Gone Duck

by L. L. Muir

  “Why?”

  “Perishables.” He held up a sack of lunch meat. “Looks like someone was here for Labor Day and they expect to come back before this all goes bad. They would have taken it with them otherwise.” He started pulling things out and setting them on the counter, including cans of soda pop in a variety of flavors. “Look for some bread or crackers. I’ll make sandwiches, then I’ve got to sleep.”

  Macey opened a cupboard and dug through it. She found a box of Ding Dongs but they were hard as hockey pucks.

  “Here we go.” He held up a full bag of hot dog buns. “Still soft. Praise the Lord for preservatives.”

  She found some paper plates and set out three. “I should’ve thought to get more food the last time we stopped.”

  “Oh, no. Your idea of road-trip food isn’t food at all.” He looked at her face, then shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, CC. You’re not used to having to worry about other people. I get it.”

  “That’s a kind way of saying I’m selfish.” She squirted mustard on the buns.

  “Not selfish. Just...the people you have in your life don't need sleep or sandwiches, right?” He looked around the room. “Dorothy? Sandwiches.”

  “I'll be with you in a minute.” The woman's voice was muffled.

  “I think she's in the bathroom.” Shawn pushed a plate in Macey's direction.

  Sandwiches for breakfast, even on hot dog buns, would really hit the spot...if she could stop imagining Dorothy Jean sitting behind a certain shower curtain just a few yards away.

  Macey took the plate. “Thanks.” She tried to sound excited, hoping he wouldn't have to come up with a nice way of calling her ungrateful.

  He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a handful of pills and added them to the third plate. “She's got to take these with food.”

  He picked up his food and headed for the bedroom. She held up a hand to stop him. Surely she could stall him until Dorothy was finished in the closet. It was the least she could do…for his appetite.

  “Um. If I'm going to defend the only entrance, shouldn't you give me your gun or something?”

  He shook his head. “You're not defending it from WHOSO. You're defending it from Dorothy. Don't let her go wandering off.”

  “I heard that.” Dorothy put her nose in the air, brushed past Shawn, and went to the small kitchen sink. She washed her hands and turned to talk over her shoulder. “I appreciate that you want to keep me from wandering off. But I'll tell you right now that I left the Boob Center on purpose.”

  Macey choked, even though she hadn't taken a bite yet. “Boob Center?”

  Dorothy turned off the water and held her dripping hands in front of her like she was trying to lift a couple of large breasts. “You know—Les Grand Tetons Assisted Living?” she said with a French accent. “The Boob Center? The locals don't appreciate their own jokes, I can tell you that.” She looked around for a second, then wiped her hands on her obviously absorbent jogging suit. “I had to get out of there when I realized I was talking to Lacrosse's woman on the phone.”

  Shawn glanced at Macey, looked forlornly at the bedroom door, then sighed. He stepped over to the ancient couch and sat down. “You'd better tell us about this phone call. Then I'm going to sleep.”

  Dorothy nodded. She popped open a can of grape soda and took her pills, then she took her plate to sit next to Shawn.

  Macey stayed on her feet. Ready to run, maybe. She looked at her sandwiches again, picked one up, and sank her teeth into it. Not enough mustard. And the buns weren’t nearly as soft as Shawn had advertised. But the chase was about to begin again; she would need some energy.

  Dorothy took a bite, chewed with a shaky jaw, then wiped her wrinkled lips before speaking. “You know how I get sometimes, when I remember something, and I get excited?”

  Shawn nodded.

  “Well, I remembered my daughter's phone number yesterday morning, I think it was. I just knew it, like the back of my hand.” She spouted off the number. “See? I still remember it!”

  He nodded, resigned. “So you called it?”

