Dance of the Winnebagos

by Ann Charles

  Claire back-stepped until she was even with the rear bumper. There was something in that grin that made her knees wobble.

  “You know what happened to him, don’t you?” It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes wanna-be to figure that one out.

  Sophy nodded again.

  “What?” That came out more breathless than Claire would have liked. She didn’t want to sound frightened. Squeaking would only excite the snake.

  The shotgun swung up.

  “He knew too much, so I killed him.”

  “Oh.” That was an answer Claire hadn’t considered. Silly her.

  “And now, so do you.”

  Claire had trouble hearing Sophy’s voice clearly over the whooshing sound of fear flooding her skull. Her legs, seemingly of their own volition, took another step backwards.

  “Say goodnight, Claire.”

  So much for following through on something and finishing it for once. Sophy was going to blow a hole through her. What kind of a frickin’ reward was that?

  Sophy squeezed the trigger.

  * * *

  “Give me the keys,” Mac said over the guttural rattle of his truck’s engine.

  He leaned against the warm driver’s side door, the smell of diesel exhaust thick in the air. Sunshine reflected off the chrome mirror next to him, spotlighting Jess’s face. “Give me the keys and I’ll forget you even thought about taking off in my truck.”

  Jess’s lower lip trembled. Her hands were locked onto the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. So far, she hadn’t had enough guts—or stupidity—to put it in gear.

  “I don’t want to go to Tucson.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “She keeps trying to make me.”

  “Your mom didn’t understand how important it was to you to stay with her. Now she does.”

  She turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. The last time he’d seen such a sad expression was at the dog pound. “I don’t want to go away, anymore.”

  “I know.” He squeezed her chin, shaking her head slightly. “Now go inside and tell your mom that.”

  “She won’t listen.”

  “She will this time, I bet.”

  Jess sniffed, then turned off the engine and dropped the keys in Mac’s palm. “I wasn’t really going to steal your truck,” she said as she stepped to the ground.

  “Good.” He watched her as she walked toward the house, her feet seeming to drag through the dirt more and more as she neared the back door. He couldn’t blame her. Even if Ruby and Jess did reach some kind of understanding about school, Jess had still stolen her mom’s mail. Ruby wouldn’t let that go unpunished.

  As she reached the door, he remembered what he’d been waiting to ask her all morning. “Hey, Jess?”

  She turned toward him. “Yeah?”

  “Do you know where Claire went this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

  “But yesterday I saw her put those big scissors behind the seat of Mom’s truck.”

  “Big scissors?”

  “You know. Those scissors you used to cut through that rusted slider bolt on the back gate last year.”

  A warning trumpet blared in Mac’s head. “You mean the bolt cutters?”

  “Yeah, those.”

  “God damn it!” As soon as he found Claire, he was going to lock her in Ruby’s basement for the rest of her life.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Mac climbed into his pickup. What part of “stay away from Sophy, she’s dangerous” did Claire not understand?

  * * *

  “Come out, come out wherever you are,” Sophy taunted in a singsong voice. She slowly edged along the driver’s side door, the shotgun cocked and ready.

  Two more twelve gauge shells sat in the chamber, both reserved for Claire’s hide.

  A scuttling noise came from behind the tailgate. Sophy paused in her tracks. Sunlight trickled in through the splintered, grapefruit-sized hole in the plank wall. The girl’s reflexes had been quick, she’d give her that. But the next shot would not miss.

  “Sophy?” Claire’s voice sounded froggy, like she’d swallowed a handful of dirt.

  “What?”

  “What did Sidney know that made you need to kill him?”

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Claire.”

  “Well, since I’m going to die anyway for knowing too much, I’d like to hear the full story. Consider it a last request.”

  Sophy smiled. Sure, whatever it took to distract Claire. Sophy didn’t have the time or patience to play hide and seek around Joe’s car. “Arnie got greedy.”

  “Who’s Arnie?”

