Nearly Dead in Iowa

by Wendy Byrne

  Anxious for a change of conversation, I surreptitiously pointed to a man on the right who seemed to be eyeing me. "What do you think about him?"

  She shook her head. "That's Robert Green. He operates a farm outside Inez. He's a hound dog, always chasing skirts, much to his wife's consternation." She clucked. "Frankly, I think she might have given up trying to stamp out his wayward ways."

  "So he's harmless?"

  "Yep. He's not bright enough to pull off an extortion plot. We need to keep looking."

  "Oh crap, there's Nate and Emily. He's bound to be suspicious if he sees me here. I'm sure he's figured out I'm not the county fair type and will know I'm up to something."

  "Don't worry. I'll tell him I was showing you the sights. It's kind of an Iowa thing." She hesitated long enough for me to know she didn't believe her own logic. "But I agree it would raise his suspicions."

  If Viola was worried about this, there had to something she wasn't telling me. Like maybe she'd overhead a conversation between him and Gabe relative to my snooping. But right now I had more than enough to worry about.

  "And there's Gabe." And he was with a woman. Something akin to jealousy tumbled inside me. Which was ridiculous. We weren't even dating. We were running buddies out of necessity. Okay, I was attracted to him. And we had a moment there when I got my stitches. But still…

  "That's Sue Ann Dubois. They've been friends forever."

  They looked a little more than friendly to me. Again that over-the-top sensitivity reared its ugly head. I needed to get over my insecurities about my relationships with men—more than likely it started with my father.

  Blech!

  "I think we should try to avoid him as well." As soon as I said the words, an announcement came over the loudspeaker about a free performance from country artist Colton McGuire in the grandstand in ten minutes. While I didn't know much about country music, I could tell by the squeals of excitement ricocheting through the crowd and the resultant rush of people, this was a big deal. Stuck in the middle of it, Viola and I got separated. "Viola?" It was impossible to be heard as I felt the stampede closing in on me when the loudspeaker blasted out a food update listing what was hot and ready to take to the concert.

  "Fresh, hot, deep fried double bacon corn dog, cowboy cone, deep fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich now available at the food tents. If you're in the mood for dessert, we've got a fresh batch of deep fried Oreos or Snickers bars, or a scrumptious batch of deep fried butter ready for chowin' down."

  Stuck in some kind of Food Network nightmare, I tried to traverse the wave of apparently ravenous customers anxious to add quadruple calorie counts for the day before enjoying the show.

  "Fresh batch of deep fried Twinkies. Get them while they're hot," the carnival barker announced, causing another swell in the crowd. I felt myself getting moved like an undertow in the ocean. I fought to break through, but it was no use. I was battling against the tide of fried Twinkie lovers.

  Given Viola's petite status, it was nearly impossible to spot her among the crowd. While the smell of grease created a nauseous roll in my stomach, fingers grasping onto my elbow caused another kind of fear.

  "You need to come with me." When I started to turn and got a brief glimpse of his profile—a black baseball hat and sunglasses—making him indistinguishable, he growled into my ear. "Do not turn around." It sounded like the same voice as on the phone, but was it the same guy who pushed me down? Possibly. I tried to gauge his height based on where he pointed the gun into my back. The really scary part was using that as a barometer to identify details.

  For once I was happy I'd lost Viola in the crowd. She could have been hurt. Knowing Viola, she would have thought being old gave her a pass to immortality and would have tried to stop this lunatic.

  Focus.

  Stay alive.

  Stay with the crowd.

  As long as I hung around people, I'd be fine. He wanted money. That meant I was safe until he got it. After that, who knew what might happen.

  One step at a time.

  "I have the money." I sounded like a bad actor in a B movie.

  "We'll discuss that when we have some privacy." He whispered close enough to my ear to raise the hackles on my arms.

  "Repulsive" was the word that came to mind—even more so when combined with the knowledge that he clearly wanted to do me harm. I could break away or call attention to myself, but I didn't want to do that at the risk of not getting the information. He could be lying, but I needed to find out for sure.