  “Yes. I never have anyone to call, you see. The nurses keep insisting I have no family, but I have a daughter. I know I do. Her name is Linda. I forget her husband's name...” She frowned and a distant look came over her face. But it cleared away just as suddenly. “So I called her. Only it wasn't Linda who answered. I thought she might be, at first. She called me Mom. But Linda always called me Mama, no matter how old she got. This woman was so happy I called, told me I'd been kidnapped and that they could come and bring me home again if I would just stay put.” She looked off into the distance again. Her eyes sparkled with the threat of tears. “But there was nothing familiar about her voice.”

  Macey had to look away.

  Shawn cleared his throat, to get her attention, then gave her a frown. She knew what he was thinking, that she was awful for not wanting to bond with Dorothy Jean.

  Well, let him think it.

  “I’d given the care center a post office box in Redding,” he said. “But I had to give them a viable phone number, just in case. That’s how Lacrosse found me. Us.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Dorothy looked up. “But do you know, Shawn, if my Linda is alive?”

  He put his plate on the floor and took the old wrinkled hand in his. “Don’t you be sorry, Dorothy Jean. I…don’t know anything about a daughter. But I’ll help you find out.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise I’ll try.”

  Macey couldn’t understand why he didn’t just lie to her. It wasn’t like she would remember. And what was the use of feeling bad if it didn’t matter?

  She opened a can of root beer and imagined the phone call with a stranger pretending to be her daughter. She was almost angry at the faceless woman for not doing a better job of it. But then again, if she’d been convincing, Lacrosse’s people would be the ones making sure Dorothy Jean took her meds with food today.

  Or not giving a damn if she did.

  From what Shawn had told her about the research hospital, Dorothy’s daughter had probably been led to believe her mother was dead.

  “Wait a minute.” She had a thought. “If you remembered her number, and they had that number tapped, that means it was a real number, right? If your daughter was…gone, there would be no reason to watch that number.”

  Dorothy Jean seemed to think it was enough to smile about. Shawn’s reaction was a little slow in coming, but eventually, he smiled too.

  “Congratulations, Dorothy Jean. You have a daughter.” He picked up his plate and stood, then shoved the rest of his last sandwich into his mouth. In the kitchen, he drank an entire can of generic crème soda without stopping. “It might take some time, but we’ll make sure you get back to her.”

  The old woman nodded. Still smiling, she pulled her feet up and made herself into a ball. Macey remembered what the report had said about old people not being able to maintain their body temperatures, so she took a small blanket off the back of the rocking chair and covered the old gal. When Dorothy closed her eyes, she was still smiling.

  “Watch the door,” Shawn whispered, but instead of heading for the bedroom, he headed for her.

  She hated the way her body jumped to conclusions and she forced herself to breath normally when he stepped close. “I will,” she said.

  “And watch yourself, Macey. If you’re not careful, you’re going to start caring for someone real.” He nodded toward Dorothy, then his gaze dropped to her lips.

  She absolutely refused to lick them, but she couldn’t help swallowing. And when you’re self-conscious, it was almost impossible to swallow quietly.

  He smiled and stepped away.

  Caring for someone real. Yeah, she was in danger all right. But the someone real who posed that danger had just left the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Macey was desperate for a bathroom, but she hoped if she kept rocking, the feeling would go away. Then she started to wond
er how long it might take to walk to the nearest big cabin, throw a rock through a window, and get to a restroom before wetting her pants.

  It didn't matter. She wouldn't last long enough. Desperate times called for despicable measures. She was going to have to use the closet.

  She tiptoed to the bedroom door and listened. Shawn didn't snore, but he was breathing heavily and loudly enough to assure her he was asleep. She ducked around the shower curtain and pulled the string that hung from the bulb on the ceiling. Though it might have been comforting to pee in the dark, especially when someone might walk in on her, she was more worried about pushing the wrong lever or touching something revolting.

  Was plastic porous? Could it even be disinfected?

  She carefully laid toilet paper over the seat. It cracked when she sat—the crack heard ‘round the world. All that smooth paneling left nothing to absorb the sound. She caught her breath and held it. And eerie silence surrounded her. Then the air was rent with the roar...of urinating!

