by Ann Charles
Ronnie crossed her arms over her chest. “So what do we do now?”
“We go to the store and pick up a dead turkey and then grab what’s next on our list,” Claire pulled the Jeep keys from her back pocket. Whatever game Joe had been playing with that box of cartridges could wait until after they had made it through this damned day. She hoped with all of the hormones swirling around in Kate’s head she’d soon forget about the weird messages and move on with life. Otherwise, they would be screwed because Kate was part badger these days. When she sank her teeth in, she refused to let go. Period.
“Don’t you want to figure out why he filled bullets with little papers instead of gun powder?” Kate pointed at Chester’s pants. “That means something and you know it.”
Chester chuckled. “Are we talking about the rounds in my pocket or the other treasures in my britches?”
After rolling her eyes and shaking her head at Chester, Claire told Kate, “Maybe. Maybe not. But today isn’t the day to go digging around the R.V. park. Shooting a hole in my Jeep is enough of an adventure for one day, Calamity Jane.” She shut the tailgate and walked around to the driver’s door. “Now let’s go get another turkey.”
Fifteen minutes later …
Unfortunately, when Mother Hubbard went to the grocery store cupboard, the only turkeys there were still frozen solid. When Chester joined Claire at the cash register, he had a twelve pack of cheap beer under one arm and a big can of chili con carne under the other.
“Where’s the turkey?” he asked.
“I’m looking at him.” She pointed at his groceries. “You running low on breakfast supplies?”
“These are my contributions to Thanksgiving potluck—drinks and a side dish.”
“Butch is going to have beer on tap, remember?” This year’s dinner was being held on the back patio at The Shaft, where the beer and liquor were plentiful.
“That shit’s too yuppie for my taste.”
“You didn’t seem to mind it the other night.”
“Your grandfather was buying. When the cheap bastard forks out cash, I put aside my finer tastes. Where’s the turkey you were supposed to be grabbing?”
“They’re sold out of fresh ones. Butch offered to serve us burgers, same as the locals coming who haven’t anywhere else to go. Right now, that sounds good enough for me.”
Chester grinned. “Burgers go great with chili con carne piled on ‘em.”
They paid and headed out, filling Ronnie and Kate in on the store’s turkey situation.
“Mother is going to blow a gasket,” Ronnie said.
“It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving if she didn’t bitch and moan about something.” Claire looked across the front seat at Ronnie. “What’s next on the list?”
Ronnie plucked the piece of paper from the cup holder. “Pick up the pies.”
“Butch said there should be five of them boxed and ready at the Mule Train Diner,” Kate told them.
“I didn’t realize Grady’s sister made pies for the public,” Ronnie said.
“She doesn’t usually. She donates them to The Shaft’s free Thanksgiving dinner Butch puts on each year.”
“That’s nice of her,” Ronnie said, frowning out the window yet again.
Claire glanced over at her older sister before rolling out of the parking lot. “Something wrong with that?”
Ronnie shrugged. “When it comes to Grady’s family, I feel like a black sheep.”
“How’s that different than where you fit in with your own family?” Chester asked from the backseat.
“Katie,” Ronnie said without turning around, “pinch Chester for me, please.”
In the rearview mirror, Claire saw Kate elbow the old goat instead.
Claire slowed and made a left turn. The diner was a few blocks ahead.
“It’s just that Grady’s family seems perfect, like characters from The Andy Griffith Show,” Ronnie said. “I don’t fit in there amongst the Mayberry folks.”
Chester guffawed. “You’d blend in better on Hee Haw if you ask me. Especially with Daisy Mae here being knocked up by the local moonshine runner and all of the inbreeded marrying going on in your family these days.”
“Can it, peanut gallery.” Kate yanked on his ear hard enough to make him yelp.
Claire pulled into a parking spot in front of the diner and then turned to her older sister. “You seem to be forgetting about the Sheriff’s niece trading cheap sex for self-confidence.”
“And don’t forget his Aunt Millie,” Kate said, leaning forward.
