Out on a Limb

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “I think these two will be best,” Cutch announced with a satisfied sigh. He placed the rejected cameras back in the box and helped Elise lift the lot back into place on a shelf high in the closet before heading to the kitchen table to work.

  While Elise stood back and observed, Cutch disassembled the battery and shutter parts of the two cameras he’d decided would best meet their needs. “We’re going to rig these to take pictures automatically, one right after the other, from the moment we turn them on until the disk space runs out. I’m going to mount a camera on the speed bar of both gliders. We’ll fly over Bruce Bromley’s place, and once we spot something we can use as evidence, all we have to do is turn the camera on—one switch, one time. We’ll barely have to let go of the speed bar. That won’t throw us off too much, will it?”

  Elise marveled at his invention. “One switch, one time? That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve been known to scratch my nose when I’m flying.”

  “Perfect,” Cutch continued. “Then we just have to fly over long enough for the cameras to capture some decent shots. Once we have the evidence we need, we’ll get out of there and call the Feds—hopefully before anyone sees us.”

  The plan sounded good to Elise, except for the last part about not being seen. But then, she figured she was still a little jumpy after being shot down a mere two days before. And anyway, she told herself, Bruce’s goons would keep coming after her, whether she was flying in their airspace or her own. Heading straight toward their hideout might be the last thing they’d expect her to do—and therefore the last place they’d be looking for her.

  Or so she tried to tell herself.

  When Sam showed up, he and Cutch got to work on the cameras, and Elise stood back, watching them work. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched Cutch bent in concentration over his project. He was always so devoted to whatever he was working on.

  That had been one of the traits that had drawn her to him so strongly when they’d first met. She couldn’t think of a guy who wouldn’t have scoffed at the idea of cohosting a couple’s wedding shower, but Cutch had thrown himself into the project and made the event memorable and exciting. She still remembered the photo slide show they’d labored endlessly over together and even the decorations Cutch had helped with.

  He was a good guy. In her heart of hearts, she knew that, though she’d been so afraid for so long to accept that her feelings for him could possibly be real. He’d hurt her so much, just as her mother had hurt her by leaving.

  But, if what her father had said was true, Elise realized her mother hadn’t wanted to leave her after all. Her mother had actually loved her and tried to make a doomed marriage work just for her sake. The revelation turned everything she’d believed about her childhood right on its head and challenged all her previous assumptions about love.

  She’d thought that love was a temperamental thing. Elusive, teasing, something to be desired but not trusted, something easily snatched away. Was it possible her mother loved her still? Her father’s revelation made her wonder if it was possible. She wished he was around so she could ask him more about it, but he’d left with Leroy and Rodney while she was talking with Vera and Bob.

  While she stood there feeling useless, Cutch and Sam kept up a lively conversation. “Do you know what Grandpa Scarth has been up to lately?” Cutch asked his cousin about their grandfather.

  Sam chuckled. “So, you’ve noticed he’s been up to something, too, have you? He keeps coming over to the house and having Phoebe help him on the computer. He’s been ordering things online.”

  “What sorts of things?” Cutch asked, and Elise listened closely for the answer, knowing their grandfather drove a red truck that might fit the description of the one Cutch had spotted the day his tires were first slashed.

  Sam shrugged, most of his attention focused on the electrical work on the cameras. “Don’t know. He’s awfully secretive about it, but he said something to Phoebe about a surprise. I didn’t want to ask—thought it might have to do with Christmas presents or something.”

  Elise let out a frustrated sigh, and Cutch looked up from his project. He winked at her. “We’re almost done. You’re being patient. Thank you.”

  She shrugged off his thanks. “I feel a little useless right now.”

  “If you want, you can head out and make sure the gliders are ready to go. We’re almost done here. Then all we have to do is duct tape the cameras into place and we can go.”

  “Okay,” Elise said, certain her voice sounded far more confident than she felt. Cutch’s plan still seemed a little risky to her, though she understood why they needed to locate the anhydrous ammonia tank and whatever other drugmaking paraphernalia Bruce would have moved from his operation on Cutch’s land. If they waited any longer, Bruce Bromley would only have that much more time to move or destroy any evidence they might be able to find against him—or use it to pin the meth production on them. Elise wavered indecisively as she approached the gliders and looked them over to be sure they were ready for the upcoming flight.

  A movement on the horizon caught her eye, and she looked out over the hills to where the vista gave way to a breathtaking view of rolling southwestern Iowa farmland. A white car topped the ridge of the highest hill between the McAlister farm and the McCutcheon place. For a second, Elise feared the sheriff was looking for Cutch again. Then she realized she’d seen that car before—parked in front of the McCutcheon place.

  Elise hurried around to the front of the house just in time to see Anita McCutcheon pull to a stop in front of the white picket fence. She had her husband and father in the car with her. Never in her lifetime had the McCutcheons stepped foot on McAlister property. She wondered what could possibly have brought them her way.

  Old Cutch rolled his window down. “Is my son around here?” he asked with a glance toward where Cutch’s indigo blue pickup sat where she’d parked it earlier.