  It was like there was a microphone hidden somewhere beneath the seat. The sound traveled up the slanted ceiling behind her, over her head, and out through the gap above the shower curtain!

  She would have hummed to cover the noise, but by the time she thought of it, the deed was done. The sound echoed in her head like a bad note in a singing competition.

  Somewhere, a board creaked. Listening for footsteps in the bedroom took so much concentration that she nearly missed the crunch of gravel as a car approached the cabin. A second later, the shower curtain hissed along the rod and she looked up into the alarmed face of Hot Shawn.

  “Someone's here!” His eyes dropped to her knees for a second. “Hurry!” He whipped the curtain closed again.

  Macey wondered if the little hole at the bottom of the toilet might be stretched big enough to fit her whole body through. But the fear of Lacrosse got her up and moving. She was definitely not going to be caught on a toilet by creepy Cop Dracula.

  A minute later, she stepped out of the closet pretending she didn't care what Shawn had or hadn't seen and found him looking out the peep hole.

  “Relax. It's not Lacrosse.”

  She and Dorothy exchanged a look. The woman had her feet on the floor, but she looked like she didn't have the energy to stand. She hunched her shoulders and held the blanket tight around her.

  Not Lacrosse? Great. But that didn't mean they weren't in trouble.

  “The owners?” she whispered.

  Shawn nodded. “I'm sure of it.” He stepped back and opened the door wide, then held his hands out away from his body. “Hello, sir. I'm sorry we had to impose—”

  “What the hell you doin' in my cabin?” The man sounded more cautious than angry. He stood ten feet back from the door with a shotgun aimed at Shawn’s feet. Behind him stood a woman and three wide-eyed little boys.

  “My name is Jonathan,” Shawn said, still holding his arms out. “We'd been driving all night and I was afraid I'd fall asleep at the wheel. I've got my wife and my grandmother with me, and she's got Alzheimer's. I was afraid if we tried to sleep in the car, she'd get out and wander away. We didn't break anything. And I’m happy to pay you for the food we ate.”

  There was a long silence while the man looked at Macey, over Shawn’s shoulder, then back at Shawn. Somewhere beneath his beard was a man about thirty years old and a face unaccustomed to frowning.

  “What do you think?” the man finally said over his shoulder.

  His wife smiled. “I think we're being rude.”

  “Awright,” the guy said, then he held the large gun out to the biggest boy who couldn’t have been ten. “Go put this back in the truck.” He stepped in through the doorway and held out his hand to Shawn. “I'm Jared. My wife, Katie. My boys, Josh, Jacob and Joseph.” He looked back out the door. “You boys bring in them groceries.” He smiled at Dorothy. “Hello.”

  Just like that? People break into his home—or his fishing cabin—and all he said was Hello?

  Not bloody likely.

  Macey wondered what television show was filming from the trees outside, or the cubby holes inside the cabin. If this entire day had been some elaborate prank arranged by her publisher, to get her out of her house and into the world, it would all make sense. Any minute now, Hot Shawn was going to do the big reveal. She’d end up home by nightfall and her precious apartment would be all put back together.

  It had to be some big publicity stunt to break the news to young readers that Mortimer Coffee was really a woman. And because they’d be so relieved she wasn’t really running from the police, relieved that Keefer Boone could live on, they’d forgive her anything.

  She wondered if she might be able to find a mirror to freshen up for the cameras, without the need to go out to the SUV.

  Ten minutes later, she was mortified, like someone who had been expecting a surprise party but the only surprise was that there was no party—no one hiding in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment for a dramatic entrance and a good laugh.

  As it turned out, Jared had a grandmother with Alzheimer’s who had recently died. He’d been gentle and understanding of their plight because he was gentle and understanding.

  Dammit.

