by Chacon, Iris
“Hi, Shepard, this is Miranda,” the voice announced (unnecessarily). “I’m going to do some shopping in town after work tonight, and I may not get home before you leave for work. I wanted to thank you for the, uh, impressive gift. The taxidermist delivered it today. What a surprise. Ahm, I can’t really get it in my car? Don’t laugh. So maybe you can help me work out a way to bring it home—at a time that’s convenient for you, of course.
“So, ahm, thank you. That’s my excuse for calling. But that’s not really what I called about. Shep, that snake wasn’t from the wild, it had been fed by someone. It was a captive animal, or a pet. I think somebody put it in the road that morning. They had to be nearby to time it just right, then they hid and let you run right onto it. I’m not usually an alarmist, but ... Shepard, be very careful. I think someone tried to kill you.
“Well, let me go, I’m using up your whole tape or memory card or whatever. See you soon. ‘Bye.”
Pietro turned from his stove and opened his mouth to say something, but Shepard forestalled him with a raised finger. “Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so.’”
“The only thing I gonna say is ... is, uh ... “
“How about ‘dinner’s ready’?”
“Yeah, thatsa what I gonna say. Dinner she’sa ready. Everybody sit.”
Shep sat down at the table. Dave sat attentively beside his feeding mat on the floor.
….
It was dark in the deep shade of Minokee’s overhanging oaks long before it was dark in wide-open parts of the county. Central Florida’s rolling treeless pasturelands held a twilight until after nine, in the summer, but in Minokee on this Monday evening, it was plenty dark by eight.
On Orchid Street, Pietro and Shepard were finishing the dishes and preparing to load up for the long drive into Live Oak for their night shift. Dave was dozing on the cool tile floor of the kitchen.
On Magnolia Street, Miranda was hefting grocery bags out of her car. She entered through the kitchen door and set the bags on the counter near the refrigerator.
That’s when he hit her.
Miranda crashed to the terrazzo floor. Sledgehammers of pain bashed her knees and elbows. Her face slapped the cold terrazzo; lightning flashed behind her eyelids. Her hipbone scraped across the floor as she tried to roll aside. He snatched her up by the arm, nearly dislocating her shoulder. She yelped in pain.
“Quiet!” he snarled. “Get in there!” He virtually tossed her across the kitchen. She reeled into the living room and fell half on the floor, half on the sofa.
On Orchid Street, Dave jerked to a stand and WHOOPFED in his outdoor voice.
Shep and Pietro turned to see what this unusual behavior meant. “Whatever it is, it’s not good,” Shep said.
Dave leaped to the kitchen door and scratched frantically, whining and barking his alarm. Pietro threw open the door and stepped back to avoid being trampled. He leaned out and watched the dog speed away.
“He’sa go through the hedge!” Pietro yelled.
“Follow him!” Shep shouted.
Pietro raced out the door in Dave’s wake. Shepard followed.
….
On Magnolia Street, Miranda struggled to focus her blurred vision, but the man was only a blacker shape in the darkness. Then suddenly he was silhouetted against flames. Miranda’s kitchen was burning.
Abruptly a huge, wolf-like form burst through the half-open back door and leaped upon the man shape.
When Shep reached the hedge, Pietro met him, returning as fast as he’d left. “Fire!” Pietro shouted. “I’ll get the extinguisher!” He sped on toward the house.
“Miranda!” cried Shepard. He ran in the direction of her house.
Something slammed into his neck; his feet flew forward without him.
He hit the ground flat on his back.
“Damned clothesline,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
Shepard was working his way to a standing position, hoping nothing important was broken, when Pietro passed him, panting heavily. Shep knew Pietro had the fire extinguisher.
In the flaming kitchen, the wolf shape and the man shape plummeted to the floor and rolled. The man grappled desperately, trying to keep deadly fangs from ripping his throat. The animal was heavy and strong and highly motivated. Bloodcurdling snarls vied with the fire’s roar in Miranda’s ears.
Miranda dragged her aching limbs from the sofa and crawled toward the hall closet. The shotgun. If she could only reach the shotgun.