  I stopped suddenly. He jostled against me, stepping on the heel of my tennis shoes. "What the hell?" He poked me in the back with what felt like a gun, and I started moving again.

  Think.

  I needed a plan.

  If I could only get inside my purse, I could grab my pepper spray. Ironic that I hadn't used it once in Manhattan except for that time I threatened to use it on Joseph.

  Why does my mind wander like a runaway freight train during times of stress? Maybe it was some kind of self-defense mechanism. Right now I needed to keep a clear head, especially since he was trying to force me towards the area behind the tents. Everybody knows only bad things happen behind carnie tents.

  I stopped again and felt the gun gouge into my back when he plowed into me. "You need to tell me something, or I'm not moving."

  I thought I sounded like Angelina Jolie at her kick-butt finest—at least until everything went black.

  When I opened my eyes, there was a combo special of Viola, Gabe, and Nate hovering before me. I was pretty sure I had a boulder-sized lump on the back of my head based on the throbbing emanating from my neck to my temples.

  "She's coming around," Viola whispered as Ramona, Alice, and Dolly came into the picture.

  "How many fingers do you see?" Ramona pushed in front of everyone and stuck her fingers a centimeter from my face.

  I'm pretty sure my eyes crossed as she wagged them around. "Two," I whispered even though I wasn't sure why my voice wasn't quite working.

  "She'll be fine," Ramona pronounced before Nate pulled her away.

  "What happened?" His eyebrows crunched while he examined me over.

  Gabe picked up Emily and perched her on his hip. "I think we should call an ambulance and get her checked out."

  I wanted to shake my head but stopped short when everything started to spin around me. "I don't want to make a scene. I'll be fine." At least I hoped so.

  Nate crouched, and a smile graced his face. He looked really good when he smiled.

  Maybe I need an ambulance after all.

  The man hated me. I hated him. We tolerated being in the same town because we kind of had to. Why was he suddenly looking so kind and comforting? I really need a CAT scan pronto.

  "Where's my purse?" Afraid to raise my head too much, I felt along the ground with my fingertips. On the good-news front, the throbbing headache gave great competition to worrying over the potential loss of my prized possession in the what-hurt-more-competition.

  "It's not here. I'll have security check the trash cans to see if the robber disposed of it. What color was it?"

  "An amazing shade of green—a cross between moss and cilantro. The bag was by Stella McCartney. You know, Paul McCartney from the Beatles' daughter." Maybe I had recovered after all since I'd started babbling like I normally did during stressful times.

  Despite the fact I no doubt looked a bit like a beached whale—being afraid to move—I couldn't bring myself to take the next step and come to a sitting position. The idea made me a little dizzy thinking about it.

  Gabe transferred Emily to Nate and crouched beside me, brushing the hair away from my eyes. "How are you feeling?"

  "I'll live."

  "That's good to hear." He smiled, and a little of the hysteria that had encompassed me earlier seemed to dissipate. "Want me to help you sit up?"

  I sucked in a breath and tried to prepare myself for the dizziness that no doubt would ensue. He propped me to a semi-s
itting position, going about it in incremental levels, which I appreciated.

  A wave of dizziness swamped me, but I closed my eyes and fought it back. I did not want to show any signs that I needed medical attention, or I'd find myself strapped to a gurney and on my way to the hospital. I wanted to fade into the woodwork, charge ahead, and get the idiot who did this to me.

  A security officer walked up to Nate and said something. A few moments later he shared what he'd learned. "They found your purse and already had it checked for prints."

  Thank goodness for criminals who didn't know the value of a Stella McCartney bag. For once the country bumpkin mentality around here worked in my favor.

  Nate handed me the purse while I rested against Gabe's chest. It felt awkward and soothing simultaneously.

