by CeeCee James
I led them to where I’d dropped the pin on the map and parked the van. I climbed out just as Frank and the other officer slammed their car doors. The two men walked over to where I was standing.
“So, it was up there,” I said, pointing to where the ferns were smashed even further by my scramble to escape earlier.
Frank stared at it and his forehead puckered. His jaw moved like he was clenching his teeth. Finally, he ground out, “Why on God’s green earth were you bushwhacking through the woods, Georgie? Obviously, it was spur of the moment.”
“How could you tell?” I asked.
He glanced at my clothing attire. “No boots. Pants have grass stains, and they look like work pants.”
I glanced down and groaned. I didn’t have money for new ones. “I was curious if that’s how the person left the manor with the sword.”
“You were curious….” His voice trailed off as his hand came to rub his temple. “Never mind. Of course you were.” He sighed and then gave me a look of surrender. “And what did you discover?”
“Well,” I bit my lip. “I discovered that path.”
“That path right there?” he pointed to where the other officer had already crossed the ditch and was examining.
I nodded.
“The one that you obliterated?”
I groaned. “Frank, I swear I didn’t know that it could have been evidence, or I never would have checked it out. It just seemed like a hunch, so I thought I’d just take a peek.”
“Well, come on, Miss Peeker. Lead the way.” He made a dramatic gesture with his hand. I glumly tromped back through the ditch and up the other side.
Why did it always work out this way? What was I supposed to do? Call the police and say, hey, do you think the bad guy could have gone through the woods? I’d be calling them all the time. Wouldn’t anyone have driven around to check?
After a few false starts, I was finally able to find my way back to the tree. Frank followed, murmuring to the officer behind him. I recognized his partner as Officer Jefferson, one Frank had worked with before.
“There it is, right there.” I pointed.
Frank’s face creased with worry as he examined the tree.
“Did you bring the metal detector?” he asked Officer Jefferson.
“Yeah, I’ll go grab it.”
Officer Jefferson headed back to the vehicles, while Frank bent down to study the white gash in the bark.
“Yeah, this doesn’t look like a shot gun,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.
“So it wasn’t a hunting discharge then? Since you can only legally hunt with a shotgun in this area?” I asked.
“I don’t know whether or not it was a hunter for sure. Oddly enough, not everyone follows the law. I call it job security.”
His response made me relax. Frank was back to his sarcastic self. I figured that meant he wasn’t mad at me anymore.
Jefferson came back with a metal detector. He turned it on and it squawked and beeped a few times. When it had settled down, he began walking in lines, swinging it slowly from side to side.
“Jefferson will find something. We need the bullet so we know exactly what type of rifle or pistol was used.” Frank fished out a pen light and began to examine the bullet mark. After a moment, he opened a knife and gently pried up the bark.
I stood there watching them work. Jefferson searched for about an hour, traveling up and down in an attempt to determine the direction the bullet may have ricocheted after it hit the tree. Frank took several measurements trying to resolve which way the bullet had come from. Neither man was having any luck.
The sun was starting to set, cloaking the forest in a dark gloom. I shivered and zipped my jacket higher. With Frank’s permission, I’d started to search myself, scuffling through piles of leaves and fallen debris. It was a big forest and it totally felt like searching for a needle in a haystack.
“Well, boss,” Officer Jefferson said with a sigh. “I’m not getting so much as a blip.”
Frank shook his head. I knew how stubborn he was, and how much it bothered him to not be able to find the bullet.
“Unbelievable,” he growled. He stared at me, his hazel eyes sparkling intensely. His expression alarmed me at first, until I realized the emotion he was showing was fear. “Georgie, that was too close. You could have been killed. You should know better than to come out in the middle of the woods without wearing orange.”
“I had no idea….” I began.
He cut me off. “Do you realize that if you’d been hit, there would have been no help coming? It would have just been you, alone out here in the cold and darkness. Even if the bullet hadn’t killed you, hypothermia would have. Or wild animals that would have only seen wounded, helpless prey. It would have been days before anyone happened back on this road and found your van.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” I said, a little defensive. “I was just checking out a hunch. You can’t be bothering the police with every little thing, you know.”
“No, but you could have let someone know where you were going. Especially when it’s a place as remote as this.”
Hey, now. I was used to being independent, and so was he. I opened my mouth to protest when it occurred to me that he was wanting to be that person for me.
“Okay, sorry,” I said, wanting to leave it alone for now.
He grumped some more, his hands jammed into his pockets. Officer Jefferson watched him, looking like he was waiting for the word that he could take off.
“I need to get going,” I told Frank. “Your grandma has a full house tonight. I should have been there already to help out.”
He nodded brusquely, still looking frustrated. “Fine. Go. I’ll catch you later.”
I made my way out of the woods, leaving the two of them there. The sun had dipped below the horizon when I reached the ditch. I slid down the bank and tromped back up to the road.
Back at the B&B, I sat in the van for a moment. Curious, I brought up the map of the woods. Was it just a hunter? I zoomed out from the pin. My eyebrows lifted when I saw that another road ran parallel to the dirt one I’d been on.
