A Cuppa Trouble

by Angela Ruth Strong

  That was it! From her angle below the bottom of Randon’s car, she could see the dark silhouette of a little black box. She scrambled to her hands and knees, then crawled uphill. Could it be?

  She used the rear tire like a step stool and pressed herself higher so that her belly was flat against the freezing metal floor of the shipping container. Rolling carefully to her side without losing her footing, she reached underneath the car and gripped gritty plastic. With a tug, the box pulled away slowly at first then freely as if it had been connected by a magnet.

  Connor stood to spot her on her way back down.

  “What did you find?” asked Tandy.

  Marissa jumped off the tire and cupped the box like The Holy Grail. “It’s Randon’s tracking device.”

  Connor peered closer.

  Tandy jumped up. “If he has a tracking device, why didn’t he use it to find the car?”

  “Because it wasn’t charged.”

  Greg crawled over the trunk of the car to get a closer look. “Does it use the same kind of charger you brought?”

  Marissa caught her breath and turned the box over to study the shape of the charging port. Her only hope was that with as technologically advanced as Randon liked to consider himself, the fact that she’d bought the latest phone would put their gadgets on the same level.

  The small rectangle hole had rounded edges on one side exactly like her phone’s charger. She let her breath out in a huge whoosh. “Yes!”

  Another whirring sounded from overhead, and what felt like a mosquito bite pricked the back of her neck. She reached to rub the sting away.

  Another bite stung her shoulder despite that area of skin being covered in layers of clothing.

  “Oh no.” Connor moaned.

  A melody like that of handbells rang out around them.

  Marissa looked up to find reality raining down in the form of corn. Kernels tapped against her cheeks, and she quickly ducked and closed her eyes to keep out the sticky, sweet dust. The light sprinkle turned into a shower before she could even squat to find her phone charger. The cord was swallowed up by what was known as a “corn pool” during harvest events at The Farmstead pumpkin patch.

  Marissa dug in, feeling around for the cord in the waves of dry kernels. “I lost it.”

  “You what?” Tandy waded through the rising tide.

  Marissa looked up to yell louder, but the corn pelted harder and faster.

  Connor ripped off his jacket and held it over her head. “The charger is buried,” he yelled to Tandy.

  Greg dropped down next to her and frantically flung heaps out of his way. “Here it is.”

  Marissa’s guts untangled in relief. “Plug it in.” She held out the box for Greg to make the connection. She didn’t trust herself not to drop it and lose it again.

  Greg connected the device. They all watched as if the simple connection would bring the police busting into the warehouse, sirens blaring. Naturally, nothing happened except the corn was now reaching their knees.

  “I powered it on,” he said weakly. Because Sheriff Griffin might arrive eventually, but they could all drown before then.

  Tandy gripped Greg’s hand as the shipping container filled with corn. She’d seen the movies where people fell in corn silos and died. That would be them if they didn’t do something quickly.

  Connor pointed to the car. “Get in.”

  He would know more about corn drownings than anyone, but even in the car, they’d eventually die of suffocation. That is, if they could keep the corn from coming in the broken window. “The window’s broken.”

  Greg ushered her toward the door and stooped to grab the tarp. “We’ll block the corn with this.”

  It would be better than just standing there. If the police were really going to come, this would give them a little more time.

  Tandy waved Marissa forward. Connor would want to make sure she was safe first. “I’ll hoist you up.”

  Connor climbed onto a tire so he could pull from above, and Tandy laced her fingers for a step for Marissa. Her friend’s rubbery snow boots threatened to break Tandy’s hands apart, and her fluffy skirt scratched Tandy’s face, but on the count of three, she gave Marissa a boost. Connor yanked her hand then grabbed her legs to direct her headfirst through the window. Marissa’s big skirt fluffed around her and her boots kicked a few times before she disappeared inside.

  Tandy looked for Greg who was now on the other side of the car, climbing up to the windshield to drape the tarp across. His side of the freight container was clear from the corn storm, so he was able to climb a lot quicker.