  I searched through the inside, thankful that my cell phone was there, but my wallet was empty. "My money is missing." I chewed my lip and bit back self-flagellation at my stupidity. I'd let some kind of twisted hope for answers overtake my rational thought process.

  "Why were you here?" Nate held up his finger before I could speak "The truth."

  I blew out a breath and felt a bit of the stress I'd been carrying roll off my shoulders. "I got a phone call earlier telling me they had some information about my father."

  Nate shook his head as the scowl returned. "Why didn't you call me?" The accusatory tone in his voice raised the hackles on my back signifying things were back to normal between us. My earlier bout of temporary insanity towards him had dissipated as quickly as it had come.

  "Because I can handle it."

  "I can see that." He rolled his eyes.

  "I didn't die or anything." I scowled. Two could play at the making-faces game.

  "No, just get robbed and knocked out. How much did they get?"

  I gulped back the truth. Not telling him about the five hundred dollars I'd brought with me made the most sense. He'd turn this into some kind of extortion plot, which it kind of was, now that I thought about it.

  Instead of fessing up, I shrugged. I didn't need any more messages of "I told you so." My head hurt bad enough as it was. "About fifty bucks. But they threw my credit cards back in my purse." I needed to interject some sunshine into the doom and gloom he threw my way.

  "What did the guy look like?"

  "I didn't see him." I didn't shake my head for fear my brains might leak out my ears if I did. "He said he'd be wearing a black hat, but as you can see, half the men here are wearing black baseball hats. He came up behind me and told me not to turn around. I kind of saw his profile, but it didn't help. He had something poked against my back. And he smelled like Tom Ford cologne, although it could have been somebody in the crowd. And before you ask, I didn't recognize the voice for sure, but it could have been Phil Reed."

  So there. He couldn't say I hadn't been cooperative now.

  "I'll look into that. Will you let me do the investigating from now on?" Nate had gone back to the condescending whine that categorized how he did business—at least with me.

  "Whatever," I grumbled under my breath.

  Thankfully he ignored me as he got more distracted by Emily's demands. Gabe helped me to my feet and steadied me just when I thought I might possibly swoon. Black dots appeared before my eyes, but I sipped some water, and that seemed to lower my blood pressure or whatever it was that was causing my brain to fuzz out.

  "Are you sure you're okay? Doc could take a look at you, no problem. I guarantee he'd love it. Any chance he has to see Grandma seems to brighten his day," Gabe whispered into my ear.

  "I don't know why they divorced." I was grateful for a bit of a reprieve from my own troubles. Maybe I'd overstepped my boundaries, but I couldn't help it.

  "It's a long story. Now they're both too stubborn and set in their ways."

  "What happened to your friend?" I didn't want to get too cheeky, especially since I needed his arm for support. But I still had to ask the question.

  His brows furrowed. "My friend?"

  "We saw you earlier with Sue something or other. Viola said you were besties, or something to that effect."

  He chuckled. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."

  "How could I be jealous, when we don't…" I waived my unencumbered hand between us. "Have some kind of thing between us." Clearly I was losing it by justifying the crazy trajectory of this conversation. "I didn't want to interfere with anything you had going on today."

  "Which reminds me, I know you used your bum knee as a way to get out of Bingo with the Qs last week, so how about you come over to my place for dinner this Wednesday? I might be the only way you're going to escape this time."

  I couldn't help but smile even though it made my head hurt. "Are you saying you're coming to my rescue and keeping me from falling down the slippery slope to Bingo Anonymous?"

  He smiled back. "Absolutely."

  "Well there's that." This was weird. He was flirting. I was flirting back. And I kind of liked it. "Dinner on Wednesday sounds good."

  "Great. I'll grill up some steaks."

  "And I'll bring some wine and dessert."

  "Nate arranged for one of the troopers to drive your car back, and the Qs are insisting on going home in the squad car that's following your car home. You know that bunch. Alice was already asking about handcuffs, and Ramona wanted to know if she could work the siren. I'll take you home in my truck."

