“What the hell?” she screamed. “Get off.”
“Calm down,” I said. “You’re in shock. Let me get you inside and we’ll get you some tea. And ice for your head.”
“Oh my God. I don’t want tea. Just leave me alone.”
“Peach, is that you?” called Bob. “Babe, what’s going on?”
“That girl attacked me.” She crawled past me. “I’m coming, Bob.”
“Cherry, hurry inside,” called Todd.
“Where’s Rick?” hollered Mike. “Let me out, Jeff.”
“Not until you put down the gun, Mike.”
The door slammed shut. I glanced over my shoulder, satisfied Peach had gotten inside but feared the panic would lead to more shooting. “Rick. Where are you?”
Footsteps thudded nearby. I gave up on Rick and scooted backward, sliding on my belly toward the doorway. The footsteps stilled. My elbow struck an object and sent something sliding toward my hip. I grabbed the small box, shoved it in my back pocket, and continued my scoot. My foot struck the door, and I hammered the wood with my toe.
Next to the porch, boots hit a puddle with a soft splash. The door remained closed. I pushed back onto my heels, eased my back against the door, and reached for the handle. Beneath me, the wooden floor vibrated with a heavy thud.
“It’s me,” whispered Rick.
I placed a hand against my heart, trying to shove it back into my cold chest. “Get over here. I’m at the door. What’re you doing?”
“I ran behind the house at the first shot.” He scooted toward me, panting.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.” Rick’s bandaged head bobbed near my hip and he crawled into sitting.
I turned the doorknob and we fell into a pile of bodies. Someone hauled me backward, the door slammed shut, and a flashlight blinded me. “It’s just me and Rick.”
“Why’d you stay out there? What in the hell is the matter with you?”
I blinked toward Jeff’s voice.
The flashlight winked out. “I wanted to make sure Rick and Peach got in safely.”
“Holy shit, are you crazy?” Jeff’s voice quieted. “Who the hell is out there?”
“Did anyone try to call Tennessee and Max to make sure they’re all right?”
“It’s Avtaikin,” said Viktor, somewhere behind me.
“Max wouldn’t shoot at us. It’s someone else. Who’s got hold of me?” I struggled against the arms that had wrapped around me. “Is that you, Todd?”
“Just making sure everything’s where it should be.”
“I believe my parts are just fine, Todd. Let me up.”
The glow of the fire illuminated ten bodies hunkered near the doorway. Eleven shadowed faces glanced warily at one another. In the back bedroom, Buckshot whined and pawed at the door.
“We have a situation,” Mike spoke slowly. “I’m not sure what’s going on.”
“No one goes outside tonight,” said Jeff. “No lights either. And I’m locking the guns up.”
“I have a right to defend myself,” shouted Bob. “Someone’s trying to assassinate me.”
“Or me,” said Rick. “You weren’t the only one outside.”
“Why would anyone want to assassinate you?” said Bob. “Besides, you weren’t on the porch. Where’d you go?”
“Y’all hush,” I said. “Someone radio Max and Tennessee and make sure they’re okay. Warn them to be on the lookout for an armed and dangerous suspect. Now.”
Twenty-Eight
Jeff Digby and Mike took the first watch. The remaining nine filed into the two bunk rooms, dividing the men from the women. Buckshot was released to prowl the main room. As I took my turn in the bathroom, I realized I still had Peach’s video camera shoved in my pocket. Leaving the camera on the toilet tank, I eyeballed the tiny box while I changed into my Talladega t-shirt and chili pepper boxers. The back of the camera had the touchscreen Peach had used to replay footage. Not that I was nosy, but Peach might have caught the shooter on camera.
And I was nosy.
I pressed the largest button on the front of the camera and the back screen lit, displaying a series of tiny pictures. I chose one and a video began to run. Peach’s production had a hidden camera look and played surprisingly well. I snorted at her capture of Bob’s more bombastic comments and realized the scene took place on the porch just before the shooting.