  “Come on, Tandy.” Connor reached down for her.

  She gripped his hand.

  He hoisted her high enough to grab the handle of the car. Her feet dangled for a moment before she found something solid to step on. Probably Connor’s shoulder.

  If they made it through this alive, they were all going to be a lot closer to each other. Especially considering the Corvette was a two-seater.

  With a mighty shove, she pushed off whatever it was she was standing on and cleared the window to collapse on the seat back. She spun around to reach out for whoever was next. Connor’s fingers locked around her palm. With one big tug he appeared then let go of Tandy to hold himself up like a gymnast on the uneven bars. He rocked in head first and dove over Tandy to share the passenger seat with Marissa.

  Greg’s face peaked in from over the top of the windshield now covered in tarp. He was going to make it.

  He waved Tandy deeper inside. “Scoot towards the gearshift. I’ll slide into the driver’s seat then you can sit on my lap.”

  Tandy shifted and made herself as skinny as possible. Greg’s face disappeared for a moment before his feet swung in followed by his legs and torso. They didn’t stop until he was sitting in the seat like an astronaut, prepared for takeoff. He reached underneath the seat and pulled a lever to make the seat slide back as far as possible.

  Tandy lifted her hips and scooted in front of him, but more importantly, the tarp fell into place over the hood of the car, blocking out the kernels but not the rushing sound. The white noise brought images of being buried alive. They were fine, but only for the moment.

  She gripped the steering wheel and sighed. Had Cupid only worked his magic to bring them all together for them to die together on Valentine’s? Of course, Cupid was a myth, while God was real. And if she was ever going to learn to communicate with him the way George had, now was the time.

  I’m about to die, God. That’s about as vulnerable as I can get. If there’s a way to get us out of this, I’d really love to be able to understand. If not, I’m gonna meet you real soon…

  Her mind whirled through images of her life, focusing on the events that had led her here. Randon’s Corvette. The mystery had begun with this car, and it was going to end with this car. If only Randon was there with them to give them his keys. Then they could turn the ignition and…

  Tandy jerked upright. She didn’t need keys to start the ignition on an old car. Vic had taught her how to hotwire. “Connor, do you have a screwdriver on your toolbelt?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  Tandy thought back through the process. If the screwdriver didn’t start the car, she’d have to actually connect wires. “Do you have any wire clippers?”

  “I have my Leatherman with a knife. I can cut with that. Why?”

  She grinned over her shoulder. “Put your seatbelts on because we are going for a ride.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tandy took a deep breath to steady her hands and inserted the screwdriver into the ignition. If the ignition turned over, she would know that she had received direction from God. Talk about a lesson in communication.

  She twisted the handle. Nothing.

  She tried again. Come on, God.

  Nothing. But she wasn’t giving up.

  She pulled the screwdriver out of the ignition. “Now I have to pop off the panels on the steering column. Randon’s going
to kill me.”

  Connor aimed the flashlight below the steering wheel to the recessed area under all the giant gages. “He’s going to kiss you.”

  Tandy let the joke relax her. “I’ve kissed all the men I ever want to kiss.”

  “And more,” Marissa added for her.

  Greg chuckled. Because none of that mattered anymore. And because they were all a bit giddy with hope.

  Do or die. Tandy jabbed the tip of the screwdriver into the seam of the panel and pried it back. The material popped and ripped, not coming off as one piece, but in a jagged chunk.

  Greg reached around her to rip it off. Connor angled his beam of light for her to find the bundles of wires. She unwound them and slid her fingers up the different lengths to pinpoint the two main wires, then, with a flick of her wrist, she sliced them apart.

  Connor leaned closer. “You want me to do it? I’ve worked with electrical wires before.”

  Tandy would have loved help, but Connor was in the passenger seat, and for him to trade places would take more time. They had to get out before the kernels built up enough to impede their traction. “I’ve got this.”

