by Anna Castle
“They’d know I’d been tied up first. There’d be traces and marks.”
“They’d think Hank did it.” He stared at me for another moment, then nodded, frowning. “It’s good. I like it.” He stepped around the table and put the gun to my head. “Stand up slowly and turn your back to me.”
I obeyed. My options were better standing than sitting. He marched me around the couch to face the wall beside the fireplace.
“This will do,” he said. “I suppose I can mess up the wound enough to obscure the shape of the gun butt.” I assumed he was talking to himself, not asking me for advice.
I made a fist with my right hand, close to my chest, and folded my left hand over it. He didn’t seem to notice. When I felt the barrel of the gun shift away from my head, I bent forward and shoved my right elbow into his solar plexus as hard as I could.
He grunted as the air rushed out of his lungs. The gun clattered to the floor. I stomped his instep with my right boot and turned on my left heel, pushing him away from me as I came around. He had partly doubled over, but managed to grab my braid and yank me sideways. I careened against the couch, nearly going over it.
I got my weight over my heels and braced my hands against the couch. I bent double and pushed off, aiming my head at his midsection, just as he was straightening himself up and drawing his fist back for a blow.
I caught him full on, right in the belly, one hundred and thirty-five pounds of solid Trigg. He reeled backward and his head hit the wall with a loud smack. His eyes popped open and then shut as he slid to the floor.
Holy Mother of God! Had I killed him? He lay still as a corpse.
I was shaking like a leaf, wrinkling my Goodwill outfit, but who could think about clothes at a time like this? I’d killed him, in exactly the same way he’d killed Roger. Now the boot was on the other foot, wasn’t it, Penny old girl? Except I’d been defending myself, not teaching anyone any kind of a lesson.
Brain babbling nonsense. That’s what quaking on the inside did to you.
But what if he wasn’t really dead? In the movies, the bad guy always wakes up and grabs the heroine by the ankle. I shuffled toward the door, too scared and too shocked to pick my feet up from the floor.
I made it to the door and then remembered Diana’s pink tablet. What if he woke up after I left and destroyed it? What if he succeeded in blowing up the house? He could still destroy the evidence that Roger had died there and not on Ty’s ranch.
I kept my eyes on Carson’s inert body as I tip-toed back to the coffee table and snatched up the tablet. I glanced at the kitchen area, thinking about taking a photo or two of Hank’s meth lab.
A groan from the fireside made me jump, cracking my knee on an oak chair. The photos could wait. I needed to get the frack out of here. I dashed out the door into the yard and heard the growl of a big vehicle grinding up the road. If that was Hank, the Mighty Hunter, my ass was grass.
I ran for the woods. Better to risk hogs than felons. I heard a car door slam and a voice call, “Police! Stop right where you are!”
I almost fainted from relief. I turned so fast I skidded on the slippery oak leaves, wrenching my bruised knee. I hop-jogged back across the field in front of the house.
“Ms. Trigg?” Deputy Penateka stood beside his car. “What are you doing here?”
“He’s in there. Carson. Be careful.”
“Hold on, hold on.” He took a step toward me, holding out a hand. “You’re shaking all over. What’ve you got there?”
“Evidence.” All of sudden I felt slow and stupid. Feet and brain stopped moving at the same time. “Car. In car.”
“Yes, let’s put you in the car.” Penateka took my arm and led me back to his vehicle. He held on to me while he opened the passenger door.
“I’m okay.” I looked back at the house. “Get Carson. He might be dead. But be careful. It could be a movie and he’ll leap out and grab you.”
“You’re not making much sense, Ms. Trigg.” He started to tuck me inside the car when a huge roll of thunder crashed and flames shot up out of the stone house.
“Holy shit!” Penateka shoved me into the car, slamming the door on me. He pulled his jacket off and used it to cover his face as he ran toward the house. Carson stumbled through the door in a cloud of toxic smoke. He fell to his knees in the yard, coughing.
Penateka cuffed his hands behind his back before Carson even realized he was there. Then he got him to his feet and half-dragged him back to the car. He opened the back door and shoved him in, none too gently. Carson sprawled awkwardly across the seat, breathing in raspy gulps.
“What the hell did you do?” Penateka pulled the radio mike out of its holder.
Carson wheezed, “Ask Girlock.”
I pointed a stern finger at Penateka. “That nickname stops here.”
His lips twitched, but he stayed mum.
I said, “He rigged Hank’s meth lab to blow up and must’ve triggered it by accident. Or maybe he figured he could blow up the evidence and still get out in time.”
Penateka’s eyebrows lifted and I told him the story, keeping it short. Then he called out every emergency responder in the county: the sheriff’s department, the highway patrol, the hospital, and the fire department. He packed Carson off to jail with the first deputy who showed up and bundled me into the ambulance.
Go figure.