“Where’d the guy go?” Bob had asked Peach of Rick. “Poor man deserves a little treat after having his gun blow up. Amateur. I wanted to teach him how to smoke a very fine cigar. These local yokels don’t know quality. You’d think Rick’d stick around when a star like me offers him a Cuban. Ol’ tar head probably couldn’t appreciate it anyway.”
“Sure, Bob,” piped Peach from behind the camera.
The video panned back, skimming the dark woods.
“What’s that?” said Bob.
The camera centered on Bob once again. He leaned forward on the porch rail, squinting into the night. “Did you hear something?”
“What?”
“Something’s out there.”
The security light blew. Bob fell to the ground howling. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”
The camera followed him to the ground, focusing on Bob’s face. Tears bled from his eyes and his nose ran.
“I don’t think it came near us, Bob,” said Peach.
“They killed the fat guy and now they’re after me,” Bob blubbered.
Offscreen, footsteps pounded and the porch door squeaked open. The air popped and a thumping splash sounded in the distance. The screen had gone dark, but the camera continued to roll, switching to backlight. Bob’s grainy face returned. He appeared to be wiping the tears and snot, bravado returned.
“It’s a sniper,” howled Bob. “They’re trying to assassinate me. They’ve got a silencer.”
A moment later, I heard myself calling out, then Jeff ordering Bob to crawl into the house and for others to hit the lights. My whispered communication to Jeff continued amid shouts by our housemates. On camera, Bob began to crawl. Reaching my spot in the doorway, he kicked me. I had curled up and yelled.
The video cut off.
I slapped a hand over my hot cheeks. That ass had deliberately kicked me. Caught red-handed. And I had been caught hollering like a stuck pig at his measly kick. If that video went viral, I’d never live it down. Lord, how embarrassing.
I set the camera back on the toilet and prepared to get busy with a toothbrush. In the mirror, my cheeks remained splotchy and I pulled in a deep breath to calm myself. Unfortunately, my self-image was a lot bigger and tougher than my on-camera image. With certain realities, I preferred ignorance.
While I brushed my teeth, I couldn’t help but mentally replay the video. If I had been embarrassed, I couldn’t imagine how Bob might feel. Why on earth had Peach taken that humiliating footage? No woman could be that stupid. Could she? I had reckoned her dumb brunette routine as a gold digger stunt. I wasn’t sure which was worse. Hooking up with someone like Bob out of true idiocy or conniving someone like Bob into believing you were stupid.
I felt my blood pressure rise and decided to leave those irritating thoughts to focus on the shooting. Most of us had been in the main room. Jeff had gone into the front bedroom to shower. Mike was doing the same in the back bedroom. Rick, Peach, and Bob were the only guests outside. One of the first shots had hit the security light. Only one shot had gotten close to the porch and that had hit an eave where the Christmas lights hung. So why shoot near the bunkhouse? Had Bob, Peach, or Rick been an actual target? Or were the bullets just meant to scare them? Or scare someone else?
I refused to think about Viktor’s accusations of Max. I shifted my focus back to Bob and Rick. Except Rick hadn’t been on the porch. He had hidden behind the house when the shooting starte
d. And had reappeared on the porch when the shooting stopped.
I stared in the mirror, catching the curl of my lip as I thought about Rick. Toothpaste dripped out the corner of my mouth and wisps of blonde frizz had escaped my ponytail. Where did I get off feeling high and mighty about slightly creepy Rick? The poor guy was injured. Did my intuition think Rick had slunk into the woods and shot at the bunkhouse instead of sneaking off to smoke?
Or was someone else out there? Another Guterson, working with Caleb? Someone else entirely? Someone who didn’t want to scare the group, but actually wanted to harm one of us?
Too bad Peach had focused on Bob and not on the shooter.
I grabbed the camera and watched three more videos. Each one focused on Bob acting the fool. Not helpful. And probably bad for his TV ratings.
Before I could get more irritated with Peach, I rinsed out the toothpaste and stalked from the bathroom. LaToya was huddled in an upper bunk with her headphones. Peach had curled up on her side in the bunk beneath her. I slipped out the door. In the main room, the fireplace glow highlighted Jeff Digby’s form gracing a bench before the window.
