Ms. Got Rocks

by Jacqueline Colt

  The dynamic trio did some serious business, while the day went on. They each speculated about the cutting of the dredge tie downs that sent Rocky spinning into the huge rock, the dead body on the monolith and where Mom’s furniture had disappeared.

  At the bottom line, sitting around the fire circle as night fell; they all agreed that the most probable bad guy was Callaghan.

  Chapter 15

  Cold, running, fresh water was beautiful. The waste water ran into a five-gallon bucket under the sink, which Rocky had to carry out and pour onto the veggie garden. No matter how you look at it she was still hauling water, but that was a too negative way of thinking.

  Rocky ungracefully clumped through a whole week of lying around,that healing kind. On pain, of further injury from Margie, Rocky lazed about at the cabin. All she did was feed everyone, knit, take the dogs for walks. She also lazed around by rigging up a new anchor system for the dredge out of gallon milk jugs to drag in the water, watering the barely thriving garden, taking photos of the river birds and stupid pet photos to get to know her new camera.

  Resting up also included, the not to be missed daily medical report to Margie. After her daily report, Rocky climbed into the attic on hands and knees.

  Every day she patched the holes in the attic from the inside with spray foam insulation. It was really fun stuff to squirt, but messy. Rocky got as much of it falling down on her as she applied into the holes. It made a girl glad to be wearing her ball cap, this stuff would be impossible to get out of long curly hair. Rocky finally figured out that if she laid scrap window screen over the holes first than sprayed the goop on, it stuck better.

  Rocky did not tell Margie the part about climbing up on the stepladder, and the part about raising her arms over her head. God, it hurt, but cripes, sometimes you gotta do, what you gotta do. Rocky was glad to have an attic with a roof and without holes. One more week of relaxing at recuperation should have the all the windows in the house insulated.

  Resting on the bottom step, Rocky considered that she was permanently living at the cabin. She had not received one interview date from all the resumes she sent out to the airlines.

  There had been too much time for thinking and no ability for doing that week. Rocky was going to have to dredge like a woman possessed next week to make up for it. No stupid pet pictures or cookouts with the gang. If she was staying in Whiskey Gap she had some hard money issues to address.

  Whiling away her healing time, she found the website of a photo processing plant that did a snail mail business. In a few days, Rocky should have a mailer and send in the stupid pet pictures and see what the camera and the processor could do. After selling those photos of the baby rattlesnakes a few weeks ago, she was encouraged that she may have a side income in wildlife photography.

  After dinner, Rocky cleaned out the walk-in closet off the living room. Without too much effort it could be a darkroom. Rocky had always wanted one and now was as good a time as any to get it done.

  Rocky hauled most of the gear in the closet to the storage shed out back while it was still light. The rest went into the dump run pile on the back porch.

  There was a pair of shelf brackets in the storage shed; she used them for a shelf on the back wall.

  “Is the darkroom a serious commitment to Whiskey Gap?”she asked the afternoon sun on the porch.

  A darkroom could be used on vacation time, if she ended up working in the city. She wanted the darkroom, whatever happened.

  It was after ten when the groaning Rocky finally eased her aching body into bed. She wanted the world to know she was even breaking down and taking a painkiller.

  Groggy, she felt very icky, why were the dogs barking? They seem to have been barking for hours, but probably have not been barking long at all. She had to do something about that. Her head was filled with fog. She tried to think, but could not. Rocky rolled over in her sleeping bag and slugged herself out of bed. At least into a semi upright position. The dogs continued to bark, Rocky sat still and listened.

  She could hear nothing over the frantic barking. Rocky had never heard Phoebe with that tone in her bark. Rocky’s head hurt, it was swimming, nevertheless, she cannot let the dogs bark like that without seeing what was wrong.

  Probably Phoebe was looking at her first raccoon family and they were scaring her to bits. Rocky’s head was floating on the painkiller as she staggered down the hall.