I zoomed out some more.
It was the same road that Gayle’s Old Glories antique business was on. Did someone take the sword to her place? Or, was that some kind of coincidence?
Chapter 16
Mornings were never my favorite time. But over the last few months, I’d been making more of an effort to have a good attitude. Every new day really was a gift, I reasoned. Derek would have loved to have had a chance to wake up today.
I’d even gotten a new alarm clock. It was the coolest thing. About ten minutes before it was time to wake up, it would softly glow. The light would grow brighter and brighter to mimic the rising of the sun. All I know is that even through my closed eyelids, I could “see” it. And by the time the alarm went off, I was already half-way awake and ready to start my day.
But this morning, it was the ringing of my phone that woke me, long before any light started on my alarm clock. I rolled to my side and grabbed it, still only able to open one eye. The person hung up while I was still fumbling to hold the phone right side up and find the button to answer it. I let out a groan and squinted to read who had called.
The number was unknown, and the person hadn’t left a message.
An unknown number. That was the worst. I couldn’t even search the number to figure out who it was.
I glanced at the time—a quarter to six—and rolled to my back. I had to get up. I didn’t trust myself to stay in bed. I’d probably fall asleep again, and no amount of alarm would wake me this time.
I sat up with a groan, noticing with a grimace that I seemed to be doing that more often these days. I stood with a groan, got out of the van with a groan, stooped to tie my shoes with a groan. Before I could think too deeply about what that meant, I stumbled for the shower.
Showers always broke the morning blues. Hot water, my strawberry-peac
h gel, and a new razor. Heaven was a new razor and shaving cream, I swear.
Feeling much more alive after the shower, I dried my hair with a towel as I headed for the kitchen.
“Momma needs a cup of coffee,” I mumbled, filling the reservoir with water. The rich scent of the coffee grounds made me smile as I put in a couple scoops.
The machine made happy burps and gurgles as I sat down at the table. Resting on the easel was my newest painting. Last night, I’d finished the one of the ice-cream shop and started this one, a simple stand of saplings with the sun trickling through their baby leaves. It reminded me of my childhood.
Honestly, most of my paintings were of childhood. It had been such a happy time in my life, where my biggest worry wasn’t about how I was going to pay rent, but if I could find someone’s lawn to mow so I could get a new tube for my bike tire. It really made me sad when I heard other people didn’t have such great memories of their own childhoods.
Frank had been my buddy back then. There’d been a group of us kids that used to hang out, and he’d been the tall, serious one. I used to love to tease him, taking it as a personal challenge to try to get him to crack a smile.
Not a lot had changed since then, I thought wryly.
As I studied the painting, it reminded me of how we used to play Robin Hood as kids. We’d cobble together these ridiculous bows and shoot homemade arrows at targets. The bows rarely worked, often causing the arrows to go in crazy directions, sometimes landing straight in the ground a few feet from where we stood.
Frank always accused me of doing that to him on purpose. Smirking, I’d sworn up and down it was an accident.
I really had been a brat.
Anyway, I remembered when Frank—who’d always been the richest kid among us, having saved his money like a ten-year-old scrooge—bought a sling shot.
Target practice changed for us from that day forward. If Frank was in a good mood, he’d let us each take a turn at the target. We’d shoot pinecones, rocks, even ball bearings and marbles from that slingshot.
And what was Frank’s payment to use his slingshot? We had to go find the used ammunition among the forest floor. I’d search and find my eight marbles and he’d let me have a few more turns again.
Those marbles went everywhere, I remembered. But I got pretty good at guessing where they’d land.
That memory churned in my mind all morning as I helped Cecelia. It was another dreary day, and rain pounded against the roof. But we had a fire crackling in the living room, and Cecelia had made fresh cinnamon rolls, filling the house with a cozy, sugary smell.
The guest’s family reunion was over and they checked out soon after breakfast. It was going to be another long day of flipping the bed-and-breakfast. There were no new guests scheduled until the weekend, which eased the pressure that I needed to work fast, but increased my stress about where the money was going to come from to pay the bills.
I shook the sheet onto the bed and tucked it in. I’m not going to worry about that now. I’ll think about it tomorrow. Ever since I’d seen Gone with the Wind as a teenager, I’d adopted Scarlett O’Hara’s attitude about worry for my own.
At about two p.m., we had the B&B in relatively good condition in preparation for the new guests, so Cecelia told me that I could go home. Specifically, she’d said, “Get out of here and don’t get into any more trouble,” while pressing a container of leftovers into my hand. Of course, I took the food, but I wondered what kind of trouble she meant. Did Frank rat me out? Again?
Before I went home, I made a stop at the local drug store. I’m not getting into any trouble. Just going to pick up a little toy. I was disappointed to see they didn’t seem to make toy sling shots anymore. That and good old lawn darts, gone with my childhood. I did buy a bag of marbles and then headed across the street to the sporting goods store.
There, I found a slingshot as well as an orange beanie. I had a little nerve-wracking moment while trying the beanie on. I was, figuratively speaking, putting all my eggs into one basket that the shot fired in the woods had come from a hunter. With that in mind, hopefully, the hat would do its job of alerting hunters that I was human, because it could just as easily become a neon target.