  “Joe’s cousin—Sidney Arnold Martino.” Sophy inched toward the back bumper, moving slow so she didn’t spook Claire. “He went by Arnie all his life. It wasn’t until that last year he started wanting to be called ‘Sidney.’ He tried to get sophisticated on us, wearing knock-off Armani suits, driving a used Lexus, carrying a leather notebook everywhere.”

  “He carried a day planner?”

  “Yep. Although, I never did see him write a single word in it. He wasn’t the organized type, had trouble matching his socks on a daily basis. He thought carrying that stupid thing made him look smarter. But what Arnie never figured out was that dressing and acting like Joe didn’t make him as good as Joe.”

  “Ya see, fencing required people skills and patience—two things Arnie’d been born without. Until Joe came along, Arnie’d been a petty thief. Then Joe needed help, a muscle man to do the hard labor while he played the front man and kept the customers happy.”

  Sophy pulled out her lipstick mirror and held it out at an angle, catching a glimpse of Claire’s legs.

  The girl was squatting behind the tailgate, facing Sophy’s direction. Blood trailed down the side of Claire’s bare calf.

  Sophy smiled. She hadn’t missed after all.

  “Were you married to Joe when he began fencing goods?”

  “Huh-uh,” Sophy said, shutting the mirror and stuffing it back in her shirt pocket. “I was wiping down tables again by then. When he came back to Jackrabbit Junction, he’d had his hands dipped in illegal shit for about a decade.”

  “Did Arnie move back here with Joe?”

  “No. He’d just stay for a few weeks when he’d come. Back then, Arnie did a lot of traveling. He’d drive in at night with the goods from L.A. and head straight up to the mine to unload.”

  “How do you know all of this? Were you in on it?”

  “I kept my eyes open. When Joe came back home, flashing his money clip around, I suspected he was doing something dirty to have that much cash. A degree in Business Administration doesn’t buy you a diamond-studded, gold Rolex. When Arnie started showing his ugly face around town, I knew Joe was up to no good.”

  “Because Arnie had been a thief?”

  “Because Arnie offered me five hundred bucks cash to fuck him, and Arnie never could keep more than twenty bucks in his pocket at a time in his life.”

  “Oh.”

  “You see, anything Joe had, Arnie wanted. Ever since we’d first met, back when I was hell bent on marrying Joe, Arnie’d wanted me.” Sophy neared the back wheel well.

  “So you slept with him?”

  “Not until he finally gave me what I wanted—the truth about Joe’s doin’s.”

  “Did Joe ever find out?”

  “Not at first. Arnie was dumb, but not a complete idiot. He knew Joe would kill him for leaking information to me.”

  “How’d you end up with a room full of pricey antiques?”

  The realization that the bitch had been in her house made Sophy burn from head to toe.

  She trailed her fingers over the smooth hickory stock. The idea of blowing a hole in Claire’s skull made her pulse pound. “Nobody gets sex from me for free, sugar,” Sophy said, careful to keep the anger out of her tone. She didn’t want to alarm Claire.
“By then, Arnie had figured out a way to skim from the big shipments without getting caught, and I wanted what he had.”

  “So why did you kill him?”

  “He stopped sharing. When I threatened to tell secrets to a certain Mafia man who’d come to town looking for some expensive goods Arnie had stolen, Arnie panicked. He went and told Joe I was blackmailing him.”

  “You killed him for ratting you out to Joe?”

  “Nope. Joe and Arnie cooked up an idea to link me with those expensive goods. Arnie broke into my house and stole some of my stuff, thinking he’d lead the Mafia right to me. But the idiot drank too much that night. When I ran into him at The Shaft, he bragged enough to make me realize I had to act quick or I’d be left for the vultures.”

  “My 9mm was enough motivation for him to join me on a trip up to Rattlesnake Ridge, and vice grips loosened his tongue. I found out he’d told Joe about us and they were going to set me up to take the heat for Arnie’s stupidity. I had a better idea—if Arnie disappeared, so would the heat. Especially if I made it look like the breadcrumbs went with him.”

  “What did you do with the body?”

  “You should know. You’ve already dug up something that belongs to him out in that valley.”

