Hell in a Handbasket

by Denise Grover Swank

“Not true,” she said, her voice wavering. “You were changing him.”

  “He couldn’t handle what I did to save him. I understand that.”

  “Well, I don’t.” She sounded pissed. “I mean I do, but for him to be so—” She turned to face me with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rose.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Rose,” Anna called out as she walked into the storeroom. I resisted the urge to jump.

  “Yeah?” I said, turning to her with a smile. “Is Violet okay?”

  “She’s great. Her eyes are closed, and she looks like she’s floating on a cloud.”

  “Thank you again for doin’ that for her,” I said. “It means more than you know.”

  Anna glanced down, looking embarrassed. “It was nothin’, but that’s not why I’m back here. Bruce Wayne called.”

  I held back a mild curse. “I completely forgot about those rose bushes. Is he still at the job site?”

  “Yeah. He says they can finish the job today if someone runs them over.”

  I turned to Maeve. “Is it really all right for me to leave Violet here? I can come back and take her home when I’m done.”

  “Don’t you worry about it,” she said with a tiny wave. “I’ll handle it.”

  “Are you sure?” I felt guilty leaving Violet when I was supposed to be the one helping her with errands, but I also knew she wouldn’t want me sitting around.

  “Go,” Maeve said, beaming. “You get those bushes to Bruce Wayne.”

  * * *

  The drive to Pickle Junction gave me time to think about what I was going to do about Mason. I had no answers by the time I reached the job site, but I sat in the parked car for a moment and sent a text to James.

  I’m down in Pickle Junction at a job site, but when I finish I need to see you about something important.

  As soon as I sent the text, I realized that tomorrow was my two-week deadline, and I still didn’t have an answer I could live with. I’d worry about that later.

  I climbed out of the truck and stuffed my phone into my skirt pocket as I got the rose bushes out of the truck bed. I was surprised to see that Bruce Wayne and Tillman were the only guys left on the site. Tillman was cleaning several tools with a garden hose, and Bruce Wayne was standing where we planned to plant the bushes.

  “I hope you haven’t been standin’ there, waitin’ on me,” I said as I walked toward him.

  He grinned. “I saw your truck at the end of the street.”

  I laughed. “Sorry I’m not Anna.”

  His grin spread wider as he reached for the pots. “I’ll see her soon enough.” He sobered. “I heard Violet’s at the nursery now.”

  “She’s in the space Anna set up. That was so sweet of her.”

  He nodded. “She put a lot of thought into it. She knows how much Violet loves the nursery and suspected she might like to spend some time there. Maybe she can’t work like she used to, but Anna figured they could make it a special place for her.”

  My chest tightened. “You found yourself a special woman, Bruce Wayne. Don’t screw it up.”

  He laughed. “Trust me. I won’t.”

  He started to squat to get to work, then stopped and held the bushes back out to me. “I think you need to do this.”

  Anyone else would have thought he was crazy, but Bruce Wayne and I had a bond founded in the dirt. He got my connection to the earth and growing things because he felt it too.

  I started to kneel, but he held up a hand to stop me and called out, “Hey, Tillman, bring me a fresh towel.”

  “You don’t need to do that, Bruce Wayne,” I protested.

  “You’re wearing a skirt. Can’t have you gettin’ your knees all dirty.”

  Tillman jogged over with a blue hand towel and handed it to Bruce Wayne. “Here you go.”

  Bruce Wayne spread it out next to the shovel and trowel, then got to his feet. “Unless you need anything else from us, we’re gonna take off. I want to look over the plans for the Turnball install tomorrow. I figure you might want some time to yourself.”

  “You go,” I said. “Let me play in the dirt.” I watched them walk to their truck and take off before I knelt on the towel and started to unpot the first plant.

  Violet loved the nursery, but planting things in the ground was my love. Something about burying my hands in the earth soothed my soul and made me believe everything would be okay.

  Even if it was a pretty lie.