  Vic had explained the method to her, and though his lack of communication is what had ended their relationship, he’d improved by being honest and respectful. That change could very well save her life.

  Sinking the knife blade into the rubber coating of the first wire needed, she scraped the end clean. Not too hard.

  Something clattered inside her door. A trickle of corn.

  Greg jostled her as he tucked the tarp in tighter, but he wouldn’t be able to hold it forever.

  Tandy reached for the second wire, scraped it, and twisted it together with the first. Now the brown one.

  The bottom of the tarp ripped from the pressure. Corn spilled in. If she didn’t hurry, it would weigh the car down. Or bury them.

  “Hurry,” Marissa prodded.

  A trace of brown caught Tandy’s eye. She tugged out the hidden wire and repeated her process, stepped on the clutch, and then touched the wires together. “Pump the gas.”

  Greg jabbed the screwdriver back in the keyhole and twisted. The engine roared to life.

  Marissa whooped.

  “Go, go, go!” Connor yelled.

  Tandy reached for the gearshift. She wanted to jam it into first and bust through the bulkhead to freedom, but the whirring sound started to die. Hadn’t Vic said that she might need to rev the engine to really get it going?

  She stepped on the accelerator a couple times. Fumes filled the air, overpowering the corn scent with the smell of gas. Great. If this plan didn’t work, they could die from carbon monoxide poisoning. So many options for their demise. But she was going to choose Option D—none of the above.

  Tandy yanked the gearshift to the top left corner and stomped on the gas.

  The tires squealed, the car shot forward, the engine thundered, and the door loomed closer. Despite the corn pouring thicker against the windshield, Tandy only pressed harder. The car connected with metal, lurching them all forward. Had there been airbags in the 50s, they would have exploded like balloons. But instead, there was only one Corvette in the world made of steel. And this was the one.

  Wood splintered, metal screeched, rubber burned, and the bright light of freedom momentarily blinded her. The car burst from its cage to land on the conveyor belt, ten feet off the ground.

  Tandy stepped on the gas to drive to the ground, but the tires whirred uselessly. Only the undercarriage fit on the conveyor, and with the way the car rocked backwards, they might get dumped right back into the freight container. Her foot eased off the clutch and the car died.

  At least, if they went down, they’d go down fighting. They’d created an even bigger mess for McNeil to clean up. And hopefully that mess would eventually lead to his arrest.

  Metal joints creaked from below, followed by what sounded like the popping of pins and the echo of zipping cables. Her stomach fluttered as the Corvette crashed toward the ground and the bottom of the conveyor belt shot towards the ceiling like they were on one end of a teeter totter.

  Marissa screamed, Greg wrapped his arms protectively around Tandy, and her body tensed for a hard landing. The impact jolted through her bones to her jaw. She wasn’t sure which hurt worse, the bruised tailbone, jarred spine, or bitten tongue. But at least the blood in her mouth, like the taste of a lucky penny, told her she’d survived.

  She twisted to make sure the rest of the passengers had experienced the same fate. Marissa gave a schoolgirl giggle. Connor whooped like a winning athlete. Greg squeezed her in a hug.

  The safety of a gun clicked off.

  Tandy stilled. Her heart shuddered. This wasn’t over yet.

  McNeil appeared outside her window, the barrel of his gun aimed at her nose. The farmhands had them blocked in from the other side. She looked past McNeil’s weapon to find the man’s stance as nonchalant as usual, with only a twitch in his cheek and flicker in his eyes to give away the depth of his anger. “You done?”

  His coolness, more so than the temperature of the air, made her shiver. Like he believed he had all the power, and she was only a naughty child that needed to be taught a lesson. The idea couldn’t be more backwards.

  Movement at the door to the warehouse caught her attention. Men in black. With guns. Creeping closer.

  She wasn’t alone. She never was. Someone was always listening. Always ready with an answer.

  Tandy slid her hand smoothly down the inside of the door panel until her fingers caught the cold metal of a handle. “No, McNeil. You’re done.” She jerked the lever and slammed the door open against his knees. He stumbled backwards.