  I shook my head and regretted it seconds later when my brains seemed to bounce from one side to the other during my demonstration of defiance. Yeah, that was a really bad idea. I reached to grab my temples as if that would somehow stop the throbbing.

  "Totally unnecessary. I'll be fine to drive in a little bit. I only need some rest."

  "That's exactly why you're not driving. I don't think you want one of the ladies to drive your car, and there's not enough room for one extra person."

  "That's blackmail." I cringed at my use of the word. I had my own case of blackmail up close and personal.

  * * *

  Despite my protests, Dr. Carnes came over yesterday to check me out once we'd gotten home. Luckily, he pronounced me well, with a mild concussion. My only objection was his use of the word "mild." It didn't feel very mild to me. But I always have been a bit of the drama queen—at least from Joseph's perspective. Or maybe that was just after I gave away his suits.

  Doc told Vi to wake me up every couple of hours. I couldn't say for sure, but I think he stayed for quite a long time after that. All I know is that I'd gone upstairs around five in the evening and, other than being wakened every couple of hours, I'd slept clear through to nine the following morning.

  Feeling refreshed, if not somewhat shaky, I made my way downstairs. The ladies were sitting around the kitchen table as usual, but it looked like they were developing some kind of game plan based on the array of magazines on the table open to stun gun ads and the paperwork on the table for concealed carry permits. Apparently, they had decided their arsenal of pepper spray wasn't enough.

  OMG, I was in such trouble.

  "We decided we're not going to be intimidated by whoever is threatening you."

  I nodded slowly as I filled my coffee cup and tried not to consider the mayhem that might ensue. "It's not like I know who the guy is, or that a stun gun would have helped me yesterday." I tried to ignore the evidence of their intent on the table.

  "True. But that doesn't mean we can't figure it out," Viola said.

  "We need to keep it on the down low," Alice offered.

  That nearly made me laugh out loud. The idea of these ladies keeping anything on the down low was like the possibility of finding a unicorn or leprechaun or Big Foot.

  "No matter how hard we try, finding that guy seems like a long shot. We have nothing to go on." Maybe bringing up facts would help deter their trajectory of crazy ideas. Then again, more than likely, it wouldn't. Instead it would spur them onto another level of sleuthing that would no doubt get somebody—more than likely me—in
big trouble or dead. Still trying to convince them to back off was worth a shot—if for no other reason than to prevent another lecture from Nate or Gabe or both.

  "I can tell you're scared after yesterday, and I understand perfectly. I think we erred by splitting up. If we were all together, he wouldn't have tried that kind of nonsense," Viola said.

  I drew in a shaky breath. "I agree there's safety in numbers, but I was surrounded by people, and he still did what he did. And got away."

  "But one of us could have run for help if we'd been together," Dolly added.

  "Except I think he had a gun." I finally said something I hadn't exactly confessed to Nate about—maybe because I didn't want to admit it to myself. It was much too scary to think about what could have happened with a gun pressed against my back.

  "He wouldn't have used it in a crowd like that. Besides, if it's the same guy who pushed you down, he's proved time and time again he's chicken."

  "You don't know that, Ramona. We have no way of knowing what the man was after. It could have been revenge or money, or maybe he was trying to cover up the crime. Who knows?" I shook my head and snagged a second piece of the coffee cake on the table. Non-nutritional binge eating to the rescue once again. "My point is we need to back off so that we can let Nate do his job."

  I felt proud of my ability to state the company line as prescribed by Nate. He was right. Things in this investigation were getting out of hand. I no longer knew where the trouble was coming from as the suspect list grew and grew. And now that Nate knew I hadn't backed down, he'd be all over me as well as the ladies in his endless need to protect them from my bad influence. But maybe he was right. Maybe I had continued to put them in danger without heeding the warnings he'd given me.

  At this point it was all about self-preservation. And I needed a healthy dose of that about now. So instead of revealing all that to the ladies, I opted to change the trajectory of this conversation. And I knew exactly how to do it.