Killer Moves: The 4th Jolene Jackson Mystery (Jolene Jackson Mysteries)

by Paula Boyd

  “Yeah, I believe. Now, you do realize I have no idea where you are right now? Text me the address and I’ll be right there. If you can’t text and need me to find you another way, say something about, um, peaches.”

  “Oh, no, Carol, that won’t be necessary. We’re doing just fine. Just hang on while I walk Nurse Linda to the door and we’ll chat more.”

  I heard papers shuffling and muffled voices, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. Long seconds of silence ticked by and I was starting to panic when Melody picked the phone back up.

  “She’s driving away.”

  “Good. Keep watching her until she’s out of sight then get your mother in the car and head toward Kickapoo. Don’t take time to pack just go. We’ll go back for whatever you absolutely have to have.”

  “Okay, Jolene, but where in Kickapoo?”

  Good question since she didn’t know any more about my whereabouts than I did hers. “Do you know where Turkey Ranch Road is?”

  “Yes, my mother lives about five miles from it out on the Bowman City Highway.”

  “Then I suppose you know where the Little Ranch is.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Okay, go there and go up the hill to the house. Drive around to the back. Emmajean will take care of you.”

  “The Little Ranch?” She sounded incredulous. “You want me to go up on the hill at the Little Ranch?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a long story, just go. I’ll explain later. Just go.”

  When I hung up the phone and turned around, Emmajean was standing behind me. “If there’s trouble, we need to know. Clove especially.”

  I wrinkled my face. “I’m in Texas and my mother is involved. There is always trouble.”

  “That does seem to be the case,” Emmajean agreed, a little too quickly. “But I suppose we ought to know what the trouble this time.”

  “The short version is that there was a situation last night where the woman on the phone thought her mother was being over-medicated, so I helped them leave.”

  “Without telling anyone?”

  I nodded. “Anyway, the nurse who was involved in the situation showed up at her mother’s door this morning, threatening to turn her in to Social Services if she didn’t bring her mother back or sign papers and such. So, I’m helping her protect her mother.”

  Emmajean did not move. “Protect her from what?”

  “Doris—that’s Melody’s mother—was being given pills she wasn’t supposed to be and was getting sick because of it.”

  “That happens so much, especially with older people.” Emmajean shook her head. “It was that very thing that killed my own mother. It seemed like there was a new pill every week and she just kept getting sicker and sicker. I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen, just kept stuffing pills down her she didn’t need.” She paused and blinked away the memory then smiled. “Don’t you worry, sweetie, I’ll take good care of them.”

  “I know you didn’t expect this, and neither did I, but it won’t be for long, just until Doris is strong enough to go home with Melody to Dallas.”

  “Well, it’s going to be just fine,” Emmajean said, sounding as if she believed it.

  Fine—that word again. Back in the old days, I always looked on the bright side and trusted that things would work out fine too. But that was before the multiple near-death experiences, precipitated by a long list of felonious escapades and murderous crime sprees, made me jaded and cynical. Speaking of which… “I’m supposed to pick up Lucille later this afternoon, although I’m not sure on the time.”

  “No problem with that. Right now, you just need to go get your things and get settled in to your new room. Take a quick look before you go. It’s quite nice and should put your mind at ease about having a private place.”

  Turned out that “quite nice” was a serious understatement. The master suite had a unique private entry with a short hallway that blocked an initial view of anything. Then, after walking a few steps, you could go left into a hallway of closets that led into bathroom area or you could go right into the bedroom. I peeked in both directions and really all I could comprehend was the luxurious feel of it all.

  Adding to my shock and awe, was the fact that the master suite took up the entire right side of the house and was probably bigger than the whole house my ex-husband Danny and I’d lived in when the kids were little. Of course, the other two bedrooms and bathrooms where Doris and Lucille would stay were nothing to sneeze at either. They took up most of the far left side of the house and were each bigger than most master bedrooms in regular houses. It was truly hard to comprehend.

