Grilled, Chilled and Killed

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “It’s not your style,” Smith said to Toby. Toby knew he’d been insulted somehow, but couldn’t figure out how his style being different from theirs was degrading to him. He shrugged his droopy shoulders as he drove along, chawing on his tobacco and contemplating with extreme pleasure how the night would turn out for him. Making a quick buck was Toby’s style, that he knew.

  He’d told the men to meet him with the money at the rear entrance to the grounds, but Toby wasn’t taking any chances. He arrived a half hour early and scouted out the entire place to see if anyone was waiting to take him down. The old rodeo was deserted. He parked behind one of the buildings, hidden from the road, but where he could keep his eye on the rear gate. Any minute now, he thought to himself as he checked his watch.

  Suddenly, the doors of the building next to the one where he was parked swung open. A police car pulled out and behind Toby’s truck. He slammed the truck in gear and started toward the exit, but another police cruiser pulled in from the street and blocked his way out. He jerked the wheel to the left and headed toward the pens where the livestock were held. One of the gates was open and Toby sped through it, down the dirt-packed arena and out the other end, smashing his truck through the far fence. Boards flew in all directions, hitting the windshield of his truck and smashing the glass. Good thing the fence is old or I’d a done more damage, he thought.

  He stepped on the accelerator for more speed and saw only another rickety fence standing in his way of freedom. He plowed through that also, skidded as he attempted to maneuver the truck onto the paved road, corrected for the drift of the back end and screeched onto the concrete. When he checked in the rear view mirror, the police cars had backed out of the grounds or taken the road that led through the place in order to pursue him. Ha! The sissies. Didn’t want to chance scratching their cars or themselves by going through the fences. Toby switched off his lights and headed north out of town. The only thing that gave away his presence was the banging of his left front fender attached now by only several screws and threatening to drop off every time he hit a bump. He’d need some duct tape.

  Ratted out by his victims. He’d lost money on that one, but he still had the kidnapping plan. But now he was left with the problem of where to hide until he picked up the women and took them to Smith for transport. The cops were certain to be waiting for him at his cabin. He stuck a fresh chaw in his mouth. He’d have to go underground for a while. He knew just the place.

  Chapter 19

  Emily had waited for Ms. Bushnell to call the next day, but she didn’t. When she attempted to get in touch with her, the phone rang until the answering machine kicked in. This wasn’t something she wanted to leave on a machine. On her way to work Emily stopped by the Bushnell house and rang the bell. No one answered and, when she peeked in the garage door, the car was gone. Had Ms. Bushnell skipped town because she lost her nerve and decided not to talk to Emily?

  Emily stopped by the hospital to see Lewis and checked the Bushnell house on her way to and from work. It continued to be deserted. She hadn’t told Lewis of her conversation with Ms. Bushnell. He seemed to be weak and recovering from his wound slowly. Besides, she said to herself, what could he do? He was bedridden and, when he got out of the hospital, he would still be on leave.

  She ran into Captain Worley several times when he too visited Lewis. He told her they had executed another search warrant on the Pratt’s trailer looking for weapons that might match the one used to wound Lewis. The search turned up nothing. Besides, he told Emily, Jasper and Elmer had alibis for that night—Melanie and Jasper’s wife said they were both at the trailer sucking on beers. Not that he believed the women, he said. Neither did Emily. She was as convinced as Worley that Jasper and Elmer were responsible for shooting Lewis. Why were these women so eager to protect men who didn’t deserve their loyalty? Maybe it was in their genes, she thought. She had uppity Yankee genes, making it hard for her to stand by any man who was a killer.

  At work, she tried to avoid conversation with Donald. The out-of-sorts look on his face said he was happy with the silence. But who could tell with Donald? He always seemed to have that sour look whether he’d just won a fishing tournament or lost a ball on the ninth.

