Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2)

by Nancy G. West

  Millie’s voice carried through the breezeway. “Is it almost morning? I had a terrible dream about a snake.” In loud voices, as though they had to shout to be heard over the darkness, the other two girls explained the electrical malfunction to Millie, reoriented her to pre-dinner time and didn’t mention the snake.

  When Sam banged on the front door, the lights came on. “Are you ready to go eat?”

  “Y’all go on,” Jangles called. “We’ll get Millie ready and be there in a minute.”

  Meredith opened the door. “We had to dress without lights,” she told Sam.

  “I spent the last hour listening to George and Selma Tensel argue,” he said. “George hates everything about this place. They don’t serve liquor, so he had to drive to Bandera for booze. He hates having to walk everywhere. Selma harped he needs more exercise but pointed out he has no trouble chasing young girls like Vicki.”

  “Ouch.”

  Poor Vicki. This was one more conflict she didn’t need.

  “George thinks it’s stupid to see grown women panting over a bunch of tight-butt, small-brained cowboys,” Sam added.

  Meredith grinned at me. There are some things only women appreciate.

  “George also despises the indignity of having to heave himself onto a horse,” Sam said.

  “Did Selma say that’s another reason he should exercise?” I asked.

  “Right. He also hates stripping to a swimsuit to dunk himself in a river. Selma reminded him he used to say he loved the Texas Hill Country. She grew euphoric talking about its natural beauty. When she started pontificating about conservation, I had to get out of there.”

  Sam wore a long-tailed shirt hanging out over his jeans. He must be hiding the Glock.

  We strolled toward the main lodge, listening to blessed silence. I saw two small buildings secluded in the brush off to our left. From having studied the ranch map, I thought the first cabin, closest to ours, must be Vicki’s. Through the window, I saw a blouse draped on a chair.

  Farther down the road, I concluded the building closest to the lodge must be Sunny Barlow’s cabin; it had the initials “S. B.” on the door.

  As dusk crept around us, the cicadas tuned up. “What are those? Locusts?” Sam said.

  “Texans call them cicadas,” Meredith said. “They invade in June and stay all summer. Males make those sounds by vibrating the membranes on their abdomens.”

  “Maybe George Tensel will take that up instead of snoring. He snores so loud, he rattles pipes in the bathroom.”

  Cicadas surrounded us from trees everywhere, chirping a rhythmical strain as if they were celebrating the day and preparing the countryside for nightfall.

  “Do cicadas have any natural enemies?” he asked Meredith.

  “They lay hundreds of eggs in scratched-out areas of tree bark. When their offspring, called nymphs, fall to the ground, they frequently land near cicada-killer wasps.”

  We seemed to have landed in the middle of vast acreage that concealed mysterious deaths, conflicts between people, siblings with issues, a man hiding behind a happy face, a veteran who probably suffered from PTSD, and snakes.

  Yet the sky shone with more blue, pink, and orange streaks than I’d seen in any other sky. The air smelled purer than I’d imagined air could smell. The tone of humming cicadas enveloped us in a blanket of sound lulling us into security. How could anything go seriously wrong in such a place?

  Nine

  To the right of the lodge, a large concrete patio was set back alongside the building. A breeze rustled red and white checkered tablecloths covering cypress picnic tables spaced across the concrete floor. Cicadas sang hymns to the streaked sky. I inhaled the fresh air.

  Sunny stood on the patio beside the outdoor fireplace, stirring coals. “Come on in. While we wait for the coals to heat up, I’ll sing.” He sauntered to the nearest table, heaved a foot on the bench seat, laid the guitar across his thigh and began to croon “Country Roads.” Even the cicadas grew quiet. Sunny smiled at our suitemates when they walked in, and they rushed to the table nearest him.

  Sam had captured the table to Sunny’s right and spread himself out on the bench seat so only Meredith and I could sit opposite him. Since the ranch wasn’t full, there were tables left over. Sunny wore subdued clown makeup and no hat. We had a good profile view of his strong, regular features. Why would he want to hide them?

