by Lonni Lees
“Well, now ain’t it just amazing what two women can accomplish when they stick together and put their hearts into something.” Ma Crowder was gasping like a fish out of water, as she tried to catch her breath, her mouth opening and closing as it formed little circles.
“But now what?” asked Jolene. “We’ve gotta be in a shit-load of awful here.”
“Go to the house and get Possum,” said Ma with authority. “We’ve still got plenty of work to do. We might be poor women here in the Hollow, and we might not have much power in the scheme of things, but we stand strong and we stand up for our own. And you are my own, Jolene, just as sure as if I’d given birth to you myself.” She paused to take a breath. “Now stop yer fretting and go get Possum.”
* * * *
By the time they pulled up to Beau and Jolene’s place Possum was wide awake.
“Take him into the house child.” said Ma Crowder. “We got some work that needs doing.”
Jolene took her baby into the house and lowered him into his high chair. Then with shaking hands she spread some saltine crackers onto the tray in front of him. It would keep him occupied while she went back outside to help Ma Crowder with whatever she had in mind regarding the dead body of her husband. She wondered how they were ever going to get out of this mess. It was Beau’s mess and once again she was going to have to clean up after him. Just this one last time.
By the time she got outside Ma had driven the pick-up all the way back to the old travel trailer that served as Beau’s meth lab. She lowered the truck’s gate and yelled out to Jolene as she was walking across the yard toward her. “Get a move on, girl, I need me a hand here.”
Pulling Beau out of the truck was easier than putting him in. But dragging him into the trailer took all the strength the two women could muster. Jolene was scared, but not as scared as every day of her life had been since she’d become Beau’s. It was looking like she’d just traded one hell for another, wondering how in the world she could explain away a dead husband with a bullet in his head.
The hinges creaked as Ma opened the door to the trailer and walked inside. The stink of meth fumes forced her to cover her mouth and nose as she walked across the room and took a beer bottle from the counter top. Her eyes were burning as she emptied the dregs into the filthy sink and walked back out the door, bottle in hand, and into the welcome of daylight. The clouds were finally dissipating and rays of sunshine held the promise of a lovely afternoon. She filled the empty beer bottle with gasoline from the red can that sat outside the trailer door. Jolene just stood there as Ma went back inside and stuffed a wiping rag into the neck of the bottle. She walked back outside and stood next to her daughter-in-law.
“What are you doing, Ma?” She said, eying the bottle in the older woman’s hand.
“You’re just a young-un, Jolene, so there’s things you might not know about the Holler. There’s those that do wrongs that just can’t be made right no other way. So sometimes “accidents” happen. Like there’s a hunting accident, or somebody might fall off Beaudry’s Cliff—or one more meth lab might just blow up. Things like that happen all the time and they just ain’t nothing anybody looks into too closely.”
Jolene remembered how Ma Crowder’s man had accidentally shot himself, right in their own back yard. How Ma had said it happened when he was cleaning his gun. Nobody had ever questioned it—not Beau—not the sheriff—not Jolene when she heard the story. And Ma was right about the meth labs—they blew up all the time. Just one more unfortunate accident in Hooper’s Holler.
“Hand me them matches,” said Ma. “We’ve got a little more work to do.” Ma looked at the bottle in her hand and smiled. “Time for a bit more education, Jolene.” Ma stretched out the next words slowly, as if she were trying to teach the ABC’s to a mentally challenged young child. “This here’s called a Molly...toff Cocktail,” she said, raising the bottle to accentuate her statement. “I hear’d the Russians invented it. So’s I guess them dirty pinko commies were good for at least something.”
Jolene watched as Ma walked over and faced the open door of the trailer and lit the match, holding it against the rag until it ignited into a slow burning flame. Jolene figured she sure had underestimated her mother-in-law. While Jolene’s heart was nearly pounding out of her chest, the older woman appeared as calm as the surface of water on a soft spring morning. Then Ma Crowder tossed the flaming beer bottle through the door with the strength of a pitcher on the mound, and they both ran toward the house faster than coons being chased by hungry hounds.
By the time they reached the back door the trailer blew up with an explosion that shook the ground. Glass flew, the pick-up burst into flames, and the tips of tree branches recoiled from the heat. Pieces of metal flew through the air every which way as the two women walked into the house.
“Now let’s clean up this mess,” said Ma as she looked at the grease and blood on the kitchen floor.
“Dada go Boom,” said Possum.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lonni Lees has had several of her short stories published in Hardboiled Magazine, where she is a regular contributor. Her stories have also appeared on ezines Yellow Mama and Einstein’s Pocket Watch, as well as in the anthology Deadly Dames. Stories will be coming out shortly in the anthologies More Whodunits and Battling Boxers. Her first novel, DERANGED, is published by Borgo Press.
She won awards for writing as well as for her art. In the past she did illustrations for books as well as the L.A. Mensa Journal. Her artwork accompanies several stories by other writers in Yellow Mama, A Shot of Ink, and Black Petals.
Lonni was twice selected as a Writer in Residence at Hedgebrook, a writers retreat for women on Whidbey Island in Washington State. She’s traveled to many countries and lived in several states and currently resides in Tucson, Arizona with her scientist husband, Jonathan and shows her art at a Tucson gallery. She’s currently working on another novel.
BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY LONNI LEES
Crawlspace and Other Dark Stories
Deranged: A Novel of Horror