by Kitty Margo
“Evening, Irene,” he smirked.
“How have you been, Teddy.” I was striving for casual but doubted my voice was having the desired effect. “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”
“Doing good. Even better today since I almost have Nate convinced to sell me this land.” He took a deep breath and looked around, eyeing the property covetously. “I’ve been trying to buy it for years.”
I jerked around when Natalie commenced to shrieking and flying around so fast the water in the pond began white capping. “My dad would never agree to sell him anything! He is nothing more than a lying pervert!”
I jumped when I felt Teddy’s hand on my arm and spun back around. “Better still, why you are here, Irene?”
Natalie screeched, spinning in the air until the water in the pond was frothing like the sea during a hurricane. “It’s my dad’s land and they have my permission to be here and you don’t. Now get off my property at once!”
I wanted to remind Natalie that she was a ghost and Teddy couldn’t hear her, but I decided to let the poor thing vent and get it out of her system. “A member of Nate’s immediate family gave us permission to pick blueberries for a cobbler.”
Teddy pursed his lips, then his eyes swept over me from head to toe. “Well, let me give you a fair warning. Get all you want this time, because in a few weeks when I hold the deed to this property, all trespassers will be shot.”
Who in the hell was he to threaten me?
Natalie screamed, a sharp piercing scream that had me covering my ears. I was afraid to even look behind me to see what the water was doing now. “The nerve of that lying asshole. My daddy wouldn’t sell a single acre to that piece of dog excrement.”
Teddy was watching me curiously. “Why are you covering your ears, Irene. Do you have a headache?”
“No, Teddy. I don’t.” But I was extremely pissed that he thought he could just stand here and tell outrageous lies with me being none the wiser. “But tell me, how exactly can you afford to purchase two hundred acres of prime real estate from Nate Buchanan?”
He tossed back his head and laughed. “Getting a bit personal, aren’t we, Irene?”
“Don’t say another word, Irene,” Natalie warned, sounding like she was hovering in the air over my shoulder. “He has a gun and he won’t hesitate to use it.”
But I was on a roll and pissed to high heaven that he had the balls to threaten me. “Teddy, everybody in this town knows that you have already given your poor mother a stroke. Without a care for their retirement, you even ran through every penny your parents worked so hard to earn, leaving them to die in the most run down, rat infested nursing home in the state.”
“Irene, please stop antagonizing him,” Natalie cried. “Look how red he’s getting in the face.”
But blood was pounding so hard between my ears that I could barely hear her. “I thank God every night that none of my boys turned out like you.”
He was livid. Red as a beet in the face and eyes wild with rage as he started toward me. “You bitch. Look around you, Irene. There isn’t a soul to see me kill you. I’ll get away with your murder as easy as I did those other two.”
He was finally confessing after all these years. “You killed Sam Harkey and Boney Lefler didn’t you?”
He actually laughed. “It was unavoidable.”
“Yeah, you had to get that sewing mill up and running again after you burned it to the ground and tried to collect insurance money from it? How much did the owners of that new hardware store pay you for killing Sam and Boney?”
“I’m impressed, Irene. You are smarter than I gave you credit for.” He chuckled. “But to answer your question, probably more than you will make in a lifetime of wiping that old woman’s ass.”
I backed up to the pond, about to tell him that I no longer dealt with fecal matter for a living when I stopped suddenly. I was cornered.
“What’s the matter, Irene,” he sneered. “Can’t you swim? Or are you afraid you might mess up your makeup?”
“I don’t wear makeup,” I mumbled, glancing over my shoulder at the bubbling mess behind me.
“You might have found a man and not had to live alone all these years if you had.” He laughed at his own corny joke.
“No thank you.” I smiled as sweetly as I could under the circumstances, just to piss him off. “I would rather live alone than risk ending up with a man like you.”
“In your dreams.”
“You mean in my nightmares.” I pointedly cut my eyes toward his mouth of rotten teeth. “You should have gone to the dentist years ago about that periodontal disease because, just ask anybody who has ever had to come face to face with you, your breath is kicking.”
When I said that he charged forward like a demon straight from hell. At the same time I heard fierce barking and looked up to see a streak of black charging from the direction of Nate’s barn. Hudson.
Teddy raised his gun and hollered, “Come on you little shit so I can put a bullet between your eyes. I still have scars on the back of my neck from when you attacked me before.”
I heard Natalie scream, “Hudson!” and take off like a streak of lightning toward Teddy. She just stood in front of him, but what else could she do to save her beloved pet? Poor thing was helpless.
Teddy took aim for Hudson’s head, when all of a sudden frost started forming on the barrels of his gun. My girl wasn’t so helpless after all. Teddy hollered, “What the…” and about that time he threw the gun from his hands like it was a snake ready to strike and fell backwards. It was apparent that his hands were useless, numb from the cold. He lay there a few seconds slinging his hands, trying to bring the feeling back to them. Then, all at once, he started slapping and brushing at his arms and legs, screaming like he was being murdered.
I moved a little farther out of the way as Hudson stopped at Natalie’s feet and whimpered.