  Bertha came out of the lodge carrying a tray of steaks. Vicki followed, struggling with a platter of baked potatoes and a mammoth salad bowl. About that time, Ranger Travis swaggered in wearing chaps, as if he’d spent the day riding a cutting horse through the brush.

  Sunny grinned and broke into “Momma, Don’t let your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys.”

  “You got that right,” Bertha said, winking at Ranger.

  Ranger tipped his hat to each woman. We all checked him out as he strolled around and spoke to everybody. He slid onto the bench at a center table.

  When Sunny stopped singing to put steaks on the grill, Ranger requested “When Will I Be Loved?” Sunny started the song, and Ranger was ready. He cocked his head back like a howling coyote and sang loud, harmonizing with Sunny: “I’ve been cheated…been mistreated. When will I be loved? I’ve been put down; I’ve been pushed ‘round. When will I be loved? When I find a new girl that I want for mine she always breaks my heart in two. It happens every time… I’ve been made blue, I’ve been lied to. When will I be loved?”

  By the time they got to the last line, every woman in the place looked ready to volunteer to help one or both men feel loved.

  Vicki’s brother slipped in and slouched at a table near the edge of the patio. Ink black hair swept his shoulders, and his tank top left bronzed muscles exposed. He wore cut-offs and flip-flops—minimal clothing, I supposed, in case he felt the urge to dive into the nearest water.

  Sunny saw him and played “Up a Lazy River.”

  “Yeah,” River Rat breathed.

  The girls tittered.

  Sunny stopped singing long enough to turn over the steaks. When he cradled the guitar again and sang “Cool Clear Water,” Ranger looked downright jealous.

  I wondered where the rest of the cowboys were. The Tensels appeared, with George looking tuckered out and Selma appearing flustered. I wondered how long they’d last at the BVSBar Ranch. Sunny sensed their desire to be elsewhere and launched into Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.”

  The man had a sense of humor.

  By the time the steaks were done and we’d lined up to serve our plates, the sun had nearly set.

  I didn’t see Bertha anywhere. She apparently thought Vicki could handle the rest of the evening.

  The only light came from candles on tables and soft lights glowing from corners of the patio. Sam smiled at me. I wished I could go to sleep in his arms listening to Sunny Barlow sing.

  Sunny looked toward the back of the patio and frowned. I craned around to see Wayne Rickoff and Monty stroll in late to the barbecue. Maybe they’d been trying to fix the skeet trap machine. Sunny studied Rickoff with a dark scowl. Rickoff didn’t seem to notice. He and Monty ambled to the grill, collected their food and returned to the back of the patio.

  I heard the girls talking about why Sunny wore makeup.

  “Maybe he’s afraid some girl he ditched will show up and recognize him.” Jangles giggled. “I’d love to discuss his history with him while I remove his makeup, flake by flake.”

  Vicki put marshmallows, chocolate bars and graham crackers on a fireside table. Everybody swarmed around her to make s’mores and carry the treasures to their tables.

  Vicki slipped off the patio into the darkness. I guess she figured she’d done her job. Somebody else would clean up.

  Rickoff finished eating and left. Monty and Ranger Travis left a few minutes la
ter. Everybody Vicki’d had trouble with left shortly after she did, like an exodus of foxes scenting a rabbit. Goosebumps rippled across my shoulders.

  When the Tensels left, our suitemates rose to follow. Sam, apparently oblivious to the departing guests, scarfed down another s’more. Unable to sit still another minute, I rose to leave. Meredith and I waved good night to Sunny Barlow and thanked him for the music. He said he’d stay to clean up. It was getting very dark.

  As we navigated the path to our cabins, it grew even darker. Sunny must have doused the campfire. We slowed and walked carefully, adjusting our eyes to seeing by moonlight. The cicadas grew louder, as if to warn us of impending danger. An owl hooted.

  I grabbed Meredith’s arm. “What’s that noise in the brush?”

  “Some animal that feeds at night, raccoon…opossum.”

  “How can they see to eat anything? We can barely see three feet ahead,” I said.

