Joseph's Kidnapping

by Randy Rawls

  The last thing I heard from him was laughter.

  A few minutes later, Dub’s face appeared at the edge of the grave. He dropped in a gallon jug of water that I caught in self-defense. “Sheriff said I should give you this and this,” he said as he dropped in a bag of potato chips. “Gotta run.” His head disappeared, then reappeared. “Oh, we’re taking Melon and the tape with us. You do good work. You’re damn near as good as Chip said you was.”

  His head disappeared again as I called, “Dub, but…”

  I yelled a few more times, but received no answer so I gave up and sat down in the corner. I leaned back and settled in for a long wait. I hoped the grave digger would jump his schedule and show up early. While I sat and pondered how I could get out of the hole, I heard strange noises from above me. There were moans and groans, and footsteps, and branches snapping, and all kinds of eerie sounds. “Get the hell out of here, you damn ghosts,” I howled. I was so angry I would have thrown dirt in the face of the first ghoul who looked into my grave. A coyote stuck his head over the edge and got a clump of clay between the eyes for his trouble. Last I heard, he and his friends were retreating, giving me something to grin about.

  At some point, I fell asleep.

  “Arr-ty. Oh, Arrrrr-ty-ty-ty-ty.”

  I snapped awake and listened, goose bumps leaping onto my arms and the skin on my back, playing piano on my spine. I hoped it was a bad dream that woke me, or my ample imagination. I remembered the threat I’d made against ghosts.

  “Oh, Arrrrr-ty-ty-ty-ty.”

  Nope, it wasn’t a dream unless I was still asleep. I pinched one of the goose bumps on my arm. Ouch, if I could believe the old wives’ tale, I was awake.

  “Arrrrr-ty-ty-ty-ty.”

  I shook my head, trying to sling away the last vestiges of sleep, hoping ghosts weren’t real, but the voice was.

  “Arrrrr-ty-ty-ty-ty.”

  Something about the voice sounded familiar and it sounded more familiar when a series of girlish giggles echoed through the graveyard.” Wanda, get your ass over here and get me out of this damn hole,” I yelled.

  Two laughing heads appeared—Chip and Wanda. Wanda had my karaoke machine in one hand and the microphone in the other.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Something woke me. It could have been Striker, who lay on my chest, or it may have been the sunbeam coming through the window. I rolled away from the light as Striker jumped free. The clock on the nightstand said five-thirty. Five-thirty what? I wondered as I tried to convince my brain to function.

  Consciousness seeped in and I realized it was late afternoon. With that realization came memory, the memory of what had occurred after Chip and Wanda showed up at the cemetery. They both had good laughs at my expense as I stood in the grave and fumed. Although many snide remarks had been exchanged, two stood out in my memory.

  Wanda had said, “You look like a cross between the grim reaper, a clown, and a grave robber what with all that black grease paint and the black outfit. I vote for the clown.”

  Chip’s had been worse. “Damn, if I’d known a midget was going to stumble in, I’d have told the grave digger to dig the hole three feet deep. With luck, you could have crawled out.”

  And of course, the comments had been accompanied by knee slapping laughter. I remembered I had been somewhat irritated that Chip and Wanda were not impressed with my victory over evil, but had, instead, concentrated on my looks and my entrapment in the open grave. As I remembered more, I groaned. If my memory was correct, I’d been very expressive in my disappointment with them.

  After having their fun, they helped me out of the grave. Since they had driven to the cemetery in my car, I dropped them at Frank’s truck and drove to the cottage. When I walked in, the boys seemed to agree with Chip and Wanda. The hair along their backs stood on end and their tails bushed as they took off running into the spare bedroom.

  Now, I had an urge to take a shower. Although I cleaned up earlier, I felt grubby and needed to clear the cobwebs out. Maybe a quick dousing would solve both problems. I traipsed into the bathroom and cranked on the water.

  After the shower and a quick shave, I felt human again. But with full consciousness, my memory returned in all its glory. I remembered telling Chip I was sorry I’d saved his damn jackass—not a smart move. As I recalled, he gave me a look that heated my grease paint.

