by Sandy Night
At first, she didn’t comprehend granny’s calling out her name, and then the light came on.
Alaska’s mind drew a blank before remembering being towed to the car by her elbow and arriving home with no pop. And then her legs got switched.
Colt came up beside her. “Go this way,” he said as he veered off toward the right.
Relieved, she followed.
A bang occurred and the rambunctious noise of the engine ceased. She stopped and spun around. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew a tree got struck. “They crashed!”
Her chest heaved from labored breathing and her tired legs wobbled as if she had completed a round of serious sex. “I wonder who was on it.”
Colt came up behind her and began untying her pain stricken wrists. “Probably that Ketch woman.” His deep voice stroked the delicate nerve endings in her ear.
A fragment of memory flickered before Alaska. She was back in the cool building, the light came on, she lifted her head and staring down at her was Mrs. Ketch. Her eyes boded evil as she scorned, “Why you dirty little whore.”
Alaska blinked back to the present and hoped it had been Esther on that 4-wheeler. And that she had broken every bone in her body.
Tom and Haggard’s shouting to each other echoed through the forest.
“Over here.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Looks dead.”
“Find the bitch.”
“Which way did she go?”
Alaska’s wrists parted. “Oh thank God,” she said and shook her hands.
“Let’s go.” Colt tugged her arm.
That horrible day Alaska recalled haunted her as they trotted back up the slope. She didn’t realize it then but she did now, Tom was after her but he had already gone inside before she did which was why he never found her.
It dawned on her that that building was the same one Tom had lured Blade into. The shop. And the car she saw was probably the same one Blade went to look at. Repugnance threatened to seep up her throat but she couldn’t stop to deal with it so she kept it down. Why did she not remember that day when Blade was arrested for murdering Whip? Why was she remembering it now?
Colt changed direction again and slowed to a fast walk. He glanced over his shoulder. “I think we lost them. Are you okay?”
“I think so. What about you, weren’t you in that hole they dropped Whip in? Did you see that?”
“It was probably the same one.”
“How did you get out? Does anybody know what’s going on?”
“I found a tunnel and came out of a cave. I haven’t seen or talked to anybody.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“I heard screaming. Was that you? Were they hurting you?”
“No, that was Whip. He stuck his finger in my face so I bit the crap out of it.”
A narrow dirt road encumbered with an overgrowth of weeds appeared. Alaska stopped in the middle. She gazed around, seeking anything that might ring a bell. Afternoon insects chirped. The wind blew eerily above. “We must be near the Ketch’s property, I don’t know.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“Long time ago, when I was a kid. My screwy grandmother took me there.”
“Were there any houses around, farms, cattle, maybe a campground?”
She shook her head. “I can’t remember. Blade told me they lived way out there and that’s all he said.”
“Well, let’s go. We better get off this side road.” Colt crossed it and waded through knee high grass and weeds.
“You’re headed west,” Alaska called out. “Maybe we should go east.”
“We’ll head this way for a while. I bet they think that’s what you think.”
She trailed him, eyeballing his dirt caked jeans covering the movements of his butt. “Maybe we should stick around and hide. Wait for them to leave. Then we can pull Whip out and you can arrest him.”
He turned and waited for her to catch up. “I plan to apprehend every single one of them, but we need help—the sheriff, the state police, the FBI, anybody and everybody.”
“All we need is Whip!”
Colt let out a short laugh. “We already tried that and look where we ended up.”
Alaska said no more and strolled on.
She thought about Blade and how thrilled he’d be when she told him they found Whip. But they lost him due to the course of events. But did they lose him? No. He was in the ground back there and she knew exactly where. Would Blade want her to go back and get him, putting her life in danger again? No, he’d tell her to listen to Colt. She imagined Blade’s face. He had always stepped up to watch out for her. She wondered what happened to him when he turned himself in. Did they hurt him and throw him in solitary confinement? Did Blade tell them he heard his dead victim was alive and in Branson?
They came near a herd of deer, startling them. There were three large and three small doe, and two young bucks with miniature antlers. They all sprinted off in the same direction, bobbing their white tails at them.
Colt showed no reaction to the wildlife, unlike a city person, a hunter, or a photographer. He acted like a cop on duty and peered over his shoulder instead.
It made her think, what kind of person was he outside of being a cop, or a phony construction worker? Was she going to find out when all this was over? Were they going to have a relationship? Or did he intend to move on with his life?
She harbored no bitterness toward him for lying to her. She wanted him with a burning lust so hot it seared a C onto her heart.
He stopped and said, “Listen.”
Cascading water tinkling in the distance sounded like natures own glorious music, beckoning them to her theater.
Chapter 15
Frank Mallett slid the briefcase of two revolvers underneath the seat of his red Dodge pick-up, climbed in, and sped off.
The police captain in Little Rock called the cabins earlier and informed Frank that the escaped convict turned himself in. But there was no word from Colt. He wouldn’t answer his cell.
At first, Frank wasn’t too concerned. He conversed with his son at length the day before and Colt talked about the story Alaska told the sheriff about Blade heading to Louisiana. And he also spoke of how he developed a serious interest in her, but she did not know at that time he was a police officer.