It was about three o’clock by the time I drove out to the logging road to the spot I’d pinned in my maps the day before. I’m not going to lie, my hands were sweating and my heart pounding a little.
Just before I climbed out, I texted Frank. —Hey- just doing my part to let you know I’m checking something out in the woods again. Talk to you soon.
Then I put the phone on silent because I didn’t want to listen to his “yell texts” back at me.
With a pocket full of marbles, the orange hat on my head, and slingshot in hand, I climbed down the slope and up the other side of the ditch. I followed the trail back to the tree that had been damaged by the bullet.
It was cold and wet from the rainstorm earlier. Water droplets fell around me from the overhead branches. The gash stood out white against the dark wet trunk. My skin crawled and my senses warned me to get out of there. I scanned the trees and underbrush but didn’t see anything. I studied the mark again, just in case there was something I’d missed before, but all I saw were drips of sap as the tree began to heal itself.
A big water droplet fell directly between my eyes. I wiped it off with the back of my hand, then carefully took about fifteen steps away from the tree in the direction I thought the bullet might have come from. My fingers were wet and cold as I fumbled to get a marble out of my pocket. Tongue sticking out, I loaded the leather pocket of the slingshot, took aim, and let it go.
It flew right past the tree. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Apparently, my marble slingshot skills had deteriorated through the years. I stretched my shoulders, loaded up with another, and took aim again. This time, a little lower and to the right.
TWACK! I smiled with satisfaction at the sound. I’d seen which direction the marble had bounced off to and headed for it. I found it sitting under a pile of dead leaves. Leaving the marble where it was, I scanned the forest floor, moving slowly in an expanding circle.
I was looking for anything metallic or shiny, but nothing popped up.
After ten or so minutes of searching, I gave up and went back to the tree. This time I took fifteen steps slightly to the left. Taking aim, I shot the marble again.
Smack! The marble ricocheted to the right. I did the same circular search as before. I was frustrated to get the same results.
Six marbles later, and I was ready to pull my hair out. I was second guessing everything, even the stupid itchy hat. I’d forgotten to be scared of who might be in the woods. All that was on my mind was finding that bullet. It’s got to be around here somewhere. What am I doing wrong? Or is this a crazy test, anyway?
Think smarter. Don’t let frustration do the thinking for you. I took a deep breath and pulled up the map, trying to rally. I placed a pin at exactly where the tree was, and then zoomed out so I could locate the second pin. Moving to the left, I tried to line myself up with both of the pins.
As if the two pins made a straight line, I continued the line deeper into the woods away from the tree. About fifteen feet away, I let another marble fly.
This time the marble nicked the tree and flew to the left. My heart pounded with excitement as I hurried to find it.
“Come on, come on,” I muttered. The undergrowth seemed to have matted itself together for the sole purpose of making it hard to see under. I found it and started my circle, checking under rocks and twigs. My third circle around brought me close to the road, about twenty feet from the place where I’d entered the forest.
I walked out to the top of the bank and stared down. Was it possible? I scrambled into the ditch and checked around. At the bottom, I noticed the dirt seemed to have been disturbed. I squatted and began to sift through it with my fingers.
My heart leapt into my throat. There it was. Intact and shiny.
The bullet.
Chapter 17
Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh! I found it! Excitement zinged through my body like a shrill whistle, and I covered my mouth to smother uncontrollable giggles.
Who would have thought that I could have—?
My phone vibrated, cutting off my thoughts. I pulled it out and saw an alert for a voice mail. I’d forgotten I’d turned it to silent mode earlier and hadn’t heard it ring. The number was again unlisted. Frowning, I pushed play on the message.
There was just a long silence.
And then the sharp crack of a gunshot.
I jerked and dropped to the ground. What was that? I’ve got to get out of here. But I can’t leave my bullet.
It had been a recording. I hadn’t heard anything in the woods, so there was no reason to think he was here now. Hands shaking, I found the camera mode and took a picture of the bullet.
Then, creeping along the ditch back to the van, I called Frank.
“Georgie?”
“I didn’t think you would answer.” My nerves were shot. Tears stung my eyes at the sound of his voice.
“I’m almost there.” He growled. “I can’t believe you went back out to the woods. You’re giving me gray hair, woman. I’m really going to get you back for this.”
“Don’t even joke,” I said. “Someone just left a message on my phone. Frank… it was a gun shot.”
Cursing broke out on the other end of the phone, so loud I had to hold the receiver from my ear. “What are you trying to do to me?” he finally sputtered. I could tell he flipped the siren on because I heard it through the phone. Seconds later, I heard the sound coming up the road. He was close.
“Get down,” he said. “Take cover behind a tree.”
“I’m in the ditch by the van,” I whispered. The siren grew louder and then he was there. I heard his car door slam shut, and that was it.
Where is he? I straightened a bit to peek over the ditch’s edge. His car was there, but he was missing. I turned toward the woods, trying to listen, straining to see through the trees. No noise, no movement. A lump grew in my throat.