  As for Wanda, I told her that if I never saw her again, it would be too damn soon.

  She had continued her laughter. “You’ll change your mind,” She’d said through peals of laughter. “You’ll be calling.” Then she gave me a sexy wink.

  I sat in the recliner thinking about the last twenty-four hours. My trap had worked. Melon was in custody, although I may have given him an out with my trickery and the light taps alongside his head. As for Chip and Wanda, I had to worm my way back into their good graces. The sheriff might have calmed enough to be an ally.

  I checked the clock. It was seven p.m. Somehow, I’d killed an hour and a half. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I grabbed the phone and dialed the big house. Annie answered, and I asked to speak with Chip.

  “He’s not here. He and Miss Wanda went into Canton to pick up Joseph. The sheriff called about six o’clock and said they could come get him. They took off like a shot.” Annie’s expressive tone of voice was in neutral. I couldn’t tell where I stood.

  So much for groveling before Wanda and Chip tonight. I wandered into the kitchen hoping I could find something to ease the gnawing hunger in my stomach. I hadn’t eaten since dinner last night.

  The boys padded along behind me, giving me anxious looks. I wanted to think they were concerned about me. But it could have been they were worried about their empty dishes. I gave them food, and they satisfied themselves with staccato crunching.

  There were hamburger patties in the freezer. I threw one in a pan and fried it. I could find no buns so I ate it on sliced bread, not a hero’s dinner.

  After eating, I filled the recliner with my body. The boys leapt up and settled into their normal positions—Striker in my lap and Sweeper on the arm of the chair. I gave them an abbreviated version of last night’s events. They listened until I got to the part about being trapped in the grave. Sweeper was the first to make his move. He stood, stretched, laughed at me, or so it seemed, jumped down and headed for the food dish.

  A moment later as I addressed Sweeper about his lack of understanding, Striker aped his actions. I gave up and wondered what would impress those two.

  I’d been out of the net for a while so I put on an all-news channel on TV. Nothing new there. Democrats in Congress pushed for more welfare programs, and investigations of our erstwhile political leaders continued. It sounded like the same news I watched before getting involved in Joseph’s case. After thirty minutes, the news recycled so I turned the TV off and went to find the book I began before Joseph’s kidnapping became my number one obsession.

  I flipped to my bookmark and thought of the hero. He was wending his way toward solving another significant case while being taking advantage of by sexy women. I laid the book down and wished real life was closer to fiction. Of course, I solved my case and met Wanda, but that wasn’t the same as this guy bringing down the rich and infamous in Palm Beach, Florida. He never investigated jackasses.

  The phone urged me to call the main house again to see if Wanda and Chip were home yet. But I’d tried once, and I was sure Annie would let them know. If they wanted to talk, they’d ring me. If not, I’d pack in the morning, and the boys and I would head for Dallas. I could mail Chip a bill.

  I checked my watch. Ten-thirty. They’d had ample time to get Joseph home. Looked like they weren’t going to call. I stood and headed for the bedroom. Although I slept during the afternoon, I still felt tired. Last night had been fatiguing.

  As I walked into the bedroom, the phone did its chirping routine. I grinned and picked up, expecting to hear Wanda’s voice with an apology.

  “Have you cooled off
yet?” Chip asked.

  “Yeah. But I’m still waiting for an apology.”

  “An apology? Are you nuts? You’re the one that should be apologizing. You said some nasty things to me and Wanda.”

  “You left me in that damn grave for hours and then laughed at me. What’d you expect me to do, strike up the band and do a few rounds of Stars and Stripes Forever?”

  “I guess you got a point there,” Chip replied with a chuckle. “But you sure looked funny in the bottom of that hole dressed all in black with black circles around your eyes.”

  “Up yours, Chip. What the hell did you call for?” My dander had jumped up again.

  “Calm down,” he answered in a soothing voice. “Let’s make a deal. Remember how Jake used to say, ‘Two apologies are better than one.’ I’ll apologize if you will. Hell, I’ll start. I’m sorry I laughed at you in the grave.” Between chuckles, he added, “I sure wish I’d thought to take a camera though. Jake would have loved a picture.”