  “Wait a minute. What if this is a bear?” Rosky said stopping herself.

  She stopped at the little broom closet that Dad called the gun safe and pulled out the double barrel shotgun.

  “Where did I put the damn shells?”

  Her fingers felt like sausages, in what seemed to be an ice age in length, she slammed in two rounds of buckshot.

  She continued her stumbling down the hall. The dogs were at the front door. Rocky did not turn on the lights.

  The dogs finally quieted down when she touched them. The three of them stood there in the dark of the late night and listened. The dogs heard something, but Rocky heard nothing. She checked the lock on the front door and moved to each of the windows and checked what passed for locks and the three friends moved into the kitchen.

  Looking out the window facing the rock wall behind the house, there was nothing in the yard. No bear or raccoons. Nothing was waiting there. The dogs were making low growling noises; whatever was scaring them was still out there. Leaving the lights off, the faint star shine was enough to show the yard was empty.

  As she stood looking out the window on the kitchen door, Rocky saw something on the top of the rock face. Something had moved up there, black in color against the gray of the granite. Watching for maybe a minute though it seemed like ten, Rocky saw or heard nothing. The only thing that moved was the early morning breeze picking up and waving the pine branches around. Wait, there it was again, not really movement, but more a sort of flash of light.

  Rocky thought, “I’ve been reading too many spooky novels.”

  It was nothing. Rocky talked to the dogs, but they were not buying the raccoon idea or that nothing was wrong.

  After checking the latch on the kitchen door and putting a wooden spoon into the slider of the kitchen window, Rocky followed the dogs into living room.

  They stood at the locked front door, and after awhile she again saw that small flash of light, but this time it was further down the side of the mountain, closer to the driveway. It was like starlight flashing off of a mica-laden rock, or her overly vivid imagination.

  Leaning against the wall, shivering in her pajamas, with the sweat rolling off her, she was trying hard not to panic. The dogs were becoming more agitated, pacing back and forth. Phoebe was circling Rocky, Lovie was patrolling the area in front of the door, and stopping only long enough to turn, looking at her, clearly asking to be let outside to challenge whatever was there.

  Then Rocky heard it, way down the driveway, probably on the county road.

  A vehicle started, grating against the starter, the engine didn’t want to turn over. Rocky ran as fast as she could into the bedroom and stuffed her feet into boots, not even bothering to tie them. Again running, but not turning on the lights when she reached the front door, Rocky paused for a brief moment and listened, yes, that truck was not starting.

  Rocky opened the front door and the dogs high tailed out and she followed as fast as she could. The dogs were powering down the driveway in the direction of the truck noise. They were not making any sounds now. They know where and what they were after.

  Rocky could only hear the heavy running noise of the big dog. They must be close to the bottom of the driveway. Rocky tried to go faster, but she cannot. She cannot go any farther, her lungs were about to burst, her ribcage burned and she could not breathe.

  “I’m going to die right here, and I don’t give a shit,” Rocky whispered to the night air. Her chest hurt that badly.

  Dropping to her knees in the middle of the driveway, if that truck started up the hill, it wou
ld have to hit her, because she could not and would not move.

  There it went, the motor caught. The truck roared off very close to her, Rocky was farther down the driveway than she thought. The truck was heading back toward town. The dogs raced back up the driveway,Rocky could hear them panting. They were winded from the exertion and anxiety. They dropped to the ground next to her and the trio tried to catch their second wind.

  Her broken ribs burned as she listened to the truck sounds getting fainter while they rested. When Rocky could no longer hear that motor sound, they gathered their strength and climbed back up the steep, rutted driveway. It will be a long time before Rocky forgot the sound of that balky truck motor.

  When they were back on the front porch, Rocky thumbed the safety off of the old gun. She was going to walk the entire fence and check the doors and windows from the outside.

  “Did I remember to padlock the gate?” she asked the small mutt dog.