Teddy jumped to his feet, still slapping at his body. That’s when I noticed that he had fallen down right on top of a fire ant mound. Actually it was the same mound that I had poked with a stick earlier and gotten the ants all riled up. Teddy’s entire body was covered with thousands of stinging fire ants.
He looked around and had sense enough to realize that water was the only way to remove that many ants in a hurry. Only problem was, he didn’t bother to look at the water before he jumped headfirst into the bubbling liquid.
“Be careful Irene,” Natalie warned me as we moved closer to the pond. “Don’t step on that ant hill.”
I stood silently beside Natalie for the longest time watching where Teddy had gone under, waiting for him to surface. “I don’t think he’s coming back up,” she whispered.
“I know this is terrible, and I will probably bust hell wide open for saying it, but this world will be a better place without Teddy Knox in it.”
“Amen.” Natalie sighed.
Hudson came to the edge of the pond with us and growled at the water, but didn’t so much as stick a paw in it. The air was stagnant with the fumes coming off the surface. The atmosphere was eerily still with no movement. “You’re right. He’s not coming up,” I ventured to say.
“What are we going to do?”
“I guess we call 911.”
Chapter Thirty Three
Irene
I was about to push 911 on my phone when it rang. I answered it to hear Maggie breathing heavily from her hike up the hill. “Okay,” she mumbled breathlessly. “I am on this man’s porch. Let me knock on the door. Hold on.” She had no idea what had just happened. I decided to wait until she came back to fill her in. It wasn’t like we could do anything to help Teddy now.
“Don’t tell him anything,” I whispered. “We don’t want this to get out yet, and keep your phone on.”
“Okay.”
I heard knocking, and then Maggie simpered in that syrupy voice she only uses for good looking men, “Good morning. I hate to bother you, but I was wondering if I could borrow a metal container?�
�
“That is the oddest request I have ever received.” I heard soft laughter through the phone. Judging from his voice, which was perky and self assured, I would guess that he was in his late thirties, early forties. He had that sweet, sexy voice that only attractive men can carry off. “A young lady appearing at a strange man’s door, asking for a metal container. That’s something you don’t see every day.”
Young lady? Maggie would melt and puddle at his feet.
“Um… my friends are down at the pond,” she simpered. “and we… need one.”
Get a grip, Maggie. To be such an intelligent woman, you are coming off as some simpleminded doofus in heat.
“Of course. I would never turn down the request of a lovely lady.”
No she was not giggling like a school girl!
“Thank you, Mr…?
“Jackson,” he practically purred. “Patrick Jackson.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Patrick. I’m Maggie Moore.”
“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Moore?”
“Yes, I’m a widow.” Lord help. Buck up, girl. This is serious business.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, although I didn’t hear an ounce of sympathy in his smooth voice. “But you mentioned your friends were down at the pond. If it’s not too presumptuous of me, what are they doing down there?”
“Um… fishing.”
I heard him chuckle. “Then the water must have cleared up dramatically overnight, because I was down there yesterday and it smelled worst than a rendering plant. In fact, I was just about to ride over and inform Nate that something fishy is going on down at his pond.”
Shit. She should have planned her lies better.
“Um… yes,” Maggie stammered, trying to be evasive and not mention the hundreds of dead fish and other pond critters. “There is definitely a nasty smell. I believe something must have died down there..”
He had a rumbling laugh that started in his belly and worked its way out. “And whatever died must have been from another planet to make the water turn green and bubble.”
He had a good point. “It’s quite the conundrum.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “So, why do you need a metal container?”
What would she say?
I told you Maggie had always been quick on her feet. “We ran out of gas and I need a metal container to carry some in.”
“Then you need a gas can?”
“Not really, just a metal container.” Maybe not that quick.
“How about a Mason jar. I think that would serve your purposes better. Grandma saved them for some reason, so I have a couple hundred to spare in the pantry.”
“That should work great,” Maggie said. Why didn’t we think of that?
“Would you like to come in while I get one for you.”
“No thank you.” I was surprised she didn’t fall right down at his kitchen table and ask for a glass of iced tea while she batted her eyelashes at him. “I will just wait here on the porch if it’s alright?”
“I’ll be right back.”
I heard the screen door slam and then Maggie said into the phone, “Irene, you should see this gorgeous hunk of man. He looks like he should be on the cover of this months GQ or something. I swear, he could easily stand on the stage with Channing Tatum. Shush, here he comes.”
“Here you go, Maggie. I hope this helps.”
Maggie giggled. Giggled? “Me too, and I’m sorry for interrupting your day.”
“No, you didn’t interrupt me at all. I was employed at Pine View Chemicals and as I am sure you’ve already heard, I no longer have a job. So I have more free time now than I know what to do with.”
“That was so terrible about the explosion,” Maggie cried, rather theatrically I thought. “I heard a commentator on the news suggest that an HCB was used at the chemical plant. What does HCB stand for?”
“A Homemade Chemical Bomb. I suspected as much.”
“I just can’t imagine who could do something so evil? I lie in my bed, alone, most nights worrying what this world is coming to.”
Maggie Moore actually used a come on line! You go, girl!
