by Linda Lovely
What? Had she participated in so many sexual encounters there was a big field to choose from? My reply came out as a stammer. “My friends…uh, they said they never, uh, saw the man’s face.”
“But the young man in question had a tattoo on his butt,” Eva interjected. “Inked in red and blue. The Joker from a pack of cards.”
Sala’s face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Her lips drew back in a mockery of a smile. “So that’s what that little witch is after. She thinks she can blackmail me. Let her try. She wants a gutter fight, I’ll give her one.”
Dorothy walked over and wrapped an arm around Sala’s shoulders. “I hate that brat. She’s shameless.”
Weiner warts. I was totally confused. Was this really the first Sala had heard about the cell phone treasure hunt or the video?
“Earlier we saw you talking with two no-neck behemoths in your driveway,” Eva said. “They tried to intimidate me and I’m pretty sure they trashed Carol’s house searching for that phone. Are you saying you didn’t know about it?”
Sala shook free of her sister’s embrace. “You’re talking about Gunter—the big guy with the black beard—and Vince, the blond? Their only orders are to provide Zack with extra protection and keep me informed. I certainly didn’t sanction any break-in.” Her barked reply was the human equivalent of a pit bull’s growl. “Until now I knew squat about any video much less why it would be on Zack’s phone.”
Weird as it might seem I believed her. But if Sala hadn’t told the meatheads—the men we now knew as Gunter and Vince—to ransack Carol’s house, who did? Could somebody else have trashed it?
“Sala, do you suppose your weasely step-worm bribed Gunter and Vince to work off-the-books for her?” Dorothy’s eyebrows hitched up as she voiced her theory.
The team owner’s glare provided a non-vocal answer.
“Can’t tell you how glad I am that you ladies stopped by,” Sala said as she stood. “It appears I have business to attend to. Firing Gunter and Vince will be my first step, but it won’t be my last. Can I drop by your farm tomorrow to see Zack? I mean if the poor guy’s up to it? I’m quite fond of him.”
Eva nodded. “If Zack agrees, I’ll give you a call. Want to give me your phone number?”
Acting as Eva’s secretary, I pulled out my cell phone, typed Sala’s name in my address book, then entered the number she dictated.
Did Zack have Sala’s number, too? Was he the Joker in the video? Sala hadn’t volunteered an answer, and neither Eva nor I had worked up enough nerve to ask.
TWENTY-FOUR
Eva and I jabbered like excited parrots on our drive back to Udderly, tossing out possibilities, rejecting them, then championing alternatives. Yet by the time we turned into Udderly’s graveled drive we’d only come to one conclusion: we were more out of our depth than a vegan at a wienie roast. No clue who was on first base let alone who was hiding in the dugout.
As we drove home, the sun disappeared and clouds crowded out the blue. A thick, gray blanket shrouded our piece of the Upstate. October weather seemed as fickle as our billy goats.
I looked heavenward again when I saw Mollye’s van occupied my usual parking place in front of our cabin. As we pulled up, my friend leapt from her front-stoop seat and waved. As if we could miss her.
“Thought you’d be here sooner,” Mollye chastised as we climbed the steps. “Been waiting half an hour. What’s with the deadbolt?”
Eva unlocked the cabin, which was usually left unlocked. “Seemed prudent given all the goings-on,” my aunt muttered as we went inside. “Don’t mean to be rude, but I need to change into something comfy and run right back out. I promised Zack I’d sneak in some real eats for his dinner; give him a break from institutional slop.”
Mollye flopped down at her usual spot at the kitchen table as soon as Eva went to her room. “Hey, I texted you hours ago. How come you never answered?”
“Shut my phone off for the luncheon and, what with all the excitement, forgot to turn it on again.” Mollye didn’t bite on my excitement teaser. That had to mean she was eager to spill news of her own.
Mollye sighed theatrically. “Called my aunt and uncle. Bad news. Uncle Les is on a fishing trip with buddies down in the Lowcountry. No way he can check out the CAVE hideaway.”
I walked over to the refrigerator. “Want something to drink? Iced tea? Apple juice? Water?”