At my entrance, he turned from his window peep, then peeled the night vision goggles off his face. “What are you doing?”
“What’d you do with the rifles?” I whispered and drew closer. “Were any missing?”
“Don’t you ever stop? Or sleep?” He continued at my headshake. “We have another storage closet in the kitchen. I locked them in there.”
“Did Rick have access to a rifle? Weren’t some rifle packs left on the porch?”
“Why?”
“Rick wasn’t on the porch when the shooting started,” I said. “Probably, he wanted to get away from Bob Bass and smoke in peace. But I want to know if a gun is missing.”
Jeff shook his head. “Can’t see Rick doing something like that. He’s got issues, but going postal in the woods isn’t one of them.”
“What kind of issues?”
“I don’t know if I should say,” said Jeff. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Making sure he’s not hanging around LaToya too much or anything. But Rick’s not violent.”
I sucked in a breath. “He’s a creeper. I knew there was something off about him. Y’all should have told us.”
Jeff cut his eyes to the window. “It bothers me enough that Rick’s here this weekend. I’m trying to keep my distance, but watch him at the same time. Flippin’ shitty luck he got picked in the raffle.”
“How do you know he’s a creeper? Has he been convicted?” I rested my hand on the windowsill, angling closer to listen to the story.
Jeff’s pitch dropped. “About ten years ago, he was arrested for statutory rape. He was about twenty-three, the girl was fourteen. Did his time and moved back a couple years ago.”
“I thought his whole loner act was weird. I noticed how he hangs back from everyone.”
“Used to being ostracized, I guess.”
With the fire behind him, Jeff’s features were difficult to read. His low voice hardened. “You can imagine how everyone reacted when Rick won the raffle.”
“That’s why the staff’s been so tense.”
“Gutersons are about the only ones who’ll serve him. Fear of getting fired by the Woodcocks is the only reason the lodge employees are dealing with him. There’s only one person in town who’d give him the time of day.”
“Abel Spencer,” I whispered. “Because he wasn’t liked either. Town drunk and snoop.”
“Yeah.” Jeff swallowed hard. “You met Jessica at the lodge?”
“I tried. She refused to come out and meet the guests. Because of Rick?” I matched the tremor in Jeff’s voice with my knowledge of Jessica. “Merciful heavens. Jessica had a daughter who died. And that’s why she’s hiding in the kitchen. Doesn’t want to see Rick.”
Jeff nodded. “Ruby overdosed on her mom’s meds one night when her mom was at work. Autopsy showed she’d been...you know. We don’t know how long it was going on.”
“Was Rick charged?”
“No evidence other than he lived on their street. The lawyer said they’d have a hell of a time proving anything with Jessica as a single mom and Ruby a latchkey kid. There wasn’t a diary or note or anything.
“Ruby was physically mature for her age,” he continued. “Rick probably gave her attention, and she was unsupervised a lot. They ruled her death as accidental. Couldn’t prove Rick had anything to do with it, but Jessica suspected him. They didn’t even arrest him. Nothing to go on.”
I blinked back tears. “How old was Ruby?”
“Thirteen.” Jeff cleared his throat. “Anyway, Rick’s a miserable son of a bitch who deserves something worse than death. I can’t stand to look at him. But he’s not the type to shoot at anyone.”
“Why in the hell did you allow him to win the raffle? Why didn’t they throw it out and pick another damn ticket? Good Lord, there’s a teenage girl in this tournament.” Angry tears threatened to wet my eyes and I balled my fists to dig my nails into my palms.
“Dammit, I don’t know. The Woodcocks announced his name on the news before I even knew about it. LaToya’s eighteen, so the police couldn’t do anything either.” Jeff’s anger cooled mine. “This whole damn weekend’s screwed. I’m just trying to keep everyone safe.”
I gazed at Jeff, his eyes unreadable in the dark.