  “You mean the lighter?”

  “Yeah, that’s one thing. But I’m talking about something else.”

  “But that’s the only thing I found out there.”

  “What about your grandpa’s dog?”

  “Henry? What about ... oh, my God! You mean the leg bone.”

  “Exactly.”

  There was a long pause filled only with the sound of their breathing.

  Then, “You buried him alive?”

  “Hell, no.” She lifted the gun. “I put a bullet through his skull and then dug his grave in the sandy wash out by that big old cottonwood. But I didn’t dig deep enough, I guess.”

  “Oh.” Claire’s voice sounded quiet, shaky. Like talking too loud might break something.

  She could practically smell the girl’s fear. Now was the time. Claire probably had that frozen, deer-in-the-headlights glazed look.

  Sophy skirted the back bumper, her finger on the trigger.

  But Claire wasn’t there.

  Instead, a little black box sat on the floor, the lid unlatched and flipped open. Inside, nestled in the red velvet lining, was a handful of sparkling stones.

  Sophy’s breath caught in her throat—diamonds! As she bent down to pick up one of the polished gems, two hands reached out from under the car, wrapped around her ankles, and yanked.

  * * *

  Mac slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the road, letting the diesel engine idle as he stared at the closed gate blocking Sophy’s drive.

  The gate had been wide open the last time he and Claire had come merrily trespassing along. It wasn’t locked, but maybe it had been earlier. Claire might have cut through it and was up there sniffing around.

  On the other hand, Sophy could be up there with that 9mm, just waiting for unwanted visitors.

  He rubbed his jaw, scraping his fingers over the stubble growth.

  Then again, maybe Claire wasn’t up there looking for trouble. Maybe she really was just running errands, and there was a logical explanation for her packing the bolt cutters in the pickup. Maybe stress and Sophy’s attacks over the last few weeks were making him paranoid. After all, Claire was a smart woman. She would know better than to ...

  A movement up near the top of the hill caught his attention.

  He shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted.

  Something white was racing down the steep slope of Sophy’s drive, heading directly toward him. Something that looked a lot like a certain beagle he knew.

  “Damn it!” When was that woman going to learn how dangerous it was to go around poking rattlers with short sticks?

  He stepped out of his truck. Henry hit him at chest level, slamming Mac backward a step. He’d managed to lather Mac’s face with dog breath and slobber before Mac could get a solid grip on his collar and pull him away. “Whoa, boy, calm down.”

  A gun blast echoed down through the valley.

  Mac stared wide-eyed up the drive. Icy fingers of dread poked at his spine.

  “Claire?” he whispered.

  With a sharp whine, Henry buried his snout in Mac’s armpit.

  Adrenaline kicked Mac in the ass. He tossed the dog in the pickup cab and jumped in after him.

  “Hold on, Henry,” he warned as he shifted into gear and floored the gas pedal. “We’re going in.”

  * * *

  With her ears clanging from the second shotgun blast that had gone off as Sophy fell, Claire scrambled out from under the El Camino and lunged for the gun lying inches from Sophy’s hand.

  The sharp-clawed bitch was still flat on her back, gasping for oxygen, right where she’d landed when Claire had pulled her feet out from under her.

  Claire latched onto the wood stock at the same time Sophy rolled to her side and gripped the double barrels. They both jerked in a frantic game of tug-a-war, neither winning.

  “Let go!” Sophy yelled, bracing a boot against Claire’s bare thigh.

  Claire winced as a boot heel dug into her leg muscle, but held on tight. If she lost this battle, there’d be no others.

  Dust filled her lungs as they writhed around, grunting and kicking.

  Sophy pushed to her knees, pulling Claire up with her.

  Before Claire could get her balance, Sophy lashed out, claws extended towards Claire’s eyes.

  Claire turned her head just in time to save her eye, but sacrificed her cheek in the process.

  “Ouch! You bitch!” She tugged the gun hard enough to lurch Sophy closer. Without releasing her hold on the stock end of the gun, Claire swung her elbow, nailing Sophy’s cheek with a dull whack.