  Emily sat uneasily on her information about Amy Bushnell’s daughter until the first night of the barbeque contest. She could have taken the story to the cops, but it wasn’t her story to tell. It was Amy Bushnell’s. If Lewis was still active he would have known what to do. Now Emily had to figure that out for herself. If she couldn’t find Ms. Bushnell, perhaps she should pay a visit to Melanie Pratt. Everett’s wife must have known about his interest in young girls. A horrible thought crossed her mind. Would he have tried something with his own granddaughter? She appeared to be about twelve when Emily saw her that one time at their house. This was something she couldn’t let go any longer. She needed to talk with Melanie tonight either at the festival in the Pratt booth or later at the trailer.

  She and Naomi pulled beers until after eleven. They’d shared a ride to the festival, held at the new rodeo grounds. Should Emily tell Naomi what she knew and ask her to come along to talk with Mrs. Pratt or should she figure out some way to unload Naomi? She knew this was something for her to do alone. Melanie and her daughter-in-law would be uncomfortable when Emily confronted them, and they certainly wouldn’t want an audience. What could she say to Naomi?

  At that moment, Donald sauntered by the beer booth, acting as if he didn’t see her and Naomi.

  “Donald.” She wiggled her finger at him to come over.

  “Ergpht,” he said, but walked over to her.

  “We need to talk. This is silly our working together and not saying a word to one another.”

  “You could offer me an apology and thank me for saving you the other night.”

  Saving her? Emily would have preferred slinging a pint of beer at him rather than say she was sorry for anything, but she kept those feelings to herself…for once.

  “Sure. Fine, but let’s discuss what happened first. I’ll meet you at the far side of the rodeo arena in half an hour.”

  “Why there?”

  “Didn’t you park your truck over there? I thought I saw you pull in earlier tonight.”

  “Why not talk right now?”

  “Donald, I’m working now.”

  “Okay. Half an hour.”

  “You can give me a ride home, so Naomi can take my car.”

  Donald’s face did something twitchy which Emily chose to interpret as a smile. Maybe Naomi was right. Maybe he liked Emily.

  “Don’t hold me up. I got a bass tournament tomorrow morning early. I don’t want to be late.”

  Naw, thought Emily. He didn’t like her. He only liked creatures that breathed with gills.

  After he left, she and Naomi closed up the booth. Once they’d made certain all the kegs were stored securely in the beer cooler truck, she handed the car keys to her daughter.

  “Take the car on home. I’ve got to meet a second with Donald. He insisted. He’ll give me a lift.”

  Naomi’s face darkened for a moment. “Gee, I told some of my friends from our park, I’d go along with them to the Burnt Biscuit after I got off. They drove all the way out here to pick me up.”

  Emily took back her keys and revised her plans. “Okay. I’d just as soon not have Donald drive me home anyway.”

  This was even better, thought Emily. Earlier Emily determined that Melanie Pratt wasn’t in the Pratt’s booth. She must have stayed home tonight, thought Emily. This was working out better than she planned. She could scoot off to the Pratt’s and talk with Melanie while the guys, Jasper and that greasy Elmer dude were busy at the booth.

  After Naomi left with her friends, Emily strolled down the line of closed booths. She could hear the sounds of clean-up going on within some of them. Others were dark, their occupants snugged up in the trailers parked nearby. The Pratt’s booth was shuttered. Alongside it stood a tiny trailer, light spilling from a sin
gle window. Emily paused a moment and heard an argument going on inside. She listened for several minutes. No female voices. She heard only Jasper and Elmer. The lights went out, so she waited hidden within the shadows of the booth. No one came out. They must have retired for the night, she thought. Made sense to her. Tomorrow was the big contest, and they’d need to get up at four to begin their cooking.

  She smiled to herself. Things were working out better than she imagined. She’d have the Pratt women all to herself tonight. She wouldn’t need Donald as back-up at the Pratt’s after all. Only the three generations of women would be there. No creepy Pratt male with his equally creepy sidekick.