“I should learn to bring my own drinks,” Mollye complained. “Never a soft drink and the tea is always minus the sweet. Yuck. Guess I’ll settle for apple juice.”
I laughed. “Just trying to help you stay healthy.”
Eva waved to us as she passed by on her way out the door. “I probably won’t be home till eight thirty or so. You’re on your own for supper. Don’t raid my cheese stash. See you.”
As soon as she left, Mollye rubbed her hands together. She’d been biding her time until Eva was out of earshot. “I have an even better idea for scouting that hunting camp than dispatching Uncle Les.”
Even better? Translation: even riskier.
“Did you know Andy’s first cousin, Larry, is a real estate agent?”
I smiled. “No. Are you thinking we should make an offer on the hunting lodge?”
Mollye folded her arms across her ample chest and tapped her foot. “Let me finish, will you? Larry was the first real estate agent ’round these parts to use a drone for aerial photos. Anyway, last month he bought a new, fancier drone and gave his old model to Andy, who was kind enough to take aerials of my store. I wanted my website to show I had a great location and ample parking. So we have the technology. We’ll use Andy’s drone to spy on the hunting camp. We can get a bird’s-eye view without setting foot on the property.”
I took a sip of my unadulterated tea while I considered Mollye’s suggestion. Where was the hidden danger? It always lurked somewhere in the fringes of her ideas. “Wait. Didn’t you say only one private road led to the camp? Isn’t that why you thought it was a perfect hideout? We’d need to drive quite a ways down that road to get the drone within range. That would also put us in range of lookouts and guns.”
“You’re on the wrong trail. Literally.” Mollye’s grin grew wider. “The camp butts up to state forest. One of the hiking trails runs real close to the property boundary. We can launch the drone from the hiking trail. Don’t have to expose ourselves or put even one eensy, teensy little toe over the property line.”
I frowned. “Chester and his pals aren’t the types to let a little thing like property lines stop them if they see us. A high-tech spy-in-the-sky would feed right into their paranoia. No telling how they’d react. But my best guess is they’d shoot.”
Mollye shook her head. “The drone’s itty bitty and real quiet. Fly it above the trees and they’d never see it. Even if they did, they couldn’t catch us. The trail is close but it winds along a bluff. They’d have to climb it to get close enough to shoot, and trailhead parking’s less than a mile from where we’d launch. We’d be in our car and speeding away before any CAVE men could get their blubber butts in gear.”
I still felt queasy. One of Mollye’s risk-free suggestions last spring had nearly cut off my oxygen supply—permanently. “Why don’t we ask Sheriff Mason to pay a call on the hunting camp?” A reasonable question, but one look at Mollye’s face told me she had a rebuttal.
“Thought you might suggest that. The sheriff would need a warrant and there’s nothing concrete to justify a search of that camp. Chester hangs out there but he has alibis for both the attack on Zack and Carol’s disappearance. Mason’s not going to act on my hunch—no matter how inspired—that some CAVE men might be holding Carol captive there.”
“Do you even know how to fly a drone?” I asked. “Or have you hoodwinked Andy into helping? It’s a Monday. Isn’t he at work?”
“No hoodwinking necessary. Andy was just finishing with on-site v
isits to a couple farms. He’s meeting us at the Publix parking lot about now. Told him we’d hook up there so we wouldn’t worry Eva. Your boyfriend is all in.”
“He’s a friend, Mollye. Just like you. A friend.”
“Nope, not like me. Our handsome vet is hoping your friendship will include the kind of joint-participation exercise captured on that cell phone.”
I dropped the subject mainly because Mollye was right. Andy—and Paint—made it clear that both wanted to be more than pals. I got a dull headache every time I tried to figure some way it could work. For nineteen very long months, none of my calisthenics had taken place in a bedroom. And I really cared for both men, men I could even love.
“You sure we have time for this little escapade before it gets dark?” I asked. “How long does it take to get to the trailhead?”