  The damned woman held tight.

  Sophy hauled the shotgun toward her, pulling Claire within range, and slammed the crown of her head into Claire’s jaw.

  Claire’s teeth jarred. Had her tongue been between them, she’d have bitten it in half. The taste of blood tainted her mouth. Pain shot up through the side of her face, but Claire clung to the gun, refusing to be shaken loose.

  By the time she stopped seeing starbursts, Sophy was on her feet, dragging Claire on her knees along the dirt toward the rock-filled oil drums.

  Claire shook the haze from her head and stumbled to her feet, using momentum to ram Sophy into the wall.

  Sophy grunted in pain, but shoved back, using the wall to brace herself.

  Claire’s heel caught on one of the large pieces of quartz sitting on the floor next to an oil drum and she reeled backwards, her grip slipping from the shotgun. She managed to grab the top of a drum to stop from falling.

  But by then, Sophy had the shotgun aimed at Claire’s face.

  “Now,” Sophy panted, blood running down her cheek, “I’m going to put a hole in your fucking skull.”

  Claire clutched the top of the drum, realizing the lid was loose. She was just three feet from the shotgun’s barrel.

  Sophy’s finger reached for the trigger, but the rumble of a diesel engine and tires skidding in the gravel made her hesitate. Her gaze slid behind Claire.

  With all the strength she could muster, Claire swung the lid up at the shotgun.

  Sophy pulled the trigger as the lid collided with the long barrel. Shotgun pellets sprayed the shed’s support beams, missing Claire’s head by mere inches.

  Claire didn’t wait to see Sophy’s reaction. She swung the lid down on the top of the bitch’s head.

  A loud clang rang throughout the shed and the lid vibrated in her hands. Sophy’s eyes rolled toward the heavens, then she slumped to the ground in a rumpled heap.

  Before Claire could celebrate her victory, a two-by-four rained down from overhead and smacked Claire on the shoulder, slamming her into the rear of the El Camino. Her forehead kissed the shiny chrome bumper on her trip to the ground.
/>   Silence followed, filled with dust fairies floating in the air.

  Claire blinked, her view of the shed floor perpendicular, watching to make sure Sophy didn’t wake up ready for round two. Her calf burned as dust settled into her wound.

  “Claire?”

  She heard Mac’s voice from far away and groaned in reply. Two furry white legs blocked her view of Sophy. A warm tongue lapped at her cheek.

  Henry had called in the cavalry. Maybe she’d let him remain a boy dog after all.

  “Claire.” A pair of jean-clad legs took the place of Henry’s. Mac cradled her face in his hands and brushed her hair back.

  He smelled good, like desert sunshine on line-dried sheets. How come he always smelled so good?

  “Claire, talk to me. Are you shot?”

  “Mac,” she mumbled through lips caked with dirt.

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “You were right.”

  “About what?”

  “Sophy’s dangerous.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wednesday, April 28th

  Claire woke up feeling like she’d been scraped off the bottom of somebody’s shoe.

  Sunlight peeked through the cracks of Gramps’s faded curtains, burning pink lines on the inside of her eyelids. The pillow that cradled her face smelled like Gramps’s favorite aftershave: Ice Blue Aqua Velva—so sharply metallic it chafed her sinuses.

  What in the hell was she doing in Gramps’s room?

  Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, her spine cracking in popcorn-popper style, and stared at the bandage strapped around her bare calf.

  Like a spring flood, memories washed over her ... Deputy Sheriff Droopy with his permanently sunburned cheeks asking her questions, scribbling in a notepad, and sliding the box of diamonds into a Ziplock bag marked “Evidence;” Sophy riding away in the back of Sheriff Harrison’s Bronco as she beat on the window and screamed fogged obscenities onto the glass; Mac carrying Claire into the Emergency Room at Cholla County General; a starched white hospital room buzzing with candy-striped old ladies; and two tiny blue pills that made Sophy’s shotgun fade away.

  How long had she slept? Claire checked the bedside clock. Two-oh-nine.