  For no more than five seconds she chided herself for standing up Donald, then tossed off any guilt over leaving him hanging for the night. Her car was parked in the far lot, the other side of the grounds from where Donald had left his truck. It was better he didn’t know what she was up to, she reasoned. He’d say it was too risky. She knew better.

  As she approached the car, she looked up at the stars blanketing the night sky. The moon shone bright overhead, silvery, with only a lacy wisp of a cloud draped across it like a senorita with a veil. Beautiful.

  Her car stood alone with the exception of an old pick-up truck parked to the far side of it. Something about the truck looked familiar. Just another old ranch truck, she told herself, then stopped in her tracks. It couldn’t be. As she pivoted to run back to the rodeo grounds, a hand encircled her arm and pulled her around the front of her car. When the smell of the man assaulted her nostrils, she recognized the truck.

  It belonged to Toby.

  Smith watched from a distance as Toby tossed Emily into his truck.

  “Think he can handle her?” asked Barry.

  “He out weighs her by a hundred pounds. How hard can it be to grab one tiny woman? Even for Toby.” Smith looked around the parking area. No one else seemed to be there, but he didn’t want to expose himself in case a security guard came through. Let Toby take the risk of being caught in the act.

  “Let’s go. We rendezvous in a half hour.” Barry sounded nervous.

  Smith began to worry he’d get cold feet about selling his wife into white slavery.

  “You’re not having second thoughts about this, are you?” Because if he was, then Smith would demand more money. And then get rid of Barry along with the two women, always his plan. Smith never intended having passengers on his boat all the way across the Atlantic. Too much trouble. Barry was too stupid to think that one through, thought Smith. He sighed, loud enough that Barry heard him.

  “You’re not tired of this already, are you?”

  Smith delivered one of his black looks. “I am never tired, just thinking. Your friend Toby had better forget about adding the detective to the passenger list. I warned him about that.”

  “He’s frosty with that. Don’t worry. He’ll do as he’s told. The guy has no imagination or initiative of his own.”

  Smith thought about how “frosty” he could make Toby, like a side of beef in a meat locker.

  The two men walked back to their SUV hidden in the woods near the entrance to the rodeo grounds. The figure in the back seat was making ineffectual yelling sounds through her gag and pounding her feet against the back door.

  “Shut her up or I will,” Smith wondered how he’d gotten himself into this. Money, of course. Was there enough money in the world to put up with these rubes, he wondered.

  They drove past another SUV also concealed deep within the trees. This one held the tied-up bodies of Naomi’s friends.

  “No picking up cowboys on the dance floor tonight,” yelled Barry out the window as they passed.

  “Shut up,” said Smith, “or I’ll shut all of you up.” Not enough money in the world.

  Clang, clang, clang. Emily’s hands were bound behind her, but Toby had thankfully not gagged her.

  “What the hell is that racket?” Emily could barely see where they were going because of the smashed windshield. She hoped Toby’s side had a clearer view of the road or they could end up in a ditch.

  “It’s my fender. Not that it’s any of your business. Now shut your trap or you’ll never see your daughter alive again.”

  The racket abruptly stopped as the fender dropped off and landed in the parking area. Toby shrugged and pressed harder on the accelerator. The truck fishtailed onto the highway and away from the rodeo grounds.

  Out the side window, she could see the road leading to the hiking trail fly past. Just like the ride she took with Lewis the night he got shot. No, not like that at all. This one would surely lead to her death or to Naomi’s or… She didn’t want to think about what lay ahead.

  This was déjà vu. Toby turned left and headed down the same road that skirted the location of the Pratt’s operating still.

  He pulled over about a half mile from where Lewis had parked his cruiser when he showed Emily and Naomi the still. He slammed on his brakes, and the truck rattled to a stop. He pulled her from the passenger’s seat and dragged her into the woods.

  “Where are you taking me?” Her heart thudded in her chest as he walked her through the trees along a well-worn path. Wherever they were heading, Emily needed an escape plan.