“Will you quit worrying? We’ll get there by five, easy. That’ll give us an hour before the sun sets.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I looked down at the white gizmo in my lap. The drone looked unimpressive. A spindly toy. Four spider legs linked its compact body’s white shell to thin whirlybird rotors.
Andy had offered to drive his vet-mobile, and I rode shotgun. Mollye’d claimed the crew cab to stretch out. Since Andy’d had little warning his truck would have human passengers, my rump was coated in dog hair. Not that I cared if my hiking clothes gained an extra layer of fur.
“Have you taken many pictures with this drone?” I asked.
Andy laughed. “This is my maiden spy outing. I’ve played with the drone enough to operate it without crashing. Snapped a few aerials for Mollye. Fortunately during my teen years I spent many hours locked in my room playing Call of Duty. I also saved the world in Halo Wars. Video games offered an excellent escape from my five little sisters. Drone controls work a lot like game controls.”
I glanced out the window as we bumped along a dirt fire road leading to the state forest trailhead. Though it was only four o’clock, an overcast sky and the filtering canopy of tall pines combined to create an artificial twilight. Nightfall seemed imminent.
“We’re here,” Andy said. “I’ve hiked this trail. Know exactly where we can spy on the CAVE men’s bullets-and-beer joint. Our timing’s good. Hard to believe but a lot of these morons do work. Mostly manual or manufacturing jobs with four o’clock quitting times. If they’re visiting on a weekday, they’ll arrive about now.”
We walked the muddy trail single file. Not much choice. The narrow, twisty path lay partially within a streambed that only channeled water during gully-washers. Evidently it had recently rained pretty hard here. Shade from the dense pine ceiling could keep the ground wet for days. Clumps of dense mud clinging to the soles of my hiking boots made it feel like I wore ankle weights.
“It’s been a long time since I hiked here,” Mollye grumbled. “Forgot the trail was better suited to one of Udderly’s goats.”
After we reached the bottom of a valley, the pine-needled path left the streambed and started climbing. Mollye huffed and puffed as we wound our way up. Soon we were hugging a rocky ridge. The exertion didn’t bother me; the drop-off did. Our three-foot wide path had narrowed to maybe eighteen inches. Rock outcrops nudged us toward the outer edge. The mix of pine needles and mud made the slender ribbon of trail slicker than a Teflon frying pan.
“Watch your step,” trailblazer Andy called. “A tree’s blown over and it’s blocking the way.”
Oh, goody.
Mollye, second in line in our hiking processional, swore when she reached the tree’s carcass. “Too big to step over. Guess I’ll have to straddle the slimy bugger.”
Great. If long-legged Mollye had to straddle, there wasn’t much hope for a shorter Brie.
Mollye grunted as she swung her right leg up. A minute later she sat astride the mossy trunk like she was riding a bronco. Her expression suggested she thought the log might buck.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea. I’m afraid I’ll slip if I try to hop down.”
“Take my hand,” Andy said. “I’ll steady you.”
Mollye cleared the log hurdle with a little yelp. My turn. I sucked in a deep breath as I looked uphill at the exposed Medusa-like roots of the fallen tree. I had no desire to take in the downhill view. The oak was angled like a park slide that promised an unhappy landing. Sweat popped out on my forehead despite the forest chill. I couldn’t move. I searched the obstacle, hoping to see some secret passage that would let me scoot under the log instead of going topside. No. The small amount of daylight between the log and the muddy path couldn’t accommodate an anorexic mouse let alone a fond-of-eating chef.
Mollye tittered. “You’re afraid of heights? Remember how you gave me the business about fearing I’d drown? Who’s petrified now?”
“Can it, Mollye,” Andy barked. “You’re not helping.”
My friend stopped laughing. Her chin dropped. She appeared to be studying her feet. “Sorry, Brie. I mean it. It’s just that you’re always the brave one.” Mollye shrugged. “Guess everyone’s afraid of something.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Andy was trying to reassure me with the same tone he adopted to calm frightened animals. “We can all turn back, or you can wait here. Mollye and I can go on, fly the drone, and collect you on our way back. Or you can head back now and we’ll meet you at the truck.”