  Emmajean whisked me through the entire house in less than five minutes, streaming facts and details without taking a breath. There was no way I’d remember everything—or maybe anything—but she had confirmed that the lower part of the house was around 3600 square feet and brand new, never lived in. It was built into the hill, which made the front wall of windows and doors by the pool the only way in or out. The center area of the house consisted of the kitchen and living room, which were located on the nearest outer wall. Beyond the kitchen was a dining area, and beyond that an office on the back wall that had French doors for light and privacy. On the other side of the living room, to the right of the office and along the back, was a media room. Yes, a media room. A freakin’ big one with cushy theater-like chairs and cup holders. In another location it would be my dream home. In Kickapoo, Texas, it was just confusing.

  “Miss Jolene? Are you okay?”

  As the words registered, I blinked and saw Emmajean standing before me with a concerned look on her face. I had apparently mentally stepped out for a moment, but had no idea about when or why. Feeling chilled, as if I’d walked into a freezer, I rubbed my arms. “Just a lot to take in.” Shaking away the fog, I added, “The home is absolutely stunning and I am quite honored to get to stay here for a while.”

  Emmajean cocked her head. “Oh, honey, this is your home. It’s not going anywhere. The way it all happened probably has you feeling like a coyote in a trap, but don’t gnaw your leg off just yet. There’s good in this for you, something you need to make peace with—inside and out—and the sooner you accept that, the easier it’s going to be for you.”

  No, no and no. My head started to spin and I started to shake. “I…I…”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” Emmajean said. “You go on now and get your things. Clove’s got the trailer hooked up and waiting for you. He’ll be pacing like a caged cougar if you don’t get out there. And don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of the women when they get here.”

  I did as directed, again wondering why I was the one taking orders from the people who supposedly now worked for me. It was one of a long list of mysteries yet to be solved.

  Chapter 14

  I’d expected Clove’s truck to reek of cigarettes, but it didn’t, and thankfully he also refrained from lighting one up on our five-minute ride down the hill to Mother’s.

  The dust hadn’t even had time to settle on the boxes I’d stacked yesterday and now they were moving again. In truth, I couldn’t even tell you what was in most of them at this point even though I’d only packed them up a few days ago. They’d seemed vitally important at the time—tangible reminders of my true identity and life reality to keep me grounded in an unreal world. I still needed that. But I also knew that no matter how hard I wished it to be true, what I needed wasn’t in one of those boxes.

  While Clove backed the trailer in to the garage, I ran inside the house to get the key to the storage room. All I can say is that he must be a hell of a driver, because when I got back a minute later he was sitting on the fender, smoking a cigarette. Hope he had a plan for his smoldering leftovers, because leaving it in Lucille’s yard is a hanging offense.

  I opened the storeroom, showed him the stacks of boxes and we started carrying them to the trailer.

  “If it’s marked so I can tell, I’ll put it where it goes, like these mark
ed office. Otherwise, everything’s going in the garage on your side.”

  “That would be great. Hey, speaking of that, I’d like to get a door opener for that so I can put my car inside tonight.”

  “There’s no room for your car,” he said, walking to the trailer.

  I grabbed a box and followed, preparing to explain to him that we were just going to have find a way to make room since I had been assigned to live there. When we got back to the house, I’d be telling him how the cow ate the cabbage, giving him a what-for and a… I froze in my tracks, panic flooding me. It’s already happening! The Kickapoo effect had already lowered my IQ by twenty points and I was spontaneously thinking in Lucille-ese. “Dammit.”

  “Don’t be getting your feathers ruffled,” Clove said, cigarette dangling from his lips. “I’ll show you what we can do about that later.”

  Good, because the whole cow and cabbage thing was a bit confusing anyway.

  There weren’t that many boxes so it didn’t take us long to get them loaded onto the trailer. Since we weren’t going far, Clove stacked them in so he didn’t have to use any ties.