  At her action, a S.W.A.T. team poured inside, shouting out communication to each other so they could work together in surrounding the enemy. The farmhands dropped their weapons in surrender.

  McNeil regained his balance, spun, and took off the opposite direction. The special forces unit gave chase, but before they could catch him, he leaped into a forklift and gunned the engine, powering the machine forward with enough force to split the men like bowling pins. They evaded being hit but didn’t turn in time to catch him before he sped past. The forklift careened toward the exit.

  Tandy gripped the doorframe and leaned through the open window. “He’s getting away!” she yelled.

  Surely McNeil couldn’t return to his old life of pretending to be an FBI agent, but he could continue his life of crime if not caught. How many more people would he steal from or kill to make a buck? And how much terrorism would his stolen vehicles support?

  Not to mention his attempt on her life. Would she ever feel safe again if this man wasn’t behind bars?

  “Freeze, McNeil,” an officer yelled through a bullhorn to no avail.

  The S.W.A.T. team raced to catch him, but if he made it through the doors, he’d have the head start to his car where he could definitely get away. And as a former law enforcement officer, he’d know how to work the system to evade capture.

  McNeil’s laughter floated back as the vehicle left his pursuers in the dust. A few more feet and he’d be free.

  Metal clanged, and the door slid shut in front of him. Sheriff Griffin stepped out from the shadows by the control panel and aimed his weapon at his enemy.

  McNeil stomped on the brake and spun the wheel. The machine swerved wildly as the driver fought to keep from hitting the door. It slowed for a moment before spinning as if to take out the sheriff.

  Tandy gritted her teeth. Marissa gasped from behind.

  Griffin held his ground, playing chicken with a killer in a forklift. The S.W.A.T. team all dropped into position to take aim, as well. McNeil’s head swiveled around as he took in his situation and probably looked for another out. His gaze landed on their group still in Randon’s car. He scowled and spun the wheel toward them. Like this was all their fault.

  Tandy’s heart leaped into her throat. Greg wrapped his arms around her from behind. Marissa’s ice cube of a ha
nd found hers and squeezed.

  The forklift pivoted their direction, lost traction on a layer of corn, wobbled, and tipped over onto two wheels.

  McNeil’s face contorted in fear as the vehicle continued out of control. He yelled and covered his head before crashing to the ground. The vehicle landed hard enough to spray corn against the Corvette’s windshield.

  Griffin stepped forward. “Nathan McNeil, you are under arrest.”

  The man lay on his belly. He lifted his head, jaw slack. A chewed-up wad of gum fell from his mouth.

  Tingles of relief radiated warmth through Tandy’s body. She melted into Greg’s chest, not sure she could comprehend everything that happened. Not sure she wanted to.

  Marissa and Connor joined them for one giant group hug. Connor released her, but Marissa didn’t let go. The poor woman was probably freezing from wearing a skirt in February and needed the body heat, so Tandy continued their embrace despite the gear shift in her ribs.

  “You did it, Tandy. You saved us.” Marissa gushed. Ah…this hug was a grateful-to-be-alive hug.

  Well, then Tandy should squeeze just as hard. “I got us out of the freight container. Your phone charger saved us. Without it, the police never would have arrived in time.”

  Marissa laughed and finally let go, looking down at her feet. “These boots really did save my life, didn’t they?”

  “Told you,” said Connor with a smile.

  “Good thing I’ve been working on my communication skills and finally learned to listen.” Marissa made the statement sound like a question as if hopeful that would be enough for Connor.

  “Good thing,” Connor repeated noncommittally.

  Tandy knew they had stuff to talk about, and that they’d be better off discussing it alone. “I say we give Griffin the credit for this one. Look at him.”

  They all watched through the windshield as the sheriff had McNeil lie face down in a puddle of corn so he could handcuff his arms behind his back.

  Marissa nodded. “This has to be Griffin’s best Valentine’s day ever.”