  “Never mind. Shut up. You talk too damn much.” Toby gave her a shove that almost brought her to her knees.

  She struggled for balance. “Where’s my daughter?”

  “I told you to shut up. If you don’t I’m gonna have to knock you out and then drag you. That won’t be pleasant.”

  For you. Emily couldn’t imagine Toby moving a dead weight along the path. She didn’t think he wanted to do that much work.

  “Are you taking me to her?”

  Toby grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. He stomped up and down in a kind of lunatic frenzy. “Why won’t you just shut up? Shut up, shut, up, shut up.”

  Geez, she thought. The guy is coming unhinged. Maybe that’s good, if I can rattle him enough that he makes a mistake.

  The moon in a cloudless sky wrapped the landscape in an eerie glow. She could see almost as well as if the sun was out except the world was reflected to her in shades of grey, black and white. As they walked, the terrain began to look familiar. They had to be nearing the Pratt’s sinkhole still. Did Toby know this, she wondered. He seemed to be certain of where he was going, but she wondered why he would choose the still as a rendezvous point with whomever he was meeting. It couldn’t be the Pratt’s, thought Emily. Could it?

  Out of the corner of her eye Emily caught a fleeting movement, a large shape running across the path, other smaller shadows hovering at the side of the trail ahead of them, then several dashing in front of them. One figure hesitated, tried to run in front of Toby, then turned to return to the shelter of the dense vegetation.

  “What the hell?” said Toby.

  The large shape turned sharply, its back illuminated as it crashed through the brush and back onto the path. A wild pig, a sow.

  Toby and Emily stood between her and one of her piglets.

  The car pulled up next to Donald’s truck. At first he didn’t recognize the man behind the wheel until the driver’s windows were next to each other.

  “Detective. What are you doing here? I thought you were still in the hospital.”

  “I just got out tonight and thought I’d cruise on up here to see what was going on.”

  “Word is you’ve been suspended. So I guess you’re just a civilian being nosy then.”

  “I’m looking for Emily.”

  “So am I.”

  “Really?”

  “We had a date of sorts.”

  Donald could see a smile slowly cross Lewis’ features.

  “It looks like she stood you up.”

  “Give her time. She’s just closing the beer booth.”

  “You’re deluding yourself, Donald. I already checked there, and the booth is shut up tight.”

  “Something’s wrong then.”

  This time Donald watched Lewis
throw back his head and laugh. “Just because she got a better offer doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. I could understand why she’d turn down your invitation.”

  “I didn’t invite her. She invited me.”

  The detective gave no immediate reply to this. He looked away from Donald across the moon-washed field.

  “I think we should look for her car.” The concern in Lewis’ voice surprised Donald. Lewis actually believed something was not right.

  “It won’t be around. Naomi would have driven it home.”

  “Hop in. We’ll take a look anyway.”

  The two men drove across the parking area and around the back of the rodeo arena. The live stock so energetic and lively earlier seemed to settle down in their pens. A few low calls from the steers and a momentary bellow from a bull were the only sounds from the animals housed within the enclosures.

  The headlight caught a lone security guard in front of them. He signaled for them to stop and shined a mag light into the car’s interior. He recognized Lewis.

  “Howdy, detective. I heard about the shooting. It’s good to see you up and around again. What can I do for you?”

  “You see a little blonde-haired woman wandering around here?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head and looked down at his feet. Then, as if discovering something in the dirt, he looked up at Lewis. “Wait now. I did see someone looked like that earlier, but she got into a truck with someone. A short, fat dude. He hardly seemed her type.”

  “Toby.” Lewis and Green said the name together.

  “Where was this?” asked Lewis.

  The security guard pointed to the parking area on the other side of the rodeo arena. “Over there. To your far right.”

  “Thanks.” Lewis punched the accelerator and headed to where the guard pointed. The headlights picked up Emily’s red sedan as they raced across the parking lot.