  Twenty minutes later after checking that the gate was padlocked, they were back inside the cabin. Rocky left the lights off. She brewed a mug of tea and sat on the lawn chair. She waited and listened in the dark.

  “Why are those birds so loud? Oh, I feel bad. This is the just peachy, I‘m coming down with a cold,” Rocky was complaining as soon as her eyes opened.

  She was cold all over, and cracked open one eye. There was sunshine trying to get in through the closed blinds. She was sitting in the lawn chair in the living room, she must have dozed off. The dogs were scratching to get out.

  Rocky looked out onto the porch before she opened the door, and released the dogs for their morning run.

  There was aspirin in the medicine cabinet; God only knew how old it was. No matter, she had to get this headache under control and she swore she was never taking another of the pain pills. Rocky added NyQuil to the shopping list.

  Rocky did not even look at herself in the mirror, running a hairbrush through her hair would take too much energy to be worth it.

  It required a rest between taking off her pajamas and putting on her underwear. When she was at last fully dressed, she was also covered in sweat and again shivering with cold.

  “Yes, Dad I hear you, I should be in bed,” Rocky talked to herself. “But, I’m going to see where my visitor was last night, and then I’ll call the Sheriff. That is what you would do, Dad,” she was talking to the cooler summer morning air in her bedroom.

  “I’m not only sick, and wounded, I’m going nuts,” Rocky thought, somewhat amused. But the red face staring back at her from the mirror did not seem terribly amused.

  Putting on her heaviest sweatshirt she walked all around the fence line and up to the face of the rock cliff and found nothing. The only footprints were hers and the paw prints of the dogs parallel to hers.

  “Looks like if I want to find out who is the snooper, I’m going to be rock climbing,” Rocky suggested to her constant audience of two.

  Rocky did not have the gear, and certainly not the breathing capacity to do that anytime soon.

  She ensured that all the doors and windows were locked. Thumper was comfortable in the kennel in the living room. Rocky and the dogs piled into the truck and left Whiskey Gap for town.

  Rocky was hoping for a glimpse of the mysterious truck that wouldn’t start. But the priority was locks, shelving, cold meds and climbing gear.

  Tooling her shopping cart past the sporting good section of the hardware store, she spotted a night vision scope.

  “It will fit on the old shotgun, I think,” Rocky was seriously looking here. It was expensive.

  Would it not be better to watch for the intruder through the night vision gear and see what it or he was doing rather than climbing up that rock face? Looking in her checkbook again, she could do one or the other.

  That really was not a choice, Rocky was wretched and in pain from driving down there and pushing the shopping cart, she was almost dead on her feet.

  While she was taking a short rest in the frozen food aisle, she saw a man she knew. But she could not for the life of her remember who he was. He spotted Rocky and waved.

  “Aren’t you Rocky Clancy, I haven’t see you in years, are you still flying?” The white haired, thin but straight-bodied older man that Rocky should know had come around the corner and they were face to face.

  As soon as Rocky heard his voice, she knew who he was. He and her Dad used to race cars together on the track at Tracy.

  “Mr. Wilkerson, how are you? Still racing?” Rocky stuck out her hand and gave her best smile to the elderly gentleman.

  “No, Rocky, I don’t race anymore, I still have the team winning consistently, though,” Mr. Wilkerson was chuckling at the thought of him driving a race car.

  “Nope, just have the two Caddy dealerships now and my sons run them. Have to get to the club meeting, dropped in here for whipping cream for the missus,” he stopped long enough to hand her his business card.

  “Give me a call next week, Rocky, I may have a flying chore for you, if you can get a plane,” he started down the aisle toward the dairy section.

  “I’ve got my own plane here,” she called after him.

  “Grand, give me a call, now don’t forget.” He had his head inside the milk cooler and waved over his shoulder. Mr. Wilkerson hadn’t changed a bit, man with a mission.