  “It might be armadillos digging with their snouts and claws, loosening the soil to find food.”

  “Oh.”

  “They catch beetles, ants, termites, worms and caterpillars with long sticky tongues.”

  Meredith tended to chatter when she was nervous. She had to be as eager as I was to reach our cabin. I hadn’t seen horseshoe marks on the trail, but somebody must have ridden a horse there. Selma stepped in horse poop.

  “My new espadrilles!” she shrieked. “Why doesn’t anybody clean up this place?”

  We stopped behind Selma. Millie, who’d rolled up her jeans, bent over and squinted at something clinging to the folds. “What’s that?”

  Dozens of crickets had landed on Millie’s pant legs. Stoney’s turquoise, gleaming in the moonlight, must have attracted them. Millie’s cuffed jeans gave them a secure landing site. Millie squealed, shaking one leg, then the other, trying to dislodge crickets without touching them and gyrating like a crazed voodoo dancer.

  Everybody moved away from her except Selma, who was occupied with scraping horse poop off her shoes. Since Selma was close to Millie, a few crickets jumped toward her. When both women screamed with terror, we all closed in and started flipping critters off them.

  Sunny Barlow walked up. “What’s going on?”

  “Crickets.” Jangles smiled. “We’re getting rid of them.” She and Stoney flicked crickets like pros.

  As soon as Selma was mostly cricket-free, she marched ahead toward their cabin, fuming. George seemed happy to let her go. He meandered around until I lost sight of him in the darkness.

  “Guess I’ll turn in,” Sunny said. He was carrying an ice chest.

  Meredith whispered. “He’s so good looking. What’s the ice chest—?”

  He heard her. “I keep clown makeup in it,” he said, “so it won’t melt. Got more ice from the kitchen.”

  He detoured toward his cabin.

  “Good idea,” I said, turning to Meredith. “We should put our makeup in that cooler I brought.”

  Sam looked at me like I was crazy. He muttered under his breath. “The guy probably hides sharp knives in that cooler… ex-con serial killer protecting his identity. Hates city people. Knows they flock to dude ranches. Comes here to kill them.”

  I thought he was teasing, but I couldn’t see his face. I was glad Millie didn’t hear him.

  We heard a loud boom. Everybody froze. “Was that thunder?” I said. “A shot?”

  Sam slipped his hand under his shirt. “Maybe Rickoff practices in the dark.”

  Jangles gave him a disgusted look. “Come on, girls. It’s time we got back to our cabin.”

  “Good idea,” Sam said. “Loud noises attract snakes.”

  Millie screeched, grabbed the others and they bolted for their cabin.

  “You’re impossible,” I said to Sam.

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “It’s time everybody got to bed anyway.” He swaggered toward his cabin. “We should’ve brought a flashlight.”

  Meredith and I were relieved to get to our bungalow and slip inside. “What do you think that boom was?” I asked her.

  “Sounded like a shot. Maybe somebody shot a rabbit or a javelina.”

  “Probably. I’m too tired to care.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I’ll check my mail.” I powered up my laptop and found a timely letter.

  Dear Aggie,

  My husband says I’m a good camper. I can set up tents and cook with minimal utensils. I’ve learned to hike in khaki clothes that resemble Burka gear to protect my skin without suffocating. Despite beautiful scenery, I walk eyes-to-the-ground to avoid stepping on some creature. But at night, I get nervous. Unfamiliar noises scare me. Can you help?

  Nervous Nelly

  Dear Nervous Nelly,

  When we escape our canned-air habitats after dark, we discover that some creatures prefer nighttime to daytime. Armadillos, bats, hedgehogs, raccoons and opossums forage through brush looking for something to eat. They are totally uninterested in you.

  Wolves howl mournfully, coyotes sound like Chihuahuas barking, and hedgehogs are into heavy breathing. With their looks, go figure.

  Crickets’ legs rubbing together sound like tiny nail files doing battle. Whippoorwills sound like they’re whistling at girls, and owls hoot like disapproving grandmothers.