  “Most of my personal stuff is in the house, so I’ll need a few minutes to gather things up and repack my suitcases.”

  He nodded and took a drag on his cigarette. “We have time.”

  Maybe Clove wasn’t going to be so bad after all. I turned and headed to the back porch.

  Boom!

  I snapped around toward the sound. Clove had already jumped to his feet and was staring off behind the garage. “Can you see anything? Did something happen over at the project site?”

  Clove stared for a few seconds then said something that sounded like “Oh, shit.” He flung his cigarette to the ground and ran to the truck, jumped inside, slammed it in gear and flew out of the driveway, the loaded trailer bouncing along behind.

  “Wait!” I yelled, instinctively running after him. “Stop, dammit! You’re going to lose the boxes!”

  Boom!

  I jumped around, and then I saw it. A thick column of black smoke boiled up in the distance. And it wasn’t coming from the oil tanks or pump jacks—it was coming from the hill.

  I don’t know how long I stood there. It seemed like a long time, although I knew it was only seconds. By the time my conscious mind caught up, I was standing at the storeroom door, pulling it closed. I flipped the hasp into place and clicked the padlock shut then turned around and started to run… Where? I stopped myself. What was I going to do? Follow on foot? Call somebody to come get me? “I knew I should have driven my own car!” As the words left my mouth, my gaze drifted to the large shiny 4-wheeled object occupying the other side of the garage. “Geez.”

  Yes, I felt stupid for not thinking of it immediately, but shock will do that. Besides, there would be time later for self-recrimination and second-guessing. I raced into the house, grabbed the keys to Mother’s Buick, locked the house and headed out. I definitely did not take time to pack and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was even going to need to now.

  Within a few seconds, I was on the highway and nearing the gate to the project site. It’s amazing how much quicker you can get places when you totally disregard traffic laws. No sooner had that thought flown out of my head than a truck came careening out of the gate, spewing dust behind. Waverman fishtailed out onto the highway, followed quickly by Gilbert Moore and a truck I didn’t recognize, every single one of them zooming out in front of oncoming traffic, meaning me, without looking. Now, you’d think that since I was already doing eighty-something, I’d have run over them. Nope. The only thing at the gate when I got there was dust.

  I punched the accelerator. Yes, we all know the Buick has a governor on it—or presumable still did. I wouldn’t have time to find out though, because Turkey Ranch Road was just ahead. I hit the brakes, but I was still going way faster than was prudent. Since there were no vehicles in the ditch, the guys ahead of me had negotiated the turn onto the narrow little road without incident, so I could too.

  As I whipped through the entry gate and zoomed up the hill, I couldn’t help but wonder if the beautiful house I’d just been introduced to was now being turned to ash. Had all my resistant, reluctant and really ugly thoughts created some kind of cosmic payback? “Now that’s just stupid, Jolene,” I said to myself. “You might like to think you’re that powerful, but you’re not.” I was already trying to negotiate with my emotions to prepare myself for the house being destroyed—a house I’d sworn I didn’t want. Interesting response, that.

  As I reached the top, a thin layer of smoke spread across the area, but the source was definitely not the house, it was beyond it. I drove around toward the back side of the main house—or the front side of my house, take your pick—and saw a cluster of trucks lining the top curve of the driveway. Beyond them, was a big fire truck, parked on the edge of the plateau, spraying water in an arc over the side of the hill.

  The first vehicle nearest the fire engine was an SUV with “Fire Chief” on the side. Talk about a rapid response. Either the fire department had just coincidentally been driving by at the time of the explosion or they had their very own transporter to materialize them on the scene.

  I parked at the back of the line and walked toward the crowd. As I got closer, people started turning to look at me. The house being out of danger was a relief, but from the way they were looking, something plenty bad had still happened. Something had blown up—maybe two somethings, since there’d been two thundering booms.