In the fireplace, a piece of wood popped then flared. Buckshot grunted, rolled over, and returned to sleep. The antler clock jumped a minute forward. Beneath my palm, the windowsill felt clammy. I clenched my hand into a fist.
I needed fresh air. Cold, wet air. “I’m going outside to look for bullet casings.”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”
“That’s never stopped me before.”
Hugging the wall of the bunkhouse, I watched the timber a few long minutes. Without the stars, the sky felt compressed, heaven a little closer than felt comfortable. Through the window, firelight licked abstract patterns on the porch’s flooring. I knew Jeff watched for trouble with his thermal binoculars, probably wondering what in the hell I was doing. I didn’t know what in the hell I was doing, other than I needed to do something.
I missed my family. The cold and dark made me afraid for my brother. Although jail did guarantee some degree of warmth and nourishment that I was not getting in the woods.
And I worried about Max. In my imagination, he lay dying in a stream of muddy water. I longed to kick Tennessee’s sullen butt for letting Max trip around the forest for something as dumb as a super hog.
Mostly, I felt achy over the dance my heart played with Luke. I had a giant-sized wedgie lodged inside my chest where guilt had constricted my heart and lungs. I wished Luke had never moved back to Halo, so I couldn’t have fallen for him again. My family harbored grudges almost better than Luke’s stepfamily. Were we even going to get a chance at a happily ever after?
Was this why my mother left her kids? Skipped town with Billy Branson rather than deal with a Ballard-Branson grudge match?
Maybe Todd was right about giving up on Luke. I couldn’t abandon my family for a man.
Before I could do something even more stupid, like cry, I snuck in the direction where I had heard the bullets hit. With my flashlight, I nosed around the Christmas lights, but the pulverized bulbs gave me no leads. I struck off the porch, pointing my flashlight on the mud, and searched for a clue beneath the broken security light. Bits of glass and plastic littered the ground. I skimmed my flashlight up the light pole. If the bullet had lodged near the light casing, it was too far away to see.
I cut the flashlight’s beam and stared into the gloom, following a rough line from the pole to where I thought the shooter had hidden. My sight adjusted from nothingness to vague shadows. In keeping with the season, not a creature stirred.
Figuring the mar
ksman already had his chance to shoot me, I aimed my flashlight on the ground and began to tread toward the forest.
Ten yards from the security light pole, my flashlight beam winked, catching a gleam of metal, then sparked again. I leaned over to examine the mud. The soft clay had ruptured, creating a polka dot effect of small tunnels. I continued my track, following the trajectory into the soggy forest. In a small clearing protected by a thicket of buckeye and backed by a cropping of vine-choked trees, I stopped and swiped the beam over the dense carpet of wet leaves. The rain had pounded the star-shaped leaves into an effective mat. Scattered over nature’s carpet, tiny bits of lead glinted in my beam. I examined one eraser-sized, hollow slug that looked like it would make a good finial for Barbie’s staircase. The pointed dome tapered to a thin waist with a rifled, hollow skirt. As a child, I often stole these from my brother and drew tiny faces on the tips.
“An airgun pellet?” I muttered and shoved a few in my pocket. “Who’s using a pellet gun?”
Nothing made sense. Another prank meant to scare us, not kill us.
I tromped around, flashing my beam on the forest floor, but could find no other evidence of the prankster. I trudged back, switched off the flashlight, and stood at the edge of the forest, listening. Behind me, the porch door creaked. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting Jeff Digby. A tow-headed man ducked through the doorway, pulling his parka closed with one hand. The door shut behind him, and he stood in the shadows, searching the porch and drive. I clicked on my flashlight and shined it under my chin.
Todd started, backed up a step, then trotted down the porch stairs and through the drive. His unlaced boots clomped through puddles and the mud without regard to the silence or dark. “What’re you doing out here? I about had a heart attack when you flashed that light. Thought you were a ghost.”
“I’m just getting some air,” I said, clicking off the light.
The Body in the Landscape (A Cherry Tucker Mystery Book 5) Page 20