Chapter 28
They released Ty Wednesday morning after his preliminary hearing. They sent Carson to the hospital ward at the Travis County Jail, since Long County didn’t have a secure medical facility. Hank got out on bail and had a whole two hours of liberty before he got picked up for speeding north of San Antonio. They found meth in both his car and his bloodstream and popped him right into the Bexar County Jail.
Poetic justice, if ever there was such a thing.
Perline and Cracker were throwing a birthday party for me at the cafe that night, but Ty wanted a little quiet time at home, so I drove him out to his house. Somehow we got into a discussion about who got to keep the dog.
Ty wouldn’t even admit we had anything to discuss. “He’s my dog, Penny. I want him back.”
“But I’ve had him for almost two weeks. We’ve really bonded.”
“Ten days. Trust me, I know to the minute.”
I pouted. “I deserve some reward for all I’ve been through.”
He grinned at me, that lopsided grin that got me into this mess in the first place. “You’ll get your reward, don’t worry.” He drew me into his arms for a long kiss.
That was pretty good, as rewards go, but I’m a Greedy Gus about some things. “Carson really scared me. He intended to kill me.”
Ty kissed my forehead. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“He pulled my hair, hard. And I wrenched my knee.”
He stroked my hair, with the sweetest soft touch. “We’ll have to spoil you for a while.”
I liked the sound of that. “On top of everything else, he insulted my wardrobe.”
Ty held me at arm’s length, giving me a look of partisan outrage. “That brute! I’ll boil him in vinegar! I’ll personally plug in the electric chair. I love the way you dress. It says, ‘low maintenance and easy to please.’”
I frowned. Could be time for a fashion upgrade.
Ty sensed his mistake. “Sporty and ready for action? Arty and independent?”
The guy had not made it into upper management on looks alone. “I’ll settle for arty and independent. But you totally owe me a dog.”
“The dog is mine.”
He walked me to the door. I granted him one small kiss on the chin. “Do you want me to come pick you up for the party?”
“I’ll pick you up. I’m thinking your place, for after.” He waggled his eyebrows at me lecherously and my heart started doing a happy two-step.
I hummed Chattanooga Choo-Choo in the car on the way home, dancing in my seat until a passing car honked at me and I realized I was weaving recklessly across the
center line. I sobered up for the remainder of the trip.
My house was too quiet with no dog in it, but at least I had time to clean the place and get ready for the party. I put on the most high maintenance outfit I could think of, a gauzy purple peasant dress with a load of costume jewelry from my aunt’s stash. I even put on some pink lipstick, also from Aunt Sophia’s vanity table. It was very sticky. It promptly got on my teeth, my towel, and my tea glass and required touching up within minutes.
That was maintenance. Wasn’t that maintenance?
Ty whistled when I opened the door. Jake barked. I twirled to show off. We were all very pleased with ourselves. We left Jake in the yard with a soup bone to chew on. I pointed out how content he had become with my back yard. Ty snorted. “He’s got a thousand acres at my place. Not to mention that he’s my dog.”
People had crowded into the brightly lit cafe. It looked like half the town had turned out. They cheered and clapped when Ty and I walked in. Even the fish hanging from the ceiling looked jollier than usual. We were celebrating Ty’s freedom as well as my advancing age. A banner on one wall read “Welcome Home, Tyler.” On the other wall, there was another banner that read “Happy 30th Birthday, Penny.”
Standing under the banner, looking like a million freshly rehabilitated bucks, was none other than the missing Diana, with Dare at her side. “Dahlings!” She held out both toned and tanned arms.
We let her hug us and she let us scold her, admitting her wrongs with sincere repentance. In fairness, her only crime had been not calling her brother for one measly week. She’d had no idea what was happening back home. Besides, it was impossible to stay mad at her.
She winked at me, then stood back a bit to tap her empty water glass with her spoon. “People! People!”
She waited until everyone stopped yakking and turned to listen. “We’re here to honor one of Lost Hat’s newest citizens, Penelope Sophia Trigg. She’s one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met. Aren’t we lucky she decided to come live with us?”
Applause broke out, punctuated with cheers and whistles. I was overwhelmed. I had to duck my head like a bashful baby to hide the tears wetting my eyes. I hadn’t had a real birthday party for eons and I’d never gotten a round of applause like this. I jabbed an elbow in Ty’s side and he came to my rescue.
He held up his hands for silence. “Thank you, thank you. Thanks to Perline and Cracker for this great party and thanks to all of you for coming. I can’t tell you how good it is to be free again and to have such good friends to come home to. But mostly, I want to thank Penny for everything she’s done for me. Without her ingenuity, perseverance, and faith, beyond all the bounds of reason, I would still be in jail and Carson Caine might be standing here tonight.”
There were boos and hisses mixed with cheers, as different people responded to different parts of that message.
Ty held up his hands again. “I’d like to propose a toast, ladies and gentlemen. To Lost Hat’s own Girlock Holmes!”
More cheers, mixed with laughter. I closed my eyes and bit my lip.