  “Yes. He’s inside. He and Sam are working on a project.” Elise wondered what had happened that had caused Old Cutch to leave his home—something big, obviously. “Do you want me to ask him to come outside?”

  Opening the car door, Old Cutch lowered his feet to the ground, his bony white ankles showing between the cuffs of his slacks and the tops of his loafers. “That’s all right. We’ll all go in and talk like civilized people.”

  Elise nodded and hurried to hold the door for them. She called down the hall, “Cutch, your parents and grandfather are here.”

  “What?” Cutch jumped up and helped his father inside. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

  “We need to talk,” Old Cutch announced as he eased himself into a chair.

  Sam looked uncomfortable. “I’ll just get these cameras mounted,” he offered and ducked out the back door.

  Old Cutch nodded to Sam as he left, then gave Elise and Cutch each a long look in turn. “The sheriff came by the house earlier,” he began.

  A worried look crossed Cutch’s face. “How long ago?”

  “They left not ten minutes ago,” Anita explained. “They were looking for you, Cutch. They had a warrant for your arrest with more charges this time. We sent them into town, then headed straight over here.”

  Elise looked over at Cutch and saw the same apprehension on his features as she was sure were evident on her own. Just as she’d feared, the sheriff hadn’t wasted any time. If the sheriff caught up to him, he might never be able to clear his name.

  Before Elise could decide how to respond, Sam came bursting back through the rear door of the house.

  “I hate to interrupt, but I thought you needed to know that the sheriff’s coming up the road.”

  “Are the cameras ready?” Elise asked as Cutch jumped to his feet.

  Sam nodded. “They’re mounted and ready to go.”

  Cutch looked from Sam to his parents and grandfather. “Stall the sheriff if you can. Then somebody needs to update Bill and Leroy on what’s happening. They’re at the airstrip. Tell them to call the DEA
back and send them after Bruce and Gideon Bromley. They’re guilty of producing meth, and we can prove it.”

  “You’ve got evidence against them?” Grandpa Scarth asked.

  “No,” Cutch admitted, “but we will by the time they get here.”

  Elise practically pushed Cutch out the back door while he was still talking. They ran for the gliders that were stashed behind the barn. Everything inside Elise shouted at her to hurry, to flee, to stay ahead of the sheriff before he could pin false charges on them both.

  Cutch quickly checked the camera taped to the center of her speed bar before turning to inspect the camera taped to the other glider. She snapped her helmet into place and strapped herself hastily into the harness.

  “Take off,” he insisted as he donned his helmet.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’m right behind you,” he said, strapping himself into his glider’s harness.

  “Okay.” Elise took a deep breath and ran down the field, fear fueling her. She could hear slamming doors echoing through the farmyard.

  The sheriff and his men had arrived.

  Cutch watched as Elise took lightly to the air. Then he ran down the field, silently reviewing in his mind the take-off procedure. It was fairly simple, really. All he had to do was start the engine and keep running until he was into the air.

  Easy.

  As long as he made it into the air before he came to the fence at the end of the field he’d be fine. During practice, with no pressure and Elise running alongside him cheering him on, it had seemed so simple.

  Now his feet felt like lead and fear stole his breath as he charged down the field with the unfamiliar wings strapped above him. The soles of his running shoes pounded against the soft earth, and he kept waiting for the pull on his harness, for the weightless lift that would tell him he was doing it right.

  He ought to feel it by now. “Dear Lord, help me out. Please,” he began to pray.

  Finally, the harness strapped around his torso seemed to grab hold of him and tug him into the air just as he drew near to the fence. He continued running as he took to the air, one foot touching the top rail of the fence and pushing off as the powered glider hoisted him into the sky.

  Ahead of him, Elise seemed to be flying fairly low. He suspected she was hoping to avoid detection. Maybe if Sam and his folks made enough noise, the sheriff and his men wouldn’t notice the sound like two lawn mowers taking off into the sky. Maybe they wouldn’t see the streaks of white and teal tearing off toward the horizon.

  Right. And maybe their crazy plan would work.

  Cutch maneuvered his glider alongside Elise’s and gestured with his head in the direction of Bruce Brom ley’s farm. “Let’s get these pictures while the sheriff’s distracted,” he shouted.

  Elise nodded, her face set in a determined expression that didn’t hide the fear underneath. Cutch felt a wave of guilt that he’d let her get mixed up in all of this. He wished there was some other way to keep her safe from the Bromleys, but the only way to do that was to get the drug producers locked up. For good.

  And the only way to accomplish that was with evidence.

  The weather was relatively clear, though the wind had picked up a little. It wasn’t bad yet, though occasionally a gust would catch him by surprise, reminding him how very little he knew about what he was doing. So much could go wrong, so easily.

  The stark orange wooden stockade-style fence that surrounded Bruce Bromley’s place peeked at them through the trees as they glided silently on the breeze toward the farm he’d visited only a few months before. Cutch realized his appraisal of the man’s property had likely sparked Bruce’s anger toward him. He’d appraised the property at a much higher value than it had been at previously, which would raise the man’s property taxes significantly, but then, Bruce had made so many improvements to the land that Cutch’s assessment had been completely fair.