  I don’t recommend hiking at night, but the most likely danger is stepping in critter poop. Why not sit inside in a comfy chair with your feet up? Open your window, leave the screen on and try to identify what’s making the sounds.

  Pleasantly perched night owl,

  Aggie

  It was comforting writing about nocturnal creatures. People were scary. I kept thinking about that boom. Why would somebody be shooting in the dark? I remembered how Sunny had glared at Rickoff, and how Rickoff, Ranger and Monty had slipped away right after Vicki left, as if they were tracking her.

  What did Sunny have in that ice chest? What was he hiding behind that makeup?

  Ten

  Meredith fell into her bunk and didn’t move. After the evening’s turmoil, I longed to sleep soundly.

  Stoney’s voice carried through the bathroom. “It’s too dang hot in here. This air conditioning’s lousy. Let’s get these windows up. At least we’ll be able to breathe.”

  Once she’d shoved up every sash, we had a few minutes’ peace. Then Millie spoke in a stage whisper. “What are those noises outside?”

  “Normal night sounds, Millie,” Stoney said. “Birds, crickets, whatever. Go to sleep.”

  “What if they get in?”

  “They’ll never make it to you. You’re too high off the floor.”

  “Will you two pipe down,” Jangles said. “I’m having enough trouble figuring out which parts to hang over the side of this bunk so the rest of me will stay in.”

  They finally settled down. I thought we might actually get some sleep until I heard the second boom.

  “Hear that shot?” Jangles shouted.

  “Was it thunder?” Millie asked.

  “It was a shot. You hear a shot when you’re in the brush trying to hide because you’re doing your business,” Jangles said, “and you never forget the sound.”

  “For Pete’s sake. Who’d be shooting at night?” Stoney said. “A car could have backfired. It was probably only thunder. The rain will cool us off. Can we please get some sleep?”

  Meredith had the pillow over her head and didn’t stir. I thought about how isolated we were. It seemed as though I’d always been isolated. When my parents died, I’d been uprooted to Uncle Charlie and Aunt Novena’s farm. When I graduated high school, I had to leave their farm to find work in Chicago. Then I fell for Lester, and he left. That’s when I had to leave my friends Katy and Sam Vanderhoven to go work at the branch bank in the suburbs. When Sam’s family died, he
was too grieved to want to see anybody. I was alone again.

  When I moved to Texas to start over, met Meredith and saw Sam again, it had been over two years since he’d lost his family. He said he couldn’t stand Chicago’s winters. I knew he was escaping memories, not the weather.

  Now that Sam and Meredith were both here in Texas, I knew I’d never leave. I never wanted to be alone again.

  I finally drifted into a restless sleep. In my dream, Wayne Rickoff was aiming at targets. Sam, Meredith, Vicki, Sunny and a huge snake were pinned to five bull’s eyes. When Rickoff pulled the trigger, the targets blew up.

  The view morphed into a river scene. Meredith, Sam, Vicki and I paddled around in canoes, heading straight for a whirlpool. River Rat cackled insanely from the riverbank. As I slipped into the whirlpool, my mind emptied and I relaxed.

  My short night ended with a loud thump. I was surprised to hear Millie cursing like a sailor. She must have sat up too quickly and cracked her head on the ceiling. The other two fussed at her for waking them up. After all that ruckus, I was thoroughly awake. Millie apparently hadn’t knocked herself out, or else I’d hear Jangles and Stoney calling for help to revive her.

  Through the window, I saw streaks trying to light the sky. I rose and staggered around the cabin, trying to find my clothes and dress without waking Meredith.

  When I stepped outside, dawn barely lit the porch. I inhaled the vanilla scent of summer phlox. No wonder people loved the Hill Country. The air alone could probably cure most ailments.

  Birds sang to the new morning. I heard the buzzy notes of a golden-cheeked warbler. Not far off the path, in a circle of stunted junipers, two warblers preened and sang. I looked up just as hesitant light began to illuminate high clouds floating in the blue sky. What a perfect time to enjoy a solitary walk to the lodge.