They say small towns have long memories. If I could keep my head down for the next sixty years, I might just about outlive that nickname.
THE END
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About the Author
Anna Castle holds an eclectic set of degrees: BA in the Classics, MS in Computer Science, and a Ph.D. in Linguistics. She has had a correspondingly eclectic series of careers: waitressing, software engineering, grammar-writing, a short stint as an associate professor, and managing a digital archive. Historical fiction combines her lifelong love of stories and learning. She physically resides in Austin, Texas, but mentally counts herself a queen of infinite space.
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Books by Anna Castle
Keep up with all my books and short stories with my newsletter: www.annacastle.com
The Francis Bacon Series
Book 1, Murder by Misrule
Francis Bacon is charged with investigating the murder of a fellow barrister at Gray's Inn. He recruits his unwanted protégé Thomas Clarady to do the tiresome legwork. The son of a privateer, Clarady will do anything to climb the Elizabethan social ladder. Bacon's powerful uncle Lord Burghley suspects Catholic conspirators of the crime, but other motives quickly emerge. Rival barristers contend for the murdered man's legal honors and wealthy clients. Highly-placed courtiers are implicated as the investigation reaches from Whitehall to the London streets. Bacon does the thinking; Clarady does the fencing. Everyone has something up his pinked and padded sleeve. Even the brilliant Francis Bacon is at a loss — and in danger — until he sees through the disguises of the season of Misrule.
Book 2, Death by Disputation
Thomas Clarady is recruited to spy on the increasingly rebellious Puritans at Cambridge University. Francis Bacon is his spymaster; his tutor in both tradecraft and religious politics. Their commission gets off to a deadly start when Tom finds his chief informant hanging from the roof beams. Now he must catch a murderer as well as a seditioner. His first suspect is volatile poet Christopher Marlowe, who keeps turning up in the wrong places.
Dogged by unreliable assistants, chased by three lusty women, and harangued daily by the exacting Bacon, Tom risks his very soul to catch the villains and win his reward.
Book 3, The Widows Guild
In the summer of 1588, Europe waits with bated breath for King Philip of Spain to launch his mighty armada against England. Everyone except Lady Alice Trumpington, whose father wants her wed to the highest bidder. She doesn't want to be a wife, she wants to be widow; a rich one, and the sooner, the better. So she marries an elderly viscount, gives him a sleeping draught, and spends her wedding night with Thomas Clarady, her best friend and Francis Bacon's assistant. The next morning, they find the viscount murdered in his bed and they're both locked into the Tower.
Lady Alice appeals to the Andromache Society, the widows’ guild led by Francis Bacon's formidable aunt, Lady Russell. They charge Bacon with getting the new widow out of prison and identifying the real murderer. He soon learns the viscount wasn’t an isolated case. Someone is murdering Catholics in London and taking advantage of armada fever to mask the crimes. The killer seems to have privy information — from someone close to the Privy Council?
The investigation takes Francis from the mansions along the Strand to the rack room under the Tower. Pulled and pecked by a coven of demanding widows, Francis struggles to maintain his reason and his courage to see through the fog of war and catch the killer.
The Lost Hat, Texas Series
Book 1, Black & White & Dead All Over
What happens when the Internet service provider in a small town spies on his clients' cyber-lives and blackmails them for gifts and services?
Murder; that's what happens.
Penelope Trigg moves to Lost Hat, Texas to open a photography studio and find herself as an artist. Things are going great. She's got a few clients, some friends, even a hot new high-tech boyfriend. But when Penny submits some nude figure studies of him to a contest, she gets hit with a blackmail letter in her inbox. "Do what I want or your lover's nudie pix get splattered across the Internet." Th
e timing couldn't be worse, so Penny is forced to submit to the blackmailer’s demands. Then people start dying and all the clues point to her. She has to rattle every skeleton in every closet in Lost Hat to keep herself out of jail and find the real killer.
Book 2, Flash Memory
Nature photographer Penelope Trigg has landed the job of her dreams: documenting the transformation of over-grazed rangeland into an eco-dude ranch and spa, owned by her boyfriend Tyler Hawkins. Then a body is found on the ranch and Ty is arrested. The victim was an aggressive real estate developer with his greedy eyes on Ty’s land and Ty’s sister Diana, who was almost engaged to the senior deputy sheriff. Clues put her at the center of the puzzle.
Determined to prove Ty’s innocence, Penny stirs up Diana’s old flames, trying to shed enough light to develop an alternative suspect. She mainly learns how to lose friends and annoy people, until she realizes someone has been manipulating the evidence. But is Ty the framer or the framee? Penny uses her eye for detail and her camera's memory to put the picture together and reveal the killer.
Copyright page
Flash Memory
A Lost Hat, Texas Mystery — #2
Kindle Edition | June 2016
Discover more works by Anna Castle at www.annacastle.com
Copyright © 2016 by Anna Castle
Cover design by Renée Barratt at The Cover Counts: http://thecovercounts.com/
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