  Chapter 26

  It was after three when I finished planting the rose bushes, and while I felt less anxious than I had before the dig, my hands were filthy. I washed them off with the hose while I watered the bushes, but some of the dirt was ground in. There was a convenience store about a mile away, so I decided to use the restroom there.

  The convenience store was packed with people getting gas, drinks, and snacks on their way home from work, forcing me to park in the side lot. After I used the restroom, I bought a bottle of water and took a long drink as I walked back to my truck.

  I stopped in my tracks at the sight of the big, beefy guy leaning against my driver’s door. He had on jeans, a loose graphic T-shirt, and a pair of work boots that looked like they’d actually been used for their intended purpose and weren’t some fashion fad. His arms were folded across his chest, showing off the full-sleeve tattoos on his arms. His pose appeared nonchalant, but the set of his jaw suggested otherwise.

  I lowered my water bottle, giving myself a second to come up with a plan. Flee or confront him? Most of me screamed, “Flee!” but the fed-up part of me decided to confront him and get this over with.

  I walked up to him, my water bottle in my left hand, my phone and keys in my right. “Can I help you?”

  “Lady, my boss wants to see you.”

  Lady. Crap. Was this one of Wagner’s men? Or maybe Dermot’s? “Who’s your boss?”

  He dropped his arms and stood up straighter, taking a step away from my truck. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Well,” I said as I pushed the button on my key fob to unlock the door, “when you are at liberty to say, then let me know and we’ll see what we can arrange.”

  He put his hand on the door to keep me from opening it, then lifted his T-shirt a few inches with his other hand to expose part of the handgun in a holster on his belt.

  That complicated things.

  “What do you expect me to do?” I asked, trying to run through my options. “Get in your car and go with you to God knows where and have God knows what happen to me just because you flashed that thing? I think I’d rather take my chances out in public.”

  He looked stumped at that, but he still kept his hand on the door.

  Pushing out a huge breath, I took a step back to look up at him. “So we’re going with option two, which is me puttin’ up a huge fuss to make you run away.”

  Confusion washed through his eyes. “He just wants to meet with you.”

  “I need more assurance than that, Mr. . . . ?”

  He looked puzzled, but he answered me nonetheless. “Brox.”

  “Why does your boss want to meet with me? Give me a little incentive to go with you.”

  He pulled out his phone, then placed a call and held it up to his ear. “She doesn’t want to go.” He grimaced, then gave me a dark look as he added, “She’s threatening to pitch a fit if I try to make her. She’s scared you’ll hurt her.”

  I watched the exchange, knowing this was pointless. This was probably the stupidest idea ever, but I reached up and snatched his phone and pressed it to my ear. “Why don’t we cut out the middleman? Why do you want to meet with me?”

  There was a moment of silence before a deep male voice said, “We have a mutual problem.”

  It definitely wasn’t Kip Wagner or Tim Dermot—I’d recognize either of their voices—but who was it? Denny Carmichael? “And what might that be?”

  “Come meet me and we’ll discuss it then.”

  “No, thanks. I’m not tha
t stupid.”

  “It could mean helpin’ Skeeter Malcolm.”

  That gave me a millisecond’s pause, but probably long enough to do damage. “And why would that concern me?”

  “Now you’re insinuating I’m stupid.”

  “Give me more than that.”

  “Let’s just say it concerns a missing file.”

  I stared up at the pissed man in front of me. “And what assurance can you give me that you won’t put a bullet in me once we’re done with our meetin’?”

  “If I wanted to put a bullet in you, you’d already be dead.”

  Fair point.

  This was probably the stupidest thing I’d done in a while, but there was a chance this could solve the Wagner problem. Besides, we needed to find that file, and I’d already decided Denny was likely my next best lead. “Fine.”

  “See you in fifteen minutes.” Then he hung up.

  I handed the phone back to the very pissed-off Brox. “I’ll go with you, but you are not allowed to lay a finger on me. Is that perfectly clear?”

  His answer was a glare. I’d take it.