He figured his son consoled the young woman about her brother, and took his time about it too. But as the day progressed and no word from Colt, Frank got tired of drumming his fingers across the tabletop and decided to go have a little chat with Alaska Roper. She must have done something to him.
A couple of vehicles were parked at the Cliff Café but Colt’s black Cadillac was not one of them. How simple it would have been if he sat there, drinking coffee. “Oh,” he would say, “slept all day, had a rough night, sorry.”
The sheriff’s squad car was there and Frank would have bet the cabins that Colt played a part in his reason for being there, and not a good one either. He parked next to it and wasted no time getting out of the cab of his truck.
There was a red closed sign in the window. Frank would pound on the door if he had to—to get them to let him in. He took long strides down the short walkway figuring he should at least try the door first. He turned the knob and yanked it open.
The sheriff and the café’s employees all stood in a semi-circle in front of the register. Frank had obviously interrupted their conversation. They turned toward him. Both the cook and dishwasher’s jaws dropped and the three waitresses stared. Maybe they were anticipating someone else to come waltzing through the door.
Glancing around, Frank searched for the tall one, the owner. She was not behind the counter as usual and no one was in the dining room. The tables were cluttered with dishes like they had a bus come through. He concluded Alaska wasn’t anywhere in the cafe, for if she was, she would be there with everyone else.
“We’re closed,” one of the women called out.
“I’m
looking for Colt Mallett.” Frank’s gaze connected with the sheriff’s.
“Don’t know any Colt Mallett.”
Frank relaxed, relieved that the man with the big handlebar moustache had no bad news. But disappointment nipped at him that the sheriff didn’t know of Colt.
Maybe his son was instrumental in the escapee turning himself in, and the sheriff’s department did encounter him, even for a brief moment. “Are you sure?”
“Excuse me.” The Sheriff stepped forward. “I must be going. Maybe they can help you.” He turned toward the employees and nodded. “Have Miss Roper call me when she gets back.” The miniature cowbell chimed and the door closed behind him.
“My son came in here yesterday.”
“I’m calling her cell,” the dark haired waitress said.
“That dumb-ass sheriff,” blurted the man wearing the white apron.
“Do you think she went to Branson?” asked the short blonde to no one in particular.
“Wow, maybe she’s looking for a dead man,” exclaimed a teenager.
“Truthfully, has anyone heard from her?” asked the older waitress, Frank remembered her name to be Pearl.
“Does anyone know Colt Mallett?”
“I bet Whip is alive, cockamamie story, my ass!” The cook folded his arms, his brows furrowed. “It’s those damn Ketches. I knew something was—”
“He’s a police officer,” Frank barked. “He might be with her.”
“Alaska where are you?” The waitress who got on the café’s phone screeched. Most of her hair had slipped out of a ponytail and food stains on her shirt looked as if she had plastered a plate of food on herself.
Everyone grew quiet and stared.
“You have to call me as soon as you get this message.” She plopped the receiver down.
Pearl threw her hands up. “Well, I’m not going to worry about her, Stormy. She was probably up all night with her brother and now she’s home sleeping.”
“Well, I am going to worry about her,” Stormy said as she bobbled her head sideways.
“Fine, but we need to get back to work and clean this place up. David, go get a bus-pan.”
The short one rolled her eyes and hustled behind the dishwasher.
“Call her house,” the cook said.
Stormy glared at Frank. “What did you say? Your son is Colt? Are you talking about tall, dark and handsome who sat in here all morning yesterday, hitting on Alaska?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“What did you say? Police officer?”
“He’s on vacation, but his captain called, asked him to come up here, have breakfast and observe the actions of the prison escapee’s sister—to see if he could pick up on any clues on whether or not she was assisting him.”
“Observe her actions? Oh he was observing her actions alright—her ass!”
Frank shrugged.
“Well maybe he knows where she is?”
“Maybe he does, but where is he? I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday afternoon and neither has his captain.”
“I’m not calling her house, I’m going over there. If Alaska hooked up with this guy before finding out he’s a cop—” Stormy leaned over behind the counter. “Oh my God!” She came back up with a purse and slipped the strap over her shoulder. “She’s going to kill him!”
“Hold on, I’m going with you,” the cook said, and then bolted toward the kitchen. “I have to tell David something.”
Stormy headed for the door and hollered over her shoulder, “Jack, hurry up.”
Frank went after her. “Where does Alaska live?”
“Just down the road a ways.” She didn’t stop to talk. “You can follow.”
She unlocked a beat-up Celebrity. Frank guessed it to be at least 20 years old. She got in and started the engine.
Jack skirted the corner of the building, jogging.
Frank darted to his truck.
He stayed close behind them. The unpaved road they turned down would have been easy to miss. It was narrow and different shades of tall and thick greenery flanked both sides. Soft plumes of dirt floated from the vehicle ahead of Frank. Finally, a clearing appeared and the first thing the retired policeman saw was his son’s car. Colt probably sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee, the first one of the day.
With a sigh of relief Frank pulled up next to the black vehicle.