Pietro barreled into the kitchen and spewed fire-suppressing foam toward a wall of flame.
Miranda inched toward the closet. She hurt all over and could barely see. The hallway seemed no closer than when she had begun her agonizing crawl.
On the living room floor, the man shape forced a black-clad forearm into Dave’s attacking jaws long enough for the man to reach into a pocket with the other arm.
Shep burst past the fiery kitchen, heard the struggle on the floor, and shouted, “Dave! Leave it! Dave! Back off!”
Dave backed off the man just as the man swiped at Dave’s belly with the knife he had pulled from his pocket. Dave barked and snarled and bared his fangs at the man.
Seeing himself outnumbered by Shep, Pietro, and an extremely dangerous Dave, the man scrambled to his feet and fled out the front door. Dave, barking, almost followed.
“Dave! Stay!” commanded Shepard. “Miranda! Miranda! Are you here?! Miranda!”
“I’m here,” a weak voice mewed in the darkness.
“Fire’s out!” Pietro shouted from the kitchen. “Checking for hot spots now.”
Shepard took a step toward Miranda’s voice. “Where are you, Miranda?” he called.
“Closet,” she exhaled. He found her in two seconds.
“Are you hurt?” he said, squatting on the floor where she sat propped against the open hall closet door.
“Just bruises,” she whispered.
“Poor little Bean,” he said, and lifted her into his arms as easily as he would a small child. He stood a moment, then called, “Dave!”
Dave came immediately to his side, whined once, and licked Miranda’s ankles where they hung down from Shep’s embrace.
“Couch, please, Dave,” said Shepard, and Dave moved to the couch, fur brushing against Shepard’s leg all the way.
Shepard gently laid Miranda on the sofa and sat beside her. “Shotgun,” she murmured.
“What about it, baby?” he whispered, taking her small hand and enfolding it between both of his.
She looked at him in great puzzlement. “It’s gone,” she said.
Pietro flicked on a table lamp at one end of the sofa. “I thinka the wiring she is safe in this room,” he said. “Only thing burned isa da kitchen cabinets near da sink.”
“Thanks,” said Shep.
“I’ma gonna call the law,” said Pietro. “We lucky tonight. Dave, he save da day dis time, but somebody coulda been dead. You listenin’ to me, Shepard Krausse?”
“After you call the county sheriff,” Shep said, “go across the street and ask Martha to come—”
“Martha’s done come,” her unmistakable voice resonated from the open front door. “Bernice is here, too. Wyneen’s done called the sheriff, and Charlotte’s talking to the volunteer fire department about sending someone over to check ever-thing out, be sure nothin’s smolderin’ nowheres.”
“Thanks, Martha,” said Shep.
“How’s our girly?” Martha asked.
Shep stood, and Martha took his seat on the couch.
Shep held Miranda’s hand a moment longer before placing it gently on her stomach. “She says just bruises. Can you stay awhile? Until the sheriff comes and goes, at least?”
“Now, Shepard Krausse, you know me and Bernice ain’t leavin’ this chile tonight. We’ll take care of her right here until the law comes, and after they go I’m takin’ little missy home with me tonight. She ain’t stayin’ in this house alone agin ‘til she’s good and ready.”
Bernice had come to stand at the end of the sofa. She nodded her agreement.
“He cain’t see ya, Bernice,” groused Martha.
“Don’t worry ‘bout nothin’, Shep. We got this ‘un,” Bernice said. “I’ll be back in a minute with some ice for those bruises.”
“Appreciate it,” Shep said as Bernice went out the front door almost as fast as the arsonist had done.
“Thank you,” breathed Miranda. Gallons of adrenaline had flooded her body and were now evaporating. Her eyes just would not stay open. She had so much to say to Shepard, and she wanted to tell everyone how much she loved them and was grateful for their help. So much to do … huge mess ... groceries... probably ruined... picked me up …gee, I guess those muscles aren’t just for show … is this what shock feels like?
“Go to sleep, Castor Bean,” whispered Shepard. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. He removed her glasses and handed them to Martha. “Pietro and I have to go to work. Tell the deputy we’ll stop by and make a statement before we leave Live Oak in the morning.”