“Ronnie, I know you like Grady’s aunt,” Claire said, “but keep in mind that Millie is a racketeering queen and extortionist extraordinaire, organizing all sorts of small crimes from the library to the senior center.”
“Not to mention a bully.”
Ronnie frowned at Kate. “She didn’t even touch you, ya big baby.”
“Anyway,” Claire continued, “don’t let Grady’s shiny badge fool you. His family is as tarnished and screwed up as everyone else’s; he just has the power in this town to point his finger and make his accusations stick.”
“And throw innocent victims in jail,” Kate added.
“Spare us the melodrama, Scarlett O’Hara,” Claire told Kate. “You locked yourself in that cell the last time.”
“Are one of you three going to go get those pies sometime before I wither up and die back here?”
“Hold your horses, Chester,” Claire said.
“It’s not my horses I’m worried about, it’s my prostate.”
“I haven’t met Grady’s sister officially yet,” Ronnie said, flipping down the visor and checking her face in the mirror. “Do I look okay?”
Claire smirked. “You’re having sex with her brother, Ronnie, not looking for her permission to marry him.” She pushed open her door. “Chester, keep an eye on Calamity Kate and her new pet. I don’t need any more so-called accidents in my Jeep.”
Kate blew a raspberry at Claire. “It’s one teeny tiny hole.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
Lucky for Ronnie, Grady’s sister wasn’t in the diner. She’d gone home to start their family’s festivities.
“Great,” Ronnie whispered as the woman behind the counter went in back to collect the pies from the walk-in cooler. “His family probably hates me for taking him away from them this holiday.”
“You’re just looking for a reason to beat yourself up today, aren’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, knock it off. You said Grady always worked the holiday, so as far as they’re concerned, nothing is out of the ordinary.”
“Except that his Aunt Millie will be gracing our table instead of theirs.”
“I have a feeling that’s a blessing for them. They should be thanking you.”
The woman came back with five pie boxes. Claire’s stomach rumbled at the cherry pie glistening through the cellophane window as she carried three stacked pies toward the door. Ronnie balanced the other two and led the way outside.
“Why don’t you put them in back?” Chester asked when Ronnie opened his door and handed him two to hold on his lap.
“Have you forgotten about Count Turk-ula conked out back there?”
“Oh, yeah. When are we going to ditch that bird, anyway?”
“As soon as we get outside of town,” Kate answered, taking two of the pie boxes Claire handed her through the back seat window.
“Have you considered that you’re taking it away from its family on Thanksgiving, Katie?” Ronnie winked at Claire, and then she buckled her seatbelt and settled the last pie on her lap.
“I’m not a six-year-old bee killer anymore, Ronnie,” Kate said, referring to the time Ronnie had convinced her that killing a bee would make its family starve and had made Kate give it a proper bee funeral. “The only thing I’m taking it away from is the dog-catcher’s dinner table.”
Claire started the Jeep and headed toward Main Street. “What’s next on Ruby
’s list?” she asked Ronnie.
“The last thing says, Stay out of jail.”
Kate scoffed. “Ha ha. Real funny, Ronnie.”
“I’m serious.” Ronnie leaned forward and cranked up the stereo as Steppenwolf’s Magic Carpet Ride started with its telltale whiny electric guitars. “I love this song,” she hollered above the music.
Claire turned down the volume a little as Steppenwolf really got to jamming. “It really says that on the list?”
“Yep.” Ronnie held up the paper.
Claire glanced over as she paused at the Stop sign before making a right onto Yuccaville’s main drag. The handwriting on the last item was different from Ruby’s, who’d written the rest of the list. “That last one looks like Gramps’s writing.”
She hit the gas and headed toward Jackrabbit Junction.
“You sure it’s not Mac’s?” Kate said and let out a cackle-snort laugh. “How many times has he bailed you out of jail now?”
Said the kettle, Claire thought, frowning at her fellow inmate in the rearview mirror. The sight of a second head sticking up behind Kate’s made her do a double take.
“Turkey!” She shouted it more in surprise than warning.