Quitting was a real temptation. But I didn’t relish the idea of trekking the slip-and-slide trail by my lonesome. I’d seen news clips of rescue workers hoisting hikers who’d fallen into steep ravines. Their strapped-in bodies swayed like crazed metronomes.
Yet I wasn’t keen on staying put. What if a bear decided it had dibs on the trail and insisted I step off or be eaten? Okay, I was being silly. Admitting it didn’t lower my heartrate.
“I’m coming,” I said. “Just don’t hurry me.”
I sidled up to the toppled monster. Unlike my tall friends, I was too short to swing a leg over and straddle the log. I’d have to drape myself over the trunk and wiggle into position. Son of a salami. The moss-slicked trunk was smooth. Not a single burl to serve as a saddle horn in my attempt to giddy-up.
“Give me your hand,” Andy said. “I’ll pull you over.” Only his head and shoulders were visible across the mammoth log.
I shook my head. It wasn’t a matter of trust. When scared, I tended to be obstinate about controlling my own fate. I also imagined myself doing a muddy face-plant if Andy pulled too hard. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got it.”
I heaved my body up, draping myself over the log like a sheet on a clothesline. A wet sheet. The sponge-like moss had transferred its reservoir of icy water to my well-worn jeans. Added incentive to get on with it.
I hiked my right leg up as I scrabbled to move my body over the obstacle. Rip!
Pickled herring. The strain had proved too much for my old jeans. Cool air tickled my exposed thigh. The denim had surrendered at the seam. Could this get more embarrassing?
“Got you.” Andy’s hands found purchase under my armpits and he hoisted me over and upright.
Either my friends hadn’t heard (or seen) my worn denim’s demise or they had the good grace to ignore it.
“Let’s get a move on,” Mollye urged. “Need daylight to take pictures.”
Her words made me wonder how much daylight remained. Even if we had enough light for the drone to take aerials, would darkness fall before we hiked back to Andy’s truck?
“Right, let’s move it,” I agreed.
TWENTY-SIX
The fallen tree sat close to the top of the ridge. Once past it, we quickly reached the pinnacle and headed downhill. The path widened, providing a little more margin between me and the abyss if I stepped on a shoelace and pitched forward.
Gaps in the pines lining the trail offered glimpses of a small meadow far below. At one spot, a fairly sizeable window ope
ned in the canopy.
This wasn’t the kind of flower-speckled meadow that inspires artists. A haphazard collection of weathered wood sat at its center. Calling it a building was a stretch. Blue tarps sagged over the top of the structure. A substitute for a roof after some cave-in? The building wasn’t the worst visual offense. A mini mountain of crushed beer cans and empty whisky bottles rose higher than the blue tarps. A hint of foul odor wafted up on a breeze.
“Can you launch the drone from here, Andy?” Mollye panted. “That trail map lies. Feels like we’ve come five miles.”
Andy chuckled softly. “Hiking in woods, especially in the mountains, isn’t the same as taking a stroll in a park. Takes a lot more effort—and time—to go a mile. Don’t worry, we’re nearly to a spot that has a lot fewer trees in the way. That’s what we need. This old model doesn’t have built-in collision avoidance.”
In less than a hundred feet, Andy called a halt where a combination rock and mudslide had toppled most of the pines in the grove below.
He smiled. “I can launch from here. Just need a few minutes to set up.”
While giving this section of the trail an unobstructed view of the meadow, the landslide had also bared a six-foot wide rocky outcrop. A perfect overlook though several large boulders still teetered overhead. Water trickled between the rocks forming half a dozen mini cascades. Our perch didn’t exactly feel rock solid.
Andy extracted the drone, its controls, and a screen from his backpack. “The screen will let us see whatever the drone sees,” he said.
I never got tired of watching Andy concentrate on a task. His eyebrows scrunched together and tiny lines bracketed his emerald eyes as he focused. His slender fingers effortlessly untangled a rat’s nest of wires. I remembered the talent those hands had for gentle caresses.
The mood broke when Mollye plopped down on a semi-smooth rock and rubbed her calves. She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and coughed. “You smell that?”