“Right-o,” said Martha. She patted him on the arm.
“Dave, home,” said Shep. He put one hand on Dave’s back and they left. Pietro joined them as they walked toward the hedge.
“I can’ta wait to hear what you gonna say on da air tonight. We still alive. I know you gonna keep talkin’ ‘til somebody make us dead. Look out for da clothesline.”
Dave led Shep around the evil, strangler clothesline.
“Make a note, Pietro. Buy Miranda an electric clothes dryer,” said Shepard. “And a real car.”
17 THE MESSAGE
Shepard’s calm demeanor hid a volcano of rage when he sat down at the microphone that night. In the two hours since leaving Miranda’s half-charred house, his mind had built a dozen scenarios. Each horrified him more than the last.
Miranda might have died in that fire.
Miranda could have been murdered by the knife-wielding arsonist.
Dave could have been sliced in two by that same knife.
If the arsonist had waited five minutes longer, Pietro, Shep, and Dave would not have been home to intervene.
Every house in Minokee could have burned.
The whole forest could have been reduced to charcoal.
Okay, probably not the whole neighborhood or the whole forest. But the most tragic scenarios—death to those he loved—were too deeply within the realm of possibility.
Shep’s fury had a target. His enemy had a name, if not yet a face. Iggy had declared war. Bad news for Iggy.
Promptly at 11:00 p.m., Shep hit the button to start his theme music. He waited two seconds then pulled down the music and potted up his mic. Like hot fudge syrup his deep voice flowed from radios across north-central Florida.
“This is Shepard Krausse, and you’re listening to Sheep Counters with Shep and Dave on eighty-three point nine, WLOK-FM in Live Oak. We’re here to help you light the night. And you fellow sheep counters out there are a vital part of this program. So make some notes about the issues that keep you awake, and let’s talk about them. Call us at 877-555-S-H-E-P.”
Outside the slanted glass of the control room window, Pietro began answering phones and taking caller information. Inside the control room, Shepard dragged air into his lungs and leaned into the microphone.
“Before we talk with our first caller,” he said, “I’ve got a story of my own to share. It’s about a guy named Iggy. Iggy has a lot of power in this state. Iggy has been making a lot of money fixing bids on state construction projects for the last few years. Iggy has been costing us taxpayers a ton of cash.
“That’s tax money we paid—sometimes willingly, sometimes not, but we paid—because we know tax money builds schools, maintains and builds roads, builds low-income housing, builds libraries and parks and mass transit systems. And Iggy took our money and lined a dishonest contractor’s fat pockets with it. A lot of that cash landed in Iggy’s pocket, too.
“Iggy committed fraud upon fraud upon fraud, and he stole from all of us. That was bad enough. But, you see, Iggy is not just a thief. He’s also a coward.
“It takes a coward to murder a little old lady because of a letter she wrote or some pictures she might have taken when she was out bird-watching.
“It takes a coward to plant a venomous snake in the path of a blind man.
“And just tonight, a coward set fire to a harmless young lady’s home and nearly killed her.
“You’ve gone too far, Iggy. We’ve been waiting for you to come forward, turn state’s evidence, and redeem yourself by putting an end to the bidding scheme and sending the rich contractor to jail.
“We’ve waited while you went from conspiracy and fraud to murder and attempted murder and arson. We’re through waiting.”
The pitch of his voice fell from dark chocolate to black tar pit. Instead of delicious warmth, the sound boiled with menace and danger. Shepard spoke as if whispering into someone’s ear, “I’m coming for you, Iggy.”
Outside the slanted window, Pietro had gone still, staring at Shep. Then Pietro closed his eyes and shook his head.
“We’ll be back with our first caller in just a minute. You’re listening to Sheep Counters with Shep and Dave on eighty-three point nine, WLOK-FM, Live Oak. Be right back.”
A commercial message replaced his voice on the airwaves. Shep potted down his mic and leaned back in his chair. The next few hours should be very interesting.
18 THE DECISION
The following morning, while Shep and Dave ran their morning route and the Magnolia Street ladies sat on the porch with Miranda and their coffee, two men were talking just a few miles from the houses of Minokee.