“You’re the turkey,” Kate shot back.
As if understanding that it was the butt of the insult, the turkey looked over at Kate. Its reddish-pink snood and wattle jiggled as it stared her up and down.
“Claire, watch out!” Ronnie shouted.
Claire looked out the windshield, veering to the left to avoid sideswiping a dually pickup with its tail end sticking out into the street.
When she glanced back in the rearview mirror, the turkey’s head was gone. Had she imagined that? Was she having pre-Thanksgiving dinner hunger hallucinations?
She checked the road in front of her and then looked into the mirror again as Kate opened the lid of one of the pie boxes, licking her lips. “These pies smell as delicious as they look.”
“Don’t open that,” Claire said. “You’ll get hair in it.”
A turkey head popped up next to Kate’s right ear. Before Claire could get a word out, the bird leaned over and locked its beak onto her sister’s earlobe.
An eardrum-piercing scream rang out.
Then all hell broke loose.
Chapter Four
“Somebody grab that damned turkey!” Claire yelled amidst the cacophony of screeches and shouts and gobbles and squawks.
Feathers flew everywhere.
Wincing and ducking, dodging a face-full of tail feathers, Claire tried to steer the Jeep along Yuccaville’s main drag without running into a light pole, another car, or worse.
The turkey’s head popped between the front seats. Ronnie let out a shriek and tried to smack it with the pie she’d been holding in her lap. The apple pie slid right out of the box and landed upside down in a heap in Claire’s lap.
“Ronnie!”
The turkey evaded the pie box when Ronnie swung it around again, and then tried to take a piece out of Claire’s shoulder in retaliation. Claire yelped in pain and surprise, pressing her body against the door to escape its snapping beak. Chester grabbed the bird by the neck and yanked it into the back seat again.
A loud gobbled screech made Claire grimace. A yip of pain from Chester followed. “That goddamned birdie bit me in my family giblets!”
“For crissake, Ronnie,” Claire shouted over the chorus of Magic Carpet Ride. “Get back there and help them!”
Ronnie unbuckled her seatbelt and turned around in her seat to help. “Katie, catch it by the neck!”
Another shriek rang out from Kate.
“Get that pie! No, grab its wing! Quit worrying about what’s in your hair!” Ronnie barked orders from the helm.
“It’s got my finger!” Kate cried. “Owie, owie, owie!”
Claire looked in the mirror and saw nothing but feathers as Kate tried to shake free from the turkey’s hold.
Chocolate pie filling flew past Claire’s headrest and splatted on the steering wheel.
What the hell? Claire growled. Not the chocolate pie, too, dang it.
A turkey wing flapped next to her head, smacking her in the ear several times. She put up her hand, blocking and smacking it back.
“Red light!” Ronnie yelled, pointing out the windshield.
Too late.
Claire sailed through the red light while trying to dodge and peer around the turkey wing that kept flapping in her face and blocking her vision.
“Somebody get this damned bird out of my way!” Claire bellowed. Ronnie caught the bird by the tail and tossed it into the back seat again just as an ancient, tank-like van backed out into the street in front of them. Claire swerved toward the center line, nearly shaved the van’s bumper, then almost careened straight into the grill of a white Bronco. She jerked the wheel, sending Ronnie hurtling into her.
Claire’s head smacked into the side window hard enough to jar her teeth. “Jeeeezus, Ronnie!”
“That was your fault.” Her sister pushed back upright in her seat.
“Hold the blasted wheel steady, girl!” Chester hollered from the debacle in the back of the Jeep. “You just dumped the cherry pie in my lap.”
“Excuse me,” she shouted back, “while I try not to kill us all!” As soon as they made it outside of the city limits she was pulling over and getting that damned turkey out of her Jeep.
Ronnie leaned between the seats into the back, her butt now bumping into Claire’s shoulder. “I got its leg,” she said. “Chester, get the other one.”
Out of nowhere, a black pickup pulled out from Claire’s left, aiming right for her door. She punched the gas to avoid being T-boned.