  I gritted my teeth and vowed not to get mad again. “Okay, I’m sorry I called you names and said uncomplimentary things about your heritage.” I hesitated. “Although everything I said is true.”

  Chip laughed again, and I found myself laughing with him. It appeared our apologies had worked. The cold war was over.

  When the laughter died, Chip said, “Bob’s coming out in the morning. Said he’d like to talk to you. Can you be here at the big house about ten? Of course, you’re invited for breakfast at the normal time.”

  “I don’t know about breakfast, but I’ll be there at ten. How about Joseph, and has Bob cooled down?”

  “Joseph’s fine. He was happy to see us. That’s the first time he led us into the horse trailer. He was ready to come home. I dropped him off in the north pasture. He pranced in there and took over like he’d never been away. One of the heifers gave him the bad eye, but Joseph gave her a head butt, and she got the message.” He hesitated and when he continued, his voice was serious, solemn. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did.”

  “Oh yes, you will. You haven’t seen my bill yet.” This time I was the one who chuckled. “How about Wanda? Is she still mad?”

  “Mad? I don’t know. Hurt? Yeah. It hurt when you told her you hoped you never saw her again. That went too far for her, and I thought it was rather harsh, too. You should know she’s attracted to you.”

  I groaned. “Yeah. I guess I did. Is she there? Can I speak to her?”

  “She went to her room as soon as we got home. I heard her tell Annie not to call her for breakfast. I’d let it go if I were you. Maybe when you come over in the morning…”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I awakened with Striker standing on my chest, his claws punching through the sheet while Sweeper glared toward the bedroom door. I lifted Striker, ensuring he didn’t sink his claws any deeper. As I raised him, right brain came awake and asked if I’d heard something. I rolled to the edge of the bed and reached underneath where I’d put my Beretta before climbing in. Left brain wondered if Melon had escaped. As the fog of sleep cleared both sides of my brain, a feeling of déjà vu seeped in.

  Blam, blam, blam.

  There was a definite banging coming from the front of the house. I swung around, put both feet on the floor and stood. The boys looked at me, then jumped off the bed and headed for the guest room.

  I grinned and picked up my jeans, slipped them on, then slid my feet into my house slippers.

  Blam, blam, blam.

  “Wake up, you mean, name-calling, foul-mouthed, city-slicker, carpet-bagging sonnavabitch. I’ve got something to say to you.”

  I knew that voice and although the language was borderline, my heart sped up. I looked at my clock radio and saw it was blinking three o’clock. Everything happens to me at three a.m., but this time I was glad.

  Blam, blam, blam.

  “If you don’t get your sorry ass out here, I’m gonna paint your balls black and bury them in that grave you slept in.”

  My grin grew bigger. All doubts rushed away. It was Wanda. I flipped on the hall light and laid the Beretta on the table, as I had once before.

  When I opened the door, she stood there wearing a black negligee. The light was behind me, but I knew it wasn’t a substantial garment. I visualized the treasures hidden beneath its translucent folds. In her right hand, she held two wine glasses and a wine bottle filled her left—déjà vu.

  “Good morning, Ace. I decided to accept your apology. Don’t look for a cork screw. It’s a screw off cap.” She eyed my jeans. “You must be glad to see me.”

  She was right.

  What we shared that night was too precious and too private to discuss, but I’ll say there were no hard feelings left between us. By the end of the night, the wine bottle was empty, and we were exhausted.

  We slept until eight when the phone woke us. It was Annie reminding me I was due at the big house at ten. Her last words were, “Come early. I have some fresh squeezed orange juice for you and Wanda.”

  I hung up and kissed Wanda’s ear.

  She grinned at me. “If you’ll go to my car and get my bag, I’ll hit the shower.”

  I did as she suggested and found an overnight bag on the backseat. I wondered if she had packed it to visit me.

  When I brought it into the bedroom, I heard the water running. I stared at the open bathroom door a moment, then said, “What the hell?” and dropped my jeans.