  He walked over to an older, bright red, two-door Mustang that was backed into a spot two spaces over. “You’ll sit in back,” he said, opening the driver’s door.

  At least he wasn’t putting me in the trunk, but it was going to be awkward climbing into that car in my skirt, especially since I wanted to keep my gun holster hidden. “I’ll come with you, but I need you to turn to the side a bit so I can make sure you don’t get a peep show of my panties.”

  He held out his hand. “I’ll look away, but I’m gonna need your cell phone.”

  I wasn’t surprised, but my anxiety ratcheted up a few notches as I handed it over. Then he walked over to my truck and tossed the phone on the floorboard. “You can lock it and keep your keys,” he said with an unfriendly smile, “but only if you get in the Mustang now.”

  I pressed the lock button, making the truck chirp, then started to get in, making sure he was living up to his end of the bargain. Once I was in the back, I sat in the middle, but he grunted as he pushed his seat back and climbed in. “Lie down.”

  I started to put up a protest, but it wasn’t worth it. There would be other ways to figure out our location. My biggest concern was flashing my gun holster, but I lay on my left side, covering both gun and holster with my right thigh. As soon as I was down, he started his car and pulled out.

  We spent the next ten minutes or so in silence while Brox drove us to our destination. I kept track of the turns, watching what I could see of the landscape through the tiny passenger windows. Mostly I saw trees, followed by a stretch of open sky and then a heavily wooded area that included a lot of pine trees. He pulled to a halt and turned off the engine. “You can sit up.”

  I put a hand on his seat to help push myself up, and he gave me a suspicious glare—had he expected more protesting from me?—but didn’t say anything.

  We were in the middle of the woods, parked in front of a log cabin with two small windows in front and a tiny window nestled under the top of the A-shaped roofline. There were multiple outer buildings and an older pickup and another muscle car.

  As Brox opened the door and got out, I stuffed my keys into my skirt pocket to use as a weapon in case the need arose. I was sitting with my hands in my lap when he leaned down to push his seat forward to let me out.

  I led with my right foot to hide my holster, then stood next to the car. “Nice place you have here.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something but pressed his lips together.

  The front door to the cabin opened, and a man who looked like he was in his early twenties appeared. “That’s her?”

  Brox still didn’t say anything. He started to reach for my arm, but I slid to the side. “No touching.”

  The guy in the doorway laughed. “She’s got you whipped, boy.”

  Both of us shot him a glare.

  Brox motioned to the porch, then said in a condescending tone, “After you.”

  Straightening my back, I walked toward the house, trying to exude a confidence I wasn’t feeling. I had no idea where we were, and by allowing Brox to leave my cell phone in my truck, I’d taken away any chance of Joe or James finding me with my phone finder app.

  The man stayed in the doorway and gave me a leer. “You’re a pretty one.”

  I lifted my eyebrows and said in a cold tone, “I’m here for a business meeting. If you’re lookin’ for a girlfriend, I suggest you download a dating app.”

  Brox busted up laughing behind me, but the doorway guy scowled in a way that told me I’d made a new enemy.

  “Carey, move to the side and let her in,” a man said inside. It was the voice on the phone.

  Carey didn’t look too happy about being told what to do, or perhaps he took umbrage with the way I was staring at him like he was an annoying housefly, but after a second he backed up into the room.

  I stepped into a room so dark I could hardly get my bearings. The two windows were covered with heavy blankets that blocked out most of the light, and a window on the left side wall was covered as well. I could see outlines of a table and chairs as well as a sofa in front of the window. A figure sat at the far end of the table and another figure stood in front of the window to the left, both of them swathed in shadows.

  “Did you check her for weapons?” the man to the left asked.

  “Look at her,” Brox said as he walked in behind me, shutting the door. “She weighs next to nothin’.”

  If it kept him from checking me for weapons, I was happy to be underestimated. “I’m here, and I don’t want to stay here all day, so why don’t we get this meeting started?”