“It isn’t the world our grandparents grew up in for sure. Working at the chemical plant was the only job I’ve ever had. Now, I guess I’ll have to start pounding the pavement when my unemployment runs out in a few weeks.”
After an awkward pause, Maggie said, “Well, I need to run. But good luck with your job search, and thanks again for the jar.”
“Anytime. Always willing to help a lady who needs a container to carry gas in… just not a gas can.” He chuckled.
I knew Maggie well enough to know that now that her supply of small talk had been exhausted, she was probably blushing and grinning from ear to ear when she turned to leave.
Chapter Thirty Four
Irene
“Irene, I got us a Mason jar,” Maggie whispered into the phone. “Duh. Nothing eats through glass. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Patrick worked at a chemical plant, so it stands to reason that he would know what type of container to use for the chemical in question. You know good and well I flunked chemistry in high school.”
“Still, you don’t think we’re getting senile do you? You know my grandmother started having signs of Alzheimers in her early sixties.”
Here we go again. She did this at least once a month. “Tell me your birthday, your social security number, and your drivers license number.”
She did.
“Tell me your children’s birthdays.”
She rattled them off without any problem, relief evident in her voice.
“Maggie, you brain is safe for now. No signs of dementia.”
“Whew. That’s a relief. Anyway, look up. I’m coming down the hill.”
I glanced up to wave at her and when I did, I noticed a man at the top of the hill flailing his arms. “Do either of you have any medical experience?” he shouted. “I think my grandmother is having a heart attack.”
Those words were a call to action for Maggie Moore. Once again, the nurse in her took over and she sprinted back up that hill like an Olympic athlete shouting, “Do you have any aspirins?”
Of course, she had the Mason jar in her hand, so here Natalie and I go chasing up the hill after her.
We had just topped the slope and I was walking across a rather unkempt lawn, shaking my head at the dead flowers in the many hanging baskets that hung from the ceiling of a wrap around porch. All of a sudden Natalie started screaming like she was dying. Well, you know what I mean. “Irene, help me! It hurts! Please, do something.”
“What,” I cried. “Natalie, what’s hurting you? Tell me so I can help you.”
“It hurts!” she screamed pitifully. “I feel like I’m being torn apart, the same feeling I had on the island.”
Sage?
I looked and sure enough there were several sage plants in an herb garden at the side of the house. “It’s sage, Natalie! Go back down the hill and wait for us.”
“Sage! Oh, no!” Her screams got louder and then began to fade as she floated back down the hill. Bless her heart.
Evidently Maggie had already gone inside the house since no one was outside. I listened but didn’t hear any sirens or frantic cries for help. I hope Maggie hadn’t been too late. She would be depressed for days if she couldn’t help the poor woman.
I pounded on the door, to no avail, then put my ear to the screen alert for any sound from inside. It was as quiet as a tomb, even the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to be holding his breath. Maybe they were too busy with the grandmother to leave her side. She was probably in her bedroom. I guess I should volunteer my medical services as well, limited though they may be.
Slowly pushing the door open, I stepped inside. Gloration! What a mess. Pizza boxes littered the coffee table and end tables. Fast food wrappers were scattered about and beer bottles covered practically every square inch of the living room fl
oor. But my eyes were drawn to the most unusual sight. Tennis shoes.
There were about 50 pairs of those really expensive shoes that basketball players and rap stars wear spread out neatly, about four rows deep, against the wall and not a single fast food wrapper or beer bottle littered the pristine area. Obviously Patrick Jackson was a shoe fanatic.
Glancing around the room, I was fascinated by a vast assortment of lovely teapots. Evidently the grandmother of the house was a collector, because delicate teapots painted in an array of beautiful floral patterns filled several shelves that had been built into the walls as well as two china cabinets on each side of a beautiful picture window.
I walked inside looking for a place to put my feet without stepping on a beer bottle. I hadn’t taken three steps when I felt cold steel nudge against my back.
“Come on in and close the door behind you, sweetheart,” that soft, sexy voice that I had heard earlier on the phone purred.
I opened my mouth to ask where Maggie was when I heard, “Sweet Jesus, my head hurts.” That was Maggie’s voice.
I spun around to find her lying on the floor behind a man, evidently the handsome man Maggie had described, because he certainly was a looker. Although I would deal with him later, first I had to see what was causing Maggie to moan and groan so. “Maggie, honey, what happened?”
“I think someone hit me on the back of the head,” she murmured, still in a daze. “I was talking to Patrick when I suddenly felt a crushing pain and the lights went out.”
I whirled on the man, ignoring the gun pointed at my back, now my chest. “Did you hit her, you piece of shit? If you did you are going to have to deal with me.”
Raising his gun a little higher, actually it was pressed firmly against my Adam’s apple, he whispered nonchalantly, “It couldn’t be helped.”
The nerve of this asshole. “Sure it could,” I snarled, slapping the gun out of my personal space. “You just don’t do it. That’s a sure fire way for your action not to cause a reaction.”
The fine male specimen blew out a deep breath like the conversation was becoming monotonous and I heard the hammer on the gun click into place. “Not really. You see, our dear friend Maggie knows too much.”