The small house had a tiny porch graced with a dozen plants, most of which were in dire straits. Stormy had the screen door open and she hammered on the wooden one. Frank strolled to the bottom of the steps and stood next to Jack who gazed at the Cadillac. “Is that your son’s?”
“Yeah, that’s his.”
“Her truck’s not here.”
Frank still expected Alaska to be there, maybe her truck was stuck somewhere and Colt drove her home. He anticipated her to open the door at any second, but instead Stormy did. She stuck her head inside and hollered, “Alaska! Alaska!”
Jack strolled to the side of the house and turned the corner.
Stormy stopped calling for her and stepped inside.
Frank stood alone. He listened to the wind rustling the branches of trees, and to the crickets gearing up for the upcoming night’s festivity of raucous noise. Not liking the silent void of human voices or activity, Frank leapt up the steps and entered Alaska’s kitchen.
No sign of Colt. No aroma of food or coffee. Clean dishes were stacked in a rack next to the sink.
Frank entered the living room at the same time Stormy came out of the bedroom. “Nobody’s here,” she said. “Is that Colt’s Caddy out there?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I guess they’re out running around in her truck, probably in Branson.”
“Why Branson, what’s going on?”
“The sheriff told us that Blade told them that he heard in prison Whip wasn’t dead, but was alive in Branson— you know the guy he killed. Blade thinks his family set him up for insurance money, or something. The sheriff didn’t believe him, said it was some cockamamie story. He just wanted to find Alaska. I think to give her a hard time.”
Frank remembered the comment the cook made at the café. “Who are the Ketches—the family?”
“I think so, but I don’t know them. I’m not from around here.”
“I’ll go ask Jack.”
Frank believed the sheriff to be somewhat incompetent by ignoring him at the café when he inquired about his son. And to dismiss Blade’s accusations, that was something he was not about to do. Colt may have heard that story to, and where was he?
Jack came back from around the corner of the house looking dismayed. “I take it nobody’s here?”
“That’s right.” Frank bounded down the porch steps.
“Those damn Ketches.” The cook stared at the road.
“Whip’s family?”
“Yep.”
“Do you know where they live?” Frank folded his arms.
Jack turned to face him and said, “I sure do, my dad used to haul me out there and buy moonshine.”
“Can you give me directions?”
“I could, or I could show you and go out there with you.”
Frank nodded toward his Dodge. “Let’s go.” He took long strides to his truck, and then opened the driver’s door.
Stormy called out, “Hey, where you going?” She pounced off the last step and headed their way.
Poking his head around the opened passenger door, Jack hollered, “Blade’s trailer, see if they’re out there. I’ll ride with him.”
“Okay,” Stormy said. “I’ll meet you out there.”
Jack slid into the truck. “His trailer’s down the road a ways.” He slammed the door closed. “We’ll check out there first, and then we’ll lose Stormy. We don’t need her following us.”
Chapter 16
The stream dropped thirty feet, rushing and splashing into a translucent green pool. Weeds flourished in the crevices etched in the limestone wall behind
the plummeting water, and wet rocks glistened at the bottom. Inside the shaded hollow, a herd of fragile ferns arched their clustered fronds, and umbrella magnolia trees blossomed, some of the flowers floated in the emerald pond that seemed to glow from within, showcasing the open white crowns and large oval leaves that spread out like lily pads.
Alaska tumbled down the embankment after Colt. He belly flopped, dropping the black flashlight by his side. And like a crazed wild-man, he hand scooped the water up to his gaping mouth. She stepped over his stretched out legs, focusing on the exquisite scene and soft roar of a long creek coming to a pit stop.
In all hollows, lived a magical presence, an invisible nature spirit, touching the flesh, mind, and soul of anyone entering its home. Alaska sensed that particular place to be special, one she’d never forget.
Even though the heat index was low, Alaska’s body temp raged with scorching thirst, breathless exhaustion, and an aching desire for sex brought on by whiffs of testosterone from Colt’s musky scent. His aphrodisiac properties resembled salsa—tomato sweet and jalapeño hot. Definitely lethal.
With pleasure, she took off her shirt and tossed it onto a dry boulder that had been smoothed, gouged, and shaped by water and time into a magnificent sculpture. Then she twisted her arm behind her back, unsnapped her bra, and allowed her trapped boobs to fall into freedom. She flipped her shoes off, all the while wanting to steal a glance Colt’s way, to see if he watched her. But she didn’t. And without a stitch on, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and strolled off along the shoreline.
Allured by the great shower, she stepped into the icy pool. The glass like surface steadily rose over her ankles, calves, knees, thighs, and waistline. The amazing water caressed her soul and exhilarated her skin.
She drifted in her element. How long had it been since she’d been waterfalling—four, five years? She couldn’t remember. As she waved her hands, causing ripples, she noticed her wrists stopped hurting, and they began regaining their natural color back. Events of what had occurred in the past forty hours blipped through her mind as the stresses and strains that assaulted her emotions slipped away. And the happiness of being in love engulfed her even though she hadn’t the vaguest idea where the relationship between her and Colt was going to go.