  “Have a seat, Lady,” the man from the phone said.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “After lyin’ down in the backseat of Brox’s tiny car, I think I’ll stand.”

  “I don’t like lookin’ up at you,” the man said. “I’d prefer we were at a more equal level.”

  “Well, considerin’ I feel like I’m in a cave meeting a vampire, I’m not sure what difference it makes.”

  “Humor me,” he said.

  My eyes were adjusting to the dark, and I could see the kitchen chair at the opposite end of the table. I pulled it out and the legs scraped against the wood floor. Once I was seated, I asked, “What’s with all the secrecy?”

  “I’m a private man, Lady. I don’t let many people see me. That makes you special.”

  Maybe only semi-special since I hadn’t really seen him at this point, but that was splitting hairs. “You have a name for me; what should I call you?”

  “Gerard will do.”

  So this wasn’t Denny? But now that I thought about it, these guys didn’t look like drug dealers. If anything, they looked like doomsday preppers. Were they one of the militia groups rumored to be hiding in the woods? Supposedly there were a couple of them. “You said you had information about a file, Gerard. How about we get to that?”

  “I thought we’d start with some pleasantries first.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table. “If you were concerned with pleasantries, you’d turn on a lamp or two and maybe offer me a cup of tea, but since neither of those things seem to be in order, I vote that we get down to business.”

  “She’s too mouthy,” the guy by the side window said. As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, I could see he was in a small kitchen, standing in front of what looked to be a sink with an old-fashioned pump handle. “I don’t like ’er.”

  “Good thing it’s not up to you,” Brox said. “It’s up to Gerard.”

  “Brox is right, Tony. We’ve all known from the beginning that you wanted no part of this, but you were outvoted.” Gerard turned to me, and my eyes had adjusted enough by now that I could vaguely see his features. He looked older, maybe sixties based on his white hair and beard. “We’ve heard about you, Lady. We hear you’re neutral. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how
do you explain your connection to Skeeter Malcolm?”

  I considered telling him to mind his own business, but if he was really a player in this dangerous game, then I needed to prove my neutrality. “It’s no secret that I worked with Skeeter Malcolm last winter. We cooperated to bring down Mick Gentry and J.R. Simmons, but I did it for the good of the county, not for personal gain.”

  “But you helped Malcolm.”

  “We had a deal. He got me access to the people I needed to speak to, and I gave him bits of information.” Then I added, “He is the king of the Fenton County crime world. It only seemed appropriate.”

  “We recognize no king,” Tony said in disgust. “This is the United States of America. We threw off tyranny over two hundred years ago.”

  That was good to know. It fit with my impression that they were one of the militias. But they tended to stick to themselves, so why was I here talking to them about my neutrality as the Lady in Black?

  “Be quiet, Tony,” Brox sneered.

  “Yes, Tony,” Gerard said. “Be silent or leave.”

  Tony thought about it for a couple of seconds and then stomped toward the door, throwing it open as he left. It slammed shut behind him, but the light that spilled in gave me a much better look at my host.

  I’d guessed wrong about his age. He looked a little younger than I’d thought at first, maybe late fifties. His white beard reached several inches below his chin, and his salt-and-pepper hair was several inches long and in need of a good trim. He was wearing a solid black T-shirt, and I thought I caught a glimpse of jeans before the door shut.

  “I apologize for Tony’s outburst. Some of us are slow to adapt,” Gerard said in a sober voice. He sounded sad.

  “As long as Tony leaves me be, he can be as slow to adapt as he likes.”

  Gerard shifted in his chair. “I heard you were no-nonsense, but I didn’t expect you to be this direct.”

  “Because I’m a woman? And who did you hear this from?”

  “I have my sources, which is how I know about Kip Wagner’s missing file.”

  “Do you know who bought it?”

  “Perhaps.” He sounded amused, and I realized that as much as he hoped to appear practical, he was really all about the drama—from setting the stage to his cloak-and-dagger performance. “I thought we could work out a deal.”