Their huge, shiny cars were parked at the end of an old logging road deep in the forest. Headlights glowed in the morning half-light. The men stood between the cars, alone, face to face.
“Reggie,” said the contractor in greeting.
“Thanks for coming,” said the governor.
“You said it was important. I’m here.” The man was emotionless except for the hint of disdain in his eyes when he looked at the governor. His look said, I own you.
“We’ve had a good run,” Reggie said. “We’ve both profited, and so far we’ve been untouchable. But the handwriting is on the wall now. It’s time for us to stop. Go our separate ways.”
The contractor nodded, taking in the ideas. “What brought this on?” he asked.
Reggie handed the contractor a compact disc. “Did you hear the Sheep Counter program last night?”
“I don’t listen to that crap.”
“That’s a recording of it,” Reggie indicated the disc. “You only need to hear the first three minutes. He’s putting his facts together. He may not have any proof yet, but he’ll soon have enough circumstantial evidence to get law enforcement interested. If they start digging seriously, they are sure to find enough to ruin us.”
“Pssht,” the contractor scoffed. “People like us don’t go to prison, Reggie. That’s what lawyers are for.”
Reggie’s voice climbed to a higher register. “Sure! The lawyers end up with the money we made, and we end up with no life. I’ll lose my career, my family, and my future along with the money. You think prison is the worst that can happen? Think again, pal!”
The contractor placed a hand on Reggie’s shoulder. The gesture was restraining rather than comforting. “Calm down,” he said. “What is the situation exactly, huh? Some conspiracy nut says on the radio that he’s gonna rat us out. If he knows so much, why doesn’t he just name names? Why doesn’t he accuse us? He hasn’t done it because he can’t. He’s got nothing. Don’t let him scare you into doing something foolish. That’s exactly what he’s hoping for.”
Reggie took some deep breaths. His voice lowered to near normal. “You don’t know Shepard Krausse. He’s not a flake. He knows the law, and he’ll use it. He’ll name the names when he knows he’s got enough evidence to defend a civil suit for defamation of charact
er. He’ll force us into court, and then all his accusations will be public record. And he’s media. He’s got media connections. Even if the court rules in our favor, he’ll make sure public opinion rules against us. We can be officially, legally innocent, and we’ll still be screwed.”
The contractor shrugged. “Okay, then. Now that we’ve identified the problem, I’ll take care of it.”
“He’s my sister’s son,” said Reggie. “I can’t harm him. She’ll kill me. I’m not kidding.”
“Chill out, my friend. You won’t harm anybody. I got this. It’s handled. Relax. Go home and have breakfast.” The contractor extended his hand in farewell.
Reggie shook hands and nearly bowed. “Okay, I guess. Thanks for coming.”
“No problem,” said the contractor. “Let’s not do it again.”
A moment later the two cars rolled quietly away from the clearing, out of the forest, and on to their separate destinations.
19 THE SUPPER
The following evening Miranda returned from work to find Dave sitting patiently beside her driveway. When she emerged from her tiny car, Dave jogged to her and sat, looking into her face. He carried a rolled sheet of paper in his teeth.
“Hey, Dave, sweetie,” said Miranda, patting his head and scratching the soft dimple behind his ear. “Is that for me?”
She gently grasped the rolled paper, and Dave released it into her hand. The message, unfurled, read, “Your kitchen is toast. Have dinner with us. Come as you are.” It was signed “P., S., & D.”
Miranda laughed. “I guess you’re my escort?” she said to Dave. “In that case, ‘Lead on, McDuff.’”
“Whupf,” snuffed Dave, and he began padding toward the back hedge.
“Oh, you don’t like Shakespeare. Too pretentious?” said Miranda, following him across the yard.
Moments later the Krausse kitchen door swung open just as Dave and Miranda approached it. “Been listening for you,” said Shepard, gesturing for her to enter.
“I appreciate the invitation,” she said. “To tell the truth, I hadn’t given a thought to what I was going to do about dinner. I keep forgetting I don’t have a kitchen. Ooh, what smells so delectable in here?”