. It wouldn’t be the first time dogs had turned on their owners. What if Andrea had walked in on it, and the dogs came after her, too? In a heartbeat, the
past was there with me, burning like a scalding pot. I was at the coast, watching the boat pull in with Mica’s small body wrapped in a plastic sheet. They’d find Aaron a couple hours later.
Not again. Please, not again.
I ran the last few steps, took the stairs in one jump, kicked the door out of the way and braced myself behind one side of the frame, called Len’s name and Birdie’s, shined the flashlight and pointed the gun inside.
There was a dog on the floor, panting in a pool of blood, a gunshot wound in her hip. The puppies were clustered around her, some curled up sleeping, some whimpering and licking her fur.
I called out again, waited, listened. No answer. No sound except from the pups, which scampered to my feet, looking for help or food, or both. Stepping in the door, I hit the light switch with my elbow, radioed my backup, then moved into the kitchen. The place looked like a tornado had passed by, shattered glass and bits of dishes everywhere. A chair lay splintered to pieces on the far end of the room, a kitchen cabinet hanging off-kilter, Len’s home-canned goods splattered on the floor like finger paints. The door to the bedroom was partway open. Drops of blood led through it.
I followed the trail, stood aside at the entrance, stretched out an arm and pushed the door. The hinges yawned as the opening widened, fanning light into the room. With a quick sweep, I took in the details. The white dog was on the floor in pretty bad shape, shot or beaten – I couldn’t tell. The window was open on the other side of the room. A half-dozen loose sheets of paper lay strung across the floor, fluttering in the breeze. The bed was in oddly perfect shape – not a wrinkle in the faded quilt. The picture of Len in his army uniform had been knocked off its nail and now rested against the baseboard, the glass broken. Something beside it caught my eye. A wallet. I crossed the room, skirting anything that might be evidence, slid a pen from my pocket, opened the wallet, looked at the driver’s license. The picture landed in the pit of my stomach. Andrea. A lipstick had rolled under the edge of the bed, a set of keys lay nearby. Was her truck here? Having come in from the back, I wouldn’t have seen it. But if her vehicle was here, where was she?