  Rocky loved him when she was a kid, everything she knew about motors, which was considerable, he taught her and Dev, too. Dad was good at motors, Mr. Wilkinson was better than good. Rocky glowed with the happy encounter, she felt at home again. Even with the creepy happening the previous night.

  Making a mental note to call next week and see what he had in mind, she hoped it was permanent and soon. Her leg and ribs would be healed enough by next week to allow her to earn flying money.

  Rocky did something that she hated to see people do, she pushed her cart around to another aisle and unloaded all the climbing equipment onto the shelf. Feeling incredibly guilty, she walked back to the counter and purchased the night vision scope and the NyQuil. There wasn’t enough energy in her to replace all the rope and climbing gear back in its proper place.

  “I’ll make it up to the sporting goods department some other day,” Rocky whispered to herself in the checkout line. “I must be getting delirious.”

  With the prospect of a flying job, Rocky drove to MacPawn's in Applegate to look at used cameras. She knew she shouldn’t do this. The painkillers helped her justifies it, nevertheless.

  “If I’m going to be flying I’m going to get air to ground shots, at least of my old place.”

  Rocky never dreamed there would be this array of cameras in a pawnshop. Every make, model, and type. The cases were full of digital cameras and they were much too pricey for her right now. Mr. MacPawn was right there at the camera counter, he beamed when she asked for an older single lens reflex camera. Taking her elbow, they moved to another corner of the store, where the older type cameras are out of the way of the new digital stock.

  There sat a beauty of an older model Minolta; MacPawn wanted a big price for such an old camera. Not that it was not worth it; it was built like an industrial strength version of the one she bought a few days before.

  Rocky fell in love with it and she would have that old gem of a camera, she knew she would.

  The MacPawn man gave her a short tour of the camera and developing equipment. A person could stock a darkroom with excellent quality equipment for a song.

  There wasn’t even enough money to croak, much less sing that song. Rocky left without the camera love of her life, but bursting with ideas for the darkroom to be.

  Later, back at the cabin, Rocky took a full dose of NyQuil, and while that was getting around her blood stream; she let the dogs out for a constitutional. Locking the doors, she showered off the cold chills and hot sweats.

  The dogs were back in the cabin. Rocky flopped her body into the old bed and soon the three of them were sound asleep through the hot summer day.

  Thirsty and h
ungry, the alarm clock was on four. But four what? Rocky rolled over and there was sunshine, that must mean four in the afternoon, maybe even in the same day. Rocky slept for five hours and she felt infinitely better. She rustled up some food and a pot of coffee.

  Driving the truck down to the mailbox at the bottom of the meadow knocked her out. There was a check for the photos she sent weeks ago to the National Touring Magazine. A significant check, a check that will almost cover the cost of the NyQuil and the night scope.

  “Wow, that made my day a lot better,” Rocky said to the dogs waiting for her to drive the return trip.

  As she drove back up the driveway, she concocted plans on how to set up an observation post.

  Darkness was falling. Rocky had the equipment set, and took another little nap. Her leg was pounding like a son of a gun. She brewed a big pot of strong Irish tea while the dogs returned from the last daylight inspection of the yard. Everything had been quiet all day.

  Her body ached like the fires of hell were raging in there.

  “I can sit all night and rest,” she said aloud to the absent Margie, She Who Guards Health.

  Rocky rigged the rifle scope to the camera tripod; she found a slide type adapter that would work and wrapping a layer of duct tape around it did not hurt a thing. The other tripod will hold the 35-millimeter camera with the telephoto lens. Cutting two small holes in the curtain over the window allowed the scope barrel and the telephoto lens barrel to poke through. It didn’t look too stupid, if you were far enough away.

  Aiming the equipment the best she could, it was sighted on the portion of the rock Rocky thought she saw the flashes. Now there was the waiting.

  Leaving the lights on until her usual bedtime, Rocky used that time to finish the booby trap she made for the front door. It may not hurt anyone coming in, but it would make enough noise that she would know there was someone inside the house with her.