  On top of that, Bruce had surely recognized that Cutch’s history would make him a good candidate if he ever needed someone to pin the meth production on. And since his pecan grove offered such a perfect place to hide, it had likely been too tempting a location for him to ignore. Any anger Bruce felt toward him for the raised tax rate would have easily sparked the kind of vengeful feelings that would lead him to move forward with his evil plan.

  Cutch felt furious that the Bromleys would do such a thing—even more so when he considered how close they were to getting away with it.

  “Let’s head for the northeast corner of the section,” Cutch shouted to Elise as they neared Bruce’s property. “The tree cover over there will block us from being seen by anyone in the main buildings.”

  “Okay, but don’t try to fly too low. The last thing we want is to risk getting tangled in the trees.”

  “Sure thing,” Cutch agreed. As they swept in over the property, Cutch scoured the area for any sign of a drug lab, praying that Bruce had chosen to keep his activities outside. If he hid the lab inside a building, there would be little evidence they could gather from the air. He swept along the tree line and tried to recall everything he could about the property from his earlier inspection.

  Where would be a good place to hide a meth lab? Far away from the main house, that was for sure. Meth labs were dangerous—not just because of the toxic materials involved but because the volatile substances could easily explode. If Bruce was smart, he wouldn’t keep them anywhere near his extravagant house.

  As they flew low along the farthest reaches of the property, Cutch spotted something white near an old barn off to his left. An anhydrous tank? It sure looked like it. “I’m going to turn on my camera,” he called to Elise. “Save yours for now.”

  When she nodded, he switched on the power, aiming his glider toward the tank he’d seen. He swept across the area, his gut knotting when he saw “Anhydrous Ammonia” on the side of the tank. Glad as he was to finally capture some evidence, he still hated having his worst assumptions confirmed. How many toxic drugs had the Bromley brothers poured into innocent Holyoake County? Far, far too many.

  He circled wide, keeping his camera pointed at the spot.

  “Camping fuel tanks,” Elise called as she soared over a ravine that cut through the land. “I’m going to get some shots of this.”

  “Good.” Cutch praised her efforts, though he felt even more disgusted with Bruce at her discovery. The ravine held a seasonal stream that fed into the Nishnabotna River and ultimately, the drinking water supplies of many communities downstream. And the Bromleys were disposing of their drugmaking waste there? They truly didn’t care about anyone but themselves, did they?

  “I think I’ve got enough pictures,” Cutch called as the camera mounted on his speed bar stopped flashing. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m right on your tail,” Elise called out over the sound of barking dogs.

  Cutch looked back and saw a pair of Dobermans straining at their chains, barking. And not far behind them, he saw armed men leaping into SUVs.

  They’d been spotted.

  FOURTEEN

  “Let’s get out of here fast,” Elise called to Cutch. She was pretty sure he’d seen the armed men climb into the SUVs that were peeling out in the direction of the wide archway that framed the main entrance to the Bromley estate, but she wanted to be sure he was headed away in the same direction she was. They’d already taken enough chances.

  “I’m right behind you,” Cutch called out. “Let’s head north. If we can get above the hills that ought to slow them down, and the trees will give us some cover.”

  “Right,” Elise agreed, though she felt a nauseating fear grab her. They were headed for the Loess Hills—where she’d been shot down once before by these guys. She knew from experience they wouldn’t be safe there, but she couldn’t think of a better option. And since the wind would push them faster in that direction, anyway, she figured it was the best shot they had at escaping.

  Glancing behind them, she saw two black SUVs an
d a red truck raising dust as they sped along the gravel road after them. Elise steered toward the center of the fields. She’d still have to cross over every intersecting road, but she wasn’t going to make herself an easier target than she already was.

  “I sure wish we had a way of letting your dad know where we are,” Cutch called out. “If he can get in touch with the DEA agents, maybe they can intercept these guys.”

  “I have my cell phone in my pocket,” Elise shouted back over the wind. “Too bad I can’t use it while I’m flying.”

  “Don’t try it,” Cutch yelled back. “It’s too risky.”

  “Okay, but what else can we do?” She looked back. The trucks were gaining on them. More frightening still, she saw Darrel Stillwater’s upper body sticking up from the passenger’s window of the lead truck. He had a rifle on his shoulder, taking aim.

  “They’re closing in,” she screeched, bracing herself and trying to angle her glider up to attain maximum elevation. She doubted she could fly out of their range entirely, but she could at least put some distance between them.

  “Are there any sort of evasive maneuvers we can try?” Cutch asked.

  “Not without slowing ourselves down.” She looked out across the landscape, trying to find a place to hide or to lose their pursuers. The roads spread out at one-mile intervals in a perfect grid. They’d never be able to get more than a mile away from them, not unless they could find something—

  “The river!” Cutch’s shout interrupted her thoughts. “There’s a bridge right up here, but if we can get a few miles past there, then fly across, they won’t be able to reach us without driving several miles out of their way to the bridge. By then we could be long gone.”

  “Okay,” Elise said in a shaking voice as she heard the pop of gunfire below them. “We just have to make it that far for your plan to work.”

  “Don’t get too close yet or they might guess what we’re up to,” Cutch cautioned her.