  “I wondered when you’d get here,” Wanda said as I stepped into the shower.

  “This is for scientific research,” I replied. “I wondered if this shower was big enough for two.”

  She laughed and reached for me.

  We proved it was big enough for two, especially if the two were entwined, attempting to occupy the space of one.

  We went to the main house and ate the breakfast Annie had waiting for us. As I finished my third glass of orange juice with Annie hovering over me like a mother hen, the front doorbell rang.

  Annie disappeared, then returned. “The sheriff’s here. I sent him to the Texas Room to see Chip. Chip asked if you two would come in when you finish breakfast.”

  We both chugged our orange juice and stood. I was anxious to hear what Bob had to say about Melon’s arrest. I didn’t know why Wanda hurried.

  When I opened the door to the Texas Room, Chip said, “Here comes the Hero of Eastland County, now the Hero of Van Zandt County. Come on in, you two. Bob was filling me in.”

  I entered, giving Bob a wary look. My last encounter with him had put serious dents in my ego.

  Bob bounced out of his chair and met me at the door. “Chip’s right,” he said pumping my hand. “I gotta hand it to you. Melon sang like a canary. Hell, he sang like a rock star—loud and long and louder. I played the first few lines of that tape you recorded, and he took off. He wouldn’t go to bed until he’d confessed to killing Peanut and a whole bunch of other crimes. When he finished, I asked why he was confessing to everything.” Bob laughed and slapped me on the back. “You’ll never guess what he said.”

  “No, I can’t,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. “Would you like to tell me?”

  Bob ignored my sarcasm and turned toward Chip. “Melon told me he had to clear his conscience, or that damn ghost would whomp him up alongside the head again.” That was as far as Bob got as he convulsed with laughter.

  I stared at Chip who gazed at me. Then it sank in, and I laughed alongside Bob.

  Chip glared. “Okay you two, what the hell’s so funny?”

  “Yeah, let us in on the joke,” Wanda added.

  I remembered Wanda and Chip had no idea of what happened at the graveyard. We had quarreled too much the previous day for me to brief them. I stopped laughing long enough to tell them what transpired after Melon showed up. It looked like Melon didn’t figure out it was a real live Ace Edwards waiting for him. He thought a ghost had hit him on the head. I also explained that Melon confessed to dumping the skunk in the cottage—just before
he took another nap.

  When I finished, Bob said, “We’ve got enough on Melon to put him away for the rest of his life. Hell, he can get the death penalty for killing Peanut. But whatever, we closed a lot of cases today. Dub and the others will be working overtime, getting all the paperwork done.”

  “Suppose he changes his mind and takes back his confession, says you coerced him or some such. Can you still make it stick?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we’re collecting hard evidence, too.” Bob grinned. “The right front tire on his old pickup fits the cast you guys took in the pasture, and we sent his tire iron off to the lab. I’m betting he used it on Peanut.” He rose and walked toward the door. “Plus, we’ve got your tape—a real work of genius. Well, guess I’d better get back and help the boys.” He stopped. “You’ve been a great help, Ace, although your methods are a bit questionable. If you decide to try legitimate law again, give me a call. There’s a slot on my team anytime.”

  He jammed his western-style hat on his head as he reached out to shake hands. I took his right hand with mine and plucked the hat off his head with my left.

  I flipped it to Wanda. “Hang on to that for me,” I said. “Thanks, Bob. I’ll add it to my collection.”

  He scowled. “What the hell you talking about? What collection?”

  “Oh, it’s a small collection of sheriff’s hats. Whenever I wrap up an important case, the local sheriff gives me a hat. It’s kind of an honor for both of us.” Of course, I didn’t tell him his hat would bring my collection up to two.

  His scowl turned to a grin. “You’re welcome to it, and my offer remains the same. I’ll pay you good while I teach you how to be a real cop.”

  Bob passed Annie at the door as she came in. “Thought you folks could use some coffee and orange juice,” she said. She set a carafe of coffee and a pitcher of juice on the table. “Mr. Edwards, I just fresh squeezed this.” She handed me a large glass of juice.