  He sat and chatted with Dorothy for an hour, telling her what his boys had been up to, how his little farm business was doing, and what he planned to do once he set aside enough money—as if he were catching up with his own grandmother. And Dorothy ate it up too. Macey figured she didn't have many young people to talk to at the Boob Center. And she wondered if, now and then, that pleased and proud look in Dorothy's eyes meant she had forgotten that Jared wasn't her own flesh and blood.

  And all the while, Shawn walked the perimeter and Macey came to terms with the fact that the past twenty-four hours weren’t just a hoax. The sudden light at the end of the tunnel had just been her imagination.

  Macey put on a brave face and helped Katie put a casserole together and then clean up. It was the closest she'd been to normal human interaction in the ten years since her mom died. Just after she’d landed her first publishing contract.

  She was relieved to learn that the little family had a fine farmhouse and didn’t have to live in a double-sided lean-to with a boat for a roof patch and a plastic toilet in the closet that may or may not ever be truly free of germs. The men, as Katie referred to her husband and boys, used the place to fish whenever they could get away from their chores.

  Being immersed in such a family setting wasn’t as uncomfortable as Macey expected. She felt the tug of that invisible thread that kept her in Salt Lake for the last decade, close enough to her mother's grave so she could visit from time to time. Would she ever get the chance to go back? Or would she go home in a body bag? If Lacrosse had his way, it wouldn't be long before she'd be laid in the ground too. That was, if they found enough of her.

  Katie examined the egg timer on the counter. “Food will be ready in seven minutes. I know you're anxious to go, but just a little longer and you can go with full bellies.” She nodded toward the couch where her husband was telling a story with the full use of his arms. “I can't tell you how grateful I am you guys came along. Jared needed a good visit. Looks like Dorothy did too.”

  Macey sighed. “I think you're right. I just wished a good visit could fix everything.”

  Katie patted her arm. “Well, most folks are grateful for a temporary fix. Some don't get any at all.”

  Shawn came inside and closed the door behind him. He watched Dorothy for a minute, then moved into the kitchen and frowned at Macey. “We need to get on the road.”

  “Food will be ready in six minutes.” She tried to say it firmly enough he would think twice about arguing.

  “How long've you two been married?” Katie asked.

  Macey turned aside and widened her eyes at him. They hadn't taken the time to get their stories straight.

  “Six months.” He grinned. “Long enough to know...when not to argue.”

  The casserole was nam
ed Johnny Mezetti. No one knew why. It had been made with a combination of canned soups, hamburger and noodles, and green peppers from their home garden. It was surprisingly delicious, and not just because of their previous less than gourmet meals. In spite of the probable sodium intake, Macey felt strangely satisfied and a little sad when they stood in the yard and said their goodbyes.

  Katie jotted down the recipe and pressed it into her hand. “You think of us when you make this, won't you?”

  “I will—I mean, we will.”

  The woman turned to Dorothy and hugged her. From the corner of her eye, Macey saw Shawn pushing a wad of cash into Jared's hand and decided to wait until they were on the road to ask why.

  “He's doing me a service.” Shawn wouldn’t look her in the eye.

  “What service?”

  “He's going to report his license plates and his shotgun were stolen.”

  “And were they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.”

  If Shawn was surprised by her sudden enthusiasm to defend herself, he didn't show it. But Macey considered it an appropriate, though temporary fix. Yesterday, she'd been afraid of dying because of someone else's chaos. Today, she was ready to own the chaos...and maybe cause a little herself. Putting her old life back together wasn't nearly as important as still being around to start a new one.

  Shawn was frowning.

  “What's wrong now?”

  He opened his mouth, but closed it again. She waited for him to figure out what he needed to say.

  A minute or two later, he was ready.

  “I don't want you to get any ideas about using the shotgun. Or my glock. You're not going to shoot anyone. If somebody needs killing, I’ll be the one to do it. You don’t need those kinds of nightmares. Understand?”

  She closed her eyes so he wouldn't see them rolling. When she opened them, he was still frowning.

  “What I mean is that you won't need to shoot anyone. I'm taking you somewhere safe. It won’t matter if you can shoot straight or not.”