With a cry of alarm, Ronnie fell into the backseat, her legs now the only thing up front with Claire.
“It’s biting my butt!” Ronnie said between yaps of pain. “Katie, grab the stupid bird!”
“I can’t! You’re pinning down my arms.”
“I’m going to snap its scrawny neck for messing up a perfectly good cherry pie,” Chester hollered above the noise of Steppenwolf’s guitar riffs.
“Don’t kill it!” Kate cried. “It’s just scared.”
A wild flurry of flapping followed. More pie was flung into the front—landing on the dash and the windshield. Even the rearview mirror took a hit. Screeches, squawks, and more cries of pain made Claire’s ears ring. Three more blocks and this magic carpet ride was over!
“I got it!” Ronnie yelled.
“Hold that feisty pecker still,” Chester said.
Claire looked in the rearview mirror in time to see Chester hit the turkey over the top of the head with an empty pie pan.
Silence filled the Jeep.
“You killed it,” Kate whispered.
“Nah, I just knocked it out.”
“Would somebody help me get my face out of this damned pecan pie!” Ronnie’s voice was muffled.
Claire breathed a sigh of relief as they reached open desert and rolled down the window to let some of the feathers out.
The sound of a siren blared through the open window. “Shit!”
Claire pulled off the road. “Nobody says a word, got it?” She glared at Kate and Chester in the rearview mirror. It was more of a command than a question. “I’ll handle this.”
“Please tell me that’s not Grady,” Ronnie said from her pecan pie plate, trying to wiggle her butt back into the front seat. Her sneaker hit the radio volume button. Magic Carpet Ride rock-and-rolled from the speakers.
A glance in the side mirror confirmed her sister’s nightmare. Sheriff Grady Harrison was walking their way. The song ended right as the Sheriff filled her window. She turned off the radio and waited for the next shit storm to hit.
Grady rested his forearms on the sill and peered inside, his focus shifting from Claire to Ronnie’s butt, which was sticking up between the seats with the damned derringer poking halfway out of her pocket. A deep, rippling V formed on his forehead. His gaze moved, first
to Chester’s side of the backseat and then Kate’s. As he took in the scene, the lines around his mouth doubled.
“Afternoon, Sheriff,” Chester broke the silence. “Your sister makes a deeee-licious cherry pie.” Claire glanced over her shoulder and watched him dig his finger in the mashed up mess of cherry goodness he’d scooped back into the pie plate and then pop the dab of pie filling into his mouth.
Hells bells! Claire had wanted a piece of that pie.
Ronnie grabbed the side of Claire’s seat and struggled back into the front. Twisting around, she forced an extra-wide smile through a face covered with pecan pieces, pie goop, and bits of crust. “Hi, Grady!”
“Tone it down about a hundred watts there, sunshine,” Claire muttered.
The Sheriff lowered his sunglasses, his narrowed gaze bouncing between Ronnie and Claire. A feather floated in front of his face and out the window. When he finally spoke, his gravelly voice was edged with exasperation. “I don’t even know where to start on this one.”
Claire did … maybe. “There’s a perfectly good explanation for this.”
His lips twitched at the corners. “This should be good.”
Ronnie brushed pecan pie crust off her face while she waited along with Grady to hear Claire’s “perfectly good explanation.” She was glad her sister was taking control of the situation, because short of lifting her shirt to distract Grady while the rest made a run for it, Ronnie couldn’t think of another way to get them out of trouble at the moment.
“Uhhhh,” Claire started, staring up at Grady’s stony expression. His badge glinted in the sunlight.
Ronnie held her breath, willing her sister not to let Grady’s stare-down routine ruffle her feathers. If anyone could handle the Sheriff, it was Claire.
Her sister pointed in Ronnie’s direction. “The turkey rustler can explain it all.”
What a lowdown, stinking brat! Ronnie gaped at Claire and then pinched her sister’s thigh for good measure. “Backstabber.”
Grady’s focus shifted to Ronnie. “Turkey rustler?”