  Images of the cabin explosion flashed in my head. It’s a wonder we all hadn’t been killed that day. Was this another attempt? Was Damon Saide still causing trouble from behind bars? I shook my head. No, I wasn’t going to think like that. Maybe it was just a wayward propane tank or blown transformer. Those kinds of things happened all the time. Every explosion that occurred wasn’t automatically caused by a murdering psycho. A thick silence settled in my ears. Yes, around here it really was. Things started moving in slow motion.

  I sensed someone standing beside me, saying something, but I could neither see nor hear them. And, I didn’t want to. In fact, I decided right then and there that I no longer wanted to do anything. I did not care what had happened, and I was not taking responsibility for it. Nope. I was done. I felt a pressure on my arm, as if someone had grabbed it. “Oh, no you don’t. I don’t want to and you can’t make me.” I think I said it aloud, but I can’t be sure. A little giggle bubbled up. Then, a catchy little tune began to sing-song in my head. “Oh, I don’t want to and I don’t care…” No, no, that wasn’t right. There was something about corn… “Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care…” No, maybe it was Gimme. Phhttt. What did any of it mean anyway? My version at least had a point.

  “I don’t want to and I don’t care,” I sang, feeling light and airy even though it seemed like I was being dragged somewhere. Well, whatever. “Oh, I don’t want to and I don’t care. I don’t want to and I don’t caaaaaare. My master’s gone away-hey.”

  Chapter 15

  “She just didn’t set the damn parking brake!” a man’s voice boomed. “It was not a crime, by God. Not on my hill!”

  “Clove, you have got to stop yelling,” a woman said quietly but firmly. “The poor girl’s been through enough without you carrying on like a crazy man.”

  The voices were familiar—I’d heard them before—but who were they and what were they talking about? I forced my eyes open and looked around, trying to orient myself. Dorothy was definitely not in Kansas—nor was Jolene in Colorado, and if she kept talking to and about herself this way she likely had way worse problems.

  Shaking away those happy—and sadly recurring—thoughts of insanity, I pulled myself together enough to realize I was in a living room. I was lying on my left side—on a sofa, leather one, a large sectional thing, with a nice soft pillow under my head. A big coffee table stood next to the couch and the wall across from me had a big white stone fireplace. That rang a bell. But who lived here? Was it my home? No.
Well, maybe…sort of. I closed my eyes again and sighed then felt a shift on the sofa beside me and something touch my arm.

  “Jo?”

  I knew that voice. I opened my eyes and looked into the face of Sheriff Jerry Don Parker, who was sitting beside me. Many realizations struck all at once and I went directly to the bottom line. “Oh, this can’t be good.”

  Jerry smiled and scooted closer. “It’s nice to see you too.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” I said, turning a little toward him. “You wouldn’t be here unless something bad had happened or I’d done something seriously stupid or mostly likely both.”

  “Don’t sit up too fast, dear,” a woman said, standing in front of me. She set a glass of water, a banana and a cup of steaming tea on the coffee table. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  I sat up slowly and curled my legs under me. Jerry held the glass of water in front of me, so I drank as directed then handed the glass back to him. There seemed to be foggy images lurking in the background of my memory, but they were not rushing forward so I asked the obvious. “What happened?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked.

  Before I could answer, Clovis Stovall stepped out from behind the couch. “Did you set the parking brake? I want to know right now if you set the damn parking brake.”

  “Clovis…” Jerry said, a clear warning in his tone.

  I frowned. “What parking brake? What are you talking about?”

  “There was an accident with your Tahoe,” Jerry said, reaching for my hand. “It rolled off the edge of the hill.”

  “What? Is it okay?”

  “It’s blown to hell, that’s what it is,” Clove said.

  Jerry gritted his teeth, but my confusion was obvious so he kept his eyes focused on me. “We don’t know for sure, but it looks like the car flipped as it went off the edge then hit some rock boulders below. It may have landed on the gas tank, which sparked and triggered an explosion.”